Unfamiliar Surroundings, Part II

There was something scratching the back of his neck. He rolled over as he opened his eyes and saw straw.

It smelled fresh, with a hint of a pleasant fragrance, and triggered a memory that in medieval dining halls, fresh straw laced with fragrant herbs would be placed on the floor right before a feast. He sat up and looked around.

It wasn't a hall, but instead a sizable bedroom, and the pile of straw he'd been sprawled out on was right next to a large four-post canopy bed, both straw and bed up against one wall. The floor was a dark wood of some sort. The walls were split: The bottom three feet or so were the same dark wood, carved in abstract geometric patterns, and the rest of the walls, rising up to the ceiling, were plain off-white. On the other side of the bed there was a window with elaborate wood and glass panels, and curtains that could be drawn over it.

Across from him, against the other wall, was a vanity table with an elaborate gold-framed oval mirror, flanked by an armoire on either side. The armoire on the left, closer to the wall with the window and away from the door, was solidly constructed of more of the same dark wood, several feet wide and with a pair of drawers on the bottom. Between it and the back wall was an opening, but he couldn't see to what. The other armoire was taller, narrower, and had no drawers. Curved, smoky-white wooded panels closed it off instead, hinges indicating that they were opened rather than pulled out. Above both drawer and closed shelf were open shelves holding books and what looked like a medieval version of school supplies.

The Harry Potter hypothesis was gaining a bit of strength. Well, Beauxbatons if everyone was speaking French.

A turn to his right revealed several more things. His luggage - good, whoever had dumped him on a pile of straw had at least brought his things along as well - was piled against the wall close to the door. Between the bed and the wall with the door there was a table, made of more of the same dark wood, with a lamp on it. Instead of a small fire, however, the light came from a softly glowing stone. There were two chairs at the table, padded with what looked like velvet, and at one of the chairs sat the pretty androgyne who had kissed him.

Their eyes met, and a moment later, she started talking – definitely a she from the pitch of her soprano voice, and if he'd been thinking clearly back in the courtyard he'd have already realized that – as she got up and walked around him, looking down on him disdainfully as she continued her speech in maybe!French.

If that's a tonal language, we're going to need some time to get used to it. If it isn't . . . it doesn't sound like she likes us.

Time to hope that she was at least mildly reasonable.

He stood up and assumed a patient expression as she continued to babble, moving past him toward the shorter armoire, the plain one. Then he cleared his throat, loudly.

She whirled to glare at him, took a deep breath-

He opened his mouth, pointed to it, pointed to his ear, and shook his head.

The anger on her face was replaced by confusion.

"We don't speak the same language." He repeated the pantomime, then lifted an eyebrow. "Comprende?" Wait, crap, what's the French word for 'understand'? Doesn't sound like she's speaking Spanish, after all.

The pink-haired girl (no use denying it, there was just too much strawberry in that blonde) said something again - this time it sounded annoyed - and turned back to open the armoire.

He rolled his eyes. Come on, we've read stories with this pattern a dozen times. Shouldn't take you long to come to the right conclusion.

Wait, what if she isn't the spirited-but-practical archetype?

Crossing to the table, he cleared his throat again, earning another glare. "Table," he said. "Chair. Lamp." Each time he touched the object in question. Then he looked at her, eyebrows raised invitingly

Her words were fast and furious, and too many to be the names he needed. He exaggerated a sigh and started over. "Table," he said again, touching the table and table pointing at his mouth. Then he pointed at her mouth and tapped on the table.

This time she just let out a small scream of frustrated rage and yanked her armoire open, revealing clothing hanging within.

Maybe we should have started with our name? No, too much potential for confusion - she might think we're asking about our gender names, or our respective statuses, or something weirder.

"Look, I get that this is frustrating for you, but-"

She whirled back around, eyes blazing and wand out. He didn't have time to react before she spat out three furious words, and his world went dark as he flew back.

"Oh well, at least it shut you up."

His eyes shot open with the realization that suddenly he could understand her! She'd just turned back to the armoire, and smoke was pouring out of the now-open window. We must not have been out for more than a few seconds.

