Chapter 9: Deciding Debut

A smattering of applause swept through the room as they re-appeared in the lounge.

Happy Hour laughed, before detaching herself from his arm. He smiled as well, and together they started a small circuit of the room, focusing on those who looked happy to see them. Which, to be fair, wasn’t as many as Jester would have liked.

Names went in one ear, and out the other as people congratulated his victory. A variety of people shook his hand, slapped his back, and sometimes even offered him a meal. It appeared at least some people had bet on him. A fact that made him happier than he thought it would.

Still, he hoped Happy Hour could keep track of it all better than he could. While most were meaningless words, it wouldn’t hurt to have a favor or two on tap. Who knew when knowing the right person could get them out of a sticky situation?

Another server pushed a drink into his hands, as he found himself seated on the same pre-match couch. A bubbling concoction that smelled faintly of coconut. Tasted like it too. However, there was a faint mix of strawberry as well? Plus, something else he couldn’t decipher.

Delicious though.

His eyes swept the room, looking for his new companion. He spotted Dam13n standing nearby, engaged in conversation. The younger man standing with his arm around the waist of an avatar wearing what suspiciously looked like a sixties style wedding dress. Laughter and banter surrounded the two of them, and so Jester left them to it.

No point interrupting their fun or getting involved in their trouble.

Whiskers meowed, crawling out from beneath the table and nudging his legs with its head. Jester looked down at the pet in shock, having completely forgotten about the cat. He felt guilty about that. Though, in his defense, a lot was going on.

He attempted to make up for his lack of attention by pulling Whiskers into his lap. The cat purred as he rubbed its ears. Both hands running over the kitten’s smooth robotic body. It was as cool to the touch as it always was.

Jester couldn’t help but smile as it wiggled and rolled about in his lap. Whiskers doing its level best to make sure he got an even pat distribution all over. Soon enough, a metallic hand joined his, patting down the spine as he worked behind the twitching ears.

“You’re spoiled,” Jester said.

Whiskers gave a soft murr in response, lifting its butt higher for Happy Hour’s hand. The bigger robot obliging and patting right above its tail.

The sudden appearance of Dam13n, who Jester noticed was no longer accompanied by the bride, interrupted the patting session. He left Happy Hour to keep entertaining the cat, as he threw a smirk over towards Dam13n.

“Hey man,” Dam13n said, before downing the rest of whatever was in the martini glass he was currently holding. “Good job on the win. Pity I didn’t get time to bet on you.”

“Thanks,” Jester said, giving a small nod to the bride. “So, here to hand over the invitations? I’m free to act as the best man.”

It took all his willpower to hold back his laughter and the sheer look of consternation on Dam13n’s face. The laughter broke free at the middle finger Dam13n sent his way before he dropped onto the couch.

“Hardy har. No. E-E, is a friend,” Dam13n looked uncomfortable, until he clicked his fingers and his face brightened. “So, man. You heading out for sign-ups? Want some company?”

“Sure,” Jester said. “May as well, before my outfit gets dirty.”

Dam13n’s eyes lit up, as though he’d only just noticed the outfit change.

“Nice! Sweet digs. Is that the Dollhouse insignia?”

Happy Hour nodded, standing and cradling Whiskers. The robopet sleeping peacefully in her arms. Small tail twitching to simulate dreaming.

“Yes. Debrah graciously conscripted both Jester and I into being billboards for free uniforms.”

“Aww, no more cowgirl talk?” Dam13n asked, climbing to his feet as Jester did the same.

“That is not my current character, no.”

Her words were proper, and she sounded calm. Jester’s brow furrowed. Was that disappointment in her tone? No, not disappointment. It was going to bug him until he could place it.

“Current character?” Jester asked. “I noticed you change in the ring.”

“Yes,” Happy Hour said, swaying side to side as though rocking a baby. “My equipment tends to have some bearing on my manner of speech. Though it’s expressed most clearly during fights. My old Master believed this to be a unique idea.”

“DollmakerMC right?” Dam13n asked.

“Yes, though now it is Jester. A state of affairs I am more than satisfied with.”

Jester looked away, but caught the sly smile on Happy Hour’s face as she continued.

