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Chapter 55: Getting Carried
🕑 Added 2024-04-13 20:56:41 +0000 UTCArthur left the painting to dry and went downstairs.
“Any luck?”
“I hope so. I’m not much of a painter, really.”
“I’m sure she’ll still love it.”
“Well, if we even get that far. I’m probably showing up in these, or something like them. Not exactly the right clothes for the occasion.”
“Arthur. Arthur Teamaster.” Ella rolled her eyes ever so slightly. “Of Earth. Could you please do me a favor and list the things you know about me?”
“Umm…” Arthur wasn’t about to refuse. Ella had her going-somewhere-with-this face on, a countenance that usually led to advice only ignored at Arthur’s own peril. “You are Ella. Best cook in the city. A mom to the momless, feeder of the foodless. You know things. You’re nice.”
“See, those last two things are important. I know things. I’m nice. Did you really think that I forgot to tell you about the festival just because Milo and Lily did?”
“Oh.” Understanding dawned on Arthur.
“Of course I didn’t. Go down to your tailor, Arthur. I threatened him pretty well, so he should still be waiting for you.”
If he ran there, dressed quickly, and ran back to get the painting, he would have almost exactly enough time to make his meeting time with Mizu. Arthur jumped into action immediately, running over to Ella instead of the door. He hugged her very hard.
—
When Arthur arrived at the city center, Milo, Rhodia, and Mizu were already waiting for him. As Lily broke away to go scout out the games and food, he trotted up to the group. Both the Mizu and Rhodia were dressed in dresses that were similarly outside the norm for Demon World fashion, looking a lot like long, Greek-inspired evening dresses. And unlike his and Milo’s get-ups, their version of the clothes appeared to allow for at least some flexibility in cut and style.
“Hi, everyone. Sorry if I’m late.”
There was no response. Rhodia didn’t say hello, and Mizu failed to apologize for some centuries-old wartime act. Arthur shifted his weight awkwardly, foot to foot, cradling his paper-wrapped present.
“I’m not that late, right? Have you been waiting long?”
Neither of the girls said anything. Arthur glanced helpless at Milo, only to find he was smirking.
“It’s not that you’re late, Arthur. It’s your clothes.”
“I just got them. Am I… wearing them wrong?”
“No, idiot. You really haven't seen yourself?”
“No. I came straight from the tailors almost as soon as I got this on.”
“Well, come on.” Milo pulled Arthur to a nearby storefront, where his reflection clearly showed in one of the big windows.
“Shit,” Arthur said. “I actually look good in this.”
“Yup. I think we found the weird, non-existent demon these clothes were actually styled for. The girls,” Milo waved behind him, where Mizu and Rhodia were still standing, just now coming back to reality, “have never seen anybody look fashionable in these clothes outside of pictures storybooks. It was probably too much for them. Isn’t that right, Mizu?”
Mizu flashed a series of shades of blue that would have put a Picasso to shame before coming back to her senses. “Yes. You look nice, Arthur.”
“Yes, he does. Milo, I’ve made a mistake. I’m switching to this one. He has a much better tailor.” Rhodia suddenly yelped a bit and looked at Mizu in shock. “You pinched me!”
“Arthur is mine,” Mizu said. “You can’t switch to him.”
“Geez, okay! I was just kidding, Mizu. He’s too tall for me anyway. And no feathers at all. Give him your present, you paranoid little thing.”
Mizu flushed a bit and walked up to Arthur with a paper-wrapped package of her own.
“Here. It’s for you.”
Arthur unwrapped the surprisingly heavy gift to find he was holding a largish metal canister of liquid, maybe somewhere around a half liter in total. Given that it was coming from Mizu, he had a pretty good guess that it contained water, but beyond that, he was lost.
“It’s water,” Mizu said. “I purified it. And then I took it to each weller and had them work on it as well. It was possible because it’s so small. In that canister, it will stay perfect for years.”
“It’s probably the best water in the city, Arthur. Literally. It’s the kind of thing wellers would make to brag to other cities about how good they were at their jobs.”
“Wow.” Arthur hefted the little canister with newfound respect. “I can use it?”
“Please. For something special.”
