I've been playing Monster Hunter World with the fiancée of late. Just met the leader of the Third Fleet and I must say, she is elegant... Shipping ensued. This contains some slight spoilers regarding the Coral Highland area, but I assume most people aren't as behind as I am.
I did tweak a few aspects, but for the most part I kept things true to the gameplay experience.
Disclaimer: The Monster Hunter series belongs to Capcom. Thanks go to Espada Harribel for looking this over.
—Tough Tzitzi—
Your Handler is shouting, warning you of the coming danger, but you can't move, your head spinning woozily as your vision fades in and out. In the dimness, you can just barely make out the raptor-like form that rushes you, knocking you to the hard earth and assaulting your torso with razor sharp claws. It hurts, but it snaps you out of your stupor and you twist from beneath the creature, brandishing your long blade with both hands once you're firmly on your feet.
The Tzitzi Ya Ku is rearing up, the whisker-like extensions above its eyes unfurling like sails to reveal luminous webbing—
You throw yourself forward, curling into a ball and rolling towards the Bird Wyvern just in time to avoid the paralytic flash that follows. In the next instance, your long sword is out and a series of electrified slashes forces the screeching creature into retreat. As it leaves the clearing, you notice with no small amount of satisfaction that it's limping.
Your Palico—a calico with the biggest green eyes—mewls, fluttering to your side with a green glowing Vigorwasp grasped in his little paw; it bursts into a cloud of healing vapour and you immediately feel ready for anything. You drop into a crouch, running a whetstone along the length of a blade as long as you are tall and give him a pat before stowing your gear and giving chase.
A glittering trail of scoutflies makes tracking the beast a simple task and you follow at an easy pace, knowing full well that a wounded wyvern always returned to its lair to nurse its wounds. The scoutflies draw your attention to other helpful points along your trek and you take a moment to gather supplies and craft healing potions should the fight turn ugly. A wounded beast can be a deadly one if you aren't careful.
A quick climb up some crawling ivies on a cliff face brings you face to face with the slumbering creature, the wounds from several heated encounters across the Coral Highlands area already starting to close as though they'd never been. You ready your weapon, drawing it above your head until the muscles in your arms protest its immense weight, then bring it down like an executioner's axe. The resulting roar is bloodcurdling and crimson splatters the soft, flexible net of coral beneath your feet, but you don't let up as you bring the sword up for another blow and another—until, at last, the creature is slain.
You bow your head, completely still for a respectful moment, and then you palm a sharp knife meant for such a task and begin to carve whatever can be used from the beast.
Then, you return to base.
When you first awakened in the Research Base, you'd been quite frankly shocked by how it seemed like world away from Astera. Where the latter was wide open, a series of wooden walkways that bustled with activity, the Research Base was a more intimate affair filled with curtains of luxurious purple cloth, pillows, and an Asian-themed tune that coiled like pipe smoke in the dim lighting. It was all very regal—just like the woman who lounged indolently at its heart.
Successful after your hunt, you report directly to the woman in charge, the Third Fleet Master, and she looks at you balefully, the pipe in her hands giving off a vapour that's scent you cannot place. She takes a drag, smoke curling from her nostrils as she rests her chin on her fist.
She is the Analytics Director's sister and, while you can see the resemblance in pale skin, dark hair, and pointed ears, the confidence that the woman exudes is a far cry from the man's timid nature. She's a woman of few words, while he tends to be more verbose the less confident he is feeling. You could continue to muse, amused, about their distinct differences for a while longer, but dark eyes are focused on you and all at once you're nervous.
She has a way of doing that—you who have defeated massive monsters of all sorts feel somehow intimidated by her presence.
She stifles a yawn when you tell her you've managed to slay the Tzitzi Ya Ku, but dark eyes glint when the subject of continuing the hunt for the Zorah arises. Such a hunt will take you to the depths of the Rotten Vale, a place that has otherwise been inaccessible for some time now, apparently.
If there's one thing that seems to get the woman's attention, it's discovery. She's a scholar, after all.
