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This Used to be About Dungeons, ch 71, Hair of the Dog + Schedule Change
🕑 Added 2022-01-21 16:30:50 +0000 UTC~~~~
Schedule change: TUTBAD will unfortunately be going down to two chapters a week, which will be Monday and Wednesday. When it originally started, it was two chapters a week, aiming for 3500-5000 words per chapter, but the backlog was ten chapters, which felt like a little bit too much, and I switched over to three chapters a week to whittle it down. It turns out that three chapters a week is just barely sustainable so long as there are no bumps in the road and so long as chapters are being kept reasonably short, but I don't tend to like shorter chapters, and I don't like not being able to account for the bumps.
Christmas break whittled down the backlog to three chapters, and it's been around three chapters for most of January, despite my attempts to get it back up to a more healthy size. Chapters are longer than originally planned (the average chapter, per my records is 4714 words), which is part of it. The average words published per week is a bit shy of 15k, which is about what's doable for me on a consistent basis. (I keep worrying about getting coronavirus and having my backlog murdered by having to take a week or two off, which thankfully hasn't happened.)
The plan going forward will be for the two-days-a-week schedule to allow for chapters to be a bit longer, and for me to be able to build up the backlog and possibly work on stuff on the side, which is generally good burnout-avoidance strategy for me. If the backlog inflates too much, we'll be back to three chapters a week, or the occasional bonus chapter, or something like that.
Now, on to the actual chapter.
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Hannah had, frankly, drunk too much the night before, and she was feeling it in the morning, like someone had pinched her head. She hadn’t meant to sleep in her room at the temple, but she’d been as drunk as she’d ever been, and the temple had been much less far to walk.
Marsh was to blame, obviously. They had both gotten to the point when they’d been nice and liquored, when everything they said to each other felt buttery smooth and crystal clear, and neither of them had wanted that to end. Hannah had been around enough drunk people to know that she’d probably been talking the most extreme sort of nonsense, or diving deep into the philosophical underpinnings of Garos, or possibly something else, and she was vaguely aware that Marsh had been talking about his mother for quite a bit of the time, though she couldn’t recall the details very well. What she did remember was that he’d ended up slumped against the table while she was trying to blink back her double vision.
She’d paid for a room at the Angry Plum for him, and heaved him up the stairs with the help of two other patrons, and that had barely been enough, since he was a heavy man who was entirely dead weight. She had been prepared to make her way to the temple, which would have involved some stumbling, but he’d called to her, and asked — mumbling — if they could stay together for a while.
The bed hadn’t been big enough for the two of them, but she’d curled up next to him, resting her head on his chest, and when he came back to himself a bit — it wasn’t entirely clear to her, events that were divorced from causality, sensations more than actual memories — she remembered he had rough hands and a surprisingly delicate mouth. He was good at kissing, even inebriated, or perhaps she was inebriated, and any deficiencies were beyond her ability to notice.
And then, in the middle of kissing, he’d fallen back asleep, and for a moment she’d laid there with him, hoping that he would wake up again. That hadn’t happened though, and this time he was snoring, which wasn’t all that pleasant with how close they were, so she slipped off into the cold night and found the temple and her old bed there.
That was, at least, what she remembered and was able to piece back together from what fragments were left in the morning.
She’d woken up feeling cold and crusty, then trekked across town to Mizuki’s, hoping to get in before anyone else woke up. Surprisingly, Mizuki was in the kitchen, looking a bit anxious, but Hannah was feeling wretched, and didn’t have the time to spare. They murmured a few words of conversation, easily forgotten, and then Hannah went up into her bed, hoping that her headache would go away when she woke up again.
It didn’t go away.
She spent some time in the bathroom, taking a hot shower, then wandered downstairs. Mizuki was in the kitchen, as usual, along with Alfric. Isra was there too, as she’d apparently stayed the night rather than going to her house in the woods.
“Tea?” asked Hannah.
Mizuki laughed. “Coming right up. A bit of a celebration last night, I take it?”
Hannah nodded.
“Drink lots of water,” said Alfric. “Or tea, I guess.”
“And Marsh was fun, was he?” asked Mizuki, still smiling a little.
