I taste the sweet, sweet flavor of success, as my Charisma retreats into me. It tastes like... well. It tastes like liquid ghost. Obviously, some of my blood has gotten in my mouth and it does NOT taste good. Instead of the normal burning flavor of desire for revenge, my blood tastes like bland despair.

My body relaxes, falling backwards through the air into the firm concrete, my hair fluttering around me as I receive the welcome comfort of solidity beneath me. Every ounce feels like a sack of bricks, much like the toy of bricks puppeteered by the Stars. My Fae Heart beats loudly in my chest.

My fist clenches, as if to physically grasp the inspiration the Stars so sweetly gave me today. Everyone survived.

Sunlight replaced the cold, callous flares in the twilight, warming up my skin. The kisses of this near Star pepper my adorable cheeks like a friend closer than even blood can be; even closer than romantic love. They find me FUN for all of my immeasurable flaws. Even if I can't be friends with the Familiars, not matching up to their standards, I get to be the bestie of the very STARS! The Sun hugs me sweetly, not rubbing my hair because it would be uncolorful.

I yawn with immeasurable relief. The non-monsters survived me. It won't be my fault if they die, for I saved them from the Stars peeking through their vessel. They won't die in front of me, burying me with eternal regrets like Bet-many others do. It might be selfish of me to view it that way, but I didn't want to have that on my conscious.

My tired eyes glaze over the devastation, my lips curved in an amusedly EXHAUSTED smile. There are burns, blood, bone, bile, whimsically absurd changes...

But no one is dead.

It is a bright and baby blue day, with no corpses under the cloud-free sky! Hallelujah! I managed to save them all. The world is freakin' glooorious! My crystalline purple eyes glitter under the light, facets reflecting an Aurora Borealis across my eyes. My Prussian blue fur and hair show off a wonderful sleekness in the light, and the metal plates, though slightly greyish from dust (concrete somehow?), gleam in the light.

"Ohhhhhh maaan! These bums are still kickin'! Halle-fuckin'-lujah! Praise be!" I shout to the brilliant blue skies, throwing my hands up with unadulterated joy. Maybe I could just wave my hands in the free cyan skies and?...

Come away with whimsical, airy blue paint on my fingers? The euphoria of making of making a skill...

It feels like feathers curling up within my chest, growing out of my mouth in a white explosion of down. Such was the power of the relief contained within my exultation. The groaning people could groan and moan as much as their bruised bodies permitted. My eyes whisper to me: I have the right to take a moment to myself.

Charisma spirals around in me in bubbling, molten tendrils of blinding white globs. My necklace of CHARISMA, the gift of The King, floats up on my neck. It shines like a undirected spotlight. An eye curls up behind me like a question mark, a fierce gaze of a lurid high burning into my surroundings. People fall unconscious once more.

The glowing PEACE which a Impromptu Playdate with the Stars brings to the soul... is indescribable. The stress-free fugue in combination with a victory that could go down in the history-books.

Therefore! I cannot be bothered to take care of them right now! I'm practically waltzing from an Eldritch high, thusly, I should not participate in helping where I would harm!

As medics swarm around me, I eagerly take in the System message.

You have created the skill Eye of Charisma.

Requirements for creation:

- Perk Star-Touched-in-the-Head exists.

- Trait of Puppeteer exists.

- Trait of Fae Heart exists.

- The System of Essence [Redacted] and Essence [Redacted] has booted out the Eye-related requirement. The Torment Skill is at odds, as the Familiars of [Redacted] and Essence [Redacted] reject the Miasma of the Torment Princess, first and foremost; the Miasma of the Goddess Diarrhea; and the Miasma of the The Kin----A Shadow of the Long-Dead King.

- The System of Essence [Redacted] and Essence [Redacted] has booted out the Major Mesh of Friendship (Level Torment) requirement. The Familiars of [Redacted] and Essence [Redacted] reject the Miasma of the Torment Princess, first and foremost; the Miasma of the Goddess Diarrhea; and the Miasma of the The Kin----A Shadow of the Long-Dead King.

