Forest Mix [a Touhou OC quest]

[KChasm]

[X] What's this twitchin' jerkin' thrashin' thing, anyways?

The twitchin' jerkin' thrashin' thing seems somewhere almost as nonplussed, slowin' its all-of-the-above as it senses that the dude who had a hold of it a sec ago doesn't anymore. It slows its rockin'—not totally, 'cause it's still rockin' and a-rollin' and movin' and a-groovin' and all that, but now it's not bein' so vivace 'bout it. More like it got a nasty shock or something, and now it won't stop reelin' with the feeling.

You've gotta side with Rinnosuke one this one, though, 'cause even if you can tell what this thing's doin', that's zip in the way of identification. The most you can tell is brown, and haired, and one end endin' in something knobby, and the other end not so much endin' as fadin' away which is a real bad trip so ya stop looking, quick, and...something in the middle like a big bulbous joint? It bends like one, anyways. "So, what's up with that?" ya put out there.

Marisa looks like she's gonna ask ya what "what" ya mean, till ya dip your eyes and she follows the dotted line. "Oh, this," she says, pickin' herself up and dustin' off the dust on her duds. "That's a horse's leg."

And on one hand, now thatcha hear it, that thing on the more endy end does look pretty ungulate, but on the other hand now you've got even more questions. Like "what", and "how", and "why", for example. Ya look back at Rinnosuke, tryin' to beam 'em into his brain with questionvision.

"It's a youkai," Rinnosuke says.

Yo—are ya psychic for reals? Or maybe he's psychic. "So is 'horse's leg' just the moniker, or..."

"No, it's actually a horse's leg."

Okay, you're not gonna say that's weird, but—no, yeah, that's weird. That's totally weird. All of the weird, straight out. "Where's the rest of the horse?" ya ask, before realizin' Rinnosuke prolly wouldn't know, considerin' he's been in-shop and preppin' to feed. Better idea: Ask the dude who actually dragged in the thing.

"Where's the rest of the horse?" ya reask—Marisawise this time.

Marisa's sorta distracted at the sec, though. Marisa's skirtin' 'round the halfheartedly buckin' horse's leg like she's tryin' to sneak up on it, and ya think maybe failin' which is real concernin' considerin' the target's got no eyes. "What?" she says.

"Where's the rest of the horse?" ya threepeat.

"There's no 'rest of the horse'," Marisa says. "It's just the leg."

Ya glance at Rinnosuke, who nods real slight, confirmin'.

"Okay, yeah, but where'dja get the leg?" ya ask. "Didja lopside a Beetwek or something? Delimb a whole troika? Is some dude gonna check out his stable tomorrow and find out they got a Khartoumin' from Down Under?"

Marisa looks at you. She looks at Rinnosuke.

"She's asking if you cut off a horse's leg," Rinnosuke says.

"I'm askin' if ya cut off a horse's leg," ya say.

"I didn't cut off a horse's leg," says Marisa. "I told you—it's just the leg." And punctuatin' that, she dives.

And also she misses, 'cause the leg holds it till the absolute last moment before bendin' at the knee ('cause there's not much else it's got to bend) and springin' 'cross the shop and outta Marisa's grasp floor like a bar of soap skiddin' 'cross a bathtub. It lands in a pyramid of unsorted books, knockin' 'em down in prolly the most illegal strike ever, and Marisa lands on her elbows.

Rinnosuke sucks air through his teeth in a wince you can hear.

"Dude," ya say, "you alright?"

Marisa refeets, brushin' away the scuff marks. "I told you to hold it down," she grouses.

"Marisa, take the horse's leg out of the shop now." And that's Rinnosuke, who'd maybe sound more commandin' if his voice wasn't so high.

"But Kourin—I just got hurt. Aren't you supposed to sympathize with me?"

Rinnosuke doesn't answer. He's only got eyes for the horse's leg doin' its wary twitchin' and thumpin' in a bed of hardbacks. It does a particularly fierce kick at a skimmin' sorta angle—

And there's the sound of something becomin' multivolume.

Rinnosuke changes color. "Marisa!"

"I get it, I get it. But don't just stand there—help me catch it!"

That's an invite that's got "bad idea" in blinkin' neon all over it. You've never been kicked in the head by a horse before, which is an experience you're real uneager to cross off your list, seein' as most dudes where ya come from're generally susceptible to that sorta thing. Like, sometimes it kills 'em, even. And that horse is all leg, which means that if there's one thing it's got serious practice in, prolly kickin' is it.

On the other hand, Rinnosuke's got a look like his heart's breakin'. And ya live here, at the mo, which means you've got an interest that's kinda vested re: hopin' hoof-shaped holes don't start developin' in the walls for whatever reason.

So yeah.

So yeah.

Which is how ya become the leery accomplice in this sitch, strafin' with your arms out like you're playing soccer from either end of the field, tryin' to keep the hoppin' horse fraction from gettin' anywhere substantial without havin' to get too close up to the horse part yourself. Ya look dumb, prolly. Ya feel dumb. But seein' as ya haven't 'zactly got your trusty pickelhaube with ya, lookin' and feelin' dumb's just something you're gonna hafta stand.

No, but seriously, a proper helmet'd be beaucoup handy right about now. Even just something bicycular. Thing about helmets? They save lives.

"There! Quick, grab it!"

And then the leg's leggin' it right atcha, which is exactly whatcha didn't want happenin' here, and if there's anything even vaguely buckarooish in your heritage you'd seriously like it to kick in sometime in the next coupla milliseconds—

There's alotta pain, real suddenly, and the whole shop goes over sideways-up.

So yeah the third. Total cowboynessless? Confirmed. All of the confirmed, even.

"Got it!" Marisa's voice floats in from somewhere 'cross the universe. "Hey—you okay? You got hit hard."

Ya tilt your head at an ugly degree. The floor's on the wrong side of your face, but you can see Marisa pinnin' down a lengthy mass of herky-jerk in a hold that'd look at home in the ring. "A mostly horseless horse leg just got me in the guts," ya groan. "I'm groovy."

"Is it bad?" Marisa says. "Rinnosuke—"

The horse leg, sensin' a split in attention, breaks into some sudden fresh thrashin', but Marisa's got this whole thing on lock, now, apparently. All she's gotta do is readjust her grip and even you can tell that leg's goin' nowhere, and you're at the wrong angle for tellin' anything exact at the mo.

"Rinnosuke," Marisa goes again.

Rinnosuke doesn't answer, but you can hear his footsteps, comin' straight atcha from the other end of the universe till he's standin' right over ya. You don't see 'im standin'—your head's still angled elsewhere, watchin' Marisa wear less than a quarter of a horse down into submission—but ya feel 'im standin', in that weird almost-psychic way dudes feel things sometimes. And ya feel it, too, when he kneels down, even closer.

And then ya feel 'im liftin' your shirt and yo, and that's a totally different kinda feelin' altogether and yo, what?

"Hands off the merch, Mac!" ya snap, battin' 'im off. "Ya want me turnin' ya inside-out, or what?"

"I'm checking your injuries," Rinnosuke says, like he's bein' the reasonable dude here. "Hold still."

"It's not the injury-checkin' I've got problems with, it's the gettin' deshirted outta nowhere. Haventcha ever heard of askin'?"

Rinnosuke gives ya a look that's almost the Look. Like the Look's younger brother, or something. And then, tone flat utterly, like he's walkin' the party line and doesn't like it much, he says, "'May I lift your shirt.'"

"Yeah, fine, Mac. But no hinky business, dig?"

"I'm checking your stomach. That's all," Rinnosuke says. He pulls the hem end up again, resumin' checkin', and ya don't know what he's doin', exactly, seein' as you're sprawled out all funny on his floor, but ya feel it real clear when the dude prods at your gut in a spot you'd rather not've gotten prodded. That's a sore spot comin' in, most def.

"So what's the verdict, Mac? Appendicitis?" ya ask.

You can see Rinnosuke rollin' his eyes, even though he's not really rollin' his eyes. He looks over your head Marisawise, just for a sec, then back to you. "You should be fine," he says. "It's only a bruise."

"Ya can't know that for sure, though," ya point out. "It's just day one, gettin' socked in the stomach. Then maybe it's appendicitis, peritonitis, 'Rosabelle, believe'—if my worm bursts, I'm in a whole lotta trouble here, Mac."

Rinnosuke's lips press out this way and that way for a sec. "If your 'worm' bursts—" he says, then starts again. "If you feel any more pain than this, tell me, and I'll see that you get to Eientei."

"Eientei?" ya say.

"They should be able to take care of you there."

"That's not what I'm worryin' 'bout, Mac. Didntcha already pass mad stacks for that antipyretic?"

"'Stacks'?"

"Cash, Mac, I'm talking cash—"

"More importantly—" Marisa cuts in, "Rinnosuke, have you got any rope? I don't want this thing to get loose again." She's up to sittin' now, cradlin' the leg like it's some kinda mutant horse leg baby. The leg itself's gone limp, and ya don't think it's playin' possum this time—you've never seen a dazed leg before, but that's a dazed leg, no doubt about it.

"Rope," Rinnosuke mutters. "I should have some somewhere." And the dude lifts off, leavin' you on the ground and the whole frivolous spendin' ish incomplete in favor of rummagin'. He sticks his arm in one crate, elbow-deep, and ya still don't know how he tells one crate from another. "What is it that you're planning with that leg, anyway?" he asks.

"Remember that homunculus?" says Marisa.

Rinnosuke goes still. His head turns, slow and level, till he's lookin' at Marisa direct. When his voice comes out it's hesitant, like he's anticipatin' a bad punchline. "Yes?"

"Well, I don't know if you remember exactly, but my last try came out a lot runnier than it was supposed to."

"I can't see how I could possibly forget."

"Dude misses his toaster," ya point out.

"It took days to clean up, afterward," Rinnosuke adds. He goes back to diggin', and then stops diggin' and starts pullin' instead, comin' out with something long, flexible, and overall rope-esque.

Too bad it's a power cord.

"I've got it this time, though," Marisa says. "Last time I thought I added too much horse stuff, but now I think I was wrong. It's that I didn't use the right kind of horse stuff that was the problem. If you want to make something weird, you've got to use weird ingredients, right?"

"You mean the horse's leg," Rinnosuke says distractedly.

"No," Marisa says. "I mean, not just the horse's leg," Marisa says. "I probably can't make a homunculus with just a horse's leg. But I've got a lot of stuff left from that box I found, and I've been making things at home, too. It's a matter of putting it all together."

Rinnosuke mutters something that's prolly not actually words in response as he goes on unloadin' odds and ends in search of the mysterious rope, and Marisa, lookin' real pleased at that last flourish of hers, lapses in quiet, smilin' at nothing and everything at once, but mostly at Rinnosuke's back.

The horse leg in her tight, no-escape grip twitches, and you're still on the floor.

Ya oughta take care of that.

[ ] Homunculus? This is the sorta crazy magic science you can subscribe to!
[ ] No, but for serious, dude needs to leggo the leg already. It's not hers.
[ ] If this dog-eat-dog sitch's the norm in Magic Bubble Land, maybe ya shouldn't get mixed up in it.
[ ]

 

[Ziel]

Fairly sure that the best case scenario here is Marisa actually pulling it off, only to realize she just created a life, and is in fact, now a mom for her homuncu-horse-witch.

Gensokyo being what it is, I expect said horse-witch to be a cute little girl with a silly hat and a verbal tic.

Middling scenario is... Magic horses?

So we're stuck between momitude and my little ponies.

Marisa has really terrible judgment, doesn't she?

 

[KChasm]

[X] Homunculus? This is the sorta crazy magic science you can subscribe to!

But instead, ya go, "So, whaddya gonna do now?"

Marisa smiles real cheery atcha 'round a buncha disconnected horse. "I already told ya, right?" she says. "As soon I tie this up, I'm taking it back home. Patchouli gave me some books on homunculi and shikigami—"

"'Gave'?" says Rinnosuke outta his crate, lookin' the Plinian ostrich.

"Okay, so she lent me some books—"

"'Lent'?"

"She'll get them back eventually," says Marisa, and ya guess that's more in line with Rinnosuke's Rinnospectations, 'cause the dude doesn't interrupt a third time. "Anyway," says Marisa, "I've got some pretty good ideas on how to mix this leg in with all the other stuff I've got. And this is a lot of leg, so I can even mess up a few times and it'll still be fine!"

"Sweet!" And ya mean that, actually. Marisa's beamin' out some kinda excitement here, and you're findin' it all sortsa infectious. "Though, gotta ask—you're makin' a homunculus here."

"Not here," says Marisa. "I don't have everything I need here. That's why—"

Something dangly and limp and long drops in front of your face—and then straight down, coilin' itself over and over again as it hits the floor. For a sec part of your brain's thinkin' something 'bout snakes, maybe, either from the ceiling or flyin', which actually could be a thing considerin' where you're at, but then reality resolves itself and ya realize—hey, Rinnosuke found a rope.

"Hey, ya found a rope!" Marisa says. "Good going, Kourin!"

