Making New Friends

You sit back in your saddle, reins loose in your hands as you help yourself to a deep breath of the loamy evening air. This is fucking great. It's true that you'd never ridden before in your old life, but who cares about that noise? All that matters anymore is the current you, and he might as well have been born in this saddle. It helps that your sturdy blood-bay mule is deeply attached to her master, having hollered and whinnied from the moment you appeared from the ruins of the arena until you gave her a hug around the neck and some ear-rubs.

Though your riding skills are somewhat overshadowed by Hellebore, who to your continued astonishment has kept up with both your steed and the princess's carriage all day while on foot. And in armor, no less; you've forgone your leathers for a light tunic, but the cyclops continues to make steady pace in his breastplate and horned helmet. You give the neck of your top a little flap; just seeing him in all that stuff is making you sweat. You lean over in your saddle, bopping your companions armored shoulder with your elbow. "Aren't you hot in all of that?"

Hellebore hums dismissively. "I'm fine. The islands I call home are much hotter."

"Oh?" An island boy, is he? A vision of the cyclops in just cut-offs playing beach volleyball flashes through your mind, and you barely stifle a giggle. "You'll have to show me someday."

He doesn't respond for a moment, his reply eventually rumbling out from inside his helmet. "Yes. I'd like that."

You yawn, swapping over to guiding your mount with your legs as you indulge in a good full-body stretch. "Climate aside, what's your impression of Plumberly's domain?"

Your companion takes his customary pause before answering. He certainly does carefully consider his every word. "It's...muddy."

Can't argue with him there. The trade road that you've been following for the better part of a day is firm and well-tended, but just beyond the fields are boggy and wet. The midday sun only partially dried you off from the dense splat of the morning's rain, and you're not particularly optimistic that you'll get there before the evening shower that the heavy air and murky clouds are promising. You've passed more than a few clutches of soggy-looking peasants, going about their days without complaint as they gather their harvests of rhubarb and the ugliest little carrots you've ever seen.

A professorial cough at your side is the first clue that Geas has floated out of Princess Lin's carriage and intends to join your conversation. "These lands have poor water drainage. That is why the gift I have chosen for Princess Honoria is particularly perfect. These pear saplings are the perfect crop for improving the quality of this boggy soil."

"Hmm."

You get the distinct impression that the floating ball of magic is pushing up her glasses. "This gift was chosen after a detailed analysis of the Plumberly Estates, the specific importance of this event, and the likely value of the gifts of other supporters. If you have some new insight to offer, you should have done so while the data was being processed."

"Before we'd met, you mean?"

"Precisely."

That prompts an amiable shrug from you. "Fair enough."

Geas seems pleased by your surrender to her superior reasoning, though you're still not entirely sure how you can tell. She's literally a sparkling ball of opalescence roughly the size of a large cat, but somehow she's very effective at silently emoting. That's how you know she's surprised by the scene that comes into view up the road, even before she speaks. "Oh, what's this now? A toll collecter?"

You shield your eyes against the setting sun, and sure enough that seems to be the situation. The man rifling through the cart of the nervous merchants ahead of you is dressed too neatly and far too brazen to be an outlaw. "Looks that way."

"That's strange. Plumberly neither built nor maintains these roads, and his taxes for this season were collected weeks ago."

Hm. Well, you won't have to wonder for very long. The stout taxman, rather like a big tree trunk stuffed into a tabard and breastplate with some limbs attached as an afterthought, calls out to you without looking back. "Hol' up right there, you! I'll be on to yer inspection jus' as soon as I get at whatever this cunt's hidin'. So grab on t'yer ass and shuddup 'til then, awright?"

Lovely. A bell tinkles from inside the carriage as it slows to a halt, prompting you to sidle your mule up beside the window. It cracks open, revealing Lin's questioning eyes. "We've stopped."

You run a hand through your damp hair, shrugging. "Toll collector."

The princess offers a humorless laugh that nonetheless still thrills you to the core. "Plumberly is ransacking the countryside to pay for his daughter's big day, no doubt. I would prefer to avoid any dawdling."

"Understood."

Lin's eyes reward you with a flash of satisfaction as you turn your steed around, trotting back to Hellebore's side. The cyclops quietly speaks, clearly avoiding being heard by the tax collector. "Should you not put on a helmet of some kind? There might be trouble when he sees that you're not--"

"Yeah, I don't do that." Without another word, you pop two fingers into your mouth and let loose a shrill whistle. The burly taxman whirls around, annoyance and disbelief fighting for dominance over his features as his eyes settle on you. He clearly intends to say something but you don't give him an opening, simply leaning over in your saddle and affixing him with a bored look. "We're in a hurry."

