VR Capsule Room #3, Gaming Sanctuary
Regaining consciousness, I exchange one tired, stiff body for another. Ergonomically designed or not, there's only so much you can expect when you're forced into stillness for hours on end, unable to shift your weight. The top-of-the-line capsules come with all sorts of bells and whistles to make using them as comfortable as possible, but even they have their limits. I myself used a fairly high-end model, a Yume PL80S, and about 20 hours was the limit. I heard rumours that Saints had exclusive, custom-built models specifically tailored to their biometrics which supported up to five days of continuous use at a time, but I imagine that would be pushing it even for as much money as they no doubt poured into them.
One shudders to imagine how much it cost to create and maintain one of those machines.
With some help from the attendant on duty this evening whose name I have yet to bother memorising despite our prolonged acquaintance by now, I extricate myself from the capsule and run through some post-dive exercises to limber up and reorient myself. The biggest problem on that front isn't really the stiffness honestly, but the approximately two-second delay on my body's movements. It's not as if I'm unfamiliar with suddenly shifting reaction speeds or prolonged differences, but I've been forced to spend weeks like that in contrast, with my entire body lagging behind.
Obviously, that's going to have adverse effects on your perception of time, spatial awareness and so on, but it's also excellent training from an optimistic point of view. One of the two major benefits to being an early adopter of Astral Reckoning that those same people mentioned when trying to explain their generally superior reactions was that they'd spent up to two months of virtual time moving and planning their actions at least two seconds ahead by necessity.
Granted, much of the processes of one's Vessel are autonomous, not needing conscious input, but history proved it to be quite effective at getting people ready for those kinds of tactics well in advance of the time such things are required. Sure, even early on, a split-second can be the difference between life and death, but as Levels are accrued, that margin for error continuously narrows and the foes develop rapidly in cunning.
Moreover, even if many of the players who stuck around are likely familiar with combat already through other VR games, not all of them will be, nor will all of them have taken it that seriously before even if they possess a martial background. It could well be that the current Class they have isn't even a playstyle they would typically utilise in the past. There are many variables, but all can gain benefits if they choose to recognise them as such.
Ideally, I'd be spending most of my time with the rest of the Guild in our 1-Star Training Hall, making the most of it while money and people pour in passively without any need for my intervention, but that's wishful thinking on my part. It seems I underestimated just how much money Hadrian must have thrown at the game to get as far as he did, and how much would actually be possible with the state of Meteo as it promised to be.
That's not even mentioning the revelation of what's currently sitting inside of my soul, courtesy of Lady Jannis. But I don't even want to think about it right now, and the cocktail I've been promised is sounding extremely attractive right now, as I move into the main hall where the others are stood waiting for me.
"Alex. You look like a man in desperate need of alcohol," Henry smiles. pitying, "You good to go? We've got things to talk about, and I think you'll need something strong in hand to accompany the news."
I frown, suspicious, "...What is that supposed to mean?"
"Ditto," Jinx frowns, biting her lip.
"Talk later, walk now," Sherry orders gruffly, "Fuck whatever else I said I was gonna do and being responsible, momma needs some booze to take the edge off."
Pollock, Avenue du Maine, Paris
Taking lead from Jinx, we arrive a short while later at the bar she works in, a rather upscale joint from what I'm given to understand, but not so prestigious as to be exclusively patronised by the elite. The sort of place that reviews well in travel brochures and blogs, attracting tourists by the boatload because of its competent staff, inoffensive decor and, perhaps most importantly, affordable drinks menu.
At least, compared to other cocktail bars in Paris, which are almost all absurdly pricey, and even more blatant at their being tourist traps. If you want to drink alcohol in Paris, you're honestly better off getting a glass of wine or two along with a meal at any restaurant than specifically hunting down sommeliers and bars.
I can't say I have much of an opinion on the culture, nor Pollock itself. It's predominantly a white-dominated colour scheme, with random splashes of paint that are probably meant to be different colours in reference to the bar's namesake, but in the dim lighting, most of it has been washed out into dark greys and blacks instead, save for where these tableaus are near a light source. The bar counter spans the length of the room, and behind a glass screen has rows and rows of alcohol bottles of various makes and types. I'm no expert, but it looks to me like they have at least one bottle of everything you might expect to see.