-Major Mesh of a Charisma-using Mesh exists. Found: -Major Mesh of the Social Tactician: Understand etiquette, from the proper procedures in High Elvish nobility to how to be a perfect gang minion. Level 12. Tier 3. Total Level: 362.

- Manipulation of Charisma without a direct Skill of Manipulation into sheafs and lenses.

- The ingenious weaving of threads of Puppeteer social threads, and then placed outside of the dream of the Stars.

 

HATRED! You have shown adeptness at being a vessel for Eldritch creatures. Perk Star-Touched-in-the-Head pending transformation per your patrons.

HATRED! You have shown determination to protect Magical Entities, testing out various methods of forcing Charisma with your considerable talent in the heat of the moment, succeeding in preserving lives better than your own.

 

CONGRATULATION! You have made your first skill, putting your own mark on the Essence with your own effort! You have made a milestone in your control over Charisma, boosting your Fae Heart to Fae Heart (1)! You have safely incorporated a small amount of Eldritch forces into the Essence of the System, contributing to [REDACTED FOR THE AGENT OF TORMENTS]!

Magic of the Stars had blessed your skill Eye of Charisma. In the plasma of C O L O R, the blood of nonexistence, the endless hunger for beauty, you found the spark of creativity and inspiration within you to weave a masterful skill far beyond your level and maturity. You achieved much, and set yourself apart from others. Proving yourself master of Charisma, the Eye of Charisma gains substance as Essence coalesces around your remarkable act. The System applauds you and as a reward, lets one group of its favored Magical Creatures, the Fae, know about your noteworthy attention.

A minutia of the Fae's attentions have been spared to you. They have decided to reveal hidden knowledge within your trait Fae Heart to you. Your Fae Heart of the Mewling Kitten, a baby's immature heart, has aged 333 years to Fae Heart of the Teen Vixen. Fae may be tempted to teach you lessons.

Eye of Charisma: Collect all of your Charisma into an Eye. Has the option to consciously and manually control Charisma. Maximize efficiency of Charisma usage. Boosted by Fae Heart of the Teen Vixen and thus an increase in stats will not overwhelm its capabilities.

Prancing inside my heart, my large plushies ears waving along, joy and success pounce and knead my heart like critters of the forest. I clasp my hands to my chest, pure happiness shining like a beacon on my face. Disbelieving, I eagerly devour the words the System message again.

CONGRATULATION! You have made your first skill, putting your own mark on the Essence with your own effort! You have made a milestone in your control over Charisma, boosting your Fae Heart to Fae Heart (1)! You have safely incorporated a small amount of Eldritch forces into the Essence of the System, contributing to [REDACTED FOR THE AGENT OF TORMENTS]!

For a brief message, the impersonal System applauds me. It completely throws away its impersonal affectation or grudging hatred. Instead...

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYEAAAAAAAAAAAAHH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" I shout out freely. Rows of perfect teeth stretch beautifully in an open smile under my wide blue eyes. Sunshine illuminates my hoppy strutting to Luke's Pizzeria, my hair flowing and waving in the reassuring coolness of a breeze - an aftereffect of the Stars' brief gaze - like a laid-down peacock's fan.

My hands and ears shake with uncontrollable cheeriness. Up and down I wave my arms like a swallow's wings in freefall.

I bend down to bandage and take care of the poor people got by way of the damage. Every time they wake up, the sheer joy radiating off of my Eye of Charisma knocks them flat.

My own homemade anesthesia!

Once I exhaust all of my expendable medical supplies, I head off! ~I made a skill of mine.~

All along these warped roads, I skip merrily like a doe through a wide-open meadow. I jump up, clapping my feet together twice together in a funny move, before planting them on the ground firmly. A crisp snap rings from my shoes, with a small cloud of dust knocked up.

"PRAISE BE THE STARS," I shout up to the heavens.