Rinnosuke doesn't respond to that. There's something in the silence that makes ya look up to where gravity did its trick and his arm's still there, hangin' over ya like one of the world's most generous ya-must-be-this-tall-to-ride stands—the ones set up at amusement parks over with the helpful friendly cartoon dudes to point out where ya just now realize ya got too old. 'Cept Rinnosuke's not pointin'. Rinnosuke's just standin' there, real quiet, hand open 'cause open hands facilitate rope-droppin'.

And then, still stickin' to mum, he retracts his hand back from over your head and puts it next to his side where it makes a lot more sense.

Hey, something 'bout that—just now, that was kinda—

And then Marisa goes, "Hold still, will ya?" and funny hand-overheadholdin' or not, that's your attention waylaid to the dude who's got a limb in her limbs. The horse one's twitchin' all over, now, like it's seriously aware the end is nigh, but Marisa's got one end pinned underarm, bendin' the rest of it against itself—like legs do, generally, though here it's mad obvious it's not the limb's choice—and loopin' the rope tight swift around the whole deal in a way that doesn't bode well for the ropee.

You've gotta lay it out here—Marisa? Seriously handy with wrappin'. And knots. You're actually kinda standin' amazed here, no lie. That horse isn't goin' anywhere, not if Marisa doesn't want it goin' anywhere anytime soon.

Oh, man, do they do Christmas in Gensokyo? Ya don't wanna hafta deal with unwrappin' Marisa's presents. Most irritatin' giftee 'sperience ever.

But hey, yo—you had questions, before ya got justifiably distracted by all this rope-droppin' and leg-wrappin', didntcha? "So you're makin' a homunculus," ya say again.

"Yeah," Marisa says. "If this works out. I mean, I'm pretty sure it's going to." And the horse part goes on the floor, where it can't do more 'cept attempt rollin', and it can't do that either, just rock back and forth while Marisa does what she wants to do. It's not cylindrical enough, is the problem.

"Okay," ya say, "so what's a homunculus for?"

Marisa starts outta knot-finalizin'. "'What's a homunculus for?'" she parrots. "Don't you know anything about homunculi?"

Yo, rude. It's not like you're totally clueless on the homunculus front. "I know what it is," ya say, and then, when Marisa's givin' ya a Look: "Gimme a break—I'm from the Outside, remember?"

"So you probably never saw anyone performing alchemy like this before, huh," says Marisa.

"It's not even a thing. The fantastic just got real."

Marisa nods, 'cause—fair point, right? "Well," she says, and then she grins. "Ah...to tell the truth, I don't have any plans for it myself. I thought I'd at least just make one, first, and then figure out where to go from there."

"So ya don't know, either?" ya ask.

"I've got some idea. I think I can probably use it as a servant—ya know, to clean up my place, or something like that? But mostly I just wanted to make one. I mean, if it's possible, I want to do it, right?"

Yeah, so she doesn't know, either. Ya kinda dig that George Mallory 'tude, though. Also, lightbulb moment here: "A homunculus is supposta be real tiny, right?" You're pretty sure the answer's "yes", but hey, worth double-checkin'.

"It's like a human being, but small," Marisa says. "That's why it's a homunculus."

Ya don't really get it, but tiny: Confirmed. "So if ya pull this off—what if ya make multiple of 'em?"

"Multiple homunculi?"

"Check it out—it took a heavy sec to get that rope dug outta Rinnosuke's crate of everything, right? But maybe ya coulda tied up your horse stuff in half the time if Rinnosuke'd had a little dude of his own to clear up the shop floor already. 'A place for everything', I mean. Get it?"

Marisa puts her chin in her hand in the classic I'm-considerin'-it post, but her eyes are lightin' up. "Yeah, I get it," she says. "A homunculus for me, and a homunculus for Kourin. Hey, I could make a lot of homunculi, actually, with how much horse stuff I've got."

"You could sell 'em! Capitalism rah! I mean, or something."

"I don't know about selling them. Probably I'd just keep most of them for myself. But I could definitely spare one or two."

"Okay, that's cool, too. Hey, Rinnosuke, dontcha think that's cool?"

Ya look at Rinnosuke. Rinnosuke looks back atcha.

His mug is just totally blank.

And then he turns on his foot and walks outta the room, leavin' ya blinkin' after 'im with a feelin' like—yo, what the hey? Ya swivel your head between all that that just was a thing just now and Marisa, hopin' for the latter to make with the lightsheddin', but the way she's lookin', you'd bet prolly she's just as weirded out as you. She bounces back after a sec, though, with some crazy coefficient of restitution that wipes all of that out 'cept for the quirkin' brow.

"Uh—anyway," she says, stoopin' to heft the hoof, "the ingredients probably won't be ready for a few days yet, but once they are, I'll come by and see what kind of homunculi Kourin likes. It ought to rub off some of however much he keeps saying I owe, too."

"'Owe'?"

Marisa shrugs. "I take some stuff from the shop now and then, but Kourin always makes a big deal about it. This way, he can't complain."

"Takin' it back to barter? Guess I shoulda gone with 'socialism rah'."

"Yeah, sure," Marisa says, though somehow you're suspectin' that economics isn't so much her dig. "Like I said—it won't take more than a week. I'll be back pretty quick!"

"Yeah, and I'll catch ya! I mean, unless Rinnosuke finds a way to get me outta here between now and then. Which I'm hopin' for. No offense?"

Marisa's all smiles. "Hey, no problem," she says. And then she nods a goodbye, and with one last, "See you," she nudges the front door ajarer and makes tracks into the evening.

Yeah.

You've gotta say—that dude? She's a lot more agreeable when she's not tryin' to blast ya.

Speakin' of stuff that's agreeable, though, Marisa burst into the pad in the middle of dinner—or "beginning", considerin' ya didn't even get to tuck in before unexpectedly independent horse legs became a thing for ya. You're starvin' like Marvin, and outta things you'd seriously enjoy at the mo, stuffin' your face's fixed itself in a pretty high rank. Ya head back to the rice—

Oh, right, hey, ya totally forgot how Rinnosuke wandered off mid-convo. Looks like the dude had the same idea as you, 'cept earlier. Doesn't look like he's made a lot outta his head start, though, any more than the pickin' at his rice and fish past the pickin' he already picked before Marisa was Marisa in the vicinity.

But the dude eats birdlike anyways. Kinda nothing new. "Pretty cool, huh, Mac?" ya say, slidin' behind your dish. "You're gonna have your own magic little buttlin' dude. That means all the time for inspectin' Outside stuff now!"

Rinnosuke pauses chopstickin' a single grain of rice to look ya over over his specs. His mouth opens like he's gonna say something. And then he closes his mouth and he puts his chopsticks down and he takes a deep breath and he picks his chopsticks up again and he still doesn't say anything.

He just feeds that singular rice grain into his facehole.

And then he does the same to another.

And another.

"Uh," ya say, "yo. Mac?"

The dude breaks through his dinner in bits and pieces like the edge of an ocean sweepin' in 'cross a coast rock face, and like the ocean or the coast both he doesn't say a word.

 

[Chronometry]

Hoo boy. Something about homunculi's got Kourin pissed. Or at the very least miffed.

 

[Ziel]

Wow... Like, before we at least knew why we'd enraged Rinnosuke, but now...

The homunculus is a fair bet, but I'm kinda thinking maybe it's that we ran into yet another person that could get us out if Gensokyo, and spent the time talking about magic instead of trying to leave.

Or is it just that we suggested using it to organize his shop, and therefore pissed all over his pride as a shopkeep?

 

[skaianDestiny]

Gonna have to say this has pretty much everything I ever wanted out of an "Outsider is gapped to Gensokyo" story. No "Gensokyo is DOOMED and only Outsider Man can save us" plot, just slice of life shenanigans in a world of fantasy.

Unless of course it dramatically changes in the following posts, but until then I'm enjoying this ride. The fact that Christie has a very unique thought process and way of speaking also really helps establish her as a character in her own right.

 

[KChasm]

Something's gone real funky at Kourindou.

That's bad-funky you're talkin' 'bout here, not good-funky, and ya don't mean the lack of body wash that's the sitch all up in this pad, either. No, when ya say something's gone funky, you're referrin' primarily to the dude in charge himself, the host keepin' your roast from goin' toast—Rinnosuke Morichika.

Rinnosuke Morichika, who's sippin' breakfast like he found some variant of tranquility at the bottom of one of his crates of Outside junk and decided to jam it in the back of his skull and put it in overdrive.

Rinnosuke Morichika, who's sittin' at the table perfectly level like all the dude needs is a real morning paper and his specs slippin' halfway down his schnozz to play the reasonable dad outta some 1950s family sitcom.

Rinnosuke Morichika, who's ignored ya for two days straight.

For serious.

Or okay, it's more like one day straight and change, and he hasn't so much ignored ya as gone all the brusque all of a sudden, but still—there's something goin' on here and it stinks, honest to cod. Or surströmming, even.

Here's you tryin' to untangle this mystery, take four. Or four billion seventy-one mill, which is what it's feelin' like: "Yo, Mac."

Rinnosuke's eyes rise atcha over his edibles. "Yes?" he says.

"Ya wanna do a thing? After breakfast? Uh, look for batteries, or something?"

Rinnosuke keeps with the starin'. His eyes aren't even sharp. And then he says:

"I'd rather not."

And he puts his eyes down and goes back to eatin'.

Yeah, so it's like that. Ya don't know what the hey, and it's makin' ya lose your appetite—though you're gettin' real sick of white rice and cooked fish and brackish Japanese soup, anyways, so that's nearly a favor in some real perverse monkey's-paw kinda way. "Yo, Mac—Rinnosuke."

Rinnosuke's eyes rise atcha. Again. "Yes?"

"I'm gonna hang, maybe. Ya mind?"

This time, the dude pauses in transportin' food, just for a tick. He recovers quick, though. That's like the extent of what you're managin' here. "'Hang'?" he says, though. Like, he does say that.

"Cabin fever, Mac. I'm goin' stir crazy, here. I wanna take a walk."

You've had this convo previous, or at least something a whole lot like it. Last time, Rinnosuke was real unhappy with your plans. All kindsa objections. This time—

"It's dangerous in the forest," the dude says, like he's summarizin' how many clouds this place's got driftin' up out at the mo.

"Yeah, I got that—that's why I'm just hangin', as opposed to takin' a nature trek or something. I'll stick myself right to the out side of that door—no lie. Whaddya say?"

Rinnosuke considers your request, or at least looks like he's doin' that. And then he goes, "Yes. That's fine," and immediately starts blockin' his piehole like that's an excuse to get outta formin' more words that he has already.

Yeah. So it's like that. Or maybe you're just goin' crazy in the coconut, connectin' the wrong dots, puttin' two and two together and gettin' five—but you're pretty sure it is like that. Like this. Rinnosuke Morichika and the Mystery of the Grody 'Tude.

"Seriously, though," ya say, "I'm just steppin' out—just for a tick, Mac."

"I understand."

"Yeah. Cool, then. Just so we're clear on this me-goin'-outsideness." And ya get up outta breakfasttime and make at the door as far as openin' it, even, before ya stop. And ya say:

"We are clear, right?"

The clinkin' sound might be Rinnosuke puttin' down his chopsticks something fierce. Or it could just be the natural sounds of chopsticks and dinnerware makin' friends, like what happens whenever ya eat with chopsticks no matter how ya feel. "I understand," goes Rinnosuke's voice, flowin' over.

"Yeah, okay," ya say, and ya close the door again, but not before you're on the other side of it.

So yeah. It's like that—whatever 'zactly "that" is. Or actually if you're gonna come clean you've gotta say that you don't really know what ya wanted outta that whole convo ya just had—if you can call it that, even—but it feels like ya didn't get it. And it sorta—

It feels like—

It's like ya ate something earlier that decided it was gonna buck the gastric tread and congeal itself in your chest cavity, instead. That's what it's like, right now. And ya don't like it and more importantly ya don't know what the hey still.

Which means officially it's time for Christie Christoferson to rev up the tie-dye vehicle and get to dealin' with the ish.

Seriously—you aren't just gonna mope.

[ ] All this tiptoein' is gonna drive ya into a hugjacket, royal. Nuts to the mess—let's haul out a confrontation.
[ ] Don't just put two and two together—do some brainwrackin' with all the numbers, even. Give it a real think.
[ ] Whatever funk this is, Rinnosuke can't keep it up eternal. Just gotta let it be, and the dude'll bust out with the normalcy soon enough.
[ ]

 

[KChasm]

[X] Don't just put two and two together—do some brainwrackin' with all the numbers, even. Give it a real think.

Though ya will slide down the door till you're sittin' at the foot of it, which you've gotta acknowledge is sorta mopin'-position-esque. In this case, though, you're reusin' the deal—this isn't mopin' you're doin', it's thinkin'. 'Cause that's what you're gonna do to deal with this whole sitch that's goin' on right now:

Think.

