maskormenacelogs | FANPORT OVERFLOW LOG

That's the sort of thing people say right before they drop something. Or someone. [Rincewind shudders.] If there's one thing I can't stand - well, all right, there's a lot - it's heights. We've a long and abusive relationship together.

[ah, but the question of where to go... The wizard frowns, then shrugs expensively.]

Honestly, I've been drinking most of the day and what I could really go for is some food. Up to finding a greasy pub somewhere?

[ ...alright. The adult Rincewind might be significantly less adorable - not that Grimmjow found him adorable, it's simply that other people might - than the child version, but he's still just as funny. ]

A pub, then. There's got to be at least one.

[ And if Rincewind is amicable, Six will lead the way to one. His posture changes once he's back out on the floor: back straight, shoulders set, and his stride long, his face settling into a practiced, disapproving stare for anyone or anything that gets in his way. He's found so far that the best way to discourage interruptions is to look every single approaching individual right in the eye until they decided that backing down was a better idea than rushing up for an autograph, even if they're a twofer, now.

It makes getting outside surprisingly easy.

True to their shared assumptions, there are plenty of places to eat near such a large venue, most of them aimed at families and large groups. Those Six immediately skips and eventually settles on a diner, its exterior more aggressively retro than any architecture on that street. It has a blinking red sign of a pudgy child holding up red fruit, while the following hums above his head in red neon:

SUPER CHERRY JR.

On the one hand: that's ludicrous. On the other hand, it's small, and not very busy at all. ]

...hn.

[something about a stick-thin man in a pointy hat doesn't inspire the same level of intimidated response from the crowd that Six does. The wizard is happy to scurry along behind him because of this, taking advantage of the path the warrior cuts. One or two people shout when the Luggage passes (we all know who the real celebrity is here), but Rincewind wears a grin like a shield and shoves off the few attempts at interaction with a clipped "Sorry, sorry, must be going".

Rincewind breathes a little easier once they're both outside, just two completely odd fellows having an afternoon out, nothing to see here.]

I assure you, whatever they serve - I've eaten worse. [a cheerful little brush-off, far less concerned by the gaudy sign and the name that looks like it was put through several different internet translators. He pats Six on the shoulder before striding off for it.]

As long as they've got something soaked in grease, I expect I'll be happy. - Ah, and from the smell of things...

[a smell which is so much stronger once he opens the door. Rincewind rubs his hands together, happy to seat himself in one of the ridiculously-patterned vinyl booths.]

I'm sure they'll have fish of some sort for you, if that's the concern.

[absolutely serious.

Because... cat person.]

[ That's actually very considerate of Rincewind.

Six does, in fact, love fish. ] Hmm, but is it fresh?

[ It's possible. They're back in the Land of Florida now, with its blistering, humid weather and extensive beaches. ]

I'd like to find out.

[ Six drops down across from him and immediately plucks up a menu, scanning the unfamiliar names and the very familiar ingredients with a critical eye. While he does so, a waiter bounces up: short, sporty, his blond hair pulled up into a man bun pinned with a butterfly clip, and with a glittery pink t-shirt that says "I <3 IMPORTS" in rows of silver sequins over his work uniform. Apparently, workplace exceptions are being made for this weekend.

His mouth makes a neat, delighted ":O" before he whips out his pad and pencil.

"Hello! What can I get ya today?" ]

I've found if you fry it deeply enough, it all tastes fresh.

[words of advice from a long-abused customer of Ankh's many dubious food carts.

Rincewind barely needs to scan his own menu before he's already decided on something to eat. All this talk of fish has spurred a sudden craving for fish and chips, which sounds just greasy enough to soak up the schnapps swimming happily through his bloodstream.

Their waiter is character enough that Rincewind almost thinks to ask if the man's an imPort before he reads the shirt. And winces. And wonders if it's something in the water that turned these people, and worries if he'll need to start worrying for his own sanity. He supposes it's lucky he already has a psychiatrist on hand.]

