Grim and I work together to haul around a heavy, rotted plank to chuck out onto the lawn. It'll have to stay there until we've decided what else to do with it. Once we've added it to the pile of other logs on the lawn, I wipe at my hands and look around to see what everyone else helping out is up to. Keeping watch nearby is one of Grim's temporary tutors, a tall and fiercely intimidating man named Divus Crewel.
When I asked Grim about what kind of guy he was, they said this is the person they were trying to avoid running into at the Club Fair, and they emphasized the professor having a penchant for things relating to dogs.
I can see that now that I've been officially introduced to the professor. With a strange chained pointer dangling from his outstretched hand, the stern teacher has been pointing every which way, barking orders at the two of us and our ghostly friends, telling us what to grab and where to take it next.
Although I'd been doing fine renovating the Ramshackle house all on my own, Sir Crowley assigned Professor Crewel to be our overseer when Grim made a formal—and in my opinion, completely unfair—complaint about my interior decorating skills. I wanted a retro y2k-vibe attached to the new dorm. Grim wanted everything to be expensive and plated in gold, with their signature attached to all the furniture. We obviously can't afford to live that richly.
Not that we could afford my idea either, but I still wanted to go with it.
So this teacher, Mr. Crewel, and another staff member have taken time out of their next couple of afternoons to come by and help us whittle down our ideas. Professor Crewel suggested we work one room at a time, so we're starting with the parlor. With how close it is to the front door, it's where Grim and I have taken to sleeping after our long days at work and schooling.
I'm glad it was one of the first places I tackled in my renovation project. Over the past three days, I've managed to fix most of the parlor's biggest walking hazards. The floorboards have been replaced and smoothed out, and I've managed to seal a majority of the cracks and holes in the walls, keeping out the draft of the empty lawn outside from leaking in.
Feeling the burn in my arms from helping Grim carry old planks, I take a break to hang back, and ask Grim to go out and fetch their new bedding in the meantime. Once they're out of sight, I wander to the side to bother Grim's panda-colored professor for a while.
"Evening professor," I greet while sliding to sit on the grass next to him.
"If it isn't the yippy one. What brings you here?"
"I thought I'd make some small talk." The professor rolls his hand in the air to indicate for me to continue on, and so I do, asking, "This isn't a particularly pressing question, but there's something I've been wondering: is that your natural hair color? Having one side black and one side white?"
Before answering, Professor Crewel drags out a vape pod kept snug in his slacks and hits it, blowing out a sweet vanilla scent to the open air. It wraps around the hollows of my mask and momentarily envelopes me in a vivid memory of buying cakes, and sweet breads, and all manner of sweets for everyone back at the group home.
I wonder how everyone back in my world is doing...?
"You know little mutt, I haven't a clue what your world is like, but in this world it's considered quite rude to question someone's appearance." I shake my head a little as Mr. Crewel's curt reply unceremoniously snaps me out of my reverie.
"Is it? I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to ask it in a rude way. It's just, where I'm from, people aren't born with green and blue and white hair. It's usually either black, brown, blond, or very rarely, red."
"Hah! Is that so? What a drab land you hail from."
"I wouldn't call it drab. Besides, plenty of people dye their hair in my world."
"Hm. I assume that's why you asked if I had dyed mine then?" Professor Crewel reaches out his hand, kept safe from the elements by a red leather glove, and lightly curves his index finger around the round edge of where my mask ends across my face. "Since you've brought it up, I've been wondering much the same on your end. Ugh, look at how woefully unkempt and discolored this is... I dare you to say this is your virgin hair."
"It's not." He nods and lets go and I try to smooth out my head from his judgment.
"Thought so. I would have been quite irate if you'd said it was." The professor adjusts his output and goes to take another sweet puff of vanilla air. After his throat's cleared, he asks, "Are you wearing extensions? If so, you paid way too much for them. You ought to find a better groomer."
"They're not extensions, either. It's a wig. I only bought it for a small play I was in, but it glued itself to me when I came here."
The older man tucks away his vape, looking over all the while in mild fascination at my claims. "So you'd been cursed on your way into Twisted Wonderland. That's only natural, though. Traveling across worlds will inevitably have some effect on your body. You'd best bark for joy that your affliction wasn't anything worse."
Cursed? I wonder what he means by that. I address that by asking, "You think what happened to me was caused by a curse?"
"Surely. Fret not, little mutt; based on my limited reading into this very subject, I can assure you the chance that your curse will last you a lifetime is low," the professor assuages with a confident cross of his arms.
Now he's really got my attention. "Mind telling me what all you've learned, professor? Any info at this point might help the Headmage and I find a way back home."
The older man rolls his eyes, yet still graces me with a thought out reply. "Very well. I'll throw you a bone this once. I've actually read quite a few biographies of travelers that've come to our world before you. Numerous outlanders have undergone transformations, such as shrinking in size, or gaining magical properties that their bodies never expressed before coming here."
"Strange. It seems to mostly be physical stuff."
The professor nods and continues, "Correct. Among every book I'd read, my favorite is of a man who became a great beast. It's said he was so ghastly, so frightening to cross upon, that he was exiled into the uninhabitable mountains of the Shaftlands by the first townsfolk he'd stumbled into. By the time the man was found again, years had passed, and he could no longer speak. He'd become incapable of communicating with other humans, and so he was taken in my researchers who thought him a new species of bear. They had plans to sell him off to a sanctuary once they were through with him."
"Poor guy..." Mr. Crewel stops his recount as a pitiful sigh escapes me, and he turns his head down towards me while sporting a smirk.
"Must you pups always whinge prematurely? I haven't even finished my story."
I cross my arms and quiet down, urging him on. "Sorry, professor. Please continue?"
"Fine. The man underwent various experiments until his blood samples eventually came back as testing for human DNA. Once the researchers had put everything together, they entered him into a rehabilitation program and gradually helped him regain some of his humanity." Mr. Crewel rubs at his chin for a moment, appearing to recall what happens next in the story. He adds, "It took a year or so for him to learn to read, write, and speak again, and he decided to publish his tale in a memoir."