The pink-haired girl had apparently missed him coming to as she pulled out a nightgown, which she lay over the back of a chair. He opened his mouth and-

Shut it as she began to unbutton her white blouse. Yeah, he'd understood her that time, but she'd probably do worse than knock him on his ass if he startled her right now. Best to pretend that he was still out.

It would be easier to pretend if he closed his eyes. Yes. Of course it would.

Damn.

He was going to go to the special hell. Possibly in the next few minutes, if she paused from doffing the various layers of clothing that she was . . . that she had been wearing, and glanced over to see that he was staring, but the same tingling rush from the kiss was back, his breath was caught in his throat, and he couldn't begin to tear his gaze from the exquisite, breathtaking-

Get ahold of ourself, you moron! Okay, her hips may be dainty but if those panties aren't lying her profile is yummy as hell, even without heels! And her bust isn't flat, just petite, the whole package actually looks pretty good . . . ooooh, her hair might be natural after all, the carpet matches the drapes and has the cutest little DAMMIT, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, IDIOT!

Don't we realize just how much of a miracle it will be if she's 18? You creep!

Flushing crimson, he finally shut his eyes. At least she still doesn't seem to have noticed that we're awake again.

Anyway, wasn't the redhead more to our liking? Grown-up curves! Busty as hell and if she has an ass to match-

. . .

Fine. We surrender. Pinky might well have a better ass, especially if Busty doesn't exercise much. But what's going on with us, here? What, all a girl has to do is kiss us and then knock us over with a spell to-

Oh. Pokemon and Harry Potter.

This is magic, isn't it?

. . .

Okay, maaaaaaaybe it's partly going through college with no time for a social life. We're going to blame the magic anyway. Besides, magic explains why we can suddenly understand her.

And that was a surprisingly nice kiss, especially for something without tongue. Maybe she . . . no, no perving on the smaller one! Even if she was the one to kiss us and bring us to her bedroom.

. . .

At least find out her age, first!

He focused on deep, slow breathing, doing his best to calm down for the inevitable-

There was a fingersnap, and the light cut off. He opened his eyes to see that she finally had her nightgown on, and the lamp was indeed off. The only illumination was now through the window, where moonlight - from two moons! - streamed through.

Okay, she seems to be dressed for bed, so now's the time to 'wake up', unless we want to try to sleep like this. And it's getting colder.

He groaned and put a hand to his head as she turned towards him once more. A second snap of her fingers turned the light back on as she peered at him uncertainly.

"What did you do to me, little lady?" It wouldn't do to call her anything crude, after all.

Pinkie gasped. "What - you know how to talk?!"

Well, yeah, even before you knocked our lights out. He looked up at her. "Was that a translation spell you tried? I guess you don't cast it very often?" If spells are even how magic works around here. Something to check out.

She shook her head in disbelief. "I was trying to cast Silence! Why couldn't I at least get that right?"

He shrugged, then stood up. Yep, the locals used spells. And she didn't quite come up to the top of his shoulder, so she was about 5-foot-nil. Or a hundred fifty-two centimeters, for metric wusses. "Well, it shut me up for a while, didn't it? And if you don't mind my saying so, little lady, a translatin' spell is a lot more convenient than takin' the next few months to pick up words here and there. So if it fades, I'll be thanking you to blow me head over heels again."

The hell? Are we trying to talk like a movie cowboy, or just a stereotypical Texan? Dammit, us. And we need a term of address that doesn't come out of mid-20th century westerns.

Although, for now it does seem appropriate. Better than Pinkie, at least.

Pinkie hesitated, looking thoughtful. "It might not fade. This could be your very first auxilum."

He blinked. "My what?"

She gave him an impatient look. "Auxilia are powers that a familiar develops to aid its master. And you won't be much help to me if we can't even understand each other!" she concluded tartly.

Ah. There's the 'spirited' part. But- "Familiar?" he not-quite-squeaked.