Tea, if you'd - no, no, not that "sweet" kind, the hot kind. ...Ah, I see. Well. Just, er, just some water then. And the fish and chips, if you would.

[something knocks into his leg. Rincewind sends a glare down at the Luggage, then sighs.]

...And an extra basket of chips on the side, if you would. [damn cheeky box, it's getting entirely too use to being fed regularly. Although for that matter, so is Rincewind. If he keeps it up he might actually fill out to look like a normal person.]

[ Rincewind has a point there. And while Six is just shy of pointing out that that's no excuse to serve sub-par ingredients, when he's rounded on by the server, who is apparently the fastest writer in the West.

"And for you, kitten?"

Six crumples the menu. Then he says, icily: ] The same, with a Sriracha Burger as well, and a strawberry shake.

[ "Got it~~! Be back in a jiffy, boys!"

And off he goes, a very clear bounce in his step. Six glowers at his back before turning back at the table. ]

So the demon box eats?

[ Things other than, you know, people. ]

[Rincewind coughs into his hand at the "kitten" Six has to suffer. He's polite enough to glance away, only looking back once their waiter has flounced off. Funny little man, that one. What must it be like to be that easily delighted?]

It doesn't have to, but yes. Horrible, isn't it?

[not enough people ever seem to agree with him about that, but it hasn't changed Rincewind's opinion.]

...You must really have to deal with some attention around here. [obviously, but hey. Conversation.] I'm not saying you wouldn't in Ankh-Morpork, but honestly after the initial surprise Morporkians would at least only care about whether you had money or not. Which is what they care about with anyone.

[ Six can't help but wonder: has anyone lost a hand?

Or worse?

He wants to know and yet at the same time, he doesn't. Speaking of it would be inviting it, because he suspects the thing knows more of what's going on in its surroundings than it lets on. Also: he's not paranoid. ]

It's...new, yes. Miqo'te are more than common enough in Eorzea, but so too are many races. I've never given thought to a world with just...one.

[ He assumes it's just one. ...but he has to ask, one ear tilting slightly: ]

Ankh-Morpork?

[hands. Fingers. Toes. Lives. All are equal to the Luggage.

But it's certainly best not to ask; Six has the right idea there. Which is a shame - for the Luggage. It always enjoys knowing that the creatures around it are rightly terrified.]

"Miqo'te" you said? [astonishingly, Rincewind doesn't mangle the name.] We certainly don't have that one. Trolls, gnomes, elves, dwarves... all other sorts, but nothing quite with ears like yours. Except, er, cats. Obviously.

Mm, that's the city I come from. Huge bloody city. Teeming. We do more business than anywhere else on the Disc. Is that "Eorza" a city or a nation? Is it where you're from?

I'm not a cat.

[ The response is automatic and quickly forgotten; every Miqo'te everywhere, in this world and the next, has had to say that at some point. It's their lot in life.

But moving on. Six feels a little relief to hear that Rincewind's world is a little closer to his own. Even if he doesn't recognize any of the races named, the fact that there's more is a comfort just the same. ] A country. Er, as in a land or a continent, rather than a whole nation. It's made up of several city-states, broken up by wilderness and Beast Tribes.

[ ...wait a second, though. ] You mentioned a disc before. As a, uh, child.

Were you being...sincere, then? About the turtle and so on?

No, no, yes, I know. [quickly.] I was only saying.

[and he looks puzzled a minute - it's always strange being told things you said that you don't remember - before nodding.]

Oh yes, absolutely real. Thinking about it, it does sound like the sort of thing a child would make up, but I assure you it's absolutely real. Cross my heart and hope to live. But you've got to admit it's no less strange than a traveling case with feet.

Would you tell me -

[he'll pause as their sparkly waiter returns with drinks.]

- Would you tell me what you mean by "Beast Races"?

[ A world that's a disc, carried on the back of a turtle larger than a world, around which spins the sun and the moon...