You're gonna think about Rinnosuke, and you're gonna think about Rinnosuke goin' funky with suddenness, and you're gonna put a whole lotta numbers together till the dead Brit mathmen're applaudin' from beyond the tomb. And then once you've figured out causes, you're gonna formulate a solution that punches that cause in its ugly mug, even if the mugpunchin' is primarily metaphorical.

You're Christie Christoferson. You're made of metaphorical punches.

Okay, so—

Ya tilt your head back, thuddin' the back of your skull on the door light. There's alotta trees, here, but around the shop they sorta just break, so ya feel the light shinin' down on your own mug, easy. The air's sorta bitey, though—not a harsh kinda bitey, 'zactly, but like a puppy play-fightin' when it doesn't know its own teeth, which is a reminder from the seasons that you've been here way too long. But that's not important right now, right? Or it is important, but you've got priorities. You've got priorities.

Okay, so—

Ya wanna figure out what's got Rinnosuke's goat, dontcha? First place ya gotta inspect is the point when that became a thing. He was actin' funny once ya resumed dinner, ya know that, but was he actin' funny before? It's kinda hard to tell, 'cause Rinnosuke can act sorta standoffish at times, even when he's all alright. Or at least Rinnosuke-alright.

But that's okay, 'cause you can work at this from another angle. An explementary one, even. Ya don't know when Rinnosuke's goat was got. When was the last point you can say real definite that his goat was ungot?

Okay, so—

You were tellin' Rinnosuke 'bout your mom, werentcha? It's not like he asked a whole lotta questions, but he made statements, which indicated some sorta emotional sure-I-am-with-this-ness. So ya move forwards from that—and after Marisa dropped in all suddenly, Rinnosuke was real helpful 'splainin' that a horse's leg was a thing here, wasn't he? And plus he helped ya ask questions to Marisa even though the questions were clear enough all on their own—but he did do that, so he hadn't gone funky just then, prolly.

And then ya demonstrated thatcha weren't 'zactly brimmin' with vaquero ancestry, if ya wanna get real Lamarckian for a sec, and Rinnosuke tried to take off your shirt.

Yeah, you're not sure whether ya oughta mark that under "funky" or "not funky yet", but Rinnosuke meant well, ya think, so you're gonna lean at the latter one for the mo. And also he did assure ya he was willin' to getcha hefted to Eientei if ya took a turn, so—that was nice. You believed 'im. Like—he said that, so ya know that meant something.

Sure.

Okay—so—

So—

So, so, so—

"Nuts," ya mutter. And then ya say, "Nuts," again, 'cept kinda louder, and ya begin to suspect maybe despite whatcha shot for you're slippin' into mope anyways.

And then a voice in front and a little bit over ya says, "You aren't in this shop."

Ya put your nose level real quick. Standin' there, right where the voice was comin' from (in whatcha bet isn't a coincidence at all) is everybody's favorite least-ingenuey ingenue.

Talk about a blast from the past. Or at least a blast from something like a month ago, which is technically still a blast from the past. "Yo," ya say. "What's up?"

"You aren't in this shop," Rumia says again.

That is up at the mo, also technically. "I'm takin' a break from inshopness," ya 'splain. Or gloss, you've gotta admit.

"Ah," says Rumia. She tilts her head, studyin' the inshopness aforementioned. Then she says:

"Can I eat you now?"

Like, super-least-ingenuey. Matchin' all the hallmarks of ingenueism 'cept for ingenueism itself. "Kinda maybe don't?" ya say.

Rumia considers this. Then she does a quick turn and settles herself at the doorfoot next to you in a real dainty maneuver, smoothin' her dress. Now she's smaller than you again.

She smiles up atcha. Ya smile down back.

"So," ya say, "seriously, what's up? I haven't seen you makin' with the inshopness lately much either. I was here—where were you?"

"Cui dixit Dominus: Unde venis? Qui respondens, ait: Circuivi terram, et perambulavi eam."

Rumia smiles up atcha. Ya twitch your smile down back. Right. Ya sorta forgot this that was her shtick. "Latin's a dead lang, dude," ya say.

Rumia doesn't stop bein' subrident. "I went to the forest and the human village," she 'splains. "When I was hungry, I ate. When I was thirsty, I drank. When I was tired, I slept."

"Pretty steady lifestyle." And that makes it your turn to throw in a recap, ya guess. "Cirno dropped in, sorta."

Rumia does the little headtilt again.

"She still thinks I'm your oppressor and she tried to take off my head with a flyin' kick."

"Ah," says Rumia. She tilts her head the other way, her smile shiftin'. Ya think she's tryin' to think of something, maybe. "Cirno is Cirno," she goes with, finally.

"That's prolly the case, yeah."

The two of ya sit there for a while. It's kinda comfy, just sittin', crisp air or otherwise.

"I wonder if Wriggle taught Cirno to kick?" says Rumia.

"I don't think kickin' is something ya need to teach, generally," ya say. "Who's Wriggle?"

"Wriggle is a firefly."

A firefly taught Cirno how to kick, maybe. Sure, why not? You've munched enough popcorn watchin' dubbed Chinese dudes workin' out their differences on the small screen to pshaw animal inspiration in the art of makin' the other dude fall over and not get up again straight out. If snakes and eagles can cut the mustard, fireflies can't be too far off. "She got hauled off by some other dude, though—Cirno, I mean, after she tried to make with the decap," ya say. "Ya know a Mokou?"

"I know a Mokou," Rumia says. "I get blasted by her, sometimes. But not often."

"Yeah, okay. And then Marisa showed up again like a week later—"

An idea sparks in your brains all of a sudden. It's a stupid crazy idea, or maybe a crazy stupid one, a real whaddya-thinkin', but it's the sorta idea that doesn't lose ya anything if it goes belly-up immediate. And besides—outta kidchops oughta unspool the mad fresh, right?

"Rumia," ya say.

"Hm?"

"I think something went messed with Rinnosuke, and I can't fig. Want the spiel?"

Rumia looks like she's doin' more considerin'. Then, bright as ever, she goes, "Okay."

And somehow, just that far's a load off. Neat.

"Okay," ya say. "So—Marisa dropped in, and she was haulin' something called a horse's leg—though, like, that's a youkai, apparently?"

"Mm-hmm," Rumia says.

"Right," ya say. "So, that's a youkai. Totally didn't know that like a week ago, know that now. So Marisa drops in, haulin' this youkai, and everything's hunky-dory, straight up, right? Like, there's a whole buncha crazy goin' down fast, but me and Rinnosuke—we've got that me-and-Rinnosuke thing goin' on, like usual. That good thing. I mean—"

Actually—man, how're ya gonna 'splain this?

"I'm sayin' stuff, and he's sayin' stuff back," ya say, and it's totally inadequate. "We're fine, is the thing. Ya get what I'm deliverin' here?"

"Mm-hmm," Rumia says again, and ya hope that mm-hmmin' is accurate.

Ya skip ahead, post-injury: "Okay, so—Marisa says she's gonna tie up the horse leg and use it to make a homunculus. Remember that vial, from the other Marisa-droppin'-in deal?" Rumia was there then too, ya remember well perfect, but ya had her jettin' before the main development breakout. Which is also why Cirno's itchin' to do a royal number on ya now, is the funny thing. Lotta stuff goin' back to that. "Okay, so that vial was her last go at homunculus-producin', 'cept long story short is that it kinda sucked at homunculusin', and Marisa said a whole buncha stuff 'bout addin' too much horse and left. Ya still with me?"

Rumia nods.

"Okay, so now then this time—Marisa's haulin' this horse leg—I toldja she was haulin' in this youkai horse's leg deal, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Okay, so Marisa's haulin' in this horse leg, and she's all 'bout—lightbulb, yo! It was the wrong kinda horse ingredient she used to mix up her homunculus last time, was the thing, maybe. 'Cept now she's got this new kinda horse ingredient, and this time she's gonna use that, and it's gonna turn out groovy—is what she says, basically. And I agree tentative with the 'groovy', 'cause—yeah, homunculus, groovy, right?"

Ya glance at Rumia. Rumia...doesn't say anything. She's doin' the headtiltin', though. So that means she's all ears still, prolly.

"So I point out that she's got something like beaucoup horse, and I fig if she could make some serious homunculusage last time outta some dinky vial, this time she oughta be able to make, like, all the homunculi, and maybe if it all turns out like it oughta turn out she can make some sweet change homunculus-sellin', or gift Rinnosuke one of her spares, maybe, even. 'Cept—"

'Cept what?

It was then, right?

'Cept what was then?

"'Cept I dunno," you admit. "Something went funky, and Rinnosuke went funky, and now Rinnosuke's gone all taciturn up in this sitch, and it's killin' me."

Ya look Rumiawise one more time. She's still smilin' all headtiltedly up atcha, but her smile's sorta fadey at the edges, now. Or is that in your head? Ya can't tell. Problem with your head at the mo—it's mondo hecked up 'cause of circumstances, and plus if that smile even changed it changed small.

"So, ya got any ideas here?" ya ask. "'Cause if ya do, just, like, shove the words of wisdom into my mug or something. I don't mind, prolly."

For something like a chunk, Rumia sticks to stickin' mum. You've got this think for a sec that maybe she's not gonna say anything at all, and ya unloaded all that for nothing, but ya tell yourself she's just ruminatin'. Or ya guess "rumianatin'". Either way, she's doin' it, 'cause after a whole healthy sound of silence afforded ya she straightens up her neck and goes:

"I'm a youkai."

Which is like—yeah, that's true, but also like: "Okay."

"And a horse's leg is a youkai, too."

"You're a lot better for conversin' with, though."

"Have you tried?"

Ya look at Rumia, tryin' to fig if she's pullin' something wiseacre here, but ya can't tell. "No," you admit, and it feels like you're givin' 'er a clear shot at your exhaust port.

She doesn't take it, though. Just smiles and smiles. "And Rinnosuke," she adds, once she's done just-smilin'.

That's more like it. "Yeah, Rinnosuke," ya say.

"Rinnosuke is also a youkai."

[Pick one from each.]

[ ] And that's a lightbulb moment for you.
[ ] Yeah, ya still don't get it.

[ ] Okay, now it's time for confrontin'. Bring the ish to Rinnosuke direct.
[ ] How's this for words of wisdom? Let it be, like ya shoulda from the start.
[ ]

 

[SolipsistSerpent]

...Is he upset that making a homunculus using a horse's leg is liable to kill it?

Actually are homunculus servants basically youkai slaves?

Because someone who identifies as a youkai is going to have problems either way.

 

[KChasm]

[X] And that's a lightbulb moment for you.
[X] Okay, now it's time for confrontin'. Bring the ish to Rinnosuke direct.

And for a sec you're all like—yeah, okay, kinda know that already—kinda know all of that already, actually, totally, so ya don't know why Rumia's feedin' all of this to ya now—

And then suddenly you're all—oh.

Oh.

'Cause ya get it, all of a sudden, is the thing. Ya get it like you've had dudes all up in your mug for millennia tryin' to getcha to understand how maybe puttin' the weird circley things under the transportation might make the transportation not suck so much, and it's only now—like, now, just-this-second now—that the concept's slipped into place with a real loud clickin' noise. Now, and also for no reason at all separatin' now from all the other times someone 'splained themselves hoarse tryin' to talk your uncomprehendin' and apparently temporarily actually not awesome dudehood through the whole deal—is how ya get it. Like—plot twist! You were the dolt the whole time. The doofus. Maybe even the douche.

'Cause that horse leg was a youkai. You remember that, right?

And Rinnosuke's got some youkainess to 'im, too, half- or otherwise.

Which means that when ya stood right in front of Rinnosuke tellin' Marisa how you were totally down with seein' 'er mash a youkai up enough for fittin' in a dinky homunculus-holdin' vial—

Yeah, it's only a hunch, but you're thinkin' maybe ya didn't give off the best impression in that moment. By which whatcha mean is maybe ya suddenly before his eyes transformed into the heeliest heel that ever heeled in the history of heelies, holy rollin' Capitola. This isn't some ha-whoops peccadillo you can laugh off here. This was—is—pure unadulterated unilaterally-launched douchebaggery of a caliber ya never even considered you could be capable of outcarryin', consciously or not, and the realization of it's like someone stuck a fork in your guts, straight in, and twisted.

"Nuts," goes your mouth. "Nuts. Nuts, nuts, nuts."

But yo—kinda super obvious whatcha gotta do now, right?

"Thanks, dude," ya tell Rumia, 'cause she did make things super crystal, even if ya don't like what you're seein' at the mo. "I'ma be right back."

"Mm-hmm," Rumia says, and scooches over just enough to letcha make back into the shop, which is whatcha do, right through, and when the door clicks shut behind ya, it's like it's sayin' "no goin' back" even though ya know bein' reasonable that you could one-eighty and step right back out again, so what does the door know—the door's not the boss of you—and now you're just anthropomorphizin' a shop door 'cause it's preferable to chompin' down on the bullet, which is whatcha oughta be doin', and whatcha know ya oughta be doin', so ya better quit just knowin' ya oughta be doin' it and actually do it, now.

Now.

