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[NLY-PP-F11] Of Snowflakes and Mistletoe


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Mishiro snapped her sketchbook shut. She leaned back on her bench and dismissed it to her inventory, mug of hot chocolate now in both hands. Her gray gaze traveled up to the midday sky. Enough time had passed since the commencement of the festival for the larger crowds to disperse, and the snowflakes were still lightly falling. Onto her steadily cooling mug, onto her loose black hair, and blending into her white dress and fluffy coat. It was a beautiful weather today -- her favorite weather, in fact -- where it was snowing but not too light that she barely felt it and not too heavy that she had to stay inside and wait out the storm. 

Around her, players and NPCs were still wandering about the festival. As word of it spread, there were as many people filtering into the plaza as there were leaving. The biggest crowds formed around the disc toss -- something she had already tried earlier, but she wasn't interested in leaving yet.

A wish...

It was scripted dialogue, most likely. Who wouldn't decorate a festival's opening speech with fancy words? Perhaps, it even started to hold less meaning when her wonder at the start of the festival faded away as she realized it was an NPC adding glamour to an event generated by the system it belonged to. Still, it was enough. 

What would she wish for?

From a nearby building's overhanging shop sign, a branch of mistletoe dangled above her head.

[tag: @Pinball]

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He'd always liked the snow. 

There was a beauty in it; a beauty in the white death. Leafless tree branches encased in ice, glittering in the sunlight. A blanket of snow carpeting the once vibrant forest floor. The silence, most of all, drew him in. The feeling of loneliness. Of isolation. It was strange and alien, to someone who grew up without a winter to speak of. Strange, alien, and captivating. 

But as his time in the game drew on, Pinball's experiences with winter as a whole would prove to be increasingly troublesome, for both himself and the people around him. He knew that now. That he was a troublemaker; that, if people had wanted him around, they'd have welcomed him more warmly than they do. But that was justified. He was a horrible man, who'd done horrible things, and this was the price he had to pay. 

Well, for now. There were two things he had to follow through with before he gave himself what he really deserved. 

Pinball knew she would be here. Call it an instinct; something he felt, deep down in his gut. They were always at these sorts of events - they had never been Pinball's thing. He skimmed the outskirts, first. He didn't care about the gathering itself. There was only one person he wanted to see. One person he needed to see. 

And there she was. 

Snowflakes gently drifting down in front of her, a thin trail of steam rising from the mug she held gingerly in both hands. 

The first time I saw you... 

White hair partially obscured one of Kobold's pale gray eyes. His tanned skin and the thin poncho he wore slung over his shoulder looked oh-so out of place in the cold. With a sword on one side of his hip and a satchel hanging from the other, he gave off the same energy a Floor 5 NPC would. But here he was, standing dumbstruck across from the girl on the porch, an orange cursor spinning slowly over his head. 

For once, he walked towards her, running a hand through his hair. 

His heart was racing. He was practically shaking. Pinball would take a seat on the bench as well, far to the right of Mishiro. He'd fiddle with his fingers. 

Slowly, carefully, he'd speak. "Not really one for festivities?"

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Falling, falling softly... Her breath came out in visible white puffs of air to join the remnants of steam rising from her mug as she watched the light snowfall. When she was younger, she used to love the pitter-patter of the drizzling rain against the tiled roof of her old home. In a tropical country, that was the best she could get. But sometimes, it was still uncomfortably warm and when one was staying in the city, it brought about a very unpleasant scent.

But the snow was silent, delicate, tranquil. It remained a gentle blanket against the ground and she could hold it in her hands. She was tempted to dip down and gather some now, but the white layer atop the plaza's pavement was still too thin.

For the moment, the girl sat still and sipped from her warm cup of hot chocolate.

There was a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision and a voice drew her out of her calm reverie. She lowered her mug and turned her head to the side, at the unfamiliar person who had seated himself on the other end of the bench.

An orange cursor?

Mishiro gave the very distinctive indicator a second glance before she turned her blank eyes back to the snow. It wasn't a big deal; festivals of this sort drew many types of players in, and she had seen a few crystals of the same color bobbing about in the sea of green.

"I just finished looking around," the girl said. And she too ended up playing the disc-throwing game everyone was flocking towards, she neglected to add. "We don't get weather like this every day. It's beautiful."

