Chương 131: 46. Formal Occasions

I'm not sure why Talla was so upset by Allie's attempt to explain computers, but we've decided to give her a bit of space, which unfortunately means no visit to the clinic today. That sort of throws a wrench into my plans for the day, but I defer to Allie's expertise on interpersonal relationships. Personally, I think she could have done a better job of explaining transistors, but that probably isn't the issue. It did remind me that I'd been meaning to consider the cooling problem in alchemical vehicles.

I'd almost forgotten about that in all the excitement—especially since the vehicle in question has since been destroyed—but maybe it will help get us closer to the Alchemist if we've got something to catch his interest. Cars have never really been high up among my interests, but I at least know how a basic heat exchanger works, and Talla's family has been more than happy to provide us with all the paper we could ask for.

I'm in the middle of sketching out some ideas when Tara flounces into the room with barely a knock on the door.

"Hey Allie! I heard you pissed off Tal!" I frown a bit at the greeting. Tara doesn't have the full story about our identities, but since she usually just interacts with Allison, she defaults to her name rather than "Maev." It's not like we've been going out of our way to keep it from her, it's just hard to fit it into casual conversation.

"Is she still upset?" I ask.

"It was just a misunderstanding."

"Hm, I don't think she's mad at you, but she's definitely grumpy about something," she replies with a shrug.

"You're probably just collateral damage. What are you working on, there?" She wastes no time sidling up next to me, peering over my shoulder at the amateur sketches. Personal space is not really Tara's thing.

"Some ideas," I try to explain, lacking the vocabulary to fully articulate what exactly I'm drawing.

"For alchemical carriages."

"Really?" Tara asks, leaning closer to inspect the sketches.

"It just looks like some squiggles." I huff irritably, covering the drawings defensively.

"They're not done," I insist.

"And it's..." I furrow my brow, searching my memory for the right word.

"Symbols. Not how it actually looks." She inches away from me, sensing something amiss.

"Oh. Uh... are you upset with me? You're acting differently." I shake my head and sigh.

"No. Allie should have explained sooner."

"Explained what?"

"I'm not Allison. I'm Maev Violet. Or just Vi." She blinks.

"Oh right! Your different names! I've heard about that, but how does it work?" It's a bit of a pain to explain everything through the language barrier, but thankfully Tara already has some of the information she needs, so it's just a matter of filling in the gaps and answering the usual questions.

"So there's actually four of you? And I've only been talking to Allie so far?"

"Yes, well—no," I clarify.

"We've spoken before. After the fight."

"Is that why you got all quiet?" she gasps.

"I thought you were just freaking out about the attack like I was."

"A bit of both," I concede.

"That explains what Fargo was saying," Tara muses.

"I thought it was weird the way he described you."

"He only knows Maggie. She's bad at people."

"And you're not as good with the language as Allie."

"I'm learning," I sigh.

"Just slower. Don't like to talk as much as she does."

"As opposed to Maggie?" I chuckle.

"Maggie is proud. She wants to be good at talking because I'm bad at it."

"No I don't!" she interrupts in my head.

"I'm just smarter than you!" Not going to dignify that with a response.

"Well it's nice to meet you, Vi!" Tala says.

"I look forward to meeting the others!"

"Try saying that after meeting Maggie."

"Bitch!"

"So how do these squiggles work, anyway?" Tara asks, swiftly jumping back to our original discussion now that the explanations are out of the way.

"And what do they have to do with carriages?" Well, if she's going to ask, then it can't hurt to try explaining. I could use the practice, and it might help get my own thoughts in order. I circle the part in the middle with a charcoal pencil.

"The engine gets hot and breaks," I explain.

"We needed magic to cool it. It would be better to use water."

"Hmm, like putting out a fire? That seems like a waste of water, though." I nod. It would be a waste of water to just dump coolant over the engine, but that's what heat exchangers are for.

"Use the same water," I reply, drawing a line to one of the poorly illustrated tubes.

"Mana stones heat up the water, then it flows here..." I circle a criss-crossed grill of lines.

"The water cools, then flows back around to the engine." Tara blinks at my diagram for a moment, following the circuit I described and cocking her head.

"How does that make the engine cool down? It seems to me you're just heating up water."

"It's the same thing," I begin, wondering how in the world I'm supposed to explain the laws of thermodynamics. Then something strikes me... The laws of thermodynamics don't always apply here. Magic implicitly violates them by its very nature. For the most part, the basics still apply, but there are a lot more exceptions than I'm used to. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. To my surprise, Tara doesn't actually need any further explanation.

"Oh, so the water is... carrying the heat out of the engine and then throwing it away over here?" she asks, pointing at my amateur heat sink.

"Yes!" I confirm.

"Exactly. Do you think the Alchemist would be interested?"

"Maybe! Having something to show him would be better than nothing," Tara says.

"Can I have this to show to a few people? I promise nobody will steal the designs." There's no "designs" to speak of here, and I'm more embarrassed about the idea of people seriously considering my half-baked drawings than I am concerned about someone ripping them off.

"Let me finish them first," I hedge.

"Sure! No problem," she agrees.

"Oh! Frick, I almost forgot why I was here in the first place! Your false hooves are done!" I blink.

"Already?"

"Just the basic ones," she clarifies.

"The big project will still take a while. Iro wanted you to swing by the shop for final fitting and probably to ask a few more questions about the final designs."

"When?"

"Hm, are you busy now?" I glance down at my sketches, feeling less confident in them by the second. Yeah, I'm gonna want to start over if anybody else is going to see them.