My eyes shine for a brief moment with complete and utter victory, the Eye of Charisma swaying behind my back like an alien cobra of eldritch form, moving in time with my heartbeat. No one that I can sense can sense it themselves it.

A vision of applause and cheering crowds runs through my daydreaming head. My head's probably as far up in the puffy white clouds as a bird. Metaphorically, of course. I restrain my Charisma in my Eye, but my joy remains unfettered. This is something that could help me make a step toward to my goals. The possibilities of a construct made of Charisma are limitless and impossibly colorful!

I could gather more friends. Make their lives better and entertain them to the best of my ability, which will be vastly improved by this skill. It works with my Puppeteer trait seamlessly, the Avaricious Friend Maker trait, and my Social Tactician mesh. In using those traits and the Essence mesh to create the skill, I'll be able to use those meshes and traits even in battle. Whereas, normally, they would only feature in social battles... now I could protect myself. It is the first step to protecting myself from enemies. It's essentially a back-holstered artillery cannon of emotion, powered by the fuel of my beating heart.

HOW IS THAT NOT BADASS???

I can see it now! This skill of my own creation is going to push my ascension through the levels lighting fast! I'd deserve the soundtrack of "vroom!" as the levels ticked up. This skill of my creation is my first step to true divinity. I could become a GOD.

The introduction of the Fae Heart had set me on the path to stardom.

But its evolution is truly a step above. It makes me want to take a step back and just admire it.

I will be a star. I truly do promise you that, world. I will renew this promise as many times as need be.

_______________________________________

A head lies in front of my path. I crouch down, tilting my head in momentary confusion. His horrified brown eyes stare at me, red blood pooling in a scarlet pond next to the gaping hole in his corpse.

"Heeeeey! I know youuuu. You're that skeevy bastard that I snitched on to Luke." I put my fists on my hips as I crane my head over his body, giggling to myself. A mocking grin curls up my face, before I smack his cold face on the cheek three times in a row.

"Theeere, theeere. Rest in peace, you bastard. Maybe in your next life, you won't steal my possessions." I wasn't satisfied with basic suffering. Nuh-uh. That's not enough for me. Nowhere near enough for me.

A rotting corpse of a cat hollowed out and stuffed to the brim of Runic waste by-product for his door knobs dropped on his head.

A flock of my girlfriend's Stygian owls shockingly taking residence in his car.

A herd of the adorable Rat-Eater spiders chased after him one day.

Yeah. That wasn't enough for me. I also politely requested that Luke retrieve my medical tools from the larcenist.

After leaping over the poor lout’s half-eaten corpse, I stride up confidently to the guards of Luke’s Pizzeria, the huge earthen works that compose the clay fortress rising up behind them.

An imposing façade for a homely culture.

From the carved stone, arched doorway, fierce, mascaraed eyes stare at me over his boxy, dark gray face mask. Gold rings adorn his muzzle-like gas mask, like a gold-bedecked prison jail. A strong symbolic statement as always. He subtly postures his jaundiced, olive, muscled arms in preparation to strike...

Hmmm... I believe he will aim for my throat if push comes to shove. I must have missed these tells before I got more Perception. Otherwise I would have bopped him ineffectually for being so blatantly obvious.

“Hello, hello, Eric!"

"I’ve come to do some of that filing for Mr. Luke. Reeeally sorry for getting behind on my work. I’ve been pretty out of sorts and the hospital forced an impromptu surgery on me." I gesture to the stump on my shoulder. "There was necrosis... and ick! The toilet... the less said, the better, my friend."

"You know how it is,” I say wryly.

At this moment, I glare, annoyed, at the Sun. Though really, unless they want that color in their lives, I will never be able to be annoyed at the Stars.

“So freakin’ bright,” I grumble. “I never remember my sunglasses...”

“I see,” came the short, terse response. Come on, Eric. Put more effort into it, you lazy bum! It needs to be convincing.

