Chapter 53: REST AND RESOLVE 2
Theresa was already there as it reconstituted, kneeling beside it. She produced a small pouch from her coat pocket, mana crystals, half a dozen of them. "You did well," she said quietly. "Here."
Wobbly latched onto the first crystal. The mana dissolved into its body. The glow brightened. By the third crystal, it was back to its normal size. By the fifth, it was burbling with pleasure.
Its color shifted. The usual translucent blue deepened to a rich, contented gold.
Florence lowered her blade. "Did it just—"
"It changed color," Theresa said. Her pen was already moving. "Not a property shift. That was emotional. It’s expressing itself."
Wobbly looked down at its own body, which was now cycling through green, purple, and orange in rapid succession. It burbled, surprised. I didn’t know I could do that. Did you know I could do that?
"I don’t think anyone knew," Dominic said.
Florence sheathed her blade. "So. Hardening. Scattering. Spell consumption. Color change. And it can store objects inside its body." She looked at Wobbly, then at Dominic. "Now you need to learn to use it together. Applying it in actual combat."
Dominic nodded. "How do we start?"
"Same way we start everything else." She picked up a practice dummy and dragged it to the center of the courtyard. "You and Wobbly. Together. I’ll call out scenarios, and you respond."
The afternoon wore on. Florence shouted attacks, "Spell incoming, left side!", and Dominic moved, Wobbly flowing to intercept. A force needle from Theresa’s fingers. Wobbly caught it, consumed it, its glow flaring. "Flank, right!" Dominic hardened his forearm through the trait and blocked a strike from Florence’s training blade. The wood cracked against his skin and splintered. "Scatter and reform behind!" Wobbly burst into a dozen globules, flowed past the dummy, reassembled on the other side, and Dominic was already there, sword extended. The rhythm built. Dominic learned to feel Wobbly’s intentions through the bond without needing to understand it. Wobbly learned to read Dominic’s movements and position itself before he asked. They weren’t separate. They were extensions of each other.
By the time the sun started its long slide toward the rooftops, Dominic was breathing hard and Wobbly’s glow was dim but satisfied. Florence tossed him a waterskin. "That’s enough for today. You’ve got the basics. Tomorrow, you use them for real."
***
The knock at the courtyard gate came an hour later, soft and hesitant, like the person outside wasn’t sure they wanted to be heard.
Dominic opened it. Lysandra stood in the street, her iron rods slung across her back. She’d changed into a simple blouse and fitted trousers, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. She was holding a book, something old, leather-bound, the spine cracked. She didn’t look at him.
"You said I could stop by," she whispered. "If that’s still—if you’re busy, I can—"
"It’s fine. Come in."
She stepped through the gate as if the courtyard might collapse under her. Her eyes darted from the faded chalk line to the battered practice dummies to Wobbly, who was basking on the bench. The creature burbled a greeting. Lysandra stopped, straightened, and bowed her head slightly, a formal, almost stiff gesture. "Good evening," she said to Wobbly, as if addressing a respected elder. Wobbly burbled again, pleased.
Theresa was already at the table, a pot of tea and a small plate of biscuits set out before her. The biscuits were golden, flecked with sugar. Dominic hadn’t known they had biscuits. She rose as Lysandra entered. "Good evening, Lysandra. Please, sit."
Lysandra bowed deeper this time. "Thank you for having me. Miss. I apologize for intruding unannounced."
"You’re not intruding." Theresa’s voice was warm, and she gestured to the chair across from her. "And ’Theresa’ is fine. Tea?"
"Yes, please. Thank you."
Theresa poured. Lysandra sat on the edge of the chair, back straight, both hands wrapped around the cup like it was the only thing keeping her anchored. She took a biscuit when Theresa offered the plate but didn’t eat it. She just held it.
Florence emerged from the hallway, wiping her hands on a cloth. She’d changed into a fresh shirt, another one of Dominic’s, and her hair was still slightly damp from washing. Her grin was immediate and sharp. "So this is the shy girl who beat a berserker to death. You’re smaller in person."
Lysandra’s face went crimson. She stared at the biscuit in her hand. "I—I—"
"Florence." Theresa’s voice came from her seat, calm but firm. "Leave the poor girl alone."
"I’m not doing anything. I’m just observing." Florence circled the table slowly, her grin widening. "You have good posture, even when you’re flustered. Turns out I was right having Dominic give you the rods. Saw your match. The way you redirected the lightning into Baines’s chest, that was clever. Not many fighters think to use an enemy’s magic against them."
Lysandra’s head came up slightly, though her cheeks were still burning. "It was... Mostly instinct. I didn’t plan it."
"That makes it even better. Plans fall apart. Instinct keeps you alive." Florence stopped circling and looked at her with a different kind of grin, less teasing, more evaluating. "Your footwork though. When you switch from defense to offense, your weight distribution shifts a fraction too slow. Fix that, and you’ll be faster. Come on."
"I—what?"
"Outside. Courtyard. Bring the rods." Florence was already walking toward the door. "Dominic, you have to forgive me for stealing her away, but I’m going to teach the shy girl a few things."