"Sounds like he got lucky with how everything turned out," I comment. "How long ago did this person live? Did he live happily ever after, or anything like that?"
"You could say that. According to an article from a few years back, he's married a fellow beastman for a husband, and they've peacefully stowed away in the same mountains he'd been exiled to."
"That's a relief. I'm happy for him." Still, this is the first time I've heard anything about other travelers to this world. I bring it up by noting, "Headmage Crowley never told me there were other people from other worlds that came here. I thought I might've been the only one."
Professor Crewel idly twirls around his pointer in his fingers and scowls a bit after mulling over my words. "Of course that old dog forgot to mention any of this to you... hmph. Since you're technically a fellow staff member, I'll lend you a word of advice, young mutt. Repeat anything you discuss with the headmage back to Professor Trein. He's far more likely to keep track of your needs and requests."
"If you say so. Professor Trein teaches History, right?" I ask, trying to picture the face of the professor he's talking about.
"Yes. He's also the man who'll stand as acting Headmage should anything happen to Dire, hence my advice."
I almost didn't recognize the headmage's first name, after he'd scolded me for using it on my first day. "Understood," I reply, "I'll keep note of that for later. Thanks for the tip, professor."
I personally don't know Mr. Trein all that well. Grim's told me he's a bit old, and has a pet cat that he brings into class, and apparently he's known as a mean, strict teacher.
Much like Professor Crewel and his preceding reputation though, I'm sure the professor Trein can't be all that bad. He's clearly trustworthy, considering his side-job is being Vice Headmage. And as my own anecdote, from the couple times I've run into him in the hallways, he's made sure to give me a spot of praise for helping keep the school clean.
I follow the professor's eyes as he redirects some of our ghost friends to go inside and rearrange the few pieces of furniture we have laid in there.
Finished with giving his advice, Crewel loses his interest in conversing for the time being and begins to wave me off. He leans back in his chair, away from me, and sighing, "You'd best get back to work. I don't have all day to stand around and play with you; you'll be hosting a few guests in about an hour's time."
Hint taken. I wonder who's coming by? Not wanting to bother him by asking about it, I nod and stop lounging around, excusing myself with, "I'll get back to it, then. See you again soon, professor!"
"Yes, yes, go on now, you silly little stray."
I wave back at him, ignoring the slight he threw at me, and return to work inside the house as Grim has finished fluffing up their new couch cushions.
"Look minion! This one has fluffy cat ears stitched onto it! They're cute, right?"
I pet the fabric to see how it feels, and then return to stroking Grim's own ears, preferring them over anything else. Grim soaks in my affectionate rubs and pulls away when they feel satisfied, leaving me to reply, "It's pretty cute. Nothing compares to your ears, though."
"Yeah, I knew you'd say that. Nya-hah, I've trained you well!" they purr back. "Now help me throw all of these stupid blankets around the place before that canine creep puts a collar on me for slackin' off."
"He wouldn't do that Grim, he's a nice man. And didn't you say he only likes dogs?" I now ask seriously, glancing back at the professor I just finished talking to. He's right back to playing conductor, comfy at his station and talking more with the Ramshackle ghosts about something. Grim flattens their ears and whispers back to me, keeping their large eyes glued on the professor to make sure he isn't listening in on us.
"He isn't nice at all. He's a creep! I would ditch all the classes I got with him if I could!"
"Look, you don't need to worry, Grim," I insist while pulling up one end of a fleece blanket, "he's not going to do anything to you. Come on—let's finish setting up our beds. The ghosts and I'll make you a quick dinner after we meet our guests, then you can rest up as much as you want."
"For real?! Finally, time for some grub! I've been starvin' all day." Grim tugs on the other end of the blanket, taking the lead to climb up and drape the covers over our new chaise. I now hand over their kitty-eared pillow and watch as they plop onto its stomach, puffing it up with small paws before finding a nice dip to curl into.
Unfortunately, as soon as Grim has found a groove to rest within, there's a stomping sound that breaks our easygoing vibe, and to accompany it, the ground begins to practically shake and break apart at its newly-set seams. Grim yelps and raises their head, looking towards the door, and I look with them to find a burly man with a bright red shirt tearing across his chest beaming at us.
Resting on his shoulder is a nice coffee table, and curled in his other arm are two small stools to match.
"I have returned!"
"Welcome back, Coach Vargas!" I greet as I admire the beautiful set of furniture in his arms. The coach shouts back in response, and for whatever reason, literally throws the items in his hands down onto the floor, allowing them to crash into the recently polished wood with a loud shattering sound.
... I'm pretty sure that coffee table was made of glass.
"There. Your goods have been delivered, as promised. Hah!" the coach boasts, side-stepping the mess he's made to instead trot up to Grim and I. Grim cowards away and covers their body with their new pillow, leaving me alone to service the mass of muscle approaching us.
Trying to keep my mind off the enormous mess behind him, I flick my sight up to the coach and pat the lounge chair beside me to take. He does so, and there's another suspicious groan from the legs of the chair, though again, we pay it no mind. Probably for the best.
Polite and cheerful, I say, "Thanks for helping us out today, coach. I don't think we'd have gotten even half this room cleaned out if you hadn't volunteered to assist us."
"Nonsense! With a big enough coop built on the yard and proper weight training, you could've easily hauled all this furniture from Sam's shop to the house in a day."
I'm already lost. "'A big enough coop', sir?"
"That's right. You know, for the chickens!" Ah. "Little man, take it from me—chickens are a great source of protein. If you amass a farm large enough, you could easily survive off eggs and chicken breasts alone. In fact, I've done it before! Let me show you pictures from my time as a ranch-hand years ago."