“Fun enough,” nodded Hannah.
“Did he mount you?” asked Isra.
Hannah had been reaching for the offered tea, and nearly dropped the cup. “He … no.”
“There’s a better way to ask that,” said Mizuki. “You can’t just come right out and say it, you need to kind of,” she made a sweeping motion with her hand, “to come in from the side. Hannah, will you want some food?”
“Yes please,” said Hannah. “And thank you.”
“How do you sweep in from the side with a question?” asked Isra.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mizuki. “When I asked Hannah whether she had a good time, she could have taken that as a question about how things went with Marsh, and responded in kind, said ‘oh very good’ or something. Or I could asked for all the juicy details, or something like that. I could ask whether it had been passionate, or if it had gotten intense, without having to ask outright.”
“But there’s space for misunderstanding then,” said Isra. “Which … is the point?”
Mizuki beamed. “Exactly!”
“And what are you so chipper about?” asked Hannah.
“I don’t know,” said Mizuki. “I was anxious about the undone day that Alfric was going to have, since I was going to be with him, and then he came down and said we’d already done it, and it was such a relief, like I had some obligation that suddenly melted itself away. It was great.”
“And the undone day?” asked Hannah, looking at Alfric. “How’d that go?”
“Fine,” said Alfric. “I got full identification on several entads, some information that will be useful for later, and was able to check in on Liberfell.”
“I helped!” said Mizuki.
“Mizuki helped,” nodded Alfric. “And we saw Lola, who was time-sick, on her last day. Nothing much was gained from that, I don’t think. I shouldn’t even have gone.”
“You said you weren’t going to speak with her,” said Hannah.
“I — I said that I wanted her communication with me to be by letter, and I was worried that it was something important rather than petty, and if it’s me making contact,” he shrugged, but he must have known that the excuses were rather pathetic. What had happened, Hannah wagered, was that he couldn’t stop himself.
“And you’re fine?” asked Hannah.
Alfric nodded. “I think we’re good to head to a dungeon tomorrow, depending on Verity.”
“I’ll be ready,” said Verity, who came down the stairs. Her hair was tousled and her feet were bare. She’d clearly woken up not too long ago. “It will take my mother some time to set something up, along with the transportation for me. I’ll need to figure out what to play, unless that’s taken care of for me.”
“Some of your own songs,” said Isra.
“Oh,” said Verity, coming to a stop. “I … don’t think that would be appropriate.”
“Why?” asked Isra. A frown crossed her face and was then lifted with what seemed like conscious effort. “I like your songs.”
“Well, thank you, but they’re not polished,” said Verity. “When people come to a concert, they want to see someone at the height of their abilities playing songs that have been tuned to perfection. It’s shameful enough that I’ve played concert halls when I’m so young. There are many people better than me, it’s just because — well, you all know.” She hesitated. “I’m Chosen. They think that makes me better.” There was a bit of a pause, as though Verity was opening the floor to questions, but Hannah held her tongue.
“So wouldn’t they want something new?” asked Mizuki. “Don’t they come wanting to be surprised?”
“They want new,” nodded Verity. “They don’t want songs from someone who wrote an entire show in a single week with no help or experience.”
“It’ll be more than a week though,” said Hannah. “It’s got to be, just to sell tickets, doesn’t it? You have some lead time.”
“More than a week,” nodded Verity. “Still not enough time, and I just don’t have the skill.”
“If you’d like, we can use undone days,” said Alfric. “I could memorize a song you wrote, then sing it back to you? Or at least get the lyrics right, if that’s what you’re focused on. Or send anything you wanted back to you, at least within the limits of my ability.”
“That,” said Verity. “Would be good. Maybe a single song of my own, among the more traditional canon? In terms of something that people would want to hear. Songs from a Dungeon.”
“What’s that?” asked Hannah. “Songs from a Dungeon?”
“It’s what I came up with, just now,” said Verity. “But I don’t know, I’m not a composer.”
“I don’t think any of us are really qualified to say anythin’ more than that we think you’re swell,” said Hannah. “But I think playin’ your own stuff might be better for you than goin’ back to the classics. You’ve said that, haven’t you, that you feel like you’re an instrument bein’ played by the old masters sometimes?”
