[PP - F01] Bittersweet

[Bahr 0]

The sign read "The Crusty Bahrnacle." It had his name. That couldn't have been a coincidence, right?

Peering through the dusty and muck-coated windows revealed nothing, the interior remaining a mystery to the man perched outside. If it was true that he, or at least a version of him, existed before he woke up in that cave, then it could be true that he'd staked his claim on certain parts of this world. Land. Monuments. Storefronts. There was no way to tell unless he found a way inside, and saw for himself what was hidden behind these grimy and unkempt walls.

He patted himself down and started checking his pockets for keys, stopping when he felt a bulge against his chest. It seemed that his coat had an inside pocket that he'd been previously unaware of. He unzipped his jacket slightly, just enough to stuff his hand inside and fumble around in an attempt to discern what had disturbed the uniformity of his garb. Whatever was there was... soft. And furry. And warm. And moving.

After a moment, whatever was nestled within that pocket emerged. A tiny, pigmy version of what Bahr could only assume was a swine creature of some sort. Like a baby pig, or maybe even a boar. It stared up at Bahr and blinked slow, sleepy blinks, before yawning right in the Player's face. It then lazily looked up to the storefront's sign, its beady little eyes seemingly lighting up when it saw it. Bahr traced the animal's gaze back to the sign, before redirecting his attention back at the vermin who apparently called his pocket home.

"Look familiar?" he inquired, still a bit shocked that he was currently talking to a surprise boar. He couldn't tell what exactly was going on behind the eyes of that tiny beast, but it felt like it was answering in the affirmative. So, Bahr gave it a nod, prompting it to retreat back into the hole from whence it came.

It occurred to Bahr that, as had been briefly demonstrated to him before, inventory was digitized in this "game." He dragged downward with his finger though the air which, miraculously, brought about the UI he needed to navigate through his belongings. After fumbling for a bit, he did come upon a couple sets of keys, one of which he hoped provided entry into the small shop. He tapped on one, it materialized, and the UI dismissed itself. He muttered a curse under his breath as it did so, noting he'd need to repeat the entire process again if this wasn't the right key - assuming he even had the right key. But, as it inserted into the keyhole flawlessly and freed the latch with a turn, it seemed his chagrin was all for naught.

The interior of the shop was dim, muddled light barely peeking through the soiled windows. His hand fumbled against the wall until it found what felt like a light switch, which he promptly flipped. Easy light filled the space, revealing a long, narrow room with beautiful mahogany display cases lining either side. Dusty glass lining the tops of these display cases encapsulated what appeared to be a varied assortment of clothing, each article completely unique and separate from the last. Dark oak shelving hugged the walls above the display cases, with various threads, fabrics, and proof-of-concepts populating them. Soft lighting illuminated all of these fixtures with a soft glow, wrapping together the shop's overall ambiance with a neat bow.

At the far end of the room rested a counter, centered in front of backlit lettering attached to the back wall, which spelled out "The Crusty Bahrnacle," with a font to match the sign outside. On either side of this signage were masterpieces of armor that seemed to exhibit the skill and attention to detail of a true artisan. Were they not, too, coated in the thick layer of dust that blanketed the rest of the space, he was certain that they would literally gleam even in the mellow glow. Beside a particularly fanciful hooded tunic was a door that seemed to lead into a space at the back of the shop, where it remained too dark to make out any real details.

He meandered slowly into the space, inspecting every facet of it in its totality, scanning carefully for anything he recognized. And while it all seemed familiar, he couldn't say for certain that he knew any of the things there. He eventually passed through the threshold leading into the back, found another light, and flipped it. The same soft light of the parlor filled what he could only surmise was an office of some sort, with a rich mahogany desk at one side and rolls of various fabrics against the adjacent wall.

Once the lights had activated, the small pig from before once against emerged from his inner coat pocket, hopping down and scuttling its way toward the desk. It jumped up onto the chair, its plump body teetering on the edge of the seat's fabric for a minute before it stabilized itself and crawled all the way up. It then jumped onto the desktop, waddling over to a small, lush pet bed that rested on the corner of the space and laying down. At the base of the bed read "Swine Bajesus," which Bahr could only assumed was the creature's name. What a trip.

With the small monster properly accounted for, Bahr ventured back out into the main room, a pang of anxiety striking him as he feasted his eyes on the mess that lay before him. There was dust everywhere. Whoever had been charged with keeping this space clean had been neglecting it terribly. Though, if that person were supposed to be him, he supposed it made sense. On the counter rested a slip of paper, which he scooped up and inspected (after blowing the fine layer of dust that coated it away). It seemed to be a commission form of some sort, but he could hardly make heads or tails of it. All of the complicated material and aesthetic demands looked like Greek to him. Had he really been some sort of grand clothing architect? And if so, why was it that he didn't even know where to start in a shop like this?

