Coaching and Landing [Nightingale POV]

Nightingale sat across from Eliana in the meeting room. The shutters on the windows were drawn, the artificial light above on, and Claire stood next to the table. Between the harpy and her senior in the harem lay a folder. “So fudging weird to see one of these,” Eliana said and pulled it over to herself. “We usually do everything digitally…”

“There is a digital version available on your phone,” Nightingale said. “For the meeting, I thought it easier to have something to flip through.”

“I did read it before,” Eliana assured, her voice a paradox of seeking validation and criticizing Nightingale for tacitly questioning her.

“Then I shall test your understanding of it,” Nightingale answered plainly.

“Is this shi-…p really necessary?” Eliana squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. “Not like this is a matter of life and death.”

“It is a matter of diplomacy.” The harpy smiled patiently at her fellow Harmonia. “Do not let nervousness consume you, my sister. Breathe. Focus on being the best of yourself.”

Eliana followed the advice and took a deep breath. After exhaling, she nodded deeply. “Alright… needle me with your annoying questions, I guess?”

“Summarize for me Abyssal Ternate’s general situation.”

“It’s a mess,” Eliana answered plainly. A leading gesture of Nightingale’s wing bid her to continue. “The city of Ternate is the heart of the island of Ternate which is part of the Moluccas which is like a microcosm of the shit soup that is the political horror show of Abyssal Indonesia. There is some shared identity among the whole of the fudge pot, but all the retards are squabbling about who gets to be in charge. In Ternate, that fight is about two key locations: the sultanate palace and the peak of Gamalama, the volcano that formed the island.”

“Indeed, and as of this moment, who controls them…?”

“The sultanate palace is held by the…” Eliana did open the folder to double check if she remembered the title right, “…Jou Kolano? However you pronounce that. Anyway, his name is Muhammad Lobi Syah. Devout muslim, apparently, which is so fuck-dging weird to see in the Abyss.”

“it’s not as weird as you think,” Nightingale pushed back. “Gaia existing and acting gives a certainty that many find unappealing in their worship.”

“I think that’s stupid.”

“You best keep that opinion to yourself,” the harpy cautioned.

“I know!” Eliana shouted and threw her hands into the air. “…Sorry…” she muttered, her mood swinging back to agreeable. “I know. Questioning people’s faith is as rude as giving an orphan an expired ticket for new parents.”

Claire snorted. “That’s terrible!”

“You laughed, you can’t judge me!”

‘Always a derailment in this harem,’ Nightingale thought, her own mind returning to home for a moment. She would have enjoyed staying and catching up with her parents some more. Their sudden arrival could not compromise made plans, however. She shook her head and interrupted the chaotic duo’s banter. “And the peak of Gamalama is currently held by…?”

“He just calls himself Gapi. Some kind of unwashed hobo that everyone hates.”

“Are either of them secure in their position?”

“Fuck no.”

“Give me the four most threatening groups or individuals.” Nightingale listened to Eliana rattle them down swiftly, then gave an approving nod. “Good, you understand the individuals involved. Now, the more important question… how will you treat them?”

“Uh… kindly?” Eliana asked.

“Is that the correct move?”

“…I don’t fucking know!” Eliana threw her hands up again. “You’re the great diplomat, give me the summary on what a breeding sleeve is supposed to do around here!”

“Diplomacy is a game without clear victory,” Nightingale answered. “Everyone who is good at it is very careful to reveal their true intentions. Even those that are bad at it are typically distrustful. You must entice people to your cause. Make it easy to be liked. Being kind is often ill-advised. It makes you seem subservient. Is the Fusion Empire subservient to a shattered realm within a shattered region?”

“Of course not,” Eliana sneered.

“Precisely. What is Ternate’s social culture like?”

“…They’re majority Muslim, if not religiously then culturally.” Eliana’s fingers drummed on the cover of the closed folder. “They’re moderate. They won’t or shouldn’t treat us like Osman does. The local belief is that women don’t belong in public politics, but they have a long tradition as a spice island of dealing with other customs and are tolerant as long as they are respected.” Eliana paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Also women have power, it’s just focused on social roles rather than political ones.”

“Our all-female delegation is an oddity to them,” Nightingale summarized. “They are too experienced with outsiders to be bothered. Even if they did, they would swallow it because they are insignificant next to any one of us.”