Now.

"Rinnosuke!" ya call out. "I've gotta talk to you!"

There. Now ya definitely can't go back. Which is right, even if the door behind ya is oozin' satisfaction at it.

Rinnosuke, though, isn't 'zactly rarin' to welcome ya, which—can ya blame 'im? Ya can't, is the thing, so ya move farther in. He's not breakfastin' anymore—looks like he finished that up while you were discussin' the whole sitch with Rumia. Now he's back at his desk, the regular fiddlin'-with-Outside-stuff locale, 'cept instead of fiddlin' with Outside stuff he's just sittin' there with his eyes set low like he's lookin' at nothing in particular real careful.

Ya don't want 'im to look at nothing. Ya want 'im to look at you.

"Rinnosuke," ya say again.

The dude's fingers twitch. "Yes?" he says.

"Maybe lend an ear for a tick?" ya say. "I wanna say a thing. Or no, I need to say a thing, here."

"You can say anything you'd like," Rinnosuke says. "You'll do that in any case."

Yeah. Yeah, okay.

"I'm sorry," ya say.

That doesn't come out anything as smooth as ya wanted, but it comes out. And Rinnosuke even actually lifts his mug, which is prolly as good as you're gonna get as a cue for goin' on.

So ya do. "I'm not gonna make with the 'scuses here," ya say. "I mean, I guess I could try, and say a whole lotta things about, like, Outsiderness and the ilk, but after all this hanginaroundin' 'round here and 'round you the argument'd've the aerodynamics of a brick, so I can't. So I won't. Dig?"

"No," says Rinnosuke. "What?"

Yeah, this isn't progressin' how ya wanted it to be. "Maybe lemme start again," ya say. "The horse's leg. You remember the horse's leg?"

Oh, man, and that didn't come out right, either. The way Rinnosuke's gazin' atcha makes ya wanna maybe start diggin' straight down and see if ya can't eke out a new life somewhere 'round Brazil. "Yes," he says, and didja know a dude could cram so much justifiable testiness into a single syllable? No, ya totally didn't.

"Right," ya say. "Yeah. Okay. I hecked up."

Rinnosuke doesn't say a thing. He just keeps on gazin' atcha. With those eyes.

"I hecked up," ya say again. "I hecked up, Mac—Rinnosuke. I mean, like—I saw this horse's leg prancin' and I didn't see a youkai. Ya told me it was a youkai—I know, straight up, 'It's a youkai,' ya said, but it didn't click, and that's me. That's on me."

Still with the nothing-sayin'. He's payin' attention, but ya don't know what he thinks, and so you've gotta keep talkin' here. You've gotta.

"And then Marisa was all like, 'Yo, I'm gonna ingrede this dude into a homunculus potion,' and not only did I sorta straight up basically approve of her juliennin' the dude or whatever it is she's gonna do with the dude—sorry, I dunno, sorry—but also I did it in front of you. I mean, I shouldnta done it at all, but also I did it in front of you, and I was all up with how cool it'd be if Marisa carved up a youkai while I was standin' in front of a youkai—I mean, you—and then I was even all up with how even cooler it'd be if Marisa gifted what was left of the youkai to you and you're a youkai and I hecked up with the youkai and I hecked up with you and I hecked up and I'm sorry."

And that finishes all at once, before ya even know it. Ya just run outta words.

Ya feel like ya ran a marathon. Or maybe a shorter distance, but also for your life.

And Rinnosuke is still just lookin'.

And then Rinnosuke goes, "Fine," and puts his face focusin' back to the desktop again, and then he reaches for some doodad on the outskirts of it, and then he takes the doodad and puts it where he's focusin' and starts fiddlin' with it, like he's supposta always be doin', maybe, always tryin' to make heads or tails of the latest Outsider thingamabob that's gotten in under his eyes, and you—and he—

"'Fine'?"

And that's Rinnosuke lookin' up again, his head tiltin' all graceful up off from one of those remove-the-ring-from-the-rest-of-the-metal-mess puzzles, and that's when ya realize ya actually said the thing.

Like, into the air. For reals.

"Yes," says Rinnosuke, back atcha. Testy, or maybe testier. "It's fine."

"But it's not, though," ya say. Ya lean over—put your hands on his desk flat so he can't not look atcha even if he's not lookin' atcha. He's gotta look atcha. He's gotta get it.

"Ya can't forgive me just like that," ya say. "I hecked up bad. Like there was a line, and I don't even know where it was. I flew over it, Rinnosuke. I hecked up."

"And I've said that it's fine."

"And it's not fine!"

"And I've said it's fine so stop talking about it!" And Rinnosuke slams the detach-the-ring puzzle on his desk and it jangles and he's standin', too, taller than you—

"I'm not gonna stop talkin' 'bout it!" ya shout. "I've gotta make amends! I'm the dude who doesn't know what in the even—I'm the dude with the heckin'-up rec, and I know you're here to catch me and I love ya for that, for serious, but now you're mad at me and it's right, you bein' mad at me and I don't know how I can fix this!"

"You don't even understand what you're trying to fix!"

"I'm tryin' to fix accidentally bein' a racist, speciesist douche!"

"That's normal! Youkai eat human beings! Human beings hate youkai! That's the usual course of events in Gensokyo and the only reason you can't seem to understand this is because you're an Outsider! If Marisa wishes to experiment on a youkai as simple as a horse's leg, I can't say anything to that!"

"Then why're ya so steamed?

"Because you're supposed to be different!"

And the shop sorta stops.

There's a sound in your head like someone left a TV tuned to a dead blue channel.

"What?" ya say.

Rinnosuke's standin' there, leanin' over his desk just as well as you. He's taller—you've noticed that already, right? But your faces're this close, anyways—you can see clear his lip twitchin', and the color runnin' out everything that's the neck up. His eyes skitter.

And then he sits down, real careful, real ginger, and puts his elbows on his desk and his hands laced and his face hidden behind it.

"Hold on," ya say. "What?"

"Go away," says Rinnosuke.

Ya can't see his look.

"Yo—hey—wait a tick, Rinnosuke—"

"I need you to go away right now," says Rinnosuke. "I'd like it if you would leave me alone right now, just for a while. Would that be fine?"

And his voice, it—

"Yeah," ya say. "Yeah, sure, Rinnosuke. I'll..." Ya point in a general awaywise direction, which Rinnosuke's not seein'.

And then ya make for it, leavin' the dude there, and ya don't know what he's thinkin' and ya don't know what he's sayin' and ya hecked up. Ya hecked up double, somehow. You were gonna apologize. How'dja shoot for an apologize and make things worse off? It's like—it's like—

His voice. He wasn't cryin', or anything like that. But his voice, yo.

It went wrong somewhere, maybe with the first flapjaw move.

Your feet take ya on a trip. You're just watchin' as ya drift through to the shop's front door, and then ya open it, and get on to the other side of it, and then ya close it behind ya, and then ya sorta just settle, and there ya are, sittin' out the front bummed with Rumia next to ya. Full circle.

"It's like I tried to make scrambled eggs," ya say, real miserable real apparent, "'cept I ended up with mustard gas."

"I don't know what that is," says Rumia.

"Ya spray it on dudes and they break out in burnin', so it's sorta the last thing ya want with your kielbasa. Rumia?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"I messed up."

And ya thud the back of your head against the front door front, just to make the circularness super-ultra-complete.

[ ] You've gotta rectify.
[ ] Maybe don't heck this up even further.
[ ]

 

[KChasm]

Spoiler: Post-transcript author's note:

[Current readers: Don't miss the post above this post. Seeing as this post's so short, I figured I'd post two posts at the same time. Post post post.]

[X] You've gotta rectify.
-[X] Find and stop Marisa from Frankensteinin' a youkai.
-[X] Enlist Rumia as a guide. She's cool, chomp-threats aside.

The light shines into your own mug. It's cold. Not the light, though—just generally "it." It's cold 'cause you've been here way too long, for serious, and behind ya, past the door that's busy proppin' ya up at the mo, is Rinnosuke sittin' in a locale that's at least slightly warmer, 'cept he can't enjoy that for obvious reasons, and you couldn't enjoy that right now, either, even if ya tried.

So this is crystal too, right?

"Yo, Rumia," ya say. "Wanna do something stupid?"

You can feel the presence of Rumia's considerin'-it, even without turnin' your head to catch it. And then she's all:

"Okay."

"Sweet."

 

[Ziel]

...Well. that happened.

And now we're going on a forest adventure with Rumia. That's... Actually not a bad plan. We're kind of hovering on the border of "Too interesting to eat." Let's stay there.

Edit: Whooaa man, just occurred to me. He's mad not just because we acted like another youkai hating human, but because now he thinks we're gonna reject him too.

And we're like his... sorta closest friend/waifu, so that cut him deep.

 

[KChasm]

Ya step out, and the crisp hits ya like a blanket of cold to the everything. Ya thought ya had a good handle on the weather yesterday, sittin' at the door outdoors and chattin' with Rumia, but that was post-breakfast, with the sun already up and vistin' its Mr.-Golden-Sunness on the population.

Now, on the other hand, is pre-breakfast. In other words: The sun's up, yeah, but it's only just had a good look over the horizon and now it's seriously considerin' callin' in sick and spendin' the next twenty-four in bed, though that whole metaphor maybe sorta breaks down when ya factor in how the whole globularity of the Earth means that the sun's already up somewhere anyways, so the hypothetical star-boss in this sitch'd be ages more likely to tell the whole miasma to quit whinin' and get a move on. The point is—

It's chilly. For reals.

Oh, and Rumia's here, too. "Yo," ya say.

"Hello!" Rumia chirps. She's standin' there lookin' up atcha, her hands folded all dainty in front of her dress, all set up like it's a date the two of you are goin' on instead of what the two of you are really goin' on, which is most definitely not a date 'cept maybe to dudes who think goin' on a date really oughta involve the risk of disintegration.

You are not one of those dudes.

More importantly: "Dude—ya'ven't been here since yesterday, have ya?" ya ask. It's an actually reasonable question, 'cause it was yesterday thatcha arranged this whole meet-me-in-front-of-the-shop rendezvous with Rumia, also in front of the shop, and ya can't say she's late here she was standin' in front of the shop then and now she's standin' in front of the shop now and the effect's uncanny. Of course, thinkin' it logically ya doubt she actually spent the whole day and night standin' stock-still for your schedule, but that's the tethercat principle for ya—

"I didn't have anything I needed to do."

Or maybe she did spend the whole day and night here, actually, which is also actually messed up. Like, for serious. Yo, just 'cause ya wanted Rumia here and now here and now didn't mean her doin' whatever till now was supposta be verboten. She coulda just done...Rumia stuff, or something, whatever that is. Chasin' people down, maybe? Chronocide through homicide?

Or maybe this is Rumia stuff. What'd she say? Drank when she was thirsty, slept when she was tired? Lookin' at a list like that, "waited for the other dude till the other dude showed up" doesn't fit too unsightlily.

Anyways.

"Just triple-checkin' on this—ya sure ya wanna navigate?" ya ask Rumia. "'Cause this is stupid. Like, this is a stupid thing I'm gonna be doin'. For reals. So if ya don't wanna get dragged all up into this mess, I am totally fine with that. All the fine, even."

Rumia smiles up atcha, way very gently. "If you enter the forest alone, you'll be lost," she says.

And ya kinda...can't deny that. "Well, y'know—wherever ya go, there ya are, right?"

Rumia's head tilts, like it's got the wisdom of your words weighin' it down. Then Rumia asks, "Do you know how to get to Marisa's?"

"Okay. Yeah. So I'll get someone else to play tour guide, maybe. It's not inconceivable."

"Rinnosuke's asleep."

Of course the dude's asleep. That's sorta the point, which is what Rumia's barely-arguments arguments're really layin' down here. Gotta face it, Christie—minus the kindness of a small, bitey youkai, your efforts are screwed. "Alright, dude," ya acquiesce. "I'm countin' on ya to get me there and back again."

Rumia nods, a bit too floaty to call resolute. And then she turns, the edge of her dress floatin', too, and then also she's also floatin'—like, legit levitatin' off the ground floatin', 'cause dudes do that here—towards the vague ya-don't-know-where-'zactly border where shopness ends and forest is a thing again.

Ya hustle over after, tryin' to ignore the cold and the goosebumps breakin' out past your short sleeves. Seriously, first thing when ya get back, you're figurin' out where Rinnosuke's stashed the parkas.

***

Sometime when ya weren't lookin'—'cause you were cooped up at Rinnosuke's and fine with that, mostly—Gensokyo decided to get its fall on, and the foresty bit you're cringin' through at the mo offered its full cooperation. The day ya found yourself zapped into the wrong hemisphere, this place was green and green all the way through—or at least through enough. Now, though?

Now, everyone's gettin' their chlorophyll cut off.

Which gives ya an effect that's somewhere between neat and iffy: With the leaves in the droppin' mood, you can see real easy all the gnarlage the green was attached to, back when it was still green or still attached. And that's not metaphorical gnarlage, either—the branches over your head are crazy twisted all up into each other, givin' you the look of like you're walkin' through a long, twisty bower. 'Cept, instead of this bein' some cheery frescade outta some fancy garden, this is more like the arbor of your doom.

