Satisfying two ladies at once.

[Author's Note: Occasionally story beats will overlap on different paths, and so I apologize when/if I want to keep them intact as they were, resulting in some déjà vu for those who've read it in an earlier branch.]

"I'll... I'll go with both of you!" The two would-be combatants paused their menacing tension to turn it onto John, who was less than a fifth of their combined levels. The fear of this did nothing to shrivel his revived prick, however, which continued to tent his boxers and make this all the more awkward. "Just... I mean, as long as it doesn't involve hurting or killing me, I really don't have anything else planned for the afternoon, so... I can just go with both of you, one after the other. Could you both promise my safety, at least?"

Moira and Tricia exchanged glances, but spoke to him without meeting his eyes. "If you're secretly in a pact, I'm not sure you'll be allowed to leave my manor alive," Moira confessed.

"I don't know how invasive my analysis will have to be to discover the source of your alleged ability quickly..."

John kept twitching his head to and fro between them, watching Moira's relationship score tick up and down by one point like a pendulum. Tricia's third-eye independently flicked between himself and Moira, nearly in tandem. "I mean... I haven't gotten into pacts yet, and I'm willing to be patient about the... analysis... thing."

"You'll just run away." They spoke in unison, and then narrowed their eyes at one another as if insulted.

"I-I won't! I mean, I'm stuck at the Academy either way, a-and hey, I've got nothing to really gain from leaving this life behind, so... uh... please?"

The freaky healer finally closed her monstrous eye and cleared her throat, regaining her clinical demeanor. "Of course. Ours is a bloodline of mercy," she managed without sarcasm, "so I will... limit my probe before returning you to the-"

"No," the redhead rudely interrupted. She was inserting the warhammer (head first) into the back of her shield, but her commanding voice didn't imply the fight was truly averted. "The Brighton family will return him unharmed to you... after all, we are the regulating authority here. I can swear his safety without your... reservations; we merely wish to speak with him, after all." Moira smirked as she returned Tricia's unreadable stare.

Taking the moment to observe them, John decided both of these crazy bitches could do with a touch of de-escalation. Targeting Tricia first, he imagined as hard a concept to define as he had to yet - humility - and augmented hers by ten percent. Her brow lost every trace of anger, and he took that to mean it worked well enough for Moira too. Despite the chunk of mp spent and Moira's softening, however, Tricia didn't seem nearly as affected. Was she just that damn proud?

Augment/Reduce emotion lvl1, 35 mp
Augment body: reinforce permanently by 5% a mental construct or emotion of the mind targeted. Reverses Reduce.
Reduce body: weaken permanently by 5% a mental construct or emotion of the mind targeted. Reverses Augment.
Limit of 5% x (skill lvl+1)

Maybe he should use that free level in a skill to help the augments? He wavered indecisively on throwing the surprisingly free-form boost on something he knew he'd be grinding up, and was saved by the three-eyed blonde breaking the staring match first. "So be it. I will expect him at my residence before nightfall."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Yes." An awkward pause. Then, still without looking at him, "C'mon, pervert: get dressed and let's go."

Ten minutes later...

John made an excuse to go to the bathroom... and in doing so, finally had enough peace and solitude to try and summon Fairy back into existence. After a short period of meditation, the portal opened in the toilet, and out arrived-

"REALLY, ASSHOLE?! FROM A TOILET?!"

"Sshh! The bathroom's empty, but someone might hear you!" The shushing was all she needed, given that it was more or less a command. Angrily she pouts at him as she floats up, shaking (relatively clean) toilet water from her shoes. She should be grateful that he flushed beforehand, at least. "So... what happened?"

She tsked, shaking her head while too obviously trying to appear angry. "Well, you were knocked ****... and then some, I guess, because I had no trouble floating around while you slept-"

"No no no," John groaned, "the panties!"

She looked up at him... and grew red as she realized her error. "Of course you want the... here!" She reached behind her and, as if from her own pocket dimension-like inventory, yanked out the two pairs. "You've only got seven, though."