The only woman in the delegation that could perhaps be even slightly threatened was Layla. John had elected to push the concerted effort to fill her with Levels to the next grinding session. When asked why, he had proudly re-acquainted Nightingale with a graph titled ‘the Cum Curve’, alongside other calculations.

He could be quite the dork.

The sum and substance was that it would take about 140 to 160 hours of sex hours to get Layla to level parity. Wise to delay that until they had the time.

Unwise would have been to touch even the weakest of the Gamer’s women. “News of Veridion’s demise travelled around the world,” Claire stated. “We will be received as honoured guests. We will be received with tea and ceremony. We will be received like walking earthquakes.”

“Precisely,” Nightingale agreed. “They will fear you, Eliana.”

“Who can blame them… failure or not, I am the goddess of genocide…” Eliana sat there moping for a moment before slapping her own cheek. “Anything else you want to ask me?”

“What is the goal?”

That question caught the pretty little psycho off-guard. “The fudge you mean?”

“This is no vacation,” the harpy stated. “What is the goal? What are we aiming to achieve?”

“…I… just want to gather experience?” Eliana said, very slowly.

“A proper goal.” Nightingale rose from her seat and began to walk along the length of the table. She stopped where it curved to the seat at the head of it. A raised wing hid her smile from Eliana. “Yet insufficient. Experience is gained by attempting to reach an outcome. A carver does not learn by staring at a piece of wood.”

“…So… I should just… set myself… an arbitrary goal?”

“Did you not already?” Claire asked.

“This whole thing was sprung on me!” Eliana defended herself. “The goal is whatever I want it to be, right?”

“Correct.” Nightingale lowered her wing to show her smile openly. “You are the leader, Eliana.”

“Then I want to use these four days to identify who seems best for the locals and to position them as best I can WITHOUT!” she shouted the word. “Without Fusion actually taking a side in this conflict.”

“A worthwhile experience to make. Intervention without involvement or gaining of personal benefit, a just goal.” The harpy returned to her seat. “Then let us consider our candidates and how to involve ourselves with them…”

_____________________________________________________________________________

Nightingale stood behind Eliana.

Since becoming a goddess, the lady of the night had gotten accustomed to being at the centre of gatherings. Old instincts of being just a renowned songstress were as sharp as ever. In the past, she had often stood three steps removed from patrons that wished to brag with having hired her for an evening. Such experiences had trained her to exist in a quiet, inoffensive state of simply looking good.

Eliana was seated on a half-bench made of artfully joined hardwood and thick bamboo. Beneath and around it, a multitude of leaf mats had been spread out to cover the plain soil of the chosen meeting place – an old Natural Barrier turned home of one of the influential clans of Ternate.

Less ornate stools and benches were arranged in a half-circle before Eliana. On them sat the matriarchs of the influential families. All of the local men had arranged themselves into a faceless guard force, uniformed to strip away any signs of individuality and ten metres removed from the edge of the laid mats.

Nightingale was intrigued by this solution to the cultural views of gender roles. ‘To leave women to talk to women while the men serve as overseers and protectors,’ she commented to herself, taking in the scene.

Annoyance roiled beneath the surface, barely perceivable. It manifested in hands resting on sheathed weapons and in small glares between the women. Everything had been hastily put together. The visit had not been announced. They had simply landed and word had spread like wildfire.

In the middle of the circle stood a large kettle, heated by magically created magma contained in a cage of black metal. Steam rose, putting a translucent curtain between Nightingale and the great mountain beyond. The circle had been carefully placed so Eliana had the best view of the rising volcano.

A whistle marked the point of the water having boiled sufficiently. Three of the women rose up in a hurry, glaring at one another. “Please,” one of them spoke with forced sweetness, “as sultana, it is my duty to prepare the tea.”

“Do not burden yourself,” another woman answered just as diplomatically. “My family has served the interests of Ternate for generations.”

“You thus deserve rest,” the third woman opined swiftly. “Let me, as wife of a mere peasant with powers, prepare the tea.”

The sultana smiled at the third woman. “Your fingers still hold the garden. Hands of honest work should not need be tasked with the ceremonial gestures of serving tea.”

“And a woman as esteemed as you ought not to kneel before a visitor.”

“Before this visitor, we all may kneel,” the sultana drawled.