Well, not your doom. No way seasonal abscission's gonna be what takes ya outta the runnin'. But someone's doom, prolly. "Are we there yet?" ya ask.

"Yes," says Rumia.

And then the whole tunnel of treedom just opens up, and you're standin' at the edge of something real clear and treeless with a great cottagey thing smack dab in the middle of it. There's even a path up to the front door! A path that's super useless 'cause the other end of it sorta just fades out into foresty detritus around your end, but yeah. Path.

"Full disclosure," ya tell Rumia. "I totally didn't 'spect that we'd actually be there yet."

Rumia looks up atcha—smilin', natch—but all she goes is, "Mm-hmm."

The cottage says nothing.

"Alright, sure," ya say. "What're we hanginaroundin' for? Let's rock this joint, already."

[ ] If you're gonna punch unrighteousness in the face, you've gotta do it upfront!
[ ] Infiltrate the enemy base! Like a Japanese ninja. Or a ninja.
[ ]

 

[Chronometry]

...oh jeez, why didn't the whole youkai experimentation thing occur to me?

Oh man, the worst part is I would totally make the same mistake because "FOR SCIENCE" and I wouldn't think twice about the "hey, maybe don't experiment on possibly-sentient beings mmkay?" situation.

 

[MobiusOneDT]

Wow I didn't think you would actually transcribe this here.

Just dropping in to say I'm a big fan of the story from TouhouProject.com and I can't wait to see people's reactions to some of the stuff later in the story.

 

[KChasm]

[X] If you're gonna punch unrighteousness in the face, you've gotta do it upfront!

'Cause ya know what you're doin', and what you're gonna do. You've got a plan. You've got a compass in your head. And now you've just gotta make like that compass and walk.

Okay, so that's maybe actually the other kinda compass, but still. The point is, ya do what it is you were gonna do, which is get yourself up to a witch's front door. And then, with like all the resolution here—

Ya knock on the front door.

Just a coupla times, though. You're not Buddy Rich. Like, in alotta ways.

"Is this 'rocking a joint'?" Rumia asks.

"Sorta," ya admit. "Like, maybe in a more old school way? Like more towards soft rock. The joint is bein' soft rocked by me."

Rumia looks up atcha, sayin' nothing.

"Soft rock is still rock," ya say.

Rumia looks up atcha still, also still sayin' nothing.

"Yo, if it's good enough for Billy Joel, then it's still rock 'n' roll to me," ya say, and ya knock a coupla times more, puttin' ya just that much closer to Richness. Or only half that much, 'cause the door opens up back between knock one and knock two, leavin' your second knock knockless and more like you're fist jabbin' the air for some weird reason.

And Marisa's standin' there, takin' in your respectless respect knuckles with the 'spected respect, by which ya mean—not much. You're on her doorstep, which isn't hinky on its own, but also you're Rinnosukeless. It's suspect.

"Yo," ya say.

"Hey," says Marisa. And then a grin starts wrappin' 'round her mug. "Hey! You're the Outsider, aren't ya? The one Kourin's letting stay over. Uh, what was it? Ku...Ki..."

"Chris," ya supply, before Marisa can start pullin' something painful outta Transliteration Station. "Chris Christoferson. But don't call me C.C., or we're gonna have words, remember?"

"Yeah, 'Christoferson'! That was it. What's up?" And, havin' gotten your surname with what you've gotta admit is a minimum of manglin', Marisa leans out the doorway, turnin' her head this way and the other.

"And where's Kourin?" she asks.

"Catchin' some serious zed? Least, dude was doin' that when I left 'im."

"Ya mean ya got all the way here without anyone guiding ya over? For an Outsider, that's pretty gutsy."

"Yo, just 'cause Rinnosuke's inshop doesn't mean I was guideless. I've got Rumia."

For the first time, Marisa seems to recognize that you've got a little dude with ya, lookin' down at 'er with her grin goin' cocked. Rumia's grin, on the other mug, goes grinnier. Like, full chops.

"Rumia brought ya here?" Marisa goes.

"Sure."

"I'm kind of surprised she didn't just eat ya."

"Well, she said she wasn't gonna, though."

Rumia glances atcha, grin fadin' ever so slight.

"Well, she said she wasn't gonna eat me for now, though," you correct.

Rumia goes back to great grinnin' again.

"Oh, well, if she promised, that's okay," says Marisa. "So what's up?"

"Nothing much. This is kinda a social call." Which is technically not a lie, seein' as you're here now, talkin' to Marisa, and Marisa's talkin' back. That's social, right? That's totally social. "Can we come in, or do ya want us to wipe our feet first?"

"Sure, come on in! Don't bother with the shoes—it's not like I take them off, either." Which looks true. She's wearin' some buckley things that step over to the side so you and Rumia can get through the door and into Marisa's pad proper.

And speakin' of Marisa's pad—

Ya don't know whatcha 'spected from the interior of this place, but what you've got here standin' in front of your peepers is...actually not that far off, considerin'. Architecturewise, it's a match for what you'd get if ya showed any regular sorta dude the outside of some Europeanish-lookin' cottage and asked 'em to imagine the livin' space—just straight up homey, in that Europeanish countryside cottage sorta way. What's got this pad runnin' perpendicular to that model is what Marisa's got, litterin' her pad. And that "litterin'" isn't so much a hyperbole, either. The whole place looks like a typhoon swept in and out again, with clothes and books and everything else you can think of strewn across the floor like it's the largest shelf in the house. For serious and for example—here's a pile of tome-lookin' things half hidden off by another dress like the one Marisa's wearin' thrown over the all of it, and here's a corner fulla foresty stuff—weeds, and flowers, and leaves, and some fungi, too, all of 'em separated real neatly from each other, real careful, which is kinda funny, considerin'—and here's the shelves—like, the actual shelf shelves—'cept instead of bein' fulla books, most of 'em've got just rows of sciencey equipment instead—beakers, cylinders, flasks, and all the rest of that sorta stuff whose proper names you forgot since high school, gunk accumulatin' in the bottoms.

It's like ya stumbled into the home of the most easygoin' mad doc, is what you're sayin'. And seein'. Like it's all teeterin' one jostle away from one chemical here slippin' into one potion there and the whole pad goin' up in a sciencey magicky burst.

With you in it.

"So, if you're just visiting, Kourin didn't send ya or anything?" Marisa closes the door with a real inauspicious click.

"Naw," ya say. "Actually, dude doesn't know we're here, even. Last we left 'im, he was conked out. Like, royal."

"Huh, ya mean he was sleeping? Really?" Ya nod, and Marisa lifts her chin a bit. "That's funny," she says.

It is? "It is?" ya ask.

"Yeah, sure. Kourin's not much for sleeping—least, not for as long as I've known him. He's nearly always awake, no matter what time I get around pounding at his door. I think it's owing to him being part youkai."

Whoa! Just tossin' that off, witch dude? That woulda been some serious revealage if Rinnosuke hadn't already made like Chubby Checker and dropped the twist. "So youkai don't hafta sleep so much?" ya ask, and then ya remember ya have a youkai with ya. Like, right there. "So youkai don't hafta sleep so much?" ya ask again, this time in the right direction.

"I get sleepy when it's bright out," Rumia says.

"So you're nocturnal," ya say—no, hold up a sec. "Rinnosuke's not nocturnal," ya point out.

"Well, he's up at night. That's like being nocturnal, right?"

"It's sorta nocturnalish, but I dunno 'bout straight up bein' nocturnal. If Rinnosuke was nocturnal, I wouldn't be able to watch 'im half as much as I've been watchin' 'im. Plus also he doesn't eat lunch."

"If he was nocturnal, he wouldn't eat lunch, either."

"Yeah, but he's up for not eatin' lunch. He doesn't-eat lunch with deliberateness."

"So what you're saying is it's the difference between 'I didn't eat lunch' and 'I ended up not eating lunch'?"

"Yeah, ya got it! Like, major important subtlety."

"You keep talking about lunch. I'm hungry now," Rumia says, prolly not carin' 'bout the subtleties at all. Then, Marisawise: "Can I eat you for lunch?"

Marisa takes a half-step back. That grin on her mug goes from goin' easy to sharp in the tick of it, like something that wants a fist and without it matterin' so much if it's her mug it visits or someone else's. Her hand goes the side of her dress, and you can guess what kinda mystic something it's divin' for.

You've gotta salvage this, pronto. "Dude," ya say, "ya can't eat Marisa for lunch."

"I can't?" Rumia asks.

"Ya can't," ya say. "It would be totally inappropriate."

Rumia tilts her head. "Marisa's a human, and I'm a youkai," she says. "If she runs away, it's fine to eat her if I chase her down."

"Hey, listen, dude, 'cause I'm gonna reiterate. Eatin' Marisa for lunch? I'm rulin' that a real big no-go at the mo."

"Yeah, listen to the nice Outsider," says Marisa.

"Like, we were just outdoorsin' it, and ya saw it's basically still twilight out there, right? If ya eat Marisa now, that's breakfast."

"Ah," says Rumia. And then back at Marisa again: "Can I eat you for breakfast?"

"On second thought, don't listen to the Outsider," says Marisa.

"Hold still, dude," you advise. "She's like a Tyrannosaurus rex—her optics're tuned to movement. I mean, either that or whether she just ate. One of those, prolly. How long's it been since ya ate, Rumia?"

"A day ago," says Rumia, "but I'm hungry now."

"Oh, huh. Ya might be screwed, then," ya tell Marisa.

Marisa's grin maintains, even while she's got fingers delvin' back at her pockets again. In retrospect, ya kinda suck at this salvagin' thing.

[ ] But if there's a dude awesome enough to salvage a failed salvagin', that dude is you. 'Cause you're awesome.
[ ] And if violence breakin' out is a gimme, it's time to demetaphorize those metaphorical punches.
[ ]

 

[KChasm]

[X] But if there's a dude awesome enough to salvage a failed salvagin', that dude is you. 'Cause you're awesome.

Time to pull out that Christie Christoferson emergency pizzazz. "Yo!" ya shout.

And that's got all eyes on ya in an instant, the ones in Rumia's kid head and Marisa's older one both, and in that instant Marisa's hand is stopped reachin' for that mystic something you're sure she's got hidin' in her witchy duds—though it's not like it's unreachin', either. It's just hangin' there, like it could go either way any sec now.

Still, ya did stop it. So—good start. Awesome start, even.

Kinda too bad you've got no clue for the next step.

Uh.

"The little dude's got a point," ya say, gesturin' at the little dude in question. Yeah, that's a segue, right? That's totally a natural progression of the stuff that is goin' on now.

Marisa's eyes go all narrowy. "Your chances don't look so good, even if it is two on one."

Or maybe not. "No way, dude, I'm talkin' 'bout food," ya say. And quick after, 'cause ya see that dangerous hand goin' for it: "Like, do ya know what it's like, troopin' through a buncha tulgey forest first thing in the morning?"

Marisa inclines her head, like you're the old crone and she's tryin' to see the young not-a-crone, which is totally up the wrong tree considerin' you're already the young lady to start with. And then, in a way that sounds like it's got a buncha ellipses tacked on at the prologue, she says, "Yeah."

Ya blink. "Seriously?"

"I live here, ya know. I have to walk through the Forest of Magic if I want to get somewhere."

"You can fly," Rumia points out.

"Or I can fly," Marisa admits. "But most of the ingredients I can find in the Forest of Magic are closer to the forest floor."

"Okay, so ya know, then," ya say, 'cause this is your shot. "Only the thing is, we set out first thing, without even, like, breadcrumbs. We're starvin' like Marvin here."

"Starving like what?"

"Ya know, all up with the famishedness. I'm not askin' for a six-course meal, but if ya have any vittles just sorta lyin' around, I'll take responsibility for redirectin' 'em. Whaddya say?"

Moment of truth. Marisa looks ya through like ya stopped bein' a dude altogether and started bein' one of those 3D things where you're supposta put your eyes just so and—hey, it's a dolphin! Sweet. She does that.

And then she's like, "Well, it's probably a bad idea to fight here, I guess."

Score!

"I'd be alright, and Rumia'd get better sooner or later, but you're just a regular human, so you'd probably die," Marisa continues, and you're seriously, seriously glad she looks back around her shoulder just then 'cause if ya make half the face it feels like ya suddenly involuntarily make, that's some kinda face. "I've got some leftover snacks," she says. "Ya want some tea to go with?"

You'd prefer a hot cuppa joe, honestly, but— "Yeah," ya say. "That'd be ace."

And that hand Marisa's luggin' finally gets far enough from that mystic something that breathin' is easy again. The woman it's attached to smiles, even. Kinda crookedish, like she's tryin' for a smirk but can't bother all the way, but it's still a smile. "Make sure Rumia doesn't get into my potions, ya got it?" she says.

"Dude, we're so hands-off, you can call us Juan Perón."

