— Regarding Loveless Gal —
A day-to-day fantasy quest set in the early modern era. Updates occasionally accompanied by art.

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Crockbottom. Most know of it as a small province in the north; whose name conjures up pictures of monasteries and their many festivals; whose folk know the Middle Path in its full breadth and length; whose doing as of late has proved very much the opposite.

As often is the case, the which of why I am here involved an abuse of a woman; in a street-fight which followed a man interposing a husband from striking his wife, in which a basket-hilted sword and lightning was used. The latter’s use - inside a market which had about 30 other persons close by - was one particular which contributed to the length of hearing.

“… I am of the opinion that the defendant, Kommgal Vunnapar, calling upon a higher art - the which he does not know the true breadth and length of - was injudicious and censurable—” As he spake, an infrequent glance was given to our bench, that of practitioners-of-the-art. I could still recall vividly the tiredness and spite leaking through the judge’s words on the day of the decision. I suppose I would be, too, were three-fourths of my waking hours taken up by study for the past weeks.

“—yet when we consider conditions incident to the affray; the disparity of force between a man and giant; his first blow given in response to Tinnagorn Amournnara reaching for his head was a single cut to the hand delivered through his basket-hilt sword; and consider, most prominently, his unwillingness to throw out the lightning.”

The other particular comes from the wife herself, and the legal “talent” she employed in defense of her husband.

“If the object of the attack was to kill with criminal haste - as the prosecution claims that to be the case - he could have easily done so through delivering additional strikes with his sword; but, as it was, he sank the upper third of the blade into the ground, the which, would have prevented further strikes or parries to be made.”

Seeing their theory eviscerated did remedy my weariness a little.

“Another fact which rises preeminent is, from the very beginning of the affray, Tinnagorn Amournnara was standing his ground and fighting unflinchingly after Kommgal Vunnapar brandished his weapon and declared to him “Leave her [referring to Tinnagorn’s wife] be.” — this does not appear a man whose intention was to slay and murder another with wanton, and, as such, I can - with firm conviction - say Vunnapar acted speedily and prudentially to secure his not only own self-preservation but that of a woman he honestly believed to be in danger from her own husband.”

“I can attach no criminality to his act.”

But remedy was fleeting; the ponderous case stretched so far, it was shaving day again - the eve of congregation, and more importantly, the prohibition of amberwater sale. Ugh. As if this month’s profits were not already measured in chickenfeed to begin with.

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I have no intention to tarry long in a province which yielded me shells so meager but as the playing company I associate with is obligated to stay until the month’s end, leaving early would be even more costly.

“You are complaining of having three days which you needn’t work? What difficulty.” Arisa moans, escaping the stacks of fair copies through dejectedly lying on the floor (and complaining of complaining.)

“I - am - complaining of hauling around a butt’s worth of wine.” I stand up to fetch her cushions from the other side of the withdrawing room.

“Well~”
“You could always share them with those cute boys that linger around the playhouse~~”

… I really am listening to a 30-years-old actor and sharer lusting over men two-thirds her age while stuffing her head in pillows. I give in response a weary sigh and return to my side of the table - fixing myself on inventory records is more tolerable than a repeat of this conversation. “I think I had my fill of their sort.”

“Aw. That is a shame. You know, they say eating kids makes you ageless.” Arisa takes to reading the fair copies while lying on her stomach and kicking her feet up.

“With how quarrelsome they are, they’d make you brainless too.”
“Do you want anything from the markets? I am just about done.” After a few corrections, I fold close my wax tablets and store my styluses in the roll.

( … )

If there is one compliment I pay to this province, it would be the breadth of sweets on offer. Entire shelves of chocolate bricks, bananas boiled in a syrup so richly red as if it was a bearberry, and even poor knights with milk-snow! Now - that - is a hell of a thing. But the toasts I am looking for are a little less grand—

“W- wait, ma’am!”

Turning around, the nervy young man who scuttered to me is someone I hadn’t the chance to know that well, but nevertheless recognize: Kommgal Vunnapar.

“Oh. Good day.” I give a small nod.

“Good- good day, ma’am…” The kid fidgets with his hands for a moment before continuing his speaking. “Uh- I. My- my family really appreciates all your doings in my exculpation. I- I have a bearberry pie that I would like to gift to you as appreciation for everything. I can go fetch it in a moment if you do not mind.” His fingers dig into his flowy sleeves as his mouth attempts to spill out words.

“That’s—”
“I would love that, yes. Thank you.” And just as speedily as he approached, he was gone again. For someone so unflinching in defense of a woman, he seems rather apprehensive about talking to - or even looking at one.

Returning with a box occupying his hands, he asks where I wish to have him deliver the pastry.

“I will lead the way - walk with me.”

“Y-yes, ma’am.” Breathily, he agrees.

I take this opportunity to make talk with him; advising further about how to handle difficulties which may present themselves in the aftermath of a trial such as his. He - does - appear to understand but with how brief his words are in return, I am not sure.

… ugh. Talking to someone fifteen years my junior is too hard. How do I even get him to open up?

>ask him about baked goods
He was born into the trade, and before becoming a publishing house apprentice, he delivered them.

>ask plainly about his nerviness
I have noticed for a while he looked rather nervy. I wonder if there is a matter which I could help him with?

>ask him of his interests
I might as well ask plainly about what he is passionate about. We might share the same.

>>6072636
>ask him of his interests
Exploring the character from another angle? Neat! A familiar angle, too...

>>6072622
Welcome back OP. Is Gal looking more feminine here or am I just unused to him after all this time ?
>>6072634
Kino is back on the menu
>>6072636
>ask him of his interests

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>>6072938
>Is Gal looking more feminine here or am I just unused to him after all this time ?
It’s a re-design. I’ve added a red ribbon tie to his linen shirt. The breeches remain largely the same as the one in loveless gal 2. The hoses are ones with built-in soles as referenced in Gal & Aeg’s conversation in 2.

https://youtu.be/ZVaEvrP_pCQ?si=XDPbR_6f-bQLfqYJ

and the basket hilt sword is the thumbnail is much longer than the one he currently carries.

>>6072959
I see now, thanks.

>>6072636
>ask him of his interests
Well, he is interested in older women for reasons not entirely explored…

Drawing’s done.

>>6073749
I thought it was because he's a siscon for his oneesan?

>>6074318
An unfortunate fetish, but if he can solve it by just going for an older woman that's not related to him, that's better than pursuing it, no?

>>6074454
We're already on the right track with Airin.

Updating today.

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>ask him of his interests

“O- oh! Uhm. Well…”
“Gal myself like to do singlestick during weekends. I usually hang at monastery libraries and read their tales if it is too hot or rainy outside.” His voice begins to clear up as he gives his answer, the which, I do have familiarity with.

“I see. Is that the reason you chose a broadsword to carry?” I nod and give him a brief glance.

“Well- for the majority I played singlestick as exercise; with my sister and the other kids at the temple grounds when I was younger; I only studied in earnest a couple years back, from the dussack section of the Knightly and Noble Art treatise. As for the sword itself, it was mainly a gift - from my parents - in celebration of my eighteenth birthday.” He returns the glance briefly before wandering off, in recollection of his past.

“Ah. I believe I do know of it. Authored by a Freefencer and published in summer of ‘13?” My words produce a faint gasp out of him and refixes his gaze.

“Ye- yes! But I could only find the republished edition of ‘53. You- ha- you study it too?” Breathily and shakily, he responds, as if a dog looking back at its owner. Mhm. It is rather cute. In a way.

“I have a passing interest in it. I first got into it roughly.. fifteen years ago, I believe, and mainly because a colleague of mine, a stage-fight coordinator, was a fencing instructor before he joined the company.” A semblance of a smile appears on my lips as I speak. Reminiscence leaves a bittersweet tinge.

“Wow. That’s nice~~” I give a light chuckle. Indeed it was. (Even if I hadn’t known at the time.)

“Ah.. right, it was the constraining cut, wasn’t it, you did?” He nods. “The only one I had belief in -- i never really grasped theentiretyofthecuts.” Kommgal’s voice returns to a shyly murmur for the moment.

“Well.”
“You survived the affray with it - that ought to mean something.” I know that look all too well; the dwelling on the which that did not take place, and try to console him. “And on that matter, which ones do you have difficulty with? I might be of help.”

( … )

“- wow. I never knew you could launch so many strikes from that grip.”

The talk was riveting, so much so we nearly passed by the rented building - quite an accomplishment, considering how wide the frontage was; had the owner not been a grocer, we might have wandered about like ghosts!

I give my utmost thanks to him and his family for the bearberry pie before sliding the doors—

“Uhm- Miss Neeranara?”
“I- It was really fun talking with you. You- you are cool. I would like to see you again.” Glancing back, I see the boy with his hands behind him, shaky in both speech and body, but possessing a certain earnestness in his gaze.

Is this kid-
This.. might be a difficulty.

“It was fun for me also, but I will be leaving the province by the month’s end.” With a reluctant sigh, I gently remind him of my circumstances.

“I’ll miss you, ma’am.”

“…”

His words tarry long in the air. Discomfort and elation stirs within my throat. Only the sounds of our breath kept us company for a moment which felt far too long.

“Uhm. Are you - by any chance - free on the day after congregation?”

I really do not wish to string along - or fool around with - someone of his age. He is not the first to take interest in me, and among those that did, and the few I did get with, did not pan out. I do not want a repeat of it. But at the same time, my advice on difficulties consequent to the trial was rather one-sided. And so, I agreed to see him again.

Arisa was (luckily) asleep by time I brought the pie back. I don’t believe I could withstand another rant of hers on the same day I made talk with him.

The day of congregation arrives; a time in which folk would gather at monasteries to not only listen to the monks’ teachings, but take part in auspicious activities as well. That is the ideal, anyway. It is rather amusing to see scores of elderly folk selling lottery tickets and playing cards in temple grounds — truly, my fellow countrymen.

“Be decisive about it.” Following a — long — rant and teasing, Arisa gives her piece on my appointment.

“When it comes to younger men, you MUST maintain control of everything; you must be willing to get bored of the relationship first; you must stand firmly by your boundaries, to not do such would be to disappear any semblance of it entirely, and he will continue to trespass it without fail.” She pauses, swirling the cup of monkfruit tea and ponders the particulars of his station.

“He does not seem the overly-attached-to-peers sort, so that’s good, but he may grow addicted and get wrapped up in you; the sort that would do - anything - for you is the sort who gets wounded the hardest from termination of the relationship: be mindful of the whereabouts you give to him.” I nod as I cut open a slice of the stygian red pie.

Damn. This game demands a certain cold-bloodedness to play, huh. I suppose that is why I never got good at it.

“I will make note of it. Thanks.” I lax my muscles and rest my arms behind my back - this burden has been partly lifted, at the least.

“Oh- and- if you do leave off with him, can I~~” The cold-blooded thing returns to her jolly self upon noticing an opportunity to be ageless (and brainless).

“No.” I wearily slap down the matter.

“Haah???”

“Please do not do that.”

The afternoon sun hangs veiled, the fleet of clouds preventing any blackness in shadows, and ensuring a certain briskness in our breath. Hedges of needle flowers bring some much needed scarlet to the green-laden park. In the distance I can see a small bunch of folk wandering about, and having picknicks of their own as well.