This'll be something. Not bothering to wait for Grim nor I to respond, the large man retrieves a dwarfish looking cell phone from his pocket and flips through his gallery until he's landed on a series of images of him in an ill-fitting set of ranching clothes. In the picture he's currently shoving up to my mask, he's kneeled on the ground and lovingly squeezing the life out of a group of hens in his lap. It's actually kind of cute.
He pulls back and laughs to himself at how great he thinks the picture is before setting his phone down beside us, on the clearly-shattered coffee table. "I'll come up with a training regiment for the two of you to follow tomorrow. Maybe I'll even call Sam up to see if he can't wrangle together a couple of hens in the shop! Wouldn't that be something? You'd have a healthy supply of food, right in your own backyard!"
Even our resident food lover Grim gets a noticeable shiver down their spine at the coach's idea. They shimmy their head out of their pillow hideout enough to meow back, "Erm, I'll just stick with my tuna dinners..."
"You'll need a lot more than tuna to put on these kinds of muscles, Grim-my-boy!"
"I don't want your muscles!" Grim protests. "I just wanna eat some of my minion's yucky food and relax on my awesome new bed."
"Pah. You're whiny, but you've got the right spirit; a proper night's rest is one of the best ways to prime your muscles and mind-muscles for strengthening," the coach states excitedly. "We'll get back to working your core another day, then!"
The larger man now raises up, showing a magnificent indent in our new cushions from the crush of his weight on top of them. Before he struts out of the room by himself, I follow after and meet him at the front door with Professor Crewel and one of the Ramshackle ghosts.
"Thank you two again for helping us out today. We'd have been lost without your keen eye, Mr. Crewel. And it would've taken forever to bring all the furniture up if Coach Vargas didn't hop in to help."
The dog-obsessed teacher smiles to himself and tosses his hand around in the air, replying, "It was nothing, really. I expect you'll need our help again soon, so I'll keep my schedule open for the next few days. Just make sure you brush and hang-dry the throws when you wash them. I won't forgive you if you let precious fur go to waste with little care."
"Isn't it all fake fur?"
"Fake or not, treat your new wares as well as you'd treat a show dog. No one wants to use or look at a mangy mutt, right?"
Not a fan of the way he phrased that, but I get the point he's trying to make. I agree to maintain good upkeep of the blankets and walk the two staff members out the front door when they begin to retreat together.
"Goodnight! See you in the morning!" I call as they walk down the lawn. The coach turns back and flexes his muscles in the shaft of light illuminating him from the hallway.
"Rest up, lads! We'll resume training tomorrow afternoon!"
- Night Raven College -
- Ramshack—
Oh, wait. Our next guests are already on their way up the lawn. I thought Grim and I would be waiting a while longer to meet them.
Following the two teachers walking down the sidewalk, up strolls a trio of new people that Grim and I will be hosting for a short while. I have to squint for a good while to make out the three figures on the darkening lawn, but eventually I'm able to identify two students, one with orange-red hair and one with silver hair, and a tall adult that appears to be wearing a staff badge. I believe I've seen them walking in and out of the faculty building.
They come together to the front door and I politely usher them inside. "Good evening! Professor Crewel said people would be stopping by."
"That'd be us!" The red-head student nods and flashes a cute peace sign up to their eyes, declaring themselves as, "Cater Diamond, at your service! To my left is the ever-so pretty, ever-so sleepy mister Silver—aha, he's awake right now, I promise—and this is our adviser for the night, Admiral Rogers. You must be You?"
Cater seems familiar to me... actually, I think he was one of the people accompanying Riddle and Deuce at the Club Fair. "Mhm. I'm You, and this is my friend, Grim," I say after I gather my thoughts, gesturing towards the animal lounging inside the house. "Please, come in. Don't mind any mess; we just finished cleaning up for the day."
Cater, Silver, and Mr. Rogers all oblige my requests and step inside, sitting down in our newly furnished living room, and all expertly ignoring the broken furniture Coach Vargas threw down.
Before much ice breaking can be done, Cater preoccupies himself by snapping pictures with his phone, and Silver turns to place a weirdly hard stare aimed my way. And their adviser, the adviser for... I don't even know what yet, is scanning one wild eye all across the room while the other remains hidden behind an eye patch.
Seeing as we're both staff members in some way, I figure I should reach out his way first. "Pleasure to meet you, Admiral. What are you advising tonight?"
"Huh? What?" he huffs, looking at me again. "Is that me you're talkin' to?"
I go to reply, only to find Cater swooping to my side and smiling wide, his phone glued to his hand and showing a video paused on it. He explains in the older man's stead, "Our great Admiral here tagged along to oversee our tour of NRC!"
"Bwah, tour? Did someone say tour? What's all that about?" Grim grumbles, popping open a hazy blue eye to regard us all at last.
Silver speaks up this time. "Headmage Crowley tasked Cater and I with touring the two of you around campus."
"Yup yup. Silver and I are part of the NRC Welcoming Committee! And the admiral here is our adviser, as I said. His job is to make sure we don't go trouncing in places students aren't allowed," adds Cater with a flourish of his arms. "As your guides for this evening, our task tonight is to give you and your cutesey little puppy friend here a good lay of the land, and walk you through all of our glorious academies, well, glories!"
The idea of going on a semi-official tour of the campus appeals to me immensely, though Grim is less than pleased, as they argue, "What? I didn't sign up for no tour! If I wanted to get to know the layout of the school, I'd just walk around myself!"
Not wanting to seem ungrateful to the headmage and our tour guides, I lean back to placate Grim with pets, and then return my attention to Silver and Cater.
"I'm thankful you've all come by to help, but is there any chance we could reschedule this tour? It's getting late, and I don't want Grim losing out on sleep. They have a lot of studying to do after school tomorrow." After laughing at my suggestion, Cater speaks again.
"Aw, what a kind friend you are! Don't worry, don't worry, this tour is extra special! I call it," he pauses and props up his cell on a desk nearby so that we can all view it, "the 'Magicam Comps: A Virtual Tour of Night Raven College for Freshies, feat. Cater and Silver!'"