“Oh! And I need to give my resignation to him personally. Going to be heading out for a while! Got a military scholarship. I mean, boy. It was real sudden!” I say in the way that people say "gee whillickers."

I jump tracks. “What are the codes here entered... damn. That made no sense at all. What are the codes for the cabinets today?”

He raises a bushy, black eyebrow, the gold rings jangling as he shakes his head in surprise.

“Welcome back, Theo. I really didn’t think that you, of all people, would lose an arm. You have absolutely obscene luck, after all.” Translation: 'until you gave the right hints, pattern, and basic warnings, I thought you were a Spy who stuffed Theo in a closet somewhere. Though I still doubt that you couldn’t still be one. Because I am one paranoid mister. And are you sure you really had an encounter with a Torment and a situation involving the Goddess Diarrhea?'

You may think I'm joking, but I'm not. His eyebrow really said all that.

Ok, ok. And his body language before, during, and after I spoke, but toe-mae-toh, toe-mah-toh.

“Who’s this, Eric? Stumpy here looks like a emo Actor decided to fulfil their Loli fantasies. You know her?” asks the painfully young werewolf guard next to him. She has a basic face mask with no adornment, a couple of uninspired tattoos, and her life savings invested in her armor.

Yes. I’m aware of the irony. I am 17. But it is plainly clear that she hasn’t even been in the midst of one gang war.

“She’s a tiny, disabled child in cosplay. Is she mind controllin' you with her large titties or something?” the young guard continues.

Ohohoho. This little shit.

My Orbs of Vanity roll around in their socket in fury. My pride, the vanity that holds me together, refuses to allow that statement to go unpunished.

Eric looks at her, completely aghast, though she did not see his face. She could realize on her own just how deep in shit she is. She begins to tremble, her legs weak as a newborn lamb.

One that I should lead to slaughter.

I should be appreciating how absolutely hilarious it is. It’s pretty damn funny.

My ears perk up and I grin, an ugly and poisonous baring of teeth. A blistering bright, white light shines in my face from the necklace of The King.

Words pour unbidden out of my mouth like sand draining from an overturned glass.

“Do not speak. You are in the presence of royalty. Kneel, you wretched thing.”

Charisma surges out of my body, Fae Heart's illusion wilting like a salted plant for a second before perking back up. The strange stat of Charisma boosts my Strength, Speed, and Dexterity to improve the social impact of my retribution.

The girl pales, clenching her teeth so hard at my command that her teeth crack, followed by a shaky prostration.

Eric stands up straight in shock, moving in a blaze of speed to eliminate the threat, only to get his throat seized by my tiny hand. He gets pulled down, not to my level, but instead below it. His muzzle jingle-jangles, the gold rings clattering with dull *thunks*. My necklace illuminates my friend’s horrified face in stark contrast, light and shadows.

“Do not intervene while I punish your whelp of an apprentice,” I growl, his werewolf transformation coming out only so he can show more submission. The King’s legacy lives on, approving my exertion of authority.

I toss him to the side like the trash I am, walking over to the girl.

The irony...

I exhale explosively.

Is beautiful.

My tiny foot raises over her trembling, groveling form. A wicked grin plays on my lips, a cackle escaping my lips, before stomping. They splay out like a bug’s legs when squished by a finger.

“Mmmrmph!” came her muffled scream of pain.

Satisfied by her cries, the Torment Princess, moves to the door, before pausing and turning dramatically. *Whoosh* goes the dress.

“Ugh," I groan, sneering at her imperiously. "Don’t push my pride, child. A recent accident with Essence has made me less than accommodating for... idiocy,” I state, my androgynously high-pitched voice lowering in threat. I knew she could have pulled herself up with nothing but a few cracked ribs to show for it. She is a werewolf. Even without the System and the moon, she could regenerate it easily. And yet, she is so pitifully weak and unprepared for pain that she stays on the ground, like the innocent civilian she is.

I school my expression and enter the fortress.

So this is the worthless chaff they have resorted to now that I am no longer helping them screen their recruits or save the lives of the foot soldiers? I am disappointed.

