Tower City Lunatic (SI) (Fear and Hunger then Danmachi Crossover)

[JustPlainEdgy]

AN - a weird amount of Metal Gear solid talk considering I've only played the one with Venom snake, but I like the comment and I think MGS2 is a better thrown out reference than a Space Odyssey, The Matrix, or Terminator.

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June 10th 1924
18 years before Termina
Valland

'You are the bearer of the submissive soul.'

I am trapped in utter blackness, in an utterly unfamiliar situation and a mysterious voice is calling me out?

'The Soul of Submission can be derided but every soul has its own strength. The branch that bends easily, does not break. While some contend with the tides of Fate bearers of this soul find surrender bearing them to their destination. By working with the flow, those blessed with favorable tides are blessed, but those in unfavorable situations can become trapped lacking resistance.'

I want to quirk up a lip, as I feel rather incredulous?

Is that the right word? I feel as though a monk is talking down to me, and simultaneously roasting me while offering advice.

But my face feels. Off. My body feels strained like I can't react as I'm... Pinched by darkness.

'This world is uncompromising, and you very well may die with the advantages you already possess. So, young one. As long as you wish to persist, your soul will remain in this world, 3 chances, 3 lives. This life is yours to prepare for the next life.'

Blurry vision, I gasp for air, I feel limp, weak, covered in something-

"Ha- August. Look. Our baby. A boy. Our little man ha..."

Fallout out 3 fucking shit.

A squeaky child-like groan leaves my lips. It sounds like a babble or a particularly weak baby cry.

"Erik. I am your Father. Ah my son."

The masculine voice speaks, my brain catches on the name.

Erik is kind of an OC I made, more so a tabletop character-semantics aside I think I glean what the voice meant now.

This is a world for adventurers, some form of fantasy world…?

Perhaps Orden, I've only brought him to one module so far but I planned to recycle him since I love Necromancer style characters and the Draw Steel system having a dedicated class for doing it is peak.

If you're not in the know, well it feels like most games farm out necromancy to a few spells or a half hearted subclass-but that is not quite important yet probably.

I wrote it so he grew up in a church or nunnery, then got access to some kind of hidden forbidden archive. So I expect that question to clear up.

But for now. I think I'll sleep this off... Newborn stuff well, I suspect I am going to get very familiar and very tired of it.

---

November 22nd 1924
18 years before Termina
Valland Family Homestead

"My dear, I've been meaning to ask. Erik has been checked by the pediatrician, and… well is perhaps the world's most well behaved baby in the world. I've begun to set my mind to my pursuits."

My new universe Dad begins talking to the new Mom before he hushes his voice such that I have to strain to hear.

"--- man --- I --- obligation --- its unlike before. Something has forced his hand. It's a bad omen."

He 'has' to do something. Something he had promised to do even if it meant leaving a wife and child in our village cottage.

A hero's quest?...

"August. I know you are serious. You do not easily show such worry. I understand it's a burden you willingly take, as it's how you were raised. Do you not think the aristocracy will suppress him?"

Huh. Some kind of political upheaval...

It's something of a self report but my mind kind of blanks at politics, the only thing I can think of is Northern Duke sexy man type things.

I didn't even read too many of those... I had a short kick of that kind of thing after I tried the Remarried Empress one.

"Justine... This man... He is beyond conventional men's grasp. My family." August places a hand over his chest before looking at me and taking a deep breath. "Our family... Has hunted this man through the generations. He has killed and used up people, innocent bystanders, those loyal to him. It's firm in my mind his new scheme is but the newest and greatest danger of a poisoned mind."

Scratch that. Belmont type shit? Sipha or Forgemaster type shit is kind of cool. Shame I never checked on the second Netflix season.

Dad does faintly seem like Julius? The one from the Soma game? This is from infant eyes so perhaps he is his ancestor?

Then my Mother asks an almost innocent question which makes me a statue stunned in silence. "Will you go to Bremen then?"

Bremen? August- a man in Bremen, not a man, a God. A cross between Hitler and Griffith.

The enigmatic "Kaiser" aka L'garde. Before he becomes super Hitler, in the timeline.

I cast my mind back to videos-no it was a post of some kind by Miro or reposted to reddit or something. We have art or well in the universe; it's a picture of Kaiser looking like a 'metal gear character.'

