A Gamer's Guide 402 (Patreon)

“So… you’d be fine with the rats being killed?”

“What? Yeah. Of course. They’re rats. Fry ‘em, boil ‘em, stick ‘em in a stew… I genuinely do not care about the rats.”

Gecko heaves an audible sigh. “Oh, phew, thank God, that’s actually really good to hear. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but the city is completely overrun by rats, and since both the city and Leion’s forces have been kinda-sorta starving for the past month, being able to eat actual fresh food would be, well… Pardon the expression—a godsend.”

“Ha-ha,” I mutter to hide the fact that I want to puke.

While I try to keep my digestive tract under control, she catches Prop’s gaze. “Prop, would you mind…?” 

“Of course, it’s no issue,” he says, and with a bow he has to have trained for, he slips out of the grandiose doors. Outside, I can spot glimpses of soldiers and people, hustling and bustling. But I can’t smell them. 

I wait until the doors close completely before asking, very reasonably, “Where is this?”

“The archjudge’s private bed chamber.”

Right. Kill a guy, get his bed. Seems sensible. I nod towards the other remaining human in the room. “And would you mind introducing me to your friend? Our last meeting was kind of hasty.”

“Oh, um…” Gecko blinks, wipes at her face, and turns to Lindsey. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, I’m… It’s been a bit of a day. Maggie, would you mind…?”

At this, Maggie—a way more suitable name than her real one—pauses her pacing to stare at us, eyes wide and lips set in an eerily straight line. She darts a look at the door, and I feel my mind briefly filling with various escape plans, overlaid with ways I could kill her anyways. But her thoughts are wrong, because I can’t kill her like that. My claws are gone. Before she can decide anything, though, a single thrumming thought overlays the rest of her mind, silencing all thoughts of escape, so strong I can feel it in words and not just sensations: ‘I don’t want Gecko to be alone with him.’

She steels her heart, clenches her hands at her sides, and strides across the room, all the way over to us. Although she isn’t very tall, her full frame and broad shoulders make her feel bigger than she really is, which she uses to elevate the strength of the glare she shoots down at me. “I want you to know,” she says, before anything else, “that I never wanted to be in the same room as you, like, ever. I’m only the vice-president of the Kitty-club because I think you’re a freak, and I find freaks fascinating.”

“Okay,” I say, and then before I can say anything else my mind explodes from the sensation of what she means by the Kitty-club. Complimentary information bubbles in from both Maggie and Gecko’s minds, filling me in on what exactly they’re talking about. “Uh. Uh. Um. What…?”

“It’s nothing weird!” Gecko blurts out, leaning over me as she does. “It is purely an anthropological endeavour, centred around the documentation and research regarding PrissyKittyPrincess of the Hell Difficulty. There’s nothing else to it! Nothing of any sort beyond m—mere interest. I was just, you know… When we met… It made me curious, that’s all. Okay? There’s nothing else going on.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”

“...Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You believe me?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my friend. Also, and I can’t say I’m doing this consciously, but I can kind of read your mind, so I know you’re being honest.”

“Seriously? Oh, gosh.”

Maggie wipes her thick lips. She gives me a look, and then turns it on Gecko. “He can?”

Gecko nods sharply. “Yeah.”

“Have you updated the comprehensive abilities post with it yet?”

“No, I didn’t have the time, what with all the going-here and going-there. But I don’t think we should do anything yet, because, um… Well, frankly, at this moment, his abilities seem to be in a state of tumultuous change. This rat miracle is one thing, but his ability to reform out of rats, and glowing in the dark, and phasing through solid objects…”

“He really is the god of hope, then?”

“Yeah.”

Maggie reaches out a hand across my chest, her flat palm facing upwards. A malicious grin twists her dark face. “Pay up, sister.”

A shadow falls across Gecko’s face. “Shit.” Gnawing her lip, she pulls a small coin purse from her inventory, removing ten silver coins from within and depositing them in Maggie’s hand. “If tonight’s banquet doesn’t feed me for the coming days, I’ll starve to death and it will all be your fault.”

“While you starve, I’ll be eating truffles and redbeads. Remember to give me your inventory before you die so it doesn’t disappear, okay?”