It's been a couple long years since Six could even consider himself an adventurer in the traditional sense, but something in him aches with yearning. ]

I'd like to see it. [ He says, just shy of wistful, but Rincewind brings his attention back from his daydreaming. He dutifully ignores the waiter's twittering about it being a few more minutes, and instead frowns, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms. ]

I don't like to use the word primitive, because I've met plenty of tribe members as smart and sincere as you or me. But the tribes are separate peoples, other species, that have their own ways; "beast races" is a blanket, ugly term. They all have their own names.

But relations between the city-states and their neighboring tribes are often poor; it's either tenuous peace or outright warfare, complicated by the presence of Primals.

You aren't the only one to have said that. Perhaps I should find someone with artistic skills. [because uh, Rincewind's attempts would be... godawful. At best.

He really can't understand that sort of wistfulness, though, the yearning to travel to unknown lands. Rincewind has done that. It's terrible. Too hot or too cold and bugs and interesting people who find it interesting to try and kill you. Not his idea of a good time.]

I was going to ask. It doesn't sound like the sort of thing you name yourself.

Primals? [he furrows his brow, takes a sip of his drink.] ...Are those actual animals?

No, they're... [ He blows air in a pfft sound, wondering how to go about this. If anyone is going to understand without too much complication, it's likely Rincewind; he's a mage, of a sort, and his world is already far more fantastical even than Six's own. ]

My world is made up of aether. A kind of, uh, life energy. It's what allows people to use magic. It has a physical form and can congeal into crystals, which can be dug up and collected.

Collect enough and the concentrated aether...grants wishes. [ He shakes his head. ] No, I mean, it gives form to the desires of the holders. For the Beast Tribes, they call for their gods to protect them, and the aether forms into Primals.

These avatars aren't really gods, but they have desires and agendas, some more violent than others.

[some of what he's hearing makes sense - he sees parallels to his own world, which literally runs on magic. Octiron, that's a bit what this aether sounds like, at least in a "congealed" form. Sort of. ...Except for the wishes part.

That doesn't make sense at all.]

Like... like golems, sort of? Er. Less obedient, maybe, since you said they have their own agendas. But this only works for the Beast Tribes, does it? Or is it they're the only ones who have them?

[Rincewind leans back against the booth some as a thought occurs.]

...You don't have any with you, right?

[ He quickly holds up both hands. ]

No, no I don't. I'd need a ridiculous amount of crystals to try such a thing.

[ Which...answers Rincewind's other question. Six lowers his eyes. ]

Nor do I want to. What you're given is an illusion. No matter how many crystals you gather or how badly you wish for a thing, all you will ever receive is a...shadow. A ghost.

[ He shakes his head. ]

Maybe it's a comfort, but it often does more harm than good, especially if it's a Primal.

Oh, good then. [there's one less thing to worry about. Brings his list of things to be anxious about back down to a mere one thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine. Always nice to cross one off.]

...You know, I've always thought the same about magic in general. I know that might be an odd thing for a wizard to say, but... people trying to do things the quick way - well, it always leads to trouble. Things get out of balance. It's never quite what you worked for in the end, like you said.

[Rincewind folds his arms, frowning pensively.]

And the pursuit of it inevitably leads to death and fighting. People scrambling for power.

[ Six's smile is sarcastic and, if he's honest with himself, a little tired. ]

I wish...pfft, wishing is a waste, but you are right. I can't think of a single time where it's led to anything but harm, or sorrow.

[ He doesn't close his eyes, though he wants to; there'd be too many faces, too many names. He doesn't look down at his own hands, either, because that is a question he is all too happy to ignore.

So what Six does is take up his shake and take a nice big swig, shuddering from the excessive sweetness and grateful for it at the same time. ]

Though I started doing what I do for the gil--err, the money. I want to live well, not be the most powerful.

[ The unasked question: why is a wizard that doens't like magic still a wizard? ]

[probably best not to ask that, given the defensive existential crisis that sometimes causes Rincewind.

The wizard nods in friendly sympathy.]