Edited by Mishiro
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"Ah, I see." His voice was small; soft and controlled, as if he was scared to let himself speak with volume. "Especially not here," Pinball agreed, bobbing his head. "Good place for a Christmas party, though." This was, of course, in reference to Taft's architecture, and the theme of the floor as a whole. Off the main settlement's cobbled streets, there was a giant cathedral with stained glass windows many NPCs frequented. It was keeping in touch with the Christian aspect of the holiday, maybe. It was a good way to piss off some people - but Pinball wasn't too sure why Kayaba would feel the need to try and piss anyone else off, considering. 

Then he fell silent. He cupped his hands together, absentmindedly drawing circles on his palm with his thumb. He frowned deeply, hesitating. His heart racing. He needed to tell her. Tell her the truth and beg for the forgiveness he didn't deserve. Pinball felt gross. So very disgusting, getting close to her in such a slimy, underhanded way. But with all things taken into account, Pinball had done much, much worse. 

He was going to say it. He'd open his menu and scroll through his inventory until he found the potion that would nullify his disguise, and then he would get on his hands and knees and apologize for everything. Like a dog, but less than that. Like a rat. 

His head tilted to the side, a trail of silvery breath escaping his lips. The poncho didn't do much for him in the way of warmth. Pinball studied her face, then. Every flawless blemish, all of the monotone color in her expressions. 

And then he turned away, leaning back and tilting his chin up to the sky. Melancholy dripped off of every syllable and pooled into his heart. He didn't remember ever asking her. 

"What are you going to do? When it's all over."

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Wouldn't those be the least of everyone's priorities? Mishiro loved Christmas for all that it meant to the younger version of herself who was delighted at the simple prospect of the yearly noche buena, but she couldn't deny the mixture of emotions that ran through her fellow guild members as the holiday season came upon them once again. Four years had passed. This would make for the fourth Christmas they spent away from their real world.

Twenty-four floors cleared.

She didn't want to spiral down that void. It was a very dangerous, pointless thing; that despair. In the fair set up before them, people still smiled brightly. And the snowflakes fell in a way which she rarely experienced in this floor, and she shared the quiet moment with a stranger.

Her pale gaze rested upon him, briefly, when he spoke up once again. It was natural to be a bit curious. She couldn't read into the way he looked up to the sky nor the way he spoke a touch too soft for someone at his distance, but she thought she could discern the basics when he didn't look directly at her -- mistakenly. 

Idle conversation, perhaps.

But it was something to think about. It wasn't a topic often brought up, she hadn't even talked about it with Jinx, and as time passed, she noticed that her idle musings had become less frequent -- replaced by thoughts of the present. The base desire to reach the end of this game remained, but she was foggy on what to do after.

Probably, she would spend longer on recovery than most. Perhaps with the complicated state she had entered the game in, she wouldn't even regain her full health at all. She had her own dreams before she logged into SAO, but like most girls her age and even moreso with her situation, she often went back and forth on whether she could really achieve them. She still wanted to. But for the forseeable future, it would be her in that apartment room once again, going through the daily motions of therapy, occasionally going to the park or the library with someone to aid her, and often watching the city from her window.

Streetlights, wires, buildings which obstructed the view of the sky.

"I used to live in the city, back in the real world. And here, in a place away from the larger towns," Mishiro first explained. "It's been too long and the lifestyle's different. Better than before, minus the death game part."

She had to be sure, to keep that last part in. For reasons she well understood, some players did not take too kindly to those sorts of remarks.

"So when this is all over, I want to experience the genuine thing. I'll look for a way to move to the countryside; a small town, maybe. Before that, though--"

Mishiro cast her gaze down and brought the mug close to her lips, as if to cover the wistfulness that rose in her expression with her thick gloves.

"I want to return to my normal life... if it would be possible."

Edited by Mishiro
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For a moment, he let himself get lost in that gray sky. It painted a gloomy site; a city of stone, its paved roads awash in layers of snow, the only signs of life the occasional NPC or the dark birds that dotted the horizons, weaving in and out of sight. It made him wish he had wings, so he could see the world from up above the clouds - and then he remembered that he would probably hit the bottom of the next floor before he was granted the freedom of a bird's eye view, and the reality of his situation once again came crashing down on him.

