Does anyone else honestly just flat out dislike The Handler? She's the worst.

—Your Pitfall—

You're not one to complain. Honestly. You take the work you're given and make sure it's completed no matter how arduous. You get along well with the other Hunters no matter their age, gender, or squad-you're all here for the same purpose, after all. If something doesn't go your way, you brush yourself off and try again.

You're not one to complain, yet part of you is irritated with your Handler.

Had she not gotten into harm's way yet again and required your aid, you would never have even ended up in the Research Base. You would not have been knocked out and discovered by a scholar who happened to be roaming the lower Highlands. You would not have met the Third Fleet Master and, therefore, you would not feel the way you do now.

Your Handler is clapping and cheering as the Canteen Palicos make a show of preparing your meal. They have a penchant for showmanship and their friendly faces would normally have made you at least smile, but you don't have it in you at the moment.

You may be sitting here in Astera, but your mind is back at the Research Base and that realization irks you to no end.

"Hey, partner, are you in there?"

Your Handler waves her hand in front of your face and you're struck by a sense of dèjà vu. You stare at her, really look at her, until your mind stops superimposing dark hair and exotic features over the girl's comely face. Maybe you could make due with what was right in front of you?

But as you continue to stare and she begins to stammer, you realize that your heart isn't beating fast. You don't feel nervous or excited or insignificant-none of the things you feel around the Third Fleet Master. You don't feel anything.

You tear your gaze away, waving off her concern and ordering a mug of ale with a raised finger. The Palico that brings it to you grins and you give it a quick pat before downing the beverage. It burns on the way down, filling your belly with fire and easing your maelstrom thoughts.

You know you'll regret it in the morning, but you order another.

...

You clap a hand over your Handler's mouth—happily, because you'd wanted to several times before—and assault the skin of her throat with your teeth. She's shrugged off her stiff outer jacket, and you grope her through the bindings that cover her breasts, pressing flush against her body.

Frustration makes you aggressive and you're less than gentle in your treatment of her body, but she doesn't seem to mind. Her fingers slide into your hair, tugging slightly. The sounds she's making are pleasing, but you can't shake the feeling that pierces through the fog that descends over your mind.

When the tugging continues, you finally straighten to face her and a chill runs the length of your spine. Somewhere at the back of your mind, you had been expecting to see raven tresses and that secretive smile, so the reality that greets your blurry vision is jarring.

This is wrong.

You stumble backwards, an empathetic pang going through you at the hurt in hazel eyes. You've been in her position, though the Third Fleet Master had never been so utterly callous as to lead you on quite like this.

What have you done?

You try to mutter an apology, but it comes out as a groan and you fall into a seated position on your bed. You're impossibly tired. You hang your head between your knees, your temples throbbing, until she gathers her jacket and shows herself out.

...

You wake up the next morning with what feels like Nergigante thorns embedded in your brain matter, swimming vision, and a horrible taste in your mouth. You half remember the night and the mistake you made and know you have to patch things up with your Handler just as soon as you manage to pull yourself together.

Take a deep breath to brace yourself. Count to ten. Then, you sit up slowly and swing your feet over the edge of your bed.

Not slowly enough. You make a mad dash for the waterfall and just barely manage to throw yourself into your stomach, your head hanging over the edge of the wooden path as your stomach turns itself inside out.