Pinkie rolled her eyes. "Yes. I suppose you couldn't understand me earlier, but I've decided to keep you as my familiar after all, even if you are a commoner, so be grateful you've been given a place here!"

Oh, is that why we're in your bedroom? He fought down a smirk. Lass, you can use any excuse you want to keep us here. But, 'commoner'? The smirk was a bit easier to quell after he glanced at the pile of straw he'd woken up on. Commoner. We need to define ourself away from that, wethinks.

So he gave her a smile that wasn't quite a smirk. "Little lady, I think you will find that there is very little that is common about me."

"Oh? Can you do magic?"

Hmmm. Did she just imply a magic-wielding elite as an exclusive power-holding minority over a mundane majority? It rather seems that she did. Hmmm. Magic must be pretty powerful around here. Maybe less Merlin and Gandalf and more Elminster and Dresden. So what's the setup? Is it a feudal or ministerial form of government? Something more exotic? Definitely stuff to find out sooner rather than later.

But we need to respond, now. "Of course. My father taught me when I was young." And stage magic was probably not what Pinkie meant, but he was ready to exploit any wiggle room he could find until he figured out something better.

She suddenly looked a bit worried. "He did?"

"Certainly." Now he was smirking, as he pulled a nickel from the wallet in his pocket. "For example, take a look at this coin. Hold it, feel it, make sure you know that it's a real coin."

She blinked, took the coin, and frowned as she examined it. "That's not silver, is it?"

"No, I believe it's nickel."

Another blink. "What's 'nickel'?"

"A metal. I don't remember which ore it comes from, though. I'm afraid that's not my area of study."

"You're a student?"

He nodded. "I was, yes. Just finished my Master's Degree."

She wrinkled her nose. Which was rather adora- stop that, perv! "A master of what?"

"Computer science."

The sudden look of confusion on Pinkie's face was all the warning he needed.

Maybe they have magic, but the tech's probably medieval. "Sorry, I doubt that translated very well. Uh, think of me as someone who teaches artificial minds how to perform specific tasks so that people aren't needed for them."

"Minds?" Now she looked uneasy.

"Not living things, little lady," he hastened to offer in reassurance. "More like clocks. Very, very complicated clocks. Later, if you like, I could build you a simple example to demonstrate."

Despite looking a bit uncertain, she nodded slowly, so he pressed on.

"Now, satisfied that it's a real coin?"

"I suppose. You wouldn't get anything for it, though."

He shrugged. "Not here, no. I'm from pretty far away, I think. Alright, give me the coin back."

He waved it back and forth once she handed it over, passing it from hand to hand. "Alright, we know it's a real coin, so which fist is it in?"

So saying, he held up both fists, a few inches apart.

"That one, of course!" Pinkie declare, pointing at his left fist.

"Really?" He opened it up. There was no coin in it.

"How'd you get it in your other fist?!" she demanded.

"I didn't." He opened up his right fist. No coin there, either.

Her expression grew quite perplexed. "What?"

Huh. Has she really never seen anyone do this trick before? In that case, might as well make a full show of it. "Why do you think I have it? You never gave it back to me."

"Yes I did!"

Wow. She pulls off 'cute when you're angry' better than anyone we've ever seen.

Down, boy. And stop smirking like that. It's starting to hurt, and it doesn't look good on us, anyway.

But it was no time to be lost in an inner dialogue. "Obviously not. I don't have it."

She held up her hands. "Well, I don't either!"

"You must have hidden it somewhere. Open your mouth."

"Wha-"

"That'll work." He bent over, looking carefully inside. "Could you flatten your tongue so I can see all the way back?"

"Gnnnnnn!"

"Very nice. Well, since it's not there we'll have to check your nose next, so-"

"No!" She grabbed his mouth and pulled.

"Gaah!"

"Shut up! I'm checking your mouth!"

He held his breath as she looked inside – no sense in making her smell dungbreath, maybe we should have washed our mouth before trying to impress her – and then tried to rip his nose apart to find the nickle there.

Finally she let go. "I'd know if it was in my nose! Where is it!"

"Well, if it's not in your nose, it must be in your ear."

