In this house

John’s phone buzzed as he rode the bus back into town. Pulling it from his pocket, he glanced at it carefully - he’d half expected a naked photo of his girlfriend to appear, given Matilda’s lengthy and passionate goodbye kiss, the memory of which was still keeping his shaft half-hard in his pants.

An unknown number had him sit up straighter, frowning.

John, hi! I pulled some favours to get your number because I forgot the other day after we… That is to say, I have obtained an icon for you to help with your project. Are you okay to meet up after classes tomorrow somewhere? This is Rebecca by the way.

Well, that was interesting. For a moment, he considered Matilda’s words about the other woman potentially stalking him, especially in the context of her getting his number without him giving it to her, then shook his head and put that worry to one side. With the number of people running around town with that ‘Order’ guild tag, she had probably just asked someone who worked at Ashcroft or with his mom or something. Surely nothing too suspicious. He definitely wanted to talk things over with Malal though, but for the time being… He tapped out a quick reply, saying he’d meet her at the old church after they were done at Ashcroft for the day.

Shoving his phone back in his pocket, John stared out of the window as the treeline gave way to the streets of Springfield. If nothing else, she’d managed to find him an icon of Gaia, which amounted to something. And sure, she was a better fighter than he was - but with his new robe, he had to have a reasonable chance to at least escape if Rebecca did turn out to be anything other than what she appeared.

The bigger issue was the Order. John still knew far too little about them. Rebecca had told him a bit, and his Observing people around town had let him get a more general picture, but it was all so fuzzy. They seemed to be some kind of martial group, and worshipped Gaia, but beyond that…

As he climbed off the bus by his house, John double checked the tear in his top for about the fifth time since leaving Matilda’s. He still couldn’t get over how quickly the new robe had cleaned the bloodstains and dirt from his clothing; he’d worn it for the short walk back to the bus stop and it’d done such a good job that he’d opted to briefly drop and roll in the dust on the side of the road to make his plan of explaining he’d torn his t-shirt foraging actually seem believable.

He needn’t have worried. Despite the fact that it was Sunday, when he closed the door behind him and called out that he was home, he got no reply. Clearly, his mom was out - unusual, but not unheard of. In any case it suited him just fine. Pausing only to grab snacks, the memory of Matilda’s cooking fresh in his mind, he darted up to his room and added the torn t-shirt to the slowly growing pile of things he really needed to mend at the back of his wardrobe.

Setting his food down by the computer, John picked up the tiny chaplain model, sat it in front of the keyboard, and then reached into his Inventory for the bottle of whiskey Matilda had pressed on him when he’d mentioned he’d promised Malal something for the god’s aid.

“Mal? Got you something courtesy of my girlfriend, and I could use your advice,” John said, cracking open the seal on the bottle and pouring a generous measure into the spare tumbler he’d brought up with him.

The chaplain dropped its crozius, leaning back and stretching as it did so. Stomping over to the glass as he pulled a straw seemingly from thin air once more, Malal’s avatar gave John a noncommittal shrug then proceeded to drain a sizable amount of the golden liquid before stepping back with a contented sigh. “Full credit to ya dame, kid, she’s got good taste. This is proper Scottish stuff, none of your American bourbon. Taste of the old country, ya kno? Alright, that’s a suitable offering after ya asked for my help before. So, whaddya need to talk about?”

Explaining the situation with Rebecca and the Order took some time, John doing his best to cover not only what he knew and his own worries, but also Matilda’s concerns. When he was done, he sat back and sighed. “So, what do you think?”

Malal took a moment to finish draining the glass, peering over the top to check he hadn’t missed any of the strong spirit before he replied. “So, the Order, kid… that’s a whole mess to explain, and to be honest, I ain’t entirely sure what to tell ya. They follow the boss, but there’s a lot of politics going on there, not to mention a lot of holier-than-thou-ness about everything. As far as ya questions go - I doubt this Rebecca doll is up to anything suspicious. Those Order types usually have a stick so far up their backsides it pokes outta their heads, the idea of one of them stalkin’ anyone don’t track.”

Settling into his usual place on John’s keyboard, Malal looked up at him. “Ya did good not talking about me, and I’d definitely not let on that ya got Leshy’s icon. The odds of them going a bit inquisition and hellfire on ya are pretty high. Stick to the boss when ya talk about worship around them, and be vague about anythin’ else.”

John sighed. “So you think I should keep my appointment with her? I could find an icon for Gaia some other way, right?”

Malal shook his head. “Not now ya agreed to meet. Pull out now, it’d seem pretty weird, and that’s a quick way to get on those guys' hit list. Ya turn up, ya do the thing with ya shrine, and ya hope that’s as far as the Order’s interest in ya goes. Sure, ya dame says she’s down for tagging in other ladies, but trust me ya don’t want to get involved with an Order gal if ya don’t have to.”

The following day, John found himself wishing for once that he’d not already memorized most of the material. Math wasn’t looking to be much of a challenge either, so he was spending most of his time worrying about the afternoon. Even Frank glaring at him on the bus ride hadn't done anything to disturb his train of thought from focusing on meeting Rebecca that afternoon; the bully had seemed somewhat taken aback by John’s complete absence of reaction.

It wasn’t just the afternoon’s plans that had led John to ignore Frank though; after life or **** fights with beasts, the idea of dodging one meathead’s fists didn’t really seem to be too much of a problem. Besides, he was pretty sure that if he could avoid the jock at lunch, he’d be clear for the rest of the day.

Lunch didn’t have any Frank-shaped problems, thankfully. The canteen was more empty than usual when John made his way there after his math lesson, and he momentarily wondered why before Wesley appeared at his shoulder, already talking rapidly and in a voice quiet enough not to carry - while the canteen was mostly empty, it still paid to be cautious as a nerd. “John! You fancy another game over lunch? We’re all clear to play today - the usual suspects are outside for some big football training thing, and her royal snobbishness is busy holding court on the sidelines. Catering wheeled a bunch of food out there for them earlier on, so we’ve basically got the canteen to ourselves.”

Wesley’s welcome made John smile, before another problem arose for John, rather literally so. As he queued up to get his food, his blonde friend chatting away about chess openers, John’s eyes flickered to the demure smile on the woman standing behind the counter. “Sorry we don’t have much of a selection, John. We had to rush some sandwiches for the team. I’ve got pasta, or I could make you another omelette if you’d like?” Matilda said, the teasing tone in her voice giving him a rather awkward tightness to worry about as he ordered lunch.