Seated next to me, the admiral suddenly claps with great vigor, prompting Cater to bow, and for Silver and I to do the same. I know not what we are clapping for, but that's alright.
I ask, while glancing at the phone set up nearby, "Does that mean we're just watching a pre-recorded tour?"
"Yes, and no. This will be a more immersed experience than that," claims Silver. There's a beat that passes as he pulls a small book from his pocket. Staring down at it, Silver begins quietly reciting, "During this virtual tour, Cater and I will be narrating you through each scene as though we are in it. The experience will be so vivid that it will be virtually indistinguishable from our standard, in-person tours." Right when he finishes speaking, he tucks the book away.
I guess someone gave him lines to read?
"Well said, Silver! You guys just sit back and keep your eyes glued to the front, 'kay?" Cater comes back in with some reassurance, and since I have no other reasons to question this whole thing, I relinquish the floor to him and Silver.
Grim scoffs and splays out onto my lap to watch the show, and Mr. Rogers leans back onto the sofa and... tugs down his hat to presumably nap. Fair enough. He's probably seen this tour dozens of times.
Cater now plays his video. In it, he's hooked his phone onto a selfie stick and is recording himself at the front gates of the school. Silver can be seen in the background, looking at his companion as the diamond-tattooed student begins to set the scene.
"Welcome to Night Raven College, the most distinguished arcane academy on the Isle of Sages—asterisk! Today, Silver and I will be showcasing every nook and cranny of our beloved campus, so that you, adorable new student that you may be, will be more than prepared to survive your first few weeks here!" Grim and I tilt our heads in unison. Did the Cater in the video just say asterisk aloud? Before I can even question it, the boy in the recording quickly tacks on, "Asterisk-slash-disclaimer: Night Raven College is the most distinguished arcane academy on the northern side of the Isle of Sages; the staff, students, and other guests of NRC will not be sharing any comments on our rival school, Royal Sword Academy, in this production."
"What's Royal Sword Academy?" I ask under my breath, having not heard of this school yet in my time here. Cater merely looks back at me and winks, without any offer to explain.
Silver and Cater from the video speak again, narrating the walk from the gates to the central courtyard, which is sandwiched between the Gymnasium, Faculty House, Clock Tower, and Sam's Mystery Shop.
Just as Cater begins to explain the quadrant of directions one can take, Silver hustles to stand in front of us, and sticks his arms out in a t-pose. Then, he rigidly turns in small increments to point to the directions Cater is narrating.
"Wh-what in the heck are you doing?" Grim asks, utterly baffled at the sight before us.
"I am the signpost, directing you on where to go," Silver explains with nonchalance. He continues pointing around, until video-Cater specifies the audience to look at the Gymnasium, and it's now that Silver whirls around on his feet and... points directly at our fireplace.
Grim and I stare at it, as though waiting for it to magically morph into said gym, though no such thing happens. As expected. Tearing my eyes away, I look back to the mannequin that is Silver, and ask him about what we're supposedly looking at.
"Are you going to magically recreate a model of the gym in my living room—?"
"Please allow my colleague Cater to answer your questions."
"Ah. Sorry." I look to Cater, only to find him also pointing, but at his video. His pre-recorded self ventures into the building and describes its purpose and amenities in great detail, likely for documentation purposes, but then when he gets to talking about the sports clubs that use the gym for practice, the real Cater quickly shouts:
"Silver! It's time for sports team formation one!"
"Understood."
Both of us startled, Grim and I turn from the video and watch in fascination as Cater jogs to the other side of the room and stands as tall as he can. Still posted near us, Silver drops his pose and crouches a bit, suddenly dribbling around an unseen basketball.
Cater provides a fun form of audio accompaniment by making booming sounds every time the invisible ball hits the ground, but when Silver goes for a long shot into his arm-hoop, he shakes his head and laughs.
"Whoops! You missed, friend."
Silver stands back up, his eyes wide. "I did? ... I see. Allow me to try again."
"Y'know this is all pretend, right Silver?" Grim scoffs, their tiny head shaking in disapproval. Silver either doesn't hear what they say, or he pays their words no mind, and attempts another throw after a moment.
One that... also misses. As does the next one. And the next.
Perhaps as a true testament to their roleplay, the welcome committee duo continue down the line and demonstrate some other sports clubs, including volleyball, horseback riding, track and field, and tennis. Following that, they leave the "gymnasium" and return to the central plaza.
The tour continues through to introduce us to the other buildings around the main campus, save for the Faculty's Quarters, and after a while it marches its way towards the Hall of Mirrors and Botanical Gardens. Cater ends up using the sprouts I'd planted this morning as a showcase for the gardens, which really does help create the atmosphere of an actual garden, but his floral magic also mutated one of the plants into something a little odd. By a little odd, I mean very odd. We have a tree in our foyer, now. I'll figure out what to do about that later.
The expertly crafted tour continues into the night, with the admiral even stirring awake for the latter half. Although as if switching shifts with the older man, Silver decided to take his spot on the sofa, and promptly passed out for a long while. That gave Cater some grief, as he had to try and wake his companion up to no avail, but Admiral Rogers was dutiful enough to step in and continue narrating the tour in his own unique spin on it.
He fancies using seafarer's lingo a lot, and made sure to integrate some factoid about life out on the waters into every location he took over for. It was fun to listen to, even if not very educational on the front of getting to know the school's layout more intimately.
As I'm stepping away to store away a small bowl of snacks I'd brought out earlier in the night, I can hear Admiral boasting about his time with his old shipmates, and how he'd once visited another country that nobody here has ever heard of. Unfortunately, I'm too far away to catch the name of said place.
"Do you venture by water often, Admiral?" I ask to keep him occupied, as Cater works again to wake up Silver. The teacher looks up to me when I pass by, and then he nods, a proud smirk on his bearded face.