How long had they been here? How many floors had they cleared? Not enough. It was sad, then, to think about the future - for him, at least. But as Mishiro finished her speech with her wish to return to her normal life, he dragged his eyes back to her, as if shocked someone shared the sentiment. Pinball nodded, slowly, and bowed his head. "Yeah, that would be nice, wouldn't it?" 

He slowly rubbed his hands together. "That would be nice..." 

But there wouldn't be a normal life for him when he got out. He was a killer - a murderer - and if he expected things to just... go back to normal when he got out, Pinball was kidding himself. People knew who he was. People knew he was a killer. And when he got out, people like him would absolutely be punished by the law. What was the punishment for genocide? 

People like him... 

"I think, if I had a choice," Pinball began, "I think that I'd actually want to - uh, enjoy the time I have left. Here." 

With you. 

It was unfortunate, then, that people like him - people like him didn't get a choice. 

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If?

Mishiro turned her head, studying the stranger on the other end of the bench. His orange cursor. Gray eyes that almost reflected her own. The way he looked at her when she talked but always had his head turned away when it was his turn. Perchance, didn't he look a bit... lonely?

"You talk as if you don't have a choice," the girl noted. She set her now empty mug down on the space between them, giving enough pause for if he was interested in the thread she left dangling. "Someone once told me -- just because we're here, in this situation, doesn't mean everything has to grind to a halt. We can find a reason to smile; and if not, we can use that as our reason to move forward; and if not, we can hope."

...Jinx was better at this.

"I don't think you ever answered your own question. What would you do when the game is cleared?"

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"No, no," came his shaky response, "no, you don't get it. Some people don't have a choice." He was going to get out of this game and he was going to go to prison, and he was going to be sentenced to death for murder. Maybe they wouldn't find him at first - maybe they wouldn't even know. But someone else who got out of the game, who knew the names of the people killed, and who knew the name of the person who killed them? They would tell. And they would track him down, and that would be the end of his story. He'd messed up dearly. 

So please don't even suggest that the rest of my life could be spent happily. 

The words came out like a waterfall. All at once, without thought, and he'd only realized he had said anything at all when he realized he was looking at her. And when he looked at her he was hit with the realization that she didn't care, at all. 

Because this was a peculiar conversation with a stranger she'd likely never see again. Why would you pay attention to something like that? She probably wanted him to leave her alone. Or, knowing Mishiro, she didn't have a preference at all. He felt his heart tear a little. But just a little. 

He almost stood, but changed his mind and instead chose to scoot away from her. "I've done horrible things." The orange cursor was evidence of that. "But all I'm doing is pitying myself." Pinball shook his head. "I hate it. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of always crying, and - and always feeling the way I do." 

"I've done horrible things, and I'm tired." His voice cracked. "So, so tired..." 

Pinball pinched his nose and stood. He was done with feeling weak. He was done with feeding his own heartless blackness. He was done with this. Done with stalking this girl and done with hurting people. A blight. A loser. Someone who didn't deserve to live anymore, let alone talk with one of the people he'd hurt the most. 

For a moment he stood there, his back to Mishiro, watching people walk by, players and NPCs alike. Some were huddled up together for warmth. Those ones looked like couples. It kind of reminded him of back then. That was a nice memory. 

Such pretty lights. 

Then he would move, offering her his hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean to dump that on you. I've been having a rough couple of days." On his wrist, a trinket that sparkled red and green and white, catching the light of the many ornaments and lanters lining the streets. 

When had he realized he'd liked her?

"I'm gonna go back to the festival. Uh, I'll leave you to it." Obviously, that was a lie. He offered a weak smile, a stiff voice. He was holding something back. 

Had it been after Lucy had seperated herself? Or after she'd died? Had it even been alright to think that way of this girl in the first place? Maybe he'd just forced himself into thinking that. Maybe it hadn't been real. [censored]. Just leave. 

"I know you don't care, but I'm probaby not gonna see you again. Especially not like this." He smiled, nodding, his eyes practically closed. He could feel his heart in his throat, his hands were nervous and shaky. "But it was really nice. And I had a good time." 

L e a v e . 

But he hesitated, and said something he knew he shouldn't have. "You're a very sweet person. And you don't really deserve to have gone through all of this." 

