Acanthus

One of the last farmers was a wrinkled old man who looked old enough to be Dad’s grandfather. He was one of the few vendors who had remained patiently while I looked over the stalls, never rushing me. The farmer had a fantastic collection of native and foreign plants. None of them seemed like things that mom had grown, but they were new and exciting, and I listened with rapt attention as the old farmer explained each of the things he sold. He seemed more a storyteller than a shopkeeper. Each of his wares was accompanied by a story so strange or embellished that even I knew they weren’t re

The first cold front of fall signaled the change of the seasons. The garden had been stripped and harvested of its produce, ready to be replanted with hardy, cold-weather crops. Just last year I had to beg Mom to let me help plant the seeds. Now, Mom was telling me that we would get around to it later. But she had never waited this long before. I was distraught, so I went to Dad. I remember calling him in tears in the late afternoon, when he had barely started his shift. Through quiet, hiccuping sobs, I asked dad if he would help plant the garden. Within the hour, we were driving out to M

Summer began to wind down, and Mom was no better than she had been. She had yet to return to any semblance of routine, including tending to her precious domain. Instead, I labored in the garden with the desperate vigor of a man resuscitating his child. Twice a day I ventured into that hallowed green space to water. And I hated pulling up anything green, because everything deserved to grow, but I knew that the weeds had to die to make room for the vegetables and flowers. So I would lay the weeds gently in the compost, offering a solemn apology to each thing I uprooted. It felt like years s

The summer heat passed by in a daze. I became good enough at doing the laundry and was teaching myself how to cook. Dad did the dishes and any other chores he could complete while no one was looking. Koji was young enough that nobody thought to burden him with the household chores. And Mom still kept to herself. She would either spend the days in bed, or visiting her sister-in-law, or her mom’s grave. We each tried cheering her up in our own ways. Koji was a chatterbox, and often sat on her lap, rambling away about anything his mind thought of. Mom would sit and listen politely, ruffling

When those duties had dried up, Mom wilted in the privacy of her home. That summer, the Masuda house ground to a halt as the rest of the family learned how much we had relied on her diligence and care. Dishes stacked up, and laundry was no longer magically whisked away for cleaning. Mom even let the garden, her pride and joy, wither in the heat. Watching the garden waste away changed something in Dad. Begrudgingly—but without complaint—he stepped in to split the housework with me and Koji. “Your mother is sad, but she won’t always be sad. She’ll get better in time.” But I wasn’t sure

In spring, my grandmother passed away. I was nine. Mom was the picture-perfect grieving daughter at the funeral. She greeted guests warmly, took time to hear their stories, added stories of her own, and thanked them for coming with a smile that reached her eyes. Mom was appropriately sad yet ultimately functional as she spoke a beautiful eulogy over her mother’s ashes. I couldn’t understand a lot of it, but the sobs from around the room told me that the message was on point. In the weeks afterwards, Mom toiled to send out personalized responses to every card and kind wish she had rec

In the moments between her ever growing worry, Acanthus thought about what Morrígan said. Was Kumaki a friend? Her familiar occupied a less familiar space in her heart. Something closer than an acquaintance. As difficult as the bear cub could be, there was a sweetness to her that Acanthus deeply appreciated. Even in her silliest, most frustrating moments, Kumaki was nothing but genuine. And here I’ve been, spending my time doubting her. Her fears melted away, replaced for a moment by anger at herself. She could do better, because her familiar deserved better. She wasn’t sure what that loo

Soundtrack (I suggest opening them all and queuing them in order. These should be timed to last the time it takes to read the thread) Winter's Silent Voices Lief Tear Cloud Everything's Alright -------------------- Winter came, and Mom’s garden died for the last time. Her last crop had teemed with life. Vegetables and flowers sprawled across the landscape, fighting with all their might to escape the bounds set for them, despite careful sculpting and pruning to keep them confined. The effect was something like a painting: washes of color that made little sense when the viewe

Maybe the real PKers were the friends we made along the way (sign me up)