[Lessa 1]

꧁༺Lessa༻꧂   Lessa, Guardian of Aincrad Level: 31 Paragon Level: 54 HP: 820/820 EN: 120/120 Stats: Damage: 28 Mitigation: 142 Accuracy: 4 Battle Healing: 45 H.M.: 8 HLY: 8 REC: 8 THRNS: 72 Equipped Gear: Weapon: Arcael's Might (T4 THSS - DMG DMG DMG HLY) Armor: Empress Armor (T4 HA - HM HM THNS THNS) Misc: Neutron Star Necklace (T4 TRINKET - ACC ACC REC REC) Skills: Straight Sword R5 Heavy Armor R5 Battle Healing R5 Energist Fighting Spirit Charge Active Mods: Impetus Emergency Recovery Justified Riposte Addons: Iron Skin Ferocity Stamina Active Extra Skills: Parry Survival Battle Ready Inventory: Teleportation Crystal x5 Mass HP Recovery Crystal x2 Housing Buffs: Well Rested: -1 energy cost for the first three expenditures of each combat Clean: The first time you would suffer DoT damage in a thread, reduce damage taken from DoT each turn by 20% (rounded down) Relaxed: Increases out of combat HP regen by (5 * Tier HP) and decreases full energy regen to 2 Out of Combat Posts. Col Stash: +5% bonus col from monster kills and treasure chests Advanced Training: +10% Exp to a thread. Limit one use per month [1/1] Multipurpose: Gain +1 to LD, Stealth Rating, Stealth Detection, or Prosperity to one post in a thread. Can be applied after a roll Guild Hall Buffs: Helping Hand: Lowest-leveled guild member receives +10 bonus Exp at the end of the thread. At least half of the thread's participants must be guild members. Limit one use per month, per character. [1/1]

The door opened, then closed, with the familiar twinkle of bells.

The sound held such an oddly charming quality, and despite hearing it countless times, Lessa appreciated it as she exited Oscar's Hotdog Stand. She also appreciated the hotdog that she shoved into her mouth without any thought for the phallic nature of it. Anyone who judged someone else for how they ate America's favorite mystery meat didn't deserve a moment of her time. Besides, nobody she worried about impressing frequented the Town of Beginnings anymore.

Anymore.

The neighboring storefront called to her, a siren song that Lessa valiantly fought against as she polished off the last of her chili cheese dog. How many times had she peered through that dusty window, squinting against the darkness for some sign of life? How many times had she banged on the door, shouting, crying, cursing until Oscar dragged her back? Until he reminded her that she was better than that.

He'd reminded her, and so had Alkor, and Jomei, and Baldur. The people in her life whom she trusted the most, and whose opinions really mattered, had told her she was better than a drunk sorority girl banging on her ex-boyfriend's apartment door. And yet...

They were right. She was. She knew she was, and every day she worked on proving that to herself. Lessa had once more let herself be whittled down by a man, even after promising it would never happen again. "Fool me once," she muttered to the empty street, the cool air a stark contrast to her steadily warming cheeks. Months of disinterest had led to months of complete abandonment, and truthfully, she had no idea which was worse. She had missed him while he sat beside her, and she had missed him after he'd vanished. And in the midst of so much missing, Lessa had forgotten to find comfort in herself.

No more. He didn't deserve her sorrow, her fear, or her pity. The doubt that had paraded through her mind at all hours of the day, tooting questions like notes on instruments: what did I do wrong, why did he leave, how could I have saved us? He didn't deserve her forgiveness, if she ever saw fit to bestow it - or more importantly, if she ever saw him again.

And above all else, he didn't deserve the spark of life that lanced through her when she saw the lit store window.

In the space between heartbeats, Lessa experienced it all again. The misery, the heartbreak, the resentment, the blind rage and the smothering loneliness, it crashed into her, through her, like a tsunami. Her legs nearly bucked beneath the impact.

I'm. Better. Than. This. that voice her her head roared above the rushing water. I'm. Better. Than. This.

So Lessa grabbed for the most readily available weapon. The most easily understood emotion.

The Guardian of Aincrad armed herself with white-hot fury.

There was no pretty jingle of bells as she threw open the door to the The Crusty Bahrnacle, sending it crashing into the adjacent wall. Fortunately for Bahr, the first floor, and likely the entirety of Aincrad, the blazing inferno that was Lessa simply wilted at the sight of a micro boar. Swine Bajesus skittered toward her on tiny, tooth-pick legs, weaving figure eights between her boots before she finally managed to scoop him up. "Hey you," she cooed gently, bringing the familiar to her cheek for a shared nuzzle. The pig squirmed in her hands, delighted humming sounds radiating from his warm, hairy body. She planted a small kiss on his damp snout. "I've missed you, I have, I-"

A sound from deeper in the shop drew her attention, and the words she'd meant to say to the boar died on her lips. As she studied him, everything she had intended to say to his master disappeared, too. Those countless hours spent perfecting exactly how she would greet him, then scold, then demand answers... it all simply coalesced into four simple words.

