Parting with Vivianne leaves a bad taste in my mouth. She had sold me her tonic reluctantly, and it went without saying that she was probably worried it wasn't good enough, even if she enthusiastically wanted it to be. Which likely applied to her entire business as it were.

Someone being so clearly in a bad spot just rubs me the wrong way. Really, it is every situation like hers that has hit hard ever since arriving. Ever since being given a second chance at life, my eyes feel wide open, like each day might matter and that putting in effort might be worth it. Doubt replaced by purpose. It wasn’t my job to even try and save everyone. That was an impossibility for one thing and presumptuous for another.

Regardless, seeing an injustice and trying to make it better just feels right. Hence the philanthropy and the Hunting. Together, they were perfect outlets for the itch. It was a miracle that both Hunting and philanthropy were working out so well to begin with. By my lonesome, I’d have arrived in Waldonton and accomplished basically nothing.

Deirdre and Liv had been the ones to enable me, and others besides them too, but mostly Deirdre and Liv. To have even made any sort of positive community impact so far feels like an accomplishment worth being proud of. No quarterly report or blockbuster movie sequels come close to fulfilling that sense of want, like doing something concrete here has.

Back in the fray of town, we began searching for a lead on Tack and Trade. Some people were nicer than others as we bugged them for directions. In a city full of shopkeepers and passersby, it didn’t take long to figure out where we needed to go.

Getting the lay of the land, we take a spin around the block before seeking entry. Tack and Trade was headquartered just outside the bustling center of town, north and someone towards the coast. The building is mostly brick, three stories, but overall not large. By the look of it, this was really just the central nervous system of the company. They surely had stables around the various gates and warehouses near the city’s docks for their day-to-day operations out of the city.

The first roadblock to getting into the offices of Tack and Trade is a doorman. The suited fellow was blocking our way to ensure we at least had some sort of business going inside. His role was probably prudent for a serious business in the big city to prevent anyone unhinged from wandering in. A quick ‘how do you do’ and he opened the door for us.

Inside, after waiting our turn, we sweet talk a merman receptionist to the point that it’s clear we merit a word with someone with actual authority. After another round of waiting in some simple but cozy waiting room chairs, we move onto the next hurdle. The next level up happens to be some sort of middle manager, maybe for the building itself, but she was on hand, so it works out just fine.

Our spiel does its job. We at least sound like credible folk who wish to do business. Taking our business seriously, however, is a whole other matter. The lack of any sort of letter of introduction or, really, any sort of verification of who we were didn’t work in our favor. Not anticipating this was a bit of a flub on our part, but we didn’t really have anyone to speak for us in Waldonton, so we’d just have to improvise.

The manager on duty, a purple-skinned golem lady, doesn't give much away while we explain that we’re building up a cooperative and are essentially seeking a business partner to move our trade goods to wider markets. If she was skeptical about our intentions, they should have become a lot more clear when we brought out a 'sample' of our goods. Having the most choice Monster parts we owned as a prop ought to have done the trick, but they didn’t quite seal the deal.

We’d have to wait until the day after tomorrow for a meeting, and not even with Garnier but with some deputy. Not good enough, really, but the golem lady insisted that was the best she could do on such short notice.

For starters, we needed to get that moved up, and we also needed that deputy to understand that we were serious about working out a deal as soon as possible. For now, we left a message describing our proposed arrangement, where we could be found if they wanted to talk sooner, and a few of our valuable trophies from the medium-sized Monster kills we had made thus far for Tack and Trade to verify their authenticity. With any hope, an appraisal of our loot would get our meeting pushed up.

All in all, by midday, we were at an impasse and didn’t have anything to do. This, I knew, would be about the time Deirdre started getting antsy.

“Deirdre I know you hate it, but we might end up taking a few days to get this done.” I explain to try to reassure her. Sitting on her hands was liable to make us all a little stir crazy if we didn’t give her something to focus on. We had options, so we’d just have to figure it out and go from there. Maybe find a nice cozy space to take a walk, see the ocean, and check out some shops for some cool-looking gear. We’d keep busy, and it would all work out.

Liv apparently had other plans in mind.

“Nothing for it. Let's find ourselves a lodge and do Evelyn’s training, unless we have other business.”

“A what now?” I ask in reference to this so-called lodge.

