The baths, alone (Aside from the voices in your head)

The baths, like most you're likely to find that don't manually heat their water, are a set of gender-split hot springs. Deciding that, for the time being, you neither had the courage to invite Derleth along with you nor the immediate need to win his favor, you slipped into the women's springs alone. You slide out of your robes, a surprisingly easy action, you never really considered how immodest they were until you found yourself able to stand naked aside from your shoes with a single pull upward over your head. Your shoes too, which are little more than cotton slippers and likely explain why your feet were so badly blistered by a few miles walking, also come off.

"Traditionally, you are supposed to wear something underneath the robes. That hardly means everybody did." Ardenne muses.

There's a washbasin with a scrubbing brush and brick of soap on one side of the changing room. On the other, there's a washbasin and brush that seem to lack both soap and water. However, on the side of that washbasin, you can easily make out letters reading "Magic" that seems like equal parts promise and threat.

"Of course, the age-old riddle, is the basin for clothes that are magic, or is it a magic basin for clothes?"

"Either way, wouldn't I put these robes inside?" You ask boredly.

"Of course! Unless the owner desired to play a nasty prank on the mages specifically." You can almost hear him waggling his fingers ominously.

You toss your robes and slippers into the magic bin, a moment later the brush starts scrubbing them as if with a mind of its own. Sudsy bubbles rise up on the cloth where the brush has scrubbed. With that taking care of itself, you hope, you ease your way into the springs. The water is odd to look at and odder to touch, but the almost overwhelming heat of it seems to take precedence. It isn't see-through, but it isn't cloudy either. It has a sort of glowing, radiant blue to it, and it clings to the skin like a film.

"Magic water as well?" You muse to the voices in your head.

"No, the springs have a series of mineral deposits in the base rock," Ardenne explains, "If you jostle the water enough, it will bubble and froth like tonic."

"So I suppose it isn't actually making me cleaner than regular water?"

"No, you are expected to actually use soap. Though if you suffer from vascular inflammations, it can help."

There's a sort of natural shelf in the water that lets you sit with your back to the smooth pumice edge of the springs, the rocks slick with the same viscous foam that clings to your body. There's a pair of small buckets balanced on the edge of the springs. Again, one is normal and one is simply labeled "magic" though both only seem to hold one bar of soap.

"Now that is a far more concerning riddle." Ardenne giggles almost immaturely.

"How would soap be magic?"

"Perhaps it washes you as if by invisible hands, perhaps you simply drop it into the water and become clean. Perhaps it is imbued with magic that kills a greater number of germs? Or, perhaps, it is merely regular soap which costs twice as much."

You take the magic bar of soap in your hand, smells flowery.

"Lilac, Troy would have had a fit."

You drop the soap into the surface of the water and wait. As the ripples fade away, nothing happens. A moment later, that nothing continues to happen.

"Magic, huh?" You ask.

"Well, now you're going to have to go get it."

You reach out across the floor of the springs with your foot probingly, but you have to stretch to make it hit the bottom, and you can't cover much ground with it. You sigh, stepping down off of the ledge and onto the floor of the springs, the water immediately jumping up around your jaw. You stumble and bumble your way around the water on your tip-toes until you manage to find the slick bar at the floor, somewhat pinned among the rocks. After a moment's preparation, you squeeze your eyes shut and pinch your nose, dunking your head down as you push yourself inverted to set your hands against the rocky bottom. You feel the screaming pulse of blood in your ears, reverberating noisily in the quiet roar of the water. The hot bath tries to creep in every which way it can almost crushingly, the water far denser and far more overwhelming than you had expected. The peaceful black of your closed eyes is broken by blooming color as the water presses against your lids like you're rubbing them. The kaleidoscopic sights morph, shifting into shapes that change all at once into other shapes.

"Not another-" A broken fragment of an angrily spoken sentence cracks through the roar of your ear.

"What?" Comes back an indignant, almost resentful response.

"Why?" Returns as the dejected reply.

