by Charles Dean
“If that were the case, why would I be undressing the male?”
“You seemed to gravitate towards a rather male Minotaur earlier,” Eliza noted as she managed to both literally and figuratively look down on Locke.
“If you thought that, then why have you been insinuating I’m staring at women all day?” Locke was so confused. Is she just throwing out accusations until one sticks? Locke was starting to wonder if, beneath her incredibly visible contempt, she might just be teasing him.
“I never know what to anticipate from your kind . . .” Eliza shrugged dismissively without finishing her thought.
“Newcomers?” Locke asked, trying to fill in the blank.
“Merchants,” she corrected, and for just a brief instant, Locke could almost swear that he saw one of her lips twitch as if she were about to smile before quickly returning to its former scowl.
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? We merchants are an honorable group of people.” Locke tried to act indignant, pretending to resent a comment that would have made him laugh out loud under normal circumstances--actually laugh out loud, that is, not just the type of laughing out loud while he smiled at a computer screen.
“Hmm . . . Some merchants are. Maybe even most.” Eliza seemed to be conceding Locke’s point, but then she just turned it into another jab in his direction. “I’ll do my best not to lump all merchants in with the less-than-honorable alchemist and pervert extraordinaire.”
Locke surrendered. “Look, just take the girl into the corner and change into her clothes. We’re going to use these outfits as a disguise to get out of here.” He could probably think of at least one comeback, but he had a feeling that her icy nature would freeze any attempt to shift the blame and just make him look worse in the process. Thank God Jessica isn’t like her. I never would have made it through childhood.
Eliza shook her head in disbelief. “You really think that no one is going to notice us walking past them if we just change our clothes? Are you really going to bet our lives on such an amateur plan?”
“Do you have a better idea?” Locke asked her. “Look, all you have to do is act really confident, pretend like you belong, and people will think you do. It works all the time” --on television shows-- “where I’m from. I have seen dozens of people who got away with it.” I’ve watched at least a dozen movies where the main character pulls it off. “We’ll be fine.” I think.
“If this doesn’t work, I make sure I kill you before they get a chance to.” Eliza scowled at Locke, then looked down at the body. “Fine. Turn around and face that wall. If I even get the idea that you’re going to turn around, I’m going to stab you through the stomach and let you bleed out slowly.”
“I have to change too, though.”
“Then do it while staring at the wall.” Eliza pointed at the body Locke had only managed to take the shoes off of and then at the wall on the opposite side of the room.
“Are you going to face the wall too?” he asked, annoyed that his reputation had taken so many hits in the last day.
“No,” she snapped, “I’m going to watch you and make sure you don’t turn around or sneak a peek.”
“You’re going to watch me while I change?” Locke grumbled. It wasn’t too bad to change in a coed environment. Someone would glance every now and then, but that was never too big a deal. If they saw something, it wasn’t something that they hadn’t seen a million of on the Internet before, but to know someone was staring at you while you did it, well, Locke often found himself uncomfortable when people stared at him fully clothed. Modesty wasn’t even an issue in how awkward this was going to feel.
“Well? Get to it,” Eliza demanded impatiently. “We’re running out of time. They could search this place at any minute.”
“Fine!” Locke managed to yell while still keeping his volume down to the level of his ‘indoor voice.’ Facing the wall, he stripped the man of his armor and then put on the guard’s uniform over his own. Given that his chest wasn’t as big as the man’s, he was able to easily fit it on over the shiny new vestments that he had acquired from the boss. It wasn’t a super-comfortable fit, and the game seemed to automatically treat the outer layer as his ‘actual armor’ and disregard the stats of the armor underneath, but it worked.
When he was ready, he started to turn around to see if Eliza was done only to see a dagger whiz past him and plant itself on the wall he was looking at. “I. Will. Gut. You.” She stressed every word, and each syllable sent a new chill down Locke’s spine.
“I wasn’t looking!” he said quickly, “I just wanted to know if you were finished changing!” Locke put up his hands like the cops had just raided his house for his ultra-illegal stash of pirated movies and video games, and he was desperate not to get shot.
“Well, I am,” Eliza said back. “You’re rather slow.”
“Then why the threat?” Locke didn't even dare turn around until she said so. He wasn’t entirely sure whether she was joking or not, but he really didn’t want to end up on the floor bleeding out like a pig in a butcher’s shop.
“Because I told you what I’d do if you looked. I have to be a woman of my word.” She paused for a second and added, “But you can turn around now. We need to move. It won’t be long before someone notices that the guards out front are missing and comes to see what happened.”
“Thank you.” Locke dropped his hands and walked to the door, opening it for her in as much of an overly-gentlemanly a way as he knew how.
“You go in front and do the talking. I need to be far enough back to kill you before they do if things go wrong,” Eliza said, giving Locke her vote of confidence as the two made their way outside and toward the stairs to the city below.
“Ugh, those Human pests are at it again.” Locke overheard one of the two guards securing the stairs tell the other one as he approached, only to have the other guy motion with his head at Locke and Eliza. “I mean, it’s great to have you guys up here,” he added quickly.