“Sometimes,” said Verity. “Anyway, I don’t need to think about it for quite a while.”
“Best not to put it off too long though,” said Hannah.
“We just want to support you,” said Alfric. “We know your position is delicate.”
“Thank you,” said Verity. “But I would rather talk about dungeons, and hold off on concert talk for the rest of the day.”
Alfric, as usual, had something prepared. Their original plan, nearly a week ago, had been to take on Hie Point, then following that, Moil Meadows. The idea, at least as far as Hannah had understood it, was that the ‘close’ dungeons would be spread out with the ‘far’ dungeons, if they were going to be based out of Pucklechurch rather than roving around the area and sleeping in tents. Hannah had been a fan of the plan, since it meant that they’d be alternating longer trips with shorter ones.
The new plan was to simply go to the easy ones first, hoping that they could just find some better travel entad or use Xy’s services. Hannah wasn’t entirely sure why Alfric wanted a change in plan, but she was still feeling a bit out of sorts, and it didn’t wholly matter to her.
She’d had more to drink with Marsh than she’d ever had in seminary, and there had been some amazing and wild parties, especially when they were on break. She hadn’t been able to go home to visit her family, not on a consistent basis, so she’d been left with the others, and gotten into a bit of trouble.
“Kirtle Point, if it’s up to me,” said Alfric.
“There’s where the Fractalwoods are,” said Mizuki. “I actually had a guild thing, if that would be okay?”
“What kind of guild thing?” asked Alfric.
“Well, some years ago I had gone there, to the Fractalwoods, and figured out that it wouldn’t be that difficult to send things forward in time,” said Mizuki. “And then no one wanted me to do that, which I kind of get, especially because I couldn’t guarantee that it would work. But a couple of days ago I got a message through the guild that someone had been asking around, and I was going to arrange it, because I have dibs. Might take more than a day to arrange though, I’ll have to see.”
“You have dibs on the whole forest?” asked Alfric. He seemed skeptical.
“You’d understand, if you were a sorc,” Mizuki smiled. “So if we go there, it would be great, I could drown two birds with one bucket.”
“We plan on tomorrow?” asked Isra.
“If possible,” said Alfric.
“I’m going to Liberfell today, to look after the other herb dragons,” said Isra. “I have instructed Lerial to stay on the property. I think he’ll listen. He’s a sociable creature.”
“I’m spending the day practicing,” said Verity. “It was hard to get in the time when we were in Dondrian, and if I’m going to be playing a concert — I don’t want to talk about it, but I will need to practice.”
Mizuki frowned. “You’re more concerned about a concert than, you know, keeping us alive in a dungeon?”
“Yes,” nodded Verity. “Concerts make me very nervous.” Mizuki narrowed her eyes, and Verity giggled. “You know what I mean.”
“Dungeon tomorrow then, will be the plan,” said Alfric. He looked at Hannah. “You’ll be recovered by then?”
Hannah waved a hand. “And no goin’ out tonight.”
“I don’t really care if you go out,” said Alfric. “Even if it’s with Marsh again. But I’d really prefer that you don’t drink as much as you apparently did last night.”
“You don’t want your healer havin’ a hangover,” Hannah nodded. “Sensible, I s’pose.”
“I’d really rather that no one had a hangover, actually,” said Alfric. “At least, not on the day of.”
“No hangovers,” nodded Hannah. “Sounds nice.”
It was pleasant to be back home, even with a bit of a hangover, and the pinched-head feeling was going away with time and tea, and a bit of food in her belly. The rest of the day was completely empty, at least for Hannah, and she was at a bit of a loss for what to make of herself. There was more writing to do, in her thing that might eventually become a book, but she wasn’t going to devote herself to that, not when she was feeling under the weather.
She had finished most of her work on the house, though there were a few things that were beyond her. The foundation had been shored up, a few cracked stones had been mended, and the tiles on the roof had been replaced, where needed. She had also gotten up there and cleaned, taking down much of the moss and dirt, along with three small trees whose roots would have threatened the integrity of the house. They had all made appreciative noises about it, particularly Mizuki. But with that work done, there wasn’t all that much left for Hannah to do.