"Often as I can! No day goes by where I don't be dreamin' of saltwater in m'eye, and seagulls sat atop these locks. Keep this li'l here a secret between us, but I'm fixin' to take some promising new hands with me to that new island they be raisin' off the coast! Call it a 'school trip', or whatever ol' Crowley will wanna hear it labeled as."
Cater's head snaps our way, his eyes lit up in glee at what he's overheard. "You mean, that ultra lux survival island that had its grand reopening last year?" Before I can even think to ask him to elaborate, he does so of his own accord, and boasts, "My sisters stayed at the resort side, and sent me pics of their time there! I was so jelly when I looked through them. If you're able to cobble together that school trip of yours, Admiral, do me a big favor and add little Cay-Cay here to your group of attendees!"
Silver finally stirs awake, his multicolored eyes scanning the room in a slow manner. Once it seems he's pulled himself together enough to join in the conversation, he looks between his fellow committee members and seems as unaware of this island resort place as Grim and I am.
Sleepily, he asks in our place, "This island you both speak of, is it the one that was being renovated off the eastern port? I think Father has made mention of wanting to visit there."
"Mhm, that's the one! Before you enrolled, it used to only house a failed hotel chain; nobody ever wanted to stay because of its scary flora and fauna, and also I mean, both Craneport and the Sage village are right there if you want cool destination spots. But a while back, some mega rich dude bought out the island, and turned the dangerous half of it into a gimmicky, extreme tourism-type spot!"
"You're tellin' me that dumb humans will pay to go to a place that they might die in?" Grim chides, sounding off their disappointment in humanity for the billionth time this week. It isn't until a scheme comes to their head that they change tune. "Hmm, actually, that's kinda smart of the new island owner to make it a selling point. They must be making a ton of moolah off that place now that it's all shiny and new, yeah?"
"Oh, you bet!" Cater pinches his thumb and index fingers together, rubbing them in circles. "That place is making bank. If you go onto their website and look at the prices for their summer vacay packages, you'll find they'll cost you a leg! Or, well, maybe more like an ankle. Their tickets are expensive for students like us, but not too bad for working adults."
"Ehe, that's just fine by me! Earning cents is still earning money. Maybe I'll open up a Grim's Snacks Stand there someday, and mooch off the resort's success...!"
I'm not too shocked that this is the line of thought Grim is going down. As for me, I'm a little stuck in a loop of questions: if a vacation to the resort would be considered too expensive for students to attend despite being built next to a popular arcane academy, and the experience is supposedly dangerous enough that the initial concept of exploring the island was abandoned, then why in the world would Admiral Rogers want to bring students there for a school trip? What part of facing near-death could be considered an educational venture?
I glance over at the man to my right and consider asking his reasoning, though as I look to him, my eyes pass over our new clock on the wall, and it occurs to me that we're running out of time to talk. I can't afford to host everyone for much longer—Grim will lose out on too much sleep.
"Excuse me, but is it possible for us to wrap up this virtual tour for now? Could we pencil in the rest of it for some other time this week?" I ask as nicely as I can. "Grim's curfew is coming up within the hour."
Silver nods alongside my words, then defers the response to Cater, who flips through his phone and smiles over something he's seeing.
"Gotcha! Just a moment, You. I can finish out our tour right now, so that you don't need to stretch your schedule out even thinner for us!" He sets the phone back up with a brand new compilation loaded on the screen, and as he hovers his finger over the play button, he puts on a more tense voice. "Okay Silver, you ready to exact tour-overtime plan C?"
Grim and I quickly cast our attention upon Silver, whose eyes were drooping closed again, and who is now startled back into reality. "Ah? Plan C, you said? Yes. I'm indeed ready to enact it, Cater. Commence the video at any time," he replies after collecting himself. And once again, Grim and I move our heads at the same time to Cater and the phone.
Silver moves closer and nestles comfortably into our vision so that we don't have to keep risking whiplash in our necks, though I remain unprepared for what comes a second later.
Right when Cater starts the autoplay, the screen is overwhelmed by a low-quality, double-time speed slideshow of images that are clearly taken by Professor Trein. Each image is of various school landmarks, all taken at less than flattering angles, and each having noticeable blurs to them either from the older man moving during the shot, or from his cat Lucius walking through the image.
"That's the Headmage's Office; the headmage practically dorms there! And that's the Mirror Hall! Every new student gets judged and assigned various tropes there!" Cater shouts as the slideshow proceeds, startling me a bit. "This is our Cafeteria. It's self-explanatory. Our school Infirmary—also self-explanatory. And here are our many, many wings of the school! Ready? Wing one, wing two, wing three, wing four—"
Ah. The slideshow is officially too fast for my eyes to register what's being shown. At least Cater is listing off every area as best he can, with as much enthusiasm as he can put forth.
Just as impressive, Silver is continuing his job of being a prop off to the side. As Cater spouts off the location names at hyper speed, Silver matches his pace, posing flawlessly at every beat. What are the objects and landmarks he's posing as? I truly can't tell, but I'm not going to shirk his efforts in maintaining his role. Either he's had to enact this Plan C of theirs a lot, or he's a prodigy with this kind of improvisation.
Grim covers their eyes, appearing to cringe. "This school is full of weirdos..."
I don't comment on that, as I'm enthralled with the hilarious performance in front of me. By its end, and with Cater's voice not cracking even once from lack of oxygen or from announcing a couple dozen location names, the admiral and I are on our feet and are applauding the Welcome Committee for their great virtual tour.
"Well done, you two!" I say earnestly, handing a cloth to Silver to wipe his forehead with. "Despite not understanding half the things you were saying after we'd passed the Wishing Tree, I still thoroughly enjoyed that tour. You guys make a good team for this kind of thing."
"Thank you, thank you!" Cater purrs, resetting the pins in his hair as he fans away at his own sweat. If only we had working air conditioning.