“After all, what is a maid without someone to serve? A dancer without an audience? I need someone at my side, and why not a handsome—”

“—finish that, and I’m putting you in a mime outfit,” Jester said with a shake of his head.

“If that is what you wish for me to be, Jester. Is it the stripe shirts that do it for you or…?” Happy Hour joked, as Dam13n snickered behind her.

Annoyance fought with amusement as he moved towards the bottom of the stairs. Whatever happened, Happy Hour would make sure it was interesting. Though he couldn’t help but wonder. What would other outfits do to her personality? With the shoes and maid outfit, her personality ranged across sassy, dramatic and oddly formal.

Maybe a bunny girl, like from the magazines? Holiday themed outfits depending on when his fights were? A chuckle escaped his lips at the thought of Happy Hour, dressed as Mrs Claus, fighting Rippertooth during the Final Cup.

Issues arose with the humor. This whole thing might restrict his weapon usage.

If she changed personalities with a single gun, what would an arsenal do to her? Or even a more permanent upgrade, like changing the materials of her limbs? He knew that was doable, even advisable sometimes. Some metals would give better defense boosts than others.

Kylee should be able to figure it out with enough time. He hoped it wouldn’t be a big deal. Magic Ice coverings shouldn’t make her colder, right? That would suck. He liked the banter. Happy Hour the ice queen would be dull to be around, and probably boring to watch. Debrah’s statement about needing spectacle returning to mind.

This would be a wonderful ability for that. Weapons and tactics would need to adapt, depending on what they were fighting, anyway. If Happy Hour put on a significantly different show every time, people wouldn’t get bored at least.

Still, he’d doubled-check with Happy Hour before making any permanent changes. She deserved to have input.

Tiffany was in her normal spot beside the door as they exited the dollhouse. She raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down as he approached. He found he couldn’t help but notice the way her lips quirked up into a smile.

Nor could he help but wish it would go into a full one. She certainly had the face for smiling. He tried a more mental shake of his head at that one. What a thought. Thankfully, the woman herself derailed that particular train of thought.

“New threads?”

“Oh yes. I mean, yeah, courtesy of your boss, in fact. She didn’t want me to be a bad representative for the Android community.” Jester said, making finger quotes around the last two words.

“Well, she certainly got your style right. You free for a drink sometime?” Tiffany asked, posture relaxed.

Jester froze, unsure how to respond. It wasn’t until Happy Hour gave his side a gentle nudge, however, that he felt his throat become unglued.

“That sounds nice, sure. Here?”

“God no dude,” Tiffany laughed. “I know a place. I’m judging by your petrified expression. You’d like me to handle the details?”

“Sounds good?”

“Great. I’ll shoot you a message. Add me to friends?”

He did, waiting until the green dot appeared next to her name.

“Awesome dude. Also, congrats on the win. I never honestly thought someone would pull it off.”

Jester scratched the back of his head, knowing how sheepish he looked.

“We less won than we got lucky with a malfunction.”

“A win’s a win,” Tiffany said, shrugging one of her large shoulders. “Dam13n, you tell him.”

“She’s right, man. It may not have been the spectacle everyone was expecting, but I can tell you right now. Those rich kids? They’ll be talking about this forever. Even the ones who spill nothing but salt.”

“They lost big?” Tiffany asked, before bursting into laughter at Dam13n’s nod.

“Aww yeah.”

“Well, we need to head off to sign-ups,” Jester said. “Is Ol’ Mac ok?

“Soon will be. We have a mechanic on the way. One that you know, in fact. A certain red-headed lady. She wanted me to message her when I got the results, so she could kill two birds with one stone.”

Jester contemplated staying to meet her for all of about five seconds. He didn’t need to be dragged into another job, nor did he want to hear her scoff at his outfit. The chance to feel stylish was new to him, and he wanted it to last.

“Right, great. Ol’ Mac will be fine then. She’s good. Really good. I need to go.”

With Tiffany’s uproarious laughter behind him, Jester spun and headed back towards the main street of Geartown. There was a sign-up sheet that didn’t yet have his name on it.

***

The NPC who waited for him as he made his way through the short line went by the name Chester Wheatfield. He was more of a boy than a man, an unusual sight for a serving NPC. His voice cracked every third word, and his straw-colored hair was unkempt.