No. Fuck no, I’m not. This judgement is not consistent with my normal emotions.

Or is it? Internally, I frown. No. Yeah, no. It is not. I fully believe that people like this can be recruited with some training to increase their fortitude. Why am I feeling like this?

I am a narcissistic, vain PRINCESS far above all of the trash that litters the floors of her kingdom. Though... it is only vain and narcissistic if it is false and overblown. I am truly that amazing.

I probe my mind for Miasma, and lo and behold, the Orbs of Vanity are affecting me. Unfortunately, I have absolutely no time to figure out how to isolate the emotions.

“You have started a big ruckus, Thea,” my boss says, pronouncing it more like Tia. “Hmmm... you surprise me. You? Losing an arm? Tose Stars of yours seem to have failed to keep you safe.”

“Shaddup, Mister. Now that I can hear your Essence, it sounds just as blustering as a bulldog. I thought it would, with how all your talk of gambling ends on the vine,” I shoot back.

He smirks amused under his mask, the colors of Italy's flag spray-painted on it. “Just as sharp as ever. Let’s talk. Sounds like you’ve got a lot to talk about wit your boss,” Luke says, his rich Italian accent filling the air.

One of my gang mates stops us for a quick moment, giving me a big hug. “Welcome back! Why’d you leave? What happened? Are you going to be staying?” he asks.

“Unfortunately not,” I say sadly.

“Can’t believe tat you will be leaving us. Come. Follow me,” he states commandingly, albeit lovingly, like he always does. His huge body, a veritable juggernaut of a man, moves with incredible Dexterity.

We make it to his office, an understated place with soft, cushiony sofas. He grabs his large face mask, unholstering it with a large, clawed hand in a swift motion and hanging it on a rack next to the lovingly pinned runic LSL papers of his wife, three daughters, and son. They are all werewolves, unsurprisingly. It’s always a bit odd seeing the LSL papers. Seeing a werewolf without the governmentally enforced masks is just weirds out that part of the brain that categorizes everything.

And this is even though I know the law enforcing masks exists in spite of the truth. The werewolf contagion spreads through fluid-on-broken skin transmission, rather than airborne transmission. That’s how deep the prejudice roots itself in society. Even I, someone who Luke trusts with his face, both in the literal sense and in the ‘honor’ sense of the word, get stupidly, idiotically, foolishly surprised seeing a werewolf removing their mask.

Flags hang from the walls, showcasing both his Italian patriotism and pride/acceptance of self as a werewolf. The latter has two flags that characterize it: the first a rainbow, but with a few important differences. The red takes up most of the flag, and is made up of ribbons in a Lizard, M. C. Escher-style drawing. Tucked into the upper-right corner is a sickle and a hammer. The second is simpler; more aggressive. It is composed of only brown streaked with black and a large stripe of red cutting diagonally across. Golden claws in a fierce gesture, without the hand and/or paw that goes with them, are emblazoned on the red stripe.

I know my parents would have an apoplectic fit seeing an immigrant be so ungrateful. But I do not care much about what they believe, so possono andare a morire in un buco.

“Now, little child, explain. Not even la signora che prende il mio grana will perceive into my room. I appreciate you bringing tat to my attention so soon, but I will need to elaborate beyond your dramatic tendencies,” Luke says.

The untold meaning is that he would have killed me if I hadn’t done elaborated. But don’t criticize him! He simply cannot enforce control of the neighborhood with prompt violence. A threat of violence is done as easily as breathing here, and he has at least has a good reason to do so.

I put a hesitant expression on my face, the implied message being that I am unsure as to whether that is a good idea. Although if I’m honest...

I am already aware of how the Lady of Death & Taxes and Luke’s past dialogue, if I remember correctly, consistently (if accidentally) implied that his room is where he does his taxes because it has safeguards against the IRS.

“Tare are no living things in here beside us, and no money in here either. She uses both to fix her lacking Perception. Though tat isn’t ta only protections we have,” he explains. “You’ll just have to trust your boss, capisce?” Impatience rumbles into his voice.