"Yes, thank you for your feedback. It is invaluable to us. And rest assured, sir You, that I'll wash and return your handkerchief with haste."
I wave off Silver's suggestion. "No need. Keep it, or do whatever else you want with it. I've got plenty in storage." The second year student accepts this without fuss, and makes his way to the entrance to depart at last.
"Goodnight to you, and to Grim. If you have the chance, be sure to see the headmage, and request from him a satisfaction survey to fill from our tour tonight."
Cater helps Admiral Rogers up to his feet and tugs him over to the door, and as he hears Silver's request, he grins and coos at his companion. "Aww, Silvey, you remembered to ask our audience to fill it out this time! #proud-Cater-moment!" Pfft. They're funny.
"Next time I see Sir Crowley, I promise I'll fill out that survey of yours and let the committee know how enjoyable this was," I happily inform the three men crowding around my front porch.
"Great! See you around the campus, then, You! Oh, and before I forget, go ahead and follow me on Magicam. My username is—"
"Thank you. Your cooperation is very much appreciated, sir—"
"While yer at it, tell that ol' crow that Barty's wantin' more funds for some classes to be held on ships! I gots a few docked on the harbor already—"
They all cut each other off, muddling their sentences and forcing me to just nod along like I heard everything that was said.
"Mhm, will do," I say mindlessly. "Goodnight! See you all around sometime!"
Our guests leave back down the pathway, and I close the front doors before the cool night air permeates the remaining warmth of Grim's draftless parlor. As I head back inside, I'm quickly joined by one of the ghosts, who took the time that the others were leaving with to fetch a few pot holders. He floats alongside me as we return to the coffee table in the living room, and in just a couple of minutes, we've set up a small griddle and cutting board, with carrots and scallions and other small ingredients laid out.
Despite being a cat in appearance, the Ramshackle ghosts and I have come to find that Grim has a lot of odd dietary allowances compared to a normal house pet, and they have an absolute sinkhole of a stomach. They cannot go an hour without letting someone at the house know how hungry they are. I'd even say that "I'm starving!" is Grim's catchphrase. A good runner-up would be something like, "Hench-human, come help me with this!"
The ghosts suddenly switch out positions, and the lankiest of the them swoops to the griddle and scrambles some eggs as I get to work knifing the veggies to add to our packs of cheap ramen.
Out of curiosity, I look to my fellow cook and carefully slow my chopping to talk to him. "Do you need me to get any seasonings for you?"
"I'm alright, I've already added them. What about you, traveler? Do you need anything?"
"I'm alright," I say back. We go into silence and let each other work, until a pressing question comes back to mind. "Do you mind if I ask you something personal?"
"Mm?" the ghost hums, not looking away from his task.
"I want to ask what your name is, if you have one, or remember it. I realized this morning that I'd never asked you for your name, nor your friends' names."
"Oh you know... I'm the same as you, traveler!" he explains, "I've long since forgotten my name. I'm always with the other two, and we don't have much need to call each other by names. We consider them living-people luxuries."
Hm. I remember this coming up in a similar conversation last night, one that had taken place after Grim had gone to bed and I was up late cleaning again. The ghosts kept me company as I was cleaning, and kindly answered a few questions I had about the life—er, the lingering of ghosts. The three of them mentioned that they go through cycles of reliving their memories, and sometimes they have periods of time where they hardly remember existing in the first place.
They didn't lament their circumstances, yet I felt a bit upset in their stead. The same feeling washing over me again, I go on to quietly ask, "You don't feel sad about not remembering your own name?"
"Not at all. If it bothered me so much, I'd just open up a book and pick a name I like from it."
Grim, who's been playing around on their new bed this entire time, stops rolling around and decides to insert themselves and their opinions to our talk.
They suggest excitedly, "Hey, hey, in that case, why don't I name ya? This bozo human wouldn't let me pick their name out, but I swear, I have a lotta good ideas in this noggin'!"
As long as it isn't related to being a minion, it should be fine. I humor Grim and ask, "What've you got in mind for him then, Grim?"
"Hmm, hmm, hmm. How about the big guy can be called Ghoster, you'll be Ghostie, and that last guy will be Ghostum!"
"Ghostie, Ghoster, and Ghostum?" I repeat, subtly looking to 'Ghostie' for his reaction. His usual gentle smile is stuck to his opaque face, so I assume he isn't offended. "I thought you'd suggest something like 'Grim's great henchman' or 'Grim's loyal bodyguard!', you know?"
The pompous Great Grim swipes a paw over their chest and proclaims, "No way! These roaming marshmallows aren't good enough to serve me yet. All this guy and his buddies do is float around the house to make noise! And you're always eavesdroppin' on my conversations, Ghostie! Maybe when you learn some manners, I'll let you become one of my faithful servants."
It's oddly heartwarming that the minion-related names seem to only be reserved for me thus far. Our friend thusly nicknamed Ghostie takes everything Grim says in stride, and generously scoops our fuzzy friend's serving of noodles into a small dish for them to eat, even going as far as to distribute a portion of the items I've already cut into the bowl as well.
The ghost then replies in a soft tone, "Ghostie, huh? You know what? That's a good enough name for me! I'll adopt it. Thanks for the suggestion, kitty cat."
"You're welcome! I told you my names were good." Grim's cute smile falls, and they quickly tack on, "But stop calling me a cat."
Ghostie just laughs in response. All's well that ends well. "In that case, it's a pleasure to meet you again, Ghostie!" I say, putting out a hand to shake. Ghostie does the same, and I feel the fascinating sensation of a hand gripping mine, while also phasing through it to the top layers of my nerves. It tickles.
"Good to meet you again too, You. Now if you won't mind me, I'll be leaving the rest of this to your care. And I'll let the others know about our knew names," he ends with a raspy, amused laugh.
"Sure, not a problem. Tell the others I said hi," I reply, cleaning off our cooking utensils and shutting off the power to the griddle now that we've got Grim's small meal cooked up. "And come back in if you need anything!" Ghostie nods at me and gently moves through the living room walls to some other area of the house I have yet to clean.