If they’d been in this situation in real life, Jester would have made an excuse to leave to save the kid the trouble. Thankfully, he was at least efficient at his job. He’d kept the line moving quickly, and when Jester explained why he was there, they answered him with a smile.

“Of course, sir, here you are.”

From below the counter, Chester scooped up the form and slapped in on the counter. It was a single page, and didn’t seem to ask anything complicated. That didn’t stop him reading through it fully before writing anything. No need to sign anything over to The Developers he didn’t want to.

A pen appeared when he was ready, and Jester set to work answering the questions. All were basic things, name, email, and general description of his robot. That last one made him pause. Android was technically correct, but it didn’t feel accurate enough. Ideas for what to write came to mind, but he kept discarding them.

None felt right.

With a sigh, he simply turned the pen over to Happy Hour, ignoring the annoyed muttering that came from behind him.

With a careful eye, he watched her sign in a looping cursive. Her description made him smile.

{Name: Happy Hour
Type: Android - Combat-Class
Description: An Android companion rated for combat scenarios. Fights with a fluid dance style, and desires to entertain as well as win. She is grateful for the chance to perform on a wider stage and is thankful to Jester for letting her do so. She, as much as any robot can, hopes to do well.

Wears a maid outfit with knife shoes.}

Happy Hour hummed as she wrote and finished the last word with an exaggerated flourish of the pen. She flipped it over and caught it once more before setting it down on the counter. With a wink at Jester, she smiled down at Chester.

The poor boy was bright red.

“Is that enough?” She asked him, with a smile Jester could only call flirtatious. He’d have to have a talk with her.

Chester’s eyes dropped to the paper, scanning it quickly.

“That’s, um, fine miss. Thank you, ma’am.”

With the paperwork complete, Chester hurried to put the paperwork away. Jester couldn’t help but notice the way he flushed all the way to his ears. Whoever designed this avatar put far too much effort into it. Why make a serving NPC able to be embarrassed?

They placed a new sheet of paper onto the counter, this one bearing the words sign up sheet at the top. This time when he went to pick it up, it simply vanished, a new image appearing in his UI. He mentally poked the button, and the now transparent page returned, floating in front of him.

Neat.

Boxes covered the form, though most were empty, considering the deadline wasn’t for a while yet. Eighteen spots in total that would fill out as time got closer. The organizers had already color coded the names of the contestants who’d already signed up. A way to decide the groupings, he figured. He scanned the names, focusing on the one above Happy Hour.

{Sign-up Sheet
Ratcher - Jess_Pidgion
Spokes - Charli33
Barcogian - Yeti15
The Reclycer! - SmithLays
ZZZ-Dozer - Virtualdream
Happy Hour - Jester}

So, their first opponent would be ZZZ-Dozer, or more accurately, Virtualdream. Jester frowned as he read the name, stepping out of the line as he did so. No point in annoying anyone behind him by holding them up.

The name wasn’t one he was familiar with, which didn’t surprise him too much. When it came through cycling competitors, the lower rank cups did it more. Most people were only familiar with the constant contestants in the Technomancers Cup.

He bit his lip as he tried to think through his options. If they were someone totally new, he’d be in trouble. However, if they were part of one of the bigger scrapper gangs? Then he knew some people who should be able to help.

Still, he decided he’d start with someone more local. After all, his new friend seemed to be the type to talk to literally anyone at any opportunity.

However, he started local.

“Hey Dam13n, you know anyone called Virtualdream?” He asked.

“Nah, sorry man,” Dam13n said with a shrug. “Not a regular at the Dollhouse, nor any of the bigger lounges.”

Jester nodded. It had been a long shot. The man's answer didn’t surprise him. No. His surprise came when a familiar voice called out after him.

“Rippertooth’s chew toy got a toy of its own? How quaint.”

Jester’s head whipped around at the sound of Lexington’s voice. The blonde strode through the hall, chin up and smirk prominent. He remained dressed in the same outfit he always wore, but this time, they’d fixed securely the riding helmet to their head.

Rippertooth, interestingly, wasn’t with him. Though Jester realized that made sense. They were inside Geartown, after all. He was so used to dealing with this jerk outside of it, the absence of the robotic mutt threw him for a loop.