Heroic sorts - well, the ones here - wouldn't agree, but I really do think that's the best of goals. Downright noble, wanting to live well. Or even just safely. I'd settle for safely.

But you are. Um. [here Rincewind pauses. How to put this properly?] You are something of a warrior sort. I assume. Since you've the -

[a vague gesture towards Six's everything.]

- muscles and all. Rather fit. Are you just more mercenary than anything else then? Pirate, even? You really won't find any judgement from me. Thief, assassin, roving barbarian hero, or fish monger - it's all the same to me as long as there isn't a sword at my throat. Some of the best people I've had drinks with had wanted posters a mile long.

Not, you understand, that I'm saying you necessarily do.

[ C...cough. ] Er.

No, no, it's fine. I know many pirates myself.

I'm...an adventurer, first and foremost. Somewhat like a sword for hire, but with sign-ups and accountability involved. There's an Adventurer's Guild in every major city-state. [ A pause, not for dramatic effect, but because even after all this time, it's difficult to just put it out there. It doesn't matter how true it is or how often he's heard it from friends, allies, and enemies, he still-- ]

I may also be the Warrior of Light, tasked to protect our world from ancient threats, dark creatures, and the like.

[ --cannot cope with how ridiculous it sounds when he says it. ]

I still earn funds, though. And receive free lodging in quite a few places.

Adventurer's Guild? That's a new one. We've lots of Guilds in Ankh-Morpork, but that's not one of them.

[and he would have been happy to launch into a conversation about them, ask about why someone would give up a nice warm house and regular meals to go traipsing around the countryside and cold wilderness nearly dying from terrible things just for a bit of money - there are easier ways to earn it - when Six drops that little tidbit.

That little factoid.

...That admittedly ridiculous title.]

Oh, gods. You're secretly just like her, aren't you? L'Arachel. Have you met her? [he shakes his head.] Really, like - some sort of champion for the world? Really?

Who? No, no, I haven't.

[ He suddenly feels a little...flustered. Embarrassed? Gods, he should have just said he was a pirate. This is why he doesn't speak of this to people; if they don't already know, it's a very easy secret to keep. ]

But - yes. Really. [ He starts to say I didn't choose to be, but that's kind of bunk nowadays, isn't it? ]

Believe me, I was the last sort of person I would've expected to get the call that I did.

Priestess Princess of the Light or something. To be honest I don't always pay attention; her titles seem to change. "Of the Light" though, I know that's part of it for sure. You should look her up.

[he just can't promise Six will be able to get rid her afterwards. Somehow even after moving out of the apartment he shared with her they still meet for semi-weekly tea drinking. Why or how he found himself conned into that is a mystery to him.]

Is this a sort of - regular thing? Like there's always going to be one on your world? Or is it that there's some great threat your world is facing? It tends to be one of the two with champions of the world, I've found. Not that the two are always exclusive, mind.

A priestess princess.

[ His deadpan look says it all. "Warrior of Light" is ridiculous enough; if they added more, like "Champion Hero Warrior of Light" he would quit immediately.

...

Well, he wouldn't, but he'd talk about it even less than he talks about it now. ]

It would be both. The threat has existed as long as the world has, but mortals only live so long. There has to be a Warrior of Light--or Warriors, as the case may be. Hydaelyn chooses individuals for her blessing and tasks them with preventing whatever Calamity is imminent.

Oh, don't even get me started on it. [when he catches that look.] She's a bloody nag as well. Won't leave me alone about my drinking, and if it's not drinking it's cursing, and if it's not cursing it's "Oh, Rincewind, how can you possibly be so pessimistic, life is full of light and righteousness" or "Oh, Rincewind, you can't possibly mean that mean thing you just said and also I'm going to make you do this thing you really don't want to do now".

[he shakes his head, sipping at his drink.]

But look at you, chosen for some terrible grand adventure by some equally terrible omnipotent god - I assume that this Hydaelyn is a goddess of yours, anyway. That has to be something of a confidence aid, being chosen.

FANPORT OVERFLOW LOG

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