[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

[Styx 0]

>> STYX has:  attached file(s): [STATS]  Styx - HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 4  Spoiler EQUIPPED GEAR: SKILLS: > R1 | Thrown Weaponry  > > EXTRA SKILLS: MODS: CONSUMABLES USED:  > x3 Starter Healing Potions (Heals 50 HP) BATTLE-READY:  BUFFS:

It’s sunny out today.

Styx’s thoughts momentarily strayed away from the shop vendor he had been speaking to as his head tilted up. Whisps of clouds streaked across an ever-expanding sky reminiscent of cotton being stretched thin, as if there had been an invisible hand softly pulling at the ends of a fraying string. Placed flawlessly on top of the blue backdrop was a picture-perfect sun; its warm rays lingered on his dark skin– too consistent to be considered normal yet too pleasant to be uncomfortable. Were he not already accustomed to the sensation after two years of residing on Floor One, it’d be an uneasy sensation that’d send his rational mind haywire. It did not make it any less confusing, but by now, he expected to have more questions than answers by the time he died.

“Ah– I’m sorry, what did you say?” Before his thoughts could linger on his eventual demise, he was pulled back to the conversation he had been nodding along idly to. The shopkeeper– a kind and graying woman with a lack of a cursor– thanked him for his patronage with a wrinkled grin. He smiles back, just like the day before, and the day before that. His own question had been more out of habit than of any real concern. Her exact script and dialogue had wormed their way into his brain after their first few encounters, and after realizing that she would not remember him as soon as the sun rose across from above the horizon on a new day, Styx has started to regulate the length of their identical conversations to a healthy three minutes maximum.

With a practiced farewell, he sets out. The bag of groceries the woman had handed him sits heavy in his arms as he walks down the cobbled paths of the street, but he finds the weight to be negligible, seemingly more focused on his surroundings. He’d been a resident of the first floor since Kayaba had announced their containment in this digital world, and while he’s definitely seen his fair share of familiar faces, there were always some that proved to be foreign to him. Most of the newer faces around Tolbana only came for the quests– the town itself wasn’t anything special compared to the Town of Beginnings– and they often didn’t intend on staying for long. 

He could only assume that was the case when he saw a man standing almost hopelessly in front of Dorian. His frustration was palpable, and by his irritated expression, Styx could only assume the poor stranger had no idea what he was doing. Though he found it odd that this was the case for so many players. Why even bother playing an advanced VRMMORPG if you don’t even have the basics of RPG games down? The answer to that question was most likely beyond him, but he resigned to help the guy out anyway. He won’t be the first player Styx has aided and her certainly will not be the last.

“If you don’t reply, he’s going to explain the quest again,” came a monotonous voice from behind Rhys. Styx steps up, arms still cradling a bag of fruit. He tilts his head towards the stranger, who appears much taller face to face. Void-like irises meet crimson ones before they look him up and down, as if analyzing something. And then abruptly, Styx turns away. He utters a few quiet words to Dorian, who replies with a boisterous laugh before sending Rhys off with instructions to meet a man named Zackiriah. Then that’s it. Dorian turns around to go back to walking aimlessly, most likely going on the prowl for more players who’ve yet to complete his quest.

With a resigned sigh, Styx glances at the unnamed stranger next to him. “Most NPCs will continue to talk if you don’t say anything– especially the ones involved in quests. It’s better to at least say a simple okay if you plan on getting the quest anytime soon.” The words flowed out of his mouth with practiced ease, as if this isn’t the first time he’s had the absolute pleasure of explaining how NPCs worked in the game. He holds the man in a stare for a while before letting out a short exhale. “Okay. Bye.” He turns around, seemingly content– or rather, disinterested– with his lack of a farewell.

[Rhys 0]

A complete mist of confusion clouded Rhys' mind as he struggled to make sense of the NPC’s use of eldritch tongue, each strange syllable only adding to his exasperation. When hope was all lost as he struggled to respond to the NPC, Rhys’ shoulders tensed immediately at the approach of another. He immediately guarded his true emotions, despite how frustrated he became with the script. When he realized someone else was approaching - hopefully to help - a quiet sigh of relief escaped him. He turned to face the newcomer, only to blink in surprise at the unexpected sight beside him: a smaller male, tanned but with the appearance of a small blue kitten, eyes dark at the iris but slightly dulled. At least to Rhys, this player could be compared to a kitten. The stranger seemed like a parallel of himself, crimson and red-horned, if he had somehow ended up reincarnated in blue instead of red.