“.. anyway, broadsheet publishing houses are not the only roadway you could apply yourself to; accountancy can take you far, even outside of governmental stations, court reporting and record-keeping is also another good apprenticeship that is more in-line with your original one.” I take another sip of the lime-sprinkled butterfly pea tea as I present him with alternate careers.

Staring at the cup again, I may have been heavy-handed on the lime; the tinge more resembling pig’s blood than the flower’s violet. Ugh.

“Thanks, ma’am. I’ll keep it in mind.” He leans forward to pour me more of the tea. After a nod, the icy jar fills up my cup with a more wholesome purple.

After I talked of such a broad thing, I naturally bring up a few particulars of myself; my experiences with different industries, the more populous provinces and - of course - my own roadway, from being a fiddle player to an alewife and occasional expert witness. He, too, shared his own particular; apparently this was not the first time he got himself into difficulty over a woman being leered at. Ha! Fight - is - his racket, it seems.

But inevitably, the matter which looms over us for the past two days makes itself apparent.

“I.. I like you, miss Neeranara.”

“…”
“I do not dislike the notion entirely, mister Kommgal, but you are not the first to go on this course, and none which did, panned out. There are — many — reasons on why that is the case, but let us restrict it to our professions, and our particulars.” A slight breathiness lingers in my voice, but it does not matter - I follow through and deliver my words regardless.

“I travel a whole bunch; half the year, I am going from one province to the next. Three-fourth of that other half is dedicated to brewing in Shadowfall. We will not see each other often, if at all. Mayhaps we could write letters, but to see, to touch, to feel, to hold, to be around, that aspect is vital to the relationship.” His brow furls as I speak.

“And the particulars; we barely know of each other, mister. Our past? Our interest? Of course. But our objects? What we intend the relationship to be? One year from now, five? They may differ greatly.” With a sigh, I deliver the last of what I intend to say. “Can you answer just the two of these?”

…
…..
………
…………… He could not.

“Fo- forgeth what I said.”
“I-”
“I’m- I’m so sorry. I- i never should of—”
“what- what do you suggest i ought to do?” His eyes shimmer with tears as he attempts to force out words from his mouth.

>“Give the thought a couple more years - see if it clarifies, if it does, and we do meet again, we will continue this discussion.”
Him being older should remove a few difficulties, at the least.

>“Take more caution in whom you might have interest in. You needn’t hurry things; I don’t wish you to marry the wrong person or hang with a friend that was not one in earnest.”
He ought to learn this lesson now rather later.

>>6076041
So lame, no option to go after him anyway.

>>6076041
>“Give the thought a couple more years - see if it clarifies, if it does, and we do meet again, we will continue this discussion.”
I like the “needn’t hurry things” of the second line, but not the “take caution” so I’m going with this instead.

I’d try and say something along the lines of “you weren’t wrong to try and it didn’t work the way you hoped, but there’s others like me out there if you can keep your heart open”. It gives less hope than the first option without being as harsh as the second.

>>6076079
Personally I think life's too short to do stuff like
>uh, wait a few years
But, you know, it's not really an option to accept it, so...I guess that's better than outright saying "no"

>>6076041
>“Take more caution in whom you might have interest in. You needn’t hurry things; I don’t wish you to marry the wrong person or hang with a friend that was not one in earnest.”
let's rip this bandaid off

>>6076041
>“Give the thought a couple more years - see if it clarifies, if it does, and we do meet again, we will continue this discussion.”
This wouldn't be my first choice, but from those two options, this is better.

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>>6076042
Hag is tired

>>6076254
So then she should let the boy who likes her help her rest. Better her than some other woman who'll take advantage of him right? Not to mention, if she really does want to consider giving him a chance, waiting is just going to put an even bigger age distance. She's not getting any younger.

>>6076041

>“Take more caution in whom you might have interest in. You needn’t hurry things; I don’t wish you to marry the wrong person or hang with a friend that was not one in earnest.”

>>6076269
He currently doesn’t have his shit together, basically. No job (yet). No idea of what he wants out of the relationship. And also other reasons like his family and the court case’s newness.

also this is a flashback before his lowest point

If I count correctly, we have a 3:2 vote for
>give it the thought a couple more years

Hello. I will be hiking this weekend. Art is ready but the update won’t be up for a day or two. See you soon.

>>6077111
Enjoy the hike! I’d say turn it into a backpacking trip and spend a night in a tent but it’d be better to take more than a weekend for something like that.

>>6077111
Thanks for the update. We'll be waiting.

>>6077443
>>6078270
Thanks. I’m back. If things go well, I should be able to update tonight.

Also this will be the end of the flashback - and I’ll be including a brief recap of thread 1&2.

>>6078971
alright

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Sneak-peek of the update. Sorry for the long delay.

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Sneak-peek of the art.

>>6080058
cute

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A part of me wished I could take up his offer, to get together with someone whose kindly disposition remains unfailingly true in spite of legal difficulty thrust upon him unknowingly by the doings of his goodwill.

… but I cannot.

He does not have the remotest answers to my questions - he is unsure of what he intends out of our relationship, both in the present and future, the particulars of seeing together and maintaining intimacy.

(And I am excepting his family’s weight on this matter, the nature of our stations in the trial, and what the commonfolk’s view would be of it.)

I have seen too many forsake their fortune, their family, for a woman whose life momentarily intersects with his. I cannot let him take the same roadway.

>“Give the thought a couple more years - see if it clarifies, if it does, and we do meet again, we will continue this discussion.” With an exhale, I gently let him down.

When he is older; his finances more earthfast, his intentions more clear, and his autonomy less constrained, then, mayhaps. He is endearing.

“I- I’ll-”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Thanks for... everything, ma’am.” Kommgal’s gaze returns to me as tears dissipate from his cheeks.

“…”
“Here. Take it.” Without much left to say, I hand him a trade card; the perfume has long withered away, and the tinge is more yellow than it ought to be, but the writing of my services, and more chiefly, the location of my brewery, is still in good quality.

“U-uhm.” Holding tightly onto the card, he ponders. “Miss Neeranara. You said you would leave by the month’s end. If you do not disgust, may I see you again, tomorrow?” Ah. The boldness of youth! It coaxes a chuckle out of me, and a nod.

( … )

The morning wind bellows endlessly as we furl and tie up the last of the straw mats. Arisa is still sleeping. My hair flutters less and less as the day passes. My lips grow dry and numb.

( .. surely. surely not.)

I don’t believe he would be the sort to intentionally mislead me. A sudden obligation is more likely, most likely, even. But I refuse to leave the matter off. Making use of rice wine at all - is - better than leaving it collecting dust, I suppose.

Beneath this deluge of whispers and shouts lie distilled sentences and thoughts. The torrent quelled just as speedily as it was summoned — leaving only regret and flusteration in my mind.

Dangers from the material and immaterial, that much I could intervene, but the aftermath of a family’s quarreling, less so. Especially when the matter was which I had discussed: his future employment. I suppose if it was not earthfast enough to withstand an inquiry, it would not satisfy his parents.

I do not know fully the particulars of this province - I wouldn’t be able to advise him any more thoroughly than I did yesterday. My presence would not be of help, and I really don’t wish to give him wine either. He doesn’t need to get into further difficulty because of my gift.

I did not hear back from Kommgal Vunnapar.

Five years is a long time.

( https://youtu.be/qjUi4kc-Lpc?si=EHhnNU35Qw153ciL )

Screwpine Canal. Most know of it as a vestigial street in the upper west part of town; whose lungweed outlived the livestock and the families which bred them; whose waterways remain grimy and foul beneath a veneer of greenery; a corpse which has yet to decay, whose existence allow low company to waylay the folk, and at the same time, the residence of persons which could help us put an end to a band of wayward robbers, whose age are barely half my own.

I have been with Nagel company for several years, but excepting Aeg, I had few intimates - I did not care for it. I processed slaves accurately and speedily. And that was that.

‘You. And Aeg. Have you the remotest - idea - of shit thrown my way?’ Barely 3 days ago, the legal-advisor Airin, made clear her dislike towards me, but nevertheless offered her help in - not only - finding the pornography I was wanting for some time, but comforted my frightened self as we used during the elevator. Her only ask in return was the cessation of my misplaced compassion; the further I, and my intimates, deviate from our station’s proper conduct, the larger the burden of others in the company.

Aeg was the first I made talk with, and a deal was made - for this cessation, I will help him with a matter of his: retrieving his hat and poster, which was stolen by a couple of goblins. Our search revealed a robbery in planning, and we moved to intercept it.

Aeg would keep watch on the yellow-hair kid, Tian, at the Old Timber temple. This secondary criminal element is merely an observer, making sure the mark leaves through the roadway the main element is positioned at.

Airin would ask for the peace officers’ aid, to send them on that roadway (ideally) before the main element could waylay the mark or escape.

I and Thon would travel to the Cavern Maze temple, a derelict riverside monastery. The elderly folk there might know of those kids’ particulars. If we can find where they (or their family) live, this matter will be most assuredly settled.

“Oh no, I meant no chafing — but I’m afraid I can’t say the same for Amournnara. There shall come a time - very soon - when such chafing can cut so deeply, it may even reach the bones.” My journey led to an encounter with the enigmatic dispensary of wisdom and difficulty, the messenger who bestowed upon me the lightning all those years ago.

With the elderly beneath the temple not being of help, and the messenger being… himself, our search continues at the upper floors of the wooden mansion-turned-place-of-worship.

While bereft of my sword - as it is customary to check it before entering - I still have a dagger concealed in my breeches. Thon, I believe, also has one of his own.

(Not that we intend to draw it in anger.)

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While climbing the steep and narrow stairs, as I contemplate using my hands as additional points of contact, the scent of burning incense hits me; a smoky yet familiar smell, a much needed reprieve from all the thrice-used oil and lungweed encrusted water.

Kneeling before a shrine is a middle-aged woman with short hair, whose sleeves are just as wrinkled as her fingers. Her lips and teeth - as is the fashion for older folk - are blackened.

“Good day, ma’am.”

( … )

“I see what you are getting at.” Nuan, the slaughterer who was once an acquaintance of Galpet, took to our inquest quickly.

“Galpet and that - ‘friend’ - of his frequents the music school on the same road as the Twin Hearts monastery. Far west of town. It will be next to a large river.”
“As for - that - yellow-haired one, he likes filled sweets and cup sweets from a certain stall. The stall- there- there is three, or four of them right next to the goldsmith’s eating place. South of the wet market.” A tinge of derision seeps through her words as she mentions that particular. “The rest, I do not know of.”

Hm. This is interesting. That monastery, I believe, should be somewhere in the upper left quadrant of town, since the river curves away from the lower part. As for the stall, that should be somewhere around center of town. A little south, from the looks of things.

That should be it. We get those two, we will indubitably find their houses; the music school should have Amournnara’s address listed, and as for that stall owner, if we put into contact the teahouse those kids robbed from, we could wring out all the particulars we want!

“In the event you do catch them, what - will - be your doing, if I may.” No longer seeing with spite, but nevertheless stern, Nuan refixes her gaze at me.

“We want the hat and broadside back - if returned, or compensated for, that’s that.” Thon responds in an equally cold manner.

“We are not - and do not intend to be - judges, ma’am. Getting into legal difficulty, that benefits no one.” I stare back, words spoken in complete earnest.

