Though all the rooms in the Blue Slime team house were clear, some could be said to be clearer than others. That is to say, those rooms that they were using—the kitchen, the bathroom, a few bedrooms—had been made liveable by dumping all the broken furniture and rubbish into rooms of a lower priority. It was in one of these rooms that Amanda toiled, pushing and pulling and struggling and grunting. She'd cleared a small space, broken tables and splintered chairs and miscellaneous bits of wood piled against the walls, and was presently wrestling with a particularly stubborn chest, closed and locked and heavy enough that it might well have been filled with rocks—although the weight wasn't the problem. She was easily strong enough to move it, if only she could get her body to work—

"What is this NOISE? Some of us are attempting to achieve things, not merely engaged in pointless busywork—what are you trying to accomplish here? Is this your idea of redecoration? Or perhaps a sad parody, you zombies enjoy that manner of melancholic trumpery."

Amanda didn't reply, had made not the slightest acknowledgement of Praetorian's presence. He watched her continued efforts to move the chest, then clucked his tongue and turned away—then stopped. He turned back, eyes narrowed, and spent another minute in observation. All the while Amanda ignored him, focused on her task, on forcing her body to do what she wanted. The movements were there, she could feel them, she knew what she should be doing but her useless dull body was forever lagging behind, a second behind her impulses and reflexes—

"Stop."

Amanda's intentions were unchanged by this syllable, but her traitorous body released the chest and shuddered upright. With a complete lack of amusement she turned on Praetorian, hunched over, glaring at him from behind her hair.

"What."

"What are you trying to do?"

Amanda's response was a rasping growl, but her attempt to turn away was thwarted by a single word from Praetorian:

"Answer."

"I'm trying to be who I am," she spat.

"Who would that be, then?"

"Better than this!"

"Explain."

Amanda growled again, a long rattling noise that turned into words: "I should be moving better. I should be so much faster. I'm strong and quick and, and good. Nothing like this."

"Are you referring to your life? Before you were killed?"

Amanda's growl was shorter this time. "I don't know. Yes."

"And so that's why you're doing this. Raw, basic physical activity. An attempt to be more like 'yourself'."

Amanda found herself forced to nod.

"Hm. Well. Perhaps your time would be better spent adapting to your current state of existence, rather than futilely struggling to reclaim the past. Could you at least try to keep the noise down? Incidentally I'll be going out this afternoon. Should you wish to retain your sensibilities you're welcome to trail along."

Ignoring Amanda's look of loathing, Praetorian left her among the broken furniture.

Unusually fine example, he thought. Even better than I first suspected. Superbly bound, fine structure, strong sense of self.

But of course, even an exceptional zombie is still just a zombie.

Kitten was on her very most best behaviour, doing her utmost not to gloop everywhere. She had heard of the Blue Haven restaurant only in tantalising scraps of overheard conversation, offhand comments from Mist and the others raising the status of the place to legendary in the young slime's impressionable mind.

"I'm so happy I could come here!" Kitten was holding Mist's arm and jiggling it up and down. "It's even more wonderful than your stories!"

"Oh?" Mist managed.

"So much more wonderful!" the slime exclaimed, her humanoid form slipping a little in her excitement. She adjusted herself and patted her cheeks in a gesture of self-reproach before attempting a smile at Mist. It came off as more creepy than anything, strands of goo stretching over a toothless tongueless maw, but Mist recognised the effort involved.

Clare had been watching the exchange with faint curiosity. She gave the plain little restaurant a second look.

"Wonderful?" she said.

"Oh, yes! Don't you think so? These flags are so colourful, and the smells are so complicated!"

Clare stared up at the flags, puzzlement in her sleepy eyes.

"You can see and smell," she said, her gaze still upon the flags. "Even without eyes or a nose?"

"My whole body is eyes and a nose," Kitten said. "And ears and a mouth! When I make a face like this it's because I want to be like Mist and make her happy. People like people-shaped things. I noticed this. Oh! Soup!"

The owner set down three bowls, placed spoons beside each, then nodded in apparent satisfaction. As he returned to the kitchen Mist focused gratefully on her food, picking up her spoon and dipping it into the bowl—it was steaming hot but she endured the scalding. If she wasn't eating she might have to look at Clare, and she still didn't feel ready for that. Instead she opted for a glance at Kitten—but what she saw made her splutter soup and drop her spoon.

"Kitten! You're melting!"

The slime had her hand in the hot soup, trails of blue slime mixing with the clear broth and thin noodles and carrots carved into little stars.