Upon noticing he’d caught Jester’s attention, Lexington’s small smirk grew wider and his stride turned into a swagger. It looked ridiculous. They shot unamused stares his way until the remaining people in line realized he wasn’t trying to cut.

Then they simply became stares as they got ready to watch whatever was about to go down.

“What do you want, Lexington? Here to steal something else from me because you’re too incompetent to search on your own? Or was that more your father’s bad luck rubbing off on you?” Jester said.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Dam13n tense, and Happy Hour move forward. She wouldn’t be able to hurt Lexington, but she could get in the way nicely.

“You take that back,” Lexington snarled.

Jester made a mental note that he’d touched a nerve.

“Of course, I do apologize. I’m sure you cultivated your incapable nature all on your own.”

“Oh, shut up Scrapper. What are you even doing here? Hoping to beg some coin off the passers-by?” Lexington said, before seeming to notice the new outfit and Dam13n standing beside him. “Or is your sugar daddy here showing you how the rest of us live?”

Jester considered lying, maybe add in some insults, but there wasn’t much point. So, instead, he told the truth.

“I was here for the sign-ups. Frankensteins cup. I’m assuming that’s why you’re forcing your presence on everyone here?”

Lexington scoffed, and Jester wondered how often he practiced sounding like a smug git.

“I’m here for the Steampunk Slammer. I can actually afford an entry fee event.”

“But you’re still entering the one where your robot will have significantly better equipment,” Jester thought. It was a common tactic for those who wanted to win a quick sum of credits.

Frowned upon by most as it stopped legitimately paying competitors, but the company refused to crack down. As long as they got their money, why should they care?

“Well, mommy can afford it,” Jester said.

“Some of us have jobs, Jester,” Lexington said, turning away. “Maybe if you got one, you wouldn’t need charity to not be disheveled.”

He was gone before Jester could respond.

“Prick,” Dam13n muttered.

“Agreed,” Happy Hour said.

“Meow,” Whiskers meowed.

Jester stood in silence, before shaking his head, clearing it of Lexington’s words. If this went according to plan, he would get a better job. In-game even. His own detailer. Maybe take over Markal’s store if they gave the NPC a retirement quest. Rare, but it happened if The Developers wanted a particular store name to stay relevant.

“Alright. Next stop is to find out what we can about Virtualdream. Dam13n, we’re going to be heading to the outskirts. You coming?”

“You serious, man? Sure. I’ve never been, heard it’s rough,” Dam13n said, falling into step next to him.

A part of him considered putting Happy Hour away now the inventory was open. She’d remain stored and safe until they got to his destination. But he realized he couldn’t. While Madame Merriam didn’t demand he advertise, he owed her for the outfit.

Parts of him rebelled at the idea of breaking etiquette like this, but it wasn’t like Happy Hour was some enormous machine. He wasn’t dragging around Lugathin.

He realized at that thought; he didn’t know if the mechanical titan could leave the warehouse.

Kylee never took him out as far as he knew. She used other machines for Cup battles, though she’d cleared the warehouse once or twice for other people to spar against the robot.

As they reached the door, Jester paused, dithering as he tried to decide the best place to go. Multiple options existed, but one stood out as the best place to start. The Scrapper Union. An unofficial group, designed primarily to deal with disputes.

They acted mostly as negotiators, though they sometimes helped in other capacities. If anyone could point them in the right direction, it would be one of them.

They were fair-minded, and provided he could prove this wasn’t a harassment campaign, they shouldn’t have any issues with it. Plus, coming in with a robot, even an Android, would give him some clout. Few among the Scrappers owned any type of robots, and those that did rarely hung around the outskirts long.

With a nod, he started walking towards the outskirts, ignoring the glares and stares that followed him.

And he almost succeeded in not letting them hurt.

***

Throughout the walk, Dam13n plied them with stories to keep them distracted. The general aggressiveness of the players they passed was on full display, but Jester found he didn’t care. He was too busy laughing.

Dam13n’s hands gestured through the air as he spoke, detailing various combats held over time at Debrah’s Dollhouse. LoungeLizard vs Beautyfly, a typical beauty vs the beast event. Muddy Marble vs Abcruncher, a David vs Goliath match.

When he went to show off a grab move used by Abcruncher, Dam13n almost knocked a cane from a man’s hand.