"Now spill the good stuff to your boss," he says.

His eagerness, however well he disguises it, is palpable. Not that that is a surprise. The man can literally smell good stories, due to his prior profession and Class. He had been a bard before he was turned into a werewolf back in Italy. After that, he had to leave to abandon his job and flee the Werewolf Genocides rushing through Europe. Needing to avoid the chaos and prejudice whipped up by the Sickle's Teeth, he had to resort to brute force to carve out a home in the United States of America. The only way to survive as a werewolf is to know violence.

Though admittedly, he does not need Magic nose abilities to guess that there is a real good story attached like a price tag to my missing limb situation and newfound power. Being able to, and acting on it, crush Eric and the newbie. both werewolves with System access is a shock to the man. Not to mention, the visible stress of the past few days is clear as day in my face and my actions. And to be honest, that visible stress on my face is probs. more surprising to him than missing limbs and abnormal power.

After all, I have always found... effective... ways to supplement my weakness with borrowed power.

“Alright, alright!” I hold my hands up, lightly chuckling. “It all started with getting stabbed at school, as all good smut does, am I right? And scandalously, in the hallways of all places!” I say “stabbed” as if it is in quotations, knowing well that in spite of his fatherly demeanor, Luke loves sexual gallows humor when he get away without his grandparents nagging him. and when he’s not putting on a show for those not in his close circle of friends.

“Unfortunately, the good old-fashioned BSDM is interrupted by a surprise visit from royalty, of all things, and he took me as his servant and pet. Unfortunately, by dint of his strength, I was dying just being near him. Fever... gross malformations... the whole shebang. The man really enjoyed the tastes of flesh. You could not go an hour without him indulging. I mean, I even thought I'd be next! I mean, you could really tell that it was part of his Essence, the desire for flesh, as it was practically a maid cafè there. The creatures/maids were absolutely wild!” my voice lilts musically as I describe the macabre. I then lewdly make curves in the air. "They were really impressively sized there, if you get my drift. And you should have seen the pants of some of the butlers there too. The swords of all the knights were all ~HUGE.~ My goodness!" I fan myself, mock-scandalized and blushing a bright red.

I am in my element. Making a person happy and building a friendship that will make someone like me is exactly what I love to do.

"HAHA!" he roars boisterously. Success! I made the stalwart man laugh!

___________________

“I, however, did do an absolutely amazing job of entertaining him. I even organized an entire opera for him, with quite a lot of finesse if I do say so,” I whisper mischievously, waving my hands around to illustrate the highlights.

He chuckles. “You put on a performance for a Magicker? I’m impressed, and even more so tat you managed to get System access out of it too. Are you doing fine toe? I need to make sure my subordinate can still handle acting like a werewolf, loyal and selfless, and still do her job in the restaurant’s First-Aid division. You were far more aggressive in handling disputes tan you should have been, particularly on my front door.”

That is a deLIGHTfully cold way of asking how I am doing, Mr. D’Angiò. You cannot dupe me though.

You loooove me, Mister.

I accuse you!

Of...

Being super caring! You cannot hide your concern, you siiilly man. You may work me to the hilt, but you do try your best to match the parental figure my father could not be. Not that you will stay like any other does, nor will your gang last any longer than the others. Perhaps a pragmatic assessment on my part, but nonetheless, it will happen.

Unless I can somehow gain enough power to intervene.

“I am, unsurprisingly, struggling with the lack of limb,” at that, I pat my stump, holstered as it is in a protective plate. “Though I will admit that I am frustrated by being a walking biohazard. Definitely a learning curve for me. Ah... and I apologize for the less-than smooth topic transition, with some rather disrespectful conclusions that can be drawn from my train of thought...” I pause, falsely hesitant to ask.