“What-” Rhys muttered under his breath, flustered and barely suppressing his irritation as the other player immediately launched into an informative spiel, practically scripted in its abruptness. There was no casual greeting, no aura of friendliness, just a detached efficiency that left Rhys feeling more irritated than before. Was this guy an NPC too? Rhys quickly dismissed the thought; there was something unmistakably intentional in the way this player operated. It almost felt like the mechanical nature of someone else he knew once upon a time. 

Yet Rhys muttered a few swears as he was suddenly dumped a significant amount of information from the NPC. Zackariah’s shop, or some shit. Should be easy enough, right? The NPC forgets who he lends his loan to, despite the fact he should certainly know exactly where it went... and now Rhys has to play fetch. Well, if the reward is plentiful, he supposes it shouldn't be that annoying. This...other player, though, could bring him an advantage. So Rhys sits there, listening to the more experienced fellow talk. 

But this player's demeanor seemed absurd, even as he held his bag of groceries so close to his chest - an innocent look on his face. As Rhys took in the cryptic advice being given with the casual authority of a seasoned player, a sense of awe washed over him. It was as if the gods themselves had handed him sacred knowledge, delivered from the least likely of messengers. A sense of amusement brewed within him; he worked hard to mask his surprise, responding to the other player's advice with a casual shrug and a slight pout. However, he couldn't shake the feeling that this player knew exactly what he was doing. And then immediately Styx turned on his heels as soon as he gave Rhys a pointer. 

What the hell was that?

“Hey, hey, wait a damn minute!” Rhys called out as the other player turned to leave, entirely unaffected by Rhys’ gruff appearance. Jogging to close the distance, Rhys darted in front of the smaller figure, stopping him in his tracks. The shorter male bumped into him, and a few pieces of fruit tumbled from the bundle he carried. Rhys caught one of the wayward apples mid-fall, a bright pop of bright red against his hand. Without missing a note, he pressed it firmly back against the other player’s chest, locking eyes with a determination that refused to be shrugged off so simply.

Despite Rhys’ challenging stare, the player beneath his gaze remained entirely unfazed, as if he were dealing with a very minor inconvenience rather than a tall, intimidating figure. There was a confidence, almost a calm detachment, in the way he held himself. And this pissed Rhys off. 

"You aren't going anywhere, pretty boy. You should share more of that knowledge and prestige of yours," Rhys drawled deeply, smiling slyly with a brief flash of fanged teeth. "You think you're better than the rest of us?" 

Rhys spent an awful amount of time searching for any slight movement in Styx's face, yet there was absolutely nothing. Was this guy an airhead? His words dripped with an edge, yet the other player was so utterly calm and composed. As if Rhys were simply another curiosity in his path. It was slightly unnerving, even for the renegade. This unshaken composure left Rhys feeling as if he were the one under complete scrutiny, yet he still let bitter words leave his tongue - with an aura of nonchalance. "How about we take a walk, hm?"
 

 

Edited Tuesday at 05:49 PM by Rhys

[Styx 0]

He had barely registered the baffled sounds escaping the stranger before he ran into its source. He stumbled backward, of course, and some wayward fruit piled on top of the bundle fell out of his bag and onto the ground below as a result. A splatter of irritation crossed the canvases of his eyes before he resigned himself to picking up the rest without a word. Just as he stood back up, a grunt of effort left his throat as an apple was suddenly thrust into his chest. He blinked at the fruit before peering past it, and once again his eyes locked onto those crimson irises. The silence was palpable, but he made little effort to react in any other way short of unfazed.

Styx’s expression barely faltered as his stare washed across Rhys’ impish expression. “That wasn’t my intention at all,” he said bluntly, face not betraying the shock he felt in reaction to Rhys’ words. How had his advice led to such a ridiculous claim? He was more than aware of how he talks and how it could be considered rude to not mince his words, but it wasn’t often that it was taken as condescending– especially when he himself was a low-level player as well… How confusing. “Did I do something wrong?” Styx asked, suddenly hyperaware of how familiar this situation felt– to be accused of something he did not understand. The man’s visage remained unwavering, but the familiar crawling of ugly, mangled hands clutching his clenching heart resurfaced from his subconscious in a silent but deadly blitz. The stare he had pinned on Rhys shifted to look at a particularly interesting stone brick on a nearby wall as his thoughts hit an uncomfortable roadblock. How unfortunate to be thinking of him now. 