Jinx herself has slipped off to the staff room after exchanging words with her co-worker in order to change into her uniform and take over the shift, while the three of us remaining take a seat on highbacked woven metal stools with faux-leather cushioned seats. It's a little awkward to sit on, on account of how tall they are compared to other chairs, but once the sense of vertigo is tamed, not entirely uncomfortable.
"Been a while since I dropped by," Henry notes wistfully, "Busy and all."
"Same," Sherry agrees, "Haven't had a good drink in nearly two weeks. What's your poison tonight?"
"Thinking a Manhattan. Keep it classic," he muses, resting his chin on his palm, and his elbow in turn on the counter while he looks across at the two of us, "How about you two?"
"Green Necromancer," she yawns, while I stare at the menu screen embedded into the bar counter at the example cocktails offered. Supposedly, you can request your own mixers or stuff that isn't on it, but 'they can't guarantee the quality'. The Green Necromancer Sherry wants is an example, since I can only find reference to a 'Necromancer' without the 'Green' prefix.
"What makes it a Green one?" I ask out of curiosity.
"Lime instead of lemon," Sherry sniffs, as though it were obvious. And honestly, it kind of is.
"Well, I don't see much I'm interested in on here, but I want a Pogo Stick, if Jinx can make that," I murmur, leaning back, "If not, then I'll have a Dried Meadow Flower."
"Don't know that one," she squints.
"It's tequila, elderflower mead and lemon juice on ice," I recall hazily, "Haven't had it in a long time, and felt like reliving some nostalgia."
If memory serves, it's what I drank when I went to the stag night for Taylor's husband, in a bar at Soho. Thinking about it some more, I reckon I'll ask for that first instead, actually.
"Odd combo," Henry observes, "Sounds interesting though."
"Might try one after," Sherry agrees, "Doesn't sound like it'll clash too much, taste-wise."
"Perhaps. I'm not that experienced with cocktails. Usually, if I do drink at all, it'll be straight," I roll my head, rubbing my neck, feeling as though a thick and heavy weight has been inserted between the spine and the skull, "One shot of something great and done. I recognise that mixing drinks has more nuances, but I don't have the time or energy to invest in the subject."
I've got many better things to do with my time, even putting aside the necessary work. Training, smithing, reading, these appeal to me more as hobbies, and also help further my professional interests. I've even learned more about business management in the past three weeks than I have in decades. and it's definitely gratifying to expand my knowledge in useful ways.
On the other hand, I don't see much use in learning how to make several dozen different alcoholic drinks, or by extension, learning how to cook elaborate meals when it's far more efficient and convenient to buy them ready-made or order them from someone who actually is invested in the field. Each to their own Path.
Jinx emerges a minute or two later, amidst some small talk about preferred liquor brands, giving off a slightly more refined air than the slapdash vibe she typically exudes in a casual setting, though the sense of distance is something I am by now quite familiar with as something Jinx does when she focuses on a subject she's interested in.
After washing her hands quickly, donning an apron and drying her hands, she addresses us properly, "So, mes amies, your orders?"
"Green Necromancer."
"Manhattan on the rocks."
Jinx frowns with disapproval before I get my order out, "Hen, I've told you before Manhattans don't have ice..."
"I know, and I don't care," he smiles cheekily back at her, daring her to make a scene, "I want it on the rocks."
"Guh, philistine," she clicks her tongue in disgust, "Alex, sorry, what are you having?"
"Are you familiar with a cocktail called a 'Dried Meadow Flower'?"
"Can't say I am, but that's why I have internet access," she smiles shamelessly, digging her phone out, "Unless you know the recipe?"
"Not precisely, but you should have the ingredients," I assure her, "Not that dissimilar from Sherry's drink."
"Uh-huh, so I see..." she mutters, scanning over the recipe she's brought up, "So, if I'm understanding this, it's tequila, elderflower liqueur, lemon juice, gentian syrup and soda?"
"Sounds about right," I nod.
"This's pretty obscure, as drinks go, where'd you come across it?" she eyes me with curiosity.
"A bar in Soho," I admit, "Been a while since, and I'm not sure if it's even in business now."
