Requital

"Make haste! Make haste!" Syme shouted. "I've a delivery to make on the way!"

"A delivery?" Noir asked.

"Tuition is expensive, emo boy. Us youngins are sure to catch no breaks—don't you know?"

"No…I didn't go to university."

"Oh, well, how is that? In but a moment of conversation, you've beheld more dexterity with your questions than many inquisitive ones I've known put together. 'Tis a shame. I could enroll you here, somehow."

"I…suppose that I appreciate it, Syme. But are we even talking about the same thing when you say college?"

"Why don't you tell me, emo boy? I mean an academy of higher learning in the natural and arcane arts."

"Yes…until you said 'arcane.'"

"Your colleges don't teach magic? What—do you leave that to the politicians?"

"Our world…" Wendy chimed in, "...doesn't have magic. Er—well, it does—I can do some basic things over there but I haven't been able to crack more."

"Oh…ahaha! That explains a lot! So what—you probably just strung together a few items to emulate magic and that's how you got here?"

"Yeah…" Wendy said almost ashamedly, "We did alchemy."

"Alchemy…?" Syme said, almost rejoicing. "I thought that surely went extinct by now. I suppose it should stand to reason that your world is almost a thousand years behind in the arcane arts."

"And yours is quite slow itself when it comes to locks." Noir pointed out. "We had to pick through one that was probably pre-medieval era."

"I'd believe that!" Syme almost shouted. "Matthias and his men are—how to say, quite gifted in the arts of being subpar. Him attempting his own form of lockmaking would only end that way."

Wendy, walking in the middle of the two, curiously bent over to phrase her question. "Say…Syme, how old did you say you are?"

"I didn't say."

"How old did I pretend to hear that you are?"

"Heh, heh—I'm 21, dearest lady."

"So you can't call me 'dearest child!'"

"And you also can't call me 'emo boy!'" Noir chimed in.

"Oh…oy vey iz mir—something more befitting: 'The Other Side's Snowflakes.' You'd make a great exhibit since we don't have any snow."

"You think we're snowflakes because we want to be called our names?"

"Je rigole, Je rigole. What am I to call you?"

"Call me Wendy."

"And I'm Noir."

"Eh? Mine eyes deceive me?"

Noir and Wendy looked at each other confusedly.

"Both of your pathoses oddly shimmered. This most often means that my query was partially rejected and partially accepted."

"...Not unlike your advances towards us." Wendy muttered.

"Silence! I'll grow on you. Anywho, this would be par for the course if my question were complex, but it's simply your names, no?"

"That…um…We can say that our names…aren't exactly ours." Noir tried to explain.

"A man of mystery, eh? How do you mean?"

Noir explained again Wendy had a fake identity whilst he couldn't remember his. He explained only bits and pieces of the pasts that they came from.

"Very well, Noir—if that is your real name. If we are to do more work with your pathoses, we'll have to know them in and out. The memories may not be fully comfortable, but I promise it shall pass."

"Well, Noir—in a sense—is my real name. And I'll do my best."

"And Wendy…why do you affect to hide? What do you stand to gain now that you could not before?"

"I…uh—it was almost like something I saw in a dream. Something had to change, but even now I'm still not sure what."

"Ah, such is the ennui of human beings…that something dangles before their eyes always on the other side…And we foxes are guilty of it too. Speaking of—I've to make a stop here."

"Oh, your delivery?" Wendy asked.

"Quite so." Syme took off his knapsack and pulled out the half-dozen bottles he took from the tavern. "I told you they weren't for me."

Syme slid behind a wall and into an alleyway tucked away from the daylight. Wendy stood at the corner. Noir, however, could not help his curiosity. He followed Syme into the alleyway and Syme did not appear to notice. Noir spotted him placing down the bottles in a small spot marked with paint. Once he placed them, the paint from the outline morphed into small specks of light, which all unified as they floated upwards. Syme opened his hand directly under it and closed it into a fist. He turned around and realized Noir was watching everything unfold.

"AH! You weren't supposed to follow me, mon cher! Have you ever been taught manners?"

"I can't lie—literally—so no. I haven't."

"Touche, pretty princess. Well, the jig is up, even though there wasn't really a jig at all."

"What was that?"

"I've been designated to distribute alcohol…to people in need. See? I told you the truth earlier."
"What does that even mean? Who needs alcohol?"

"People who can't get it."

"Isn't there typically a reason they can't get it?"

"Yes…but they're mostly benign, monsieur. Most tavernkeepers will deny you entirely if you're overbearing at their bar—or if they think you've had a little too much."

"Ah, you mean exactly like you were?"

"Yes…I haven't been banned because Ultimantia put in a word for me. It helps me think…and they know that. But there are many people like me Ultimantia won't put in a word for. Isn't that unfair?"

Noir tilted his head so as to signal that he understood. Something in him agreed with Syme's thinking about rules being applied inconsistently. He just had one concern:

"Are any of these going to children?"

"No. I've double and triple-checked."

By now, Wendy joined Noir and was standing by him.

"What was that floating thingy?" she asked. "It looked like what came out of the enigma when it went away."

Syme ran up to her, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. "Did you just say, 'enigma?' As in, you've fought and killed one?"

"Uhm…yeah?"

"Okay, I need to sober up a bit more for this conversation." Syme said before he took a few breaths.

"Enigmas are a little rare. They come from the most minute and bitter forms of psychological distress and are often accompanied by an equally bitter intent-to-kill. Slaying one, however, typically rewards you with significant vestige. Vestige serves two purposes: with enough of it, the owner can gaze into certain memories and life experiences that were previously gated—strengthening their pathos—secondly, it serves as currency in most parts of Ultimantia and in various places all over the sky kingdom."

"That was a lot of words to say that we're rich." Wendy commented.
"I wouldn't say rich…" Syme added. "But you shouldn't have to worry about lodging and necessities for some time."

"Ah," Noir chimed in. "That ball of light was your form of payment for the alcohol?"

"Yes. And it was generous enough to make it worth it."

"How much did you earn?"

Syme started to move his mouth, but it appeared he didn't understand the question. He self-corrected before answering:

"Oh, you guys apply direct digits to currency in your world, don't you?"

They both nodded.

"I'm afraid that 'generous enough' will have to suffice for your answer. Vestige is displayed via your pathos—that's how exchange is done. It's not a direct quantity of this for that."

"O…kay," Noir said, appearing as though he had not really learned anything. "Say, could we have gotten something to eat or drink at the tavern back there?"

"But of course—certainly enough to satisfy you tenfold and then some."

Wendy and Noir both groaned unpleasantly out of apparent hunger. Noir ventured a guess: "Do you think we have time to…?"

"Not at all!" Syme shouted. "We are about to miss the evening chariot back to Ultimantia. Come, follow me!"

Syme ran out of the alley before the other two hesitantly followed. As they ran, Syme had one final query for Noir:

"You mentioned, pretty princess—"

"It's Noir."

"Right. You mentioned back there something about lying?"

"Yeah: that we can't do it."
"And you could do it in your other world?"

"Of course, all the time."

"Interessent, dear answer-holder! Cyprium will have a multitude of questions about that…"

Neither Noir nor Wendy thought it appropriate to ask further. Once they ran a few minutes further, Syme stopped and shouted, "Ici! Ici! It's on its way!" He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. In the next moment, two white horses attached to a chariot descended from a nearby cloud. Syme nonchalantly signaled to Noir and Wendy to get in, dumbstruck as they were. Syme went in last and shut the door behind them.

"Allons-y! Far! Far! AWAY!"