God that metal gear comment of him in a trench coat like thing. That comment probably is almost certainly why I remember it...

My dad is August. The voice-ROB. Termina...

They sent me to Termina? And my curse or my blessing is that I can 'persist.' 3 locked rings, like the Olympic symbol on my wrist. A brand, a symbol. One no one has ever commented on, no one has ever mentioned or inspected.

I only played Termina for maybe half an hour after looking up the O'saa intro choices and fumbling through his intro.

But I watched enough challenge runs of the first game to have an idea of useful things.

Pinecone Pig being goated among other things is up in the air. I can't be certain that it works like in the game where you can brute force infinite value. I mean an actual time limit instead of a 'soft' save limit would certainly turn the infinite to occasional value.

Information is a definite advantage. I think the way Fear and Hunger was designed to be played was to die and die until you could scrape together enough working knowledge to have a chance to die to unfair bullshit.

In the games I subscribed and advised a friend who briefly streamed the first game that slow and sure, defend into extra turn attack gameplay was surefire.

In Termina I think the meta was the hardened heart, life steal, counter strategy...

I think a flesh and blood person might struggle to replicate that. Flinching, getting the shit beat out of you only to lash out after seems like stuff you'd need perfect calm like a 'gamer system' to have mental fortitude to soak the damage.

Ultimately, or well the first thing I should focus on preparation wise, is making notes and running.

Being physically active and able to run from the horrors... Well when other plans fail. The Call of Cthulhu special keeps you alive I guess.

Damn. Mind reading is a thing in setting. I've got to find an Atton mental defense trick to run interference in my own head... Pazack, Pazak?... Won't work. Ugh, how do you even discover your own version of this?

---

October 1930
12 years before Termina
Valland Village

"You can say that I have deeeeeep pockets, allow me to show you my poppet~" it's many shades of weird and uncomfortable role-playing Pocket Cat even during a childish game of tag.

But imitating the monster is useful in getting these kids to run their hearts out, in turn making me try harder.

It's also a shade of weird and uncomfortable growing up again. I'm honestly pretty grateful to have things to plan ahead for...

I'd be lazy and bored to a different sort of madness.

Instead I'm weirdly fastidious about doing things with both hands to try and build up some ambidexterity. I play physical games with the local kids for cardio. Lastly I've set myself to trying to sketch.

Ritual circles eventually being important to get right freaks me out a little bit.

Rather than work from rulers, I'm just trying to get good with my hands I guess.

"I've got you now my dear! There you are 'it!'" My voice is a monstrous rasp as my hand lands on their back, I turn on a dime and peel away.

Honestly. Despite how it's all. Pressure in the back of my mind. I can't help but feel like surviving Termina is absurd.

I mean. I guess a party of heroes is plausible.

It's just with all this worry I'm assigning the future, despite my attempts of becoming a kind of 'Renaissance Man' in my second life there are all kinds of road bumps.

Getting a limb lopped off is logistically a problem. One handed dealing with a backpack, reloading a pistol, problems all the way down.

With foresight I can maybe rig up some kind of harness or holster set up with peel off or pop off metal buttons that click like Legos, assuming that innovation exists. But as much as I can hang off my belt, or chest pockets, ultimately 'winning Termina' will probably eventually force you to fight from such a stark position of mounting disadvantage.

"Helena is it!" The kids call out, which I suspect I may have trained or inspired that habit by using the skill 'lying to children' and saying I'm not it.

From my memories of my brief Yellow Mage playthrough. I pushed to the Mayor's manor, and a certain degree into the early game to get a magic build's foundation set, then I kind of just lost interest.

So I'm rather aware that ultimately, I am lacking. The trails of Termina, I'm only vaguely aware of, not that it's too much of a problem mind. There was a looming update for the game I will not be able to experience in modern luxury through a screen, but I wouldn't be surprised to find the world is the world so things I can't account for are certain.

"Erik! I'm gonna get you!" Helena chases me up a tree, she takes up the gauntlet and begins to chase me up forcing me to jump off and tumble into a roll kicking up and scattering autumn leaves as some stick to me.

Although it's more experience in handling short falls, I end up in no position to run as I'm re-tagged.