Marisa looks ya through again, just for a tick. Then she goes, "Yeah, sure," and turns off and away—to do food stuff, you're gonna assume, here. The second she's outta eyeshot, ya let yourself slump.

Ya don't know if that was close or not, but it felt close. And that's what counts.

"We should have eaten Marisa." And that's Rumia, gazin' upwards atcha with innocent turtley eyes while the not-so-innocent and definitely not-so-turtley stuff comes out her maw. "Eating people is easier."

"Yeah, maybe easier for you, but I like my proteins folded the way they are," ya say. "Ever heard of kuru?"

"We're already here, though."

"Huh?"

Rumia's peepers are a lot less turtley all of a sudden, and that's when Marisa makes it back with the food and the drink and the change of subject. "Here ya go," she says, and tosses ya over a—

Ya catch the thing, and then end up turnin' it one way and also another till your brain also catches the thing and ya fig the identification. It's...some sorta packet of crackers. Some sorta contemporary-lookin' packet of crackers, like, wrapped in plastic, even.

Ya feel like this has implications.

"That ought to be good, right?" says Marisa. "I'll get some tea heated up." And then she's out again.

"Yeah," ya lie into thin air, unpeelin' the stuff. Rumia watches over with something kinda like curiosity—yo, has she heard the theater-blastin' telltale crinklin' of plastic before? The answer "no" is actually a possibility here, 'cause Gensokyo—and ya spill the valuable innards into a coupla cupped hands the sec you've got 'em exposed. "Here, dude," ya say, "Chow down on this."

Rumia inspects what she's got. "Is that all?"

Which was kinda your reaction, too, but you've gotta smooth all these lumps out till you've got whatcha came for. "Better than not eatin' the thing, right?"

That gets ya a glance, and then Rumia takes the top cracker and carefully, real deliberate in its doin'-it-ness, bites it in half.

And chews.

Well, chews once. Something that small doesn't last long enough to get a second crunch.

"Well?" ya say.

"Et dicetis: Hæc dicit rex: Mittite hunc in carcerem, et date ei panis modicum, et aquæ pauxillum, donec revertar in pace."

And ya still don't do Latin, which makes it a neat time for Marisa to make her reentrance, heftin' a coupla steamin' mugs, one of 'em the usual Japanese handleless deal, the other a modren-lookin' thing with a chip in the rim. "I'm back!" she says. "Which one do ya want?"

"Ya got a difference in flavors?"

"What? Naw, just the cups."

"Hit me with lefty, then." By which ya mean the normal one, natch. Well, normal for you.

Marisa gives the mug over, and the feelin' of havin' a warm cuppa something against your fingers is a real blast of familiarity, even without the proper java smell that oughta accompany it. Caff or no caff, it's just not the same without the bean ya know and love.

"So what's up?" Marisa says, retreatin' over to an antique-lookin' desk in the corner of the room. She pulls at the chair parked into it by the in of her shoe, depositin' herself once she's got the space. "If Rinnosuke didn't send ya over, you've got to have your own reason for being here."

"Eh, not so much, dude. Like I said, it's all a social call."

"Huh." And Marisa looks ya straight in the eyes in a mondo uncomfy kinda way, even while she's takin' a noisy sip outta her own mug.

"Okay, so it's part social call, part me bein' real curious. We don't have magic out in the Outside, remember? So seein' as you're like, straight up witchness, honest, can ya blame me for wantin' to get all up on that concept?"

Someone said something way back 'bout half the truth bein' real good liewise. Punch it up with something flatterin' and Marisa eats it, no problemo, grinnin' for reals. "So ya came over because ya want magic lessons?"

"I'm not committin' just yet, y'know? I could get zapped back Outside tomorrow. But if you were plannin' on pullin' some real hocus pocus today—maybe you could lemme watch?"

"Yeah, sure. It's not like I've got anything planned, though..."

"What about the homunculus?"

Marisa does one of those blinks and for a tick ya think ya went too fast, but then she goes, "The homunculus? What about it?"

"How far've ya got? Like, ya dice up the leg yet?" Please say no, please say no…

"Naw, not yet. I had to find all the right ingredients first, and that took a while. Plus not everyone was all that willing to lend me what they had. I was planning on getting started today, though, so if ya want to watch that, that ought to be alright."

Score. And also: Whoa, dude, talk about just in time. A coupla hours later and ya coulda been here to rescue a pile of cuts, maybe. "Yeah, yeah! Though, speakin' of that—where is the dude?"

"'The dude'?"

"Ya know—the leg. I don't 'zactly see 'em hoppin' 'round the place. Ya got 'em tucked away or something?"

"'Hopping'? What do ya think it is, a jiangshi? But yeah, I've got it. Ya want to see?" And without waitin' for an answer, Marisa puts down her mug, strides off over to some cabinet-lookin' block, and throws the door of it wide open.

Crammed inside it, bound up tighter than one of Rinnosuke's hardbacks, is the leg of the hour themselves. Ya see from across the room as it starts twitchin' mad the moment Marisa exposes it to the air, like it's watchin' the face of its doom appoach and is tryin' to hoof it literal before said face can arrive for realsies.

Or ya guess it isn't "like" that. Ya guess it's exactly that.

You're so close.

"So that's it?" ya say, tunin' up the nonchalance. "That's the key to homunculusin'?"

"Yeah! Or at least I think so. I'm not going to be sure till it works, or doesn't. Experimenting's a big part of magic, ya know?"

"Yeah," ya say. "Can I hold 'em?"

Marisa looks atcha like the bus driver just missed her stop. "The horse's leg?"

"Yeah, the horse's leg. Can I hold 'em?"

Ya get a gaze a sec longer, but then Marisa shrugs. "Well, I don't see a problem with that, long as ya don't set it loose," she says. The leg makes with beaucoup strugglin' as she hefts the whole deal up—and then she puts it over to ya, in your waitin' arms. Ya stagger—dude's heavier than they look. It's like tryin' to carry a whole horse. Or maybe horses're heavier than ya thought in the first place. Or maybe it's the fact that the leg's still twitchin' to flee.

The dude's smoother than ya 'spected, too. They've got tufts of hair stickin' out here and there—prolly consequential of gettin' stashed away in a space like that for a coupla days—but not so much that ya can't take away a quality of smoothness from the dude anyways. Muscles, too. Ya pat the leg, without thinkin' much about it—like that's really gonna get it to calm down, right? For all the dude knows, you're here to hold the pot steady while Marisa's carves choice cuts from the outside in.

But you're not, so ya put the leg down on the floor of the house, all real gentle. And then ya straighten up again, as careful now as gentle was.

"Dude's heavy," ya say, 'cause why else wouldja've put it down?

Marisa grins. "Yeah," she says. "It was real tough, tying it up, but it didn't want to come here on its own, so I had to run it down till it stopped trying to escape—"

And then ya punch Marisa in the face.

"Absquatulate, Rumia!" ya yell, scoopin' up a leg as Marisa reels. There's a sec where ya turn and there's a closed door and ya think—aw, nuts, ya messed up, but then Rumia pulls the doorknob and the door open and ya heft outta there (kickin' the deal shut behind ya) like there's a mad witch that's gonna be on your tail in the way too near future.

'Cause there is.

Ya punched 'er hard, but ya didn't punch 'er that hard. Ya don't hate 'er or anything, ya just needed a window of opportunity for skedaddlement, even if ya didn't use the window at all. And also her nose cushioned your fist, prolly.

Either way—ya barely get past the part where the cottagey environ turns into trees and more trees when ya hear that door fly open real sudden and ferocious with a cry of rage. 'Cept it isn't the door that's cryin' ragefully, but a witch, and the cry of rage sounds something like this:

"I'll burn ya to a crisp, ya thieving rat!"

So prolly ya made a mistake, just now. But it's the righteous sorta mistake, so it's sorta like ya didn't make a mistake at all! Right?

Right.

Ya double with the legspeed anyways, tryin' not to trip over your own those, which is a lot harder than it sounds with your arms fulla horse and a ground fulla forest. "Which way's the shop?" ya shout.

Rumia floats on by the side of ya, arms out out the sides, a model of serenity. Or maybe just lackadaisicality. It's a false model, anyways, 'cause she's keepin' at the same clip as you. "You should keep running," she says.

"I am runnin'!" And plus easy for her to say—one of ya doesn't hafta jump and duck sprawlin' twisted roots and branches respective while they run, and that one of you is her. "Which way's the shop?"

"If you keep running, the shop will be there."

"The shop'll be there if I run or don't run—"

There's a tree, somewhere like a buncha yards to the left ahead of ya, roots and branches included. And then there's a thing of heat and light, and then there isn't a tree anymore, and also there isn't the tree next to it.

Ya totally don't yelp as ya break to the right, though ya do shout, and this time it's shoutin' justfied. "Where's the shop now?" you're like.

"You should turn left," says Rumia.

Ya turn left.

"Now?"

"You should turn right."

"Ya said 'left'!"

"You should have turned left."

"I did turn left!"

"You turned left," Rumia agrees, and you're itchin' to get this cleared up, but then another tree turns into not-a-tree real quick and real bright and real hot and real closer, this time.

Ya turn right pronto. "Now?"

"You should turn left."

Seriously? "Float me a line to trace, dude!" ya snap. "I'm missin' GPS here!"

Rumia stares atcha peacefully, which is a thing to do when the back of your throat is achin' with cold breaths and you can feel your sprint startin' to wind down and the third leg you've got is a load in your arms which ya can't swing 'cause you're carryin' that load which means you're too slow and there's a witch on your tail and ya don't know where she is 'cept she knows where you are and ya know she knows where ya are 'cause—

This time ya actually feel the heat, just early enough that ya look in reflex and see a way-too-wide beam of light go from somewhere up high to practically next to ya, like some rainstorm off formin' got sick of the whole deal before it started and decided to leggo the whole deluge all at once, 'cept instead of rain it's rainin' magic and fire and the concept of a whole line of trees to the right of ya just not existin' anymore.

Ya veer not towards that. "Rumia!"

"You shouldn't go left any more," Rumia goes, noddin' cheerily. And still floatin', of course. Funny, how ya keep forgettin' that everybody here flies. That is like one more dimension than you're used to checkin'.

Dudes'ren't supposta hafta look up! Ya feel like this is unfair, prolly.

"I can see ya!" comes Marisa's voice from up somewhere.

Ya tighten your grip 'round the horse's leg, like that's gonna help somehow. "There'ren't any routes underground, are there?" ya say. Or maybe pant. 'Cause you're pantin' now. 'Cause you're in trouble. "Foggara? Parisian sewers? Anything to avoid a burny death here, dude."

"It's hot underground, too, though."

Another buncha trees gone and ya don't even hafta look. It's on the back of your neck. "Well, do ya have any ideas at all? 'Cause I don't wanna die."

There's a tick of a clock ya haven't got, where you're still runnin' and Rumia's still floatin' and the two of ya (three of ya, leg included) are just movin' in a forest where movin' doesn't seem to make any difference, and ya think, clearer than ya oughta be able to—aw, nuts, but it's the end of the line, huh? You're 'bout to be all kindsa statistics.

Ya think of your mom. And your dad. And your brother, and a whole buncha other buddies and relatives you're never gonna catch again.

Nuts.

And then Rumia says, "You should keep running," and floats—up.

"Dude!" ya shout or gasp or maybe just something. "I can't go that way!"

"You can't," Rumia agrees. And then she says, risin' all the way: "Majorem hac dilectionem nemo habet, ut animam suam ponat qui pro amicis suis."

"I still don't do Latin!" ya shout.

If Rumia hears ya, she does a good job not showin' it, just still risin' up, past the leaves and branches and everything else formin' the border between in the forest and out—and then she's gone, more or less, and ya stand there, squintin' up, tryin' to catch the dude in the spaces where the boughs break and you can actually see sky. Didja get left behind? Is that what's happenin' here? Did Rumia just cut her losses and dump your chattanooga here to get blasted? 'Cause if so, that's some seriously unexpected douchery.

The leg you're luggin' twitches, like it's concurrin'.

And then—

The sky you can see breaks out in stars.

And ya don't get it. And then ya think of slime monsters and caveat emptor. And the stars and lights're shootin', a whole buncha fusillades comin' and goin' from every which way so everywhere you're gonna lose track of the sun.

Rumia didn't leave ya. Rumia's buyin' ya time.

Ya clutch the leg tight and make for the keep-runnin' direction, and hope you've got it right.

***

Ya thought your legs and lungs and everything else was burnin' before? Now ya know burnin', and the super dramatic leapin' ya hafta do over roots and detritus and stuff hasn't helped. Ya don't hear angry witch sounds anymore, though, so that's a plus. Prolly?

Ya don't wanna think how Rumia's doin'. She came to you, when she thought she was gonna be blasted. Is she still holdin' out? Did she get vaporized?

Is this even the right way you're runnin'? If Rumia gave up her time for nothing that'd just be...like, ya don't even have words for that. All ya have is a horse leg, a set of decent kicks, and rapidly depletin' breath.

