A Gamer's Guide 221 (Patreon)

As it turned out—he had not. Getting him up to speed was easy, though, and by the end of it, he understood quite well that I was very serious. It did take a couple of minutes though, so while I explained lobbying practices and my personal disdain for them, Goss brought us back into Loathe Summit, and then all the way back to his room, where we are currently sitting on his bed.

“But even if it were possible…”

“It is,” I interject by pure little-sibling-ness.

“Okay, sure, it is possible. But you’d still need all nine parties to agree, including Ymir himself! If he disagrees, we’re dead in the air,” Goss laments. “And even more so… What if we get it through and it fails? I mean, what if I do it, and kill Ymir, and don’t become a four-winged dragon?”

“In that case,” I say,” we’ll find something else.”

He frowns, looking away. “Something else…” The way he says it almost feels bitter, even though it should be at least slightly triumphant. I watch him where I sit, absently stroking the fuzzy hide beneath me. The quality is surprisingly good. While I’m waiting, I keep one eye on Goss as he vexes himself over whether to kill some old dragon or not. I would love to kill the skinbag myself, but that wouldn’t get us anywhere, so I keep myself from offering it. Goss frowns, burrowing his head into his wings. “And what would Father say…?”

“I’m sure he’ll be cool with it,” I say, even though I’m not sure in the least. “He doesn’t seem like the type to enjoy killing anyways.” Which makes me wonder why he would be the one in charge of the killing rite in the first place.

“Sure, but…” Goss continues grumbling to himself for almost a full minute.

I sigh. I didn’t want to pull this card, but he leaves me no choice. “Look, if you don’t want to, it’s fine. We can find something else, so—”

“N—no, it’s not that!” he says, popping his head out from between his wings. “I just…” He clenches his teeth. “I could do it. I think. It’s not like I’m a… What did you call it? Shiekenn?”

“...Chicken?”

“Yeah! I—I’m not one of those! So…” He looks away. “I’ll do it. If you really want me to.”

I slap my knees and stand up, making him twitch. “Great, happy to hear it! In that case, how about we get right to it?”

“Get right to…?”

“The lobbying, that is,” I say.

“What, now? It’s the middle of the night!”

I frown at him. “Well, sure, but…”

“Even though proper dragons don’t need to sleep, whelps like me… We still need a little bit. Especially since we’ve been doing so much today. It’s been a long day—for me, at least.”

I let my foot slide back and forth over the soft hides. Turning away from him, I put my hands on my hips. “It’s not like I have to sleep personally, but if you need it, then…” I return my gaze to him with a smile. “I’d be an awful guest if I didn’t allow my host his rest.”

Goss brightens up into a full-faced grin, fanning his wings out. “Really? Yippie!” Before I have time to comment on his word choice, he steps over to the torch we had burning on the wall, blows it out and returns to the hide-filled cavity that is his bed just as fast. There, he plops down next to me, only barely avoiding crushing me to death beneath his girth. Without giving me time to complain, he grabs me where I stand and pulls me close, hugging me to his chest like I’m a very small plush toy or something. “Good night, Kitty!”

“G—good night,” I grunt out, hoping that my near lack of breathing might clue him into the fact that he’s holding me a bit too tight. He doesn’t catch it. With a bit of struggling, I’m able to pull my arms free. “Sleep tight, Goss.”

He doesn’t respond. Did he…?

Soft snoring reaches my ears.

Yeah, he fell asleep. Just like that. What was that—seven seconds? At most. I’m honestly impressed, not that I can find any real usage for such an ability. Not in a dragon, that is. Sighing, I try to replicate his reptilian feat, cozying myself down into his hands as best as I can. It’s far from a comfortable place to sleep, but it’s better than other places I’ve slept in. It should be doable with a bit of effort.

I close my eyes.

Sleep. Yes, now I will sleep. Rest. When did I last sleep? It isn’t important, I suppose. Sleep is good. I used to love to sleep. Even more than being awake, though marginally less than beating other people at things they were proud of.

…I have changed, haven’t I? Moleman was—

The name forcing itself into my skull instantly pulls me awake and my eyes flash open. Sitting up, I start frantically looking around as though I’m expecting him to be around, standing next to me, smiling at my dumb hijinks. But there’s no one there. All is dark, and all is quiet, save for Goss’ light snoring. I try to take a few deep breaths, only to find them unwilling to go down, big and struggling like toads. I swallow them forcefully.

N—now that I think about it, I’ve been receiving messages all day, haven’t I? I kind of tuned them out since I was hoping I’d get killed sometime during the course of the day, but now it’s night, and I still haven’t told him I’m alive and that everything is alright.

I still haven’t…

I pull up my menu, navigating to Moleman’s profile without checking my messages. Then, I choose the little button to send him a personal message, and…

I stare at the empty message box.

My fingers itch. I gulp again, but the lump in my throat isn’t going away.

…What do I tell him? ‘Hey man, sorry I said I was going to die and then disappeared for hours on end, it was a prank, haha’ wouldn’t go over well. Maybe ‘Hey Moleman, buddy ol’ pal, remember that message I sent today where I said I was about to go die? Yeah, haha, I totally failed! Apparently, I’m kind of unkillable, so I’ll have to find some other way to escape responsibility for my actions. You’re still cool with me though, right?’ Because that’s exactly what Moleman wants to hear. Ugh. How about, while I’m anyways at it, I just send, ‘Hey Moleman, I don’t value our friendship or your feelings enough to spare literally two minutes to tell you I’m okay. Anyways, if you were to try to lobby dragons into letting your new dragon friend kill other dragons, how would you do it, hypothetically speaking?’

Bringing my hand to my face, I take a bite, shearing through skin and flesh and bone and sinew. The pain lets me briefly ignore everything else. I chew slowly before swallowing, almost upset to see the area I bit out regrow within seconds. My eyes roll to look at the status box in front of me.

I close down the empty message.

…Even if I don’t tell him, he’ll still know I’m alive. And that’s the important part, isn’t it? I’m alive, he’s okay, and when I end this floor, either by making Goss digivolve into his no-armed form or by straight-up dying, I can explain it then. Right now, I need to focus. If Moleman was here, he’d understand. He always does.

I try to relax a little more. In the morning, we’ll go around to try to lobby the different political groups. Let’s see, with the socialists, I should probably tell them that the clergy are an oppressive class and that Goss, as a member of the working class, is far more suited for ending the life of one of his kind. And for the naturalists, I’ll say that the young killing the old is simply how the cycle of life goes, and for the universalists, I might look into… if Ymir comes from some enemy nation or whatever… and the metaists, I can probably say… well, something, probably… I’m sure… It’ll all work out… In the end…

My eyelids flutter closed, Goss’ breathing becomes like a cradle around me, and I feel myself relax, well and fully.