“So…,” Mary said awkwardly once the shadow of the colosseum stopped shadowing her mood and body, “I don’t think I’ve caught your names?”

“Oh, I’m sure you haven’t, honey.” The girl answered. “We’re not throwing them around all over the place, you see.”

“Yeah, they’re under strict guard all day long,” the boy added. “Imagine just keeping your name out there in the open for any fae to steal. C’mon, only class five ds do dumb stuff like that. Though, if I were a five d myself, I’d probably do go looking for a genie just for something interesting to happen.”

“You did look for genie, sweetie,” the girl sniggered. “What was your class again?”

“Oh, that’s just unfair. You were the one who suggested it!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” she said, puffing her lips. “Excuses, excuses…”

“Okay…,” Mary said, feeling like she was interrupting an old marriage argument. “So… you guys don’t use your names?”

The boy stared at her as if she was a normal person. In this place, ‘normal person’ was more out of place than a martian stopping by for a latte macchiato at Starbucks before his shift at herding winds on Venus.

“Of course we do! We just don’t let anyone take hold of them,” he said, running his hand through his hair, making sure they’re in the proper state of chaos.

The girl giggled. “Imagine not using names at all. It would be so nice to refer to you with something that had an actual sense on its own. Yes, it’d be so much better than that meaningless string of letters… I could probably go on for weeks, and weeks, coming up with those…,” she said in a dreamy voice.

“I’m Hans,” the boy said hastily, saving Mary’s head from a crash test against the nearest wall. She wondered if the banging would violate any rules about peace and order. What was she thinking… of course it would. Breathing in a wrong way would probably be enough for that. Nuclear explosion tests, though? Nah, probably ok…

They were walking past the amphitheatre, which was currently used for some death metal band practice session. At least, Mary thought it had to be practice based on its effect on her ears. The amount of audience didn’t seem to agree with her assumption, though… She decided not to comment on it, in case Mossie wouldn’t like her questioning the artistic preference of masses as well.

“Spoilsport,” the girl showed him her tongue. With her current attire, the image was… concerning, to say the least. “I’m Margaret.” she winked at Mary. “And how should we call you, honey?”

“I’m Mary. Nice to meet you two,” she said.

“Oh, believe me, the pleasure is all mine,” Hans said. “Imagine how annoying it was when Margaret had only me to pester….”

“Then why didn’t you get rid of me, sweetie, huh?”

“You know how hard it is to get a decent healer,” Hans said resignedly.

“Mhm, keep telling yourself that…,” Margaret winked at Mary again and continued in a theatrical whisper. “He plays tough, but deep, deep down, he has the heart of the fluffiest, cuddliest puppy.”

That comment reminded Mary of something. “Actually, could you tell me more about the party stuff? My mentor didn’t tell me nearly enough.”

The couple exchanged glances, then looked at Mary again.

“Then… what did he talk about?” Hans asked.

“Surely you got something out of him before he died, right?” Margaret asked, visibly concerned.

“Um… Well, first of all, he’s still alive,” Mary said, causing both of her party members to blink, “I got training in battle tactics, ways to contact him, he bought me a thing or two… And you know, what to do or not do in the academy. He mentioned something about roles in a party, but…,” she shrugged. “Mostly, he complained that everyone focuses on them way too much.”

“Well, he wasn’t technically wrong-,” Hans started to say.

“Oh, shush it, sweetie. If I have to listen to this rant one more time, my ears will fall off. And I’ve just got those earrings!” Margaret twisted turned her head for Mary to admire her jewellery. It looked surprisingly fragile for something that was supposed to survive here. “Say. wouldn’t it be a shame to waste them?”

“It would,” Mary agreed. “About the party business...?”

“Well, your mentor was mostly right,” Hans said. “There are basically a few things you expect from a given party member. With just the two of us, it made even less sense than usual. Still, Margaret is a healer - which means basically that if something bad happens, she’s the one who can stitch you back together best. Okay, better than me, at least.”

“Hey, you wouldn’t have that scar if you just stood still for a couple hours!”

“...still, given a chance, I recommend a proper hospital. And I was the carry, which usually stands for ‘everything else’. Now that we have you with us, you’ll take something from that, I guess. Anyway, as I’ve said, that’s not too important. I find that it’s always better to do your best or what’s most needed at the moment. There are a lot of other named roles, like support or artillery, but no one really agrees where one ends and another begins, so I can’t see much point in those.”

“But everyone needs a healer!” Margaret added. “Honey, you have to try it - dozens of men bring you flowers, or chocolates, trying to seduce you into joining their teams….”

Hans snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that’s why they do it….”

“… just don’t expect too much gratitude once you join any, though. Most only start to respect your work once they have an owie they want you to look upon it.” She smiled evilly. “But imagine the guy who laughed at your totally not lame blue hair dye coming to you with a tiny little arrow in the leg to pull out only two days later ….”

“Leaving Margaret’s psychotic tendencies aside, we have more pressing important issues at hand,” Hans interjected.

“We do?” Mary asked, definitely not afraid. Her throat was just tired - there was no other reason her voice wavered.

“Of course,” Margaret said. “You see, now that there’s three of us, we can finally decide on stuff with a majority vote. And the first is… what should our team colour palette be?”

“It is quite a big deal, mind you,” Hansel added, seeing Mary’s disbelieving stare. “It technically isn’t forced on our garments, but the authorities do require it on team banners, team tokens and stuff like that.”

“I’m so glad we’ve managed to grab someone with a decent sense of style,” Margaret gave Mary a judging glance. “Would you believe that Hans wanted us to use a black and blue colour palette?”

“And you think that beige and salmon would somehow be better?”

Mary’s felt a spinning sensation in her head. Come one, there had to be some way out of this…

“Um…,” she said, “have you guys considered green and gold, maybe?”

The couple looked at each other, then at Mary again.

“How about we make it a vote?” Hans said, taking a piece of paper out from… wait, where did he take it from? Mary blinked, but that didn’t magically make her see the moment in the past in more detail. Weird. He did somehow appear a set of three pens as well.

“Um… and wouldn’t everyone vote on their own ideas?” Mary asked again.

Margaret laughed. “Oh, yeah, getting the third member definitely solved our voting problems, didn’t it?”

“Ok, so let’s do it like this: everyone scribes down their preferences in order. The first pick gets two points, and the second gets one. We pick the one with the most points. Does this seem reasonable?” Hans wasn’t one to give up easily.

With a heavy sigh and a strong sense of foreboding, Mary made her choices. Green and gold, black and blue, beige and salmon. She reached out with the paper in her hand, clear side up, and after others followed, they turned all showed their choices.

“So…,” started Margaret.

“Um…”

“I think,” Hans said slowly, “that we may need more team members.”

He had chosen black and blue, beige and salmon, green and gold. Margaret went with beige and salmon, green and gold, and black and blue.

Each colour scheme got exactly three points.

“Anyway, we’re here,” Margaret said.

Mary lifted her head and saw the familiar dormitory. Right, she was supposed to move in with Margaret, now that they were in the same party. She was rather looking forward to the experience - most of her life, she had to share a room with other orphans. Having all that space just for herself made her feel uneasy.

And, well, maybe Margaret’s room had a bit less clear view of the bull statue rear side...