Eventually, once her mid-day meal had her feeling better, she decided on turning her attention to the interior of the house.
“Mizuki, is it alright if I symmetricalize some things?” asked Hannah. Mizuki had moved into the living room, and was sitting on the big couch with the herb dragon on her lap and a book in her hands. She was idly stroking the herb dragon, which looked quite content.
“Sure, fine,” said Mizuki. “Wait, not my knives.”
“Pots and pans though?” asked Hannah. “Plates and bowls?”
“If you do the mugs, don’t take the handles off,” said Mizuki, not looking up from her book. “And I don’t want two handles on them either.”
“I have a good understandin’ of practicality, thank you,” said Hannah. “I just wanted to know if there was some chip in a plate that you had some sentimental attachment to, or a glaze on some ceramics that you didn’t want changed.”
“Um, there’s a mug with a spiral around the outside, don’t touch that one,” said Mizuki. “Everything else shouldn't matter, it’s already close to symmetrical.”
Hannah ended up spending a few hours in the kitchen, taking out small dents in the metalwork, fixing hairline cracks and one or two chips in the ceramics, evening out glazes, removing smudges, and doing what cleaning her clerical ability allowed. The kitchen itself couldn’t be made symmetrical, given where everything was positioned, and it wouldn’t be practical to do that, but Hannah did what she could. She even went so far as to make sure that everything in the chiller was as symmetrical as it could reasonably be.
It felt good to do these things, and always had, even from when she was little. She liked to have everything in order, straight and square, perfect and leveled. Whatever else was going on in her life, there was always symmetry, and even drawing on the power of Garos, she felt the connection growing stronger. Symmetricalizing nearly everything in the kitchen was, in a way, a form of prayer and adulation.
But once it was all done, there was still quite a bit of day left, and Hannah’s mind was still wandering back to the conversation she’d had with Prudence, which meant that she was also lingering on unpleasant experiences with the Church, and following that, the local cleric’s guild.
“I’m goin’ into town for a bit,” said Hannah. Mizuki was still in the living room, still on the couch, and still immersed in her book. The herb dragon had moved from her chest to her stomach, but that was the only difference aside from Mizuki’s place in the book having moved forward.
“Okay, have fun,” said Mizuki.
Isra and Verity were both in the garden, though they seemed to be talking more than they were actually working, and Alfric was nowhere to be found, though it wasn’t important enough to ask after him over the party channel.
By good fortune, Marsh’s marble alerted her just after she’d put on her shoes, though she waited until she was out of the house to answer him. She had to roll down her sleeve to get the image of him.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hullo,” replied Hannah. “How’re you doin’?”
“Bit of a wild night,” said Marsh. “I just wanted to say, sorry if — I didn’t mean to drink so much. Sorry if I tried to rush you.”
Hannah looked down at the image of him on her skin and on impulse, traced out his outline with a finger. “You didn’t,” she said. “I helped you to bed and kissed you goodnight.”
“Ah,” said Marsh.
“You didn’t push me, not that I recall,” said Hannah. “My memory is a bit fuzzy, but I’d guess that yours is worse.”
“Sorry,” said Marsh. “Felt like a bit of a waste of a night, not that what I remember of it wasn’t fun. Did you … talk a lot about your mother?”
“No,” replied Hannah.
“And … would you want to see me again?” asked Marsh.
“Not tonight, nor the next, but after that, sure,” said Hannah.
March broke into a smile. “I don’t know why, but I thought I’d made a scramble of things. Good to know I was my usual charming self.”
Hannah gave him a smile, but it was a bit forced. “I’ll speak with you later, two days from now.”
She put the marble back in her pocket. Marsh was nice, but already the cracks were starting to show. The entire reason she’d taken him up on a meeting after the dungeon escape was because he was a bit cocky and sure of himself, with a boisterous confidence that had its own particular charm. Strong, sure hands, that was what she saw in him, and here he was, trying to make sure that he hadn’t hurt her feelings or some such. It was nice, but she wasn’t in it for the niceness, and if he turned tentative and cautious, it felt like it was better to call the whole thing off.
