Wrong Name

Steven, still basking in the glow of his dragon-slaying haul, glanced at the tabby perched on his shoulder. Blood crusted his torn tunic, but his voice stayed steady. “Oh, and this little hell-raiser’s from that other flyer—Stray Cat Rescue. Didn’t grab the quest, but spotted it lounging on a shop canopy. Mere 15 copper, but every bit counts.” Sophy, the desk clerk, reached for the cat—it meowed indignantly but let her scoop it up. She stroked its fur, cooing, “Did you miss me?” Steven raised a brow. “Not the first time it’s gone missing?”

“Nope,” Sophy said, petting it gently. “Regular thing—few times a year. Always somewhere new. Shop canopy this time?” Steven nodded. “I wouldn’t mind taking it back myself. Point me to the owner?” Sophy smiled. “Fisherman down by the docks. It’s late—look for the house with the big red fishing pole, one of a kind.” She handed the cat back, and it leapt onto Steven’s good shoulder, balancing with smug ease. “Think he likes you,” she giggled. Melissa piped up, her ill-fitting clothes still a spectacle. “Can I join you?” Steven grinned. “Sure thing.”

They strolled through the Mistveil’s fog-choked streets, the cat purring softly as Steven recounted his cave dive. “Started with bats—punched ‘em outta the air, holy fire everywhere. Then crabs—stomped ‘em flat. Found this king crab, huge bastard—cracked its shell with a kick, finished it with a flip-punch, juice all over. Wyrmling next—tough, took some hits, healed twice. Then the dragon—big fucker, nearly bled out, but I smashed its brain.” Melissa’s eyes sparkled, hanging on every word, her joy infectious as he spun the tale.

The docks emerged from the mist, shabby homes lining the water. One stood out—a rundown shack with a giant red fishing pole bolted to its side, paint chipped but bold. Steven paused, eyeing the cat. “Here’s the deal, bud—you can explore, but go home each day so your owner doesn’t worry. Right thing to do.” He cast Mind-Dominion, the command slipping into its simple mind—its eyes flashed gold, and it meowed agreement, resistance nil. Melissa giggled. “Talking to cats now?” Steven laughed, rapping on the door.

A muscled orc answered—pale green skin, long tusks jutting, a V-notch carved in his right ear. His bulk was impressive, though a beer belly sagged over his belt, a drunkard’s hallmark from Steven’s old world. “Ah, you brought Tabitha home,” he rumbled, grabbing the cat. It hissed, swatting at him. Steven cleared his throat. “Uh, not my place, but that’s a male cat—maybe a male name’d suit?” The orc chuckled, lifting it by the scruff, making it dangle limp. “Is that so? What’s a good one?” He mused, then grinned. “How about Tank?” The cat meowed happily. Setting it down, the orc nodded. “Thanks for bringing Tank home.” Steven tipped his head, and the door shut. Muffled through the wood: “Let’s get you some fish, eh, Tank?” A pleased meow followed.

Walking back, Melissa squeezed his hand, her new curves swaying. “Maybe it kept running ‘cause he didn’t know it was a boy.” Steven nodded. “Yeah, makes sense—wrong name, wrong vibe.” They strolled hand-in-hand to the guild, her fingers warm in his, the night settling soft around them.