“Harpy,” Gecko says, but there’s no bite to it. 

Mmm. I’m starting to feel tired again. Tired, and full. It feels like I’m constantly being fed, every couple seconds. Like I’m a kitten with an overly nervous owner who keeps giving me more and more milk bottles and I, being a stupid kitten, of course simply keep drinking the milk. Mmmm… “Hey, Gecko?”

Flinching, she remembers that I’m still here. “Oh, uh… Yeah, Kitty?”

“I think I’m going back to sleep now. They’ll probably want me to attend the banquet, so, would you mind waking me up for it?”

She frowns lightly. “Are you sure? You really don’t have to. Honestly, I kind of assumed that… I mean, with the crowds and everything… It isn’t exactly going to be a small party. The tables will stretch through the streets. The way it seems, every single person in the city,” everyone alive, she means, “will be participating. And you, well…”

“I want to be there,” I say. “If I’m going to be a god, shouldn’t I act like one?” I reason, which is a really bad lie, even by my own standards. Going by the look on her face, I don’t even think Gecko is buying it. Fair. But I can’t say the real reason—that I want to see if there’s a single person with any kind of sense in this damn city—because then I’d be suggesting that she doesn’t have any sense, which would be pretty mean. Hence—a half-truth. Actually, no, scratch that, it’s a lie, plain and true. “A birthday party without the birthday pig would be pretty empty, wouldn’t it?”

“Um… I guess so,” she says, tugging thoughtfully at the brim of her hat. Unfortunately, no one can resist the Lo Fennrick charm, so after only a few seconds, she relents. “Well, alright. But if things go south, you’d better tell me before so I’ll be able to catch you properly.”

“Thanks, I’ll try my best.” Then, I reach out my hand towards Maggie. “It was nice to meet you properly. Will you be at the banquet too?”

She reluctantly takes my hand, only twitching once at how squishy my flesh is. “Yeah,” she says, shaking it, “I will. Whether they put us at the same table though is anyone’s guess.”

“Depends on their degree of segregationism,” Gecko helpfully adds.

“If I have any say in it,” which I should, considering that they consider me their god, “I’d like for you to be at my table.”

“Um… Thanks,” Maggie says, her smile betraying her confliction. Which makes sense. She has spent the past year obsessively researching every evil I’ve done in the hopes of criminologically explaining what the hell is wrong with me. Sitting at the same table as someone you’d rather not be in the same room as… 

I smile at her. “Well, we’ll see how it goes. Hope you have a good one!” I give them both a little wave, and then I pass out so hard I don’t even have time to think about dreaming. 

Some time later, without really having to be roused or anything, I wake up, standing. 

…Why am I standing? And what the hell am I wearing? Oh, no. This is bad. But I can’t smell anyone. Where is—oh, there. If I physically turn to look—which is NOT a simple matter, considering that I’m strung up by my wrists, ankles and neck—I can find Gecko, just off to my side, discussing with a goblin about… something. There are about a dozen or two other goblins in the room, the majority of them hunched over various pieces of black cloth, others in the process of clothing me where I stand with my arms splayed out. They’ve gotten a pair of slim black stockings onto me, alongside a pair of poofy black pants, embroidered with finely detailed flowers of some kind, which can also be found on the shirt I’m wearing. A tight black shirt that fits more snugly than any straight jacket. I cannot move. 

As I try to figure out the proper way to ask the people around me to please release me from these hellish bindings, a group of goblins collectively erupt in a clamour as they finish embroidering a black vest of some sort. The goblin talking to Gecko briefly pauses their conversation to look over the piece, nodding once the whole thing has been inspected. The goblins then rush over to me, a separate group of goblins twisting my arms to thread the vest onto me. It is perfectly form fitting. The embroidered details shimmer like jewels. Not to mention the actual jewels sewn into the lining, sparkling in the dim light from the setting sun. 

Ah. This is horrible. But everyone’s working so diligently and they seem to really know what they’re doing, so I don’t want to interrupt them. Besides, it feels kind of nice to be strung up like this… I think they’ve hung me by the neck and arms, ropes here and there? Fun. 

Yeah, I’ll wait a bit.