Love Crafted, page 4
The dustpan’s a little broken, but that’s a problem for later.
Standing up, you cross the store, stalling Abigail’s conversation with the customer as you walk past her glowing as if you’d just nibbled on a billion firefly butts.
“What?” she asked.
“Getting a jar,” you tell her as you walk into the backroom.
It’s not hard to find an empty jar. There are plenty of them laying around, waiting to be filled with all sorts of yummy things.
You take a few out of their boxes and push your life juices in them. It feels a little bit like when two tentacles rub together, but in the place your soul would be if you had one.
Grinning, you raise up a jar filled with glowing juices. Perfect! Abigail will be able to use this to fill up her soul’s life juice swamp.
Now you just need to give it to her and reap the headpats.
You wiggle the jar filled with life juice around, the contents stirring with big gloops and glops like pudding with too much milk added in. If pudding glowed and was made of life energy.
You realize that you might be hungry.
Either way, Abigail said that some people took her juices out of her every month as a sort of tax, which means that if you give her this she won’t have to do that, and will therefore be happy with you. And if she’s happy with you, she will give you headpats and cuddles. Not that you want those things, of course.
After a bit of thinking, you realize that the gift doesn’t really come from you. It’s technically the world’s life juice that you sucked out. Abigail might be miffed if she learns that you stole something to give it to her.
Silly summoner and her silly morality.
Getting onto your knees, you pat the ground. “Thank you, little planet. I will cherish your juice,” you say. “But if you tell Abigail I will eat you.”
There, now everything is safe.
You rub the dust off your knees, clap your hands together to clean them, then grab your jar again before moving to the front of the shop. Moriarty, that weirdo, is still there. He’s leaning way over the counter, his weight on his elbows as he talks to Abigail. “Oh, my sweet Abigail, you poor thing, working here all day. Tell you what. Next time I’ll send my Familiar with an order, and when you come to deliver it, we can spend some… quality time talking in my workshop. I know how interested you are in the finer arts. I’m sure I could teach you plenty.”
Is this man trying to convince Abigail to mate with him? The fool! If she spends time with him, it’ll mean less time with you, which is unforgivable.
You walk up to the man and poke him in the thigh hard enough that he hisses and jumps back. When he looks down, you meet his eyes with your own. “Mine,” you say while pointing right at Abigail. “You will not mate her without my permission, mortal.”
“I what?” he asked. “I was trying to do no such thing,” he says.
“Are you done buying stuff?” you ask.
“I think he was,” Abigail is quick to add. She has a bunch of jars and boxes piled up next to her on the counter, most of them already in a pair of cardboard boxes. She quickly puts the rest of them into a box and shoves it towards Moriarty. “Thank you for shopping at Madam Morrigan’s.”
“Yeah, now leave,” you tell him.
“Why, I never! Who is this rude child?” he asks Abigail as if you’re not there.
He’s the rude one! You reach out with a pair of tentacles and grab his boxes, then wrap your hand around his wrist. He’s sputtering a lot, and staring at your tentacles as if he’s never seen any before as you drag him to the door. “Bye now,” you say as you shove his stuff into his chest and push him out the door.
When you turn around, you find that Abigail is hiding her mouth behind both hands, but the way her eyes are crinkled in the corners suggests that she’s smiling. “You can’t do that, Dreamer,” she says.
“He was rude,” you say.
“Well, yeah, but that’s just Moriarty. He’s always been that way. I think he’s mostly harmless, just really full of himself.”
“He wanted to mate with you.”
Abigail might have contracted some filthy mortal sickness because her skin turns very red in the time it takes you to blink twice. “N-no, that’s not, I’m sure you’re wrong.”
Her denial changes nothing. “I obtained a gift for you. I made it myself.” Well, you didn’t make the jar, or the juice, but you put the juice in the jar, so that counts as making something, probably. You walk past a confused and still red Abigail to the back where your glowing jar is still waiting and pick it up. “Here, this will make you better,” you say as you place the jar onto the table.
Abigail looks at it for just a moment before gasping. The redness is gone now, but your silly summoner went too far in the other direction and is now too pale. “Dreamer, no,” she whispers before snatching the jar off the table. She looks towards the door, then grabs you by the hand and drags you into the backstore, jar tucked up against her chest. “Where did you get this?” she asks.
“I made it.”
“Dreamer, this is Aether,” Abigail says as she shakes the jar. “This much… Dreamer, this is more than a person can make in a year. And it looks pure.”
“Yes?” you ask. She’s being very silly.
“This is worth more than gold,” she says. “You, you could buy the shop with this much.”
You fail to see the problem, but Abigail looks scared. She’s shaking, shivering and holding the jar as if it might explode at any moment. “The planet helped a little,” you admit. “But I paid it in pats. Which you’re supposed to do for me since I gave you a gift.”
“The planet?” she repeats.
You nod. “I used a sucky tentacle and pulled the life juice out of the core. It still has lots.”
“I…” Abigail swallows and gently places the jar on a nearby workbench. “Dreamer, first the apartment, now this… what are you?”
You stare at your summoner, at Abigail, for a few long moments.