"That's even sillier-" she cut off, and as his finger traced along her cheek, moving long pink-blonde hair aside, he could feel her sudden shiver.

Whatever whammy was in your kiss, did you get some of it too? That'd be . . . very convenient.

And suddenly it was hard not to think about where else he might persuade her to let him search. As a teenager he'd done this a couple of time with a girlfriend who'd been delightfully and laughingly tolerant about where his hands could wander with that particular excuse. It was a shame that her parents had been as careful as they were about letting her be alone with anyone.

Not that the little lady's laughing. No, better to end this now.

A slight tug inside her ear and he pulled his hand back, holding up the coin triumphantly. "See? It was there all along!"

"No it wasn't!" Pinkie protested. "It's too big to fit in my ear!"

He shrugged. "I did tell you it was magic."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't know how you did that, but it wasn't magic. You didn't incant and you didn't use a wand so it wasn't magic!"

He tilted his head. "You're right. It was just a trick. Obviously I managed to hide the coin in your ear when you gave it back to me."

Misdirection was the key to stage magic, after all.

Pinkie pouted for a moment, then brightened up. "As your master, I command you to tell me how you did it!"

"Ah," he countered, "but a good magician never reveals his secrets for free. If you want to be my student, what are you willing to pay me with?"

Her eyes widened slightly.

Yeah, that might be going too far. Five feet tall, body hair, and A-cups can be adult, but she's at least as likely to still be jailbait. If she offers a kiss, take it in good humor, but don't angle for one or try for anything else, understood?

Then her eyes narrowed. "I'm not your student, I'm your master!"

"In that case, you obviously have nothing to learn from me." He broke eye contact and stepped around her to head for his luggage, feeling both relieved and a bit disappointed. Stop that. If we're really unlucky she could be as young as 10. Probably not, unless they add an estrogen mimicker to the food around here or have some other reason for early physical maturity, but we can't trust our judgment until we know exactly what her magic kiss did to us.

"What are you doing?" she demanded as he opened one of his duffle bags and pulled out a bottle.

Well, right now we're trying to ignore our sudden preference for you over busty redheads, little mistress. Not that we can exactly say that. Hell, until we figure out how much this is affecting us we need to be very careful about what we do or say around her. Shit. For all we know she could be 10.

But there was something he could say, at least. "My mouth still tastes like dung from landing face-first outside earlier. I'm going to wash that out." He stepped around her again towards the opening in the wall he'd spotted when he woke up and . . . yep, private washroom. With a sink and a toilet. And it didn't smell. Huh. They must use magic in their toilets instead of water. Or maybe the water is provided magically.

A minute later:

"Why are you making those ridiculous faces?" his 'mistress' demanded.

He held up a finger as he completed his slow count to 30 and spat the mouthwash out into the sink. It had a drain but not a spigot, further evidence that any water was provided through other methods. "That stuff feels like it's burning away the inside of your mouth. It gets it clean, but it's a little painful."

She frowned, then stepped forward, took a deep sniff, and frowned harder. "Mint? Now your breath smells like you chewed mint. Why?"

He blinked. Surely y'all have perfume around here. "Uh, that's the flavor in this particular mixture. Icy mint."

Pinkie shook her head. "You use alchemy just to flavor your breath?" But then she paused, at a thoughtful look came over her. "Let me try some."

He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her. "Look, when I say this feels like it's burning your mouth, that's not a joke. You'll have to swish it around in your mouth until I count to 30 if you want it to clean everything and give you minty breath. Are you sure you want to try?"

She glared up at him. Again. "I said so, didn't I?"

"Alright." He shrugged, then measured it out into the cap and offered it to her. "By the way, when you're done don't swallow it. Spit it out. It'll make you sick if you swallow too much." Actually, it would make her drunk, and that'd require a lot more than the amount he'd given her, but . . .

"1. 2. 3. 4. . . ."

The expression on her face rapidly went from determined to shocked. Cute shock, of course, but he was having that reaction to just about everything she did. Dammit.

"9 If you can't 10 stand it just 11 spit it out 12 . . ."