"I saw Miss Summers earlier today..." His perverted giggle was the perfect end to the quest as his sheet spat its report:

QUEST COMPLETE!
600XP (500 + 100)
item: bracers of victorious molesting
+2 lbs. of cold steel
+2 lbs. of moon dust
+1 diminutive bag of diamonds

Bracers of what?! Jeez... but at least he was already halfway to lev- What the Hell?! A BAG OF DIAMONDS?! John quickly checked his inventory and opened a small, brown sack he found inside. Sure enough, though they were only barely enough to fit in the palm of his hand, he counted the thirty-five fat diamonds, beautifully cut and shimmering in the light, that were now his. He quickly bagged them, his head spinning at what kind of money he could get for them... or, as his Gamer instincts screamed, what they could craft if he saved them. "I wonder if anything out here has a Vendor Trash tag..."

"What?"

"N-Nothing. Fairy: go to my bedroom and hide invisibly there until I command you to do otherwise... if anything gets really, really bad, I might have to transpose with you."

"And then you'll dismiss me, right? You wouldn't... just leave me-"

"Of course, of course! Just don't get caught on the way," John mumbled as he clicked the new wrist equipment.

Special item: bracers of victorious molesting
+50% effectiveness of attempts to arouse a target with your hands (increases to +500% if the target was previously defeated by you in the last 72 hours)

The bracers were certainly out of place in the 21st-century - leather forearm wraps with silver stitched into beautiful, almost art deco-like sunbursts - but he wasn't liable to use them in public space anyways. "... if I survive today, we're definitely going hunting." Fairy giggled knowingly before flying off as instructed. With that, he went back to his agreed first task: to go with Moira to her house for whatever waited inside. Maybe it was his devil summon, maybe it was the scare she got from almost killing him, and maybe, just maybe, it was how he decorated her like a birthday cake with his jizz in the middle of being throttled by her... but John really got the sense that Moira was more than a bit irritated by his presence, even after demanding that she go home with him. She had walked him out to the student parking lot like a shamed puppy, and it wasn't until she tossed a motorcycle helmet that he realized how much more awkward it was going to get. Behind her, the chrome of what looked to be a brand new, or at least well-maintained and polished, Harley Davidson motorcycle glittered in the afternoon sun. "Whoa."

At last, Moira broke into a smirk as she straddled the black leather of the driver's seat. "You're riding backseat," she explained as she stashed her bag, "and for at least the entire duration of our ride you will be a perfect gentleman."

John sighed with obvious frustration, earning a surprised glare. "I mean, of course! I just... wish I knew why you thought I was a pervert... I mean, before that... um, accident..."

"Put on the helmet. I don't have time to lecture you on how this school works... not today, at least." He complied, ignoring how hard his cock got as he straddled behind her for the whole ride to her manor. After five minutes of her daring, expert driving on the chrome hog between their legs, the mansion was finally in view: a gorgeous English manor, rebuilt here in the United States. Picturesque and complete with a middle-aged butler who bowed as Moira pulled her motorcycle close to the entrance, John couldn't help but whistle in appreciation.

"What... does your family do...?"

"Save the world."

"What."

"Miss Brighton," the servant declared, "Lord Brighton is expecting you in the library as soon as able."

"Of course, Reggie; we're on our way there." Moira turned to John as he removed his helmet. "This is Reginald, our butler. Now let's go... my dad hates to wait."

John complied, and stepped through a door that may as well have been a portal to Camelot. The exterior stonework was not merely for show, as the interior had been lavishly decorated with a combination of polished wood and porous, living stone. Full suits of armor cradling medieval weapons flanked doorways, tapestries depicted either battles or one particular coat of arms, and towering portraits could be found in each hallway, complete with eyes that John swore were following him. Notable on every portrait, be it man or woman, was the brooch on their lapels or dresses: the same shield brooch, in design and color, that Moira wielded. To complete his tour of a would-be Disney castle, they came upon the library: a two-story chamber with more filled bookshelves than individual books John had ever owned, and their spines certainly didn't have his kind of topics or logos on their ancient leather. The man who must have been Moira's father sat in a massive leather chair, and wore a red mane of full beard and thick locks of hair swept back. What kind of olde English greeting was John going to get here, he wondered-

"Sit." Oh. None.

The man's voice carried an authority that had Moira take a chair aligned with that of her father's, leaving John to awkwardly occupy the loveseat across from them. John tried to be aware of her father's level or name... but the generic Observe failed message came up, even given his level and expertise. This was worrying, to be sure. After a moment of silent, brooding staring from Lord Brighton, Moira finally came to John's **** rescue. "This is the boy I told you about, father."