“Of course. I’ll find the right moment.” Arthur suddenly remembered what he was holding, handing over the squarish package. “And this is for you. I think it might not be… as nice.”
Mizu looked at him doubtfully before unwrapping the package, then stood staring at the plain, unmarked wooden surface in confusion.
“Wrong side. Flip it over.”
Mizu flipped the plank, then froze. She stood there for several seconds, looking at the painting with almost no expression on her face.
“It’s a blue star flower. From the angle you showed me, that one time. Or at least that’s what I was trying for,” Arthur explained. Mizu stayed perfectly stationary as Arthur scrambled for more gift-justifying facts to share. “I made the paint from one of the flowers. I remembered you told me that they could be used for dye.”
Mizu moved the painting closer to her face.
“It smells like it,” she mumbled.
“Well, it’s… I know it’s not very realistic, I haven’t painted in…”
“Arthur, be quiet,” Mizu spoke with unusual volume, and then suddenly was up on her tiptoes, her forehead resting on Arthur’s cheek. “It’s a very good gift. I like it. Very much.”
“But…”
“Shh.”
Arthur decided once again that if Mizu wanted to find him adequate, he was only hurting himself by arguing with her about it.
“See, Milo? They’re so nice. Why can’t we be nice like that?”
“Because it’s we, Rhodia. We’d both have to be nice. At the same time.”
“Oh, that’s not going to work then. Arthur, Mizu, come look at the tools Milo made me.”
Milo was simultaneously obsessed with both Rhodia and large industrial mechanisms, and had managed to bring both affections together in the form of a set of hand tools and an entire potters wheel. The wheel wasn’t there, having been given earlier so they wouldn’t have to cart it around the festival.
On the other hand, Rhodia had made him a gigantic annealing tank, essentially a huge tub for filling with ashes that he could then bury orange-hot metal in so it could cool off slowly instead of quickly. It was a confusing choice as judged by Arthur and Mizu, but apparently not for Milo, who was visibly psyched about adding it to his shop.
“Okay, I’ve bragged enough,” Rhodia said, straightening her dress. “We should go have fun now.”
They got several steps before Arthur remembered the last part. He was supposed to do it before the gifts, at least according to the tailor. He pulled a small box from his pocket, tapping Mizu on the shoulder to get her to turn and face him.
The tailor had said, “Look at her sleeves. Wherever they stop is where you tie this. Unless they’re wearing full-length sleeves and gloves, but I haven’t seen that in decades. Just don’t forget the words.”
Arthur had been mouthing the key phrase to himself for the better part of the last hour, and thought he probably could get them out in the right order.
“Oooh, old style. Nice.”
“Quiet, Milo.”
He was supposed to speak before the process but that became a moot point as Mizu’s arm moved forward like magic as soon as she set her eyes on the white silk ribbon. Arthur reached out and looped the ribbon around Mizu’s forearm, securing it with a loose knot.
“Mizu Weller, may I claim your time this evening?”
“Arthur Teamaster, you may.”
Milo turned around and started walking.
“Shit. We need to go throw knives or something. Now.” He stomped forward, forcing everyone into a trot to keep up. “If you keep showing me up like this, Rhodia really might switch.”
“I might.” Rhodia said before suddenly jerking away from Mizu again. “Stop pinching me!”
—
The games turned out to be amazing. A good portion of them were games in name only. System-augmented, high-level abilities meant some truly wacky things were possible, things that probably would have only been doable with relatively high-tech mechanical engineering on Earth.
Queebo Pyromancer’s Rocket Sled was the result of Queebo’s rocket-making powers as well as several librarians and a very patient smith who made the rail system work and kept all the riders from turning into building-side pudding. It was just like a rollercoaster back on Earth. Several of the rides were like that, combinations of know-how and magic that created rides that had Arthur struggling not to leave terror-grip marks on Mizu’s arm.
And yet, the real winner in the rides category was a more low-tech entry.
“Come one, come all, to Karbo’s big, big barrel he swings over his head,” Karbo said. “Pico has very specifically ordered me to tell you this will, I repeat, this will make you throw up. But some people haven’t! So take that, Pico!”
