Dungeon 42

Dramatic Introductions

Chapter 124

Chris,

Would you please be Andrea's training partner? I feel like you two might get along.

Let me know what you think when you get a chance.

-42

Chris looked the message over for the third time since he'd received it. The words weren't complicated. 42 was aware of his less-than-ideal level of literacy. She'd been the one to teach him, after all.

The issue Chris was having was in fathoming the idea itself. The street rat assassin would get along with a noble lady. However minor the title had been, the mental gymnastics his mistress would have had to do to come up with the idea seemed staggering.

"So, Miss Priss refuses to take lessons from you now, or what?" Chris asked. He'd been loitering in the workroom of Henry's crypt for nearly a half hour. Something the other man tolerated as long as he didn't touch anything. The missing bones of his fingertips, which he'd lost to a ruler of all things, were proof of the severity of the consequences.

"No. Andrea behaves quite well… She's simply lost some of her motivation as Jun will be leaving soon," Henry replied.

"Oh, so I'm to be her plaything then," Chris growled. He'd been a lot of things, but he'd never had the particular misfortune of being a "companion," as they were called. Some of them ended up being treated in ways that made even him shudder. Rich people got up to some properly strange shit at times.

Henry stopped pinning whatever he was working on and turned to face Chris properly.

"Chris, she's a sixteen-year-old girl from some provincial bit of nowhere. I sincerely doubt she has a taste for ‘playthings.’ I wouldn't teach her if that were likely," Henry said and sighed.

"Monkey on a leash for the aristo girl," Chris countered.

"You're too ill-mannered for a pet," Henry shot back. Chris flipped him off. Henry just snorted at that, unimpressed as usual.

"Why me then? 42 must have a reason," Chris said finally. He didn't like to admit to his curiosity. It suggested unease. Weakness. Something he'd had drilled into him that he could not risk showing for any reason. Not that he had to worry about dying anymore. Beyond already having done it once, respawning took away even the minor anxiety of wondering where he'd end up next.

"Not to disparage her, but 42 might well think it's enough that you're close in age," Henry said with a shrug.

"That's it?" Chris asked. He was equal parts astonished and appalled at the idea, but it did fit 42 in a way. She operated on an internal logic that none bothered claiming to understand.

"You'd be her sparring partner Chris, not her etiquette teacher. I think you'll manage just fine," Henry said and laughed.

"What if I just don't want to?" Chris asked sullenly. He understood he was a bit much, but Henry wasn't helping.

"42 won't force you to keep doing it, if you try and don't like it. I doubt she'll even force you to try," Henry said, pausing for a moment, "Even I wouldn't honestly blame you if you don't. I wasn't keen on the idea, but… 42 asked, so I decided to see how it went."

"You just want in her good books," Chris said sullenly. He kept the "and her knickers" thought to himself. He didn't feel like respawning for the moment.

"Yes, truly one of my greatest character flaws," Henry said, rolling his jewels.

Chris departed without saying anything further, more unsettled than when he'd gone looking for advice. Henry hadn't said anything wrong so far as he could tell, but it still nagged at him. He didn't have to do it, could stop if he tried and didn't like it, and Andrea was probably fine as far as noble girls went. It sounded easy, and easy never sat well with him.

Despite his misgivings, Chris headed to the Necropolis's teleportation circle hub with mischief on his mind. Since he'd been asked, he might as well look in on this Andrea girl, if nothing else.

Arriving in an unfamiliar hallway, Chris was immediately on alert, his stealth ability going. Finding a door he carefully eased it open and peered into a training room. A red-haired girl had her back to him as she ran through a drill. It was pure foolishness to train like that, her back unguarded, but it let him slip in easily.

As always, the space had a dramatic design to it. Sconces holding light stones lined the walls consistently, with banners hung between them for color. All of it drew the eye up to the high ceiling, which had rafters for some arcane reason. 42 really did like to embellish everything, no matter how unneeded it was, which was half the reason Chris was fond of her.

Other people would probably find it pretty, but Chris found 42's taste for elaborate designs just plain useful. Using a banner and a sconce, he was up in the rafters without even needing the bit of thin cord on his belt to help. In his opinion, if 42 had been the one designing buildings in Jarlensburg, he'd have been able to give the Graveman a run for his money body count-wise. Everything she made was an assassin's paradise.

Rather than move to do anything just yet, Chris took the opportunity to study Andrea. He didn't know what he'd been expecting when he found out a living girl had sought to make a deal with 42. The other one, Jun, he'd seen and she had features of a mundane but rarely seen type. It was the kind of face you wouldn't be surprised belonged to a hero. This one looked like pretty much every well-to-do girl he'd ever seen.