“No, I totally agree. We are pests.” Locke laughed as if the comment were no big deal, but he was still a bit annoyed that the abuse seemed to be coming from all directions today. I killed a faction leader, and even the title I got, Feather Plucker, seems to be making fun of me. Why can’t I get at least one full minute of ‘Great job! You did well, Locke!’?
“Don’t worry about him. He’s just annoyed that the Holy Alliance acquisitioned so many men to search the Halls of Light for some intruders,” the guard explained. “He didn’t mean it.”
“No, it’s okay. We were dragged up here for the same reason . . . just happy to be able to go back down and see the action.” Locke gave the two another smile and started down the stairs with Eliza behind him.
Only after making it halfway down the stairs did Locke let out the breath he had been holding, relieved to be done with the post-boss nonsense of an escape. And to think, we did it with only one casualty. Go-go stealth gaming and movies. After all these years, Locke finally felt like his childhood appreciation of television and video games was finally paying off. Granted, this was in a virtual world, so it didn’t technically count as paying off in the real world, but he was going to count it anyway.
“Well, you got your revenge,” Eliza spoke, finally breaking the silence as they neared the bottom of the stairs.
“You mean ruining Anthony?” Locke asked for clarification. “Yeah, I guess I did,” he answered when Eliza nodded. “Why? What’s on your mind?”
“I’m wondering the same thing about you, Shy.”
Locke suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable, and it wasn’t just that he vehemently hated stairs as much as leg day at the gym. Something about the way she said his name, the topic of Anthony and the eerie silence that had preceded it made him wish that they were closer to the bottom of the dreadful staircase than they were.
He thought about multiple different responses he could give her as they continued down: ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ ‘Nothing more than getting
out of here,’ or even a few silly options that might get him killed like ‘Just thinking about that view you gave me while we were changing upstairs.’ In the end, he just couldn’t settle himself on any of them, and so silence was all that remained as the two continued their way to the bottom--that is until Eliza once more shattered it.
“Shy, I have to ask. What’s your next move?”
“I thought we’d make it out of here before coming up with any new plans. I don’t really know what type of battle is waiting for us on the ground floor, but I think heading toward the tavern, regrouping, and then figuring out how to put together a defense there might be our best option.” He was almost certain he had come up with a plan earlier, or at least they had an idea, but he couldn’t remember what it was now. Everything today has been moving so fast that my brain feels like it has been stirred up and beaten around like eggs battered in cake mix. Cake mix . . . It’s been so long since I’ve had cake mix . . . He got stuck on the word and lost his feeble train of thought. A memory of the time he and his sister had managed to eat an entire cake while watching movies together, a memory from before the accident, flashed through his head.
“You’re zoning out again,” Eliza said, calling him back to the conversation. “I already figured out what the plan would be, but that’s not what I am asking. I’m asking what your next move after that is going to be.”
“Hmmm . . .” Locke was stumped, baffled by how stupefied this question left him. I always know what comes next. Back to crafting, working tirelessly to be the best in a field that will surely blow up over time? He remembered how painfully empty his inventory was at the moment. “I really haven’t thought that far ahead. I still need to get back to trading soon. Maybe opening up a shop?” he thought aloud.
“You’re not going to keep pressing the fight against the Holy Alliance? I thought you said that it was your goal to dismantle them, to end them for good.”
Locke had been expecting her to bite his head off about a lack of conviction, and he was rather taken aback by how candid and flat her tone was. It was as if she didn’t care one way or the other what he picked.
“I’d like to,” he answered honestly. “I’d really like to, but I have to make money. I still have a sister that needs it, and there are people I owe. I got my revenge, I thwarted their plans, and I have a feeling that Anthony won’t be in charge of even the latrines for much longer after his commanding officer finds out how much he botched this. Now, I think I need to get back to providing for those who depend on me.” Locke felt amiss at having to give up all the excitement, but family was more important than the game, and he knew it. Not to mention, if the game didn’t prove profitable, he’d be back to taking every odd job in existence just to make ends meet.
“You have people who depend on you?” Eliza scoffed at Locke and didn’t bother trying to hide her amusement. “Are they’re still alive? I thought you said you lost everything to the Holy Alliance?”
“For the most part, I mean. I did lose everything . . . everything I needed to take care of them.” Locke shrugged and did his best to clarify what he meant with some semantic acrobatics. “She’s fine though.” He nodded a little and bit his lip as he thought about his sister’s carefree life. Well, she’s definitely enjoying life a lot more than I am. He gave a wan smile at the thought. He spent most of his days mindlessly grinding away, and his sister was probably talking with friends over coffee like she lived in a 90s sitcom in between studying her favorite subjects.
“That has to be a sight: the greedy, self-centered merchant taking care of someone.” She meant it as a joke, but the words felt like a light jab in Locke’s ribs. “I’d like to see that someday. It might make you come off as an actually person.”
“Who knows? Maybe we’ll run into each other while having lunch at a murder spree reunion tour.” Locke tried to keep it light, but he knew his sister would never be the type to play Tiqpa, so it wasn’t something he really needed to worry about.