The airship captain explains that he can repair his ship if he had the right parts. A single Paolumu—a breed of Flying Wyvern native to the area that resembled a fuzzy white bat with an armored tail and an inflatable throat—would do nicely. You've had a few run-ins with the beast before, so tracking it will be easy enough with the scoutflies' assistance.
And just like that, the Third Fleet Master is all smiles, saying in a husky chuckle that this is almost too stimulating. You return the expression half-heartedly, the fluttering sensation in your stomach making it difficult to share her enthusiasm. Before you can excuse yourself to prepare your gear for departure, she insists that you rest a spell. No sense running off and getting yourself killed—you're no good to her that way, she's quick to tell you. Your Handler agrees that resting up is a good idea, but you hesitate.
You're ready to hunt the Paoluma, if only to work off some of the nervous energy that seems to plague you any time you speak with the enigmatic raven-haired beauty.
The Third Fleet Master is a woman who is used to having her way, however, and it is with great reluctance that you agree to join her for a quick meal before heading out. As it turns out, she's been lounging in front of her home, a quaint space that reflects the limited space of the rest of the Base. She's filled every available table top with books and scrolls, but around it the decor reflects the lavishness of her character with fine art and silk curtains and cushions.
You haven't seen a Canteen anywhere and you're pleasantly surprised when the brunette prepares both your meals herself, waving you off when you offer your assistance. She says in an off-handed manner that you've done quite enough and you feel a warm sense of pride colour your cheeks at the praise, however small.
The meal she sets before you isn't as hearty as the ones you've been served in the Canteen or by your Handler, but this smaller more sensible portion is flavourful and filling nonetheless and it smells fantastic. In fact, by the time you've finished, a warm sense of contentedness settles over you and it's with very little resistance that she convinces you to accompany her to the veranda overlooking the coral reef surrounding the Research Base.
The gazebo style building supports four small cushioned benches around an unlit fire pit with room enough to stretch one's legs and, as she lowers herself on to a bench, curling long legs beneath her, you take the seat opposite her.
When she hands you her ever-present pipe, you give her a curious look, but accept the device. It's heavy in your hands, its metallic surface textured with a hand-etched pattern. You raise it to your lips and take a drag, your lungs protesting the unfamiliar vapour and making you cough slightly. After some consideration, you decide that you like the taste and you take another drag, this time without coughing, to which the Third Fleet Master chuckles.
She's looking reflectively off into the sunset, a small smile curving her lips, and you take a moment to admire her profile. She's certainly a beauty—a regal flower blooming amidst the hard, swarthy men who'd come to the New World and the fanged, deadly monsters they hunted. A rarity.
Dark eyes meet yours, as though she'd felt your lingering gaze, and you quickly look away, hiding your embarrassment behind another drag. You reach over to hand her the device as you exhale, the smoke curling from your nostrils, and she beckons you closer.
Rather than sit directly next to her, you take the bench next to hers and, though she arches an eyebrow, she doesn't comment.
She takes a puff, expertly exhaling rings into the darkening sky, and you mimic her easy posture, sleep tugging at your eyelids. This is nice. It isn't often that you're able to enjoy the company of another like this and you do whether you're sharing conversation with the other woman or not. Her presence is enough.
The Third Fleet Master shifts, the slight motion enough to rouse you thanks to your hunt-honed senses, and she's looking at you with an unreadable expression. You freeze like a kelbi in the torch light, and she offers you a small smile—as though the two of you are sharing a secret.
That come-hither motion is somehow more meaningful this time; your heart thuds dully in your chest as you both lean in. Full lips part mere centimeters away from yours, and then she breathes out a stream of vapour that drifts between you. Your gasp is audible, and just like that the vapour and the woman are gone, the latter leaning back in her seat.
She's chuckling, a rich, suggestive sound, and your face burns hotly as you scramble into a more neutral position.
You sit like that—arms crossed and silent—until she bids you safe hunt and goodnight.