Work Hard Play Harder

“Are you ready?” Rosary asks, kneeling over Mist, who was lying stomach down on the grass beside the road.

“I still don't understand why this is necessary,” Mist says, elegantly twirling a stick with fingers still bloody from carving.

“My guardian said it’ll help somehow, isn't that right?” Rosary asks, looking up. Hovering above her was a spectral figure clad in full samurai attire. White glowing eyes peered through his ressei-style mask, matched by the glowing crucifix upon his chest. His armor was worn and chipped in places, bearing the marks of many battles, while faded Genji crests rested upon both shoulders.

“Indeed, it’s critical to realign the spine after such a fall, lest she suffer lasting damage. In fact, I remember one time when—” he continued, prattling on in a voice Mist couldn’t hear. Instead, focusing on the small winged cloud that was unseen by Rosary.

“Can’t you just fix my spine on your own? Why do I have to lie on the grass?” Mist asks, staring at the cloud. The guardian remained silent as Rosary looked down with a mild scowl.

“Don’t get mad at him for your choices,” she scolded. “I always tell you not to climb trees, but you never listen. I don't know what ‘aura farming’ is, but it’s not worth you getting hurt. Honestly, it’s a miracle it took this long for something like this to happen.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, let’s just get this over with,” Mist said, lying face down in the grass.

“Okay… dang it, I lost my place,” Rosary says, looking up to her guardian. The samurai, in turn, looks down at the cloud, who wordlessly reaches a foggy tendril, placing it on Mist’s back.

“Heel of your palm on T11,” he instructs, pointing a finger that partially shifts through Mist’s back, emphasizing his incorporeal nature.

“And he’s sure she needs this?” Rosary asks, placing her hands above the spot but not touching Mist.

“Absolutely,” her guardian says as Mist’s cloud shifts.

“And it won't hurt her?” she said, finally placing a hand down on Mist’s back. The samurai again looks at the cloud, who makes no move or sound.

“Shachakiel, I wish you’d use words more often,” the samurai expressed, communicating by means his charge could neither perceive nor understand. “I can understand you fine, but I can’t express how incomprehensible that must be to poor Ozaki-chan.” He turned away from the cloud and back to his charge, whose face grew more worried with each passing second. “With both God and me as witnesses, no harm shall come to her,” he says, switching to a voice Rosary could hear.

“Okay, I’m trusting you,” Rosary says, finally placing her other hand on Mist’s back.

“Not very reassuring if I can't hear it myself,” Mist thinks, only hearing half the conversation. Due to the nature of spiritual connection, one could only ever perceive one's own guardian, despite a guardian's ability to perceive all physical beings. This often led to games of telephone, such as this one, which made Mist wonder if all guardians were as mute as hers was.

“Alright, Mist, take a deep breath,” Rosary instructed, pressing down with all her might as soon as she felt Mist's back rise.

*Crunch*

The vibration of vertebrae realigning themselves traveled up Rosary’s fingers and into her arms. The feeling was worse than nails on a chalkboard, and the sound echoed in her mind. “You said it wouldn't hurt!” she screamed, staring up at her guardian.

“Does she appear hurt?” The samurai said, looking down at Mist. For a moment, she was silent, her body still as stone. Then ever so slowly her whole body starts to shake as her fingers dug into the soil, clutching handfuls of grass.

“AAAHHHHH!” Mist’s wail tears at her vocal cords and rattles Rosary to her core in a way the demons could never dream of. Mist’s screams turn to moans as her limbs flail.

“Bah… Umm,” Rosary mumbled in a panic.

“Should I grab her? Or keep her still?” She wondered, watching as Mist rolled onto her back and pulled her limbs in.

“It’s okay,” Rosary consoled, grabbing ahold of Mist’s hand, desperate to do something. “You're fine, I’ll— Ah!” Rosary yips, losing her balance as Mist suddenly yanks her arm.

“Have to get off!” She thought, pushing up, only to have Mist cling to her with both arms and interlock her legs around her waist. “Wait a second,” Rosary thinks, as Mist pulls her lips a hair's breadth away from Rosary’s ear.

“Gotcha,” Mist whispers, lips curling into a gleeful smile.

“Why, you little!” Rosary hissed; panic turning to indignation as she moved to peel Mist off herself. Shrieks and giggles erupted as the two wrestled on the grass in a scene familiar to both. “Come on, let me go,” Rosary grunted, peeling Mist’s arms off her back. “We do not have time for this.”

“You know the win conditions,” Mist said, redoubling her leg hold.

“We have to collect the pearls before she gets here.”

“Can’t our guardians do it for once? Not like they have much else to do.”

“They already have their hands full mitigating our pain and injuries,” Rosary said, managing a joint lock that would make any normal girl squeal, but with her pain suppressed, Mist only winced at the mild discomfort. Despite her deception granting her an advantageous start, Mist was no match for her. Within a minute, Rosary’s superior strength, endurance, and wrestling prowess turned the tide. Hands pinned above her head, Mist is left panting as Rosary’s bright blue eyes stare down at her, twinkling brighter than any star in the Tokyo sky. Rosary adjusted her grip, holding both Mist’s wrists in one hand and bringing the free one to Mist’s face. As her fingers gently rubbed across Mist’s cheek, she closed her eyes and pushed up her chin, eager for the next stage of her fantasy.

“Ahahaha!” Mist laughed as the tingling in her armpits sent her crashing back down to reality.

“Now repent, sinner,” Rosary chastised, tickling Mist’s defenseless armpits to her heart's content.

“Alright, I'm sorry,” Mist cried, kicking her legs in a futile attempt to beat Rosary’s pin.

“For?” Rosary inquired, pulling her hand away.

“Getting caught!”

“Ah!” Rosary gasped, irritated but not surprised. “Cheeky today, aren’t we?” Rosary chastised, pinching Mist’s red cheek as a feigned smile appeared under her mask. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Pray for me and my salvation,” Mist murmured through molded cheeks.

“That might just be the first smart thing you’ve said all night,” Rosary replied. Satisfied, she released her friend and rose to her feet, dusting off the grass clippings and dirt. “Now come on and help me gather the pearls,” she instructed, looking down at Mist, who remained flat on her back.

“Sorry, but that was all the exertion my gamer muscles were capable of. Gotta rest at a save point before the next boss appears.”

“You won’t have to fight this boss if we have the pearls ready when she arrives,” Rosary huffs. “At least lift the fog so I can look for them, better yet, give me some… what did you call them?... quest signs?”

“You mean quest markers?” Mist asks, leaning her head to look under her visor. “Such a normie,” she murmurs, waving her arms to mold the mist into convenient arrows above the scattered pearls. Rosary makes her way around the street, gathering the pearls. The colors and size vary, but even in the dim streetlight, each shines like the finest of pearls. She picks them up with tweezers and drops them in a small glass vial filled with holy water. Each pearl violently hisses in the water. By the time she’s collected them all, the vial looks like it’s boiling despite no heat radiating from the pearls.

“Remember, O Lord, thy tender mercies and thy lovingkindnesses; for they have been ever of old,” Rosary prays, readying a cork with a cross sealed on top. “Remember not the sins of my youth, nor my transgressions: according to thy mercy remember thou me for thy goodness' sake, O Lord.” As she seals the vial with the cork, the violent boil tapers to a low simmer as the pearls lose their color, fading to a glossy black.

“And not a moment too soon,” Mist calls, finally rising to her feet and pointing down the road. “The tax collector arrives,” she says, scorn clearly visible as the road, now free of fog, with a massive whirlwind engulfing the entire street.