At the abrupt request, Styx finally turned back to look at the stranger, an ounce of confusion showing in the way his brows furrowed. “A walk.” He repeated the words slowly, as if trying to comprehend why– why pin such an unfounded accusation against him in one moment only to suggest they spend time together in another? He pauses, as if contemplating. Then, he lets out a small sound of realization.

“Ah.”

Styx’s thin fingers wrapped around the apple that had been pushed against his chest before gently placing it back in his bag. “You want information, is that it?” he asked quietly, and those night-colored eyes averted away once again. He was not an info-broker– far from it, in fact. Most of his game sense had come from the long days and nights bedridden with nothing more to do but fill his limited time with meaningless content of all mediums. “I hope you are aware I have no information valuable enough for you to suggest that we have ‘a walk’,” Styx began, tilting his head as he studied Rhys’ reaction through the lashes that curtained his perceptive gaze. “If you lack rudimentary knowledge of fantasy RPG games, however, then that is another ordeal.”

He quiets, and a short but affirming hum escapes his throat to fill the second-long silence. “I would be amenable to helping you with that if you are as well.” There was never much to do in Floor One, much less in Tolbana. Life had only grown more stagnant with every new floor discovered as more and more players fizzled out of the beginner floors– like dead water. It felt as if he was stuck in a lake that was incapable of forming ripples, and all he could do was stare into the vast horizon and hope for something to change. For fear of what change would bring, he does not leave, but he wishes for it nonetheless.

“I hope you are aware of the concept of equivalent exchange,” Styx added, his tone offering no form of leeway. “Should you agree, I expect to be compensated something of equal value.” It’s not often that Styx asks for something from others, but he was at least astute enough to recognize that his services had a value, small or not. Though perhaps the chance to do something new was valuable enough for a doomed man like him, but the sensible half of his brain begged to differ and encouraged monetary gain. It was confusing, to say the least, but he nonetheless appeased the clashing thoughts by just doing both.

“So do we have a deal?”

[Rhys 0]

Shot through the heart. 

It was as if this blue kitten had peeled back layers of Rhys' bravado with a single, unwavering stare. Like a knife to butter, Styx's words caught him completely by surprise. His perceptive gaze held a sharpness that axed through every defensive stance, every calculated smirk Rhys wore upon himself. Rhys found himself completely vulnerable and exposed, shifting unconsciously on the balls of his feet. He felt his carefully crafted facade waver for the first time; the tension in his jaw only grew as Styx mentioned what Rhys was unwilling to admit: he lacked the knowledge on all of this. He was stumbling, lost in the intricacies of the game. 

"So you do understand what I'm trying to say," Rhys replied shortly, a sly, fox-like smile forming as he leaned down, his smirk charming. His eyes painted in a dazzling shade of ruby, however, betrayed none of the humor in his smug grin. "And here I thought I was talking to paint slowly dripping down a wall."

The jab was extremely hollow, hiding a vulnerability Rhys was completely unwilling to show. Rhys was a new player - a renegade with zero grounding in this permanent VMMORPG and no understanding of the world surrounding him. A memory began to tug at the thread of his mind, a voice from the past suggesting he try this game. A friend told me to be here once, he remembered, though the why of it all had faded into hazy morsels. He was merely a musician before all of this. Rhys could almost hear the melodies of his own songs, memories of a life unraveling to a time when he refused to share his burdens. His stubbornness had driven him here, it seemed, to a new life he struggled to grasp fully. 

Styx spoke with such a measured detachment, outlining his terms and conditions with a very calm authority that Rhys could almost respect. The beast was tamed, temporarily, leaving him to listen to his words despite how frustrated he was becoming. Rhys clenched his jawline, forcing himself to remain quiet, though his heart was tangled in not only irritation, but also desperation. He'd hoped, even expected, that Styx might show a bit more compassion - a player in the aesthetics of a cute innocent kitten, merciful to a wounded coyote like him. Instead, Styx's terms struck like lightning, a challenge and a reminder of how much he had yet to learn. What a bastard. Perhaps he was as feline and deceiving as he appeared. 

Equivalent exchange, huh? The hell am I good for?