A bit soft but healthy, Andrea was someone who'd been looked after well but was otherwise unremarkable. The only thing that stood out about her was the red hair trailing behind her as she moved from a high tail—and the ferocity of her strikes.

Dull-eyed and desperate sweat was running down her face in rivulets. It wasn't how someone practicing should look. In Chris's experience, even most men in a fight didn't look so harried. They also didn't generally have smooth skin or a full set of teeth. Chris mused on their differences as he swung his legs over the side of the beam he sat on.

It shouldn't have mattered, but Chris wondered if Andrea's hands were as soft as the rest of her looked. If they'd bear the full mark of the grueling training it took to make it to a prestige class or only bore light callouses. He wanted to see if her hands had been gloved and carefully tended to keep them appropriate to a lady.

Chris thought of his face, but not the one he was wearing. That one, the illusion, only had some of the old goblin to it. His true face, the one he'd worn when he died, hadn't been pretty. It had borne the weight and scars of the long years spent learning his craft and hard living.

A beast in a man's skin and the milk-soft girl below him. What exactly 42 thought was remotely similar about them entirely escaped Chris. The question writhed in his mind like an enraged serpent, refusing to be ignored and irritating him further as he tried and failed to answer it.

Worse, despite him not bothering to hide, Andrea hadn't noticed him a mere ten feet above her. The girl was sloppy, hopelessly sloppy.

When his irritation became unbearable, Chris dropped from the rafter. He landed just behind Andrea rather than on her. One arm snaked around her throat while the other pressed a dagger to her abdomen.

"Ah!" Andrea shrieked in surprise. She moved fast, but she wasn't Henry. When Andrea tried to throw Chris off, he stabbed her in the thigh as a parting gift. He hit the ground and rolled back to his feet.

Andrea had tried to use a movement ability, not yet feeling the blade in her leg. She did a split second later and hit the ground hard as it gave way. She tumbled a few times, propelled by the energy of the technique she'd been trying to use.

Andrea's sword flew out of her hand, and she came to a stop on her back. She was already rolling over into a limping crawl, intent on getting her weapon back. It was a better instinct than most would have but still dismal since Chris was already up and dashing at her.

Chris booted Andrea in the ribs, sending her down on her back again. Again, she pushed up, scrambling back but not toward her weapon this time—another mistake.

A kind of frisson filled the air, and a little glass bottle appeared in Andrea's hand—a potion. Her hand closed on the potion too quickly for Chris to kick it away. He settled for stomping on her fist hard enough to shatter it. She screamed, and there was a noise like thunder.

"CHRISTOPHER TRUMAN PHALANGES!" 42's voice echoed through the training hall.

"That's me. Want to train together?" Chris asked, tone mockingly polite. He even bowed as he offered her a hand up. As if 42's shout was fanfare rather than a dire warning. After all, if one were going to pour oil on the fire, they might as well use the whole jug.

"DO NOT ignore me!" 42 growled. The words were followed by a hand like a velvet glove grasping Chris by his very spine. Scruffed like a puppy, he couldn't do anything but hang limply from her grasp. Chris did his best to look casual, crossing his arms and holding still rather than flailing.

"Andrea-" 42 started but trailed off. Andrea was busy drinking a potion, shards of glass from the first one pushing from the wound in her hand as she did. It was strange to watch, but Chris thought it was interesting. This was the first time he'd seen a potion work up close.

"I want to train with him," Andrea said once she was done drinking.

"You do?" 42 and Chris asked together.

"I'll learn more from him than Henry," Andrea said. 42 let Chris go, though it was questionable if it were intentional or a matter of shock.

"Seriously?" 42 asked. Chris took the opportunity to step forward, his hand going out. Andrea misunderstood it for another offer to help her up. Right until his hand bypassed hers, grabbing the knife's hilt and jerking it free. Andrea shrieked, the hooked tip adding injury to injury, though the potion quickly healed it.

"Chris!" 42 hissed.

"So, you think I'll be a better teacher than Henry?" Chris asked conversationally with an unfriendly smile. He wiped his dagger clean before sheathing it again.

"What? No… Just a better sparring partner. Henry won't fight dirty," Andrea explained. Chris took that in, his expression blank for a moment before bursting into a braying peel of laughter.

"What?" Andrea asked, looking to 42 for an answer. 42 just shook her head, having no idea what Chris found amusing.

"I'm being serious. He wins every match, but he's entirely by the book. That isn't going to help me against less principled fighters," Andrea offered.