Angry shouts followed them, but Dam13n already started a new story. From what Jester gathered, these events were semiregular occurrences. Small fights, with cash prizes, though the losers didn’t leave empty-handed.

Drinks were on the house for any who competed. This meant a steady stream of contests willing to fight the grand champion.

“So, this,” Jester paused and looked around before saying the name, embarrassed. Once he was sure no one was listening in, he continued with an awed tone in his voice.

“Unlit Shadow Ninja of Deep Lore. They’ve won how many fights?”

“Fifteen, I think? Might be sixteen now,” Dam13n said before nodding. “They’re a fan favorite at this point.”

“Even with that name?”

“Man, no one cares about the name. It’s all about the outfit. Female Ninja.”

Jester nodded in understanding.

“Are we talking, Dead or Alive or Soul Caliber?”

“DoA,” Dam13n raised an eyebrow. “You play?”

“Dabbled. I’m honestly not much for fighting games. I love how they do backgrounds and arenas, though. The new lighting engine they used on Danger Zone really makes the colors pop.”

“Man. Man. Idea,” Dam13n said, looking pointedly at Happy Hour.

Jester caught on immediately. How would that work? Of course, he couldn’t get it exact. RotorRager wouldn’t have the right items in-game, but with what he’d seen inside The Dollhouse. It might be feasible to get close?

“No,” Happy Hour said.

“Not a fan?” Jester asked.

“I’d rather not become someone else. Not like that. I enjoy being me.”

Happy Hour’s expression didn’t change from her typical prim and proper features. Her words struck home, though.

“Alright. No character cosplay, then. Any other outfits you’d like to avoid?” Jester asked, curious about her response. Whatever artificial intelligence DollmakerMC gave her was sophisticated. He honestly wondered if he’d ever get used to it.

“Nothing that would be sad,” Happy Hour said, her tone neutral. “Nothing offensive either.”

That appeared to pique Dam13n’s interest. “What counts as offensive, exactly? Because, man, I’ve seen some stuff worn by players. Wow. Tastes vary.”

“I am not like Heather. I prefer to be covered.”

Jester’s dream of a bunny girl for next Easter died. Pity. He bet that would have gotten people to come watch their fights for sure.

“Nothing revealing then. And I’m assuming no hateful slogans?” He asked.

“Yes, if it pleases you. I, of course, submit to my owners’ judgement.”

Happy Hour dropped into a brief curtsy.

“Of course,” Jester said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to force you into anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

Happy Hour’s look of relief, he understood, Dam13n’s not so much. Before he could ask, a voice called to him.

“Well! Fancy seeing you here, Jester! You don’t come around often!”

He recognized it as soon as he heard it. Hearty, and filled with fire, he’d overheard Scrappers refer to it as a paladin’s voice. That idea stuck. So much so, its owner, Andry, took it to heart.

Their bald head gleamed as brightly as their armored breastplate under the light of the sun. A large mace hung at their waist, shifting slightly with each stride. Jester found his hand enveloped by Andry’s own fingers squeezed uncomfortably tight.

The large man grinned down at him, perfect teeth showing through the thick blonde beard and mustache combination. Jester’s smile widened at the sight.

“They finally let you out of the office, oh noble paladin?”

“Indeed, she did!” Andry bellowed. Not as loud as when Kylee went off at him, but louder than their proximity required.

He struggled to imagine why Mistletail would have let Andry out of the headquarters. Everyone knew he would wonder the streets till dusk, recruiting or helping. Which, while a good look for the Scrapper Union, didn’t get the work done. A quick look around showed what they walked in on.

Four girls wearing modern day street clothes surrounded a lone figure. The girl, wearing attire that made Jester think of a stereotypical witch, trembled against a wall.

He didn’t recognise any of them, but he could guess the type. Bullies and thieves. Which would make this some kind of extortion most likely.

Or at least, it would have, if Andry didn’t find them first. Now all of them look chastised and slightly frightened.

Andry’s famous play nice with others’ speech, no doubt.

Whiskers meowed from his place on Happy Hour’s shoulder, small nose twitching as though smelling the air. Jester watched with amusement as Andry did a double-take at the sight.

“Jester! Is that Whiskers?” He asked.

“Yes, yes, it is. He’s been travelling with us for a bit,” Jester explained, hoping that would satisfy the man’s curiosity.