"Huff. Huff. It should be a rule you can't tag back. I just got done chasing you." There's no heat in my argument, but rather a soft sort of adult incredulity of getting it passed back.

"Nuh uh, you got tagged." Iron clad childish logic rebounds my criticism with churlish effortlessness.

"Then it's hide and seek. 'Cuz I don't want to run after you. 100. 99." Although, obviously, I don't quite get along with the kids since the monster roleplay and my general adult standoffishness, even if I'm still the chaser I can at least negotiate to keep a game going.

"You've got to say Shillings after a number! No cheating. Hide! Everyone hide!" As Helena runs off I scoff softly and count from the top.

"100 Shillings." Which I suppose is a decent enough replacement for 'Mississippi.'

"90 Shillings." Now that it's been thrown in my face. I wonder what words non Americans use that are roughly a second to say?

"70 shilli-" my counting interrupted as I heard a twig snap.

Not right…

If someone hadn't heard the swap to hide and seek me counting was a give away?

I open my eyes expecting to see an animal but instead.

Tall.

Basketball player height, in cavalry boots? Light almost faded purplish pink.

It's face? A rotund bulging cartoonish cat mask.

"Charming little games children play. Don't you agree?" With an utterly sweat-inducing poise Pocket Cat's hand moves with a faint flourish "conjuring up monsters with nary a care, so so innocent."

Alone. Had it waited for this moment, in the nearby woods and for me to be alone in a moment like this?

"Oh dear~ you are making me so very sad. I didn't come all this way to frighten you sweetling. Well~ just to frighten you." With a husky purr their voice trails towards a more intimate turn as before it dips into actual kittenish purring.

Not just reading my face. My mind

"What sort of answer did you want? Feigned intimacy? For me to call you 'pookie?'" I exhale a shaky breath as I focus on Pocket Cat.

'Think stupid thoughts. Useful thoughts are the enemy. We aren't playing a fair game.'

"Feigned!? Ugh such a sour reaction. If there is any lie between us I would say it's you acting as though you are utterly immune to my charms. I saw your poor performance, all just to get their hearts racing no love of the role itself." Pocket Cat huffs and crosses their arms as they turn their mask appearing oddly petulant.

"Well I can't claim to have lied about being a child of darkness or loving you." Lines we are both aware of.

Pocket Cat as some 'higher dimensional' being was so much more aware... He also has the upper hand of experience in talks disjointed over reality.

"Ah I see. That brings some things into focus. Now I can't help but wonder what you want with all that knowledge brimming inside you~" his hips playful sway as he steps closer now plainly past the tree he was hovering near.

Is that his game? Information exchange?

Will he accept the handshake?

"Suppose it was for you to 'give the moon to me.' What then? What would I gain? What does 'your side' even want out of all this?" I feel a certain coldness, a tense anxiety probing like this.

Although he has 'rules' from up top. I can't help but be conscious of the danger of this gamble.

Bringing a hand to the bottom of his mask where a chin would be it muses "so much context, and for what. To beg for the teacher to hand feed an answer? Tsk tsk. To think of your existence here, transgression that it is would be so... Lacking."

I frown softly. An act possibly. The kind of questions he wants me to ask can incidentally tip my hand.

"You censored your own book, yes? Surely you won't begrudge me a lack of information. Or is it your newest perverse pleasure to throw some line at me like 'curiosity killed the cat.' As if the proverb doesn't end with 'satisfaction brought him back.' What game of checkers could be had with a board barely 3 tiles wide! Politely offer some rope to hang yourself with or stop complaining." I let my mouth speak as the thoughts come, if you expect your opponent to know your cards, holding them close to your chest is just useless cope.

I mean I guess there's a double bluff of just making me feel pressured without pressuring me to achieve some scheme. Make me pliable to a deal like I already alluded too?

"Ahaha you have the social grace of a battering ram~ you have everything you need to grasp the nature of my Master. But you are so locked up you won't even think of it in my presence. How delightful, to think should I stand before you I could put such firm blinders over your eyes. Tell me~ how much do I scare you~?"

Badly. Bad things could happen. Don't give him ideas.

"A lot. The wiggle room in your rules to escort a lady in the wheel chair comes to mind. Nothing is scarier to me than the idea you are less restricted than you appear."