When the forest pauses and Rinnosuke's shop pops outta the woodwork, it's a miracle, straight up.

But you're not outta the woods yet. Literally, even.

Marisa knows where ya live. Which means, in case she delivers a beatdown Rumiawise and gets back on your heels—which is a possibility that is way too legit to be anything approachin' comfy—you've gotta hide yourself away, pronto.

[ ] Through the front!
[ ] Through the back!
[ ]

 

[Chronometry]

"Et dicetis: Hæc dicit rex: Mittite hunc in carcerem, et date ei panis modicum, et aquæ pauxillum, donec revertar in pace."

Click to shrink...

Oof. That bad, huh?

"Majorem hac dilectionem nemo habet, ut animam suam ponat qui pro amicis suis."

Click to shrink...

...whoa. Chris must've really made an impression on Rumia if that's what she sees her as.

 

[Oracle of Space]

Oof. That bad, huh?



...whoa. Chris must've really made an impression on Rumia if that's what she sees her as.

Click to shrink...

You mind translating for us that don't know Latin?

 

[KChasm]

Spoiler: Post-transcript author's note:

[I keep Forest Mix on a series of .odt files. Series, 'cause I don't want the files to get too big. I cut them off at a hundred pages, or the closest I can get without going over.

That story post up there was the last part of file 3. Meanwhile, re: where the story's at over at THP, I've just today started file 4.

In conclusion, holy cannoli and jeez. I mean, I know it probably isn't much compared to some stories, but it's sure a lot for me.

[X] Through the back!
-[X] Inform the leg of your plan.

Lucky for you, you've got 'sperience in this "hidin'" biz. In through the back of the shop—and that's some breath catchin' in your throat, the way you've gotta juggle a leg while jigglin' a handle, but then the door gives, and ya basically nearly fall through—and then—

"Check it," ya gasp. "Do ya trust me?"

The horse's leg doesn't answer 'cause they haven't got a mouth. They twitch and nudge at your arm with their leg, though, which either means, "I trust ya," or, "I beg ya, please don't dismember me more than I'm already reverse-unmembered; I've got horse leg family."

Close enough.

"Okay, listen up—I've got an ace hidin' space. The problem is, if ya make with the buckin', you're gonna give it away. How good're you at playin' statue?"

The leg slows twitchin'. That means, "Totally good!" Either that or, "I've given up on continued livin' and await the cessation of my existence in quiet despair." The first one, prolly.

Also close enough.

Just gotta hope Rinnosuke hasn't done any remodelin' in the past few hours. Though if he has put in a serdab after all, that'd be totally sweet. Ya doubt it, though. And plus you're not totally sure you've got the time to get serdab-huntin'.

Which means—

There's the sound of a door openin' from somewhere up front.

Your blood goes kelvin.

Yeah. Time to hide. Ya cross your fingers—mentally, 'cause your finger fingers're busy handlin' support, at the mo—and make for point B. And you're double lucky, 'cause it's still there—that wannabe table box.

Seriously, Rinnosuke's lackadaisical approach to furniture is just savin' your bacon, here. "Red light!" ya whisper hard, and then you're in it, the both of ya, you cramped up and the horse's leg with ya.

Yeah. Yeah, this is fine.

Hidin' in a hidin' spot: accomplished. Almost lets ya ignore your heartbeat doin' a timpani in your eardrums. Or the fact ya haven't actually got a step two to this plan. Or a step whatever-number-it-is-after-the-step-this-is. Yeah, okay.

Okay.

Slowly, slowly but surely, ya feel your heartbeat diminuendoin'. Your breathin' evens out till it's something you can handle through your nose again. Least the horse leg doesn't hafta manage that. Least, you're kinda sure they don't hafta breathe. Do they have a heartbeat? You'd think they don't have a heartbeat, what with the whole missin'-the-part-of-the-body-where-you'd-stick-a-heart-usually thing, but then you've gotta wonder what's keepin' 'em operational. Magic youkainess? Prolly magic youkainess—

That door-openy sound? It happens again. 'Cept louder. And accompanied by a:

"Now I've got ya!"

Yeah, that's definitely who you were 'fraid it was gonna be. Oh, man, what happened to Rumia? She totally got past Rumia. That doesn't look good for Rumia. Or the horse leg. Or you. Or your heartbeat, which just went rocketin' up again.

"Yeah!" goes Marisa's voice. "Try running now, why don't ya—you're trapped. After exterminating a youkai, a regular Outsider's no problem—"

And Marisa says more, 'cept you're not really processin' any of it, 'cause—"exterminatin'." "Exterminatin'," she said, just now.

Rumia didn't get blasted. She got exterminated.

It's takin' everything you've got not to make like a jack-in-the-box and spring. Ya manage it somehow, by reintroducin' logic. Like: You've got a horse's leg to look over—that's priority one, at the mo. And if ya wanna get pragmatic: Marisa's not even in the room; she's in the room over, and if ya jack-outta-the-box now she'll see ya comin' a mile away and it'll be you on the wrong end of that mystic something.

You've got no choice. You've gotta remetaphorize your punches, if maybe just for now.

Sorry, Rumia. You deserved way awesomer than this.

Ya grip the horse's leg even grippier as Marisa's steppin' gets clearer. Like she's circlin' ya, gettin' closer and closer even if she's not in the room yet, 'cept of course ya can't tell. "Where is everyone?" ya hear 'er mutter to herself—ya hear her mutter. See? That's totally not a good sign.

And then she calls: "Yo, Kourin!"

The pause that answers is way too loud.

"Kourin!"

Ditto.

Yo, is Rinnosuke—is Rinnosuke not here?

Huh.

"Huh," Marisa goes, and you can imagine her standin' 'round all casual, maybe takin' her hat in one hand and itchin' a wonderin' itch where her hair parts. "What the heck—nobody's here?"

Somebody's totally here, ya think, and your thinkin' is way too loud, too. Hey, witches don't do telepathy, do they? Pluckin' thoughts outta the ether?

Or clairvoyance. Do witches do clairvoyance? 'Cause now thatcha think about it, that totally sounds like something witches maybe would be able to do, in which case ya might be totally screwed.

But if remote viewin' is a skill all up Marisa's repertoire, it's not one she's up to usin' at the sec, apparently. "Did they run off together?" ya hear 'er groan, closer than ever. And then, like a miracle, ya hear her footsteps 'cross the floorboards—recedin'.

Leavin'.

Ya hold your breath. Ya manage, somehow, even though between the stress and the bein'-on-the-home-stretch-ness ya can't get anything more than a thin gulpful. And then, just when the used-up air's formin' a gravitational well in your chest—

A door opens.

A door closes.

Ya wait a moment more, just in case—just a second more, 'cause that's all you can last—and then ya let the air 'scape through your teeth with a sound like a punctured tire. Ya feel like a punctured tire, anyways. Seriously, you're not cattish in the least—anyone who uses the words "catlike grace" to describe ya is either graspin' for a phrase or just plain bonkers—but you're sorta sure ya used up one of your nine lives just now. Or at least a life's worth of luck. Does that mean one of your lives is gonna be luckless, or does the lucklessness of the one life redistribute itself 'cross all the rest of the life ya haven't used up yet? Assumin' reincarnation is a thing, of course. Which, considerin' the disenhorsed leg you're clutchin' right now, it actually might.

Okay, is she gone? Ya think she might actually be gone, now. "See, what'd I tell ya? Ace hidin' space," ya whisper, legwise. "Now let's bust outta this box; I'm not built for pullin' a Waldo Jeffers—"

Ya shift towards gettin'-out-ness, and something creaks. It's just the sound of a floorboard in a dusty old forest shop past the edge of civilization settlin', most def, but maybe also it's Marisa, not actually out yet, readyin' herself to pounce. Ya can't be sure.

"Or on second thought," ya whisper, "this is a pretty comfy box, actually. Maybe worth stickin' in for a sec. Admire the wood grain."

If the horse leg's got any opinion on wood grain, they don't letcha know.

"Yeah," ya whisper. "Or, y'know, maybe a sec longer. A coupla seconds. A minute. Whaddya say to a quarter hour? Quarter hour sound good?"

The horse's leg quivers, but they don't make a sound, which makes it real easy for you to hear nothing else makin' a sound, either.

"I like the way ya think, dude," ya whisper. "Right on—full hour. 'Round the clock we go."

***

"I spy—with my little eye—something that starts with the letter 'B.'"

The horse's leg sorta cocks, then swivels, like a bird tryin' to fig their surroundings. It takes you a sec before ya see where ya went wrong.

"My bad, my bad. I spy with my little eye something that starts with the letter 'H.'"

This time, the leg swivels directly in your direction. Ya get the feeling they're lookin' atcha, even though they haven't got anything to do the lookin'. 'Cause leg. What's their ish now?

Oh, wait.

"'Ha.' I spy something that starts with the kana 'ha.' My bad again, dude. How 'bout it?"

The horse leg sorta hangs there. And then, gently, they reach out and just sorta prod the inside side of the box you're in.

Which you're still in.

"Nice," ya say. There's a thing of sweat makin' its way down your collarbone, and you're gonna ignore it if it kills ya. Or maybe just till it gets way more uncomfy than it is now. Right now, it's just uncomfyish, like someone playin' their tunes loud 'cept also at a distance. "Okay, my turn again."

The horse's leg prods you.

"Dude, not my fault ya can't talk. Now check it: I spy—with my little eye—something that starts with the letter 'H.' I mean 'U.' I mean 'u.' I mean 'horse.' I mean 'kana.'"

Didja mention that you're sweatin'? 'Cause you're sweatin'. 'Cause it's hot. Even with this box featurin' five sides instead of the traditional six, it's not exactly the most airy of locales. Still every time you're tempted to poke your head out—or at least flap the tablecloth—the thought of Marisa maybe standin' there with her mystic something glowin' in the direction of your skull makes ya think a little mugginess isn't so bad.

"Say, how much English do ya know, anyways?" ya ask, and almost miss the sound of the door openin'.

You and the horse's leg both go real still, real quick.

There's no Marisa-style gloatin', this time, but the footsteps are heavy and frantic. Ya hear 'em clear even where ya are—they pace, and then pause, and then pace and pause again. It's the sorta footsteps ya think you'd get outta someone lookin' for something in a hurry, which isn't an interpretation that makes ya feel so good.

The footsteps head in your direction, and you'd hold your breath again if it wasn't already so hard to breathe—

And then someone else does. Breathe, that is. There's a sigh.

And ya think—ya think—you're not an exhalation expert, past the fact that you've been doin' it regularly for about as long as you've been livin', and anyways the sample size you've got is kinda lackin', but ya think, maybe, that this mystery sigher might be male.

Which means—

And ya don't hear your mystery sigher sayin' anything along the lines of, "What's up, Marisa, and whaddya doin' in the back of my shop?"

So maybe—

"Hold tight," ya mutter, repositionin' the horse's leg around ya as much as you can manage in a hemmed-up space like this. "I'm just gonna wager it all. If I get blasted, up and mojamatize—I'll try to buy ya time." Which is payin' it forwards, right? Jeez, Rumia…

Okay, moment of truth. Ya slip a finger under the edge of the tablecloth and lift it just an inch's worth, settin' your eye at ankle level—the better to peep without it gettin' mutual. And then, after a tick of takin' in the sights, your brain puts a name to the shapes and ya straight up toss the cloth off and let yourself emerge like something out a magician's trick.

Well, a stage magician, which is something you're gonna hafta specify now thatcha know magic's actually a thing down here. It's like "acoustic guitar."

And more important than another instrument ya can't play: Ya can't think of anything more relievin' at the mo than the sight you're catchin' in front of you—Rinnosuke, and his tall, slightly slumped, decked-in-the-same-duds back.

"Yo, Mac."

Rinnosuke doesn't yelp or anything, but the turnin' he does is pretty quick. For a sec he just sorta goggles—and then his face pulls his mouth down by the ends and he says, in a voice thatcha don't know where it's goin': "You're here."

And then he goes: "You're here?"

And then he goes: "Where were you?"

Which you've gotta admit is not the welcome-back you were 'spectin', but you can work with this. "Sometimes," ya say, tappin' your noseside, "you've gotta keep the Christie-Christoferson-style awesome on the down low."

Rinnosuke's eyes flicker. "Were you hiding in the box?"

"Like I said—keepin' it on the down low."

"Were you hiding in that box again?"

"Hey, I'm not happy 'bout the temp-down, either, Mac, but whaddya gonna do?"

"Why were you hiding in that box again?"

And that's the sixty-four thousand dollar question, right? Ya make back for the box, 'cause your reasons are there—before unstartin' quick. "Yo, Mac—serious question. Can ya keep a secret?"

Rinnosuke doesn't give ya a yes or a no, just stares atcha like—like ya don't know what. For serious, that's a straight up inscrutable 'spression there, past the super obvious not-happy part.

Aw, what the hey. You can count on Rinnosuke, right?

