While inspiration was still fresh in her mind, she reread her notes one last time to make sure that the future her would be able to understand what she had wrote. She stumbled on a line. What did she mean by that, here? Clarifications appended on the side, she folded the note and stashed it in her back-pocket. She stood up, yawned, and stretched herself.
Her body felt somewhat sore, but in a good way. Nothing a little stroll outside couldn’t fix. She put on her vest; then her coat. Look, how it all narrowed at her hips and her shoulders. Her tight-fit trousers (akin to breeches) she had slept in especially accentuated the contours of her thighs. What an hourglass figure she had! Again, she reminded herself that these were her only pairs; that she had to be extra-careful to not get them soiled. If not today, then by tomorrow, she had to go buy some spares. And a valise, to carry it and all the things I’ll need to buy…
She went to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her tousled black hair was slightly disheveled, and covered her entire forehead. She tried to fix it, but nothing she did seem to get it back to how it was yesterday. Five minutes of fooling around, she decided to leave it as it was, before she made it worse. She tried to stand casually, but found how she let her hands hang all wrong. Then, her leg. This time, she recognized her symptoms immediately.
“Don''t overthink it, darling.”
Wow. Did she really just say that?
She had to close her eyes to drive out the sheer embarrassment; but why such backlash? There was nothing to be bashful about saying something risqué. Did she want to stay aloof and reserved forever? In all the years she had spent playing Project Elyse, how did she imagine Enza to be like, as a person?
Vivacious. Charismatic. Witty. Morally-vague and larger than life…
She took a long hard look at herself in the mirror, and tried to bring her to life. She tried not to break eye-contact. It was hard. Then, leaning her weight on one leg, she bent forward, and sent a flying kiss towards herself. She blushed.
“Aiyah!~”
—Fled.
“How do girls do this without cringing!!!”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Her moans were muffled by the pillow she had buried her face in. One had to commit to a gesture, with confidence, to succeed. But even a failed gesture had its own sort of charm, if not more, if done with a pretty face. It took time, but once she recovered, she proceeded to tidy her bed till not one crease remained. Then she clipped the razorblade back in her cuffs, looked at herself one last time, and then with her satchel up on her shoulder, headed outside.
Any warmth there was disappeared the moment she stepped out of Edson Hotel.
The morning was cold, but pleasant. An engine spluttered to a start, somewhere, or tried to. The unmistakable hum of airships fell over the otherwise quiet street just waking up, but she did not see one flying frigate when she looked up at the morning sky; only enormous orange-hued clouds. Perhaps they were there inside or above, hidden from view.
Lower-Ednin did not look as depressing in daytime as it had under the harsh and pale moonlight. The twists and turns she thought could’ve refuged a ruffian did not look so daunting now. The unrepetitive warren was by no means ugly, but it had a dilapidated look to it, which, in moderation, enriches the feel of a city rather than mars it. None of the buildings looked the same, but differed slightly from each other in their details. Homes co-existed with shops, all the way to the Great Wall, two hundred meters tall, where people, ants from such distance, she could see, were admiring the sun crest over the city.
Not far from the old crossroads, she came across the ruins of what must’ve once been a small brewery. A third of it still stood, somehow, without floors. A break through its crumbled walls revealed at the other side an arched gateway, which led into a market plaza. Workshops, smithies, et.al.—an apothecary, this world’s drugstore and pharmacy—as well as flower shops, eatery, and so much more—most of them were closed. ‘Open, 9 am to 5 pm’ the signs read. Furtively taking a peek through one of the display windows, she saw figures walking about inside it—people getting ready, drinking tea.
A truck stopped, not far from where she stood, as she failed to figure out how the drinking fountains worked. Workmen got out, began to unload wooden crates to the side of the road. Satou observed them by the sideline, when she saw a young girl in uniform with a clipboard under her arm stride up to the lapidarist’s workshop, and sternly knock on the door.
Tapping her foot, she made no attempts to hide her impatience. What caught Satou’s eyes though were her ears, which were a little long for a human, peeking out under a vintage postman cap. “An elf.” Or half-elf. They exist in this world?
Diversity was a fortuitous sign. Not only did it signify that Ednin was at least tolerant towards its non-human subjects, but the evidence also entertained the possibility of other races, out there, in the world: dwarfs, beastmen, and who knew what else! Perhaps for the first time in her life, she found herself long for education. She knew where to look for answers, too. If memory serves her right: then there was a bookstore, not far from here, she had just passed not too long ago.