With a delighted titter, Pocket Cat tilts his head back and gazes down at me, his mask's eyes suddenly glimmering with a cat's night vision like a flash of yellow subdued and... Predatory?

"Under the moon, when humans are ever so emboldened to bare their true selves, you take solace that I can't? You think me undeserving of the liberty that petty, awful little humans revel in?" His intense gaze makes me sweat as his tone remains carefully contained almost like a coiled spring as he builds up the tension. "How delightfully cruel. I think I could call you one of my well beloved companions."

What the fuck even is this guy. "So, does that mean you're going to try and spin me a yarn like some of the paranoid people who say Logic is secretly bad?" If I was to pull some shit that's what I'd do. Probably pulling some Shin Megami Tensei anti-law shit out of my ass. In the case of that game, bashing God's not so perfect order for it's stifling homogenous rigidity is the norm.

Loyalty is easier if they are, if not a believer, inclined to see your enemy as a problem.

The question is, does Logic become an overly restrictive controlling system that white washes the world to oblivion?

That seems counter to what's her name's vibe. Terrorist freedom fighter, and a scientist. Probably smarter than me actually.

I continue "I don't think Logic is necessarily a danger. Even if I'm wrong. The way Gods go around here, they are kind of flash in the pan. Her influence will wane."

"Do you not have examples from your own world as to how all that rot will turn out?" The smug cat replies easily.

How vague. Fishing? Perhaps it is not as well read on my world or what I know?

"Does this world not have fiction of the concept until it exists in the green?" That is something of a reach, but this isn't my universe.

The global nature of the concepts 'Fear and Hunger' changed for humans due to the green and divine influence. The green perhaps might be the source of magic like 'the Fade' in dragon age.

There is in fact a 'realm of concepts' or 'thought' and it trickles down into other things.

Although. It's kind of arrogant to assume it's easy to mess with. God's are the heavy hitters, best I can do is drops in a ocean.

"Now you deign to show me your true face I see. All caught up in the haze of contemplation. Struck dumb by the crushing weight of thought." As Pocket Cat drawls I get distracted by their coy response.

"Motherfucker you are wearing a mask right now. 'True face-' like you have any room to judge." I flush slightly unable to keep a tight lock on my composure as I snap.

Somehow in response to my outburst he rolls the eyes of his mask.

"'Why does a soda fountain need an internet connection.' You come from a world with a 'Unabomber' if you aren't convinced by that, well what could I do to change that. You were utterly immersed in a world that could give you all the context you need. Perhaps you would feel differently if you played Metal Gear Solid 2."

"Literal Psycho Mantis cosplay." I blankly critique him, my voice steady as he is strangely good at finding arguments I can see if not agree with.

Social intelligence? Ugh. I thought about SMT as an allegory, he read that, and wove it into his arguments. Tailored to me. Targeted.

At my thoughts or just the silence he shakes his head and lifts his arms palms facing up as he shrugs. "Although you might find this surprising. I was simply curious about you~ meet the neighbors, all my intentions are quite tame I assure you, by both our definitions of tame withhold your accusations please~. But let's pretend you and I aren't so different~ and we don't have to be at cross purposes..." With a delicate rumble his mask seems to smile wider as he pushes his hand deep into his pockets and digs around.

"Where did I put... Ah there." With an impish giggle they withdraw a golden yellow almost resident evil or cartoonish key strung on a chain. "I have many doubts. But lets say you grow into a person, with wants, desires, and the will to have your own voice rather than one authored for you. You can come find me, and share the winding path of your personal greed, kindness, whatever you deem worthy of my personal attention as you craft your very own S Ending. An open offer, with no time limit. I have the funniest feeling you will have seen all the good that can come from a mutually beneficial arrangement~."

Part of me wonders if I could lose the key if I wanted to. Drop it and pray it never comes find me.

"Well I am certain you will come to see my way of things one day, for now tata~ delicacies to taste, connections to maintain, vessels to groom~ Ah I am ever so busy." with that utterly obscene farewell his steps seem to almost elongate as he doesn't run so much as force the world around him to make haste as he slips through the brush with only ripples of green.

I look at my left wrist where the 3 interlocked rings are and I can't help but measure the margins in my head.

