The Gamer Chapter 1540 – After the first Day (Patreon)

“Request: Master, may I have some of your time?” Beatrice asked, while they were on their way out.

John hesitated only for a moment. His eyes darted to the remainder of the crowd and the two others of himself among his haremettes. They wouldn’t miss one of him if he gave his second maid some time to herself. “Sure,” he answered and put his arm around Beatrice. The short-haired maid pulled him off to the side, putting him on a route deeper into the city. “What do you have in mind?”

“I have resolved to find myself a specialist regarding certain procedures. I wish for you to accompany me to this location.”

“Okay?” John had no better answer to that response, unclear as it was. If Beatrice wanted to hide something, he would allow her to, though. The surprise would ultimately surface. That he would enjoy it, he foresaw as a foregone conclusion.

Beatrice had not and would likely never would be one for small talk. As they strode together through the streets, her taking the lead, they exchanged very little in terms of words. Their emotions manifested many times regardless. A sudden retreat into an alleyway for a kissing break here, a rest under a tree to cuddle there, such and other things. It was too beautiful a day to make straight for wherever the passive maid wanted to take him.

Ultimately, though, they arrived all the same.

By location and by its own make, it was a prominent building: located right at the intersection of two main streets. The second and first story were claimed by the shopping area. The third, presumably, was living space. Painted on the beige walls were the shapes of various kinds of golems. Some of them were whole, some of them were stretched out like a blueprint. Any doubt that he was dealing with a shop that catered to golem needs was undone by the name of the shop. The Latin above the entrance translated to ‘The Artificial’s Needs’.

More than a little curious, John followed Beatrice into the shop. The opening area was, as with many other shops, one path that cut a long walkway through aisles towards the cash register. Left and right, many kinds of materials typically used in golem creation were on display. Stone, wood, and various kinds of silicone were the most common. Metals took a distant fourth spot, for reasons that John wasn’t entirely sure about. Rummaging the knowledge he instinctively had, he realized that the average person dabbling in the craft did not have the necessary magical power to animate a metal construct reliably.

They stepped right up to the cash register. Two things caught John’s eyes about the area. One was the large, locked glass display behind the large sandalwood desk. Row upon row of Artificial Crystals were placed up there. None of them seemed to be exceeding the Rare category, but it was still interesting to see so many of them in one spot. Second were the three cashiers themselves.

They were three women, a set of triplets with white hair and blue eyes. Their skin was pale, their clothes a take on the French maid uniform not too different from John’s. Their skirts were large, fluffy things, more fitting for an Asian idol than a maid. Regardless, John instinctively felt a kinship with whoever had made them.

“Announcement: Beatrice. Code 011C9D110 – I have an appointment with the owner.”

“Affirmative,” one of the triplets responded, tapping around on a console. She had not actually said ‘affirmative’. All of them were still speaking Latin. It had just been the closest translation and John enjoyed the thought that there were some things that either were common between Artificial Spirits that were given free will or that had been popularized by his maids. “The Master will see you now.”

John loved that Beatrice actually felt momentary confusion. It came and went too quickly for anyone but him to notice. Still, it was there. The title ‘Master’ spoken in such reverent a fashion was just so deeply associated with him that other uses gave her a cause to pause. “Question: which direction?”

“Upstairs,” another of the triplets answered and pointed to a staircase off to the left.

With a small bow, Beatrice stepped away from the cash register. John followed her upstairs. They were swiftly greeted by a giant of a man. He wore a tank top, his head was mostly shaved, and his thick arms covered in scars. For a moment, John thought he was looking at some sort of bodyguard or hired safety. That was, as so many other things in the Abyss, a faulty assumption, killed by a quick Observe. Never judging a book by its cover was thrice as valuable on this side of the divide.

“This way,” the owner grunted and pointed over his shoulder.

“Affirmative,” Beatrice said and followed along.

They were guided into a side room that looked a whole lot like a barber shop. At that moment, John had worked out why they were there. Beatrice headed for the single chair, but was stopped halfway there. The owner stepped behind her. “Lower back?” he asked, holding a measuring tool.

“Affirmative,” Beatrice said, as straight as always.

The owner let out a deep hum, wrote a number on a notebook, then gestured for Beatrice to sit down. “You’ll need to stay relaxed and not intervene with what I do. It won’t be bad if you do, it just won’t work.”

“Understood,” Beatrice said plainly as she put her butt down.

John recognized much of the equipment in the room as derivatives of the enchanted hairstyling tools that they had at home and that he had used on Scarlett to grow out her hair. Growing out Scarlett’s hair was quite the simple process. She was human, the enchantment just had to hook into her natural functions and that was that. Beatrice, as an Artificial Spirit, could have had it even easier, had her form not been locked by John’s Perk selection.

Which made this service quite interesting.

“Is this your Innate Ability?” John asked, while the comb glided through Beatrice’s hair for the first time. Orderly strands became just a little bit longer in response.

“Part of it,” the giant man answered. His hands kept handling the tools with incredible delicacy. “I’m a golem crafter through and through. I know things about them.”

“Including how to get around the locked transformations?”

The man grunted affirmatively.

“I thought that was a rare happenstance.”

“It is. Usually happens when people with Innate Abilities to do with Artificial Spirits make some that are really powerful,” the man answered. “Magical matrix becomes too filled with power to allow for free reshaping, as I understand it.”

‘Or Gaia wants to suppress supremely powerful maids from getting shapeshifting for free,’ John considered. “The three downstairs are your make?”

“Yeah.” The man kept giving short answers. It wasn’t that he was overly concentrated on his work, he just had to keep brushing through for now. He just wasn’t much of a talker.