The teenager pulled away. Not as Pinball or Kobold, not as a swordsman or a murderer. He pulled away as Finn Lan, a nerdy little asian kid who'd grown up alone in his bedroom secretly wishing - secretly holding out for a nicer future. If only he'd known that better days would never come. 

"You should smile more." 

Pinball would turn his back to her, one last time, and he'd begin to walk away. 

What happened? 

Snowflakes had always seemed so much prettier than this. 

Edited by Pinball
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If he were anything more than a stranger, it would have torn her heart to shreds. You don't get it. You don't need to know, you wouldn't understand. Would she ever? Would she ever be anything more than the girl who could just observe from the side, unable to comprehend anything as it all happened on its own? Ironically, Mishiro thought she understood the same plight she questioned in that very moment.

"You might be right." -- She tugged her scarf up and talked quietly, hesitantly. -- "I spoke without knowing anything. That was rude of me. I apologize.

"But... can I ask you a question?"

Mishiro took a moment to collect her thoughts and when he stood in front of her -- strangely enough, with his hand held out (was she supposed to shake it? she understood formalities, but it felt out-of-place) -- she pulled her hand from her scarf and finally looked him in the eye.

"Just based on what you said. You yourself already know what's wrong. So why aren't you looking for a way to resolve it?" Suddenly conscious, she tore her gaze from him and fixated herself on the watching the people passing by their bench. "Forgive me for my ignorance. I just thought it would have logically followed, but I guess there must be something missing."

But he kept talking. He went close -- too close to a possibility they had both been shying away from ever since he sat at the other end of the bench. And whether he went to check or not, Mishiro's composure didn't falter.

She smiled.

"Are you sure you're talking to the right person?"

["I don't understand him."]
["I don't think I ever did."]

"My name is Mishiro. It's written with the kanji for 'white' and 'depth'--"

No matter what came to his mind at her question, he would know her well enough to tell: the girl on the bench spoke with her utmost sincerity.

"-- and I don't think I know you."

This time, she was the one who held her hand out.

"I didn't come here with anyone. Would you like to walk around together?"

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She would stop him, and not for the first time. But Mishiro's words would fall on deaf ears. He frowned, opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. Shook his head.

Redemption was something he didn't deserve. He knew that. It's why he still wore that orange cursor over his head. It was a constant reminder. To him and to everyone else. It was a nice thought. But it wasn't for him. No, it wasn't for him. 

"Are you sure you're talking to the right person?"

He flinched. 

"My name is Mishiro. It's written with the kanji for 'white' and 'depth'--"

Pinball felt his heart sink in his chest, slowly, a comfortable drowning. 

 "-- and I don't think I know you."

This was okay. He nodded, shakily, trying to accept it. 

He knew what he'd done. What he'd said to her - had that been him trying to reach out to her? 

Why did she always have to be the one to come to his rescue? And why had he always insisted on pushing her away when she had? 

"No," he said, smiling weakly, "I guess you don't. Sorry, I- I've just been really tired lately, I guess..."

This time, she was the one who held her hand out. 

"I didn't come here with anyone. Would you like to walk around together?"

Pinball's eyes followed her, almost disbelievingly, as she held out an outstretched palm. He looked back up to her, his mouth practically hanging open. 

He took her hand in his. It would be the first physical contact he'd experienced in months. Almost a year. And it was gentle. It didn't come with the numb sensation of a blade cutting through his avatar, or the dull impact of being smacked around by a monster. His heart didn't shatter into a million pieces. He didn't feel empty, like he did when he wandered aimlessly from floor to floor. As a matter of fact- 

"Yeah," he sighed, "I think I would like that." 

-it felt kind of nice. 

Edited by Pinball
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His hand was warm and soft, like any other person's. 

And at first, her touch was barely even there -- her own hand hovering just underneath his, like a gentle brush with a ghost. So he wasn't any different after all. That thought brought her comfort. "Then, it's settled."

Her hand closed around his and she pulled herself up from the bench. She took a small step forward as she did, still holding onto his hand, and she stopped -- her feet, just a few inches away from his. He was tall, she silently observed. And Mishiro let out a small white puff of embarrassment before she cordially let go of his hand and stepped over to the side.

"Did you already have a place in mind? Anywhere you haven't visited?" she inquired. Mishiro plucked the empty mug from the bench and held it close to her as she fell into step with him, both beginning their aimless walk back into the festivities. "I want to pass by that hot chocolate stand. If you haven't already, they're giving away an event-limited buff for free."