It's been about 17 years since I went, after all. Wouldn't be surprised if it was open for business now, wouldn't be surprised if it hasn't been founded yet. Either way, the drink predates it by quite some time. Most cocktails are easily over a century old, I think.
"Um, lemme check if we have any gentian..." Jinx puffs some air through her lips, a far-off look in her eyes as she moves along the bar, checking on a series of unmarked bottles with metal, syringe-like spigots in their necks for ease of pouring. Picking up two likely candidates, she lifts them up and checks their bases, where a mark in black marker denotes the contents in shorthand.
"Lucky. Looks like this expires tomorrow," she hums happily to herself, replacing the incorrect bottle of pale yellow fluid, "Actually, I think it's about time to make another batch of simple syrup infusions...note to self, hm."
"If you don't mind, I'll take it with a wedge of orange, instead of lemon," I request upon her return with several more bottles cradled in her arms against her torso.
"Sure, sure. Just let me get the easy one out the way first," Jinx mutters, separating the bottles on her workspace into rough groupings before retrieving two martini glasses with a small ribbed neck and an ordinary collins glass for our drinks, placing them with their respective ingredients.
She works quickly through Henry and Sherry's orders with practised ease and only needs to glance at her phone screen once or twice while making my own order, finishing it with a long squeeze of a petrol station hose dispensing the soda water and a quarter-wedge of orange. That she's unfamiliar with the drink does little to diminish the effects of her experience behind a bar.
"Aha, there we go, your drink, monsieur," she lifts the frosty glass and places it gently in front of me, atop a red glass coaster, "And yours...and this tainted Manhattan."
"Judge me all you want, love, I won't apologise," Henry chuckles throatily, sipping on his drink, "I prefer it chilled."
Sherry, meanwhile, chugs down a quarter of her drink in one long draught without a hint of discomfort, as though it were little more than cool spring water, "Mm. That's so much better."
"Accustomed to drinking, I see," I observe blithely, recalling that she's something of an alcoholic herself from our earliest conversations.
"Yeah, so?" she side-eyes me, taking another sip, "I like it."
"To each their own," I elect not to pursue that line of conversation, retreating into my own cup. It's rather bitter, but softly so, blunted mightily by the soda water and ice.
"How is it?" Jinx asks expectantly.
"Close to my memory of it," I concede, taking another sip and letting it sit in my mouth for a moment more before swallowing, "Though I'll admit I wasn't overly fond of it the first time, so don't think of it as me damning you with faint praise."
"Why did you order it then?" Henry questions nosily.
"Reminds me of a wedding I attended," I explain simply, not exactly lying, but not elaborating any further than that, "So it has some sentimental value if nothing else."
"That's as good a reason as any," he agrees, "In any case, you've been kept waiting long enough, I suppose. Do you want to explain, or should I, Sher?"
"You do it, can't be arsed right now," Sherry grunts, chugging down the remainder in one go with a grimace, "Hey, J, one of what he had."
"The Meadow Flower?"
"Yeah."
"Alright. Any suggestions for improving it, Alex?"
"A little more of the spirits and less soda water," I advise, "It's a little washed out, as is, if that makes sense?"
"Bon. Anyway, get talking, love, I'm dying to hear what's the matter."
Henry sighs, "Some proxies from Kings & Queens Ltd have been sniffing around, trying to recruit us individually."
"Rambling Rose's backers, huh," I take a quaff of my drink, "In a way, I'm surprised they've been quiet for as long as they have been. It would appear that they couldn't wait any longer..."
"That was our conclusion, yeah. From what Olrica and Morn were saying, it's probably a precursor to a bigger play," he continues, "Details are sparse, but from Olrica's snooping around, it looks like DDA is preparing it's forces for something big in the next few days as well, so odds are the two are related somehow."
"Which is a problem, because they've gotten a few hundred schmucks together for it," Sherry adds, "And there's some buzz that a bunch of 'em have already passed the first class change after hanging around in Goldmoss for the past week."
"In other words, we're boned in a direct confrontation," Henry concludes, "We can't fight off several hundred players under the current circumstances, and we don't have any allies of significance that can bail our ass out the fire. Maybe if we still had the full security benefits that a City had, we could outlast them, but as it stands..."