"Tch- unbelievable," Rhys muttered breathlessly, rubbing his forehead with the Achilles heel of his hand, his eyes squeezing shut. He dragged his hand down his face, as if he was trying to rub away the reality of this situation. But the truth still lie still, gnawing at his core and demanding he accept the offer. With a resigned sigh, Rhys turned sharply on his feet and began walking in the direction he guessed would lead to the next part of the quest. His calloused, veined hands lifted up in surrender as he agreed to the exchange. "Fine, whatever you say."

In truth, Rhys had no idea where he was going. The path stretched far ahead, winding into the streets of Tolbana full of shadows that seemed to mock him. He swallowed his pride and casted a sidelong glance of finality back at Styx, half-hoping he'd follow, half-expecting him to suddenly say farewell and leave. But Rhys needed to pick up the pace and figure something out, or else he would be stuck in isolation on the first floor forever and a day.

"All I have to offer you is my strength and my charming personality when it comes to women," Rhys called over his shoulder, feigning confidence. "Are you coming or not, little treasure?"

[Styx 0]

“You are free to refuse my offer.” Rhys’ displeasure was obvious, and Styx would swallow down the itching feeling of hurt. Jabs at his personality and mannerisms were not a welcomed experience, but it was common nonetheless, and he had simply learned to not care for them. Despite a part of him hoping that the other would refuse his lackluster offer so that they could resume their days like nothing ever happened, Rhys’ resolve was stubborn, and he was already walking off in another direction by the time Styx had properly comprehended his acceptance. 

Ignoring the sudden use of the nickname,– he’d spend too much time picking it apart otherwise– Styx instead reached forward to grab Rhys by the arm before tugging him backward. His grip was weak, and Rhys could easily tear it away if he wanted to. “You’re going the wrong direction,” he murmured, just loud enough for the other man to hear, and his gaze flickered to Rhys’ indiscernible face as he gestured down the street behind them. If he hadn’t been forced to already, he’d let go, hand settling back to his side comfortably. “It’s down here. Stay close.” Styx’s head jerked, a motion for his newfound partner to follow him.

“I don’t believe I have any use for your… skills right now,” he said uncertainly as he led the stranger to Zackariah’s shop. His voice trailed off into quiet breathing while he contemplated his next words carefully. Part of him considered voiding his offer to help after it was made clear that Rhys didn’t have much to offer outside of a few suave words, but his other half reasoned that it’d be a poor reflection of his character to suddenly abandon a player in obvious need of assistance. And then another tiny fraction also believed that this man would no doubt start a public dispute in the middle of a crowded town over something as mundane as a refusal to cure his own ignorance. “Just consider it a favor owed,” Styx said after a few seconds of silence. He did not mention how it would be relatively easy to avoid each other for the rest of their lives after today, and that their “agreement”– if you could even call it that– was only bound by word. If he chose to do so, Rhys would never have to repay him for his assistance, and Styx trusted that the other player knew that fully well. Perhaps it was naive of him to think that he knew enough from first impressions, but Styx hoped there was at least some form of ethical reasoning in that pretty head of his.

Regardless, he’d attempt to take preventative measures by at minimum learning the stranger’s name– to track if he needed to, of course. Idly, Styx’s hand lifted to fiddle with a few buttons of his menu before a small screen appeared in front of Rhys. 

STYX has requested a party.
Do you accept?
[Yes]       [No]

Dark eyes glanced at the man beside him. “A party invitation,” he explained unenthusiastically. “That way, we can do the quest together.” Styx failed to add at some point in their conversation that he himself has never done the tutorial quest despite his apparent knowledge of how it worked. He didn’t find it important enough to mention when much of the experience he had accumulated over the last two years has been directing the surprisingly large amount of clueless players to various locations in the questline– it was only natural that he picked up a thing or two eventually. However, it seemed like this new face would need much more than simple directions to a house or field.

If Rhys were to accept his invitation, the two would finally have access to the other’s username, planted clearly in the corner of their peripherals just beside a new healthbar under their own.

[Rhys 0]

Rhys' heavy footfalls came to a very abrupt halt as he felt the subtle tug on his wrist. A quiet whisper brushed through the air, urging him to hold completely still. Nearly dragging Styx a few more paces in his reckless stride to nowhere, he finally stopped when his attention collided with deep obsidian. Realizing his misstep, Rhys turned to face the shorter man, a slight pout formulating on his lips as he absorbed the silent message. Wrong direction-right.