Edited by Mishiro
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Her hand was soft, almost like it was barely there, hovering just under his own. It reminded him of the fragility of life. How that already fragile thing became so much more delicate in an environment like this. How he'd taken advantage of that. It was as heartwarming as it was sickening, in the back of his head, never quite gone. 

But she's still here. Tomorrow, I might not be. 

And for now, that was all that mattered. 

"No," he admitted, "we could go there, if you want." 

Pinball gave in to her suggestion all too easily. He'd always been indecisive, but this time it was sort of different. A part of him was deathly afraid he'd scare her off, somehow, the moment he wanted to be with her most. 

Was that a selfish thought?

"But I'm not really worried about any buffs they're giving out. Nothing that can't be replaced, I'm sure..." 

His voice was soft. Was it too soft? Was he being creepy? Why did he care if he was being creepy? Of course he would be creepy - he had an orange cursor, for Christ's sake. She was probably just giving him the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe she was taking pity on this stranger that nearly had a mental break in front of her... on Christmas. Maybe she cared. Maybe she didn't. 

"Your choice," he said, his voice practically a whisper. "Let's go." 

Maybe he shouldn't worry so much. 

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There was a special place in the Father's heart for tortured souls during the holidays. It seemed as if times such as these were just as wont to bring out the darkness in ones heart than it was to fill it with joy and cheer. In cases such as these, Father Wuotan feared trinkets and baubles would not be enough. Though a slight distraction, there was little substitute for a few kind words to one who finds themselves stuck in the pits of the despair. And thus was the Father drawn inexorably to the side of the man known as Pinball this night. The Father stepped out into the path of the pair from nothingness. He was an imposing figure, even in his old age. He locked eyes with Pinball through the veil of his long hair. He bored holes into the man's soul for a long moment before finally breaking gaze and regarding the pair of them with a warm smile. "Hello my children. Is there any wish you would like to make of Father Wuotan this evening? An item or, perhaps, clemency?" His gaze lingered on Pinball as he mentioned that last word. He waited patiently and expectantly, ready to listen to their desires.

@Mishiro
@Pinball

Edited by Father Wuotan
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Anywhere? Suddenly, the Christmas fair felt leagues bigger than it actually was. As they stepped back into the festivities of the main plaza, her eyes wandered from stall to stall. There were various souvenir shops selling Christmas ornaments and other bits and bobbles (she couldn't distinguish among any of them and gave up entirely). A small kiosk where an NPC sold bags of freshly-roasted nuts (why were there players pointing and laughing? perhaps it wasn't the best choice). And what might be the most interesting of the lot was a tent attendes to by three players who offered suspicious-looking potions and fortune telling (too bad, she didn't believe in any of that). The festival was as lively as before, with newly-arrived players replacing the ones who had finished their rounds.

And Mishiro was hit with the depressing realization that she had absolutely no idea where to go from here.

"Is that so? I thought you would have been," she said conversationally. They passed a game stall offering plushies for rewards and Mishiro didn't entirely realize that her gaze lingered on that one longer than most. "I overheard a few of the stronger players complaining about the lack of activity. That, and the other game stall, was the best part of the fair... according to them, anyway."

She just liked the snow. And she had downed an LD buff herself.

"Two of that one." Mishiro immediately pointed to the largest size when they arrived at the hot chocolate stand. Then she tilted her head and looked to the small board propped up on the stall's counter. "Oh, you mean they aren't free after the first time? I must have forgotten. I'll pay."

She still had enough left over to indulge herself after that shopping trip. With the quick Col transaction done, Mishiro trudged back to where she left him near the stall and gently pushed a mug of steaming hot chocolate to his hands. "You... looked a bit cold. So I thought it might help." She blew gently on the steam that rose from her own and took a step forward to let another player pass.

What would he possibly like? Her choice, he had told her, but she felt it was selfish to simply visit the places she found interesting without any consideration for his part. It was impossible to like something just because someone else did, she knew that much. Mishiro considered asking him again -- but he had an odd disinterested air about him the last time she did.

With the festival, but somehow -- somehow, he was still here.

Well, this was fine too.