“I mean to say, those kids. I do not believe they would like it any too well if their plans were to fall out in such fashion. Assuming you get those two to turncoat, to squeal, whatever be the case, how do you intend to shield them from the other three’s retaliation?” Her brows furrow and wrinkle - no doubt, a part of her, although willing to follow through with us, cares enough to want those two go unmolested.

I suppose that is a fair inquiry. Even if the persons did not - directly - cause the fall out, their personal failings in voiding criminality would make them a liability to the entirety.

How do I answer this?

>by force
We can track them down. We can find their family. Showing up to their doorstep to discuss an out-of-court agreement should be enough incentive to not to do any more criminality. And should force be actually necessary, someone like Tian or me, an unknown party (to them) could waylay them.

Screwpine Canal is not the only roadway far from help. Breaking teeth and bruising limbs is a light compared to what - actual - low company could do.

>by force of law
With the teahouse staff’s account, we - could - get them fined and put into stocks for the unpaid meal. As for the soon-to-take-place robbery, that could warrant flogging and display across town. That kind of public humiliation is going to kill any lingering trust - their careers as cookshop and alehouse runners will be over.

If they truly want money so much, they ought to leave off with retaliation.

>write-in

>>6080774
>by force
no need to take them to court or w/e, let's take the simpler approach

>>6080774
>by force of law
Let's not get in trouble with the law for vigilantism again, if we can help it. Don't want to trouble Airin, or disappoint Nara when we meet her again.

>>6074318 is me.

>>6080942
+1

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Sneak-peek of our hag senpai.

I do not want a repeat of the events which led to my current station. Even after exculpation, it invited too many difficulties in my life. I needn’t— no, I mustn’t be a burden to Maeg. Or Airin. Or anyone else.

>by force of law

The older woman’s lips remain sealed tight and nightlike for the moment. Her brows remain high-strung as she contemplates the doings which lend structure to our intention. An exhale breaks the windless air...

>Nuan approves!
>[Slaughter Nuan will be more inclined to help Kommgal going forward.]

… one of relief. “I hope it does not - necessarily - come to that, but it does sound an adequate deterrent.”

But a certain tenseness remains on her face. She pauses before speaking again. “If you do get hold of Pet, do let me know. I wish to talk with him.” Reaching into her breeches, she hands us both a trade card. Aside from listing the contact information, it details the many articles of meat products she sells.

A bittersweet smirk appears on my face as I read through the densely inked paper - she sells rice sausage! Alongside household bread, they were what I breakfasted for the longest time since leaving Crockbottom. Nowadays I can’t imagine my morning without white sausage and sweet mustard.

We explored the upper parts of the monastery for a few more minutes but it was not of note; the monks - the few which are present - did not know of it anymore than the elderly folk residing under the stilts. We left soon after the city clocktower’s drum rang, an announcement of the hour passing. It is six in the evening - the time when that robbery was supposed to take place.

Going to either one of those two locations mentioned by Nuan tonight is not possible - we all have a long day tomorrow; the last day Nagel company will remain open before new years.

“.. can’t do it neither.” Thon’s timetable is equally occupied in tomorrow’s evening. I suppose the chasing of this lead will have to wait until the other day.

Thon and I never did not talk much. Not without Aeg around, anyway.
“…”
“Uh.”
“There is something I’ve been intending to talk about.” I was first to break silence on our walk back to the main roadway of Screwpine Canal. “Airin says you mustn’t make legal talk with clients anymore - it brings difficulty to the legal division.”

“Difficulty to the legal division? The which I say, Gal, they - are - in the broadsheets of the [with]drawing rooms to begin with!” An exasperated huff follows his rebuke.

“I know.” And in fact, I have kept copies of outdated broadsheets myself, although that part goes unmentioned. “But that - is - the difficulty. They do not read it, rather, they rely on you or someone else to regurgitate it for them.” Thon scratches the sides of his cheek and avert his eyes. I already know of his detestation.

“… you ask of me to let those slaves wander about, unknown of which they do not even know? Unaware of rights, of outs the law bestowed upon them? Just to make their station a touch easier?”
“Airin has gotten into you, or is that not the case.” His words make clear the animosity in the air.

“I- I don’t wish for such circumstances to happen either, but the difficulties, they stack up. We are replaceable, the legal division? Less so the case. If we are pushed into meaningless, powerless stations, or passed over when they look for someone to fit for higher ones, we can’t do shit.” I straightway sever this supposed narrative of a woman perverting me into a loveless, uncaring Gal. I have no intention to prostitute myself to this notion.

Thon can only immediately reply with another huff, one that is admittedly less of contempt but frustration at the entirety. “H- how, how long must we keep to this? The higher stations you talk of, even if we did reach them, how much influence could we still give until the superiors discard us for more efficient ones?” I let out a sigh of my own upon hearing those last few words; the words of a man whose services are always needed in this industry; whose employment is so plentiful compared to mine. I’m not loyal to this company any too well, but I’ll be damned if I could live so uncaringly.

“I don’t even know.”
“But just take into account the complaint - we mustn’t fuck up our stations even moreso than now.” Reluctantly, he nods. The conversation quickly dies after that. I’d rather that the case than more quarreling.

Only when Aeg and soon after, Airin, join us did words get spoken again. Walking together at the outskirts of this derelict, outdated corpse of a district, we each talked of our doings.

That yellow-hair kid, Tian, was in possession of Aeg’s poster, which was unadulterated, as it exchanged hands. The hat’s whereabouts is unknown, however, Aeg did overhear the mark talk of the music school he and Galpet are studying at, and its many particulars; the number of tutors, their availability throughout the day, the opening and closing hours, and the starting and ending hours of their lessons.

(Perfect. With this, we can go in and ask for the address and other information unmolested.)

The robbery itself never did take place; when the summoned peace officers went to that desolate short-cut, they only found a single kid, one with white spots across his hands, cutting up and collecting some lungweeds ashore, supposedly as for his family’s chickens. They informed him that he ought to return home before dark, the which, he heeded. They patrolled the passage a couple more times before returning to Airin and informing her of their findings (or lack of it, rather.)

Damn it all. That white-handed kid was prepared - a kid wandering about with only a sickle might seem queer, especially so close to nightly hours, but a fifteen-years-old lugging around nets, bags, towels, and a sickle creates a different picture. Gyeng, that was his name, if I recall. He plays this game well.

Having shared our findings, and well aware of the work which lies tomorrow, we leave off this quest of ours for tonight.

By time I took off my shoes and rinsed my feet, the sky had only a sliver of orange left. Agh. Still many things I ought to make preparations for! Tomorrow’s work. Tomorrow’s clothes. Tomorrow’s clothes for the date with Airin. Housekeeping for Maeg’s visit.

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(Ugh. Was paperwork of last year, or even the year before that, even this bad? The winter months can be a hell of a thing sometimes.)

“Heya.”

( https://youtu.be/Un0TCzDuDH8?si=M09Cl6gMu2LQ-IcR )

Whilst I lost myself in thought, and fishing myself some more cold water, someone walked towards the frontage of my house. Someone I really did not expect to see this early.

“Heya.” I quickly finish up and put back the earthen jar’s lid back on as I welcome Maeg inside. My heart flutters a little as I walk behind her up the steps, now fully aware of her height compared to mine; her dark and fluffy hair, is gathered by a bow; her scent, is that of lemon and berries. I could gaze at her nape and admire that pigtail for an entire day. Mhm. There is a long-standing tradition of ours, the freefolk, whenever we do write a poem, aside from firstly giving thanks to our instructors and mentors, is to include a section dedicated to our lover, our muse—

“Wow. Quite the withdrawing room you got there.” Her comment jolts my half-rotten brain back into the conversation.

“Oh- ah- yes, thank you.” I try my damndest to not look too hard at Maeg as she lies on the pillow-covered mats, reminiscent of a picture that has since long passed, that of our younger years. How I wish I could spend an afternoon doing nothing together now.

I let her lounge as I tended to my other obligations, most chiefly being tidying up the bedroom. She needn’t see a dune of improper books, and she especially needn’t see the knives I’ve been cutting myself with.

“Hey—”
“Oh.”

For a moment, I did not dare to turn around.

“You- uh-”
“You need any help with the clothes?” With a little reluctance, I nod. I suppose there’s no saving it now. On full display are the brown tinges, the dried blood, my dried blood, staining the pale bedding. I… I don’t really got much to say to her as we unfurl and furnish it anew. Her silence probably preludes another lecture of a kind. Not that I do not deserve it.

“Pft.” Instead, a… laugh? What?
“You’re all grown up now, huh.” As she sets down another mattress next to mine, she shakes her head in an odd fashion.

“How many women did you eat up while you were away from home, I wonder~~” Maeg cackles as her gaze fixes upon the brown encrusted thing.

Is she… meaning it in earnest? That would be a fair bunch of blood. I don’t believe the hymen—

(Ugh. What sort of question is this, anyway?!)

>“You do not have the remotest idea how many times I’ve been fucked this year.”

> “I am taking such matters to the grave.”

>>6082763
>“I am taking such matters to the grave.”

>>6082763
> “I am taking such matters to the grave.”
A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. or fuck and tell most of all, he doesn't self-mutilate and tell

>>6082763
> “I am taking such matters to the grave.”
Man, I want to go with that first option so we joke further about how we’re the ones being fucked, but I don’t think Gal could see it through without cracking. Better to suggest it’s not happening anyway to see if she picks up on what it really is.

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Update’s coming. Drawing is partly done.
You’ll be choosing what to wear on the date. Here’s a sneak-peek at one of them.

>>6084116
Stylin!

>>6084116
is that a dress or it's one of those male long thing ?

>>6084541
What Gal is wearing on his lower half is essentially a very long skirt (Sarong)

There’s a bunch of ways to wear it, but the gist of it is you put your legs through it, then gather up and tie the excess fabric either at the back or front. Sometimes a clip or pin can be used to secure it. In this case, he ties a piece of cloth around it.

Demonstration here:
https://www.tiktok.com/@sarongbatik.th/video/7252299259461078278

It is traditionally worn by people in the north-eastern part of thailand, muslims in said area, and others neighboring it. Something similar is also present in India (Lungi) and Myanner. The patterns and colors vary, but they are commonly plaid. For more formal occasions the second method in the tiktok video is used. Material used is either silk or cotton.

A single piece of cloth that can be used for multiple purposes is the trend for these Thai “breeches” / “skirts”, although most others are wrapped around the body instead of inserting the legs through type.

TLDR; a skirt for a middle-income person. (Also the same thing >>6072634 Gal wore during his earlier years)

the coat I just copied from Nine Sols’ Yi.

>>6084633
thanks, OP

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>>6084116
Pure horny nonsense.
but good for the heart.

The particulars of my love life is not something I wish shared amongst folk, and - especially - to her. Immediately I slap down the topic.

>“I am taking such matters to the grave.”

“Aww~~”
“Well.” Her chuckling and teasing dies down in return. A certain silence appears between us as we furnish our own mattresses.

“I don’t intend to tell who you can, cannot see. But. If you - do - need of advice, I’m here, ya? Or, at the least, till the weekend.” Her gaze was already upon me by time I turned to her again.

“Ya...” My voice lingers in the air a little longer than it ought to.