"I...definitely knew that," Rhys evidently fibbed, offering a grin that revealed his pointed canines once again. "Just testing you. After all, I am totally the greatest player to ever grace this realm." With a wink in Styx's direction, he attempted to soften his blunder with an evident mix of swagger and charm. Rhys had the spirit, at least. Socializing with someone as dismissive as Styx was another issue entirely, despite his background in performing. 

Yet, Rhys wasn't quite disheartened by Styx's cool demeanor. He followed suit, hands curled tensely at his sides, occasionally crossing his arms and shifting impatiently as they navigated through the winding alleys and scattered players of Tolbana. 

"You'll need my skills eventually, little treasure," Rhys eventually quipped in response, casting Styx a confident, albeit slightly exaggerated, smirk. Doesn't need his skills? Ha! What a silly little blue kitten he was. Despite his verbal teases, Rhys felt an odd mix of intrigue and exasperation toward his new quest companion. Something about Styx's stoic, narrow approach to small talk was a challenge in its own. Not that Rhys blamed him. Whenever Rhys peered in the mirror, he immediately grew tired of his own reflection. 

Rhys' musings were interrupted when Styx suddenly lifted a hand, the slight gesture drawing his attention. With practiced ease, Styx tapped through his menu, fiddling with it. Rhys watched as if he was witnessing some shadow wizard gang casting spells, his expression completely transfixed. 

STYX has requested a party.
Do you accept?
[Yes]       [No]

For a slim moment, Rhys was completely frozen as he stared at the screen prompt. His normally confident and relaxed posture faltered; he blinked, feeling his chest tighten as a familiar, taboo thought surfaced. I knew someone with that name once. The resemblance in name struck him like the gods had smote him, fueling a fleeting concoction of hope and pure delusion. Logic told him this Styx was entirely different, a new entity, and that the player before him couldn't be the Styx he once knew outside of this virtual reality. Yet still, his finger hovered over the screen, a slight tremor betraying him. 

RHYS has joined the party.

He swallowed any remaining hope. Clearing his throat, Rhys masked his reaction with a quick, disarming smirk. "Easy enough," he croaked, then fell into step beside Styx, determined not the linger on the overbearing jar of memories that threatened to spill. He focused instead on the quest, his pace overall steady as if he had suddenly grasped the task at hand with newfound purpose. 

When they reached the shop, Rhys' mood shifted again, his shoulders growing tense as they entered the space drenched in glimmering baubles and a dizzying array of lights. The merchant NPC - Zackariah, if Rhys remembered correctly - immediately launched into his script about gathering materials and offering fondue. Rhys barely registered the words, his gaze flicking over the cluttered shop with an air of aloofness. 

Rhys perked up at the sound of fondue, however, a playful gleam in his eye. "Let's just get this over with," he finally said, his voice low and exasperated. "That fondue sounds nice as hell, though." He shot Styx a conspiratorial look, slight mischief dancing in his eyes. The thought of indulging in this fondue, harboring a potential reward, was awfully appealing. Maybe there was something worth pausing for after all in this world. 

He nudged Styx's shoulder briefly. "Come on," he sang lightly. "Fondue sounds good to you too, right?"

Edited Wednesday at 06:32 PM by Rhys

[Styx 0]

RHYS has joined the party.

All over again, Styx’s feet were swept from under him, and it felt like his whole world had been submerged under an endless, cold ocean. 

Leave me the fuck alone.
Leave me the fuck alone.
Leave me the fuck alone.

It no longer felt like a game. His limbs ached and his vision blurred. Motor functions seemed to cease as he instinctively tried to flex his hand, only for there to be barely a small twitch. There was a moment where Styx opened his mouth to say something before it snapped shut, afraid that the few words he had left to say would come out slurred and uncontrolled. His body was crumbling in on itself, wasting away to dust like it had been before– like it was now, in the real world, where he couldn’t see it. The effect of Rhys’ parting words still lingers after so many years, and it sent him spiraling back into a time when control of his body was out of the question. His skin felt clammy, like it had been glued to hospital gowns for weeks. If he had listened close enough, he could hear the murmur of a monitor, buzzing with life and electricity while his own body grew weaker and weaker in a sterile white room, more alone than ever. 

Styx– Keitaro– never cried. Not when he was teased for being a foreigner. Not when he had incorrectly tuned the peg on his violin, causing it to snap in his face and leaving a sting that would last for weeks. He had even somehow managed to avoid shedding a single tear when he had first gotten his diagnosis, something that should’ve absolutely ruined him like it ruined his life. Everyone seemed to cry for him then, weeping for the son and friend they had yet to lose, but Keitaro never cried. 