“But how is Santino doing after his quinceañero de lobo? I won’t deny that his mood changes had been concerning. Been worried about the changes that may have resulted while I was gone. I am more than a little angry I wasn’t able to attend his celebration of adulthood as a werewolf,” I say frustrated.

Luke heaves a deep sigh.

Oh dear. Oh Santino, you idiot. What did you do?! I mentally rub my face in exasperation and exhaustion.

“He... was foolish... and before his quinceañero de lobo... he had a... moment of passion wit a girl. Tried to prove to himself tat he wasn’t a werewolf for just a little longer. Of course, as his bad luck would have it, he became infectious just a little bit earlier tan normal and faced ta consequences of his actions. His girl’s now a werewolf too, and tay aren’t on speakin’ terms now,” he said exhaustedly.

I wince, giving him an air-pat on his back. No veteran of combat is going to allow you to touch them if you are an unknown variable in terms of power.

Obviously uncomfortable by my line of questioning, he decides to put me on the back-foot. “How’s your brother doing?”

I go from a fairly genial smile to a sheepish, panicky look. Internally though, I switch to a flat, annoyed expression. Smooth, boss.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what he is doing. The Lady is riding up my ass right about now, and I have to stop here first to close up business.”

He wouldn’t show it, but he is certainly displeased by my terse word choices, despite the deferential tone I used. But as much as I want to choose the perfect words to make him happy all the time and then we’ll be perfect FRIENDS, like the Stars and me, I can’t. I don’t need my trait Puppeteer to determine that I need to push back at some points. Disagreement, sometimes even excessive levels of arguing, is required to grow a friendship in most situations/partnerships. Otherwise, it feels false to the other person. Though it depends on the personality, Luke is certainly the kind of person who would distrust a yes-man.

“I’ve been keeping track for you, and your brother has been doing well. Don’t worry,” he says reassuringly.

“Thank you. I appreciate the information,” I say with false stiffness, though it seems real to Luke. “Keeping track of Elise too? I’m planning on checking in with both of them, but it’d be nice to have a bit of heads up on her too,” I ask wryly.

He gives me a nod of confirmation, internally smirking in amusement at my topic change. Being too suave about topic changes will set off the gut instinct of others. I have got his number. He’s clear as a pane of glass to me, despite the fact that he is completely opaque to literally everyone else in the gang.

Well.

Opaque to everyone else other than his wife.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Ah,” he pauses. “And she’s not going to be living here anymore. Which, I suppose, works for you now that you aren’t living here now anymore.”

“Why?!” I ask, shocked, my eyebrow quickly floating up.

“Why, you ask? She only demolished an entire block of the Neighborhood when you disappeared, slaughtered an entire force of Warriors belonging to the American military along with the local Warriors” (read local Warriors as rival gang... is what I want to say. but they do actually, in fact, surprisingly, just maaaybe, do their job, and effectively. America does do its best to avoid Miasma creation) “brought-uh a band of Imp-uh. Mercehnaries. Into tis state-uh. Witout-uh. Permission,” he hisses out with stress practically sparking off every punctuated word. “Not only tat, but tee illegal mercenaries promptly engaged in a battle wit very powerful Anatema, bearing Sin weaponry of all ta crazy tings to bring to a populated city. And I cannot stress tis enough. A foreign agent of a whole ‘noter dimension, much less kingdom, just infringed on the management of ta country’s personal matters wit not just military, but special-ops, weaponry.”

“And all for you,” he states with a crystal-clear tone, a slight tension in his hands revealing the friendly accusation behind his words.

Methinks he is feeling a ~little~ pressed right now.

…

Stick a dunce cap on my head and call me Master of the Obvious!

I wonder what he has had to deal with though. I can speculate, but that won’t fulfil my curiosity. Alas, I cannot draw out our already long conversation. We have discussed everything, from packing my belongings – and negotiating which actually belong to me and not the gang – to skirting out of paying any fines – though I only got away with not paying because we are friends

___________________

After a few shared chuckles, he trails off awkwardly. I stand at attention.

