FVN 2.07 Sabina
2.07 Sabina
2.07 Sabina
“Are you completely incapable of controlling yourself?” Rosalie hissed. “The dressing room! And so loud! Everyone heard you!”
“It was mostly her,” Zoey said defensively. “I was trying to be quiet.”
“Quiet! Were you? I could hear the slapping from across the store. Do you have any idea how mortifying that was?”
“Why would you be embarrassed?” Zoey’s face was burning crimson. Lost in the moment, she’d been more than willing to break the litany of social norms she had, pounding herself into the cute store attendant. Now, faced with Rosalie’s scathing condemnation, and having been escorted out by an uncomfortable-looking guardsman, the reality of what she’d done had hit her.
And she hadn’t even gotten to buy the clothes she’d picked out.
“Why would I be embarrassed? Are you serious? I came in with you, you blithering idiot!”
Rosalie was actually pretty mad. Zoey supposed she had every right to be. “I—yeah, I’m sorry. She just, came in and,” Zoey gesticulated with her hands. “It all happened so fast.”
“I took care of you this morning. Was that not enough? How many times a day do you need to be satisfied?”
Zoey coughed. As many times as cute girls throw themselves at me? The upper bound number would only upset Rosalie, so she didn’t share it.
But still. She shouldn’t have done it in the dressing room. That had been inappropriate. And she’d embarrassed Rosalie. Zoey could embarrass herself as much as she wanted, but her association with Rosalie had been inconsiderate.
“I’m sorry. I really am. If I can make it up to you, just let me know.”
Rosalie’s eyes widened in outrage, and Zoey stuttered to clarify.
“Not like that! I’m not being gross. I’m sorry I put you in that situation. Really. If I can make it up, tell me how.”
The words placated her, but she still wasn’t pleased. She shook her head and stalked away. “Make it up to me by not sticking your dick in the next halfway-willing girl you find. At least when we’re together. We’re on a schedule if you’ve forgotten—or I am, since you clearly aren’t—and you wasted an hour of our time, dealing with that.”
“Right,” Zoey said. “I won’t.” Callie had wrung her well and dry, anyway. She had made sure losing her job had been worth it; she’d used Zoey until both their legs were shaking.
So Zoey would be good for, hm, about an hour, considering this insatiable thing between her legs. It’s not entirely my fault, okay?
###
The next clothing store was less eventful. Zoey made the first additions to her burgeoning wardrobe. She went with the looser men’s underwear. It turned out—as demonstrated by Callie—that there were benefits to the odd looks Zoey received when her situation was on subtle display.
What was a bit of embarrassment, when it meant eager girls like Callie could discover her secret, and take interest?
###
Afterward, she and Rosalie headed to an alchemist recommended by Fe. The artificers of Treyhull were a tight knit group, as was perhaps expected. And since Zoey was considering commissioning some potions from the reagents she’d acquired, she wanted someone who was prepared for their odd nature. Fe had assured her that Sabina was the go-to for the odd and bizarre. The alchemist was a woman who loved, above all else, inventions and exploration; a trait that had allegedly left her in quite a poor fiscal situation, despite her talents at potion-making.
Which was a fact that confirmed itself on arrival. Sabina’s store was in ragged condition. The glass panes out front were foggy from not being cleaned. The sign above the doorway could use a paint-over. Overall, not the greatest first impression.
And it was closed.
“Crap,” Zoey said. “Do we go in anyway?”
“Might as well.”
The door was unlocked, at least. A bell rang as they entered.
Sabina—or so Zoey guessed—was at the far end of the store, in the back-left, hunched over a bubbling glass vat. She wore white robes not dissimilar from lab-dress back home on Earth, and also goggles, white gloves, and her hair was tied back in a bun. She glanced their way for a second, said nothing, then looked back forward.
“Are you, uh, open?” Zoey asked.
“The sign says I am, does it not?” the cool reply came.
“No, actually. It’s flipped to closed.”
Sabina’s hands stilled from her stirring. “Oh. Be a dear, then.”
Zoey changed the sign to ‘open’. Sabina didn’t sound bothered she’d missed half a day’s worth of customers.
“I was wondering why it was so peaceful,” Sabina said. “I was managing to get some work done.”
“Sorry to interrupt that,” Zoey joked.
“Mmm,” Sabina said. “I suppose it can’t be helped. I accept your apology.”
Zoey paused. Had that been dry humor, or had she taken Zoey seriously? Fe had said the woman was odd. “I, uh. Fe gave us directions to you.”