Hannah ended up heading for the temple, which was effectively her second home. She had never really used the services of a cleric, not since she’d gone to seminary, and she stood in the center of the large empty area of the temple, trying to decide on which of the clerics she’d want to speak to. It was common knowledge that different clerics specialized in different problems, but she didn’t know what her problem was, if she had a problem at all.
Kesbin was for making peace with not having enough, whether that was a lack of material goods, a lack of love, or the death of a loved one. “God of Loss”, he was sometimes called, or “God of Lacking”, sometimes “God of Making Do With Not Having Enough”. That was perhaps in the region of what Hannah was feeling, but unfortunately, there was no cleric of Kesbin in Pucklechurch.
Xuphin was, in some way, the opposite, dealing with similar problems, but giving wholly different advice. Hannah had, on occasion, heard people say that the difference was between fixable and irreconcilable deficiencies, but in practice, it seemed to be more about different personalities and where people were in their life. If you went to Kesbin and said that you didn’t have a girlfriend, the cleric might say, ‘well, we must all make peace with not having a girlfriend’, and if you visited a cleric of Xuphin, they might say, ‘well, let’s talk about how to get you a girlfriend, in fact, let’s figure out how to get you two girlfriends’.
Bixzotl was God of Copies, but traditionally, at least so far as his social role went, he was God of Repetition, or God of Sameness. People went to Bixzotl to find some comfort and advice when their life was feeling too repetitive, or when wanderlust was threatening to take them away, or when they had some issue within a relationship. This was not particularly germane to Hannah’s situation, but part of the joy of a temple like this was in talking to clerics with different perspectives.
Qymmos was right out, naturally, even if it hadn’t been Filera. In Hannah’s opinion, Qymmos was the least useful of the gods, insofar as it came to giving advice to people. People thought of Garos as being the God of Order, but that was largely on the surface level. The Church of Garos had nothing on the Church of Qymmos when it came to liking things to be just so and championing order and tradition.
Hannah wondered whether this was how the lay people did it, when they needed advice. She had never noticed anyone sitting in the temple center fretting about which cleric to go to and what advice they could expect from each, but she hadn’t had a line of view to the temple center from the Garos section she’d lived and worked in. She imagined that it must have happened from time to time. Certainly people decided where to go on the basis of which particular cleric they liked best.
The feeling she was struggling with was nameless though, and it was hard to know which direction to choose.
“Doing okay?” asked Lemmel. He had somehow snuck up on her, which probably wasn’t all that difficult when her head was in the clouds.
“Fine,” said Hannah. “Or, no, just … unclear thoughts swimmin’ about in my head.”
“I have time now, if you’d like to talk,” said Lemmel.
“Oh,” said Hannah. “Well, I — I’m a cleric, same as you, and whatever’s on my mind, I’m not sure that it’s somethin’ you can help with.”
“I have a perspective that you don’t,” said Lemmel. “Besides, it’s been some time since we’ve talked.”
Hannah hesitated, then went with him to the part of the temple that was devoted to Garos, her old haunt.
“Now,” he said as he sat down in his familiar seat. Hannah sat beside him. “What’s troubling you?”
“I don’t know,” said Hannah. “I’m ill at ease and I can’t figure it out. It’s like havin’ somethin’ stuck between my teeth, but I can’t quite figure out which teeth it’s between, and it seems to be in a different place dependin’ on whether I’m using my tongue or my finger to get it out.”
“Do you know when you started to feel this way?” asked Lemmel.
“I don’t know,” said Hannah. “We were in Dondrian, and I had a run-in with someone I went to seminary with, Prudence, and she was doin’ well for herself. But I explained that I was a dungeoneer now, and — she was nice about it, always a nice girl, but even in makin’ the explanation, I felt bad about myself. But it seems such a small thing for it to stick with me for nearly two full days, and the weight I’m feelin’ doesn’t seem like it’s goin’ to let up.”
Lemmel steepled his fingers — symmetrically, as he often did — and spent a moment in silence. “What else is going on in your life?” he asked.