Now that all guests are gone, Grim's belly is full, and the ghosts are busy, I take the half-asleep not-cat in my arms and gently place them back onto their bed, watching fondly as they wrap their short arms around their new pillow to hug it. They snuggle into their bed even more when I tuck a flap of the blanket over their paws.
I'm personally not tired yet, so although I'd like to join Grim in a nice, long bout of sleep, I back away and wander upstairs to do some more work with my remaining energy.
- Night Raven College -
- Ramshackle House -
A fine layer of dust covers the rag I've swiped over the windowsill, yet when I look over the space to see if I've missed any spots, I notice there's still a lot of cobwebs and smudges marking the wood. An exhausted yawn escapes me at the sight, and I go to rinse off the cloth until a movement outside on the lawn catches my drooping eyes.
Beautiful flurries of green specks flow in a circle until they come together in a dance, focused on twirling around a singular spot in the grass. As they dissipate into the night, they slowly reveal the form of a tall figure donned in a black and lime green school uniform. Fixed to the top of their silky black hair are a twisting pair of horns.
And suddenly I'm wide awake again! I feel like I have a million and one questions to ask this person, but I don't even know where to begin. I should probably start by procuring a name.
I had made a half-hearted attempt to question Ghostum and Ghoster about this mystery student traversing the lawn, though they had little information to give me. Actually, they seemed more like they were purposefully keeping info from me, though I can't determine a reason why that would be the case. The two ghosts seemed to recognize who I was speaking of, and they were very much amused by my descriptors of, "It's someone who travels around by turning into horde of green lightning bugs", and, "I think this person might be part-reptile, or something, because they have horns, but not like goat horns or anything, but just horns that spiral upwards", and so on and so forth.
Unfortunately, their help ended at poking fun at me for not being a good storyteller, and for not asking for a name the first time I ran into the student below. Ghostum hinted that he's from the dorm of the dragons—which I had no idea was a thing—and that he's always kept to himself when he's stopped by Ramshackle, and... that was about it. They clammed up after that, and merely encouraged me to speak with the man myself, should he ever drop by again.
Lucky for me that he kept his promise, and returned to the estate tonight. So soon, too. Here I thought maybe we would only meet once, and that would be it. Pleased to finally speak with the mystery that's been plaguing my idle thoughts, I move to unlatch the attic window with a smile hidden beneath my mask. When there's enough room for me to poke my head through the rusted opening, I lean out and cup a hand to my mouth, animatedly shouting down to the unsuspecting man, "Oh, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?"
His shoulders jump for a moment, and soon a pair of glowing green eyes find their way up to me, lidding slightly as the man pushes a finger to his lips and hides a growing grin.
"'Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this...?' Good evening, young You. Whatever are you doing all the way up there, with such a speckled face of dirt? Reading through dusted play texts, I presume?"
It's interesting that Shakespeare's works are not only a thing in this world, but also that he knows of them. Unless, of course, someone other than Shakespeare penned Romeo and Julius in this dimension. I'm beginning to wonder if there's more linking our two worlds together than I'd originally thought.
"Ah, you know, I'm just practicing my Juliet impression. I say her lines a little too robotically, though," I joke with a light shrug and a swift wipe to my unclean mask. "Oh, and don't let him know this, but I'm also admiring this handsome guy that suddenly appeared at my doorstep. Trying to be secretive about it, so that he doesn't catch on, you know? But other than that, just doing all the usual."
"How fascinating. I must say that if you consider this exchange to be even remotely secretive, then I'd be interested in seeing how you act normally." I laugh and watch him turn away, looking back down at the object he was interested in when he arrived. It's one of the old chairs Professor Crewel told Grim and I to toss out. He then states loud enough for me to hear, "Do enjoy yourself and your odd little yearnings, then. And I truly hope you don't mind any further intrusion on my part, fair Capulet. I won't be but a minute longer."
Maybe he wants to take the chair for himself? I might as well take advantage of this chance to talk and get to know him better.
"Wait up, Montague—I'll just come meet you," I object, and he bows his head slightly to acknowledge it, not moving away from his spot.
I chuck my stuff into a cleaning bin and scrub clean my hands before bounding down the stairs to meet up with the enigmatic man waiting outside. Closing the door with enough care to not wake Grim from their spot in the living room, I tip-toe across the porch and keep being quiet until I've reached the side of my visitor. He's currently thumbing the intricate spindles of the chair, and randomly squeezing at it to test its durability.
I start off a new conversation by admitting, "I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting to see you here again tonight. Did something out here catch your eye as you were drifting around in your green light tour?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, I had taken note of an array of furnishings dotting the land. Are the ruins having a yard sale?" he queries with a quick glance at all the other objects scattered about. "There's enough items out here to fill a ballroom. If these items aren't up for sale yet, I ask you invite me back when it opens."
"No sales, nothing like tha—mmh!" a sharp breeze crosses over the grass and freezes me in my tracks. Hissing a bit, I cross my arms to deter the chill from giving me visible goosebumps. Though seeing this person's glowing eyes flickering down to my arms, it seems he can tell I'm freezing.
"What is it? Is this weather unkind to you?" he asks with an eyebrow raising.
"It's just chillier than expected." Trying to get his attention off it, I clear my throat and explain the wild array of items stationed on the lawn. "Anyways, Professor Crewel came by to help us redecorate the house. He told me to trash all the old furniture, if I can't find any new homes for them. So if there's anything you want to take with you, go right ahead. They'd be better used in your dorm than in the trash."
"Wonderful. I don't believe in letting good things go to waste, but I will need a while longer to look around and think on your offer. It's a kind gesture that you'd give these away for free before disposing of them."
My companion floats around the chair and comes back to my side when he's done inspecting every inch of it. To my surprise and endearment, he then takes a long look at me before peeling off his school jacket and laying it over my shoulders, even going as far as to pat my shoulders to ensure it won't slip off them.