With tomorrow’s work looming over me, I spend much of the evening in preparement, going over the timetable of booked clients and the particulars of relieving slaves; no doubt there would be a rush - amongst the less disciplined sort - to leave off with a burden once their agreement is fulfilled.

It was a little amusing to see the circumstances of our youth reversed: Maeg lounging in my room and I the one busying myself with study. Along with her presence, that bearberry pie she brought was a nice retreat from the day’s tedium and sickness.

( … )

The morning’s arrival bring forth a wintery air; whose briskness cling to my skin as I put on the hoses and shirt; the garters and ribbon fluttering lightly as I walk, whose tint - under sunlight - are starting to show their weariness; remaining ever earthfast and inkly are my wide-brimmed hat and basket-hilt.

(Maeg’s probably still asleep. Sure is nice to have an appointment in the afternoon.)

Straightway the spire which surpasses the city’s clocktower in height had gathered up flocks and flocks of partly-closed eyes folk. How many of those debt slaves would retain their freedom, let alone the saved-from-punishment slaves, I wonder. Well, I suppose tarrying will do none of us any good.

The clocktower’s drum bellows. And bellows again. And again. Even by mid-day, the crowd only sparsely dissipates. One consolation, at the least, was the clients not being as hopelessly pedantic and ignorant as yesterday's hag.

“Haaah~”
“We ain’t leaving by five at this point.” Aeg yawns as he sits with me on the stairways. “Ugh. I really - am - going to miss Yuna’s show again.”

“That is the.. uh, privateer girl?” I take another sip of the sour wine as Aeg mopes about his idols, or one of them, at least.

“Mhm.”
“Ah well. at the least, the troupe will be staying till next week or so.”
“…”
“You ought to see it sometime! There’s a burlesque of the- uh— the finger necklace- the thousand-fingers guy in a couple days. And apparently they have a partnership with a peach wine brewery.” The walking (or sitting, rather) advertisement says the most puzzling things.

“A parody of saint Ongkurimarn’s journey? How.” My throat continues to burn a little as I speak even when the taste of that vinegar mixture left my lips. Ugh. How does Airin wolf down a bottle of this in one sitting.

“I ain’t even know myself.” He shakes his head and I contemplate on what the hell it could even mean.

“…”
“…”

“Please don’t tell me they changed the finger-collecting to prick—” My mind goes retarded in search of an answer. I suppose, in a way, it ‘would’ make more sense on why he is the patron of childbirth now.

“That’s probably NOT the case.”
“But I mean, it would—” Equally the case is Aeg’s.

( https://youtu.be/WuwAKdK89ys?si=EpRTyI7DKNcDcHdP )

The arrival of the windless afternoon brings another lot of folk; last-minute and temporary transferrals, mostly. Given and inherited slaves, especially the large and unskilled sort, can be a ponderous thing to keep around when the persons want a respite. I also experienced firsthand the joy of sorting through families whose lineage comes from husbands who have several wives. I can hear faintly the quarreling of the upstairs fellows all throughout the day’s latter half. For once I am glad I did not apprentice in the legal division.

“Ah. Miss Airin. G- good day, ma’am.” Waiting at the coffeehouse nearby, my voice shutters a little upon seeing her.

“Good day, Kommgal.” Wearily - perhaps even more than usual - she gives a nod as she walks to the counter.

“About our appointment. Can we push it to one in the dusk? I’m afraid we would not have time elsewise.” Returning from the counter with a cup of tea not unlike my own, she sits down to talk.

“Y- yes, that would be good too, ma’am.”

With that matter settled, she begins talking of the eating place and its particulars - the directions to the eastmost of Oceankeep, the circumstances of the place at night, and (naturally) the food itself. As I engross myself in her words, though, I do notice something consequent to the fruit tea she has been drinking - an opportunity to return the teasing she has once done to me on those stairs yesterday.

“Mhm. Miss Airin. Your lips look quite nice today - I really like your cosmetics.” She goes nervy for a moment and touches her now orange tinted lips.

“Hmph! You’re trespassing a little too far, junior. In fact—” Airin scoffs, and leans forward; her thin and shriveled fingers reaching for my own lips.

“I ought to admonish.”
“Such.”
“Hypocrisy.”

I let her do so. I could only squirm and pant as her fingers squeeze my cheek and glide across them. As her thumb presses gingerly against my lips, she proceeds to wipe it back-and-forth a good number of times. I did not dare to move as she did. By the end of it all, her thumb was orange and red as corral, and I myself, breathless and mayhaps equally so.

(I really am such a tyro at these sort of things...)

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It was six in the evening when I got back home. Three-fourth of an hour is plentiful to wash myself and dress for this appointment.

Rosewater adorns my hair; on my breasts are a light powdering; my lips a thin layer of beeswax; and my skin plucked and shaved of fur. There is naught to be done with the scars on my arms and thighs - I could only obscure it with clothing, and that, I do so.

As for the manner in which I present myself, I intend to be…

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>Laid-back
A voluminous coat covers my upper body, and a skirt - fastened with an additional piece of fabric - covers my lower half. Made from silk and plaided, it is a breathable and fine thing.

I suppose it has been a long while since I - did - get this comfortable with someone, so it would only be fitting if I present myself with such earnestness. I’d love to hang with her dressed in such a way.

[Laid-back: Kommgal will be less nervy.]
[Roomy pockets: the coat can conceal and store large objects such as his alehouse dagger.]

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>Flirty
Arm sleeves and hoses as black as the night which tightly cling to my skin. My shirt and garters are of a playful bearberry red, both of which are accentuated by the waist-height trousers which create a nice silhouette of my body. A pair of glossy rings embellish my fingers. The cow-mouth shoes furnish my feet with leather.

I never had the occasion to dress freely as if I was a slavecatcher or mercenary. Until now. I want to look pretty. I want to be admired, by her, naturally, but by myself as well. I want to stand proudly again.

[Flirty: Kommgal will be more confident.]
[Aquatic rings: the rings are made of polished rocks mined at sea, supposedly bestowing luck. It could be considered an implement to summon lightning.]

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>Formal
A cheery pink linen shirt and an (unslashed!) leather jerkin covers my upper half. My neck is mostly covered by a crimson collar which has a noodle flower pattern on it - the symbol of instructors and wisdom. The breeches are of a lighter shade of brown compared to the jerkin, and the hoses are the proper white. Mine has soles attached at the bottom, allowing me to forgo shoes.

This is a very important day for me, and without a doubt, for her as well. I have no intention of transgressing nor insulting Airin by way of dress or action. That will only end in heartbreak - I really do not know if I could handle such a thing again.

[Formal: Kommgal will be more judicious in speaking.]
[Handkerchiefs and spare cloth: his jerkin and breeches can store several. It may be useful in cleaning up liquids, such as sweat.]

Mid-thread Q&A

Thanks for reading and playing Loveless Gal. If you don’t mind, I have a few questions to ask.

>What do you think of the pacing thus far? Too fast? Too slow?
>Currently, what characters do you like the most?
>What interaction / scene do you like the most?
>What aspects of this quest do you like / dislike the most?

>>6086392
>Laid-back
I'm torn between this and flirty. either way, I wanna show her that we can be close to one another.

>>6086399
>What do you think of the pacing thus far? Too fast? Too slow?
Pace was on point

>Currently, what characters do you like the most?
Gal and Airin remain high on my list and now Nara has my attention

>What interaction / scene do you like the most?
I'd say the elevator one due to vunerability and the dream sequence with the bird guy

>What aspects of this quest do you like / dislike the most?
I like your art style and your writting style was a mixed bag for me early on, but now it's clearer.

>>6086392
>>6086395
What's even the difference between 'less nervy' and 'more confident'

>>6086399
>Laid-back

The pace is fine. I'm a bit intereste din Aeg and Nara, but Gal and Airin are best couple.

The elevator scene is still probably my favourite moment, too. Or the dates with Airin. Gal's extreme anxiety is a fun trait to play within, as much as it would be nice to see him loosen up with bestgirl. I'm surprised at how overtly flirty Airin got at work! Must be excited. A good sign!

Seeing your art change and evolve it really cool. The conversational flow has improved a lot, too! More updates are really all I'd ask for, but real life (and not birning out) sadly must take priority.

>>6086532
I took ot as level-headed and calm versus more forward and flirtatious.

>>6086395
>Flirty
Have to comment that I smiled at the filename, but I’m also voting for it.

I want Gal to feel pretty too. When was the last time he *wanted* to feel that way? Though combining luck and lightning might be *bad* luck given our circumstances.

I would accept laid-back as the alternate, not that it needs the additional support.

>>6086399
>Pacing
Good for now. Time seems roughly split between the “action” scenes with tracking Galpet and the “social” scenes with Airin and his work, and that’s a good feel.

>Characters
Airin, I’d say. I respect anyone who looks as tired as she does on a regular basis.

>Scenes
Elevator is still my fave, but in this thread I was partial to the interaction with Maeg and how she’s lounging around.

>Likes/Dislikes
I agree with the others on writing, paragraphs and lines tend to run a little longer without jumping around, and that helps smooth out the flow without sacrificing the idiosyncrasy of the writing.

Ellipses toxicity is far below concerning levels, so we’re good there. I’m sure it’d been replaced with dashes and other things like that, but I’d have to read it again notice. Needing a reread means it’s not a problem, so the point is mooted.

>>6086532
>What's even the difference between 'less nervy' and 'more confident'
Gal will be more casual, more laid-back when talking, hence, less nervous, in the “Laid-back” clothes.

For the “Flirty” clothes, Gal is still nervous when talking but he’s pushing through it to be more forward and flirty.

>>6086608
Pretty much.

>>6086682
>Have to comment that I smiled at the filename
We do a little bit of fooling about.

>I agree with the others on writing, paragraphs and lines tend to run a little longer without jumping around, and that helps smooth out the flow
I experimented a little with the dialogue tags. Rather than a sentence of spoken words followed a dialogue tag, then another person speaking, I did

Spoken words - dialogue tag - more spoken words by the same person.

Seems to work pretty well so far.

the ellipses I mainly use to represent silence.

>>6086608
>I'm surprised at how overtly flirty Airin got at work! Must be excited. A good sign!
Well, they’re off work but they are in a coffeehouse nearby the workplace and in their work clothes.

That’s actually a real thing, by the way - lower quality lemon tea is often artificially colored. I’ve had a couple in the countryside which did make my lips orange.

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Hag sneak-peak

>>6089410
Cute!

>>6089410
Airin mewing, also cute ears

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Sneak-peak of the update. Sorry for the long wait - it’ll be up tomorrow.

five years is a long time.

A part of me wishes to dress more prettily, to be more forward with my intentions and actions, to be someone she - and Gal myself - could admire.

… but I’d rather she sees me firstly as an intimate.

It’s always ‘wish’ and ‘intend’ and ‘could’ but never ‘am’ with me, isn’t it.

>Laid-back

The overcoat has a couple more nicks than I’d like since I saw it last, but the inside pockets remain roomy and earthfast — plenty enough for the articles; coin purses, the sidering dagger and sheath, handkerchief, a tin of insect bite balm, and… condoms and ribbons to tie them with.

(Never thought I would find use of those raffles’ rewards.)

The skirt itself I gathered and tied the excess in the front, the which, was further secured by a sash - serving as an additional pocket. The half-basket itself sits nicely above it.