Baldur told the history of Aincrad with a sense of personality that the written logs couldn’t capture. Acanthus had already pored over Aincrad’s past through the incidental information gleaned from the game: change logs, epilogues from completed quests, and even the Monument of Life. But that was a fragmented story told through the black and white of numbers. Hearing the stories behind the boss fights flooded those visualizations with color. “Overpreparing shouldn’t be an issue. I was in a time crunch for the last boss, but the frontlines move at a slow pace. This time, I’ll prepare for e

Acanthus paused for a moment to think. As much as she wanted to hurry, she knew that slowing down would keep the situation under control. Where would she go off to hide? “Kumaki isn’t one for holes in the ground, outside of falling into them by accident. Despite her clumsiness, she is a good swimmer. But she prefers to be around water rather than in it. I think the best place to start would be moving out towards the creek east of us. That’s where we were initially foraging for supplies before she decided to run into you and Phantom.” Phantom circled around the two in a smooth, contro

Acanthus fought to remain neutral as Baldur observed her, busying herself with the tea instead. She gingerly picked up the teapot, pouring her mug a little too full. She cupped her hands around the mug and embraced its warmth as she pondered a response. First, Acanthus made a mental note to ask for details about the tournament. She hadn’t heard much about player versus player combat. It was a method of training she could explore in the future, perhaps. Acanthus decided to rip the bandage off the most embarrassing thing first. “Callisto was my first boss fight.” Acanthus watched the vapors

“Not as many,” she grunted back. She eyed the four nearest bandits. They would have to do. Acanthus ripped the sword art from the clutches of Cardinal, determined to bend it to her will. The need to stop and settle into position, or wait for the damn thing to “charge up”; it was all thoughtless obedience to her unsure beginnings. Before she knew how to handle a sword, Acanthus would pause thoughtfully, conditioned to hear the chime before allowing the system to finish the strokes. The game knew best, after all. Except it didn’t. Sword Arts settled into routines at the cost of efficie

“Thank you.” Acanthus took the seat she was offered, sliding comfortably onto the cushion. The peaceful sounds of the dojo surrounded her, and it took all her concentration to bring herself back to the moment and talk with Baldur, rather than listen to the sounds of wind and water. “There’s no need to apologize. We may live on the same floor, but it’s still quite a journey. I wanted an estate, which made it difficult to find somewhere inside town. And given my late entrance to the housing market here, many of the good locations were taken. I ended up settling on a nice plot of land outsid

The strange creature ballooned, and then deflated. Acanthus waited for the mob to crash and shatter into the typical blue triangles. Staring at the black puddle on the floor, Acanthus slowly realized it was not going to happen. Everything about this floor acted differently. First it was the lack of a safe zone, now the monsters. The frontlines needed to clear this floor as quickly as possible. There were too many uncertainties to linger. A scream and a crash erupted from the main square, and Acanthus was sprinted before she knew it. It had only been a matter of time before something big h

Acanthus followed her instructions dutifully, pausing for a moment to get her bearings. She had made it to the edge of the main island on Floor 24. Now, where was the boat? The lone swordswoman wandered along the coastline for a spell before she saw it—not the boat, but the floating Torii. She relaxed, confident that she was in the right place. Clutching her gift in one hand, she guided the boat gently toward the portal. A confirmation window asked if she wanted to visit Breidabilk. Her finger brushed “accept.” Without thinking, she offered a quick prayer as she passed through the gate. Let me

Maybe it was all the manifesting she was doing. But something about the fight *was* fun. The more she fought, the less she thought. The less she thought, the more relaxed she became. “I get it,” she said. “Oz is the king of the weirdos.” She didn’t actually believe that. Why was she saying that? “That’s what gives the competition some stakes. But if you’re not up for it, then I suppose we can make a loss more palatable for you.” Acanthus actually found Oz endearing the few times they had met. I mean, she wouldn’t trust him in a locked room with her shop’s inventory. And he was the kind of