The shapes hold a little firmer, staying in place for a moment at least. You see them first as a voyeur, then slowly you become part of them. Not aside from their reality, a part of it. One specific one holds firmer than the rest. A young face, your own, minus a few spots here and there. Haloed by the light of a fireplace, your office, a cozy setting usually. Your back hurts, hell, everything hurts. Even as a powerful mage, getting older is still a collected series of pains you wake up with one day that don't go away again, becoming part of the background details of every scene like an errant brushstroke. In that moment, in your office, in front of the fire, she's crying. And all you can think about is how your back hurts. You can't experience the moment without feeling the minutiae of it. This has been the case before, and only now does it occur to you that you may never experience the important moments of your life without feeling the small aspects. You cannot not be a human in those moments. She will always be crying, and even as she is, your back is always going to hurt more than seeing it does.

"It was never fake," You tell her. "But we can't."

"Why?" Returns as the dejected reply.

You shift in your seat, it doesn't get rid of the pain, but it quiets it a bit.

"Give me a hundred lives, I would make it my goal to find you in each of them. But in this one, it cannot be." You feel stupid even as you say it, as if there's a poem you can craft that will be lovely enough to make the phrase "no" go down like medicine.

And again, "Why?" comes as the dejected reply.

You give up on poems, "You know why, Jeanne."

"Why?"

"Jeanne, stop."

"Make it make sense, professor."

And in that moment, you are aware that she is still a child compared to you. And the wrong of what you've been doing sinks into your stomach like an unearthly, rotten poison.

"Stop," Ardenne's voice cuts through the returning drone of your blood pulsing in your ears. It shakes you to hear it no longer coming out of your own lips, but from within you.

Your head breaks the surface again, breaking the now almost-overbearing pounding in your ears. Your vision is fuzzy at the edges, consumed by flecks of light. You gasp for a breath you hadn't realized you were **** for. Ardenne's protest is still somewhat ringing in your head, the more you listen to it the more you hear the **** edge that had shocked you out of your illusion. You might have drowned if not for his speaking up, but his voice was seemingly less concerned with your safety and more deeply indignant and afraid.

He finally grumbles. "I would have preferred that you hadn't seen that."

You blink away most of the floaters and settle back against the wall. Your breath still not under control.

"Use the normal soap, I guess." He tries to joke.

"Was that real?" You finally ask.

"Would I be mad if it wasn't?"

"Jeanne, she-" You start.

"Do not speak her name." It isn't **** or angry, more sullen. Old wounds and the like.

"It's not an accident I look like her, is it?"

"Is that really what you want to fixate on?" He huffs back.

You look down at your body for a moment, even with what little of her you saw, you feel pretty sure that it's hers. Of course, for you, it feels natural. It's all you've ever had. It's you. Knowing that it's based on somebody else doesn't change that. It's not the same for Ardenne. Object of desire or merely a fleeting impulse for something he loved, there's something dysmorphic about it to him. Something grossly wrong. Something not what it should be.

"Why make her? Why not make me somebody that she would want?"

Ardenne doesn't respond.

"If mages live long enough, she's probably still alive. Is that why we're going to the mage's college?"

He doesn't respond. He's there but ignoring you. You suspect that as long as you're talking about Jeanne, he's going to keep doing that. Eventually, you simply shrug, enjoying some rare moments of silence from the voices in your head. Even when you finish up and rise from the bath, lingering to look at yourself in the mirror, he remains silent. You get back your robes, now smelling of soap, magic optional, and slip them back on.

"I should probably get some more clothes, especially if we're not making it to the mage's college for some time." You muse as much to yourself as you are baiting Ardenne to speak again.

"A fine point," He glumly responds, "But unless your creator imbued you with some wealth I was unaware of, you will need to find some money."

You check your robes for pockets, finding some, but finding them empty. Yeah, you're looking down the face of not only no new clothes, but not having money to pay for your lodging after the first night.

"Couldn't you teach me some magic to earn some money?"

He clears his throat, clearly perked up somewhat by a chance to lecture you, "Any magic I could teach you to make money in the next few hours would fall into one of three categories. It would either be a parlor trick that every other mage on their way to college could mimic, and would be worthless. Simply tricks to turn one mineral into another, which works well, but only once, considering that it would be more illusion than anything. Or magic used to steal and cheat, which would be against my principles to teach you."

"Didn't you die with your hands wrapped around somebody's throat, what did your principles have to say about that?" You ask back, choosing to press him on the point less likely to make him sulk.

