A Grand Affair

Dinner was a grand affair. It seemed everyone who could have been there was. And everyone who could not have been was probably better left uninvited anyway.

Hornet-Dancer-Man. Cerica. The great axolotl-warrior who would have definitely beaten up Jenn if not for a last-ditch effort (my affection for him is no small thing).

It seemed the grandeur of the attendants was only matched by the grandeur of the meal. All across long tables were food in the Indarian Style. Roasted peacock, still dressed in their blue and green plumes. Some exotic fish, the size of a small boat, carved by the knifeful by a half-dozen servants. And baskets flowing with all sorts of Summer fruits: figs, plums, peaches, and other things unique to this world and it alone.

All this took place in the Jewel of the Palace, which had been repurposed into a festive mode. Housing a couple hundred, while still being large enough to traverse and dance in.

Jenn gobbled and gobbled. Downing meat, vegetables, and bread in great mouthfuls. Cameras lined the great hall, but she paid them no heed. She showed no sign of caring. Neither for the cameras, nor the uncomfortable situation that came before.

It was curious, sure. The whole ‘Aktually you do know Katou!’

But what could she do?

If the woman knew, she knew. And if she wanted to, the whole Kingdom would. So either, Jenn gets cornered and makes one last stand, taking down as much as she could, or she lets bygones be bygones and enjoy herself.

Jenn reached forth, grabbing a fistful of sugared almonds. “If being fat is wrong, I don’t wanna be good, hehe.”

More and more went and went (and not came and went, as they did not magically replenish, much to her dismay).

“Hello, Lady Jenn.”

Mo Xixi came, gave a tilt of his head, and smiled.

“Oh, hey.” She swallowed a mouthful. “Want some?”

“I shall pass for the time being.” He seemed to be searching for words. “Bearing witness to your battle, I am convinced that even a flower might bloom on the battlefield. Nay!” Mo gave a dramatic turn of his head. “That a flower such as yours might bloom at all! The setting of the end-day sun! The dawn which sunders the veil of night! You are all that and more!” His chest heaved. His voice lowered, and his eyes tried to meet hers, finally able to muster the courage at last. “Miss Jenn, I wish to—”

Jenn caught the glance of something special and ran forth at once. It was a two-metre-tall bear—a member of Igen’s crew by the name of Bob.

“Hey, Bob. Bob!” She cut through the crowd. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

Bob tipped his hard hat. “Neither did I, Jenn! Sorry, I didn’t get to congratulate you in person, but that thing with the coin? Very cool.”

“Hey, I live to please. As long as you saw it, that’s all that matters.” Her head scouted the area, poking here and there. “Where’s the fluffy bastard?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“No, I mean the other one—your boss!”

“Ooh, Captain Igen!” The sun bear scratched his belly. “He wasn’t feeling too good today. I think he went back to the ship to rest.”

Jenn’s shock came through her face. “Oh, damn. Sorry to hear.”

“Hey, it’s not like he’s dead or anything. He probably just had one too many pots of honey.”

That did its part to ease Jenn. She was about to say something else when the woman noticed someone approaching her. It was a handsome elf man, and as he neared, Jenn’s eyes lit with familiarity.

“You’re the guy on the TV!”

“You recognise me?”

“Sorta. Same way you recognise the store clerk you see every day. You uh, covered Indaria, didn’t you?”

“That I did.”

Conversations came and went. With her triumph this afternoon, it seemed as if Jenn had won the attention of many an individual—each with their own questions, comments, and such. This did its part to please her.

All this admiration. All this attention. If it was so strong then, what of when she did her greatest feat of all? Killing the King of Indaria?

Am I to slay this elder in combat?

Her eyes hollowed. The spark of joy seemed to withdraw its grace. Something welled up in those beady brown eyes of hers, a quiet hatred perhaps—or a sudden frustration, from having understood their position.

“Am I to waste my edge on a cripple?” she mumbled. With a self-hating contralto, she repeated again. “Am I to waste my edge on a cripple?”

Jenn withdrew from the crowd. Paying no heed to everyone that was around her, she cut a path through the hall and found herself outside. None had followed Jenn. And those who otherwise would have, did not see her leave.