Maybe he was looking a bit smug, but she shook her head, set her jaw, and continued until he reached 30. Then she spat so hard it almost splashed back up to her.

"That . . . does feel cleaner." Then she held up her hand to her mouth and blew on it.

Now remember, this has to come out absolutely casual. "And now you have minty breath yourself. Kiss your boyfriend and he won't know what hit him."

She stared up at him once more for a moment, then blushed and looked away. "I don't have a lover," she mumbled.

Play it cool. Play it cool! Don't react! "Huh. Translation error, I think. Say 'boy', please."

"Boy."

"Say 'friend'."

". . . Friend."

"Now say both of them together."

Her look was dubious, but: "Boy friend."

"And when I say 'boyfriend', what do you hear?"

"'Lover'."

"Hmm."

"Are you trying to say 'boy friend' as one word or something?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying in my language."

"Then . . ." Pinkie trailed off, before blushing anew and quickly continuing. "Why would I let a boy kiss me, even if he's my friend? He'd get the wrong idea, and I'd have my honor ruined!"

"Like I said, translation error." But you're confirmed as single! Hurrah!

Except he couldn't think of anything safe to say after that. And apparently neither could she. So yhey continued to stare uncertainly at each other for a long moment.

Eventually he gave in. "So, you had my bags brought up. And I'm your 'familiar'. I think I need some more information, little lady, because I saw two moons out the window earlier, and that means I am most definitely a stranger in a strange land."

Pinkie scowled. "Why do I have to explain everything? I summoned you here. I'm your master. You do what I tell you."

"I . . . see."

She turned away and headed towards her bed. "You probably can't do anything useful like a real familiar, but at least you can wash my clothes and dress me."

He couldn't help but remember the stolen view of what she apparently expected him to dress. Now there's an enchanting thought . . . down! Besides, "That sounds like servant work, little lady. I'm pretty sure I'm wasted as a menial."

She turned back for a moment to glare at him. "My name is not 'little lady'! I am Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière! You will call me 'master'!"

"That's a mouthful," he replied as mildly as he could. "But I think I like 'Louise' better than 'master'."

"I don't care."

"I rather do."

"I don't care what you like!" she all-but-shouted. "I am your master!"

"Hmm." Okay, it's true that we asked for spirited, but her attitude doesn't exactly bode well for the future.

"Do you have a name, familiar?"

He tilted his head. "Yes. Most people do, you know."

"What is it, then!"

He opened his mouth . . . but then sudden inspiration struck. "Call me 24601."

Louise turned all the way around and stared at him in confusion. "That's not a name."

"No, it's not."

"That's a bunch of numbers."

"Indeed it is."

"Why do you want me to call you numbers?"

"Because, 'master', it is appropriate."

"What? Why?"

"You may learn, one day. Not tonight. So," he nodded to the clothes she'd changed out of, "laundry. After that, where do I sleep?"

"That's what the straw is for," Louise told him, before snapping the light off and throwing herself into bed. "And don't wake me up when you get back!"

Don't facepalm, don't facepalm. "I . . . see."

A/N: Look at the original publication date. This came out before the 2012 movie. I've been a fan of Les Misérables since my parents bought the CD, over 20 years ago.

Anyway, you should be aware that, since The Familiar of Zero is a Japanese novel series, cartoon, and comic book, a lot of the artwork out there is on the racy side. Both official and fan-based. And because Louise is short and slender, much of the art for her character is in the 'loli' style. Safesearch is your friend, here.

In any event, I'm going with Louise as 5'0" and slender, but well on her way into puberty. Unusually short for a grownup, but not freakishly so. I'm intending, if you'll permit the comparison, a more 'live-action' depiction of characters, as opposed to the 'cartoon' depiction found in the canon novels/cartoon/comics.

(Yes, I know, I know. Light novels, anime, manga. I'll use those terms from here on out, if needed.)

Silence - A spell that Louise fails to cast. Presumably silences the target.

Auxilum - Plural 'auxilia'. A power that a familiar develops to better help its master.