"Yes... and you called him a summoner, though that remains to be seen. Who formed him, then? Black Velvet? The 33 Scions? The Cabal, perhaps, or... wait, don't tell me he's linked to her?"

"Apparently no one formed him, though I was hoping you could put that claim to the test. At least, to hear him and the Gorbachev explain it, he was a natural, late bloomer." More quietly, with a touch of frustration, she added, "A gift from the Lady Herself."

"If a Gorbachev claims he has no bond, then he has no bond," he declared with finality. "Even one as young as that one could be entrusted with the world, let alone with revealing enemies in our midst. We will speak later of your debt to the healer, but for now... the boy." The man stood - an intimidating figure, over six feet tall if John's self-consciousness wasn't making the man seem taller - and peered at the young Gamer. "Given his freedom and youth, well... I dare to think he could change the balance of the status quo." He walked towards a nearby desk, covered in parchments as if these times demanded such props... until John realized one parchment, along with a more modern fountain pen, were now to be put on the small table to his left.

"W-Wait, what do you mean by that..." An awkward moment. "... m-milord?"

Lord Brighton gave a brief guffaw before putting the paper and pen down with an audible click. "Mister Brighton is more than enough title for you to use, boy. Now sign this protection pact, and we may both continue on our ways."

"What... what is that?"

Mister Brighton gave a glance at his daughter, whose eyes were on the floor. Apparently she had forgotten something important, and so he began, "It is a protection pact. It acknowledges that you are not a member of a mage guild and won't join one. In exchange, we will do our best to protect you from the most vicious threats inside the Abyss. In addition to this mutual protection is our mutual business: you will accept our terms to rent out your services to us at a reasonable cost if requested... much like Gorbachev, although you'll have to prove yourself to earn even half as much as she." John gave a nervous glance at the paper, and its shifting runes and words. Was any of this even in English? (It was, but legalese may as well be magic to even a sharp mind like John's.) "It is a standard practice... and a mandatory one." Like a period on that veiled demand, Reginald entered the room with a tray. The teapot, cups and biscuits barely registered on John's mind as he contemplated his position.

What would a gentleman say? Thankfully, he has enough wisdom and charisma to properly address it. "This sounds agreeable, but I'm afraid I'm not sure of the details... I hope you'll forgive me wanting to be prudent in at least learning them?"

"What." Moira blurted her shock deadpan, and a biscuit shattered between her fingers.

Lord Brighton wrinkled his nose, but ultimately offered a smile. At least John thought it was a smile; the beard made him a hard man to read. "What details do you wish to learn?"

They went through it, step by step, and Lord Brighton proved surprisingly patient with John compared to Moira's gaffs, though perhaps by how much higher the standard was for the latter. John learned that most mage guilds throughout history have started wars for evil ends, and the mesh of pacts and alliances formed since the dark ages have made it impossible for this 'Order' to offer protection to young mages who also wished to take part in these conflicts. Remain free, and he had their backing, the sum total of the protection seemed to be. The rest was all accounting and liberties, of which almost none interfered with how John intended to live anyways, and apparently he would have plenty of leeway for the times he is unavailable to help... but one detail kept eluding him, and he held onto it by the end of the Lord's introduction. "What if... one of these other organizations wants to hire me, as you might, and also without joining their ranks?"

A pause... and John was sure the lights of the library dimmed when Moira's father cocked his head slightly at that. "Well then... you had better hope their intentions do not run afoul of ours." Brighton said it slowly, and with a smile. John swallowed hard.

Without further ado, the pact was signed. "Excellent... Moira, go with him to your room to change and show him to the training grounds. She will-"

"Ah, father... about that..." He raised an eyebrow at her. He clearly disliked being interrupted. "The... Gorbachev wanted him see him as soon as possible, and before nightfall... perhaps training could wait until a better date?"

"I am loath to let a novice mage roam without weapon or training... but I suppose it takes a lifetime regardless, so one day shouldn't affect it."

"There's also the question of how he was able to learn of-"

"Magic, my sweet child." Brighton gave a wide smile under his beard at John. "All the world could be unraveled by it, nevermind a few, small secrets of his classmates." On that note, John tried to observe the man again, and again it failed completely. "In any case, he is now under our protection..."