"Love, he dusts me every time we fight. He's not using dirty tricks because he doesn't bloody need them against you," Chris managed to pause his laughter long enough to deliver the news and a back slap.

"I know that!" Andrea shouted. Chris took a step back, surprised not by the volume so much as the vehemence. He'd struck a nerve.

"Andrea, is this about what happened with Jun again?" 42 asked, hands up placatingly and tone gentle.

"No! It's about the fact I'll never catch up to that crazy bastard even in six lives! I've seen him fight the others, I need to learn to fight actual people, not whatever he is," Andrea said, her howl of anger turning into frustrated tears.

"Oh… well… I…" 42 said, caught flat-footed to all appearances.

"Just leave me be!" Andrea shrieked.

"Alright… but call me later when you feel like talking," 42 said before melting into the very air. Chris found himself the last man standing in the aftermath as Andrea collapsed to her knees. On an academic level, he was aware he should probably leave. He'd introduced himself by ambushing and stabbing the girl. It wasn't likely that she'd welcome his lingering, but he didn't feel the urge to just yet.

"He was an assassin when he was alive. He switched classes here," Chris offered a few moments later. Andrea was still crying, but she was out of the wracking sobs part and into the sniffling portion of them. She didn't look up, her cheek pressed against her knees as she hugged them.

"So?" Andrea asked after a bit.

"So he made a career out of tearing other classes apart, and he was good at it from what I can tell," Chris admitted. It was one of the reasons why he minded his tongue around Henry considerably more than anyone else. Andrea looked up at him, clearly waiting for him to say something further.

"So, is that really all that's got you so bent?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Andrea asked, a little hostility flaring in her eyes and tone. Eyes that would have been a lively green if not for the desperation dulling them.

"Well, you've been training less than a month. Seems a bit soon to be declaring yourself six lifetimes behind just because Henry can whip your ass still," Chris offered. Andrea sat up properly to glare at him. Chris found he liked her better irritated than depressed.

"Did 42 not tell you what happened?" Andrea asked with genuine confusion underlying the anger. Chris made a rolling gesture with his hand to encourage her to continue.

"My father sold me like a fucking cow," Andrea growled, getting to her feet.

"My mum was sold to a brothel," Chris countered, circling as Andrea took a step toward him. He didn't understand what point she was trying to make.

"What?" Andrea asked, eyes round in surprise.

"People get sold, ya know? I was a slave briefly once myself," Chris offered with a shrug. They weren't happy memories, but he wouldn't call them sad either. Sad was hunger and unrelenting cold that seeped into the bones as if it would never leave.

Chris's master had been a man with a taste for blood and cultivated the kind of friends who liked to see it up close rather than the polite distance afforded by a colosseum. Close enough to spatter on their faces even. Being a slave to that man meant a warm bed, food, and the odd bit of back alley fighting. Not pleasant, certainly not desirable, but not a sad thing by Chris's reckoning.

"That's horrible," Andrea said, sounding shocked still.

Chris scratched at his false hair, fingertips scraping bone. He understood that Andrea couldn't know she was antagonizing him. He could handle scorn, but pity was intolerable to him.

Normally it wouldn't have mattered to Chris, but something about Andrea was getting to him in an unfamiliar way. His mortal life was little more than a story. A story he'd read so many times he knew by heart. One that didn't tell him how he'd felt about much of anything but included facts he shouldn't know. Things like his mother's name and which of her regulars had been his father.

"It was what it was," Chris said with a shrug. Responding beyond that would give too much away. It was better to let her off in his mind than display weakness, particularly since the alternative was distracting her with some other aspect of the story—things like the parts of his life he did fondly recall.

The smell of the ocean, the taste of bread Chris used to steal from old nan's kitchen occasionally when the eagle-eyed crone was distracted. The color his master's face had turned when Chris strangled him to death. Those were a bit too personal.

"Well… I just feel so stupid. He'd spent years telling me I couldn't learn to fight then he finally seemed to accept it. To see that I had the skill and the drive to become an adventurer. I was fucking honored when he put that mind control necklace on me himself," Andrea explained and laughed bitterly. Chris was caught off guard by the confession.

"What, nothing rude to say?" Andrea asked playfully. Chris found he'd been incorrect. She looked even better with a smile than she had when annoyed. His mind churned for a moment as he considered what she'd said.

"Three things," Chris said finally.

"Go on then. Nothing stopped you from stabbing me, so what's a few words?" Andrea asked even as she took up a more guarded stance. A wise thing to do, in Chris's opinion. Not that it would help in this case.

"Who's to say he wasn't mind controlled or threatened too? Possibly with the rest of your family's lives," Chris offered, holding a non-middle finger up to tick off the first point. It was a conscious courtesy on his part.

