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Viewing as Guest

“Mr. Kim, don’t worry. I’m only interested in virtual men.”
“…”
“Anyways, how are they?”
“Ahem… everything is going as expected. Most of them were overwhelmed by the sensory bombardment, but almost all of them are in good health and are playing the game.”
“Almost all?”
“Yes… number 49, Pewee, seems to be in a state of trauma.”
“Ah, number 49. We marked her in the first round of selection; looks like she didn’t turn out after all.”
“Yes. What would you like to do with her?”
“Keep her in the experiment for now and monitor her actions carefully. If her state worsens, pull her out immediately and notify me.”
“Yes ma’am.”

--

As soon as the black monstrosity fell to four giant paws, it noticed Crow.

And growled.

It was a raking, guttural sound that jarred its way up Crow’s spine and made her limbs rattle like leaves in a storm. It was a growl that brooked no arguments—if Crow was an enemy, she would very soon be a dead enemy. The aggression and wariness that surged past the enormous, bared fangs struck the trembling Crow and made her drop her ladle.

It clanged loudly. Oh shit, she thought, it’s over.

“Brutus, down. The lady is a guest.”

The black wolf immediately lowered its hackles, plopped onto its rump, and lolled its tongue out amiably, even wagging its tail a little.

Crow had backed up into the wall. She almost slid to her feet from the relief, but steadied herself hastily. The wolf appeared to have transformed into a friendly dog, but she knew that those powerfully built muscles could spring into action at any given moment, and those sharp fangs could be at her throat. She lowered her body into a crouch, picked up the ladle, and stared at the man who had so much authority over this creature.

It was like a giant tree had stumped into the kitchen. He was solidly built, tall, and wearing a bulky suit of armor. There was an unyielding hardness in his weathered brown face. It was an expression she recognized from many of the guards at the prison. She had seen it in the faces of some of the inmates, too, and knew very well that it was something you didn’t mess with.

However, there was something particular about this man. He felt… warm. There was a trace of amusement glittering in his eyes, and his mouth was curved upward. Crow watched as the man smiled and squeezed into the kitchen to embrace Helen. He ended up knocking quite a bit of the clutter off the counter, and when he tried to reach down, his steel armor got in the way. He laughed sheepishly at that, straightened, and cast his powerful gaze over the table at the half-crouching Crow.

“And who is our guest, Helen?”

Helen smiled as she knelt to pick up the stuff on the ground. “She helped me bring some fabrics home, and we were just having a cup of tea. She hasn’t told me her name quite yet.” And turning her head away slightly, she murmured, “She helped carry Jay up the stairs…”

At the mention of Jay, the man’s expression darkened. The wolf whined.

“Jay? What happened?”

“He had an attack when he came down the stairs to greet me. The worst he’s had this week. I gave him a sleeping draft. That child… I’ve confined him to bed for the time being.”

The man frowned. “I’ll have a talk with him later.” He turned to face Crow and grinned, but the easy content was out of his face, replaced by lines of concern. He then extended his hand and said, “My name is Jorgen. I’m Helen’s husband. Pleased to meet you!”

Crow stared blankly at the hand. What was she supposed to do with it? Confused, she nodded almost imperceptibly and continued to silently clutch at the ladle.

Jorgen laughed heartily, nonchalantly washing away all awkwardness and giving no sign that he had been offended. “Well, I am famished, wife! Shall we get down to supper?”

“The stew is almost ready, and I’ll get the bread out. We ought to feast proper tonight, since we have a guest!”

Jorgen and Helen shared a few more cheerful remarks before Jorgen carefully extracted himself from the kitchen and headed for the stairs. Brutus followed, and Crow was finally able to let out her breath.

Helen must have noticed, because she giggled and said, “Brutus looks scary, but he’s a good boy. He wouldn’t hurt a fly unless it was a threat.” Helen turned and walked to a small cellar door in the corner of the kitchen. “I’m sorry to bother a guest, but could you please stir the soup? You’ve got the ladle in your hand already, and I’m going to go get the bread…”

Crow nodded as Helen’s voice trailed away, then moved towards the pot over the fire. She had cooked before, though not on such a primal stove, but it had been quite a while and she didn’t know if it was the same in this game.

Ah, yes… it was a game. She had almost forgotten. She wondered briefly what the others were doing, what Harpy One was doing. This was a game, but it was so real; this family felt real. It was just a game, but it was far from a prison.

Liberation…

Those kinds of thoughts were no good and almost always made her think of the past. She wrenched her thoughts away and focused on the soup.