Acanthus listened intently as Morrígan talked about her shop. She was a natural salesperson; despite Acanthus’ lack of interest in clothes, she found herself drawn in by the topic. “I’ll have to come by soon. I feel like I should have more than a handful of outfits to choose from. But frankly, most of the time I leave the house, I’m on a quest, and when I’m on a quest, my outfit is picked out for me.” She sheepishly adjusted some of her armor. “Even right now. I didn’t anticipate going on a quest in particular, and here I am, dressed in armor and carrying a sword when neither are necessary. I

“Alright, I’m back.” Acanthus had fully recovered from her unbecoming display during the time it took to hide a few of the fragments. She tossed a few extra into the tall grass, and promised Kumaki some treats if she were to find them. And if she didn’t… then Acanthus would start looking for bear-cub-sized saxophones in her shop. She thought about offering some kind of apology to the woman, but that could be making a bigger deal out of something Morrígan already forgot—or worse, it would invite further conversation. She decided to steer clear of the issue entirely. “I took the liberty of

Another crystal! And judging by the reflection, possibly transparent. Acanthus reached through the thick foliage to wrench the thing free. She was so close. If she wasn’t already winning, this would cement her lead for sure. Acanthus stretched her arm as far as it could, grasping at the miniscule glimmer. Her fingertips brushed the smooth surface, and the cool, hard exterior confirmed the crystalline status. “I’ve got you,” she grunted, extending her fingers into the brush as far as they could stretch. “Just hang on and I’ll..." An unseen force began to pull gently at her waist. “Not now,

THREAD SUMMARY (Thread eligible for early closure: no associated quest, and no combat or die rolls. Also, I omitted any repeated dialogue (like the stuff in the last post) from the word count. Any time I copy/pasted a phrase, I only used the first instance in my word count.) [Word Count: 3305/10 = 330.5] * [True Tier: 7] * [Group Factor: 1] = 2314 EXP Col: 347 (Laurel Wreath) = 347 col

“Why don’t we skip this cutscene with a cut?” In two swift motions, the Stranger retrieved Ajisai and drove it through Haru’s shoulder, smiling savagely. A boot, placed firmly on Haru’s breastplate, forced her to the ground, and Ajisai ripped its way entirely through Haru’s shoulder and into the dirt below. Pinned to the ground, the girl writhed on her back, trying to free herself. Seething hatred flooded the Stranger’s thoughts. A dozen times they had fought, and a dozen times the girl had died. But still she wouldn’t sleep. So if Cardinal would be unkind to her, she would simply be unki

Haru knelt in defeat again. With an intense effort, she raised her chin, staring at the Stranger proudly and defiantly. The Stranger decided to play her part and laughed at the beaten girl. “You aren’t a good copy. Just an entertaining one.” Haru knelt as she stood—far too rigidly. She didn’t put on a show or utter a word. The stranger continued. “So what now? Are you going to beg and plead; tell me how this isn’t like me at all, and I should come to my senses?” “No.” Haru said dully. She wiped blood weakly from her mouth before continuing. “This is you. Every cutting strok

The Stranger was nothing like Acanthus. She was a brutal and elegant driver of combat. Acanthus watched with a sense of amazement and terror—there was no blow the Stranger couldn’t land, no hit she could not weather. Her fights unfolded like an artist’s first decisive sketches of a nascent masterpiece, and the Stranger’s opponent served as the medium. The initial strokes did little to inform the viewer of the ultimate goal; with only a few lines, the art could be anything. Then, the linework grew complicated as the fight evolved—even her mistakes merged with the whole, making it difficult to d

“Acanthus, talk to me.” Haru rolled underneath a vicious swipe to the head. “Acanthus, talk to me.” Haru recovered from a solid blow to the head. “Acanthus, talk to me.” Haru stood up after the last hit nearly knocked her out. “Acanthus, talk to me.” Haru gave up trying to talk. The girl from the other side showed no signs of relenting; it was fight, or die. Locked in combat, Acanthus lost track of time. She had been so focused on her efforts, that she didn’t realize they were almost d