"Is it wrong like this?" Kitten asked. "I saw you using a spoon but that's difficult for me. I thought it would be okay to eat directly?"

"But … but it's hot, you're melting."

Kitten looked down at the soup, then back up at Mist.

"It returns?" she said. "I become part of my food, and then it becomes part of me."

Mist picked up her spoon, using the action to mask a risky glance at Clare. The hero was steadily eating her own soup, cooling each spoonful with measured breaths.

"Um," Mist said. "Well, I guess if it doesn't hurt you … if it's okay for you, then it should be fine … maybe…"

"What class are you?"

This sudden question from Clare caused Mist to drop her spoon again—she ducked down to recover it but her armour caught on a table leg. Jerking up in surprise, she bumped her head on the underside of the table, then managed to catch her shoulder against the same leg, once more jarring the table.

Well, that's it, she thought as she crouched there, spoon in hand. I bumped the table. I bet everyone's soup spilled. There's no way I can go back up now. I'll just have to stay down here forever. It won't be such a bad life, beneath the table. I can live off fallen scraps and never have to worry about what to say to heroes.

"The owner has another spoon for you, Mist."

Oh my goddess she knows my name.

"Are you coming back up?" Kitten asked. "There's still soup in your bowl. It didn't spill much."

Slowly, cheeks burning, Mist emerged. The owner was standing by the table, fresh spoon in hand. He gave Mist a solemn nod as they exchanged utensils, then went off to do his secret delicious cooking things.

Mist sat down and stared at her soup for a while. It had spilled a little, but Kitten shyly absorbed the puddle with her hand. Somehow Mist couldn't bring herself to eat, and not just because doing so would inevitably lead to another embarrassing disaster.

"Mist," came a gooey whisper from beside her. "Mist, do you remember that Clare asked you a question?"

"Valkyrie," she squeaked at Clare's now-empty soup bowl.

"Mist loves heroes," Kitten said, to Mist's horror. "She told me that valkyries and heroes are deeply connected!"

Clare didn't respond to this. Mist could only imagine her bored expression.

"But, but that's just a stupid thing," she said to the table. "It's probably not even true, I just ... heard it somewhere..."

"Oh," said Clare.

"Oh!" said Kitten. "Dumplings!"

I can't even pay for these, Mist thought, as a long plateful of dumplings was set next to her rapidly cooling soup. I have no merits left. We have six team merits. I shouldn't have used them to get this silly slime badge. Buying it was not a good decision.

"I like your accessory."

Buying this slime badge was the best decision I ever made in my entire life.

"Oh, this? It's just, just, it's silly, I don't ... I mean ... I do think it's cute, I like slimes do you like slimes they're cute aren't they do you like them? Slimes? Do you like slimes?"

Clare set down the dumpling she'd been about to eat, spent a moment in thought, then nodded. "I've never seen one like Kitten."

"I have a heart core," Kitten said. "That's why I can talk to you."

"Heart core," Clare repeated. "May I see it?"

To Mist's surprise, Kitten's response was to immediately shrink into her teardrop shape, the change so sudden that there was a tiny gloopy thunderclap.

"I'd be embarrassed," came the slime's soft voice. Clare blinked slowly. Then she ate another dumpling. Feeling a surge of appetite Mist tried one of hers, the thick combination of seasoned pork and crispy-soft dough filling the valkyrie with courage enough to ask (after chewing and swallowing):

"Have you been a hero long?"

Clare nodded and ate another dumpling.

"Were you ... are you a natural hero?"

Clare nodded as she chewed. Mist felt a warm glow inside—of course she's a natural hero, how could she be anything but a hero? Never a fighter, never anything so coarse or common.

"So, um, so it must be amazing, being a hero, I bet you love it."

Clare stopped mid-chew. Her violet gaze was upon the table, but she wasn't admiring the lacquered wood. Mist swallowed hard, ate three more dumplings in quick succession, then took a little soup. It was lukewarm.

"Um," Mist said, desperately aware of the chasm between herself and the hero but clueless as to how to bridge it. "Um. Are you in a team? Or a party?"

Clare shook her head, and the flames of hope ignited in Mist's heart, kindled further when the hero opened her mouth to speak:

"...these dumplings are bland."

Which was a bucket of water on both Mist's hope and the Blue Haven owner's professional pride.

Clare rose from the table.

"I have two duels scheduled this afternoon."

That was apparently it; Clare left without further words. Mist stared after her, the owner began cutting spring onions pointedly, and Kitten perked up, four dumplings in various states of digestion visible in her translucent blue body, and she said:

"I don't think they're bland!"