She went out into the garden. The Indarian weather did its part to frustrate her, hot still into its Mediterranean-esque evenings, without wind or rain to calm the surging temperatures. Before long, a great sheen of sweat covered her from forehead to neck, dribbling further with each passing second.

He’s an isekai protagonist.

But isn’t he kinda cool?

That’s superficial. That’s superficial.

That’s superficial.

Is it though? Isn’t everything here kinda neat?

I mean, it’s not like the King fixed their economy by asking them to plant rice, right?

Maybe he did, and it just didn't work.

Did you come all this way just to give up?

No. No. But maybe I can do something else?

Like what, run away?

Fuck that. Never.

So what then? What changes? Kill the King.

I can’t.

Why not?

It wouldn’t be aesthetic. There has to be a challenge. There has to be something that’d make it not so easy.

Who’s to say it will be?

He’s in chains. He looks like he’s on the verge of death.

But will he be, when the time comes?

Jenn clutched her face. She shook and groaned, and made no sign she recognised what she was doing. The dimness of the garden, the spare blue lanterns made her seem all the more insane. Covered her in a cold glow that dug out her eyes, and made them seem all the darker.

“The King… The King. Just what the hell is the King?”

Party attendants left the perimeter, looking rather disturbed at the woman’s breakdown. Jenn breathed quickly, jolting up, head flicked in one great turn.

“Do you need me to like… call a medic or something?”

“Nah.” Jenn took the comment in stride. She lifted her head and smiled.

It was Numarei. Though she’d changed it up a bit. This time, ‘porn-bait’ came with an oversized red hoodie with the words ‘FUCK MY STUPID COUNTRYSIDE LIFE!’ plastered in English, and high-waisted jean shorts worn over black fishnets.

“So… why are you losing your mind?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I mean, kinda. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered to ask.”

Jenn began. “I came here, ‘cause I wanted to fight the King and kill him on live television. Because truth be told, I hated the thought that he and his, well—‘isekai’, buddies were doing this good when they didn’t deserve it.”

“Well, that’s pretty messed up.” Numarei took out a cigarette box. It had green-lining and a yin-yang symbol in the centre. “Want one?”

Jenn shook her head. Numarei took a cigarette. She pressed it to her lip, then lit it with a flick of her finger, setting it ablaze with pure friction alone.

Smoke drifted through the air. It smelled of heartwood and rotten chrysanthemum.

“You don’t wanna kill the King anymore, right?” Numarei said, taking a drag of her cigarette. “I feel the same. Well, not the killing part. I’m not as deranged as you. My plan was to beat him up bare-handed, then walk off into the sunset with my back turned. Real badass stuff. You know, in those anime, when a guy catches a sword with his bare hands—or better, their fingers? And it goes tng, and the sword-guy goes ‘Nani, ba-bakana?’, and then takes a few steps back? I wanted to try that. I really did. I came from a fight ring in Shinjuku. An underground thing, every Saturday. So all of this magic, space, over-the-top stuff is kinda new. I mean, I still don’t get what you mean when you say I’m from a fighting game. That kinda stuck with me. In a weird way too. Is this virtual? Is this fake? Sometimes this shit becomes too much. Like one of those modern art paintings—with the squiggly lines and splashes of paint? I don’t understand. I try to imagine some meaning, my head hurts, then I stop thinking about it. Same here. Sorry for the rant. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I had high expectations, and that you’re not the only one feeling more than a bit disappointed.”

Jenn turned to look at her. The former seemed serene now, almost at least, with her usual cocky, weird air, in place of whatever that was.

“Seems we’re both let down.” Jenn grinned. “Two peas in the proverbial got fucked pod.”

“Not just us,” said Numarei with a smirk. “The others, too. There’s nothing set in stone or whatever, but there is something.”

“Like… a revolution?”

Numarei looked at her strangely. “Yeah. Yeah.” She stopped. “Nah. Nah, actually. More like a protest. More like a protest. You are pretty good at making things dramatic.”

The conversation ended on that, with the sudden setting of silence, and the quiet embers of a cigarette dropping to the floor.