-=- Ginsu Mage -=-

S1E2: Another World

-=-=-

*/// Calibrating attributes, reticulating mana, inscribing phylactery, populating spell bindings… ///*

* * *

“What a crazy dream,” I groaned, stretching under the sheets and enjoying the popPopPOP of old joints snapping back into place. “I need to lay off the booze.”

A cultured voice infiltrated my ears and startled me into full consciousness. “I’m glad to see that you’re awake, sir.”

I sat up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, with a completely unfamiliar manservant standing uncomfortably close. About two seconds after a quick peek under the sheets, I noticed that I was also completely naked. I usually sleep naked, so this is not a completely unfamiliar situation.

I eyeballed the manservant. Impeccably groomed with grey at the temples, crows feet around his eyes, bristly moustache, and a big nose all wrapped up in a standard butler outfit.

You know what they say about guys with big noses.

He didn’t look dangerous, so my alarm meter dropped a few levels. Maybe I got roofied by some Nigerian princess and this was her manservant.

Wait a minute… My mind flashed back to the kitchen-sucking event and stuttered a bit. Did I really get sucked through some other-worldly portal? I’m obviously not in my kitchen any more, and I don’t know anyone with the cash to pull off this level of prank. I swallowed hard a few times while shifting mental gears and selecting a persona-mask.

So just to be clear, I’m not a people person. I can fake it through meetings and crowds and other social gatherings, but at the end of the day, I’m an introvert with an amazing number of fake personality-masks for every occasion. It’s a defence mechanism that allows me to interact with all the normies so I can make money and stuff and not go crazy.

The drawback to wearing a mask is that it costs me personal energy and eventually I’m going to crash and demand coffee, books, and solitude. Petulantly.

My mind raced through several scenarios and finally settled on ‘Flirty Bi-Bimbo’ as the mask of the minute. I’m naked in a strange room with a stranger dressed like a penguin, so I’m not going to make a fuss until I have a clear exit strategy, yeah?

“Well hey there tall, grey, and sexy,” I smiled, bringing a finger up to my lips and biting it. “If you’re bringing me breakfast in bed I’m really hoping that you’re included in the meal.”

I received an arched eyebrow in response.

“No sir,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m here to help you get dressed and bring you to breakfast.”

“Oh! That’s delightful!” I crooned, tossing back the sheets and exposing my pale dad-bod to the world. “Lead me to the wardrobe!”

An hour later I was bathed, groomed, and dressed in what was called a “Hunting Outfit” that consisted of a tweed jacket with elbow patches, brown vest with silver buttons, white linen shirt with lace at the cuff, undergarments without elastic, white linen socks that tied above the knee, dark brown trousers that tied below the knee, and some soft velvet slipper-shoes that promised a memorable experience if exposed to anything resembling moisture. I had rejected four excessively frilly outfits before settling on this one and was sternly told that hunting boots were not worn inside the castle. I looked like one of the Founding Fathers plotting treason against the crown.

During the process I flirted with Dobson the manservant and managed to make him as uncomfortable as I was. But, I learned that it was Duras day, the 38th of Autumn, in the 24th year of the Reign of King Aladas IV. I was in the kingdom of Nigos, and breakfast promised to be eggs, bacon, ham, porridge, and toasted bread with butter, honey, or jam. I nearly cried when Dobson asked me what “coffee” was and declared he had never heard of such a beverage.

Dobson lead me out of the richly appointed guest room and down a long stone hallway. Thick handwoven rugs kept my feet warm as we navigated the stone passages adorned with paintings both great and small. More than anything else in the world right now I wanted to bolt screaming down the hall and keep running until everything made sense.

The two armed and armoured guards behind me kept my feet pacing alongside Dobson.

Dobson spoke as we walked. “This is an informal breakfast with the royal family, Mr. Johnson. You can expect light conversation and a relaxed atmosphere, so please do not be nervous. Just be yourself and enjoy the meal and conversation.”

“Be myself, got it.” I replied, not sure how that was going to help me. Just be yourself is the most useless advice ever. Being myself involved a comfy sofa and thick book. Maybe some some good bourbon. Definitely not conversation with strangers. And certainly not conversation with people who can yank me through a hole in space-time.

The staircase was a beautiful affair of dark polished wood and intricate scrollwork, and the thirty-nine steps led us down to the main floor where we navigated a few more corridors filled with paintings, tapestries, and sconces piled high with some sort of glowing white rock. Probably radioactive as fuck, knowing my luck.

Dobson opened a thick wooden door and led me into a glass enclosed veranda crowded with a large table and enough potted plants to start a jungle. Servants were busy adding and subtracting platters, filling glasses and dancing in a subtle ballet around the table.

Everything stopped when I entered the room.

Worst. Feeling. Ever.