 

***

 

I don’t know if Deirdre was aware either, but apparently large cities have places that cater to Hunters, like really cater to Hunters. A lot more so than just any old tavern, at least. Lodges offer information for those passing through, like bounty boards and the latest records about nearby cities.

Lodges also frequently have retired Hunters on hand who are willing to teach what they know. For us specifically, they’d have an appropriate place to spar. I’d hoped to get away from training for a few days, but Liv and Deirdre were just so insistent on whipping me into shape that that was clearly not going to happen.

Liv and Deirdre's spar so far has been a whirlwind of jumping, twisting, and reckless swings of their training weapons. Watching them almost felt like an event, especially with the stadium seating. Well, small town little league bleachers seating, but essentially the same thing. I’d have called the fee to enter this place, Hunter’s Mark, ridiculous, but they sure did have a lot of amenities to justify it.

The inside walls were decorated with paintings of various conquered beasties, victorious Hunters, and even some stuffed heads of particularly impressive-looking Monsters. They had it all: spaces to mediate, spaces to blast stuff with offensive magic, some spare bunk rooms for those just passing through for the night, and plenty of loafing around space. It was like the tavern meet-and-greet dialed up to eleven in the main lounge area. Being surrounded by other Hunters was nifty, but they also knew they could charge us a small fortune for three days worth of access to the facilities, so that sucked. 

The reverberating smack of training weapons meeting in earnest thunderclaps through the room without a roof that is this small raining yard. Two walls have the seating I’m sitting on, and the other two are bare. The floor is a hard-packed sort of sand.

Deirdre and Liv were using their session to work on some high-level stuff, like kill strikes, risky techniques, and other things that looked like they required a whole heck of a lot of dexterity to even attempt.

Deirdre was using her spear in a way I’d never seen before today, at least not all out. To aid her movement, she was incorporating the metal-capped bottom as a pole vaulter might. One particular stunt was for her to vault onto Liv’s shield and then springboard from it.

It ought to have been nearly physically impossible. Maybe an Olympic athlete could pole vault up to something and then do a flying spinning somersault off it, but that seems far-fetched. I suppose the impossible is what you get with actual magic to back you up.

Liv’s moves were impressive too. Leg sweeps followed by shield swipes that moved directly into axe swings and were repeated without fault. At full pace, she was practically flowing like water.

After their impressive display, Deirdre takes me through staff drills. Simple actions like swinging and thrusting, deflecting attacks, and backpedaling while keeping on the defensive. The same motions we’ve been practicing. The repetition has helped to make it a little easier, but I wasn’t going to be winning any awards.

“Alright, you're up Liv.” Deirdre calls out for a change of pace after working me through a half hour of drills.

Ambling to the center of the training square, I settle into position for a spar. The stance is relaxed. It's something they’ve made me do enough times that I can just sink right into it. Liv joins me without a care in the world, strutting like I don’t stand a chance against her, which, of course, I truly don’t.

“Hey,” she quips, once she is a few arms length away, like a wolf sizing up a helpless lamb.

That's not a good look. That’s the ‘I’m going to toy with you before putting you down’ look.

“Oh no, you’re going to make this difficult aren’t you?” I groan out. It’s inevitable. I’m screwed here.

“Nope, just some perfectly normal practice. Why what were you imagining?”

You, throwing me over your shoulder after beating me senseless?

“I think I can answer that.” Teases Deirdre scandalously from the sidelines. She watches while going through some stretches that look a lot like yoga. She is remarkably flexible.

“Deirdre, we’re in public.” I say through clenched teeth to avoid yelling, even if this room happens to be empty.

“See, now you know Liv.” She teases again.

Damn it all.

Liv’s training with me starts off innocent enough. My party mates, my girlfriends have been drilling defensive techniques into me so that I would learn to actually use them.

I’ve learned the best ways to run or hold my ground, not really how to put down a Monster. Without a whole lot of practice on the offensive, all I can do is wait for Liv’s attack. For fundamentals, it all makes sense, but counting on someone else to save me was still taking me a bit to get used to. Actual fights with Monster were scary, nerve-wracking affairs. So leaning into my role in this world, requiring help to survive, was going to be a long-term challenge.

Her probing attacks are manageable for a time. Forcing me to pivot, to retreat, and to bring my staff up to catch her swings. It’s easy until it isn’t. Like a switch, Liv simply starts moving faster past my guard with ease. Being proactive with a staff is a lot easier than being reactive. Like this, she has me on the backfoot, literally. Pushing me back and back and further still until the tip of my staff knocks into the far wall seconds before I do.