"It's the other way around," Jinx infers, "Suddenly, I'm glad to already be several hundred miles away."
"I for one, am feeling the inverse of that sentiment," I clench my teeth, "But I daresay there'd be little I could do to help the situation. We aren't ready for this."
"One option we came up with is to just abandon Meteo," Henry offers, gesturing with his glass, "We don't really stand to gain much from duking it out with them, win or lose. Plus, we could all benefit from moving to a different zone for a while. Without a fertile ground, the plan to develop a foundation in Meteo isn't going to go anywhere without enough of our own resources to force a change even without hostile forces in the area conspiring against us."
"...Not an option," I declare stubbornly. It makes reasonable sense, I grant them, but we can't afford to buckle under the pressure nor give up our claim to Meteo. We don't have other options that we can take advantage of, even if I made an effort to do so from Launch. The closest alternative would be making a name for myself in the Frontier War at Taladi's Waystation, but ultimately the mid-to-long-term benefits would fall short by comparison. Maybe it's greedy of me, but after taking the proverbial keys to the city in hand, I'm not eager to give them over to the first person looking to bully me.
Regardless of the source of the information that allowed for me to do so, I refuse to let the fruits of my efforts be stolen by feckless, green-eyed ingrates. Or, such are my feelings, but practically speaking, I have to concede that holding our position is going to be a trial.
"Another is to just hole up in the mansion and defend it passively," Henry puts another plan on the table for consideration, "Even if the town guard NPCs are less powerful, they still maintain a heavier patrol presence in the Western Residential district because it's where most of the important people seem to live. Eventually, they'll give up."
"Also not an option, but information that is worth keeping in mind," I sigh, exasperated, "Our best option for getting through this as things stand is likely to gain assistance from the local Merrowans."
"How?" Sherry asks sarcastically, "Please enlighten us, o Lord of Tours~"
"...Sarcasm aside, that's more or less the idea I'm working with," I deadpan, "Even if my actual legislative power is basically non-existent...I am still nominally a noble of the Empire of Stone, and the highest possible rank at that. As the leader of Truthseekers, you are all on some level similar in nature to my House's retainers. If you are able to put in a word with the right people amongst the Empire's government, they'll be more or less obligated to step in to save face."
"Sounds plausible, but difficult. Not to mention there's no guarantee it'll work or that we'll get the right help in time for it to make a difference," Henry objects, "Didn't it take like, a couple days for those soldiers to get to Meteo for that event that happened before we started playing?"
"Yeah, and then they just sat outside the gates with their thumbs up their asses," Sherry rolls her eyes, "They've already left too. Calling 'em back to do the same thing again in perpetuity is just gonna piss'em off. It's not fuckin' worth it to keep trying to hold on to this live goddamn grenade, man, just give up."
I finish off my drink and slam the glass down on the counter, making her flinch, "It won't be too late to leave later if we absolutely must, but I refuse to let us go down meekly without a fight. Contact Town Hall and the Pioneers' Alliance, see what they can do for us with my authority. I'll make some inquiries of my own once we reach our destination tomorrow or the day after, assuming matters aren't already dealt with by then."
My position as a Blade of Lady Jannis is also not that inferior to my Lord status, mainly in that it's valid throughout the entire world, so long as her followers exist in that place. Of course, it's not without its own drawbacks, as rival forces to my Guide and the things she stands for will be all too happy to take me on to prove a point or make an example of me.
Henry and Sherry both stare at me, their thoughts a mystery. Henry is the first to concede his stance, "Alright. We'll do it your way for now, but don't blame us if we end up abandoning Meteo anyway without you, Alex. You did leave matters in Meteo to Win's judgment, after all, didn't you?"
Sherry's eyes narrow at that question, expectant of my answer, "I did, and I stand by that decision. But by that same token, you all need to prove that you can handle yourselves if we want to take this guild any further. If you fail here, it will be a long time before we can recover, and by then it may already be too late."
I twist my wrist, the ice in my glass rattling against the confines, slowly melting into a discoloured soup at the bottom, "So, make an effort to succeed."
Thanks for the chapter!
Good job on the atmosphere of the conversation while they drank, felt realistic 