“I think that might be rather hard to pull off,” a voice called out snidely from just below them. Locke jerked his head around to find a full squad of the Holy Alliance’s top fighters waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Anthony was standing in front of them all, and he was wearing a devilish grin that wiggled its way underneath Locke’s skin and set him on. “You know,” he continued, “given that one of you is about to permanently disappear.”
Wow, did you rip that straight from the villain in a classic film noir spy thriller? Locke looked around at the group waiting for him. He recognized two of them right away: Sol and Sal. What in the heck are those two doing with that jerk? Locke groaned as he remembered watching Sol and Sal on the battlefront before. They were unstoppable--not on the same terms as Eliza or the Demon King, but he couldn’t really remember anyone else who could contend with the two Dryads in terms of skill. Behind him were Naga mages, a Minotaur wielding a morning star, and an archer dressed in so much black that Locke instantly felt bad for the poor wannabe ninja. The weather wasn’t particularly hot in this part of Tiqpa, but it definitely wasn’t go-out-in-all-black-to-the-point-that-the-eyes-are-the-only-visible-part-of-you cool either.
“I’m sorry to have to do this,” Sal said, looking back and forth between Locke and Eliza, “but you can either come with us peacefully, or we will be forced to kill you where you stand.”
Eliza shrugged as if it were the most uninteresting thing she had ever heard. “So be it. We’re done here, anyway.” She casually unsheathed her swords as if there was no alternative, and fighting was a foregone conclusion. She didn’t even appear to need an invitation to fight, and it was as if the concept of attempting to talk her way out of it or make a bargain never even crossed her mind.
Locke half-expected to see her lick the blade and say something cheesy like ‘I might die, but I’m taking one of you with me. So, ask yourself, do you feel lucky, punk?’ He actually kind of wished she had, given the fact that her eerie silence and hair-trigger nature left him a lot more uncomfortable than corny lines.
“Well, I guess you two have already made up your minds,” Sol said. He was just about to pull out his weapon when an idea struck Locke.
“Wait!” Locke held up both his hands like he was surrendering. “Wait a moment!”
Eliza shot him a look out of the corner of her eye that was pure disgust. It was something he would have expected from his sister if she bit into a slice of pizza expecting ham and pineapple but got ketchup on macaroni instead. “I didn’t realize you made such a habit of begging for your life,” she muttered under her breath.
“I’m not groveling. I just feel like something should go on record before I die.” Locke kept his hands in the air like a minority trying not to get shot in the 1950s during a routine traffic stop. He looked between Sal and Sol, trying to judge their reactions before he made his gambit.
“What are you talking about?” Sal asked first. “You plan on confessing to your girl before you both die?”
Is that always where your head is? On women? Locke clenched his eyes as he remembered the number of embarrassing times the two had been caught talking about less-than-chaste topics. “No, I am just going to point out that it’s not fair to say we have a decision in this when it’s already been made for us.”
“What?” Sal asked.
“Yeah, what?” Sol repeated the question.
“We wouldn’t have given you the choice if we didn’t plan on letting you actually have a say in this, but come on, we already know you’re going to fight to the death,” Sal explained.
“Well, that may be the case for me, but not for her. She’s native to the lands,” Locke continued, careful not to use the abbreviation NPC around an actual NPC. “But it wasn’t you or me who made the choice. He did.” Locke leveled out his hand and pointed at Anthony. “I just wanted that to go on the record.”
“What do you mean?” Sol asked, his curiosity kicking in, exactly as Locke had hoped.
“He’s just stalling us, So
l,” Sal said, ever the more clear-headed of the two.
“No, I’m not,” Locke insisted. “He said it himself: He’s going to get us banned one way or another. Just like how he got those other people banned that wouldn’t do what he wanted. Just like he got Locke banned.”
“What? You got Locke banned?” Sol turned to face Anthony, his usual jolly, green composition turning almost yellow as his face flushed with anger.
“Easy, Sol. These two are just messing with us. There is no way that Anthony would have gotten Locke banned,” Sal said.
“That’s not the story he had to tell,” Locke continued. “He was pretty quick to threaten having us banned for interfering with his plans and to brag about the fact that he had done it several times before. He made it pretty obvious that he did the same thing to Locke when he refused to sell his weapons at next to nothing.
“That’s not true!” Anthony exclaimed. “Who are you going to believe? Me, your commanding officer, or two enemies who just ruined our efforts to gain hold of this city?”
“Well, there is one way to find out,” Sal looked at Sol. “We can send Locke a message. If his account is banned, it’ll notify us that the person doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Oh yeah, I completely forgot about that. Why didn’t we think to try that earlier?” Sol nodded at Sal.
Locke gulped. If they do that . . . Will the message be forwarded to me? Or will it actually notify them? He panicked. Ash hadn’t been very clear on exactly how she had ‘fixed’ his account. She had only been clear on the fact that she didn’t want anyone working to uncover her scheme or part in saving him, and here he was, bringing up the event one more time for other people to talk about. Friendly neighborhood Ash is totally going to turn into Friendly neighborhood murderer as soon as this confrontation is over. He took a deep breath, hoping they wouldn’t test him.