I could run out of chances... I could die and NEED him, even if it costs this world something.

If I'm sent off to 40k or Worm can I confidently assert I won't ever need it, well.

A deal with a devil.

I slip it around my neck and walk off into the woods.

At least it won't be unusual for me to be quiet or downcast. I'm not in the mood for hide and seek, funnily enough.

----

AN - I was worried that I rushed some character content here, but as a writing exercise I wanted Pocket Cat to jump scare.

 

[JustPlainEdgy]

Art by my brother, Erik the Draw Steel Necromancer, who uh is sort of an OC in my head.

 

[JustPlainEdgy]

AN - I figured I can quickly whip up a mostly preparatory, homework type chapter. A little note on how August acts. We are kind of rushing to Terimina with like 2 side stories on the way, so I am not sure if I can work in some of the subtler stuff. Basically my thoughts is to get reactions and visible emotions he plays things up, since a little adult is a tad eerie. Also I thought about how August should talk about Ragnvaldr history, and while we may know about from his perspective August doesn't so I think between that and telling it to a kid, its a tad muddled? Uhhh since I thought it was funny for August and Justine to have matching names I did the same to the unnamed sibling, they won't ever show up again or only 1 one chapter so I am running with it.

Also I threw out some European ethnic stuff since well, its the idea of growing up in a quirky old foreign world. I don't think there is any Valland lore to conflict with since Abella's flashback isn't a thing so I kept it light since I am a dumb America.

---
December 1930
12 years before Termina
Valland Family Homestead.

The home is rich with the smells of baked goods. Banketstaaf, this almond paste bread thing I haven't tried yet but I'm hopeful and Kerststol, ethnic Christmas fruitcake, both prepared by Justine.

I've heard the other children excitedly look forward to Pepernoten but I think- actually I am something of a freak as I occasionally notice markers of tension for the upcoming war.

A little less spice or cookies for us, hay instead of carrots in the shoes we leave out for Sinterklaas.

Those are things I notice since the 'Gold Bloc' is apparently falling through.

The argument about what the standard of currency is, perhaps beyond my education... World War History is pretty focused on the Archduke assassination(is that the first war?) And the failures of the Weimar Republic.

The Republic's money problems lead to anecdotes like paying with wheelbarrows of cash, or eating quickly before the price of a sandwich inflates.

I guess I am not in the center of it so it's a tad. 'Hazy' as I try to mark the passage of political tension through my new life.

Side note, it feels somewhat strange to keep up with the news by reading the odd newspaper.

It really hammers home some of the Logic stuff. Human interconnectedness, instant access to news, message apps, shopping is like a super power. Google is such a terrifying convenience for a World War era pinhead, well like I am now.

Just for example, the Populists movement in Bremen. I only see what a reporter takes photos of or talks about, I can't just check the internet and find recordings or pictures of people posted.

Perhaps that's still a tad abstract. Something like Karin's kidnapping. There's basically nothing to look into. Either it hasn't happened yet or I haven't seen a report or advisor since it's countries away. Not that I can do anything about it, at most I could send a dubious letter, but I only know the broad strokes of her life, not the details of where she ended up.

"Erik my boy you seem lost in your own world!" With a boisterous jostle August stirs me from my woolgathering.

Pausing for a moment I decide to be a wordy little shit. "I was thinking about socioeconomic conditions-hey Dad are we rich?" As I speak I can't help but ask the question that was scratching at the back of my skull.

Isn't it weird we're so well to do? I mean, monster hunters like Witchers make fuck all most the time.

Unless we have ancient treasure just around... That doesn't really mesh well with my idea of the setting. It would be so weird to find literal piles of gold in the Funger world.

Would you trust that shit? It would be less suspicious if it wasn't gold but Innsmouth type fish gold, if you ask me.

"My word!" He ruffles my hair leaving bundles of it peaking out at odd angles. "Are you preparing to call my gifts beneath your station?" He teases leaving me huffing softly.

"I don't know. I just noticed things I guess. Are we eating better than the other families?" I mean, I'd say so but maybe I see things but read them wrong.

Not only am I 'a kid' but I'm also in a foreign culture and country. Oh and an alien world. Funny how you can get used to that.