The hulking man scoffs at that, throwing up his hands in a show of mock regret. "Oh, inna hurry, he is! He's inna hurry! Well well, we don' want that, do we? No no, we..." He trails off, squinting one eye as he finally notices something off about the tone of your skin. "...you havin' a laugh, greenie?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Not really. Why, did you make a joke?"

The man turns a particularly vibrant red at that, a rather lovely contrast to your striking green. As he fumbles through his outrage to find his words, you find yourself really taking him in for the first time. Not just as individual, but as a human. Huh. The level of antipathy you're feeling is something of a surprise. Sure, this guy is a cretinous bully, but he's a fellow human being, right? You can't even make it all the way through that thought without a mildly nauseated feeling. Is it possible that this place has actually stripped you of your humanity? Or is your tolerance for assholes simply at an all-time low?

It looks like that theory's going to be tested, because the tax collector has puffed himself up and strutted in what he must imagine is a menacing fashion towards you. He briefly pauses when he realizes the precise size of your silent companion, clearly making some mental calculations about his options. At length, he decides to puff out his chest even further, blatantly displaying the official-looking badge pinned there. It's clearly important, because it's the only piece of apparel he's wearing that isn't liberally caked in mud. "Keep that wagging tongue still, greenie, or King Plumberly'll have it out on my word, see? Maybe I'll have it out anyway; don' need no scoundrels and layabouts muckin' up the kingdom while our princess's havin' her birthday gay-la now, do we?"

Eh. Your official judgement is that, while you're totally convinced this guy is trash, your primary feelings are of ambivalence. He's going to squawk and preen and stomp, and then you're going to instantly forget about him the moment he's out of sight. Best choice is to just get to that moment as quickly as possible. "That's precisely where we're headed. We're guests."

The taxman derisively spits at that, the chunky glob of phlegm coming dangerously close to striking your mount in the leg. "Sure y'are, greenie. Where's yer invitation then, huh? Huh? Huh?!"

You're quite pleased at your own ability to continue not caring about the antics of this little man. "My Lady has our invitation. I'll fetch it."

"Now hol' on a minute, greenie." The taxman folds his arms across his beefy chest. "I'll be seein' this s'posed invitation from this s'posed Lady mesself, I will. Don' think I'll fall f'yer tricks!"

Ugh, you're going to have to bribe him or something, aren't you. "That doesn't see necessary. Why don't we--"

The princess's melodic voice, echoing out from her carriage, interrupts you. "That is alright. We would be happy to show the good Sir our invitation."

The taxman puffs up again at that, shooting you a smug look as he hoists up his belt and trundles over to the side of Lin's carriage. The door slides open to reveal your princess in all of her glory. The taxman balks at the sight of her, eyes running shamelessly up and down her perfect body as she extends an embossed parchment towards him. He doesn't take it until he's helped himself to another eyeful of Lin, and even then his eyes only dart down for a moment to confirm Plumberly's royal signature. It's not until he's had another helping of eyefucks that he pushes the invitation back into Lin's hands, officiously hosting up his belt again. "I s'pose that's all in order, then."

Finally. "We'll be on our way, then?"

"Yeah fine. Oh, and greenie?" You hold back a sigh as you give the man what you dearly hope will be his final glance. "Next time, jus' say yer bringin' the King a fancy whore, awright? Save us all a lotta time."

Lin's lips purse at that, her pale green eyes lifting to stare at you flatly. She needn't have bothered, though. You've already clamped your hand onto the taxman's shoulder, and all that's left after that is for the screaming to stop.

Hellebore has finished disposing of what remains of the taxman when you trot up towards his cart, the merchant he'd waylaid before looking pale and faintly sick atop his own horse. He recoils back from you as you reach out, shifting aside the tarp that covers the former toll collector's loot. Hm, it's a pretty decent haul of coins and trinkets, plus several bushels of those ugly carrots. You shoot the merchant a sideways glance, the man doing his best to shrink away enough to actually vanish. "Pretty decent collection you've got here. I'm impressed."

The merchant has to take a few attempts before he manages to sputter out a reply. "N-no, that's not mine; the tax collector--"

"Tax collector?" You tilt your head to one side, the very picture of innocent confusion. "What tax collector? Didn't I see you with all of this,"--You run a hand through the pile of coins, letting them drip enticingly through your fingers--"When we passed on the road? I don't remember any tax collector. Do you?"

The color is quickly returning to the merchant's face. "Um, no. I definitely don't."

You lean in a bit. "Don't what?"

"Don't remember...um, anyone. Because there wasn't anyone."

"Good man." You snag a carrot on a whim, crunching into it as Hellebore and Lin's cart start to follow you once more down the road. Are all of this world's problems going to be this easy to solve?

You suspect they might be.