"There. Is that warm enough?"
I'm humbled. "Yeah, it is. Thank you, uh..." my words die out as I recall again that I never got his name.
"...Is something else the matter?" he questions astutely when he pulls away. I guess he could tell there was a lingering to my words.
"I was thinking that you never told me your name."
"Yes. That's correct."
I wait a moment to see if he'll take initiative, and when he doesn't, I'm forced to awkwardly ask, "Then, would you mind if I asked what it is...?"
More cold slices of wind passes over us, and I pull the man's jacket tighter over my shoulders. To further help shield from the breeze and save my legs from growing sore, I go to sit down on the lower step of the porch stairs. My companion tags along, choosing to lean against the porch's post, where he has shade from the brilliant shine of the moon.
"To be frank," he murmurs with crossed arms, "I'm not sure I want to tell you anything about myself."
I wasn't expecting that sort of reply. "Why not?"
"Many reasons. I first had a thought that perhaps you would avoid mingling with me you knew who I really was. Though, with the passage of cruel time and the crueler passage of conjectures, I have no doubt you'll become unfortunately aware of my... less than ideal reputation at Night Raven College," he stops and looks off to the side, pouting slightly. "It's not something I can entirely help to contain; in this world, one's lineage tends to be lionized over all other aspects of their person, especially if you're someone whose entire bloodline possesses magic."
"That sounds, hmm, sounds hard to deal with. My condolences," I offer, not having much way to relate to my companion's current plight.
At least I can now surmise that this guy comes from a family that's well-associated with magic or magical prowess. I wonder how common that is? Ace had mentioned before that pretty much everyone in Twisted Wonderland knows what magic is, but it didn't seem like he was implying that having no magic is all that rare.
I also remember headmage Crowley saying that not everyone who lives in Twisted Wonderland wields magic, and in relation, I remember him, too, stressing some importance on bloodlines. As I'm thinking on that, and trying to reflect back on all I've learned about this world these past few days, the person towering above me looks down and pierces his gaze through my mask, almost as though he's trying to read my thoughts.
"Your words, although kind, are not needed." He talks on, adding, "In spite of the protestations I had just laid out, the more I have thought on our previous meeting, the more I came to suspect you wouldn't be one to care about trivial things like filiation and prestige. So, fret not. I don't take you for a base and judgmental child of man."
At least he's got me figured out. "You say that, but you still won't tell me your name?" I ask further, wondering what his goal could be in hiding his identity from me.
"I won't. I've decided I won't tell you purely for my own amusement." He pauses for a moment, staring intently as he poses to me, "As someone who took on a fake name, don't you understand the thrill of your persona being reborn? Breaking free from who you once were to become someone new?"
"Sure, I can understand the intrigue," I rub at my arms and try to see things from his angle, "It's kind of nice to have a fresh start. Are you saying that's what you want to do? Be someone else for a while?"
"In a sense, yes."
Okay. If it's that important to him, I'm not going to push it. But still, I need to ask again, "Got it. I'll support you, then. What name or nickname are you going to start going by?"
"I haven't decided yet. Rather, I was hoping you would amuse me with a favor," he replies, with an easy smirk growing on his lips. "I want you to assign me a new name, and in the meantime, I also ask that you guess my true name. We can make a game of it."
"You want me to pick a name for you?" While contemplating this request, I blow at my trembling hands to keep the tips from going numb, and think of how to even respond. "I can try and think of a nickname, but as for the second part... there's hundreds of students that go here. What if by the time I'm headed home, I never figure out who you really are?"
"I will tell you if it comes to that point, though I highly doubt I'll need to say much. Sooner or later, the puzzle pieces will fall together in your head. I've already given you numerous clues in this dialogue alone."
Interesting. I've got to keep mental notes of everything he said. With the rules clarified, I agree to his little game and say, "Okay then, I'll bite. Nobody's ever asked me to name them before, and I'm curious to see if I can figure you out."
"Just the answer I expected from you." I laugh at that, and he smiles, continuing with, "Don't expect this task to be easy. I've already let those in my house know that they aren't allowed to give you any hints as to my identity."
"No kidding? Huh. It would have been embarrassing for you if I decided not to play along, you know," I joke, secretly mystified that he planned things this far in advance. I can't help but wonder if I'd made a huge impression on him the first time we've met...
Feeling a little charmed by this mysterious new friend of mine, I resist the urge to steal his uniform jacket by taking it off and handing it back over to him. The man wordlessly takes it back and drapes it over his arm, now looking back at my display of free furniture lain on the grass.
He now sighs, "Pity that it's getting quite late. It's around midnight, isn't it? Someone of your age should be in bed already, resting."
What a curious thing to say. "What about someone of your age?" I counter.
"Well, someone as aged as me might also be in bed, resting, if only to ease the ache in my doddering bones," he jests with the most minuscule smirk. I see he's got quite a playful side to him. "If you and those in your house don't mind it, I'd rather stay out here a while longer to peruse your house's old stock."
"I don't mind at all, and neither would my housemates, I'm sure. They seemed to like you just fine, and even asked that I try and bring you around more often, when we all talked about you the other night," I make sure to tell him. I add, "Look around and take as much as you want! I hope you find some things you like."
"Yes, that'd be nice. Anything I come to keep, I'll even consider a gift direct from you and your fellow tenants."
My horned friend steps down off the porch and strides right back to that rickety chair from before, notably drawn to it in some way. I watch him inspect it for a few more seconds and then I get up, stepping backwards to the entrance, somehow feeling hopeful he'll look my way just once more before I have to go back inside.
Responding to my thoughts, he magically answers my prayers and glances over when he realizes I haven't left, giving me a small bend of his fingers like he doesn't know how to casually wave goodbye to someone. Returning that gesture, I smile and break my gaze away to enter the moaning house, and we both leave the chilly night air to its natural state of silence.