It was, in Arthur’s opinion, a work of genius. Karbo had bribed some conspicuously absent Cooper, a profession trained to make barrels and vats, to make a gigantic barrel, then forced some poor anonymous carpenter to fill it with seats. With the help of some securely connected chains, he now had a ride that he could spin over his head using sheer animal strength, glowing with unknown buffs whenever some over-confident man or woman showed inadequate levels of apprehension when boarding.
“So, Arthur. I feel I should ask you something, pre-ride,” Karbo said. “Are humans especially squishy? You have normal bones, right?”
“I think so?”
“Because I wouldn’t want to squish you. It seems like if I squish you, I won’t be able to do the barrel ride anymore, and I like doing it.”
“Are you… trying to psych me out? It’s working by the way. Really working. But you know you jumped through that window with me on your back that one time, right?”
Karbo slapped his forehead. “Of course I did! It was a one-off, so I forgot. I’m glad to say that you’ll very likely survive this.”
“Karbo, I think I’ve changed my mind.”
“Too late!”
The master Cooper who made Karbo’s spinning barrel had the foresight to make a smaller one, for the riders who felt sick afterwards. He thankfully didn’t use it, but it was a close thing. After that, it was food, fun, and knife-throwing booths until it was time for the last of the official festivities.
“Everyone, it’s been wonderful to see you here tonight, celebrating the change in our seasons. As with the year before and the year before that, we are entering the cold season strong. Our provisions are plentiful, and our people are united in their hopes for this city. Enjoy your day off tomorrow, and feel free to take advantage of spending holiday as well. And now, I’d like to call Itela up, to declare the first pair of winter,” Pico boomed.
Itela mounted the stage with stat-driven speed. As far as Arthur had been told, she was the highest-level anything in the entire city, and that seemed to translate into a fair amount of body-stat allocations, even if her class didn’t demand them directly.
“Thanks, Pico. As you know, the choosing of the first pair was never meant to be a beauty contest. Instead, the first pair serves only as a visual representation of how well our town does its work in nurturing young people. Of our proudest offerings that we place before the gods for inspection. Of course, wearing the traditional clothes well doesn’t exactly hurt your chances.”
The assembled audience laughed as Mizu’s hand tightened down on Arthur’s arm nervously. Arthur had long since found she wasn’t exactly an introvert. She’d talk the amount she needed to, and she liked being in the presence of others. Despite being quiet, she was reasonably social in most situations. This didn’t seem to be one of them. She was subconsciously leaning away from the stage like it held physical danger to her.
Arthur looped his hand over hers, reassuringly.
“By wearing the traditional clothes, you’ve offered yourself to be paraded before the town and the heavens. There’s no shirking from that now. And so it is that I’m proud to announce the first pair of our cold fall festival. Milo and Rhodia, could you please come up?”
The audience had spent plenty of time drinking, eating, and relaxing themselves into general happiness. They roared and hooted as Milo and Rhodia strutted onto the stage. Itela and Pico each took a flowered garland from a small table on the stage, crowned the two young people, and cheered.
“You were scared of that? That’s not that bad,” Arthur said. It was a little embarrassing, sure, but nothing like he had expected given Mizu’s reaction.
“Yes. I don’t like stages. But it’s not just that. Watch.”
Milo and Rhodia moved to the edge of the stage and bowed as the audience crowded the stage. The mayor and Itela moved in behind them.
“Well, that’s that,” Itela yelled above the crowd. “We have a pair to present to the gods. Go ahead and present them.”
Both her and mayor put their hands on Milo’s and Rhodia’s shoulders and shoved, pushing them off the stage. The audience caught them like stage-divers at a concert, deposited them on a few sets of strong shoulders, and began carrying them away, cheering and whooping.
“Where are they even taking them?”
“All the way around the square.” Mizu shuddered. “Just like that. With everyone looking and yelling.”
“It looks fun for them.”
“For them, yes.”
Arthur mentally filed the don’t accidentally get Mizu publicly carried by folks stricture away in his mind, just in case it ever came up again. You could never be too careful.
Comments
R.C. Joshua
Thanks fixed!
Dotakiin
"The mayor and Rhodia moved in behind them." Should be Itela, not Rhodia