( … )

Chirping bugs hidden in the blackness. Worn-out lamps and decayed wood. The dustiness of… dust and pebbles on my feet as I walk bare-footed. Flocks of folk and their laughs. Walking about town in such manner, I cannot help but recall the days of a younger self; the smell of firing up the oven; handing strangers the invitation letters, and showing up to deliver funeral biscuits when they could not make it; a bite of white bread and middling ones; lounging about cookshops with Maeg; long runs across towns due to incorrect addresses; bloodied toes and blistered forearms; drowsy mornings and sweaty afternoons.

Those indeed were the days.

A smile appears on my face as I collect myself, becoming fuller as I notice a certain senior of mine standing near an entrance to the underground.

( https://youtu.be/6QIgtUIQVNg?si=T6w4NBRQE_U4AzAF )

“You look wonderful, Airin.” Underneath the rows of lamp poles surrounding the descending staircase is a woman who dresses rather forward - but nevertheless - elegant.

Airin’s lengthy hair has since been tied to a braid, its ends embellished with a gold ring. Her dress, meanwhile, is parted half-way down her upper body, and has a rich cherry shade. Underneath the ring belt which secures it are trousers, as vividly dark and tightly fitting as her sleeves. A pair of armlets adorn her upper arms. Wrapped around her thighs are garters and hoses of slightly different shades of red.

“You look rather fine yourself, Kommgal.” She nods, before extending a hand.

We both could have met directly at the eating place itself, but being the romantic that she is, insisted on walking together. Not that I mind making talk before supper.

“Whoa.” She idly fondles the folds of my skirt as I answer a couple of her curiosities.

“Ya. The particulars, they can get quite deep.” Walking beside her, I occasionally sneak a glance to admire that swaying braid and bare nape of hers. How I wish I could grab a handful of it and breathe in her scent.

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“Ah. Is- is my hair that white?” A glance too long, apparently. Airin asks - in a manner more flustered than usual - as she looks up at me.

“No. I can only faintly see them. But you needn’t worry; they are nice to look at. I like them very much.” A gasp and incessant wiggling of the ears tells me all I could ever want to hear.

“Tch. That’s - twice - now that you overstepped, junior.” Airin restrains her ear as she admonishes me.

Past the rows of towering and tightly packed buildings - the dwelling of giant, man, and goblin - are the sparsely lit and roaring shores. Among the pockets of light is a certain eating place standing on stilts, next to a pier.

“The one and only.” Her hand points to the porridgehouse constructed out of little more than plates of tarnished metal and wood planks stitched together. It is not lacking in quality, though, far from it; lines of hooked ducks and pork sit next to a fort of boiling pots and barrels inside the openly visible kitchen; the scent of chicken stock and oyster-sauce covered bacon permeate the air as the fire and steam flares up; each of the long tables around the frontage furnished with the usual basket of condiments; and manned by little more than three persons (most of whom are perhaps as ancient as the architecture), to boot.

Despite twenty-or-so other folk eating here, there is a certain tranquility to having supper here of all places. An ‘out’ from the constant noise and light of the districts.

“Heh. I never knew you to be so old.” As we wait for our meals, Airin teases me on the archaic way I had ordered.

(Egg noodles are ‘yellow’, obviously, and ‘waterfall’ is, well, water!)

“Pft. You are the one ordering a fishhead with your porridge, grandma.” I scratch my neck and return the compliment.

It was only a couple minutes’ wait before the table became full of plates and bowls. Airin got plenty use out of the tin of chili and vinegar - I myself stuck to only a sprinkling of fish sauce. As the bitter-saltiness of oysters goes down my throat, and the well of bacon runs dry, my ears grow more attuned to others’ words. Regrettably.

I hadn’t noticed the contents of their speech earlier, but I - know - indubitably there is a man and a woman behind us even before we planted ourselves onto the stools.

“-- ting. Having their- their childrens flaunt their bodies for the entirety of the town to see — what sort of parents are they.” Spite drips from every word that leaves this middling-aged woman’s lips. “Lower sort ruining the beach for fucking everyone.”

“How old your son is, again? Fo- fifteen?” The man briefly speaks up. Sounds like a goblin, judging from the height it is coming from. He does not seem to care any too well about the matter she talks of.

“Yes. Ugh. I wish I could knock some sense into them. They know damn well what’s going to happen. One of these days- one of these days, someone’s daughter is going to get raped by a pack of boys and it won’t be my difficulty.” The man says nothing in response.

“What do they teach— do they even go to monasteries, I wonder? ‘No bare shoulders and upper legs.’ It’s a simple fucking concept.” She continues to mope. “When my son is older and he rapes- Ugh. Nevermind it all.” That last sentence, muttered under her breath was…

What a gross misunderstanding of the Middle Path and deflection of blame. Perhaps she ought to be raped the next time she goes to the market without covering her nape and hair, then, as demonstration of this belief. Or wear long-sleeved shirts and ankle-length skirts for the rest of her life.

… I should gather Airin and leave this cunt and her cunt-addicted doll alone to rot before I have the inclination to grind that brain of hers into chickenfeed.

Looking up from my bowl, I turn to see an equally frustrated Airin leaning and sneaking a glance to the table behind us.

“.. ! ”
“The fuck is you staring at.” A glance that cunt returns. Shit. This is becoming a difficulty! “Chief example of what I - was - talking of, Plern. Lower sort who can’t keep—” That rotten thing vomits out another remark before I could respond.

Turning myself around, I get a look at that two at last; a fourty-something-years old woman with a large hairbun and silvery accessories, wearing… a black smock with white flowery patterns, which - technically covers her shoulders - but leaves her collarbones bare and possessing a neckline so low it could fit a hand’s span. The male goblin looks to be a decade younger than hers, dressed only with a jerkin and breeches.

This is retarded. They (well, her mostly) are critiques of a standard they do not even meet.

“Whoa- whoa. Ease off. My apologies, she’s over-reacting a little—” That thing known as ‘Plern’ tried to quell the circumstances. He knows damned well a quarrel with someone twice his height and a lunge away from biting his throat out gives him no advantage. “I don’t appreciate someone spying, criticizing the words of a private conversation.” Her barking shuts him up before anymore dissolution.

I know her sort. I know it all damned well. The type of female to escalate a situation and make a fight, and strike her own man, not to stop it, but as punishment for not listening to her.

In this circumstance, the main difficulty lies with her. That man is only a lapdog. I ought to address it.

>“You bare more skin than her.”
She’ll make up all sorts of excuses as to why her circumstances are different, ho doubt, but it doesn’t matter - while she’s spouting her horseshit, we can brush it off and leave unmolested.

>“What the hell are you talking of.”
Deny. Deny everything. She can bark all she wants, but she can’t prove shit. All that yelling will get some much-needed attention from the rest of the folk. And it’s not going to be on her side.

>(I don’t wrestle with pigs.)
With someone clearly this hypocritical, it’s best to disengage. Leave without another word. If they follow, which they most likely won’t, it will bolster our claim of self-defense.

Quest schedule update:

Hello. I have a fever right now. Writing will probably be done faster than this one but I’m not sure if I can do the art right now.

>>6091285
>“What the hell are you talking of.”
>>6091286
rest well qm.

>>6091285
The laid-back attire was seemingly the right call. With her dressing forward, she’s bound to be more nervous. A laid-back demeanor to allay such nerves is best rather than two forward (and nervous) wrecks.

I’d prefer looking at the male goblin and saying
>”You could do better.”
the walking away. Ignoring her is one thing. Ignoring her in favor of her man? That should be especially infuriating.

I’d go with
>(I don’t wrestle with pigs.)
otherwise.

We can mention to Airin that we did bring a blade just in case, but I believe her dress is too beautiful to risk getting bloodied so simply. We’d also rather not cause her more legal troubles, she deals with enough of those during the day.

>>6092375

>”You could do better.”
Would be similar to the instigation of the first option. I’ll allow it.

(Airin herself has a knife of her own.)

>>6092375
+1 to
>”You could do better.”

>>6091285

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Writing.

>>6093488
Ah jeez, maybe this didn't go quite as we might have hoped. I hope Airin's not angry.

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>>6093497
Soon™

Updating tomorrow.

>>6094433
Waiting warmly

Update’s done. No drawing, unfortunately.

I suppose I could address her, make her confront a standard she herself did not even meet, or deny completely her accusations and leave without bothering to wrestle with a pig. I very well could do so.

But what of him? A bystander to a female who advocates the distortion of religion in order to push onto would-be rape victims that what was inflicted upon them was of their doing. Does this man, Plern, truly wish to live with such a low sort?

Following a weary look to the both of them, I take a moment to quell myself before speaking - to appear as laid-back as I possibly could. Inhale. Exhale. The which that came before did not stir me the remotest. That is the picture I intend to make, anyway.

>“You could do better, cuz.”

My indifference shattered any remaining momentum of the conversation - the only thing that lingered was the sound of our breathing. Just as that cunt was about to open her lips again, Airin picks up on my doing and deftly calls for an end to our stay. “Ma’am. Bill, please.”

With a raised hand and few words, she summons a waitress; a human whose age must at least a decade over her own, her hands and fingers so wrinkled, the veins and bones make themselves apparent without being under tension, yet having a certain denseness and strength to them - no doubt from decades of moving kitchen instruments.

Her presence smothers what's left of that talk. Once she finished listing our order, we paid for the meal and immediately left the pier. To sneak a glance back would stir the situation again unnecessarily, rather, I took a page out of those kids’ book; did a couple stretches of the hands and cracked my fingers as I walked, before lightly loosening my sash and carry the sword by hand.

To most folk, I am merely adjusting myself after a hearty meal. To a certain sort, however, it states: I know the situation could jump off, and am a blink-of-an-eye away from brandishing my weapon. Hell, I don’t even - need - to draw it; striking someone with the hilt or pommel could break teeth.

An uneasy feeling stirs within my breast as we leave the shores. I do not wish to leave her - partly out of fear, which, mayhaps is unwarranted, but another reason is… well. I might as well say it.

“U- uhm. Airin. I really enjoyed our talk from before.” My fingers curl up as I try to be as forward as her. “May- may I stay with you tonight?”

“I’d… like it as well.” Her hand slowly encroaches upon my wrist as she whispery speaks. “A- ah. I- we ought to go the roundabout way to my place.”

Rather a straightway walk back to the upper districts - the which, could expose us to being followed - we cut through the middle before going up north.

(Having an older woman hold my hand and guide me through the city is an unreal feeling!!!)

Since we are about town anyways, we got ourselves some - much needed - refreshments; neither of us cared much for the orange and scarlet tinge of our lips which lingered afterwards. We will be wiping it off later, anyways. And since we already got ourselves some refreshments, we might as well get a couple more articles which would be of use tonight.

“What. H- How.” Airin seethes as she looks at the empty patch of the grocer’s tablecloth. “Why crocodile tails of all things. No one — needs — that much salve.”

“I ain’t the remotest know myself. I didn’t even see them! Never left-- never even turned my back on the stall!” The old groced is similarly stirred at the odd circumstance: four whole bottles - each as wide as a brick - disappeared in a flash.

And so am I. Crocodile tail itself, or products made with that plant, do not fetch a high price - the very opposite, in fact. They are chiefly used medicinally: burns and sores treatment, constipation, joint pain relief, animal stings, foot calluses and general skincare. And for our purposes, lubricant. It is rather puzzling to see a person needing so much, regardless.