"Well Son, this is a time for family, perhaps now is a good time for you to have some answers. A long time ago, before the Cruel Age. Our family lived in Oldegard. We weren't just any people, or simple 'Vikings' we have the blood of explorers in our veins." Pride. He absolutely radiates pride as he begins but he begins to temper it.

"Your name comes from those roots, with 'Erikson' was similarly notable and was from the same village. The reason I move around and I don't live here and raise you, is due to that history. Not that our family knew the family who led the expedition that discovered Vinland. But... That expedition... Had consequences. That expedition came back with something, someone wanted it so badly they would do anything to have it. Kill the innocent, murder our ancestors' family, the whole village... The problems. Caused by that man are felt today. So my Father and his Father before him raised us on the road. The whole family travelled and fought those problems... And died. Our family would be larger if not... If not for many things but some things we can control and choose. So I choose for you to grow up here. Safe, happy, healthy. My life beyond your home isn't because it's better without you. If I could have both. I'd be with you and help people. But I can't."

"You could take me with you." I had wanted to breach the subject, wanted to build up to it. But it just came out, a small quiet thing sneaking past my guard.

"Son, the life of the road takes from you, it takes from me today. That I can't take my rest with you and your Mother. You don't know what you ask. This isn't some adventure." His words are firm, but I need to break them.

"The Pocket Cat had come to see me." In an instant August's eyes flicker assessing, he looks around to me, his bow and the house before easing just an inch.

"I think you may be imaginin-" his voice is tightly controlled. Calm and reaffirming but I try to break it again.

"If you catch L'garde in Bohemia at the end of the war he has a Phylactery. When he dies he becomes a puddle and goes somewhere else. The job takes 2. One there, and another to pull the trap closed around his neck."

"How did you, did he tell you that- what game is that upjumped carpet playing at..." August's face changes rapidly, impressively so. It's easy to imagine all this supernatural shit is old hat even if it's too close to home for him to not react.

"I knew. I kind of always knew Dad. Since I was a baby I knew you'd be in Bohemia at war's end, hunting for the Yellow King but it would be others who did the job. You didn't know what to look for. But if I go there. If you can chase him back at his evil castle or his secret base. Then both of us can catch him."

"We can, Son. I will. But it doesn't need to be you." He calmly places a hand on my shoulder but his grip is strong. Heavy. Full of the unspoken. Promises and worries.

"Dad, like Ragnvaldr, came for me. We can't help when it comes to our homes. But we can be strong in the face of danger. I want you to train me."

"I... Son." A silence reigns for a brief period as. "So. Your... Already involved." The words sound leaden, heavy with purpose.

"Son, your Mother. Have a choice too, you haven't asked her yet have you?" I nod, I guess he is intuiting that from no warning from her about this.

"She was going to tell you food is ready. But as much as I would be tempted to come along. Well, having another bun in the oven would prevent me. Surprise" Justine leans in from the door as we both turn.

Canon August had children plural didn't he...

Also! Come along? Dad scored his own Sipha? Damn what a chad.

"Well Son. I seem to have a good reason to be home for a while. We will revisit this topic, and while we wait to meet your brother or sister, we will see if you have the stuff."

"Yeah. Sorry I uh brought down the festive mood. I prepared bribes ahead of time so uh let me get that." Fake not quite Christmas has gifts way earlier in the month on the 6th. The shoe thing I mentioned.

But my own cultural baggage and worries had me prepare a 'family picture' sketch of all of us since August was home this month.

Not that it makes things less complicated. But it's at least an attempt to show that I care.

---

January 1931
11 years before Termina
Valland Forrest

Sighting the rabbit, I load the stone into the pouch and with a flick of my wrist I feel it settle before I whip my hand in a circle, the sling whistles before I lose it at the rabbit and miss.

I sigh softly. Kind of embarrassed actually. I got really into the idea of using a sling instead of a bow, and talked my Dad into it.

All kinds of benefits, you can use it one handed, no need to make ammo if rocks will do, it's just string or leather so it's lightweight.

Not that well, I can make use of it immediately. Despite the feeling in my heart that demands I glaze the mighty yet humble sling.

Actually speaking one handed, I swap to my left hand. This will probably make learning longer, but I am paranoid about manifesting ambidexterity.

