Cultural Exchange, Pt. 2

Instead, the imp’s expression shifted—just barely.

Then, with a slow exhale, she muttered, "I would if I could."

A pause.

"The civil war’s why the weak demons fled here. To be among your ilk."

"And yet, here you are."

The imp tilted her head slightly, revealing what Elisa hadn’t noticed before.

A missing eye. Half the flesh in her right arm looked to be atrophied or simply gone.

"I am weak."

The imp’s smirk returned, bitter but sharp. "The sooner you accept your place in life, the better. Potential, fairness? As if life was meant to coddle. Maybe if we had the luxury of time. I know my place. It’s high time this region knows its place in the pecking order, too."

“Aren’t you afraid of me going to Kael about this?”

“Of course n—” She cleared her throat. “I keep forgetting you aren’t familiar with demonkin culture anymore. No, because he would have to come up with a better argument than mine. That’s how we operate. We cannot pull rank based on the virtue of rank. If someone of any station raises a valid point, the person in charge must listen. He can kill me, sure... but the optics would be awful.”

She took a step forward.

"As I said—humans from Highcliff, no matter how much you claim you are different from the Concordant? It couldn’t be further from the truth."

Her golden eye gleamed.

"Bar the Paladins of Eor, you’re all selfish."

Elisa didn’t hesitate. "And from my interactions with you, I can say all demons are all assholes. Doesn’t make it true."

“Ad hominin.”

"And what’s this about a civil war?”

“That? Well, it’s only been talked about every general assembly.”

“So, there is a civil war? Among the demons?! Why didn’t he tell me?"

"Maybe because you act like an injured puppy half the time, so he has to act extra careful."

Elisa bristled. "I do not—"

"Oh, you do." The imp snorted, straightening up. "The wedding will have little talk of it anyway. It’s not etiquette."

Elisa clenched her fists. "So what, I’m just supposed to… get on with it? Go back to being the Count’s wife? His muse? Like nothing ever happened?"

"Are you telling me you couldn’t?"

Elisa hesitated.

The imp let out a sharp breath in response, tail flicking behind her. "I would if I were in your position."

Elisa frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"You could do much worse. Like shoveling shit on the ground for hours at a time. Like working until your back breaks."

"You think I had a choice in being... any of this?"

"No, but that’s not what pisses me off." The imp took a step closer, tone colder now. "What pisses me off is that you’re sitting in the Count’s palace, in silk and privilege, whining about how unfair it is that you fell into a coma—when you never had to earn your place there in the first place."

Elisa’s pulse spiked.

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Anyone with a brain can put two and two together. Not everyone knows, obviously.”

The imp scoffed before she could even respond. "You’re not Kael’s wife because you fought for it. You’re Kael’s wife because you were a pawn in someone else’s game. To improve relations before the old Blac’Hils kicked it. And since then you've made little concession to the demons who can civilize this place. Working latrines instead of buckets in rural areas, for one. And yet, here you are, acting like you’ve been cheated out of something."

The imp tilted her head, voice biting. "You were cheated, granted. But you also won. You just don’t like the prize."

Elisa’s nails dug into her palms.

"So yeah, princess, I’d get on with it."

She felt her arm wind up for a Highcliffian greeting before she heard a voice carrying the timbre to shake her bones.

"Oi, oi, oi. What's going 'ere? I could hear the Lieutanant's whinging from miles away. Ha ha! And did someone mention... princess?”

Elisa turned as a veritable brick shithouse approached. 

It was big.

Fifteen feet big.

And it was carrying parts of a rooftop, its limbs using the building's scaffolding as purchase.

“Lieutenant Sanza, what’s going on here, really? Who’s she?"

Not a beam, not a stack of tiles—an entire section of roofing, fully intact, balanced effortlessly in its massive arms.

"Not now, meatbag."

The Amalgamation tilted its head.

"We recognize that chewing-out voice anywhere. Can you blame me? Had to come check."

Its voice was almost too cheerful for something so creature-made-of-features-beyond-human-comprehension-like.

She frowned. "Who’s we?"

The many eyes behind the steel mask shifted, some locking onto her, others twitching toward the imp, a few flicking to something unseen in the distance.

"Yes. We. Our name is Legion. Nice to meet you."

Elisa’s stomach tightened.

And then she really looked at it.

Or rather—the thing covering it.

A steel mask, intricate and elaborate, meant for ceremony.

But beneath it—

Ten pairs of eyes.

Glowing faintly, shifting independently. Some tracking her. Some flicking to the imp. Some focusing on nothing at all.

It should have been horrific.

"Hey, uhh… can you stop staring, mouth open-like? We’d appreciate it if people stopped looking at us like we’re, like, some horrorshow."

The imp exhaled sharply, arms crossing. "Type 4 Combatant Unit from the Three-Jagged Concordant ‘Claw’ Division." She gestured vaguely. "You know, the result of too much desperation, not enough time. And a lot of humans—literally."

The Concordant were behind this? They sure could have used some in Highcliff—not that the method of getting them wasn’t horrific but… bah. "Was it all voluntary, at least?"

Legion obliged. "Most of us, yeah."

"Most?"

“Some of us didn’t have a choice. It was this, or dying from injuries from the neighbouring invasion. We'd rather this over non-existence, obviously.”

“…Still!”

"Semantics, semantics. It’s unfortunate, sure, but what can you do but bear it?"

"You say that like it’s nothing."

They shrugged. "I'm hardly the only one in this position. Even go so far as to say we got lucky."

"Okay." She let that sit for a moment before exhaling. "Okay. Right. So, uhh, what brings you... here?"

"We moved here a couple of months ago—new opportunities and all that."

Her face nearly ate a faceful of roof as they swung their hands around like some actor from a play.

"And then we heard about some so-called ‘princess.’ Like, just now. And so we thought to ourselves, ‘whoa.’ And that's how we ended up here."

A pause.

"Ohhhh, you don't call yourselves princesses or queens here, do you? Our apologies. We hail from more civilized shores. Unfamiliar with the culture here."

Elisa's eyebrow twitched as the imp butted in. “You call the ones who made you into this 'civilized'? You’re just making things worse for yourself, Meatbag."

“Come off it, demon. Oh, don’t worry about her, wife of the chieftain. Meatbag's an affectionate term. Just something the demons described us during the invasion. We were a lot of meat they couldn’t handle.” The Amalgamation chuckled—a sound that came from its mask.

She couldn't decide whether to whack them silly for the sheer audacity of the insult, or... pull them into a hug. They could sure use one after all that.

"I'm... honestly surprised you are still standing here. The humans don’t have empathy for us here. Just because we’re part of the Concordant. Were part of the Concordant. Highcliff people hate the Concordant, almost as much as some Highcliff people hate the demonkin. That’s all we’re reduced to—an experiment of those damn nosey kingdoms."

A pause.

"Compounded by the fact I look hideous. And…"

Elisa opened her mouth. Closed it.

Then—

"Well, weak hearts make for weak coin. So, off to more jolly matters, ha ha..." It proceeded to switch hands with other hands that were carrying the roof as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Would you care for our business card? We’d really appreciate it if you gave us a chance! We're BCU-certified and experienced in carpenting, tiling, brick-laying, gutter-clearing, plumbing..."

Her brain couldn't keep up. It was all too much. His words became background noise. 

She felt something tussle behind her hair.

"Ma-master Elisa, what’s a business card?"

Master Elisa was going to scream.