Sláine had expected something a bit… more from the door to Red’s room.

Maybe burn marks, maybe patches, maybe taped-over sections of wood or a large sign that said Danger: Keep Out in bolded red font. Anything other than a plain, polished maple rectangle that matched every other doorway in the cookie-cutter corridor, though thinking about it, she supposed she’d just been letting her imagination run away from her. Humans liked conformity, liked evenly spaced things that matched up in nice little rows. It was why they liked knitting, Sláine thought. And doilies. And tiled floors that stretched on unsettlingly into space.

There was no reason why this ‘Red’ should be any different - or even if she wanted to be, there’d be no reason for management to let her.

Yora knocked, three sharp raps accompanied with a shout of, “Oi! Red, you in there?” which went ignored for a solid fifteen seconds before she tried again. “Hey, open up! I’ll just keep doing this, you know. I’m a stubborn ass.”

Sláine waited patiently, trying to ignore how annoying the increasingly insistent banging was becoming, when Red finally opened the door.

It wasn’t even an assumption. There was just no way this person could be anyone but Red.

Her dress struck Sláine as oddly visceral, from the stark color of her cloak to the bone-white of her curved mask. Her hair, a lanky purple stream that fell over her shoulders, somehow rejected the normal associations purple had of being regal and calming. It was bright, unrelenting, vibrant, and the very farthest thing from elegant she’d ever seen. ‘Royal purple’ would look at Red and run the other way; nothing approaching nobility would ever be caught dead in such an artificial color. Or maybe that’s exactly the kind of garish shade humans liked to put their dukes in? Regardless, it certainly stood out, immediately conveying a person who had zero shits to give about anyone’s sensibilities but her own.

Lively and vivacious, like an orchid - though, Sláine hoped, perhaps not as delicate. She had no idea whether this first impression was good or bad, but at the very least, Red was trouble given that the first words she said were, “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

“Goodness Red, are you really so suspicious? Can’t a friend just come and visit?”

There was a sharp, abrupt laugh. “I’m not friends with snitches. Anyway, what do you want? I’m sort of busy, which is why I’m in my room trying to get some work done.”

“If you were really trying to get some work done, wouldn’t you be in the lab?”

“Maybe I didn’t want you lot looking over my shoulder.” Red pointed at Sláine, who noted that her thick, sturdy work gloves were singed black at the fingertips. Concerning! “Who’s the bunny?

Sláine certainly loved being spoken about as if she wasn’t there. It was her favorite thing. She also loved being referred to exclusively by her physical features, such as the slender rabbit-like ears sloping gently over her periwinkle hair, or the flower-covered scars that curved across her exposed tan flesh.

“My name is Sláine.” She introduced herself with a stiff bow, though she made eye-contact (or her best approximation thereof) the entire time. “I have been informed that you are to train me.”

“Train you?” Red repeated incredulously, then turned her mask towards Yora. “You’re giving me some weird half-clothed furry to train? Shouldn’t she be getting a job in some kinda cafe?”

Sláine had quite a lot of practice in maintaining a permanent, placid half-smile, so her expression didn’t waver. The question she’d had earlier definitely was answered by now. She was going to hate this so much.

Yora cleared her throat. “I would remind you that it’s unwise to judge someone based on their appearance, Red, and also that you can check her statistics yourself if you need some proof about her capability.”

There was a rough, grumbling sigh from behind the mask. “Fine, fine. C’mere, you.”

Red grabbed onto Sláine’s shoulder, putting her glove over the markings on her bare skin. The leather was oddly warm - had she just been handling something hot? - and felt smooth to the touch. The now familiar sparking sensation also confirmed that apparently skin-to-skin contact wasn’t a requirement for ‘checking stats’.

Sláine utilized this extremely useful information immediately.

“Where’s yours?” she asked, grasping Red by the shoulder with her other hand so she couldn’t get away. Interestingly enough, she did reflexively flinch back, though Sláine didn’t feel particularly bad given how annoyed she was. If humans were going to be grabby, she were going to be grabby back. “How do I check your stats? I think I have the right to know how good my mentor is too.”

“What? No! Get off me!”

Yora laughed, a sharp cackle indicating she hadn’t particularly expected that turn of events. “Hey, you reap what you sow! If you care about her stats Red, then she gets to care about yours.”

During the resulting pause, Red stopped struggling quite so much. “Fine,” she grumbled, and with clear reluctance she slowly presented her forearm. Sláine loosened her grip, and she did the same in turn. “You even know how to do that, Bunny-Girl?”

Sláine moved her hand down, her fingers catching on the edge of Red’s cloak, and looked over to Yora. For once, she would love an informational monologue.

Yora came through. “Put your hand here,” she instructed with a point. “Touch the area, and you should feel a little… tingle in the back of your head. It might be hard to get at first, but as you practice, you’ll become more and more attuned to it. That’s how you know you can do a [ System Command ].”