Lysandra looked at Dominic, eyes wide. He shrugged. "You get used to it."
She set down her untouched biscuit, picked up her rods, and followed Florence into the courtyard. Dominic watched them go. He looked at the couch against the wall, and then at Theresa, still seated at the table with her tea.
He crossed to her, took the cup gently from her hands, and set it aside. "Come with me."
She raised an eyebrow, a small, amused smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "Oh?"
He pulled her to her feet and led her to the couch. She didn’t resist. He sat first, then drew her down beside him, and when she settled against him, he shifted her fully into his lap, her legs draped across the armrest, her back against his chest, her head tucked under his chin.
"Well," she murmured. "You’re getting bolder."
"You like when I showed confidence."
"Do I?" Her voice was warm with quiet laughter. "I don’t remember ever confirming that."
He didn’t answer. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. One hand rested on her hip, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of her sweater. The other found the curve of her thigh and stayed there, a warm, steady pressure. Her silk scarf had slipped slightly, and he could see the gold chain of her necklace against her collarbone.
She exhaled, a long, slow breath, and relaxed completely against him. Her head fell back onto his shoulder. Her eyes closed for a moment, then opened again, watching the courtyard through the window.
Through the glass, the light was fading. The chalk line was almost gone. Florence had positioned Lysandra in the center of the stone.
Lysandra stood in the center of the courtyard, rods in hand, her face still flushed. Florence positioned herself opposite. "Show me your stance." Lysandra settled into her fighting posture, feet apart, rods ready. Florence walked around her, adjusting her hips with two fingers, tapping her back knee to bend slightly more. Lysandra held her breath the entire time.
"Good. Now lunge."
She lunged. Florence sidestepped. "Again. Faster."
She lunged again. Florence nodded. "Better. Your weight was centered that time. Do it a hundred more times tonight and it’ll be muscle memory by tomorrow."
"A hundred—"
"I’m joking. Maybe fifty. We’ll see how you feel."
Lysandra blinked. Then, very slowly, the corner of her mouth twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile. But it was close.
Dominic watched from the window, sipping his tea. Florence had that effect on people. She filled every room she entered, but she also made space for others to fill themselves. Lysandra, who’d spent years hiding, was standing in the center of the courtyard practicing combat with someone she’d never spoken to. She looked terrified, but at the same time she looked like she belonged.
The courtyard was dark by the time Lysandra left. She’d bowed to each of them in turn, Theresa, Florence, Dominic, even Wobbly, and walked out with her rods on her back and her cheeks still pink. Florence watched her go, then turned to Dominic with a knowing grin. "She’s sweet. And lethal. I like her."
"I noticed."
"Did you notice she couldn’t look at you for more than half a second without turning red?"
"I noticed that too."
"Good. Don’t mess it up." She ruffled his hair and walked inside.
***
Later, when the apartment was quiet and the lantern had been turned low, Dominic sat at the table. Wobbly was beside him, its glow a steady pulse in the dark.
The system interface opened at his thought. 900 tokens. Pity counter at 1/40. The pull button waited.
He pressed it.
```
[PULL INITIATED.]
[COST: 500 GT TOKENS.]
[BASE RATES ACTIVE.]
[PULLING...]
```
The light cracked open above the table. A silver-edged seam, sharp and sudden. The lantern flame bent away. The temperature dropped.
Wobbly watched, perfectly still.
The rift spat out a small object and slammed shut.
It was a tiny vest. Black. Sized for something the approximate dimensions of a big loaf of bread.
```
[PULL COMPLETE.]
[RESULT: B-RANK. MINOR COSMETIC ACCESSORY.]
[DESCRIPTION: A VEST. FOR THE SLIME. YOU’RE WELCOME.]
[PITY COUNTER: 2/40.]
[GT TOKENS REMAINING: 400.]
[NOTE: THE SYSTEM APOLOGIZES FOR NOTHING.]
```
Dominic stared at the vest. The vest sat on the table. Wobbly stared at the vest. Then Wobbly wobbled forward, and somehow the vest was on. It fit perfectly. It was terrible.
Wobbly burbled, deeply satisfied.
"We’re not telling Florence about this," Dominic said.
A bit later Florence knelt beside Wobbly on the bench. The creature had gone there, its vest slightly crooked, its glow soft and steady.
"Hey," she said. Her voice was quieter than usual. "The cut. I know you hated it. I’m sorry."
Wobbly burbled. The sound was forgiving.
"You’re tougher than you look." She reached out and patted its surface, a brief, awkward touch, like she wasn’t quite sure how to pet a creature made of gel. Wobbly’s color shifted to a warm gold.
Then Florence’s eyes narrowed. She leaned closer.
"Wait. What is that?"
Wobbly’s color flickered.
"Is that a vest?" She turned toward the apartment, where Dominic was just visible through the window. "Master! Why is the slime wearing a vest?!"
"It’s not a slime," Dominic called back.
"That’s not an answer! When did it get a vest?!"
Wobbly burbled. The sound was deeply, unmistakably satisfied.