Not that I can even expect to see anything else on my 'hunt.'

Dad is probably subtly punishing me by making me hunt in winter. Or well, perhaps he thinks of it as 'be careful what you wish for' life lesson he needs to impart?

Since we might be forced to hike days in these conditions if trains, buses, or hell even roads won't take us to our quarry.

By asking to learn, I basically signed up to trek there and back to the god forsaken fuck murder mountains. If well, 'there be monsters.'

I keep an eye on the sky, as well as the environment just in case, but sadly the sky proves more fruitful for signaling when to return. Perhaps dad should mark some kind of colored stone for me to at least get some more sling practice. Maybe he is very particular about it since it would create bad habits?

As I approach the house I am surprised by just how keen August is as he not only looks at the sling in my opposite hand, but my left hand itself. "Trying some special training without informing your teacher?"

To my bewildered exasperation he picks me up making me stiffen as I gasp "yeah?!? Sorry?"

Seriously old man, are you the kid here? Did you score Mom by pulling her hair? Do you show that you pay attention and care by messing with me?

"Ahaha! Well your methods must pass my scrutiny! So what is it, what have you been doing?" As he lets me down he ruffles my hair and I groan softly.

"Whenever the thought strikes me, I try to use my left hand for things. Picking stuff up, using the sling just now, drawing and writing too." I anxiously scratch the back of my head as I had well have only kept up the habit. I never put too much thought into it.

Makes me amateurish I guess. A casual person might put in effort over a long period of time and be dedicated. But a professional? A professional follows a method. Keep a schedule.

Probably does Marcoh shit like count calories, or find optimizations then apply them consistently.

Up until just now I had actually felt like I was doing a good job of strengthening myself, discounting how age limits me.

But... I never really applied a strict work ethic to myself. I just pressure myself to work most of the time and have rest days when it seems right.

August after seeming to nod "then in addition making sure you lift some weights with that hand, I shall teach you juggling." He smiles enigmatically, I guess he is trusting my curiosity.

"Why did you learn to juggle?" I trust the method of madness honestly. It seems a generally hand skill type thing.

"Well my Father taught me! Not for all the same reasons mind you. We were wanderers, we had many encounters living alongside, working with, and having great friendships with others who live on the road. Carnival clowns, palm readers, the like! This allowed us to have... A relationship of sorts. We could impose on them and join them if it suited us. Or let us go about in disguise."

After entering the house he hands me 3 hacky-sac like little cloth balls. "But for you Erik, it teaches ambidexterity, hand eye coordination, timing, and it's a neat small skill unto itself. Good luck, there's little to it but to do it, other than starting with one at a time."

---

June 10th 1934
8 years before Termina
Valland Family Homestead.

"Happy-"
"Habby!"
"Happy, Birthday."

I smile sadly as I look at Mom, Dad, and Leif.

10. I'm 10 now.

And this isn't just a celebration.

It's goodbye.

Not a forever goodbye. August will come back with me to see Leif.

But that doesn't seem to stop the tears from coming.

'When did I...'

Stupid. This isn't something to interrogate.

"I'll write. S-so you better learn to read Leif. I-i. We will have so much to talk about when I come home."

---
AN - threw out and then wrote a reaction to a bit of throw away lore about August's wife. If I was taking things slower she would have a stronger presence and have something to pass on as well.

I checked out Marcoh's backstory and running and stamina gets Max Body up. So Erik would have that alongside a skill associated with slings since any contestant that looted it off me would suck since it's a time sink to get good at.

We might skip, life on the road type stuff minus an Father to Son talk before Terimina? I don't know, I think it might be too 'convenient' to have too many adventures or opportunities before Terimina.

I mean without the internet maybe it's possible to pick up a whole host of skills anyway but I don't want to go too 'Samurai Jack' with the training. I think I could get good a couple of things but not a Batman amount.

 

[Xodarap]

It the early 20th century bows and slings had their time now its the age of elephant guns and magnums especially for a family of monster hunters.
Heck grab some rusted metal shave it then use that powder with some aluminum for basic thermite

 

[Despacitoleo]

Yeah baby awsome fic man definitely watching

 

[Nfrkokg]

This fic is is good and it is rare to see a f&h fic