Angelus
1-Star Employment Bureau, Ground Floor, Truthseekers' Main Headquarters
Once Silver takes the guild reps downstairs, it doesn't take long for Morn and I to be politely asked to get out of the office area while our newly employed Clerks undergo some rudimentary training exercises on handling clients, so that we can go acquire various writing implements and parchment papers.
Tucking the tome I borrowed into my armpit while I stretch my stiff fingers, I belatedly notice that one of our visitors didn't elect to follow after our leader, and remains stood ahead of us looking a little lost.
"Is there something the matter?" Morn questions genially, faking a smile.
The man snaps out of his funk with a shudder, "Oh-oh, uh, right. So, I'm here with some...jobs? From Voyagers, I'm Marcus. Not really here for a tour of the place, so I was kind of wondering if I should just wait for Silver to come back or..."
Morn and I share a glance, seemingly of the same mind.
"We can hear you out," I offer politely, "I'm an officer, after all. So are you, aren't you Morn?"
"Something along those lines," her lips purse together, "In some ways, it's like I never left Rambling Rose."
That's harsh, I won't lie.
Not that I really know what it's like to work for them, but I can more or less understand what she means since her actual position within the guild is a bit nebulous - as a matter of fact Morn and Olrica tend to find themselves being asked to play the role of Silver's gophers, from what I've seen. Which, yeah, they 'work' for him and they are probably the best people to ask, but I'm not sure I'm in a position to sympathise.
Since I barely end up doing anything when healing isn't required and I can't really call indulging half-heartedly in side-content for my own enjoyment 'helping out' in good faith.
Fact is, I have the financial security to indulge and they're working some pretty ridiculous hours for no pay. Not for the first time, I find myself wondering what exactly is driving them to such lengths, and Silver's face whenever the mood turns as serious as yesterday comes to mind just as quickly...and my left arm starts to itch from a different memory.
Perhaps...I'm not so different on some level.
"Well, if you've not seen it already," Marcus clears his throat, "Seems like the gate has more or less cleared out in the past couple in-game days, so getting in and out of Meteo is actually feasible without needing to spend most of the day getting in or out without some sort of special permission. So, we need to get people together for dungeon runs, and Voyagers wants to hire Truthseekers as guides for Wolf Lord's Remains."
"I see," scratching my forearm subtly behind my back, I nod in understanding, expecting something of that nature to pop up, "Well, this is definitely under my authority to talk about then. I have to wonder if it's the people you want or the strategy we used though? Because those are different things with different price tags."
Might as well make some contributions by exaggerating our value.
"We can definitely put together fifty people, no problem," he waves as if brushing away my concerns telepathically, "But Klare was pretty insistent that we sub someone out for at least one of Truthseekers'. We aren't really a cohesive unit or anything, so having someone who knows what they're doing with a rep to their names leading will do wonders. To paraphrase her, 'cus Klare was a lot less eloquent when she said it."
"Having met her, I can imagine," I smirk knowingly, "Well, sure, I'm down to go run it some more, but..."
"But..?"
"We can't take that many people," Inefficient though it might be for levelling. Of course, I'm taking Silver at his word here, since it worked out for us doing it his way so far.
Marcus frowns, not understanding, "Why's that?"
"We haven't even talked about payment or signed a contract yet," I tease him, "Why should I say anything else?"
The man sighs, dejected, "Right, of course...What do you want for your help, then? I'll pass on the word to the others."
"A single drop of Spellcaster equipment that comes from the bosses plus a down payment in real-world money per run, and a choice of one piece of loot if no spellcaster gear drops," I channel a bit of my brother to seem more 'official' and maintain a polite smile, "As for generic loot, we'll take a portion of any Carcasses and Minor Bestial Memory Crystals that happen to drop. Probably something like 10-20%?"
"15% should be equitable," Morn follows-up, "As far as monetary value, $250 per member of Truthseekers per successful run. Or a full day for $1200 per person."
Marcus goes slack-jawed, "That's a pretty hefty asking price."
"Truthseekers is entering a very busy period to consolidate our assets and prepare to open our businesses to the public," Morn replies, completely unruffled, "Our time at this juncture is at a high premium, and most of our members have work enough already without needing to participate in external commissions. The Guildmaster has stressed that we are to co-operate where we can with other groups, so long as it is worth our time."
Seems to me that she's exaggerating to give the illusion of us being a hot commodity. I am not about to call her out on her heavy-handed approach, though I can already hear her lecturing me about the importance of setting a bottom line or something like that. Weirdly, it blends together with Silver's dry voice, and I can only just manage suppress the shudder the resulting image gives me for the sake of appearances.