“What for?” The curt reply didn’t seem harsh by intention. Zoey was getting the feeling this wasn’t a woman whose social graces were her redeeming feature. “Business, I assume,” Sabina continued. “Get to it.”
“I like her,” Rosalie murmured.
Of course you do.
They approached, and Zoey took in the woman in greater detail.
Sabina was a willow-tall, stick-thin woman. She had several inches even on Zoey, which meant Sabina was exceptionally tall even by men’s standards. She would tower in a crowd, sticking out like a reed.
The receptionist was a mousy woman with freckles. And she meant mousy in a literal sense, like usual; the half-human hybrids were more common than humans in Treyhull. She had big mouse ears on the top of her head, and a generally twitchy, but friendly, demeanor.
“Hi! Welcome to the Last of the Forest’s guildhall. My name is Leia. How can I help you?”
“We’d like to register,” Rosalie said. “Temporary. We’re only passing through. Two weeks, I expect, but more or less is possible.”
Zoey had asked Rosalie for clarification on how this would work—their ‘setting up’ in Treyhull. Before Zoey, Rosalie had gone to whatever city was nearest the shard she’d just exited. But since they were making connections, now—with need for consistent item identifiers and an alchemist teacher for Zoey—they’d take the longer trips back to this specific metropolis, rather than whatever was closest. The goal would be to adventure realms nearby to the one that hosted Treyhull, as to avoid being spat out far away. Still, they’d likely be shunted a fair distance each time; it would be a bit of a trip back.
“No problem,” Leia said cheerfully, drawing out two forms from underneath her desk. “I’ll get you squared away in no time.”
Rosalie waited patiently.
“Name?”
“Rosalie Soliz.”
Huh—Zoey had never gotten Rosalie’s surname.
“Role?”
“Lancer.”
“Advancement?”
“Second.”
The questions continued, Rosalie answering instantly, the mouse-girl writing as fast as she could. Finally, Leia’s attention turned to Zoey, pulling over the second paper. “Name?”
“Zoey Vickery,” Rosalie answered for her.
Leia blinked, and so did Zoey. Leia wavered between looking at Zoey and Rosalie. Zoey gestured to Rosalie, so she committed to her.
“Role?”
“Aegis.”
“Advancement?”
“First.”
And so on.
When they’d been passed two badges—Rosalie’s was purple, with a ‘II’ written on it, and Zoey’s yellow, with a ‘I’—Zoey said, “You gave fake names.”
“Of course I did.”
“I get for you, but why me?”
“Why not? It’s only good practice.”
Zoey gave her an odd look, but accepted the explanation. “I never learned what ‘lancer’ meant. And mine, ‘aegis’.”
“There’s seven,” Rosalie said. “Guardian, striker, and booster are the purist roles. Defense, attack, support.”
“And the four others are mixed,” Zoey guessed.
“Lancer is attack and defense. Aegis, attack and support. Pillar, support and defense. And finally, verse, which is all three—or classes that fall outside the paradigm.”
When Zoey had first been whisked off through worlds, Ephy had used the word ‘class’, and she’d heard it from Rosalie a few times, too. Zoey was a ‘Bonder’. “What are classes?” Zoey was growing less uncomfortable with asking odd questions. She had to, honestly. Couldn’t stay in the dark forever. And Rosalie never seemed to mind, even if she gave Zoey perplexed looks.
“They describe your runes, and the specific path they’re following.”
“So why not use class names, instead of this?”
Rosalie scoffed. “And memorize the hundreds, or thousands, that exist? Roles are simpler. If a party wants to get granular in finding an ideal composition, they may—but for most, roles serve fine to put together a functional group.”
That made sense. “And what’s your class, then?”
Rosalie stopped walking, and Zoey stumbled a step. Rosalie stared at her, brow furrowed, as if trying to come to a decision.
Zoey blinked. “You don’t have to tell me. I was just curious.”
“I ... shouldn’t,” Rosalie finally said. “It’s a personal question. I’d rather not.”
Even if Zoey had said it was fine she didn’t, Zoey felt the tiniest bit stung she hadn’t been trusted with the information. She couldn’t possibly think Zoey would tell someone else, could she? Or was it because her class would reveal something? But what?
She was sure Rosalie had her reasons.
They continued forward.
“Where are we headed?” Zoey asked.
“To the LFG board,” Rosalie said. “Lancer and aegis, as a duo? No. If we’re forming a party, we’ll do it right.”