“That’s what… ‘checking stats’ is? A [ System Command ]?”

“Yeah, it’s you querying the Protocols and interacting with it directly, unlike [ Spells ] or [ Skills ], which have you asking the Protocol to use its power to help you to a thing. They’re usually informational or administrative tasks rather than active ones like trying to set something on fire.”

“Wait,” Sláine paused, squinting at Yora. “What’s the difference between spells and… [ Spells ] said that funny way?”

By the Tree that was such a bizarre feeling. Those special words hit her tongue in a way that felt wrong, and she had no real idea what caused it beyond just speaking.

“Hah! You’re so green,” Red snickered, and even if it’d been unintentional, her pun made Sláine at least fifty percent more exhausted with her presence. She better at least fight well. “Yora, are you seriously sticking me with a complete newbie?”

Yora ignored her. “The feeling you’re describing is… ahh, its called Conceptual Architecture. It’s not imaginary buildings, more…” She paused, for once thinking the matter over. Sláine got the feeling that this wasn’t something she was used to explaining.

“Some concepts are built into the Protocol system. Like classes - [ Necromancer ], [ Knight ], [ Berserker ]… those words exist independently of the Protocols, but using them to describe these very specific groupings of characteristics and access to certain abilities is something that the Protocols do to organize the System. In the greater whole of the Overseer, they become definitions that mean a very particular, specific thing. Are you following me so far?”

Sláine nodded. She, in fact, was not, but it felt easiest just to lie so she could get through it quicker. Why did humans have all these strange terms for things? Couldn’t they just state things more simply? Who needs phrases like Conceptual Architecture and classes - couldn’t they just say the same thing using fewer words? What did Overseer mean, anyway? What was the difference between that and the System? Why does it need to be organized? Does this have to do with variables and Technicians and whatever else Amelia had been talking about? Statistics, resistances, random numbers, drop rates, item classifications, numbers that defined people - why was it all so technical?

Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t Sláine that protested. “Holy fuck Yora, you need to stop spending so much time around Little Miss Book Princess, queen of the ice and being a humorless bitch. Look. Bunny.”

Red took her hand off Sláine’s shoulder, though she did give it a mildly condescending pat before she did so. “The difference between a spell and a [ Spell ] is that one means, ‘if you do this ritual, some weird bullshit happens’, and the latter is specifically, ‘if you do this ritual, the Protocol makes some weird bullshit happen’. Anything said in that weird way means that it’s being talked about in the really specific terms that Protocols like. Got it?”

“…Got it,” Sláine repeated, her attention now focused on Red. “But it seems like… sometimes, I hear the world class, and sometimes I hear it as [ Class ] - “ she winced. The space behind her nose buzzed. “What’s the difference? How are they used differently?”

“Honestly, don’t worry about it. Those weird words basically mean - hey, you know how when you call a dog’s name, it gets happy and perks up? Wags its tail and shit? Hell, sometimes that happens even when you don’t call its name exactly, but just have this general tone in your voice and the dog wants a walk. It’s like that. The Protocol is going ‘oh, you mean me?’ and triggering. Remember...”

Red pointed at Sláine’s chest. “It’s in your head now. There’s no off-button for this. It gives you power by becoming a part of you. It’s always there, in the background, humming along and doing its thing until it thinks you need it.”

While Red’s metaphors could stand to use a little practice, she did get the general idea, and Sláine nodded once in a rare moment of honest understanding. When she looked back over at Yora, she saw her beaming - and found the expression reminiscent of a cat who’d just been given a fresh dish of cream.

“…The hell are you looking like that for,” Red said flatly, and Sláine found herself agreeing.

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” Yora waved it off. “I think you have things settled here though! I have some business to attend to, so I’m going to leave you with Red to finish off your tour. I’ll come pick you both up for dinner and show you where you’ll be sleeping after that. Does that sound okay, Slainé?”

“Very well,” she replied. It could be worse, so there was no sense in fighting it.

Red seemed to have other plans though. “Hey, I never agreed to this. What if I don’t want to mentor Cottontail here, huh? I’ve got shit to do.”

“…This isn’t a request, Red,” Yora said with an unrelenting smile. “This is an order. Do it.”

A pause. “Is this your fucked up way of trying to throw me a bone? Because I don’t need you meddling. I’m handling things just fine, which - need I remind you - is no thanks to you.”

Meddling? This seemed like a very odd conversation to have when Red was apparently in need of points for something. And what did she mean with that accusatory tone?

Ah well. Not really her problem, was it?

“If you really hate it so much, then do your job well so you can get done with it faster. Anyway.” Yora shrugged, then raised her hand to bid them farewell. “See you later, you two! Don’t have too much fun, and if you set something on fire, you’re paying for it.”

Sláine gave Yora a simple nod in return as she watched her go, leaving her alone in the hallway with a woman whose hood was as red as a fresh splotch of blood.

>> Attempt conversation