"Second, I say that because a man so against you being an adventurer wasn't likely to welcome you becoming a hero. If he thought it was improper, then having you become someone recognized the kingdom over would have been parading dirty laundry in public. Something nobles usually don't do," Chris said as the second finger went up. Andrea's mouth opened slightly, then closed without a word as the color drained from her face.

"Third, even if he did that, how do you know it wasn't sincere? You're assuming he was in on it with the church. Yet, how would he know if they didn't tell him, and he's not a mage?" Chris asked. Andrea looked at him in shock, her mind the one in turmoil as she tried to make sense of what he'd said.

"That… Why say any of that? Why do you care?" Andrea asked, tone heavy but free of accusation.

"Can't say that I do," Chris replied.

"Liar," Andrea countered hotly.

"Honestly, I'm an assassin, love. I killed strangers professionally," Chris informed her. Then, pulling a small throwing knife from his wrist holster, he did a few tricks with it for emphasis. Some adventurers took up the class but didn't practice it professionally. Chris wanted to make the truth clear to Andrea before they spoke further.

"That's not what I asked you," Andrea countered. Chris sighed at her inability to fabricate whatever answer would suit her. He preferred it when people did since it saved him the trouble of lying further or, worse, having to tell the truth.

"It's eating at you, the idea you have to kill your father. Now, you have options," Chris said as the knife disappeared back into its sheath. Andrea didn't seem in the mood for that kind of distraction.

"You can think about it more. Make a plan to find out more. Maybe just leave it be and decide what to do when the moment comes?" Chris offered. Andrea frowned distrustfully at him but was listening.

"All of which is a sight better than exhausting yourself trying to convince yourself it's the only option," Chris explained. He'd seen it before when someone decided they'd been screwed over in love or money. They'd get the idea in their head that the debt had to be paid with blood and ruin themselves trying to get up the courage to do it.

Andrea's mistrust lingered, and Chris could see her on the verge of a new question. Something he'd rather not have to hear if he wasn't off the mark. She was looking at him too gently for it to be anything tolerable.

"Which also wouldn't be any of my business, but you're taking up attention I'd prefer to have," Chris added, barely holding in a wince. That was more honest than he liked to be, but he knew the value of using it strategically. He was honestly sick of 42 worrying about and doting on Andrea and knew the sincerity of it would come through in his words. He also wasn't fond of how much attention Henry paid her either, but Chris wouldn't admit to that, even under torture.

"Seriously, you got so jealous I was taking up your mum's attention that you stabbed me?" Andrea asked, flatly shocked.

"She's not my mum!" Chris hissed.

"Of course not, Christopher Truman Phalanges," Andrea said with that weird inflection people used with babies. Chris shoved her for that and found her pushing him back. That escalated quickly and soon they were rolling on the floor. Chris's hand laced in Andrea's hair to pull it viciously until she broke three of his ribs with a speed-enhanced knee slam.

"Ah FUCK!" Andrea hissed as tears streamed out of her eyes. She'd done herself an injury in the process, but Chris didn't retaliate. He was too close to respawning. Instead, they both lay on the ground, her clutching her knee and him poking at the knife-sharp bone fragments now ruining his shirt.

"Whinge to someone who doesn't know you'll fix it with a potion," Chris said testily.

"Fuck off, you don't even feel pain," Andrea shot back, then drank her potion. She lay on the floor for a few minutes, just breathing.

"If I still want to train with you, will you agree?" Andrea asked.

"Didn't take you for a masochist," Chris replied, genuinely surprised. They both laughed at that, and he pushed up and off the floor. Stepping over to Andrea, he offered her a hand up, and she made the ill-advised decision to accept it.

"Train with me, please," Andrea requested once she was on her feet. Chris had half a mind to illustrate how it was a terrible idea but just stepped away, turning his back. He paused before he'd gotten more than a pace.

"Sure, love," Chris said finally. A tingle ran down his spine as he said it. A sailor he'd known in life had called girls that and men lads. He did well with the ladies too, so Chris had taken to copying him but hadn't used it since becoming a skeleton.

"Not today, though, things to do," he added. A respawn was in order, but he wanted to check in on Blackmore and the puppies before he did. Hopefully, after that, he'd be able to shake off the disquiet he felt. It shouldn't have mattered that he'd called Andrea love. It was just a word he'd used to make the ladies giggle when he flirted.

"Until next time, then," Andrea replied. Chris gave her a thumbs up without turning back to look at her and started whistling a cheerful tune. Either he'd be sorted out by the time he saw her again, or he was well and truly in trouble.