John decided to not push the issue. He could imagine, from what he knew about himself and this man, why it had been done. A lonely, young man gets the opportunity to make himself a companion and takes it. Initially, things are quite weird, their relationship very unusual, but love nevertheless forms. Time passes, the young man becomes less awkward. The relationship stays, because where would it go? Alternatives may open. Unusual origins aside, the road is picked, though.

There was something a bit shameful about this kind of relationship, John had to admit. It had that same kind of questionability to it as a noble seducing a serf working as a maid in his household. The power dynamic and upbringings playing into the situation made it a bit difficult for modern sensibilities. Still, even if it was awkward, John did not regret it, and he didn’t think this man did either.

Instead of riddling the owner with questions, John just watched Beatrice’s hair grow longer with every stroke of the comb. It was weird to see her like that. Beatrice had always been the short-haired of his twins. This change in front of his eyes got confusing for his facial recognition. There was that bit of blink-inducing pressure in the back of his mind that kept making him double check.

At first it was because she looked like Beatrice, but not quite. Then she looked like Aclysia, but not quite. Eventually, only her body language and the little birthmark under the left side of her reddish pink lips betrayed that she was the younger of the ‘twins’.

Just when John started to wonder if that was going to be an issue, the owner presented two questions. “That the correct length?” A nod to that. “You want it wild, right?”

“Affirmative.”

Both the question and answer were entirely unexpected. “Wild?” the Gamer asked.

“Explanation: I have deemed that a separating point must be created. Wild fits better with lightning than ice.” The owner kept working even as she spoke. “I have high standards. Do your best to make it a symmetrical and visually pleasing mess.”

“You paid for high standards,” the owner answered plainly.

John just stroked his chin and let this go where it was going. Beatrice was not the kind of girl to decide these things on a whim. She had a plan and he was interested in where that plan was going.

After ten minutes of work and twenty additional minutes of careful, deliberate finetuning, they were done. Beatrice’s hair had needed to be lengthened a bit more two more times over that time, to give the owner more to curl and twist without messing with where the tips ended up.

The final result was somewhere between Aclysia and Rave. It was wild and it was quite perfect, but it did not reach that ridiculous level of dishevelled that marked John’s fiancée. It was a ‘normal’ level of messy, bits of hair sticking out here and there, strands running criss-cross decoratively, a little bit of wave and curl added in for good measure.

It looked odd on Beatrice, but only in the sense that John had to get used to the new look. She was still stunning, still confident, and still his. Finally satisfied, the passive maid raised her hand and the owner backed away. His face showed the mild smile of a job well done.

Beatrice fanned out her new mane, tossed and turned, then inspected herself in the mirror from several angles. When she was satisfied with the way everything settled, the strand across her face included, she nodded. “Compliment: your work is most appreciated.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” the owner said. His giant hand swallowed up Beatrice’s. Then, they separated.

John put his arm around the white dragon maid, as he always did, and inspected her new look up close. With every passing second, it grew on him more. It was different from the initial fantasy of having A2 and 2B serve him, but that had gone out the window a long time ago anyhow. The inspiration was still there, but it was subdued, secondary to all the choices about herself that she had made.

The long hair suited her. The wild hair suited her as well. It was a chaos of the utmost efficiency, an aesthetic too finely crafted to be treated as wild. It was hers and hers alone, cultivated with great care. It made her stand out among his five maids the same way her passive attitude made her stand out.

John ran a hand through the deliberately messy strands. He would have brushed some behind her ear, had they not been perfectly held back in that regard already. The silky white strands glided satisfyingly through his digits. There was more to hold, when he stayed his hand on the back of her head, and pulled her into a kiss.

There was nothing new about the kiss. Just the same old touch of her pillowy lips. She tasted of cherry, today, and tingled, as per usual. She smelled of vanilla and sandalwood. Enticing smells that stirred his sexual appetite. Nothing unusual and, thus, as wonderful as ever. Her tongue moved with a will so much stronger than her ever-passive attitude would imply.

When they separated, they did so only because John did not want to run into someone. “And next?”

“We are about ten minutes ahead of schedule,” Beatrice revealed. “You may do as you wish.”

“Hmm,” John kept combing through her hair. “I do have an idea.”

He guided them to a little park. It was basically just a green area with four benches and a stone circle between them. The kind of little spot of greenery that dog owners took their pet to, walking couples took a stop in, and that the most energetic inner-city youths used to continue a party past their stay at a club. They were in the middle category today.

John had Beatrice turn her back to him. He parted her hair into three strands. He heard a tiny laugh. “Amusement: that is your plan?”

“Since we’re already playing with your hair,” the Gamer said and began to braid. “This is just for my curiosity. I understand you have another hairstyle in mind.”

A tiny nod, not enough to interrupt the steady work of his hands. He did not braid his girls’ hair often, nor did he rarely do it. He knew what he was doing well enough to turn the tide of messy hair into a serviceable braid, binding it at the end with a little piece of string that he had in his inventory. It was one of the many things in a box filled with random stuff that might be useful occasionally, like paperclips and rubber bands.

Beatrice looked cute with a braid. The messiness of her hair did not entirely lend itself to one. There was something to be said about the virtues of a messy braid. It wasn’t the most beautiful way to wear one’s hair, but it did provide a sort of ‘tired mom’ energy that had its own appeal. Not when worn by Beatrice, though, especially not when they were still a bit out from making her one.

The moment he had run his experiment, Beatrice loosened the string keeping her hair confined and opened it up again. She hadn’t made it longer for a braid. She hadn’t made it longer to wear it open, either. “We would be on schedule now. Shall we proceed?” Beatrice asked.

“Lead the way,” John encouraged.