"Well, if you're setting the bar so high I dunno if we can really afford it in that case," Marcus hesitates, clearly baulking at the potential expenses, "I mean, I'll pass it on but..."
"That's fine," Morn assures him placidly, "We will still be here should you need us."
"Right..."
Dejected, Marcus bids us farewell and beats a hasty retreat, likely dreading having to report back the bad news to that Scottish banshee.
"You aren't worried that might have been too much?" I question, thinking of Silver's faux pas.
"No," Morn shakes her head slowly, "Their response is not hard to predict. Miss Creed will behave stubbornly, refusing to believe you, and lead her jumbled cohort to a disaster. Sufficiently humbled, a representative - not the woman herself of course - will come calling at our doorstep with a mind to revisit the offer not long after, and far more amenable to extortion."
Chuckling, I eye her appreciatively, "So you admit to exaggerating our worth."
"One of the fundamental practices of business," she stares back unapologetically, "Always project confidence in yourself and your product."
"Well said," a gruff voice chimes in with well-timed praise, the new Chief of the Employment Bureau. A rather unassuming seeming fellow who no doubt took great care to give that impression for his career as a small-town merchant. He reminds me of a character from my second book, for some reason.
"I daresay I would have handled the matter in a similar fashion," he continues, standing straight as a rake, "Perhaps with a little more delicacy, however. You do not appear to mince words, oalerte."
Morn bows her head then reaches up to push her hair back into place, with one smooth, habitual, motion that to my mind betrays her irritation, "My occupation is not that of a negotiator, after all. Is there something you needed, Mr Lonsz?"
"Ah, yes. Seeing as how you yourselves are still present, I was just about to mention that I am going to leave for a short while," Mr Lonsz clears his hoarse throat, raising a pipe retrieved from an inner-jacket pocket to his lips, not filling the scratched-up wooden bowl with whatever passes for tobacco in this world, but simply letting it rest between his lips as he chews the end absently like one might chew a fingernail, a habit I've noted among smokers meaning to leave a building, "I admit I was not expecting to be put to work immediately after arriving to make my petition for employment, so there are a few matters I need to take care of. Further, I shall take the opportunity to call with some of my former employees, as I am to understand that there still exist vacant positions within Truthseekers' administration and logistics."
"At present, the only such vacancies I am aware of are for the Employment Bureau," Morn points out with a minute twist of her lower lip, "Please be sure to advise them of this."
It's probably for the best that this man is not allowed to fully embed all his lackeys into the guild, I note privately, well-aware of the potential for corruption. Not to imply it wouldn't be inevitable on some level, whether something as small as a bit of corner-cutting or as serious as embezzlement, the larger the organisation becomes the easier it is for little indiscretions to get quietly lost in the shuffle of paperwork, and speaking for myself at least, I, unlike my bro, wouldn't know what to look for in any event.
"Of course, of course. It will be made clear that they'll need to prove themselves," Mr Lonsz smiles professionally, revealing a hint of some rather messed-up dental work that his pipe's stem fits neatly into. I've seen similar damage on long-term drug users when our grandparents brought us volunteering at a homeless shelter 'to teach us humility'.
To say that my parents were unimpressed would be an understatement. Then again, dad's kind of a bourgeois prick whenever anything related to The Crash is brought up and mom's never worked an honest day in her life, so who can say how much of it was for concern for our well-being and how much was simmering about 'irresponsible layabouts'?
Surprisingly, I don't call my parents very often. Funny that.
"There won't be any need for anything too stringent," I remind him, "According to Silver's requirements, at least."
"According to anh-serte, perhaps, but to borrow a turn of phrase from yourself, serte, if this is to be 'my department' then it behoves me to ensure and enforce a minimum standard," he explains simply, reaching once again into his coat to retrieve a thin, round metal container with a smaller wooden round embedded into the lid that's clearly seen better days, "If you will excuse me, serte, maerte, I should see these matters done well before sunset. Stars Bless."
As he leaves, he flips open the container and starts filling his pipe with a pinch of some blue-grey dust and a tiny red leaf. My studies on alchemy and botany are still too surface level to identify them, but if it's a common practice it won't be hard to discern what it is he's smoking. Hopefully, my concerns as to the possibility of drug addiction are unfounded, but if he's reached his age with his faculties and health, perhaps it's nothing too serious.
"I do not like that one," Morn comments, surprising me.
"Any reason why?"
"He reminds me of some of my old managers," she replies, her eyes never leaving his back until the front doors shut behind him, "..Never mind. I should get back to work. And you should find some work to do in the first place."
Avoiding her judging stare, I turn my head to see Silver returning with our visitors. The man himself seems rather peeved by something, while one of the representatives trailing a little further behind the rest of them - who appear to be doing their best to ignore him - looks like he just got all Fs on his report card. Or, if we are to consider how his canid ears are flattened against his scalp, a scolded dog. Perhaps related?