It was thin, more water than stew, and boiling quite violently. She hurriedly stirred it. There were hardly any vegetables and no meat, but it still smelled infinitely better than the porridge she had every morning in the prison.

She had only stirred it twice when she heard thumping noises and the click of claws on the floor. The wolf! She whirled around and saw it steadily padding towards her. Crow jumped away, hot ladle in hand, as the wolf stretched and fell into a heap in front of the stove. It completely ignored her presence. Then Jorgen strode into the kitchen, and Crow saw a trace of deep sorrow in his face before it covered it with a forced smile.

He had taken off his mail and was now clothed in simple leather garb. Crow was somehow relieved to see that he was not wearing any of his wife’s creations. He walked to the table and sank into the biggest chair, which was only barely big enough to hold his massive frame.

This man had a commanding presence. Considering the armor he had worn and the breadth of his stature, Crow guessed that he was a soldier, and a rather high ranking one at that.

Jorgen placed his elbows on the table and stroked the stubble of his face, then spoke. “So, you’re new in town, eh? What are your plans?”

His voice expected an answer. It was not unkind, but firm.

Crow knew that with this kind of solid personality, she wouldn’t be able to maintain her silence. So she spoke, quietly, and her voice was the type of sound that begged the ears to listen, and drew the attention. It was husky, but not raspy, and smooth.

“I don’t have any.”

Jorgen seemed impervious to the effect her voice usually had on people, and simply continued to stroke his face. “Hm. Is that so. And your name?”

“Crow.”

At that moment, Helen burst out from the underground cellar. She had half-eaten loaf of bread in her hands and something wrapped in brown paper under her arm.

“Oh! Crow, is it?” she exclaimed, as she placed the small paper package and bread on the table. “I went and found the cheese, too. Ah, the stew, is the stew ready?” She whirled around rather haphazardly. “Yes! The bowls, the bowls, and spoons!”

Jorgen watched his wife’s antics with a fond look in his eyes. It was a painfully warm gaze, and Crow looked away. It was a gentle expression from a different world than Crow’s, and she suddenly realized that she didn’t belong at this table, with this loving couple. She almost stood, but the hunger in her stomach bade her to stay, and her instincts told her that neither Jorgen nor Helen would be pleased if she made her exit now.

She had nowhere to go, either. She didn’t even know what this game was about, and how it worked with such realism. How it invoked feelings in her that she thought she had lost…

“Here you go, dear,” Helen said, passing over a bowl of steaming soup to her husband. Jorgen accepted it with one hand and continued to tackle the half-loaf of bread. Judging by the extreme difficulty with which he was cutting it, Crow guessed that it was rather old and crusty. Bread. She hadn’t had bread in a very long time.

Helen brought two bowls of stew for Crow and herself.

“Let’s eat!” Jorgen had finally succeeded in cutting the bread and proceeded to pass the slices. Despite the thick crust, the inside was fairly soft, and it was delicious. It was homely and simple sourdough bread that perfectly complemented the stew, and the tang of the cheese made a nice final touch. Crow dug in timidly at first, then vigorously. It was tastier food than she had eaten in years.

“So, how do you like my wife’s cooking?” Jorgen boasted.

Helen laughed. “It’s not much, but you seemed starved, poor thing. Eat as much as you want.”

She said that, but there really wasn’t much to eat. Even so, Crow quickly licked the last drop of her stew and picked the crumbs off the table from her slice of bread. She felt the gazes of Helen and Jorgen watching her with curious eyes, but for once she didn’t care. Food was more important right now.

Jorgen silently handed her another slice of bread.

Crow looked at him with shining eyes.

He was glowing. An angel? The bringer of bread?

She took it two hands and murmured a “thank you” underneath her breath, then slowly chewed on the crust. She was determined to make it last for the duration of the meal.

Jorgen grinned. “I do like a lass who eats well and knows good cooking when she sees it. Well, it’s tough times.” His smile faded. “Helen has been busy taking care of our Jay, and the shop… well, the shop has seen better. I’m a soldier on guard at the walls, so I leave at dawn and come home late and can’t help out at home.”

His gaze bored into the back of Crow’s lowered head. “We’ve been looking for a hand to help out at the shop. If you don’t have any plans, why don’t you stay here? The pay won’t be much, but we can provide meal and board.”

Helen, who had been listening to the grim words with tight lips, suddenly clapped her hands with delight. “That’s a wonderful idea! Do stay. Having another woman in the house would be lovely.”

Meals… meals would be provided. She nodded without a second thought.