Pressed against the wall and with nowhere to go, Liv slips past my fractured guard and pokes my stomach with her thumb.

“And dead, but good job keeping on your feet.”

The next round, when Liv starts going fast enough that I can’t keep up, I strafe and circle step around the training field instead of being forced directly backwards into the wall. I’m too slow at that, which gives Liv attacks plenty of time to strike my arms, legs, and sides, but I stay standing. Eventually, the accumulated hits start to wear me down, and Liv hooks my foot to send me sprawling.

Another kill, another sweaty defeat for the record books. I’m always going to lose these. The key is trying to be better next time. I’m competing against myself, not Liv.

Next time goes off script. Instead of building me up to a too-fast pace, Liv comes out the gate swinging. I’m immediately forced to scrunch up and rotate to prevent her from getting around me. She isn’t making it easy, practically dancing a circle around me while striking out from time to time.

Striking out with my staff is a defensive technique. It's supposed to keep Monsters at bay and keep my limbs intact. For Liv, I can only pray I strike her solar plexus.

As I make the jab, Liv springs into motion faster than I can track. She drops her training axe and grips my staff, yanks it back, and sends me reeling towards her. Crashing into Liv is like hitting the side of a house. I go from motion to stopped, and it almost knocks the wind out of me.

At the same time, Liv swipes my feet from under me and follows me down as I fall face first onto the hard sand.

I’m normally at least given some sort of chance when I’m knocked over. Allowed to throw a punch, an elbow, or a kick. I miss that window, and Liv has me dead to rights by the time I’ve even caught my bearing.

Kneeling over my prone form, Liv’s got me crushed between her thighs. I could kick my feet petulantly, but they’re pretty much trapped where they are. She isn’t close enough to headbutt, a wise precaution with my horns. Her hands found my wrists and clamped down on those before I could even attempt to mount an effective resistance.

What's left is squirming, hopeless struggling to get free. So I kick and buck as best I can. With a whole Liv sitting on me, it’s tiring to even try to resist. Any moment, she’ll ‘kill’ me, and we can reset.

I kick some more.

Any moment.

“Is that all?” She whispers. Too close, too hot, directly against my sensitive ear.

I yelp in response. Distantly, Deirdre chuckles.

With a final burst of determination, I pull as hard as I can. If I can break free for a moment, I might be able to elbow her.

Liv is having none of it. Slowly, she wrenches my hands until they are folded together against my back. Then, to add insult to the situation, she transfers my right wrist to the same grip as the other. A single hand, pinning both my arms behind me at the small of my back.

So arrogant.

I pull again, but I’m tired, and she’s heavy and strong, and I just don’t have the strength to get free.

“Guess I’m just going to have to kill you.”

Her other hand slides past my shoulder and cups my neck from behind, ready to pronounce my ‘death.’ It should be intimidating. It is, but not for the right reasons.

I squirm again, growing hotter and breathing much faster. I know I need to fight back that struggling was part of the exercise, but it was too much for my quickly addling brain to handle.

The implications. It’s enough for my devilish body to override the cocktail of workout chemicals running through me. Somehow, kicking another part of me into gear, flooding me with oxytocin and endorphins to ease my straining muscles until they go slack.

With her hand cupping my neck like this, I just don’t have it in me to be strong in the way needed to not react to her proximity. Instead of further resistance, I whimper and still myself, breathing heavily for an entirely different reason.

Liv has to know. Has to have felt the change as I went pliant. Has to have heard how close that whimper was to a moan. She hasn't declared her ‘kill’ yet. She was just sitting atop me, frozen, like I was.

Yep, she knew alright.

Liv would know after pinning me down so thoroughly that she’d knocked the fight right out of me. That the proximity had cut me deep, and as soon as she grabbed me by the neck, I didn't struggle from her touch but leaned into it. There was really no point in trying to play it off, so I tried to do the next best thing.

Hoarsely, I felt out the words I was trying to make and then made my plea to Liv.

“Can you let me up?"

I could feel her fingertips acutely on my throat as I made each word.

Liv was respectful and considerate. If anything, she would get a kick out of me ending up like this. I just needed to muddle through it all. And nobody ever needed to know just how stupidly wet and flustered she had made me.