A shift in the air close to them heralded a new, unexpected arrival. The Event NPC, she recognized. Her memory of that small burst of childish wonder she felt when snowflakes started to fall from the sky -- seemingly at its command -- still remained fresh. But what was it doing here, approaching players of its own volition? Mishiro drank from her hot chocolate, appearing unperturbed as it seemed to fix its attention on the orange cursor beside her. Then when it drew back to address the both of them with a warm smile, she offered the (probably) confused boy a quiet explanation, "He's the one in charge of this event, if I'm not mistaken."

Or the one who made the opening remarks, anyway.

Mishiro curiously turned to the NPC and tugged her scarf down. "A wish? For any... sort of item?" And clemency. It offered clemency. She could only wonder how the person beside her would react.

And could you possibly grant it? 

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They would walk together, silently at first, and slowly the loosely decorated streets would open up and transform into a bustling plaza of light and color. Players and NPCs alike would mill around the event, playing games at stalls and laughing together, their worries - maybe, for the moment - forgotten. It was nice. A feeling of deep melancholy settled comfortably in his gut, and Pinball smiled slightly despite himself. 

"No, no," he'd say, "I stopped caring about that sort of thing a long time ago." He wanted to say more, but it didn't feel right. The swordsman held his tongue. 

As they passed one of the many thrown up stalls, Pinball would follow Mishiro's gaze and notice the plushies she seemed to stare so intently at. He was all but ready to come to a stop, she seemed so interested - and strangely, Pinball had found himself eager to see her smile again. But she didn't share the sentiment, and continued on towards whatever destination it was she was heading to. Pinball would follow suit. 

"A lack of activity...?" He didn't understand. So he dismissed it. "I kind of just like the snow. Doesn't usually happen here." 

But did she mean the lack of any sort of boss fight? Or maybe a lack of games in the festival itself? Was it a good thing, or a bad thing? She'd worded her observation in a way a particularly sleep-deprived Pinball couldn't quite wrap his head around, and soon his mind was spinning. What did she mean? The more he thought about it, the more he overthought things, and the more stressed he looked. He'd fidget with his hands, going through the motions as if he were trying to crack his knuckles and pop his joints - but to no obvious effect, of course. 

And then they were there. 

Mishiro started to take her order, and Pinball swept a cautious eye over his surroundings. He'd learned from experience that it was important for him to keep his head down in a Safe Zone - once the guards got ahold of you, it was all over. But through personal experience, Pinball had come to the conclusion that it was all too easy to evade them. They were dumber than players; they followed patterns, and that was their downfall. All it took was a bit of constant worry and the ability to slip into the shadows at a moment's notice. 

Slip into the shadows he would, too, as a pair of armored watchmen would march by, their spears rested on plated shoulders. The teen would frown before ducking behind the stall, his back pressed against it, cleanly keeping himself out of sight. They would keep moving away, away and out of range, none the wiser, and Pinball would come around the corner to nearly barrel into a probably confused Mishiro. 

"O-oh," was all he could muster. "Thank... you." Pinball would stare into the cup for a moment, then look back to Mishiro. He felt an odd, indiscernible emotion well up in his chest.

Gingerly, he'd bring the mug to his lips. 

From behind him, however, would come another man. Old and wrinkled, with a long beard and a scowl that seemed to bore holes into Pinball's skull. Which was strange, considering the game was predominantly populated by teenagers and young adults. But one glance at the yellow crystal hovering above his head sort of summed it up. 

Sort of. 

He glanced down at Mishiro and got the explanation he was searching for. 

Finally the NPC would break his gaze, addressing the two as his children and asking what it is that they wished for... this holiday season. An item? So he was Santa Claus, then? But what was this about clemency-?

"Clemency?" 

In the eyes of who? Or what? 

@Father Wuotan
@Mishiro

 

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It seemed that the pair was slightly confused by what Father Wuotan had meant. He'd better straighten things out.

"There may be a bit of confusion. I am Father Wuotan, the purveyor of this holiday season. The two of you may request one gift each from me, and I will do what is within my power to make your wish a reality." It seemed that Father Wuotan had come off as uncharacteristically rude to the taller of the two. Even old and gray, his emotions still sometimes got the better of him. Pinball was, after all, a character of the more notorious variety. Even then, the blessings of Christmas extended to all.

"Feel free to take some time to think about what you would like, or talk about it amongst yourselves. I will be ready when you deem the time right to proceed."