Velka warbled loudly, her head raised from Eliana’s lap. The courtly bickering came to an immediate stop, leaving only the whistling of the large kettle to fill the air. “The high-pitched noise has my Magryph displeased,” Eliana stated the situation plainly, speaking the local tongue flawlessly.

The harpy kept her proud smile inwards. ‘Even tone, neutral and factual wording, no power asserted or overt request made,’ she analysed the sentence. ‘A perfect weapon in this situation.’

The duty of preparing the tea defaulted to the sultana. Neither of the two women were going to push the envelope of their own power when there was a chance to displease their visitor.

Velka let out a pleased meow as the whistling was silenced by the drawing of the water. She settled her back on Eliana’s thighs, soon purring as the blood mage scratched behind her ears. “Thank you.” The Lady Sanguine bowed her head. “Your eagerness to be hospitable is admirable, as is your patience.”

‘She diminishes herself too much,’ Nightingale thought, this time allowing herself to smile openly. None of the other women noticed, too busy preening at the collective compliment.

The ceremony of preparing the tea was nothing too elaborate. A few flourishes when presenting the manifold spices that went into the mix added flair to what otherwise was the simple act of mixing many powders into hot water. The heavy aroma of cloves and other spices filled the air as each of the seated women received a cup.

“To our honoured guest,” the sultana said, gently lifting her clay cup. Following her lead, all took a careful sip.

The sharing of the tea marked the proper beginning of hospitality. All women around breathed a little lighter. In their customs, hostility between them was now so deeply unacceptable that none would dare. Fusion was renowned for respecting local customs and Eliana, as a new player, benefitted from that base reputation.

“This is delicious!” Eliana shouted and immediately took another sip. Only the heat of the drink kept her from emptying it immediately. Sincerity added so much greater weight to her words. “Would you sell me this mixture?”

“We could not possibly sell you anything, empress!” one of the women responded. “Please, my family will gladly provide you a gracious amount as a gift!”

“As will mine!” “And mine!” “My clan as well!” All of the other women were swift to assure their own share of offerings. Nightingale noted the tensing of shoulders among the guarding men. Cost calculations of the expensive spices being given away were no doubt running through their heads. It was in man’s nature to calculate before being kind.

It was in woman’s nature to respond in kind. “No trade then, but I can’t take gifts without giving anything back.” Eliana snapped her fingers and two male servants came forward, carrying a chest between them. “My husband…” she stopped for a moment, failing to entirely suppress a girlish giggle, “…has prepared these gifts.”

The lid rose to reveal Fusion’s usual offerings to new friends. Tokens, instruments forged from Baelementium, rolls of fine cloth and rare herbs – among other produce from the Guild Hall. Items that even the infinite generation of their capital did not produce enough of to just give away to anyone.

The women remained seated, masking their greed well while showing their awe fully. Local high society put a lot of weight on keeping up the niceties, Nightingale analysed. As it was so often with Fusion’s missions, playing along with this was a simple task for them. After all, there was no need to pretend to be generous and helpful when those were one’s genuine intentions.

Eliana lowered her hand and the servants closed the chest up again. “We’ll busy ourselves with the just divvying later,” she said, to the universal relief of the women. It was difficult to keep up niceties when fighting over who got what share of a treasure trove. “You must ask yourselves what an empress plans, suddenly appearing at your doorstep – especially one with such a… troubled history.”

There was no nice way to agree or disagree with her, so the collective of women elected to say nothing.

“Well…” Eliana spoke very slowly and deliberately. Though she had absorbed the local language with little to no issue in what preparation time she had been given, she still forced herself to enunciate every word with care. “…there simply is no greater reason. As mother to the heir-apparent, I have decided to take a greater interest in the running of an empire. My husband suggested I go here to hold an open court.”

All of this was true and formulated nicely to lean into the patriarchal culture. Nightingale kept quietly watching.

“What does this open court entail?” the sultana asked, wearily. “If you allow the question?”

“It’s no secret that Fusion is… powerful.” The odd gap sounded like it was placed there for emphasis. Nightingale knew Eliana had swallowed a swear word. “So, I understand you must be concerned that we wish to take over. This open court is no assertion of authority. I will work within the boundaries of your preferences.” Eliana smiled broadly. “We are here to improve your odds of self-determination. Consider this a cultural exchange, if you would?”

The women smiled back.