After negotiating their way through the desks to the open hall, Silver stops and turns to address them all with confidence, back straight and cold-eyed. Day by day, he's getting a little more used to being in command of any given social interaction, I observe with mixed feelings, unsure of whether to be relieved that the awkwardness is slipping away and worried that it might be happening a little too quickly for someone as obviously lacking the in-born ease for it as he is.
I'll privately admit he has certainly has a kind of charisma about him somewhere underneath, born from that strong sense of purpose, but it's like a roaring bonfire or a blunt instrument wielded clumsily. Much of this is even by his own admission, in point of fact, which gives me some hope that it won't atrophy into something truly ugly. Not anytime soon, at least.
To quote an old cliché, 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions', after all. But if I had to be blunt, Silver would probably burn himself hollow before things degrade to that point since Silver has a strange understanding of the word 'restraint' in his work ethic. Alas, when has it ever been any different for the self-righteous?
In that respect, he sort of reminds me of my brother, at once wholly selfish and self-sacrificing...
At least brother dearest has a battleaxe of a wife who can generally keep him in check, mercifully.
"-with that, our business is concluded for the day," Silver declares in a tone that brooks no dissent, "In future, I have to insist that you make a proper appointment in advance if you want to talk to me about business. I can't spare much time away from other duties going forward, so you can consider this a stroke of good fortune to have caught me idle today."
Though the guests mouth apologies and overtures to speak to them in private sometime soon, the sincerity doesn't permeate their body language or reach their eyes. If anything looking offended at being dismissed so half-heartedly, as if by an annoyed parent wanting to drink their evening glass of wine in peace.
Speaking of, we had an errand to run, so I should follow suit.
Later that day...
Private Sparring Chamber, B1F, Truthseekers Main Headquarters
Windy apparently having wandered off at some point for reasons unknown, I returned to the sparring chamber to recommence the rather invigorating process of acclimating to my Vessel's range of moment and force. From stretches to a brief sprinting stamina test and some modest acrobatics - I find myself eminently satisfied with the optimisation efforts undertaken by Hectic Works.
When the door opens, I'm in the midst of a one-armed, upright push-up, the 23rd of the set. Upside down, Windy gingerly shuts the door behind her before recoiling in surprise once our eyes meet.
"...What are you doing?"
"Exercising," I respond blithely, breathing harshly through grit teeth as I slowly lower my legs to stand up, "Testing my limits. You should join me in making a habit of it."
"Sounds exhausting," Windy grimaces, "I already do pilates in the morning in real life without doubling down in-game."
"Believe me, I sympathise," I start the process of cooling down my muscles, "However, the B.A.S and time difference make skipping out on it highly inadvisable in terms of mechanical value, and I'm not about to start quoting the F.T.D test's 'advice' portion at you of all people."
"I have it burned into my memory, like the face of Mr Jimsy from that one episode of Friendly Avenue," she quips, closing the distance and hopping up onto the platform, "Think it was the Pilot? They changed the suit design after."
"Not familiar with it, didn't get to watch much TV in the ol' orphanage," I admit to her, "Since you've deigned to appear, I'm assuming that you've figured out a response of some kind?"
"Yeah, but, orphanage?" Windy's eyes widen a bit at the digression.
"My aunt and uncle couldn't afford to support us financially with 4 kids of their own already," I explain simply, "I don't blame them, but mostly because they made a point to check in on us and help pay for my sist-you know, never mind, that's neither here nor there."
"Sorry," she wrings her hands, "A-anyway, so...patch day really happened huh?"
The lame segue can be forgiven, "Yes. I did say it would."
"Well, a girl's gotta judge for herself, y'know?" relaxing, the anxiety bleeds away to leave a sort of resolve in it's place, "We've gotten all mixed up, it feels like. In a failure to communicate sorta way."
"That seems to be the case," I answer slowly, letting her warm up to the meat of the matter, "I've already made a go of saying what's on my mind, however."
"Yeah...yeah you definitely 'tried'," Windy glances off to the side, then the other as if the secret to vocalising her own thoughts were written in the air around her, "That sounded meaner than I meant it to when I'm having trouble getting that far myself."
With a shake of her torso, she stares right into my eyes unflinching, "I'm sorry."
"...You're sorry?"
"...Don't get me wrong it's not like you're innocent."
Windy sighs, folding her arms across her chest, shoulders bunched up, "Weirdly, hearing you rant about that shit helped me realise something. Not what you said, for the most part, but how you said it. Because yeah, you're right, I don't understand a damn thing about why Astral Reckoning is so fucking important to you. None of us do - hell, Olrica probably understands it even less and she's got more insight into it than anyone else here short of you, supposedly."