Now, I tink tat ta most important question on the table is-” the tension builds as he pauses, the gaze of a protective beast stares at me fiercely, his black eyes turning a stark wolfish blue.

Stamina, the creation of Strength pouring out of him in bright gold force, slowly encasing him an avatar reflecting his inhuman changes. Ears start to bud out of his head, his previously jolly, Italian gestures lengthening into threatening canine jaws. Rust-red and black hair grows out of his skin and bones crack and snap into the proper place, jerking in an obviously painful transformation, though his eyes remain trained on me.

A deep-dish pizza next to him, positively glowing with Magic and a little something else, goes down his gullet. The famous pizza creates an unknown boosting effect, illusionary red flames waving around his body like streamers. He purses his lips over his wolf-like teeth. His hesitancy makes me think he doesn’t want to ask whatever question is on the tip of his tongue.

“Are you one of ta Torments?”

.

.

.

.

.

.

My eyes shrink to crescents. With a dilation in the Charisma of my Eye of Charisma, fake Fae wings fan out behind me. Miasma curls around me like a particularly rapey pet.

Oh yes, Luke. I am. And he can tell that I assented that I am the most abominable of monsters through my facial features.

"But I'm even worse!" I giggle out, my laughs giving me a nasty side stitch. My high sniggers turn into full-throated laughter. It fills the cozy lounge, no sound or senses getting to the Lady of Death & Taxes.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!"

"I'm now a Fae hybrid!" I shout maniacally, a true face of utter dementia unhinging my face. Infinitesimally, contrarily, he relaxes.

Did you expect that? You have now seen the code of the mafia in action. Be pleased that you are one of the few not part of the upper echelon of a mafia who are in the know.

Only I have practiced such a face for disguising myself. I'm sure others can do it, but would they guess to use it as a code expression? Of course they would not. To show such a face that no one can possibly trust for the sake of trust is something I set up with each mafia once I weasel my way up the ranks. As I inevitably do.

Yes. You may now offer your applause.

I have a code expression of insanity as a password for the top groups of the criminal underworld.

We both pause, glancing at each other. We burst out laughing, our gaudy displays of force fading away. Briskly, we pat each other on the back, and then give a hug. Know how I mentioned that Luke wouldn't let an unknown touch him? This entire conversation let us both use our Meshes and basic gang teachings to know that we are who we say we are. No matter what I did, he would care for me. As long as I didn't hurt the cause of the gang, he would be loyal with me to the end.

We are thick as thieves. This is the power of friendship. The perfect way to be, with masks donned and removed at the right time; as the stage needs it. So freakin' COLORFUL. These are the moment I live for. My rise to ascension will allow me to witness those beautiful moments of life, and making lasting friendships will allow me to spread the colorful moments. A perfect example of following the ethos and the creed of the Stars, such colorful beings that they are.

"I'll miss ya, kid. You are such a crazy maniac. Crush tose sane students," he says gruffly. I can see the tears he hides.

"You too... pa. Hope you can actually hold onto your territory," I say, tearing up too. He snorts at that. I can practically feel the death flags we are raising with our tearful goodbye. This is no laughing matter, so how he can he snort at this! As much as I live for these moments, it is at these same moments that I am reminded that I am still a child. I am still bitter and resigned, not wanting to leave his company, but unfortunately, the Lady of Death & Taxes waits for no one. In fact, she is much like her Essence in that regard.

"Ya know I can. You may forget ta name of the gang from time to time, but we'll still be here. I know we'll prove you wrong," he states firmly. Now be out wit you. Make sure to send letters to me, you hear me?"

Let me forget and pretend you don't exist! Let me disregard you! Let me believe you were never a father!

I smile sadly. Another loose end in this city is tied up.

____________________________________________

Boring glass doors stare at me. A bustling lobby lies behind them.

I rub my hand through my hair.

Every time. This trepidation gets me every time.

"You better not be dead, big bro," I whisper to myself. "I've only been gone a week - ish - of time. You can't be dead after this amount of time, right?"