[IC] THE WAR FOR MYTHERIA - Isekai Adventure

[Saiyan]

"It's like," Zell went on to the short, bushy-eyebrowed barkeep. "I got feelings too. As soft as it may it sound." He took a swig of his ale. "I'm a person."

"I dunno."

Zell looked offended. "Wha'dya mean, 'you dunno'?"

"Well, I mean, you did say you were the asshole o' the group. Doin asshole things. Sayin asshole things all e'time, reet?"

Bartender confidentiality didn't usually come with so much pushback. "Yeah, but not all the time. I can be nice. Clever? On occasion." Zell knew these were not the strongest claims. "Sort of," he weakly added. "Surely I've got more use to me than fuckinggg..." he shook his head, looking at the counter for the right words but couldn't find them. Then he looked further down, between his legs. "...I dunno... like I'm nothing more than a 6'2" breathing machine for my di-"

"Achoo!"

He was interrupted from finishing his vulgar comment at the last second by the other man sat at the bar. Both Zell and barkeep looked at the old man who was wiping his nose with one hand and raising the other in apology. The barkeep, who was on automatic, wiping 'clean' his dirty mugs with his dirty rag, put another mug down and grabbed the next one. "I can't say I can relate, lad," he said. "I've never been desired for my body."

Zell looked him up and down, noting in particular the giant belly hanging out from under his shirt. The Englishman tilted his head in understanding, then took another swig.

Now the old man with the sneeze decided to get involved. "Ay. Been listenin, I ave, to your dilemma. And I might ave the solution yer lookin for."

Zell's eyebrows were raised, his expression skeptical but he said nothing. The barkeep kept polishing his mugs, still mildly interested in the conversation. The old patron went on.

"I once heard of this scientist from out west who presented an experiment of sorts to his peers. He placed a rat in a small room with nought but a fresh cheese he'd posioned in advance." What the fuck!? was Zell's only thought. "He put it to his peers that until they went in the room to find out if the rat had eaten the cheese and died, two realities existed silemul-taneously. In one reality the rat was dead. In the other, it was alive. But both existed." You could tell that the old man felt quite smart relaying this information. "This phenomenon was coined after the scientists name and thereby dubbed, 'Broodinger's Rat.'" Sneeze! "I'd put it to you that, until you tell this girl o' yours how yous really feel, you don't know what her response will be. So both realities exist. One where you live happily e'r after. And one where yous take yer own life outta depression. Your love is like Broodinger's Rat."

There was a silence that fell on the three. Even the barkeep had stopped polishing. Zell, who literally looked in pain, he was so baffled by what he'd just heard, couldn't even begin. "Double-you. Tee. Eff." Aside from the absolute nonsense of a story, Zell wasn't even sure there'd been a solution presented. "What in the fuck kinda bollocks is that? This is what passes for science in Mytheria?"

The old man looked hurt. "Think so. It might be philosophy."

"Gibberish is what that was. In my world, if some so-called professor had come up with that, he'd be a laughing stock." He shared his disappointed expression between the old man and the barkeep. "Fat lotta help you two are."

"Hey, you're the one came cryin te us. No one asked for ye life story."

Zell supposed that was fair, but shook his head anyway. Done with the conversation, he swivelled on his stool to check out the rest of the room, clocking through the window by the door, a familiar face coming into the tavern. "Well, well." He quickly looked at the barkeep and the old man. "Hey, we never had this conversation, yeah? Not a word." Then he looked back at the door as it opened and nodded to his friend, letting the farmer mosey on over before speaking. "Bit of a coincidence, this, ain't it."

"I ain't even gonna ask what in the devil brought you out here..."

"You don't wanna know, bruv," Zell replied, noting Clive's tired face and tone, which was not like the Texan at all.

Then, as if reading the Englishman's mind, Clive put a hand on Zell's shoulder, sighing "Y'know you and I, we look like shit right now...Reckon we might as well drink to make us feel like it too."

Zell let out a breath. "Christ. Truer words were never spoken. Let's get to it."

And so the pair began their quest to get wasted. Each beer, they knocked their dirty mugs against eachother's in salute before starting on it. They talked a little about how military training was going, Zell naming a couple of soldiers from The Lions that he liked in particular. He was happy to hear about what Clive was doing with his own band as he hadn't seen too much of the Military Centre, the swordsman shirking his duties half the time. After two beers, Zell turned the conversation onto Earth.

"So tell me: Wha'dya miss most about Texas, eh?"

A bit of nostaglia was in order and Zell would enjoy hearing anything other than Mytheria shit, right now. America had always felt like a totally different place to Zell, but here in a world where armies of the undead, willy-nilly just decided to sit outside and lay siege to your city, America was practically home for the Englishman.

He also wanted to ask the man what was on his mind. Clive looked troubled. But Zell decided to wait another beer into their drinking session. He was actually quite happy to just drink and talk about regular stuff, but he figured he should give his friend a chance to get his problems off his chest if he felt like it. He did eventually ask.

[Loksfjoer]

Fenna watched her fighters battle an invisible enemy and to her untrained eyes, it looked good. How well would it go when the enemy was here? What more could she do to prepare? She turned to look at Sil, who sat nearby. The bird of prey had proven to be a good asset in battle, she had fearlessly attacked their foes so far.
"Can you set up some dummies?" she asked her appointed second in command. "Where the enemy will likely be when we fight."
The sergeant nodded and together with some other Falcons he set up some targets. "Practicing bow'n'arrow?" he asked.
"No, we'll practice Sil dropping things on them. Help me find some rubish, broken stone and logs the others don't need. lets how big and heavy we can go."

Fenna was fairly sure Sil wasn't an ordinary falcon, the way she had fought and how she reacted at times, there was an obvious intelligence. And, more importantly, a connection. Sil understood her better than any other falcon would, she understood her feelings. That's what Sil reacted to mostly. She came when Fenna was lonely, and that was just one of the many occasions Sil had shown understanding of what happened and what Fenna needed.

Using words while doing actions, Fenna tried to teach Sil three words: "pick up", "drop", "go". The last time she had send Sil on a mission she had used her words and formed mental images, and that had been enough to make Sil understand she had to deliver that message to Lucy. So that's what Fenna did again, while also using physical gestures. It didn't take long for the falcon to understand the three orders and would pick up what Fenna pointed at and dropped it at what she pointed at or visualized.
The Falcons cheered when Sil carried out the orders succesfully.

"You are a very special bird," Fenna said when Sil joined her, smiling at the falcon. "I'm so glad you joined me." She stroke the feathers. "Thank you for being with me." Sil gently touched her cheek with her head.

Fenna turned to the sergeant. "Can you wrap things up here? I need to go on errands."
"Of course, ma'am."
"I have an idea," she said to Sil as she walked away. "We're going to find a herbalist. And after that we shall find Zell for a drink and lament about the beer not being Heineken." Sil spread her wings and made an enthusiastic noise. "He's good company," Fenna agreed. "But they're all good people and we should try to help them as well as we can." She paused. "Maybe we'll start by not going near Wellsprings for the duration of our stay here. I've had enough of hooded people and powerful energies hidden in caves."
As she said that she realized she hadn't seen them again so far. Had they stopped stalking her, or they had gotten better at it? Although the last one was unlikely, whoever the robed people were, they were not good at staying unnoticed.