Despite whatever impression his earlier chagrin may have conveyed, Father Wuotan was the patient sort. There was much work to be done, but all the children of Aincrad deserved special attention in their own right. Those whose hands were stained more than others, also.

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"Mercy. Lenience," she filled in. "In legal terms, mercy extended by a member of the government to someone who has already been convicted. It can take the form of a reprieve or a commutation, both of which lighten the offender's sentence, or..." Her gray eyes met the orange player's for a short moment before she drew back to look up at the NPC. "Full pardon."

Unlikely. After all this time, could the game just wipe one player's infractions like that?

Though it seemed unbecoming to think suspiciously of the old man who had introduced itself as Father Wuotan with a smile that held all the warmth of an hearth, its sudden appearance and the vagueness left over from its explanation painted a rather unconvincing picture. 

Mishiro drank from her hot chocolate.

She was drawing blanks in her mind and the repeated ringing at the back of her head wasn't of any help. What did she want? Many things; surprisingly, she had an entire list at home. From an NPC that offered something as large as clemency... and at this present moment -- what did she need? Mishiro eyed the orange player in her peripherals. He was still conflicted, genuine offer or not. She wondered if she would ever understand why. "You can try it and see what happens," she advised. 

And she finally opened the notification.

Arabelle:
Good day. Is that an orange player beside you? You really have a terrible taste in men.

The semi-transparent message window followed her as Mishiro turned and made a quick search of the immediate vicinity. And she spotted her, seated alone on a wooden table for two set out in front of a food stand. Swinging her legs carelessly, the small purple-haired girl was faced away from them and her hands were a blur across the virtual keyboard of her own message window.

Arabelle:
I met that event NPC earlier. Tell him what you want and he'll pull it out of nowhere.

Well, that had been the implication of 'Father Wuotan's prompt earlier.

Mishiro:
Define anything.
Arabelle:
Based on my experience, the limit has to be something like: 'nothing that would break the game.' I got a voucher that let me replace an enhancement with another, but only for regular enhancements. The person I was with got SP, but only enough to step up a level. T2, mind you. And An requested and got some light armor. I didn't understand much over her gushing, but I do know it wasn't as special as her Halloween stuff.

Going by that pattern, the request that was forming in her mind was a long ways away from being 'too much.' But, the same couldn't be said of his request. 

Arabelle:
You might want to move to the other end of the fair. Claude's otw. I'll send you a PM if we walk around.
Have fun on your date <3

And the girl sent a wink their way before making a show of closing her message window and returning to her own business. Typical of her to end on that note. Mishiro dismissed hers as well.

It had to be vanity, something that could be worn even with all three equipment slots filled. It had to be fairly small and simple... a trinket? She remembered the guild discussing a quest that awarded a vanity trinket once -- one whose appearance varied based on the player who looted it. Instead of selling their quest rewards, a few of them had put it on display in the lower shelf of the lone trophy case in their guild hall as a sort of competition on who brought back the best-looking pendant. She had passed by that little collection a few times to take a look. 

Mishiro scribbled down her request on the back of a spare order form. Approaching the NPC, she held out her slip, faced down. 

"May I also ask for it to be wrapped?"

Quote

Misericordiae -- Vanity Trinket -- [Tradable] -- [reference] "A beautiful round locket finely crafted from sterling silver. Within its crystal glass face are small, colorful charms shaped from precious metals."

 

Edited by Mishiro
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Between Mishiro and Wuotan's explanations, Pinball would quickly have a better idea as to the identity of this mysterious NPC. Strange. He'd almost mistaken him for an actual player until he'd glanced up at his cursor. Pinball should have known better. He'd never met someone so old in the game before. But there was life in those eyes, wasn't there? Hyper-intelligent AI was supposed to be rare; but these days, it was almost like Pinball could have a full blown conversation with any random NPC he passed on the street. 

The times are changing, Pinball thought, then pushed his contemplations aside. 

Mishiro quieted down, busying herself with something else. Wuotan's intense gaze had dropped, but he still felt it on him. An eerie, lingering sort of feeling. Like his skin was being pricked all over. The priest's words rang in his ears. Clemency? He tried to swallow his nervousness. 

Nervousness? When was the last time he'd felt nervous? It probably had something to do with the girl standing beside him. 