She wants to know what you are. That’s rather simple, isn’t it. You’re you. You’re the only you around and there aren’t any other yous that you know of. If there were other yous, you’d have eaten them already.
“I’m me,” you tell her. “I’m the Dream That Rests Eternal In The Spaces Between Spaces, In The Moments Between Times. I like taking naps where I can’t be bothered.” The last part you add to explain because Abigail is starting to look even more confused.
She kneels down so that she’s at the same height as you. “You’re not just some magical creature, are you? You’re not a mimic.”
You don’t know what a mimic is, but you doubt any could mimic you. “I’m me. I told you that already.”
She laughs, once. It sounds wrong, not like a happy laugh at all. “Yeah, you’re you,” she agrees to the obvious. “But what are you? You’re not human, you’re not the sort of creature I’ve read about in my bestiaries. Daphne didn’t recognize you. Familiars are supposed to compliment the summoner, so I want to know—have to know—what you are.”
“That’s silly,” you tell her. If you could distill the essence of what you are and what you’re able to do in a few words you would, but people are more than just a race and some attributes, and you’re more people than most. “But I can tell you, if you want. I just need to give you the knowledge.”
“Give me the knowledge?” Abigail repeats.
You nod. “Yup. It’s easy. I just need to put it in your head. But I won’t do it for free,” you warn her while waving a finger between the two of you. “It’s a lot of work, and I guess I should make sure you stay mostly sane because you wouldn’t like it otherwise. So I need to be paid for it.”
“Paid,” she repeats. She looks over her shoulder towards the counter where the cash machine sits. “I have some money,” she says.
“I don’t care about that stuff,” you tell her. Money is for trading for services and stuff. You can do everything already, and if you want to eat something no one will stop you. No, what you want is a whole lot less tangible. “I want cuddles and headpats and love.”
Abigail blinks slowly, then her lips curve up and she presses a hand over her mouth to hide a giggle.
“It’s not funny!” you say.
She just giggles harder. “Oh, Dreamer. I might not know what you are, but you’re not a bad person. I’m happy that you’re my Familiar. You’re so much better than a cat or an owl.”
Well, yes, you are in fact better than either of those. “Obviously,” you say. “So, one cuddle for one knowledge. But not just a small cuddle, a good one.”
“Alright,” Abigail says as she gets her giggles under control. “One cuddle for one knowledge.” She reaches her arms out and waits in the optimal hugging position.
You grin as you collapse against her chest and wrap your own arms around her. Abigail ‘oofs’ at the impact, but she grips you right back. Then she starts rubbing a hand up and down your back, sending warm tingles up your spine.
“You know,” she says. “I never really thanked you for being my Familiar. So, thanks, I guess. It’s a little weird. I don’t think most mages bother, but you’re more… you than other Familiars, so I guess it’s only fair.”
Oh yeah, this is the good stuff. Coming to this mortal realm was obviously the right decision if this was the kind of reward you’d be getting. Hugs and compliments and snacks within tentacle grasping range. There was little more you could ask for.
You reach a hand up and press it to the back of Abigail’s head. “Close your eyes,” you tell her.
The eyes are the windows to one’s soul. It’s why you have tentacles to feel things instead of eyes all over. Windows go both ways, after all. “Mmm, okay,” Abigail says into your shoulder.
She’s ready then. You pat-pat the back of her head.
The human brain is a squishy thing. It’s very fragile and kinda poorly made. You need to be very careful as you slip your tentacles through her skull and into the meaty bits.
You root around for a bit and find the metaphorical off switch. With a flick, Abigail goes loose in your grasp, her breathing stops, and her heart beats one last time and shudders to a stop. The hug isn’t as nice now that she’s dead.
Sighing, you let her down onto the floor, keeping her steady with a whole lot of tentacles while a whole lot more phase into her head. Mortals are so squishy and easy to break, but you’re starting to think that they’re fun anyway.
You find the bits of Abigail’s mind that deal with remembering things; there are a few of them, and they’re kinda small. You compare that to all the knowledge of who you are that you wanted to cram in there, the infinite eons spent in the great darkness, the long naps tucked away in corners where space met time at odd angles. The kerfuffles with Great Old Ones and Elder Gods.
It won’t fit.
Shrugging, you get rid of all the boring parts, keeping only the more fun memories of who and what you are, then you trim that back even more. It wouldn’t do for your summoner to know everything about you. Plus there are some embarrassing things that even you’d rather not remember.
Once everything is nice and neat, you notice that your brain spike is still bigger than the room you’re in. That won’t fit in her head, not unless you make her head bigger on the inside… a thought for later.
You cut out all your knowledge of things you can do. She wanted to know about you, not learn how to do the things you can do. Some more trimming and you’re left with a bundle of fleshy nerves that should fit in her head just like a tiny, cute little tumour.
You pat it into place, tongue stuck between your teeth as you focus.
And done!
You poke her brain so that it starts up again, then zap her heart back into beating. She was only dead for a minute, so she’s probably fine.
Abigail gasps and sits up straight. Her apron squishes against her knees as she brings them up to her chest and starts to breathe really fast.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
Her head whips around towards you. “You’re a god,” she whispers.