Until Rhys finally got sick of him.

He had refused to look back on their chats after that late night, but he could assume it was a decision that had been in the making for a long time. Only he was to blame for not noticing the signs earlier. Perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt as much if he had steeled his heart beforehand. He should’ve, but he didn’t, and it resulted in him falling into a state of complete disarray until the sun rose beyond the horizon a few hours later. He cried until his lungs hurt, sobbed and wept until the only sounds that came out of his hoarse throat was the pitiful warbles of heartbroken despair and pleads for why. Head to toe, his body tingled due to his violent exertions before inevitably growing numb of all feeling, and he had refused to sit up the whole day following their falling out.

Keitaro’s heart had been inconsolable, and just when he started to think it was healing, the stitches were ripped out of them once more. Rhys would never know what Keitaro sounded like, not when he was too far gone in his condition to make proper sentences without stumbling on his words, but the lingering memories of their one-sided calls still haunted Styx’s thoughts. Every word, hum, and lyric uttered into Rhys’ crappy phone mic was ingrained into his head like a brand. He sounded different now, though. Without the barrier of communication between them, Styx could hear the tenuous flaws in his tone he had yet to notice before. 

It hurt. It hurt to uncover such unnoticeable and obscured details about the man who’d torn his out of his chest and ripped it apart in his face. Would Rhys even remember doing that? Styx’s thoughts fell deeper, darker. Would Rhys even remember me after what he had said all those years ago? In his spiraling panic, Styx had failed to notice the subtle tremor in the man’s breaths or the way his hand shook as it tapped on the window– what would’ve been answers to his undying questions would remain shrouded under a veil of unseen actions. 

Time resumed as Styx once again felt Rhys’ presence beside him, and both of them continued to walk like nothing had ever happened. Each of Styx’s steps was methodical, as if his entire body was operating under written commands. Inside, however, he was falling. 

Did he mean it? What did I do wrong? I’m sorry. Can I fix this? Does he remember? Does he want to remember? Did he forget me? How could he forget me? What do I do? What can I do? Why did he say that? Why is he here? Dangerous thoughts crept up in his desperation. He doesn’t remember me. Why can’t he remember me? It’s better this way. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t want to remember. That’s okay. We can start over. He doesn’t have to remember.

The two entered the shop with Styx unaware of how he even led them there when his head was all scrambled. Fortunately, the clutteredness of the space distracted him from his thoughts for a few minutes as he made note of every odd thing out of place, but his straying mind always went back to the man beside him. “Aren’t you supposed to eat fondue with other things?” he muttered under his breath in response to Rhys’ goading. His shoulders squared at the sudden contact, but he remained silent otherwise, not trusting his words when thoughts of their failed friendship echoed in his mind. He’d fix this. He’d start over. If the bridge of their relationship had been burned, he’d build another one. Even if Rhys couldn’t see that it was crafted by the hands of the man whose heart he had broken, he’d do it again and again, until he drew his last breath.

The destructive thoughts eventually faded into silence, and Styx would finally nod, albeit stiffly. “Fine. Okay.” He still eyes the melting pot warily, unsure if such a thing would be safe to consume if they were not in the confines of the game. Regardless, it seemed like something he wouldn't like. Zackariah seems pleased with his resignation, and he hands the two a pair of long-tonged forks with a chunk of bread stabbed between the prongs. Hesitantly, Styx took a fork between his fingers, twirling it around as if to stall for time. He made a disgruntled sound before looking up at Rhys hopelessly. “You first.”

Edited yesterday at 01:07 AM by Styx

[Rhys 0]

“Brother!”

“Aki? Oh no, no… Why are you crying?” Kazuki’s voice is gentle, almost fatherly.

The little girl stands completely still in front of him, her eyes red and cheeks puffy. He slowly kneels, his large hands lifting to cradle her face, catching her tears as they fall and dry into his hands. There was a boy who loved his family. A boy who promised to protect his family without a father to take care of them. In a world where his father stepped down, Kazuki had taken a step forward.

“Lost my bear…” she hiccups, her words tangled with sniffles. Kazuki’s thumbs slowly brush beneath her lower lashes, wiping away her remaining tears. He then stands and extends a hand to his little sister, his fingers warm and steady, an anchor for her to always tie herself to. She grasps his index finger first, then wraps her tiny hand around his entirely. His heart softens with the humility of his childhood promise.