Hm. This is an annoyance. Olive or coconut oil could work in its stead but I am unsure of their particulars when used with the intestine-based condoms. That slaughterer probably knows, but considering how late it is, and how far we are from the wet markets, that’s out of the question.

“Oh-- uh. Wait. The moment I saw it last was before- there was a couple kids running about and knocking things around.” She looks at the tins of mosquito bite balm on her side. “Three, four of them, like headless chickens. I don’t think they even noticed.” A touch of exasperation lingers in the air.

Going further up the street didn’t help much either; most grocers have closed up their frontage, and the few which haven’t, do not have what we are in need of.

“Nevermind it. Olive oil should do finely...” Airin nuzzles against my arm, as if she was a cat. Ah, this night has been quite tiring for this senior of mine, hasn’t it? I almost feel guilty lingering in this moment. Almost. “Mhm.” She purrs like one too after some gentle stroking of her scalp.

(Ha.)

After what felt like minutes of her being glued to my side, we both feel a little more refreshed. Before staying at her place, we both needed a visit to the outhouses. It would be of great inconvenience if that were to come up later, anyway.

Within the city whose every inch of space - especially ones facing the road - are at a premium, one could find the occasional stress-relieving spots tucked away in the more forested branches of the districts. Luckily, the upper districts’ forks have some semblance of cleanlin—

“AH!” Airin jerks her leg upon stepping something which produces a wet squish. I also immediately halt my steps. Looking around, this soft, shimmering thing appears more numerous as we continue down the pathway.

This viscous trail… thing—

(Crocodile tail salve!)

But… why? Why here of all places. I-

As we get closer to the row of outhouses, we notice… noises coming from one of them. Faint, but nevertheless present. The sounds of a male. Airin and I looked at each other and without uttering a word, knew exactly what we found.

“Uh. So. Should we go elsewhere?” I scratch my neck as I whisper.

“The closest one - a good one, at the least - is like fifteen minutes away. I’d rather not. Just. Uh. He probably won’t notice, right? Let’s just… get it done and be out of here.” Airin fidgets her fingers as she glares at the middle outhouse. A disgusting pool of that glossy salve is leading to that one.

I’m a little conflicted about this. I can’t blame the guy - it’s not like I myself haven’t done it on so many occasions - but the thought of her alone being somewhat near him feels weird. So I offer to keep watch of the entire thing while she tends to her business. If she pounds on the door, it means shit jumped off.

“Appreciate it. Likewise.” With a nod, she treads as gingerly as possible and enters the rightmost one.

As that door closes, I take a moment to sigh - damn, what a day it has been. While waiting for her, I spend a little more time looking around the place, seeing if there’s any more peculiarities I haven’t picked up upon, and doing some more stretches of the hands.

I - most fortunately - did not step on any bizzare substances with my bare feet, but the closer look to the ground reveals a strange pattern. How come - these - blades of grass are darker than others? It’s brownish but also pale in a way that doesn’t seem natural. Like it’s painted on or something. And what’s with this inconsistency of the tinge? The moonlight’s reflection doesn’t—

It’s blood. Dried blood. And fat. And bits of skin. Very, very recently.

>Pound on the middle outhouse’s door — ask if they are injured.
Surely the salve and dried blood are not unrelated. Airin and I could get them out of there if they’re too injured to move by themselves.

>Look through the silts — get one last confirmation before doing anything
The doors are a little chewed up. Partly from age, but some nicks appear intentional. I could see the doings of the person in there if I get close enough.

>>6095374
>Pound on the middle outhouse’s door — ask if they are injured.
Also alerts Airin, if there's danger about.

>>6095374
>Look through the silts — get one last confirmation before doing anything

Waiting for tiebreaker tomorrow.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

1. Pound on the door
2. Look through the slits

Writing.

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Update sneak-peek.

(The fallout of everything.)

>>6097077
what a twist!

Updating tomorrow.

Delay. Headache.

In process of comissioning an art of Gal&Airin. Will be posting soon.

>>6098752
Feel better soon, QM.
Get hype for art!

I really do not want to come to conclusions with - what appears to be - a handful of circumstantial evidence.

My fingers tighten around the scabbard’s throat as I approach the outhouse where those moans were coming from — doing so on its right, as to prevent myself from being immediately struck should the door happen to open violently.

>look through the silts

The woodgrain is quite dark to begin with, and the singular lamp which hangs above it all is not the brightest, but I can see someone sitting on a washtub, or rather, the limb of someone severely maimed; their lower arm is full of pale-colored flesh and whiteness of fat; their hand, scored with ravines of deep red and slightly shaking.

Firework injuries, most likely. I’ve seen enough. Judging by the size of their arm, this must be a child, 15 years of age or so.

“Mister! Do you need of help?” I step back from the outhouse and await an answer. The moment passes in silence.

“A sort. Of- of three. Fif-- fifteen, six- sixteen years. Man. Are they- are they about?” A shaky voice finally responds, not from the far corner where the tub is, rather, just below me, right behind the door. A goblin child - likely injured as well. He must be asking of those three which knocked over that grocer’s products, further down the road.

“I do not see them around. Are you wounded?” Again a moment passes in relative silence before an answer comes. “Yes. Hip. Cut. My fellow; arm, thigh. Burns.”

“Just. Just open the door, cuz.” Before another period occurs, the other kid speaks up. “It’s over.”

With some reluctant snorting and huffing, the goblin unlocks the door and partly pushes it open. The hand gripping the scabbard sweats a little as my main swings it out to its fullest extension.

( … it’s them.)

In the far corner, sitting on a washtub whose water is of a disturbing amber shade, is that yellow-haired kid I and Aeg took so much pains in following for the past few days. His breeches - especially on his right side - are charred and frayed; rather miraculous is his hand, let alone his fingers are still intact. Strewn around the tub - and confirming my earlier suspicions - are the bottles once holding crocodile tail-derived salve.

To my right, collapsed in the corner, is someone I too was pursuing - Galpet. Beneath his unbuttoned jerkin, couple inches below the brisket, is a sash impregnated with crimson and brown. Loosely gripped and resting on his lap is most interestingly, a hand mortar — a pistol with a wide, some 2 inch in diameter barrel, and a wheellock mechanism. It’s not the cheapest way of shooting fireworks, nor the safest, but it is a convenience.

(And much like an arquebus, putting too much powder brings a risk.)

After fetching Airin, we questioned them on the particulars of their circumstances and the faculties they still have; the yellow-haired kid, Tian, can walk unassisted albeit slowly, Galpet needs something to lean on; the three other kids, who chased them from the wet markets to the upper parts of town - Tian theorizes - likely rotated back at the center, to fall out or to waylay them on their way back home.

Rather a gamble of reaching the hospitals in the upper left quadrant unmolested, we could cut through the right, get to the underground tunnels and seek treatment at the medical facilities there. Due to proximity, they mainly treat construction-related injuries. Good enough.

We both could have easily left off with them after giving the directions; we have our own appointments we were intending to tend to, and we are under no obligation to help… yet we do so, anyways. Partly out of sympathy, but also the leverage and insight we may gain.

( https://youtu.be/WuwAKdK89ys?si=Q0hp4R0p_-ZA6OF9 )

Making talk was… complicated; I myself and Airin do not want to reveal our doings for the last few days, and neither do those kids, so most of the answers ended up vague or monosyllabic. Nevertheless, it painted a picture well enough; the failed robbery caused a quarrel amongst those five kids, likely over suspicions of someone leaking their plans and future loss of money-making opportunities since they couldn’t steal the items back. Galpet is likely got the most blame as he was not even present during that evening and the mark was a colleague of his.

As we made our way downwards, walking underneath the firework-filled sky and flocks of nightly folk, I felt a stronger-than-usual tug on my sleeve.

“Different. Roadway.” Pet’s shaky fingers cling to the cloth as he positions himself behind me. Immediately my eyes went looking for a band of three which may have - for some reason - lingered around the frontages and establishments on the road we intend to walk through.

(If only that was the case.)

Amongst the packs of friends, lovers, and families which still remain outside during the midnight hours, I notice a certain woman with silvery ornaments on her hairbun, and dressed in a smock whose neckline does not even meet the unequibalanced qualities she herself set. With a longer glance, I can see that goblin scuttering behind her. Were we to stay our course, within the minute, they will pass - and most probably - notice us.

Hm. His unprovoked comment, the intention to hide himself from someone, and their similarly styled hair — let’s push my luck a little.

“Mhm~”
“Why, you don’t intend to see your ma and da?” In the most devil-may-care tone I could muster, I respond while cracking the other fingers with my thumb. A sharp exhale from him tells me all I wished to know. “I think we had our fill with her, anyways.” Airin sighs, before making our little band disappear into one of the many alleyways.

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Now that I have the time to ponder on it more, I suppose I should not be surprised — a woman who deny maturity to her son would deny accountableness to men, pushing such to the province of other women.

(Her insistence of washing a 15-years-old son personally could be for a less wholesome notion.)

… but then again, was the memory I saw unadulterated? The last time that ‘messenger’ withheld the particulars, I had to leave Crockbottom to even find employment. Hearing things from the horse’s mouth does not seem an option, either. Not right now. And there’s still the higher art. I don’t even know what are the limits of that. And with how fractured the band is, the possibility of getting that hat—-

“Hey. Is you well? Looking a little tired there.” Grasping my wrist, Airin jolts me awake from the endless sea of nauseating thoughts. Once again, her voice soothes my nervy self as we enter the elevator. “Ha. I ought to be asking you that, ma’am.” We share a satisfied chuckle following my teasing.

A much needed reminder; at the end of the day, this - is - supposed to be our night, after all. All these impurities needn’t define it. Those other matters can be sorted in the tomorrow and other days.

( … )

Following the ride, we ventured deeper into the more newly constructed parts of the tunnel; the once brisk air gone, replaced by the perpetual carting of rubble; bookstores and other establishments for leisure replaced by vast storehouses and temporary cookshops.

“We should be fine from here.” Having spotted the hospital’s gigantic door curtains, the yellow haired kid, Tian, tells us that they no longer need accompanying. Just as he flicks his hand for Galpet to follow him, the goblin shows some hesitancy. A ‘give a minute’ look is exchanged between them.

“Your talk of earlier. You mentioned meeting her prior?” Pet turns his attention to Airin. She passes a glance to me before giving a brief nod.

“They were at the same eating place as us for supper. They did not like us any too well - and for the record, no, we did not involve ourselves in their conversations. Not until she accused us of it.” I answer the potential questions before he has the chance to speak it. It gives him pause for the moment.

“The conversation with the man she was with, was it a quarrelsome thing?” My brows twitch a little while processing his choice of words. Hm. For someone who thinks very little of Amournnara’s (current) paramour, a part of him does seem to deeply care about their happiness.

We ought to tell him…

>the entire length and breadth of it
She’s not a good person. Indubitably. Mayhaps learning of this would help him realize it.

>the gist, spare the particulars
He does not need to hear his own mother talk of rape as something he might do because a woman does not know ‘propriety’ — she provoked the quarrel while he tried to quell it.

Aside from backing up my claims, Airin could also give him something which may help Pet in his current station: trade cards of her acquaintants whose province are that of family and guardianship.