...I think I can sort of see where she's going with this, but as per usual I let my conversation partner say their piece.
"BUT! I don't care about that," she raises a finger, wagging it. Maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions.
"...What I care about," Windy continues, "Is that I don't care. Which sounds like an oxymoron, but hear me out: I...don't really have much going for me, goal-wise. Sure, I got my degree - I earned it - but up until recently I never really put a whole lot of thought into my future. Or like, what I actually ought to care about. Like, the thing that really motivates me to get up in the morning. I don't know what that feeling is like, and until I met you I didn't really know what it looked like to care that much about something."
She shakes her head, "No, I'll rephrase that...I don't know what it's like to have an all-consuming purpose. But I want to. So, I ended up pinning all these projected feelings and expectations on you without me really realising it. I think. So, yeah, I'm sorry."
"If I'm...understanding this right," I begin my response slowly after a long, considering pause, "You took me for...some sort of role model?"
"Uhh, not exactly? That doesn't sound quite right, but it's probably the closest concept I can think of."
With a harsh sigh, her arms fall to her sides and she shuffles her feet, "More like...a prototype demo for a quality I want to grow for myself, I guess? Just maybe not the, like, whole package. Heh, phrasing. I mean, I want to have that clarity of will, just not...your pretty obvious baggage. Does that make sense?"
"That...sounds like a role model, but whatever makes you happy," I smile helplessly, her confusion evidently infectious.
Windy smiles back, just as ambivalent, "Sorry, you're no Leianna McCross."
"...Doesn't ring a bell."
"She's the one who created the original formula for D.E.F, after the 2051 Coffin Incident," Windy's arms slowly raise back to her chest like two poles of a magnet, "Her life was pretty wild, even accounting for her contributions medically and academically. Without her, VR never would have gotten over the stigma from the Coffin Incident."
"Yeah, I never paid much attention in History class," I shrug after failing to recall them, "Or, at least, regular History. Art History, absolutely, I used to be an expert. But the only regular History I bothered to study was related to the artworks and artists I was researching. Things like the grand larceny and vandalism of the Nazi's - Gurlitt and Göring, in particular, were names that cropped up a lot."
"I feel like that's a different sort of..." Windy coughs, interrupting herself, "Never mind, we're getting off-topic."
"Mm. So, to conclude?"
"...To conclude, even if Uncle Eric ends up deciding otherwise, I think I'll figure something out on my own," Windy huffs, "I could still stand to learn something from your example, but don't think I'm just going to let you being an insensitive dick go unchallenged. You've got to talk to us, properly."
"I know, Sherry already made that clear this morning," I agree sincerely.
"...Bet she did," Windy mutters, then blinks, "Wait, you two had a heart to heart already? Is that what she's been super mopey about?"
"Like as not," I nod hesitantly, "You'll understand if I don't talk too much about it, but over the next few weeks I'll be making time to teach you all. Both about my knowledge and at least some pointers on melee combat. I can't serve us a proper mentor in either, but I'll at least try and get the officers on the same page as me. Or as close as I can concede. Even if my memory were perfect, there's no time to go through everything, and there's still things better left unsaid for one reason or another. Not that I'm really trying to persist in, quote, 'being all mysterious', but some information is either too private, too incomplete, or too volatile to let be known this early on, and I mean that with all sincerity."
"Continuing the analogy from the last time," I scratch at my cheek, "I can show you all the 'map' I've sketched and the 'guidebook' I wrote, but the details won't all be clear at first glance."
"Dumb metaphor, but sure, better than nothing," Windy replies, judging, "So, that's where I'm standing right now. Got a question though, having hear all that."
"Is it whether I knew you before or not..?"
"Guess Sher already asked, huh?" she smirks, "Sometimes we share a brain cell, hah. Can't say I'm not curious too, but I figure we didn't. That orrr you're a better actor than I gave you credit for. Nah, I just wanna ask - and be serious: Is this really worth it to you? What are you really getting out of going this far?"
"That's two questions."
In lieu of a verbal response from my retort, I answer, "I don't really know yet. I believe there's meaning enough in the journey to find out what's really happening to risk this...do-over I never asked for. I need to know if it's worth more than the life I lived and lost."
Windy smiles, "Even without a medical degree to back me up, I can say right now that life is too precious to be realistically weighted and given arbitrarily definitive value. But I'll be here to help."
"And I've got enough blood on my hands to question that assumption," I smile back sardonically, "Thank you, Winfrey. I mean it."
"Sure thing, boss."
"Please stop calling me that..."
"Never."
Thank you for the chapter
You're welcome, new commenter.