Protect her. Always.

“We'll find it together. What do we say when we get scared, Aki?” Kazuki asks, sliding open the back door as they step outside. To find the lost bear in the garden.

“I can brave what I most fear…”

“That’s right.”

Suffering, or the memory of it, is like clinging to a teddy bear made of shattered glass. The tighter he clings to it, the deeper it cuts. Memories should just be a mere fragment of the past. So perhaps Kazuki should practice by putting the teddy bear down. Perhaps then, if he puts it down, the teddy bear disappears. Just like how little Akiko lost her teddy bear in the garden. If he is willing to put it down.

Yet Rhys holds the teddy bear close to his chest, the glass seeping into his skin. He refuses.

Rhys denies the pain of shattered glass, even as the knife edges nearer to his heart. He’ll never reach for the hand of grief from a lost lover drowned in the depths of his self-destruction. The hand was extended toward him just so he might admit his fault in the breaking of another’s heart. Despite the fleeting, haunted look in Styx’s eyes as Rhys accepts the party, he never asks. Though every instinct within him cries out, pleading for him to finally acknowledge the truth surfacing between them – he won’t.

Never again would Rhys live through the everlasting torment of addiction. Never again would he reread those messages he wrote in a drunken stupor. Where his words became riddles. Where the words of “I love you” were replaced by weapons of bitterness.

In truth, he never hated the Styx he once knew on the other side of his phone screen. Not once.

Rhys had taken those painful memories and placed them into a box. He put them there alongside the photographs, the rings, and the past message threads. This box is his coffin for the past, laid to rest with all the reverence of a farewell to the dead and the living about to die. No funeral accompanies it, for there is no time to mourn; he has buried them all in silence, and now, the wake is his alone to carry. Yet he still holds the teddy bear.

Even as Styx desperately tries to rebuild the bridge between them–laying down plank after plank–Rhys continues to knock it down. He kicks aside every log, every cobblestone, every plank that once kept their foundation steady. And with each piece dismantled, he clutches his broken teddy bear closer, the pain dulling any trace of emotion he might still hold. In that numbing embrace, he convinces himself it’s safer to carry the shattered pieces than to ever let them go.

This Styx in front of him wasn’t the same person, and that was final.

The hourglass had once again begun to fill the bottom with sand, as time began to turn once more. Zackariah had just offered the two of them a pot of fondue, and Rhys had somehow convinced Styx to partake in it. Despite the look of unease that plagued Styx’s features, Rhys paid it no mind for the time being. Perhaps he was a germaphobe…or hated random offerings of food. On the contrary, Rhys accepted the NPC’s offer with pure delight. His lips were practically drooling with saliva, his little white fang peeking out from his bottom lip. Styx gestured for Rhys to go first, his entire demeanor suddenly shifting in the same way Rhys’ had.

“Oh, come on,” Rhys smirked, shaking his head. “Don’t give me that look, little treasure. This fine-ass dish might be sketchy as hell to accept, but food’s still food, no matter where we end up.” He gave a casual shrug and popped the bread into his mouth, the rich, warm flavor flooding his senses and easing a bit of the edge off his hunger.

“Besides,” he went on, words muffled as he chewed, his right cheek puffy with bread and cheese, “there might be a crazy reward for all this, right? Maybe a castle or some shit. ‘Rhys, King of Aincrad’ has a ring to it.” He mused, glancing at Styx with a glint of mischief in his eyes as if daring him to join in on the joke.

Yet Styx’s expression didn’t waver, his gaze hard as metal. Rhys sighed, the smile on his face softening. “Look, if nothing else, at least we’ve got something good to eat while we’re here. It’s not every day you get to enjoy a random pot of fondue in a shop like this. And I’ll take what I can get.” He stabbed another piece of bread, swirling it through the cheese with slight theatrics. “So, you planning on just sitting there brooding, or are you going to join me? I know we’ve got things to gather, but you should enjoy the moment.” He shot Styx a lopsided smile, trying to break through the thick tension lingering between them. And to ease his burdens. 