"I most certainly did! My human, un-magic hands! I would not have profaned the magic arts with such a petty grudge!"

"So, what do I do?"

He clears his throat again, it's the well-rehearsed noise of a teacher trying to grab the attention of his class, "Well, so long as you're unwilling to sell your body or use it to levy favors, I would suggest you find a way to make money."

"And how do I do that?"

"Either find some work or find some people you can manipulate with what amount of your body you are willing to levy."

You finish up in the baths and slip back out into the hall. Not much time has passed at all, though the sky has gone from darkening to dark. Derleth is still reading, now mostly by the warm orange of paper lanterns. It shifts the whole appearance of the inn. No longer is it as clean and homely as before, the sudden appearance of soft shadows and hazy light suddenly makes it feel a lot smaller. It reminds you for a moment how out of place you are. There are any number of people living inside of you that are any number of years and miles removed from a place they could call home. The difference is that you don't have one, no matter how far away in space or in time you want to cast your mind. Nothing is certain, especially with no money in your pockets.

You approach Derleth and clear your throat, mimicking Ardenne and trying to make it sound certain and not completely out of your depth. He perks up, marking his place in his book and setting it down, folding his hands on top of it as a gesture of acknowledgment.

"Can I help you?" He asks, a mixture of warmly professional and professionally warm.

"Nice... night." You start, suddenly realizing that you have a place you want this conversation to go, but no idea how to get there.

"It certainly is," He responds flatly.

"I have no money," You blurt out.

He raises his eyebrows, "I said the first night was free."

"I mean, for after that... I don't have any money to pay you to stay here but I don't really have anywhere else to go-"

"Woah, slow down." He holds up his hands, "Don't you have a home to go back to?"

"He's a romantic, tell him your mother kicked you out for being a mage."

"I don't... My mother, she-"

"Does she fear magic? Did she kick you out?" He blurts out, suddenly seeming to be very interested in your dramatic backstory, no matter how untrue.

"I- something like that." You mumble back.

"You're very lucky I made you so pretty." Ardenne muses, "And that you might have found the easiest mark in town."

"By the circle, that's awful!" Derleth recoils in horror.

"If... if I can't get to the college, I need money to stay here."

Derleth suddenly winces, the hot-blooded compassion of a moment before replaced by the harsh reality of his situation.

"I'm sorry, I can't really afford to help you... The inn doesn't make much, and it costs a ton to run. I'm lucky to take home a single coin most nights."

"I need a place to stay," You start.

"Offer to make it worth his while, be sexy about it."

"I can make it worth your while!" You add, suddenly very unsure of how to be sexy.

Derleth looks genuinely stunned for a moment before responding, "Sure, if you want to work to cover your room, that was always an accepted thing."

"Looks like we found out why the Inn doesn't make much."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," He responds, "Blockages to the mages college happen and mages are... not known for carrying lots of money on them. The expectation is that you know some magic to help out with things."

"Ah," You respond.

"What particular magic do you specialize in?"

You hesitate, "I'm not sure, I guess I'm okay at everything and not great at anything."

"Can you cook?"

"Is cooking a school of magic?"

"It isn't, but people are more likely to be happy with bread and meat when they think it tastes like something else."

"No, but I'm just... not a great cook," Derleth responds somewhat embarrassedly.

"I can't help you there," Ardenne grumbles. "Maybe some of the other personalities do."

_"I do!" _One of the voices responds without identifying itself.

_"Don't just say that you know how to cook without saying who you are, it's unproductive," _Ardenne responds grumpily, as if resenting the fact that he has to share your head. __

"I can cook a bit," You respond, trying to ignore the running conversation between Ardenne and the other voices, "But it's not great. Last resort, ideally."

"That's too bad," Derleth laments, "Do you know any telepathy? Stuff that can push a mop or carry heavy stuff?"

"That's... telekinesis..." Ardenne responds, verbally pressing both palms over his face, "And even if you do have the power for it, you have nowhere near the precision."

"Couldn't you do it for me?" You ask him internally.

"I could, but you'd have to give me control."

"How do I do that?"

"Huh? How would I know?" Derleth asks, baffled.

"You said that out loud," Ardenne chuckles.

"Sorry," You respond, "I'm trying to talk to... more than one person here."

