[PP-F01] Got a Staring Problem, Pal? | <<The First Few Lessons>>

[Rhys 0]

There was something bittersweet about the skies being so impossibly azure. It stretched endlessly above him, like a gentle stroke of a paintbrush dipped in the finest of blues - so utterly pure. Bright, fluffy white clouds drifted aimlessly, with little kisses of white in a sea of open sky. What seemed to be sunlight gentle peppered its whispers with a gentle warmth that might have felt comforting to literally any other player. Yet to fresh meat Rhys, it felt distant. Mocking, even. Every detail of this place seemed meticulous. He could feel the air, nearly tasting it on his tongue - crisp and without fault - as though the weight of reality was immensely lighter here. His attention ravaged over the intricately bladed grasses, the brightest green he's ever seen, and the cobblestones that hit the soles of his boots. The towering semi-circular walls in the distance cradled Floor 1, meeting his peripheral vision in nearly every direction. The soft rustle of leaves reached his ears, his jawline tensing at how pristine everything seemed to be. Everything was so vivid, rich with the breath of life, despite the fact that none of it was genuinely real. Aincrad, Rhys once read in passing, with its endless layers of purgatory-- or a new chance at living. What was a prison disguised as paradise intrigued Rhys the moment he spawned in. 

The thought caused his jaw to briefly tighten as he navigated through his surroundings, fists clenching lightly at his sides. This world, with all its alluring beauty and attraction as an escapade from reality, should have been a place for new beginnings for losers like him. Or at least for some form of respite. To Rhys, however, it only served as a reminder that he chose this life to flee the previous one. Each breath he took felt too simple, too easy. The warmth on his skin felt like a lie - one that made his stomach churn with frustration. 

It all made Rhys angry. 

For fucks sake, he shouldn't feel this warm. 

He couldn't quite place a finger on when his anger had begun. Perhaps when his eyes opened immediately after logging in... or when he thought the menu screen wasn't closing properly; perhaps it was the way it had crept in slowly like a spider upon his neck, little by little, as the reality of his situation set in. This wasn't just a game, and he couldn't leave. With polished stone and essentially pixelated skies, he had no way out. This was it, a new chance at life, but everything seemed to bother every corner of himself. 

Crimson irises flickered upwards again, toward the impossible skies. That bitter knot in his chest tightened, full of past regrets and mistakes that haunted him like every yokai he had read about in those legends. He wanted to scream, to tear this perfect illusion apart brick by brick - to dismantle every pixel of this damn fantasy until nothing remained but ash. Instead, he shoved his hands deeper into the thick silks of his pockets. Just barely did the new material brush against his knuckles - foreign and unfamiliar. A frown just barely tugged on his lips at the feeling of pleasantry. Maybe if he kept moving - kept exploring Aincrad - the anger would slowly fade and he could accept the scars that he bore. If he kept walking through the endless floors, surviving them all, the anger would ebb. Maybe it would bleed out slowly, quietly, leaving behind only an ache that was so dull and rusted that he could at least live with. Embrace the new, even if he couldn't return home. 

Eh, who knows.

He pulled his attention elsewhere, forcing himself to focus on figuring it all out. His menu had blinked into view before him, an endless log of quests unfolding before his very eyes. Though, it didn't help that he was the most uneducated out of every player in SAO. He scanned the lines with little amusement; every player, despite many being anxious, seemed to know what they were doing - already organizing themselves into guilds, chatting about strats and leveling up at a rate that left him completely in the dust. Rhys, on the other hand, had barely scratched the surface. The mechanics, the monsters, the floors... all of it was overwhelming; he wasn't a gamer, and he certainly wasn't prepared. 

In this death game, he was completely blind. Still, he needed to start somewhere. He couldn't afford for his feet to remain planted, frozen in time, and he certainly couldn't present himself as the cowardly type. This was the mere beginning of all the floors in the game, and he wasn't going to chicken out and stay where it was safe. His finger hovered over one of the quests - simple enough, a starting task. Hardly glamourous, but it was a stepping stone. There was a minor issue that he wasn't exactly certain where he was going, but he'd figure it out eventually. 

With a resigned sigh, Rhys finally set off for Tolbana, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his growing frustrations unnecessarily against the world. Traversing the labyrinthine streets felt like a cruel joke being played on him, and it was certainly nothing he was used to. Buildings twisted and turned in a maze of unfamiliarity, the alleyways and thoroughfares blending together into an awful piece of art. Every corner seemed to lead to nowhere, and every wrong only pushed him further toward implosion. By the time he reached the outskirts of town, he felt as if every muscle and tendon in his body was about to split into two. A faint hope of progress.

Tolbana wasn't much to gawk at. A town that might've felt charming on any other day, now felt hollow in comparison to the attraction he felt upon first spawning in. The initial wonder had long since faded, leaving him with nothing but a creeping sense of monotony. Everything was rather ordinary and disgustingly modest - nothing about it eased the churning in his core. As he wove through the town, Rhys felt eyes on him. A strange sensation of being observed, like someone was waiting for him to arrive. So, his gaze snapped toward the source - a figure standing off to the side, staring at him with unnerving eyes. His eyes were pale, catching the light, and reflecting the faint reflection of a monocle. Something was oddly precise, like clockwork, about his posture. Every movement seemed calculated. 

Rhys, ever the pain in the ass, called out bitterly. "Got a staring problem, pal?" his voice wedged through the air. His jaw lifted in challenge, pointing toward the other in a gesture that mirrored the bluntness in his tone. The ever-brewing hurricane inside him, however, stilled for a moment in time as the figure moved toward him with an almost mechanical grace. Step by step, he closed the distance, moving with precision. Rhys' breath hitched just slightly, an exhale seething through clenched teeth as their figures met. It was a man - older, judging by the aged lines on his face and his gray hair, though his movements practically defied his age. Each step exuded a poise that felt out of place in this chaotic environment. And it was extremely unsettling. 

Rhys' brow furrowed, a spark of hesitation flickering in those crimson irises. Was this an...NPC? He ravaged through the archives of his brain for the right acronyms, the mechanics, anything that could explain who he was looking at. The term slipped awkwardly into his thoughts, and a wave of embarrassment flustered him for a second. Nice going, Rhys. Dumbass, he thought, his cheeks heating with a faint flush. The figure - no, NPC - clearly didn't give a damn about his internal turmoil. Then, the man proceeded to speak, words spilling from his lips straight from a script. Dorian, his name was. As he began to lay out the logistics of this quest, Rhys waved a hand in front of his face. 

He parted his lips in order to retort - to argue, even, about how boring this quest sounded. Yet Rhys shifted uncomfortably, the realization of everything sinking in. Great start, Rhys. 
 

Spoiler STATS Rhys | HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 4 SKILLS SP 4/5 Thrown Weaponry R1 INVENTORY SET D: Support Package (3) Starter Healing Potions (Heals 50 HP) 2,000 Col and (25) Materials