It did not.

“But that’s Mrs. Shivit’s robot pet, is it not?” Andry said, his frown only obvious by his disappointed stature.

“It is,” Jester said with some hesitation.

“And she gave it to you? I was unaware such a quest existed for her.”

Jester considered lying. Fully considered it. But he knew it wouldn’t do much good. No one knew how, but Andry was a living lie detector. So that left him with one option. The truth, or as much as he understood.

“Happy Hour got Whiskers here to leave his boundaries. We aren’t sure how, though I have some theories. She interacts with certain emotes. There hasn’t been a quest alert, and we’ve been busy dealing with other issues.”

An idea came to him then, one that interacted well with the truth.

“We planned on dealing with it, but we found ourselves distracted. We were fighting a workplace dispute. Happy Hour’s previous employees were not the best. I found her in The Junkyard, and things escalated from there.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see the group of women now missing. Taken the chance to run, rather than listen to Andry’s recruitment speech. He wasn’t a bad person, simply overzealous towards the cause.

His last words caught Andry’s attention, who somehow straightened his back more than it already was. He wondered if that pose was uncomfortable. Happy Hour remained her usual poised self, even as the giant of the man turned his attention to her.

“Is this true?”

“Yes sir. As Jester said, he discovered me in The Junkyard. Things escalated from there. He won my freedom, and my loyalty, however. Even at great personal cost.” At those words, her face shifted, showing a hit of sadness.

“I hope, as any robot companion might, that I may serve him well enough to make up for it. Please, do not be angry with him.”

Jester held his breath as Andry stood still, staring down at the robot. He didn’t think his paladin friend would be the type to have an issue with Dolls. But one never knew. His sigh of relief was inaudible as Andry let out a bellowing laugh.

“Dedication to the cause of helping those in need!” He said, reaching out and slapping Happy Hour’s shoulder. The Doll didn’t even flinch. “Wonderful! Please, if there is any way to help you in your quest, let me know. Speaking of. Jester, why are you at Headquarters? You are not late on your dues, are you?”

Dam13n shot him a look he often received from those who weren’t used to Andry. A look that said clearly; is he for real?

“No, I paid last week. One credit, not too hard to get a hold of. I’m actually here to gather information. I signed up for the Frankenstein cup, and I was wondering if anyone here could tell me about my opponent.”

“I see! Yes, yes,” Andry said, nodding. “I take it, Miss Happy Hour, that you shall be the one charging valiantly into this battle?”

“With my head held high, sir.”

“Excellent! In that case, Jester! Come! I’m sure Mistletail will have time for you.”

Jester doubted it. He knew exactly how busy Mistletail would be. At sixty, she was one of the oldest players he’d ever met. Why she spent her twilight years doing reports in a video game, he would never understand. She never talked about it, preferring to put any idle hands to use instead.

As the only person Andry took orders from, she was a godsend, and the union hummed smoothly thanks to her presence.

Dam13n tapped his shoulder as they moved into the building, Happy Hour holding the door for the group.

“So, what is this place?”

“The Scrappers Union,” Jester said without thinking.

Dam13ns look told him how unhelpful he found that answer.

“They are a group that deals with the various interpersonal conflicts within the outskirts. Free to Play players are often proud and need someone to look over their shoulder. Plus the gangs. When they aren’t doing that, it’s information gathering, and the like. Important NPCs, best deals, suitable spots to find free gear. Work with a lot of the new players,” Jester rattled off in a practiced manner.

More than once, when he forgot his dues, they forced him along with Andry to do recruitment. He found if he didn’t do the spiel, they’d be there forever.

“Huh, you guys have gangs out here? I thought that was just rumors.”

“Some of it. The gangs are mostly about what territory they can use in The Junkyards. More hunting groups than anything else. Though some are more overzealous about protecting their territory than others.”

Before they could continue their discussion, Andry wrapped loudly on a nearby door.

“Come in.”

A grandmotherly voice called them inside. The same type used to welcome a favored grandchild inside.

Jester’s insides froze at the sound.

Andry, who remained gripping the doorknob, shivered. At Happy Hour’s confused look, he shook his head, and she thankfully remained silent.

With a deep breath, he walked through on Andry’s heels.