Should she give them to him?

>yes
He cannot resolve a difficulty if he does not - even - know he is in one.

>no
I cannot put them at risk. I cannot put a larger burden on them because of my doing.

Art from twitter artist @BumbleLeeArt

>>6099335
cute art, shibi style looks neat

>the gist, spare the particulars
>>6099337
>yes

>>6099335
>the gist, spare the particulars

>>6099337
>yes

The art turned out well!

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WIP art.

(He’s doing the thumbnail!!!)

Art’s done.

>>6101270
Nice! I guess we'll see it with next update?

>>6101325
Yep

Updating tomorrow.

>>6101907
waiting warmly

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Good morning.

The seggs™ is taking longer than I thought. Please stay tuned. Here is a sneak-peak of the normal update, though.

the preparation for the conclusion.

head’s up. 2 more updates after this one. See you soon.

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*actually one way of eating weisswurst

>>6103940
this gobbo is horny, plowing must ensue.

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Hello hello.
Update on the… update.

I had to scale back a couple things so the normal update doesn’t end up with 6-7 posts’ worth of words, but ~90% of it is complete now.

Good news: after this update, I’ll be free on Tuesday and Thursday. Depending on the response, I should be able to finish another one by those days.

Bad news: Today was a lot busier than I thought it was gonna be. I can’t get it out until evening of tomorrow.

>>6104130
Hag sex™ linked seperately coming soon.

>>6104586
Thanks for the update, QM!

>>6104586
very nice, waiting warmly

>the gist, spare the particulars

I’ll be damned if my own mother expects of me to rape a woman because she dressed in a manner which bared her shoulders. He has enough shit to shovel. We make mention of a quarrel started by her provocation, assumption of malicious intent on our part, her spouse’s (“Plern”) attempt to quell it, its dissolution — but not my parting words.

“That does seem to be her character.” Pet looks away as his wistful words hang in the windless air. “You may as well tell me in earnest your intention — at this point.” His gaze snaps back to meet my own. My brows recoil briefly at the simmering malcontent in his breath. “I knowest you trailed us: someone forearmed those peace officers. Get to the heart; I’d rather settle this as speedily as I could.”

“Rose-covered hat and broadside of that idol ‘Yuna’ - items you took from that giant. Playhouse.” As I recite Aeg’s belongings, I can see his face becoming high-strung. More than it already is.

“I warned them from making such a tyro move. And — now — mine and everyone’s cunts are fucked.” The goblin gropes around in his breeches and fetches out a heavily creased trade card. “Wit leaves at three, or four, in the afternoon. Make your inquest then or at mid-day.”

Although the ink is smudged, its edges frayed, the card nevertheless details the Siriya Household Musical Tuition’s services, and chiefly, its opening hours and location. Handing it to Airin, she seems to recognize its whereabout; a couple minutes walk from that twin hearts temple, far north-west of Oceankeep. Not the liveliest place, not compared to the screwpine canal or other streets further down.

“Tell- tell him— I’m sorry. The company I kept was the low sort. I’ll see to it they don’t molest him or his folk.” The absence of any compensation makes a part of me want to not follow through with such an ask. “How do you intend on - such - a course?” With an undercurrent of spite also running through my words, I ask him on his supposed plan.

“I suspect- no, I knowest they will back up on him. If they’re the sort who cannot be fucked to pay for toasted bread, I do not doubt such a well will not go unexhuasted.” Once again, he (conveniently) leaves off his part in the band. “They know of the place, but how far up the river, that’s not something they possess. They’ll likely sweep upwards after cutting through the market district. I intend to waylay them from down-river.”

“You could barely walk without aid.” Rather than an at-length discussion, I point to one particular which may greatly hinder him in his quest. “I am aware! But tomorrow’s doing needn’t much of that.” Pet huffs and brings his hand up.

“I have practiced with it for some time. The art. The I, myself, Galpet needn’t touch them. Just a part of me, my saliva, my nails, will do. I could - and intend to - reverse it provided they show intent to have appointments elsewhere.” His thumb feels the unevenly cut nails as he speaks.

Hm. That is of note. I suppose it makes sense he could remedy it - the messenger similarly did so when I was at his ‘place’. If the breadth of his technique is wider than I previously thought, I wonder if mine, too, has breadths and lengths I hadn’t grasped.

“I’ll settle the matter. You needn’t worry of that. Get your things and bow out.” Sensing the silence following the unraveling, he decides to conclude the conversation.

>yes

“Wait. Junior.” Airin fetches out a handful of trade cards from her garters just as he limps away. With a little reluctance, Galpet grabs and looks through the heavily inked and thick-edged cards. After returning a glance to me and Airin, he wordlessly walks back to his fellow - none of us wish to push that matter any further.

By time we returned to her place, even the fireworks were starting to diminish in frequency. Neither of us had much strength to do much excepting washing our feet and collapsing on her mattress.

“Mhm. Sleep well.” Not bothering with a blanket either, Airin snuggles against my arm and uses the coat in its stead.

… and slept well, we did. For three hours or a number relatively close to that. The morning sunlight and the restless avian yellings reminds us of the wonders of having a respectable sleeping routine.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Airin murmurs as her fingers tug on my sleeves.

(Ugh. I can’t be fucked.)

After brushing my thumb across my eyes, I bequeath my coat to her and continue my sleep…

( … )
( .. ! )
( WHAT! )
( WHY?! )
( WHY DID I DO THAT??? )

A thought jolts me awake after an hour or two of rest. My breath feels heavy, and…

My arms.

It disgusts me every time I see those pale streaks imperfectly blended into my limbs. Even now, the ones from last year still feel lumpy and scratchy. Had I not been such a tyro, rather, did those cuts in-line with the arm and thigh, I wouldn’t have such difficulty, wouldn’t have such a vile appearance so uneasily explained away, demanding sleeves outside my dwelling, and now, Airin, of all folk, is going to- is going to—- no, she knows already, doesn’t she. She must’ve; no doubt she saw those marks when she left the bed. I- I really am disappointing her again! Fuck, I- I—-

I cannot fall out in such a fashion.
Not after everything she did for me. I mustn’t. I cannot rely on her aid for all my life. Squeezing the bedding, some semblance of rhythm and depth returns to my breath; veins and bones reveal themselves underneath the frequently frayed skin; the tenseness beneath my brisket glacially mends itself.

“Heya—”

And re-opens.

“AH! Mi- miss Airin!” Startled by her sudden appearance at the doorway, my hands speedily seized the coat and threw it over my upper body.

“Ah. Sorry for menacing you - was not my intention. I meant to ask if you would like to breakfast together.” Still wearing yesterday’s clothes, excepting the hoses and garters, Airin walks over and sits in front of me. “Hey.” Her fingers reach for my cheek.

“There. There.” Her thumb brushes off the tears I hadn’t realized was brimming. “Lean on me, you needn’t ask, junior.”

And I did, and it only made the crying worse. The minutes which I clung to her felt like hours. That nauseating tenseness took its time leaving my chest.

“Mhm. Feeling better?” Gliding her knuckles across my tear-crusted face, I follow her movement as if a dog being pet. “Good.” Brushing past the hair, she leans forward to kiss my forehead.

… wow.
Her lips feel really good.

( … could I?)

“Uhm. Airin. Can- can you please do it again? I’d- I’d like that very much.” My whimpering provokes quite the chuckle out of the senior. “Oh my. Getting greedy, are you? Ha. I never did admonish you proper.” Her authority stirs within me - something - else.

Sliding her hand behind my waist, and tilting her head slightly off-line from mine, I straightway knew of Airin’s intentions. And followed it through to the fullest; wetting my lips with her own; feeling the warmth of her throat and muffled breath as I wrestle her tongue and coat it in my saliva. After we pulled away from such indulgence, the trail of our mixed secretions still connected our mouths for a moment.

“Mhm. I ~ ought ~ to punish you for this over-step, boy.” Her inflection and that imperious tone makes my breath even heavier and frantic than before. Fuck. I want to worship her and beg her to rape me at the same time.

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(We breakfasted late.)

https://docs.google.com/document/d/10aiOwrlabnXz4iZ2wpJQRbT1m3yu7yIJpXQFwSTlfkE/edit

Following such an act, and in consideration of today’s doings, we breakfasted a little more heartily than normal; slices of sourdough toasted with olive oil (what’s left of it, anyway), a bowl of white sausages and potted leax, partly boiled eggs, and roasted vegetables.

“Oh, wow. That is nice.” After biting down on the - literally - orange fish, I take a moment to note its flavor and texture; soft like veal or kid, possessing a mild saltiness, but lacking in the harsh sourness of typical pickled [orange] fish. How wondrous.

“Heh. Kommgal. Watch me.” While I busied myself with the toasted bread, Airin pulls out another white sausage from the steamed bowl. With a smirk, she dips the tip in mustard and swallows whole its content with one squeeze of the hand, leaving only the skin.

“Mhm?” Capturing it in-between her middle and pointer finger, she wiggles it around while maintaining a very familiar expression. “I still cannot believe — that — happened.” Drooping my head in shame, I find myself unable to meet her gaze.

“sorry~” In a not-in-the-slightest apologetic tone, she continues fondling the skin. “You ought to use tougher condoms next time, boy. Or mayhaps, don’t.” Her playful words force a gasp from me yet again.

(But enough of that, for now.)

Mid-day is barely an hour away. We ought to make our play soon if we intend on getting his things back and shielding those kids from harm.

“If we - assume - his prediction is correct to begin with.” Airin rests her cheek on her fist. “If I was me: I’d back up on him and his fellow, take their shares, mayhaps with interest, assuming we hadn’t yet already done so yesterday.”

“Did they not win the fight? Those two seem to retain nothing excepting their clothes - If they had any beetles left, they would not have stolen those salves.” My eyes stress over the ponderous map whose edges barely fit on the withdrawing room’s table. Ugh. There is way too many possibilities here. We don’t even know fully the conditions of those three.

… that woman! We can ask that slaughterer and her folk; she presides in the wet market district, the same labyrinthean place which those youngsters use as passage and shelter. If we know of their doings of yesterday, we could, with further accuracy, predict the intentions of today.

Another place of note would be the Twin Hearts temple, situated at up-river, some 15, 20 minutes away from the musical tuition household. Considering its age - the which, I believe to be over a century since our alliance against the country of Galepeak - without a shadow of a doubt, has a vast collection of religious and mythological tales. Were I to look at such a complete collection, I could unearth the hidden breadth and length of this higher art bestowed to me, and mayhaps Galpet’s as well.

Aeg is also of importance; having Aeg himself explaining his side of the story to Wit would be far easier and more likely to get him to return his items - We’re definitely involving him sooner or later. I believe is in the lower parts of town; looking for eating places and cookshops that do not close during new years, and lounging near playhouses I suppose.

For our play during the mid-day, we decide to…

[CHOOSE UP TO TWO]

>Talk with the slaughterer, Nuan.
We can learn more about those three’s intentions.

>Look through the Twin Hearts temple’s collection.
If I - or Galpet - know more of the higher arts, we might not put ourselves in difficulties so severe.

>Find Aeg.
The speediest and strongest amongst all of us, although we needn’t find him right now if we do not intend to straightway visit the household.