A long-winded pause fell between them, stretching into long, lingering silence. Rhys let his gaze drift, stealing glances at Styx beneath lowered lashes, his curiosity simmering beneath his casual demeanor. Finally, the renegade broke the stillness, leaning forward slightly as if to bridge the gap in their unspoken tension and his awfully loud chewing. “You know your way around this place better than most, helpin' people when they need it,” he mentions, his voice light, yet definitely probing. “So... why stick around down here instead of climbing the floors?” Rhys kept his tone playful, but his question carried a sharper edge, a subtle tug meant to pry at the puppet strings into whatever Styx kept hidden behind that unreadable, beautiful expression.

[Styx 0]

Styx watched closely as the bread flew into Rhys mouth, who was obviously the more eager one out of the two to eat some random fondue from a pot. “We technically do not need any form of sustenance to maintain our bodies in here,” he countered weakly as he turned back to the fork of bread between his hands. With all his knowledge of this quest, he knew you did not have to consume whatever concoction Zackariah conjured in that pot of his. He also knew that there was not a castle waiting to be claimed at the end of it– which will most definitely disappoint Rhys when they finish it. He holds his tongue, however. From experience, his bluntness is likely more trouble than what it's worth, and he wanted to avoid souring the already broken relationship both he and Rhys shared. 

Tense shoulders he didn’t even realize he had been holding gradually loosened under Rhys’ reassurances, but the aura of hesitance still lingered in his posture. The sudden softness in the other’s smile did more to the broken man’s heart than he thought possible. Unfortunately, it was as comforting as it was bitter. He doesn’t remember, Styx tells himself over and over again. He doesn’t remember and that's okay. Still, his thoughts backpedaled. Styx wondered if Rhys would’ve looked at him like that all those years ago, lighthearted and relaxed, or if that was only reserved for the people that “did understand”. 

You never fucking understand anything. 

It was silly how simple Styx’s mind was. Surely, he thinks, he would “understand” if he did just as Rhys asked and enjoyed the moment. So, with great reluctance, he dipped the bread into the simmering pot, barely making an effort to get the actual cheese on before pulling it out and shoving the fork into his mouth without a second thought. It wasn’t pleasant. Far from it. The tanginess of the fondue enveloped his tongue like wet cardboard, and the dry bread didn’t seem to make it any better. It was a mess of textures in his mouth… but it was palatable enough for him to put aside his preferences for once, as much as it made his stomach churn. 

Styx continued to nibble on the cheese-covered bread, his gaze just barely flickering to Rhys through his lashes before it trailed back down to the ground. Small talk was not his forte, but he’d at least attempt it. For his sake. “I don’t want to,” he said simply. There was no tinge of deceit in his words, only an air of indifferent confidence. “The Frontliners seem to be doing fine. There’s no need for me to join their ranks,” Styx continued, “and it’s safer down here, isn’t it?” It wasn’t a total lie. Apparently, there was a greater chance of finding a friend-turned-stranger from years ago than being killed by a random boar– according to Styx– so he assumes that he’s relatively safe for now. He wouldn’t mention how he was unfit for combat. He wouldn’t mention how walking, much less running, had itself been a struggle for him when he first emerged in this new world. Styx was not prepared for such freedoms after years of his own body failing him, and he certainly wasn’t prepped for the rigorous lifestyle of those who worked hard to leave the game.

He shifts his weight on his legs as if to remind himself of the struggles he had overcome. His limbs no longer felt like weights strapped to his form, nor did they shake with every minor movement. His reflexes felt normal enough, if not slightly delayed, but still a massive improvement since he first began the game. Running was still a fickle thing; he couldn’t quite get the hang of both of his feet leaving the ground at any point even after two years. With his relatively peaceful life, however, he didn’t find much purpose in refining it.

So no, Styx was not qualified to climb the floors, and he told himself that it was probably for the best. 

“... so what about you?” Brown hair swayed gently as Styx finally lifted his head to meet Rhys’ expression. His question felt uncertain, as if he was out of his element with just a few simple words, which to be fair, he most definitely was. “Why start now?” Why show up now? “You had two years, so why now?” It’s been three years since we’ve talked. Why now? It was unreasonable for Styx to ask what brewed in his thoughts when he knew full well that the answer was not under Rhys’ control, no matter how much Styx wanted to scream and cry that it was his fault that they ended up like this– lost, heartbroken, and completely alone. But, he surmised that Fate was a cruel thing, dishing out punishments and gifts whenever it pleased. It’s only unfortunate that they were one and the same in Styx’s case.

---

POST ACTION:
Consumes Zackariah's Fondue: +3 LD

Styx - HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 4 | 3 LD

Edited 22 hours ago by Styx