Embarrassed, and chiding himself for feeling so, Pinball considered what it was he wanted. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that what he wanted couldn't be given him to some old NPC priest in a bathrobe. He squirmed uncomfortably. Mishiro was right next to him, and by now, she'd already asked him for a gift, opting to writing her choice on a slip of paper. Pinball felt the briefest flash of curiosity, mingled with an unusually sharp sense of longing, but those feelings were quickly suppressed. 

He had to say something. So he spoke, the suddenness of his own voice shocking him. 

"I don't want a pardon. And honestly, father, I don't care much about presents." 

Pinball fidgeted, then berated himself for it. He didn't like acting like this. But he couldn't help it. And he had to be honest here. He wasn't talking to Wuotan. Not really. It was a promise to himself, and a promise to Mishiro. She's seen you at your worst more than once, Pinball told himself, so you don't really have to worry about being truthful here, do you? 

The thought hurt him.

"I want the strength to make things right. As right as they can be, anyway."

Silence would hang between them for a moment, and he'd quickly amend what he'd said. "Of course, I don't expect you to be able to like - like, you know. I'll take whatever it is you think fits what I want. Or nothing. I don't... care. Sorry." He glanced at Mishiro. "Sorry." 

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The bearded man studied the woman for a moment, puzzlement plain on his weathered face. He glanced down at the order, then back up again. "That's all?" he asked her. "No other attributes?" After a pregnant pause, he shrugged beneath his heavy robes. "Alright, that's certainly no problem at all. In fact..." His voice trailed as Father Wuotan reached into his side pocket. Slowly, carefully, he drew out a square box. The top and the bottom were wrapped individually in silvery white paper; tiny printed snowflakes shimmered in the light. "Take a peek," he encouraged with a ghost of a smile. "Make sure it's to your liking."

Satisfied with the delivery of his first gift, Wuotan turned to Pinball next. The smile hardened as he regarded the Player Killer, but it did not disappear. "Strength to make things right?" he echoed. Then he made a soft tch sound. "Don't waste my time asking for things you already have." He turned away, lifting his hand to gesture a quick goodbye over his shoulder. As he did so, a popup populated in Pinball's peripheral.

Quest

          Redeem yourself.          

      X

 

Spoiler

Mishiro receives the following:
Misericordiae -- Vanity Trinket -- [Tradable] -- [reference] "A beautiful round locket finely crafted from sterling silver. Within its crystal glass face are small, colorful charms shaped from precious metals."

Upon acceptance of the quest, which immediately disappears from the log, Pinball receives the following:
5 SP

(Please link back to this post for your records.)

 

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An expression of mild perplexity etched onto its wrinkled face. It held off on manifesting her request, if only to clarify. Attributes; she understood the expectation but it wasn't anything she was in need of at the moment... or so she believed. Resisting the sudden inclination to ask the snow-haired boy's opinion, she dipped her head in a small nod. "None."

What she was met with was a small silver box, drawn from its pocket like it had been there all along. Like magic, she thought. Mishiro accepted the item and, following the NPC's prompt, she gently lifted the lid and peered in through its small opening. "It's better than I imagined," she said. "Thank you."

--And she immediately slid it closed when the orange player beside her spoke up, a reminder that he had been beside her the entire time. Mishiro tugged her scarf up and tucked the small box into the inside pocket of her coat. She listened closely, half-wondering if she was intruding, yet she remained in place until he began to stutter. By the time he glanced up, she was a respectable few steps away from the two, partially hidden behind a translucent menu floating before her. "It's--" Mishiro dismissed the window and tucked her hand into her coat pocket. She fixed her gaze somewhere else and her free hand went to tug on her scarf. "I don't mind waiting."

The old priest's expression hardened, and it spoke to the player in a reprimand. As she looked on quietly, Father Wuotan triggered a notification pop-up for the other and departed from the pair with a dismissiveness that came as abruptly as its arrival.

Their strange encounter with the Event NPC was over.

Mishiro plucked her hot chocolate from the ledge she'd left it on and approached him. "Let's go."

Uncharacteristically, that hadn't sounded like a question. Other end of the fair, she recalled. Mishiro led him in the opposite direction without looking back. She brought her mug close to her lips as she walked a step ahead of him. "Why did you turn it down? It gave you a choice, as far as my understanding goes."

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