>Visit the Sirinya Household Musical Tuition.
Might as well get his items; Galpet has the lower right quadrant of town covered. Without Aeg, though, this may be somewhat of a difficulty.

>>6105733
Man, it ended just before the good part.

>>6105733
zam, you're good with writting smut. smol woman femdom, my beloved, also nice switch with gal caressing her with the oil.
>>6105735
>Talk with the slaughterer, Nuan.
>Look through the Twin Hearts temple’s collection.
no rush

>>6105733
Atta boy.

>>6105735
>>6105813 +1

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>>6105739
>>6105813
>>6105994

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Stomach ache. Update might be delayed.

you can probably guess who would be dressed in a late 18th century clothing while everyone else is stuck in the early 17th c

>>6107055
>>6107058
Feel better soon, QM!

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WIP

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Sneak peak.

>>6107924
Nice!

>>6108699
Big wiggly goblin ear supremacy.

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Tomorrow.

Headache. Can’t finish it tonight. But art’s done and I’m like 70% done. One more choice after this one.

>>6110008
okie dokie

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Final sneak-peek.

>>6110008
Dang, coming to an end quick now, huh?

>>6110906
Probably. At this rate we might get a very short fourth thread + epilogue

Alright. Change of plans.

Originally I was going to send out an update today but I realized it was way too bloated. Instead, I’ll try to conclude this thread with one last update if I can.

Fourth thread coming next week if things go well.

>>6111346
Alrighty!

Those kids likely stayed up just as late as us yesterday - we should have time. Since Airin’s place is at the upper-right quadrant of town, a talk with Nuan followed by the visit to the temple would be the most expedient roadway to take.

As much as I’d like to wander about town with the bruises and kisses still fresh on my skin, (some) propriety must be maintained in temple grounds. Not to mention our clothes would not be allowed in to begin with - this temple specifically has a prohibition against anything red.

“Mhm. We ought to do this more.” Airin’s ears flex and wiggle as I knead her scalp and wash her hair; mahgroot lime and soapberries stripping away the excesses of yesterday and the morning’s doings. Rinsing her back with water, I can feel her shoulder blade and ribs residing just below the wrinkled and slightly coarse skin - an undeniable proof of her age. And its brevity. “We could make a repeat of this in the evening.” Such a thought I put aside, for the moment. “Such a greedy little boy.”

(Among other ones.)

With our hair washed and dried, we look over her dressing room for the articles which suit today’s doings; I replace my lengthy and flowy skirt with tighter-fitting breeches made from tying around a cloth around my hips, passing the excess behind the groin and tugging it behind the base of the spine. Midnight blue in color, just like my coat - the which, needn’t replacing, rather, a quick rinse. Likewise for my sash. Although, a scarf of mustard yellow is added to my neck, in consideration with the sweat I may accumulate.

“If I may, junior.” With some reluctance to her ask, I nod — letting Airin peel back my clothes and apply her ointments on the scars, as to prevent chafing and itching. Not that such explanations made the touch any less discomforting.

Airin herself exchange the dress and tightly-fitting trousers for a more voluminous shirt of white linen and an indigo skirt of ankle-length. She continues to wear hoses - so the garters below her knee could fix her daggers in place.

The lessons of yesterday went unmissed by us as we left her place; wide-brimmed hats and straw sandals kept heat from being an incessant annoyance. Unfortunately, only Airin has a secret under hers - although I doubt a goblin could even cut at my head to begin with.

(Even if those kids are furnished with them, a metal skullcap can only do so much against strikes with the basket-hilt, or thrusts from below.)

Boiling water and perpetual cuts of the cleaver. Dismembered ducks and buckets of entrails. The salty smell of seawater and shellfish soon gives way to a more visceral one as we approach the heart of the district. Rows of meat, varying in fat and bones, veil each stall in deep red and pale yellow. In such a populous and labyrinthean place, having a trade card was of great help.

>Talk with the slaughterer, Nuan.

“… I did not see those three children this morning, and I doubt my fellows did, either — if they did, they made no mention of it.” The old woman washes her instruments in a tub of troubled water as she gingerly speaks each word. “Hm. No, the last I saw of them would be yesterday, in passing, three in the dusk was the time, I believe, running riot - as often is the case - for boys of alehouses and cookshops.”

Interesting. They only passed through as work dicates. Their gathering, and the consequent across-the-town hunt must’ve taken place afterwards — they are not the sort to throw away their current, legitimate stations for short-lived revenge and pay. Then again, they were still about town when we came upon those two, bereft of any money or possessions excepting their garments.

(Their doings are more of opportuneness, I suppose, is a better way of putting it.)

With their main tether severed, I doubt those three would go out of their way to find that household and rob him. No, such a course seems even more unlikely now. That is comforting, at the least.

“Is there trouble about them?” My fingers curl up upon such an ask. A glance to Airin is followed by her nod. With a little reluctance, we tell her of the which that took place yesterday.

Sitting on her stool, her wrists limply rest on her knees as her head droops. “This - is - a debauch. He is not -- at the least -- dissuaded from such a course, is he.” Spite permeates the air as she drags out each word. “We really ought to alarm his parents of this — to the real cause! He needs to be away from such low company.”

Ah. Them. That’s a whole ‘nother difficulty.

“The.. uh, the musical tuition household should have their address, ma’am. We intend to visit it soon.” As flat as I could speak, I try to quell her nervy self. It did silence her for the moment. “Now, is there anything - else - you wish to ask of us? We have appointments elsewhere soon.”

“I wish to talk with him. It has been some time since-”
“If you could arrange it, I’d appreciate it greatly. That is all.” Some semblance of normality returns to her tone as her posture straightens.

(His deportment could use some guidance in the path of rectitude..)

>Look through the Twin Hearts temple’s collection.

With that matter reasonably settled, we can take a longer, more thorough look at the temple. The uproar of waves and endless chirping makes apparent the quadrant of town we are in.

Presiding on a mound as if a stronghold, the temple itself (and the mountainous stairway to it) stands alone and earthfast. Even - attempting - to look at it is a difficulty; the sun’s wrathful disposition turns the pristine white walls blinding. Traditionally, footwear is not permitted within temple grounds, but when our shadows can rival our hats in blackness, we leave off with such a rule on our climb.

“Tch.” Airin flicks her hand back instantly after a careless touch of the stairway’s walls. Instinctively, I extend my arm. “Lean on me, Airin. You needn’t ask.”

“Oh wow, junior~” The senior chuckles as she squeezes my wrist, her thumb and pointer finger just about touching each other. I suppose it is only fair she too makes a repeat of the morning’s doings.

Reaching the top, we are greeted in full by the wonderous architecture; bell-shaped requliaries embellished with patches of gold, whose height are equal to giants; halls and pavilions with sharply pointed roofs, perched by small statues of serpents - the last remnants of a time when they were deities of water and rainfall. It has been some years since I took part in a candle procession, let alone visited a monastery, but I could always recognize a scripture library - a tall building, with roofs stacked ontop one another and segmented as if a lobster’s shell. But firstly, I need to check my sword—

The Twin Hearts temple was constructed in memory of the alliance between us, the freefolk, and the northern forestfolk - an agreement to bring frith and stillness to each country, to respect each other’s borders and stop bloodshed, hence, the prohibition of anything red or blood-like. Including menstruation. That, I understand.

“It is fine, junior. I’d rather be about the pavilion, anyway.” Her willingness to heed such a particular stirs me even more. “No, this is fucking retarded. You should be allowed in there.” My fist clenches, cracking all my fingers at once as I glare at the sign imperiously sitting in front of the great hall.

To ENTIRELY deny women entry to a library and great hall is a disgustingly lazy roadway to take. If rape is another concern, excluding them from such a public space does the inverse!

“Kommgal. The very last thing I wish to do is get us into a difficulty.” She opens her palm, asking for my sword. I suppose I could argue against such a reason - point to the scant number of monks we even see, the other particulars we already disavowed in our current circumstance.

I relent.

After she climbs onto a seat in the wooden pavilion, Airin waves at me. I return the compliment, and continue alone.

As expected of any monastery which gorges itself with donations, the library’s flooring is silky and cool to walk on, its walls varnished with fanciful illustrations of the prince’s journey — not that I need anything more than a glance to recall these.

The scriptures are divided into three baskets; discipline, discourse, and higher doctrine. ‘Discipline’ holds additional commandments which monks and nuns must follow, ‘Higher Doctrine’ solely contains the tenets and explanations of the Middle Path. ‘Discourse’ has what I need - tales of the prince’s previous lives, saints, and other noteworthy characters.

(Ah. There it is.)

After taking enough books to erect a clocktower on the table, and some guesswork, I find a tale in which that ‘thousand cunts’ curse is used — a punishment inflicted upon the ruler of the highest quadrant of heaven, no less, for flirting with a sage’s wife.

‘Touched by the flames of lust…’
‘Removal of..’
‘Using a goat’s..’

Huh. While I am familiar with the part where the sage softens such the punishment by mutating them into eyes, I was - not - aware of the removal of his penis, and consequent attempt at replacing it; the text at Crockbottom must’ve adapted an adaptation of this.

Vulvas. Penises. Eyes. It can remove, mutate, or mold quite the bunch of things. From how it is described, such punishment is only supposed to cause embarrassment, not pain, either. Then again, I am not a deity.

Satisfied with my progress, I take a moment of respite — cracking my fingers and stretching as I walk outside, intending to get away from reading for some minutes.

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… Any semblance of frith and stillness this temple had is immediately revoked as I notice a certain person - whose height is thrice mine - admiring the river. Dressed in black and white, but more alarmingly, cradling a sword under his hand, the red-skinned messenger makes his appearance.

“There exists a truth. One which has been unearthed, forgotten, and unearthed in a cycle not dissimilar to life and suffering and death itself.” He does not bother to turn around as he speaks. “You took your time.”

“Sorry. I never - was - a seeker of the esoteric myself.” I step a little closer, trying to get a better view of the river.

“I do not wish to be misunderstood, no, it does not preside solely in the province of the higher arts. You may have noticed a line which runs through middle of your bollocks - might you know why that is the case?” His words puzzle me for a moment.

Thinking back to the which I read - the removal and transformation of the organs, I suspect something. “It is vestigial, isn’t it. Its shape was not originally such.”

“That is correct. A vestige of a vagina which never was. The body whilst inside the womb is pliable, its future roadways not yet fixed.”

(So that’s the strength of such an art.)

“Quite the art you bestowed to a child, fifteen years of age.” I sigh, partly out of amazement and exasperation. “Well, he does not intend to sit pretty with it.” Such worrying words would provoke a response out of me, but before I could get a single word out, a flash of velvet envelops the entire world.

“A proper messenger would not be here, Kommgal.” He turns around.

>Thus concludes Loveless Gal in a bind.

>>6111633
>“Sorry. I never - was - a seeker of the esoteric myself.”
Kek!

>a proper messenger would not be here
A renegade garuda? A fallen angel, after a fashion? Dangerous... What game is he playing?

I look forward to the next entry, SQM. Thanks for running!

Archived.

https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=loveless%20gal%20quest

Thanks for playing!

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>>6111633
>“Sorry. I never - was - a seeker of the esoteric myself.”
pic rel

>“A proper messenger would not be here, Kommgal.” He turns around.
hmm outside help perhaps ?
>>6111706
thanks OP. Can't wait for the new thread