"Careful."

"Oh? You're a soothsayer? I'm afraid I don't have much use for that unless you can do really impressive stuff like reading minds or futures."

"All you have to do to give me control is imagine yourself slipping back into the rear seat your mind, the same way you would channel a demon if you were a soothsayer."

"How do I know you'll give me control back?"

"I guess we could open up a palm reading stand or something, but that's not really what I usually do." Derleth continues.

"No, no!" You protest, "I can totally lift stuff!"

"Really? Could you prove it?"

Panic hits you suddenly.

"Ardenne, how do I know that you'll give control back?"

Silence.

You take a deep breath, Derleth's eyes on you aren't accusative, but he's definitely coming at this from the perspective of somebody who's been bullshitted on this before. You could simply back out and find some other way about this, but for whatever reason, you let yourself be washed back on a tide into the rear of your own mind.

Less than a full second after making the choice, Ardenne blinks your eyes and holds out your hand. Derleth yelps as his desk is lifted, himself and his chair included, lightly off of the ground.

"B-by the circle! I get it!"

And just as easily he's set back down without so much as a speck of dust out of place. He blinks nervously, his perspective of you clearly shifting from the scared girl you initially appeared to be to... whatever he sees you as now. It seems like a whole host of emotions cross his eyes. Awe at what you're capable of, a sort of distrust of why you wouldn't simply use your power to get money another way, but also, most clearly of all, some sort of deep understanding that, if you really wanted to, he would be dead where he sat right now.

Ardenne leans forward and speaks through your mouth, "I think you'll find that I can make myself very useful, mister, if it so pleases you. It is terribly kind of you to help me as much as you have."

He adopts a light, flirty air with ease, but there's also something deeply textured and mature about the way he carries you. He knows how to imply a lot of sensuality and flirtation where he isn't stating any. At least, to your own somewhat new to human interaction brain that's how it reads. The other voices in your head have a mixed reaction to his words, some of them groaning at just how on the nose he's being.

The other voices remind you of what situation you're in, you feel a brief moment of panic as he continues to move your body, leaning back and setting one of your hands prominently on your hips. Derleth's face is bright, cherry red. You try to pull yourself back into control.

"R-really, it's n-no trouble," Derleth responds, hands suddenly gripping his wooden stool nervously.

A moment after you consciously try to regain control, you've snapped back into control again. You remain with your hand on your hip to avoid showing any change, but the move feels **** now. A wave of tiredness that Ardenne didn't show but likely felt hits you.

"If it's no problem, I can start tomorrow." You tell him, "I'm afraid I'm quite tired tonight."

"Y-yeah, certainly."

Without waiting for much more confirmation, you bid him goodnight and slip back to your room. The second you've closed the door behind you, you flop down onto the bed. Somewhere, in your mind, Ardenne chuckles.

"Did you really have to go that far?" You grumble to him.

"You should have seen the look on his face!" He starts.

"You scared him!"

"I impressed him!" Ardenne protests, "And now he will surely be so impressed that even if we don't show that level of expertise every day, he won't ask questions."

"How is this any different from just stealing?"

"Well, you are still going to do actual work. Plus, your intimidation probably only made him more attracted to you."

You grumble, turning over in bed.

"Did you know that I would be able to get control back that easily?"

"Of course," Ardenne sounds almost wounded, "I will remind you, I was the most prepared of all of the spirits you could have chosen. I had walked the seas of unbeing even before I passed on."

"Then why not tell me?"

"It was a test, to see how you would react at that moment. To see if you trusted me enough, or were unfearing enough of what I might do, to allow me in."

"And do you suppose I would let you back in now?"

"You'll need to, now and then. Your magic skills will leave much to be desired for some time to come."

"Why would you even teach me, then? Surely making me more capable would just take away your chances to live again."

He laughs, but it's a deflection, "My girl, you have the unfortunate fate of being born an adult. You will soon come to find that a man of my experience has far more use than just his magic. Until you can truly find me replaceable, in every capacity, you need me. And even then, you're still stuck with me."

Maybe it's a trick of your ears, maybe it's the fact that you're half asleep as he says it, but something rings insincere in what he says. Somewhere, in some nugget of his taunting, it seems like he might be just as unsure about things as you are.