“Not all that much,” said Hannah. “We’re doin’ dungeons, and livin’ with the new party has been goin’ well, we’ve all got our place, it feels like, at least on the domestic side of things. In the dungeons I might feel of a little more use if people got hurt more often, or if it felt safe or wise to rush in and lay on a hex, or if I had more in the way of combat prowess — but there’ve been no complaints, which is good.” She didn’t mention Marsh, but Marsh felt more like a symptom than a cause.
“Mmm,” said Lemmel.
“And,” said Hannah. “Well, there’s somethin’ that I can’t tell you, because it’s a matter of some confidentiality, but …” she paused, trying to think about how to phrase it.
“You know as well as I do that clerics are trained to keep confidentiality,” said Lemmel.
“Ay,” said Hannah. “But I also know as well as you that it’s not an all-encompassing confidentiality, and I’ve never known you to be a gossip, but I worry that this information, if I shared it, might be hurtful to a friend, whether or not it ever came out. Seems the thing to do is just keep silent, even when talkin’ to a cleric.”
“As you wish,” nodded Lemmel.
“The secret — and I s’pose I’ll just talk around it — made me feel a bit small,” said Hannah. “It was a feelin’ of …” she paused, trying to think. “I’m twenty years old, you know, and sometimes I hear about younger people doin’ things, prodigies, and I feel like my life is wastin’ away.”
“You know I’m in my sixties, don’t you?” asked Lemmel.
Hannah nodded. She’d actually thought he was even older than that, though he didn’t quite move like an old man. “And I know what you’re sayin’, but that feelin’, that you could have done more with your life, or that other people are passin’ you by, or that this wasn’t what it was meant to be, surely that can’t get better as you grow older, right? When I’m thirty I doubt I’ll have distinguished myself all that much, and there will be all kinds of other people to compare myself to.”
“There will,” said Lemmel. “A bit of what you’re feeling is the double edge of pride.”
Hannah furrowed her brow. “What do you mean by that?”
“You do good work,” said Lemmel. “You know that you do good work. You know that you have strong faith, that you’re physically strong, that you’re capable. You’re very aware of your strengths, and you’re proud of them.”
A bit of scripture came to Hannah’s tongue, the third section command to know yourself and the world around you, but she bit it back.
“You have pride,” said Lemmel. “Not misplaced, I don’t think, but pride all the same, and that helps to make you capable. You did well with the dungeon escape. You do well with helping, in general. But look at the reflection of pride: it’s doubt. If you pin your self-worth on your capability, then when you find yourself incapable, or even just less than perfectly capable, your sense of self-worth might plummet.”
“And … you think that’s what happened to me?” asked Hannah.
“I can’t say,” replied Lemmel. “‘It is the self that is most equipped for its own examination, and sadly, most often fails at that task.’”
“The ‘sadly’ part was added later,” said Hannah.
“You never did like those additions,” said Lemmel with a chuckle. “The scholars were only trying to express the grief they felt at that phrase. But I do think that it would be good for you to take some time to look inside yourself, and if you come up with no answers, I’ll be here to talk to.”
“Thank you,” said Hannah. “And I don’t know if I ever said it, but I’m sorry that I left you here alone.”
“You did say it,” said Lemmel. “But even before that dungeoneer came along, you were itching to leave and ready to go. Some of that might be pride, as I’ve said, not that you don’t have things to be prideful about. You have a closer connection with Garos than I do, and a better understanding of scripture.”
“I do?” asked Hannah. It felt odd for him to say that outright.
“The problem is that you want to be someone,” said Lemmel. “And maybe dungeons are the way for you to do that, but with what you’re feeling now, I don’t know for certain. Like I said, I can only guess at what’s going on in your head. Do you think I might be on the right track?”
“Maybe,” nodded Hannah. She placed her hands on her knees. “You’ve given me somethin’ to think about that, and I’ll thank you for it. As well as the compliment on my profession.”
“You’re leaving?” asked Lemmel. He seemed a bit sad. “Well, I suppose you have thinking to do.”
“I do,” nodded Hannah. It might have been more polite to stay and jaw, but she needed a moment, she felt. “And if I figure myself out, you’ll be — well, not the first to know, but I’ll keep you informed.”
Comments
fbt
nice bit, ty!