Helen grinned radiantly. Jorgen nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Then we should tell you a little more about us. I am Jorgen Graystone. I have been a soldier for all my life. Though there have been better times in my career, it is not so bad. Brutus,” Jorgen gestured towards the sleeping wolf leaned against the stove, “is my wolfdog. He is a hybrid of wolf and dog, and my precious companion.”

At the mention of his name, Brutus raised his chin from the floor and yawned, showing off a terrifying set of canines. His hybrid breeding explained his mixed characteristics, but Crow still found the wolfdog’s obedience strange. There was something uncanny about Brutus and Jorgen’s relationship. She sensed that it was a bond that couldn’t be broken in life.

“This beautiful woman, Helen Graystone, is my wife. She is a tailor of Granheim. We have had a shop here for many years.”

Helen bobbed, still smiling.

“And my son, who you met earlier, is Jay Graystone. He is seven.” Crow watched over her slice of bread as grief streamed into the cracks of Jorgen’s face. “Only seven. And very sick.”

Helen’s expression had dimmed. She laid a hand on Jorgen’s shoulder and continued for him. “Jay… Jay has never been very healthy. It was never this bad, we always managed, but this year, he developed this horrible cough and has been getting worse. We scraped up enough money to take him to the Church, but we didn’t have enough to have him healed… they said it was too late…” Helen’s voice broke, and her next words came out as a sob. “Our Jay, our Jay won’t survive this winter.”

The wife and husband were silent as they held each other, comforting each other. The words didn’t come as a great surprise to Crow. The frailty of the boy, his paleness, the strength and persistence of the cough all added up. In the real world, it would probably be some form of cancer. However, there was no way to know what kind of disease it was here in Royal Road. But there was no doubt that this boy didn’t have much time left.

They had also mentioned a Church. So there was religion, and presumably priests as well. And by Helen’s words, it seemed they had the power of healing. She had the impression that magic was prevalent in this world.

Magic—this world might be in a fantasy setting, but the sorrow and pain written in the couple’s shaking forms were real.

Jorgen took in a deep breath and straightened, but didn’t remove his arm from Helen. “Now that you’ll be working in the shop, Helen will have more time for Jay. And I’m sure he will appreciate having a younger face around the place as well. He never attended school, so he has so few friends… please treat him kindly. He is a good boy.”

Helen nodded. “Yes. Your main jobs will be cleaning the shop, attending the store, and… ah, do you know how to sew? Maybe you can help me with the wares!”

Kang Prison was attached to a shoe factory. Crow had been forced to learn how to sew. She had spent much of her past few years slaving away in the dim and dusty factory, but she didn’t resent sewing like the others did. As dull and horrible as it was, it was an escape, and the team leaders didn’t allow any inmate interaction. Harpy One had tried once, to do it right there in the factory, but she was beaten and threatened with solitary confinement, and didn’t try again.

So Crow nodded and murmured, “I can sew.”

Helen seemed very pleased with herself. She began to clear the dishes and utensils, throwing them into the sink, and dragged Crow by the sleeve into the workshop. Crow allowed herself to be led in. Helen grabbed a pile of cloth and held them out to Crow, gesturing with her chin to a small table with sewing needles, thread, and various other items on it. “Show me what you can do!”

Crow peered at the fabric. Most of it was dyed in horrible colors, but there were a few pieces that would work. She picked out a relatively normal tan fabric and a sheet of auburn leather, then expertly threaded the needle with thick brown thread and began to sew.

She would make what she knew best—shoes.

As she cut the pieces and sewed, Helen watched eagerly. Jorgen lingered for a while, but he soon retreated upstairs, followed by his silent and dark shadow, Brutus.

The shoes took form. Strangely, her ability to sew was a little hampered, and the shoes didn’t come out quite as she expected. She didn’t know why, but with some effort she managed to make a decent pair of slippers. It took her longer than usual, but it was still under an hour of work.

When she snipped off the last hanging thread, a ringing sound tinkled into her ears. Helen didn’t seem to notice it.

Helen clapped her hands and her eyes glittered. “This is wonderful! What a charming pair of slippers you’ve made! Crow, please become my assistant Tailor!”

Crow was dumbstruck. The message that had popped up contained too many words she didn’t understand. Well, she was fairly good at sewing, and she didn’t have much else to do anyways. It would be interesting to try and work with Helen’s artistic sense. She also liked that sewing more would allow her to show more of her true ability. The level of the slippers had frustrated her, and she wanted to be able to make better goods.

“Okay.”

Another slew of messages popped up informing her about her newly acquired Profession and skills. She swam through it dizzily.

Somehow, in this world she barely understood, she had become a Tailor.

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