Yeah, you can count on Rinnosuke. Dude hasn't letcha down when it counted yet. Ya duck back boxwise and—

The horse's leg goes still when ya touch 'em, like it's tired of strugglin' and set to leave it to fate. Ya wanna tell 'em it's okay—you're leavin' it to Rinnosuke here, which puts the odds a lot more in their favor—but instead ya just lift 'em back and out and sorta just stand there not really presentin' it Rinnosukewise. Rinnosuke, meanwhile, just sorta...blinks.

"Is that..." he mutters.

"Yeah, Mac, it is. I mean, unless you weren't gonna say, 'Is that not the horse's leg that got dragged in a coupla days ago?' in which case it isn't."

Rinnosuke's mug goes—well, not wobbly, but sorta unsteady. But not a completely bad unsteady. More like those things they put under buildings so that when an earthquake hits they take the most of it and all the major back-and-forth gets eaten up. "Where did you get that?"

"Where do ya think?"

"Did...Marisa stop by while I was gone?"

Well, yeah, but prolly not in the way Rinnosuke meant. "Not exactly?" ya try.

"'Not exactly'?"

"It's more like I went to her. Or actually it's actually 'zactly that."

Okay, now that's wobbly. "You went into the forest?" he says, his voice risin' up the scale as he does that.

"Rumia was there, too."

"Don't you understand how dangerous the Forest of Magic is?" The leg flinches in your arms at the tone. Ya pet 'em, like that's gonna help. "It's different from the forests of the Outside World—it's not a place fit for Outsiders to wander! There are—poisonous plants—dangerous youkai—"

"Homicidal witches," ya add helpfully.

"Homicidal witches," Rinnosuke parrots. And then he stops with the tirade and just stares. Well, he's been starin' all this time, but this is one of those stares that just goes through ya and over ya all at the same time.

"Christoferson," Rinnosuke says. "What, precisely, did you do."

"Promise not to freak?"

"What did you do?"

"I maybe possibly mighta punched Marisa in the face."

Yeah, you just...you just let that slip out, ya guess.

Rinnosuke goggles, which is a good word for what he does. "Why would you do that," he says, and it isn't even a question.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time?" ya offer. "And—I mean—I kinda figured she wasn't gonna just go, 'Oh, ya want me to set loose the potential essential ingredient for homunculus-producin'? No problemo!' Right?"

Rinnosuke opens his mouth again, then closes it again, then puts his hand up to his head, staggerin' like he's the dude who got socked.

"So anyways," ya barrel on, "I punched Marisa in the face, and then I ran, and Rumia was there too. And then..."

Ya pause, 'cause—ya don't wanna think about it. But then ya don't pause, 'cause you've gotta.

"I think Rumia got blasted," ya say, more quiet. "And then I made it to the shop, 'cept Marisa was on my tail. And—you weren't here." It doesn't mean to come out like you're accusin' 'im—more like just as a statement of a thing that happened—but it comes out accusey anyways, enough that Rinnosuke's gaze sorta snaps.

"Of course I wouldn't be here," Rinnosuke says, and whoa, his voice—that's a lot—it's a lot fiercer than you've heard outta him. Almost ever. If not completely ever.

And then he goes:

"I was searching for you."

"Huh?"

Your incomprehension only sets off this pocket of what-it-is-this-is you've accidentally uncovered. "I was searching for you!" Rinnosuke says. Not shouts, not yet, but it's close. "What do you imagine I felt—when I awoke to find that you had gone missing, that you weren't inside the shop—I thought you had been kidnapped, perhaps—maybe that you'd gone outdoors and been taken away—and to choose Rumia as a companion, of all people—or even of all youkai! Don't you understand how foolish your actions were?"

Lookin' at Rinnosuke's mug as he hollers atcha, his words startin' to ramble and disjoint—it feels like someone's playin' connect-the-dots in your head.

"Rinnosuke—Mac," ya say, careful. "Were ya worried about me?"

Which seems to incense the dude even incensier. "You—you don't appear to understand. The Forest of Magic is dangerous!" And now he is shouty, most def. "It's not unheard of of even experienced villagers to perish—what chance would an Outsider have? At the very least, you could have spoken to me first—told me what it was you had planned—"

"No way, Mac. This was something I had to do myself. And also with Rumia, but mostly myself." Ya heft the horse's leg in a gesturin' sorta way, the leg jerkin' slightly from the movin' of it, but otherwise pretty calm. Guess it's figured it's outta immediate hot water for now.

"I was the dude who let Marisa take this dude for the chop," ya say. "Like, right in front of your eyes. If I'd known what I was doin' I woulda been flauntin' it, practically. So I couldn't go 'round abrogatin' the 'sponsibility of the rescue mission, dig?"

Rinnosuke doesn't indicate diggin' or not-diggin'. He just stumbles backwards, findin' the nearest sturdy crate and lettin' himself sit on it, puttin' his head forwards in his hands like he's the guy in that one van Gogh painting, 'cept more Japanese and less bald. He doesn't look like he's gonna cry or anything, just like there's an unreasonably monster headache formin' behind his brows.

He sits there for a minute or so, silent, and ya watch 'im sittin', not sayin' anything either. Well, a little, anyways.

"So, um, what're we gonna do?"

Rinnosuke lifts his mug outta his knuckles painfully. "What are we going to do concerning what?"

Ya proffer the horse leg again, who's got a better grip on gettin' gestured with this time, despite not havin' anything to grip with.

"The horse's leg," Rinnosuke says.

"Yeah, the horse's leg," you confirm. "Dude's kinda in a tight spot, 'specially if witches make a comeback."

"I..." Rinnosuke takes a deep breath, on his way back to bein' more Rinnosukeishly collected again. "I'll ask around, the next time that Keine stops in. There's a temple in the human village that serves as home to a group of youkai. I can't make any promises, but..."

He trails off, but he's already gotten past the awesome part, so that's alright. "Mac," ya tell 'im, "if I wasn't holdin' onto this dude at the mo, I'd hug ya."

Rinnosuke does the whole openin'-the-mouth-but-not-sayin'-anything thing again for a tick. "I see," he says, finally.

"Yeah, no kiddin'! Though, uh, ya know I also wasn't kiddin' 'bout the whole Marisa-punchin' thing, right? 'Cause that actually was a thing, so I feel like that's gonna be consequential. Just, y'know, FYI."

This time the pause is longer. A lot longer. It's a pause Rinnosuke this time doesn't actually open his jaw, but it's still a long pause, accompanied by a sorta arcin' headtilt like the words to break it are stuck in the dude's throat and he's tryin' to ease 'em over and out all clandestine. When he does, it's just a handful, tumblin' offa his tongue one at a time, like a line of linguistic ducklings:

"This is my..."

He closes his eyes—tight, like it's another headache—then opens 'em again.

"This is my shop," he says, a lot more easily and still not totally so. "I may not be able to protect you when you leave, but...if I can keep Rumia from her usual habits, I should be able to maintain peace when Marisa comes by as well."

Huh.

No, not "huh," actually. More like:

"Whoa," ya say. "Hey, Mac—hold up a tick, will ya?"

Ya bend down and ease the horse's leg off onto the shop floor. Finally free of anyone's clutches, they just lie there for a mo—and then they stretch, all 'sperimentally, like they're just makin' sure the muscle still connects to the bone and the bone still connects to the marrow and the other stuff bone oughta connect to. And then, in one strong flex, the whole leg hops themself up from the floor and right-side-up, hoof side pointin' downwards and not-hoof side pointin' up.

And then and then, it seems to realize—yo, this is for reals, apparently? No takesies-backsies? And you can see it light up. Which is a real neat trick to pull off, 'cause no face.

Ya watch the dude prance in circles 'round ya both, jumpin' and leapin' and boundin' like they're performin' some one-legged gopak.

It looks a whole lot like a happy endin'.

Though ya don't wanna say anything concrete. There's alotta bad sequels that kill off the dude who got through the first flick first thing. Talk about a potential bummer.

And maybe Rinnosuke's got the same notion, 'cause he sighs as he turns off to do Rinnosuke stuff. And then he squawks, 'cause ya just came up behind him and threw your arms 'round his neck, and ya mean in the nicest way possible.

"What—Chri—what are you—"

"It's called a 'hug,' Mac—I warned ya." Rinnosuke's taller than you. Not a lot taller—not like a headful. But taller. Ya notice that when ya hug 'im, though ya don't know why now. Maybe 'cause only now you're talkin' into the back of his neck, but still, not like ya didn't notice it before.

Though the whole hug biz doesn't look like it's all up the dude's alley—the vocalizations and Rinnosuke-tryin'-to-throw-ya-off-ness is a clue, maybe—so ya make with the catch-and-release, slippin' off Rinnosuke's shoulders. He stumbles forwards, all divested of the weight of you all of a sudden, lookin' backwards atcha almost all woeful once he's got his footin'. It makes ya wanna laugh, but not a mean laugh, if that makes sense. More like—yo, sometimes stuff happens and it's pretty sweet! That kinda laugh.

Ya don't laugh—ya just smile, is all—but Rinnosuke wrinkles his nose anyways. "Exactly how long were you sitting inside that box?" he asks.

"Beats me," ya say. "I got to Marisa's, and then I got from Marisa's, and then from then till now? I'm sorta clockless here. Why?"

Rinnosuke looks mad uncomfy. "Ah," he says, and then he says, all way very simple: "You're perspiring."

Ya already know you're seriously sweaty here. Ya discreetly take a whiff—ya don't smell that bad, but you're overdue for some soap, anyways. "Yeah, I oughta do a bath—I'll take one of your robes, okay?"

Rinnosuke sighs again, deeper, though ya feel like something so no-one's-at-imminent-risk-of-bitin'-it as a matter of baths shouldnta gotten the huffier one. "Fine," he says.

"Sweet! Thanks, Mac!"

Ya dodge past 'im, bathwise. Ya think ya hear 'im mutter something under his breath as you're passin' by, but whatever it is, it's too muttery to catch. Enh—you're pretty sure the dude woulda said it louder if it was any important.

"Oh, by the way," ya call back, rememberin', "Marisa maybe thinks we eloped."

"What—"

 

[Chronometry]

You mind translating for us that don't know Latin?

Click to shrink...

I know that this'll probably ruin it, so, KChasm, I apologise in advance.

"Et dicetis: Hæc dicit rex: Mittite hunc in carcerem, et date ei panis modicum, et aquæ pauxillum, donec revertar in pace."

Click to shrink...

Translates roughly to "And you shall say: Thus saith the king: Put this fellow in prison, and feed him with the bread of affliction and with the water of affliction, until I return in peace."
From the context, we can assume that the crackers are pretty naff.

"Majorem hac dilectionem nemo habet, ut animam suam ponat qui pro amicis suis."

Click to shrink...

Comes out as "Greater love no man hath than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."
Which, given that Rumia is a man-eating youkai and Christie is a common or garden human, really says something to me.

As a side note, all the Latin that Rumia's issued forth so far is quoted from the Bible. Which raises the question, where exactly did she pick this up?


EDIT: I have to admit, I'm kind of cheating by using Google Translate. But only because I really want to know what Rumia's saying and I don't exactly have the free time to learn the ins and outs of a dead language.

 

[KChasm]

I know that this'll probably ruin it, so, KChasm, I apologise in advance.

Click to shrink...

Ha ha, thanks, but don't worry about ruining anything. Everything Rumia's been quoting has been from the Clementine Vulgate, the Latin translation of the Bible endorsed by the Roman Catholic Church till the twentieth century (or at least, it should be—it's more than possible that Mistakes Have Been Made). In other words, it's all googlable.

Not that I'd mind you "ruining" it if it wasn't, either. It's cool to write something and then see your readers doing their best to analyze what's going on. Really, really cool.

 

[Patcheresu]

Ha ha, thanks, but don't worry about ruining anything. Everything Rumia's been quoting has been from the Clementine Vulgate, the Latin translation of the Bible endorsed by the Roman Catholic Church till the twentieth century (or at least, it should be—it's more than possible that Mistakes Have Been Made). In other words, it's all googlable.

Not that I'd mind you "ruining" it if it wasn't, either. It's cool to write something and then see your readers doing their best to analyze what's going on. Really, really cool.

Click to shrink...

I googled any particular line she said and was linked to a multilingual online Bible.

I do appreciate some good Latin, and a Bible quoting Rumia makes tons of sense considering her name, attitude, and strange knowledge of Christ.

 

[Chronometry]

and strange knowledge of Christ.

Click to shrink...

...oh, derp. I completely forgot about her line from Embodiment of Scarlet Devil in regards to her unique pose:

Doesn't it look like it says "The saint was crucified on the cross?"

Click to shrink...

Which still doesn't answer the important question of where a Japanese youkai would gain such extensive knowledge of the Latin Bible.

 

[HavocKeeper]

Which still doesn't answer the important question of where a Japanese youkai would gain such extensive knowledge of the Latin Bible.

Click to shrink...

Rinnosuke said thing forgotten about end up in Gensokyo, so it's not too much of a stretch to assume that she found one in the forest one day. How a Japanese Youkai learns Latin is the real question.