Because those unfamiliar red eyes peering back through that shaggy black hair held no trace of recognition.

"What happened to you?"

[Bahr 0]

Bahr's ruminations were bedeviled by the hearkening of screeching bells, their panicked toll a far cry from the whimsical jingle he'd observed upon first entering the shop. The door would have surely loosed from the cradle of its threshold had it not met, ferociously, with the wall adjacent its flung trajectory. The impact prompted the appearance of a panel which heralded the smashed wood's immortal status, but Bahr wouldn't notice. His eyes would be glued to the vision that stood before him, in all her fury, where his door once had been.

His crimson eyes would first settle upon her hair. Even in that dim light, her blonde locks seemed so luminescent he could swear they were lit from within. Whatever loose strands of molten gold that weren't held back by her ponytail spooled into perfect curls upon her shoulders. They cascaded past her ears, hugging the smooth contours of her face, upon which sat two identical jewels of vibrant azure. Etched in venom, they were, with an intensity that rivaled the glow of her mane.

As he scanned her, he'd take in her features one by one. Her slender frame. The peculiar armor she wore, which seemed to reveal enough to make men wish they could see more. The weapon she kept stashed at her hip, which could surely loose itself and lance through any foe faster than they could make a wry comment about said armor. The comfortability, and air of confidence, within which the entire ensemble was wrapped. A beauty. A threat. A force.

Since he had awakened, Bahr had felt the kiss of the sun. He had felt the heat of coffee as it burned down his throat and traced a line of acid through his stomach. He had experienced the radiance of a lit hearth, and the comforting embrace of a thick blanket. But he could say, with confidence, that it hadn't been until he had seen her that he'd truly been warm.

Whether that was from the heat that filled his cheeks, or the rage that emanated from her, he could not say. But just as it seemed she readied herself to unleash the inferno that had built in her chest, something else caught her eye. The creature from before had come to Bahr's rescue, it seemed, scampering across the hardwood floor in a frenetic gallop toward the intruder. The anger that had once masked her visage seemed replaced by another emotion, though Bahr couldn't say he recognized it. She marveled at the boar as it encircled her feet, picking it up and nuzzling it. Whispering sweet nothings, planting a kiss upon its snout. 

But this reprieve was short-lived. It wasn't long before those spheres of blue sliced through the dimness back at him. He must have looked so dumb, then. Mouth half agape, likely some incomprehensible squeaking from the back of his throat leaking between his lips. Wide, scarlet orbs dashed with confusion, and inquisition, and excitement, and anxiety. The light from overhead seemed to glow on his brow, as if it wished to illuminate his idiocy. A man who had no idea what to do with a woman who broke down his door and planted herself in its stead as though she'd grown there fifty years.

"What happened to you?" he heard her ask, the sweetness she'd offered his pet decidedly absent. However he might attempt to balk at her tone, there was still a sick sweetness to it that still made him weak. He felt small beneath her indomitable will.

"That's..." he croaked, unsure what sort of answer she would find satisfactory. His gaze averted hers. "... a complicated question."

Instinctively, his eyes flickered back, this time searching for anything he could use to help solve this puzzle. Above her head oscillated a verdant crystal, which he had learned indicated someone good; or, at the very least, not evil. Even that, supposedly, could be a trick. Beneath it there was whatever information the game was willing to offer up. Her level, which immediately struck him as high, despite not having ample context to compare again. And the name. "Lessa," it read.

He thought back to days prior, when he had, at the direction of Morningstar, investigated his friends list. There had been one among the list that had particularly stood out to him, and now a woman stood before him sharing the namesake. Lessa. There was a familiarity to it that was impossible to shake. This was someone important. And, based on everything he'd come to know about her in those brief moments they shared his parlor, it was likely for all the wrong reasons.

"Please, come inside," he beckoned, inviting her with a wave. He would recede silently into the back office, taking a seat at his desk and turning the chair so that it faced the lush couch that lined an adjacent wall. He would wait for her to enter, and sit, or stand, or whatever she felt like, hoping that by the time she'd come he would have bought enough time to think of what to say next. He hadn't, of course. He didn't know who this person was, or what their relationship was, or why she seemed to loathe him so. And while the Town of Beginnings was a "safe zone," he ventured a guess that one of her tricks was to inflict damage upon a man in other ways.

"I know I presume," he started, eyes finding hers. He held the contact, this time. "But what are you, to me? What are we, to each other?"

There was silence for a moment. Perhaps elaboration was in order.

"There must be some way we know each other, but I'm at a loss as to how. I remember nothing more than the past handful of days."