"I guess not." * There's not much to do while the shoes are being fitted. Iro takes a few last second measurements, has me try on each pair of shoes, then retreats back into his workshop to make the last adjustments. While we wait, Tara makes idle conversation with her friend and I. Of course, idle conversation isn't my strong suit. I don't mind talking, but I don't know how people can carry on without anything specific to actually talk about.

"Is it true that someone tried to shoot you outside the shop last time?" Tara's friend asks, drawing my attention back to the conversation.

"Frick, don't remind me," Tara sighs.

"That was so scary! I've never been shot at before—but Maev saved me!" Now both of them are looking at me, expecting some response to that. I blush a bit under the attention.

"It was nothing."

"Was not! You should have seen it, Baira, she was so fast!" Tara describes excitedly.

"After dodging the first shot, she leapt up onto the coach. The driver was twice her size, but he couldn't do anything that close!" Not quite how I remember it. That was a very hectic fight and he got more than a few good blows in on me. I only came out on top because I had a knife and he was effectively unarmed.

"I fought one man. Draga got the rest on his own."

"That's still pretty impressive," Baira comments.

"Certainly more than I could have done. If you don't mind me asking, what kind of class do you have?" Hmm, I'm not sure how to answer that. I know that it's considered rude to ask for the exact class, and Talla has reminded us not to share it as a [Message], but how would I even describe our class in a more abstract sense?

"It's... complicated. We didn't get apprenticeships or, um... [Allie, help me out here.]""Career planning," she provides for me in Fa'aun. Good enough.

"Career planning. We took classes we needed to survive alone. So our core class is a mess."

"Oh, that's unfortunate," Baira says with a frown.

"It seems to be working for you, though. Have you considered retraining?" I shake my head.

"No. We still need it. The attack is proof of that." Besides, the class is permanent, and even if it wasn't, I'm not sure how we'd survive without the cohesion it gives us. Probably not a good idea to start talking about how we have extra class slots, though.

"That sort of thing is really rare in the city, though," Tara assures me.

"That was the first time in my entire life anybody has ever drawn a weapon on me." Baira side-eyes her, biting her lip for a moment before speaking up.

"Actually, with respect, Rara, you're probably not the best measure of how safe the city is," she hedges.

"Hm? Why not?" Tara asks.

"I've been just about everywhere in Stebaari!"

"Yes, but you're a noble—and a beloved one at that," her friend says.

"I've been mugged plenty of times, and the only reason I've managed to avoid worse is that I'm a fast runner and they're usually more interested in my money than my body."

"Oh... is it really that common?"

"Maybe not common, but if I had skills like Miss Maev, I wouldn't be in a hurry to discard them." Well that's vindicating, but it's another reminder that violence is a common part of life here, even in the more civilized parts of the world.

"Nor should you be," Iro's gravelly voice interrupts as he emerges from his workshop, the younger apprentice following closely behind him.

"Much of our work goes towards protecting those who wear it, but we should always be ready to protect ourselves as well." He tosses two pairs of shoes down between us, then sits and lights his pipe while the young apprentice stands by nervously.

"Here you are," he mutters around the pipe between his teeth.

"One pair for everyday use, and another for formal occasions." The "everyday" pair are brown leather slip-ons with some artistic stitching at the edges and a separate, much thicker piece of leather as a sole on the bottom, providing traction and holding the softer leather in shape. They are a snug, but comfortable fit—actually more comfortable than most of the shoes I can remember wearing, since those weren't made specifically to fit me.

They lack any kind of ankle support, but there's no risk of them falling off, and they're a huge improvement to the makeshift leather bags we left with last time. The other pair is a bit more complex—a pair of open-toed high heel sandals with an adjustable ankle-strap. The body of the shoe is made of the same thick leather as the sole from the other pair, with softer leather for the straps. The heel is, thankfully, a block shape rather than a stiletto, but still a bit higher than comfortable.

Far from the insane pointe position Iro's initial designs began with, but enough that it would be impractical to hold our weight anywhere but our toes while wearing them.

"Oh, those are so cute!" Allison coos happily.

"I don't usually go for open-toe, but I love them!"

"They look awful to wear," Maggie gripes.

"If I ever end up fronting in those, we're gonna hit the floor."

"I think I prefer them to the other pair," Eva adds.

"It's a much more natural shape." Well, I don't have strong feelings one way or another. Obviously I'm not going to wear them in a fight, but I can see how they'd be helpful in formal settings. A lot of our clothing is a compromise between our own comfort and fitting in, and these are no exception. At the very least, they'll make us look a bit taller.

"Thank you, Master Iro," I say with a polite bow.

"This is just the first pass," he grunts.

"Try 'em out. Especially the tall ones. I had a hell of a time getting the heel right, so let me know how they balance. Assuming no major issues, though, we're going to shift focus to the combat design." I blink.

"Combat?"

"You should have been up front about it before," he grumbles.

"I could have guessed, what with the dungeon materials, but there's a huge difference between clothing and armor. If you're a fighter, and you seem to be, then what you want is the latter."

"Do we need to change the design?" I ask.

"Nah, I can work with what we've got," he assures me.

"Just bear that in mind next time you're making a commission. An artisan needs to know if what she's making needs to hold up in a fight."

"I will, thank you."

"So..." Tara drawls slowly.

"If you're looking for a chance to test out the nice ones, I've got an idea." A cold dread washes over me, a familiar premonition that feels new and old at the same time. I know what the next words will be before she even speaks them. Words that I'd forgotten to fear after all this time.

"Would you like to join me at a party tonight?" Rara invites me.

"No!" Vi groans.

"Yes, absolutely!" I accept.

"That sounds great!"