You blink. That’s silly. She’s being silly.
“But… you can’t be. There aren’t any gods,” she says next. “The inquisition, if they find out—”
You roll your eyes. “Of course there are gods. Don’t go telling the Elder Gods that they don’t exist, or they’ll make you stop existing. But I’m not one of them. I’m Dreamer.”
She wipes away the drops of blood pouring out of her nose with the back of one hand. She doesn’t seem to notice, which is handy because you’re pretty sure that’s not supposed to be happening.
“I gave canned food to a god.”
You sigh. She’s being extra silly. Clearly this didn’t work out the way you wanted.
The rest of the workday passes in a strange sort of quiet. Abigail returns to her work as if nothing happened, except she keeps looking at you when she thinks you’re not paying attention.
Joke’s on her, you’re always paying attention.
Still, as you sweep the last of the shop and push the remaining dust under a shelf, you’re left with enough quiet time to think things through. Abigail is really nice. She gives good hugs, is fun to cuddle, and is kind enough to share her food with you. That’s more than you can say about literally any creature you met in any other realm. You don’t know if it’s because she’s a frail mortal, or if it’s a quirk that’s unique to her.
In the end it doesn’t matter, she must be protected.
Abigail’s going to get old, and frailer, and then she’s going to die.
The wooden handle of your broom cracks as your fists tighten around it. No more hugs. No more cuddles.
Unacceptable!
No, from here on out, you decide that since you’re Abigail’s Familiar you’re going to be the best Familiar ever. You’re going to teach her how to be like a god compared to all the other mortals, and if she wants to go to some magic school then you’re going to make sure she learns all of the magic and is the biggest boss of that school even if it means having to eat the headmaster.
You’re brought out of your reverie about delicious school staff when Abigail trudges to the front of the shop and flips the little Open/Closed board over the front door.“ That’s it for today,” she says aloud.
“That was kind of fun,” you say as you move to the back and lean the broom against the counter. The floor is super clean thanks to your efforts. And so are some of the shelves because those efforts made you peckish.
“Yeah, I’m… glad you helped,” Abigail says. Her smile feels a little strained.
Your eyes narrow as you cross the room and come to stand on your tentacles so that you’re at her head’s height. Abigail tries to back away, but your tentacuddlers grab her and keep her in place. “You’re hurt!” you accuse after a bit of inspecting.
“I’m fine,” Abigail lies like a big fat liar.
You harrumph quite strongly and shake your head at how silly your summoner is being. Obviously she somehow got hurt while you weren’t paying attention. It’s definitely not because you killed her and brought her back from the dead, because that would just be silly. “Stay still,” you order her, not that she can really uncuddle herself from your grasp.
“Dreamer,” she complains.
You ignore her protests and inspect her properly. Some of her fleshy bits seem damaged, mostly around her head. Maybe you patted too much into her brain and it’s trying to fix itself? You’re not quite sure. The problem is that you’re not a fleshcrafter. This isn’t your area of expertise. “You’re a little hurt,” you tell her. “You need a person that can fix mortals to make you better. Or… I could improve you.”
“I think I’ll be fine,” she protests even more. “I’ll get better, and if I don’t I’ll ask a physician. I know a few from working here, they can help.”
You haven’t decided what to do when the doorbell jingles as it opens.
Releasing Abigail, you plop onto your feet and lean to the side to see past Abigail and to the front. There’s a woman there, tall, with severe features and long braided hair. She eyes the shop with a quick glance, then focuses first on Abigail, then on you. “Hello Abigail. I didn’t think we still had a customer left in the shop?”
“Ah, hello Madam Morrigan,” Abigail says with a quick bow from the hip.
This lady must be important if your summoner is bowing to her. Plus her name is on the front of the shop.
“How was the day?” the lady says as she moves deeper into the shop. You can sense her scanning everything with a gimlet eye. “Productive, I see, judging by the lowered stock. I’ll have to send a request to restock the inventory sooner than I had expected.”
“It wasn’t too busy, actually,” Abigail says as she walks over to the lady and follows her. “Oh, by the way, this is Dreamer, she’s my Familiar.”
“Hello,” you say.
The madam stops and eyes you up and down. “Her dress is ill-fitting. You’ll need to find something more appropriate for it to wear. A mimic of some sort?”
“Something like that,” Abigail says with a nervous chuckle. “She helped around the shop today.”
“You sell delicious stuff,” you tell the lady.
Abigail starts going very red in the face at that. You’re not sure why, it’s not like you lied or anything.
The lady looks around again, then faces Abigail properly. “It will be docked from your pay,” she says. “Get me a full inventory by the end of the week. I’ll see about charging only the supplier rates. Do train your new Familiar better.”
“Yes ma’am,” Abigail says while staring at the floor.
“Well, the shop’s closed. I’m certain you have better things to do. Go, shoo. Have some fun, you’re too young to spend the entire day in this dusty store.”
“T-thank you, ma’am,” Abigail says before turning, grabbing your hand, and moving towards the front.
How very curious.
Chapter Six
“Where are we going?” you ask Abigail as you look away from where her hand is holding onto yours and up to her back.
