Verdant Green Gives the Straight Dope

'Right then, boss. Let's start with the big picture,' Verdant Green began, its chipmunk voice adopting the tone of a particularly smug university lecturer. 'Magic is real. Obvious, I know, but it bears repeating. And it's not all wands and pointy hats. It's fundamental. The universe is built on Primordial Forces. Think of them like... cosmic operating systems. There's one for ****, one for Chance, one for Knowledge... and, as you've experienced, one for Life. And a ton of others as well. The Ancient’s were big into the Elemental forces Fire Earth Wind and Water but they are a bit passé these days. '

The cloud drifted down, hovering just above the coffee table. 'Now, these forces aren't good or evil, not really. Humans just slap those labels on them because they're scared of anything they can't control. Life Magic, for instance... it's all about creation, procreation, the relentless, messy, beautiful drive to make more stuff. More people, more plants, more... well, more of everything. But from a human perspective, that can get a bit... sketchy. Consent, for example, is more of a guideline than a hard-and-fast rule for most Primal Forces. But... it's fun and sexy, isn't it?'

The cloud pulsed with a lecherous pink glow. 'What happened at the mall, that whole Breeding Pass clusterfuck? That was almost certainly the work of a Life Coven. They're mages who harvest the raw energy generated by mass pregnancy. It's their power source, their currency. They basically threw a magical party and the Mall including your entire office was the... unwilling guest list.'

'Now, here's the fun part,' Verdant Green continued, a note of gleeful conspiracy entering its mental voice. 'You're not one of them. You're not a Life Witch. Your... resonance, your magical signature, it's completely different. The Life Coven's big party created a massive power surge, a smorgasbord of magical energy. And that much energy... it attracts attention. Like sharks to blood. A rival magic, a much older, much weirder kind, noticed you. And it liked what it saw.'

'Let's clarify,' Verdant Green projected, its pink form bobbing thoughtfully. 'Life Witch, Life Coven... they're titles, labels. Useful for filing, but they don't tell the whole story. Think of it like this: a Life Witch is a purist. They follow the sacred texts; they stick to the old rituals. They're all about the clean, powerful, straightforward channelling of Life Energy. Booooring.' The cloud let out a theatrical, telepathic yawn.

'Trickster Breeder Witches, on the other hand... we're innovators. We remix. We use Life Magic, sure, it's the foundation, the bassline. But we throw in a heavy dose of something else. Something messier. Disorder. Chaos. A little bit of this, a little bit of that, and then we see what happens. It's more... jazz. Freeform. And way, way more fun.'

The cloud zipped towards the TV, its form distorting the news anchor's face for a moment. 'You, mistress, you're a natural. You didn't get yourself pregnant; you manipulated people into getting pregnant to serve your own ends. Way cooler."

'The way of the Trickster Breeder Witch is all about the finesse, the artistry. We gain power, sweet, sweet magical power, from impregnating people, or causing them to be impregnated, when they absolutely, positively do not want to be.’ He pulsed in a way Emi somehow understood to be erotic

‘But here's the kicker: it can't be simple, brutal ****. Violent **** is a big no-no. That's crude, it's messy, and frankly, it's just bad form. Zero magic in that. No art. That’s Tyrant-magic shit'

The pink cloud zipped over to her, hovering inches from her face. 'We're connoisseurs of consent violation. It has to be manipulative, funny, tricksy, or have a really, really good loophole. Or in a pinch simply Karmic. The more convoluted and cleverer the deception, the more powerful the magical payout. For example... a classic. An oldie but a goodie: you trick someone into getting their head and hands stuck in a hole in a wall, maybe by telling them there's a rare collectible toy or a winning lottery ticket on the other side. And then, while they're helpless and exposed, you bang them senseless from behind. The sheer humiliation, the cleverness of the trap, the public spectacle... oh, that's a vintage magical meal right there.'

The cloud drifted back, its core glowing with a remembered fondness. 'The more they squirm, the more they realize they've been played, the more they hate themselves for falling for it... the tastier the magic.'

'But there's a crucial rule, the golden rule of our little game,' Verdant Green added, its tone shifting from lecherous glee to something more serious, more profound. 'It has to be a game. A fair game, in a twisted sort of way. The target has to have a chance. A real, technical, even likely chance to win. They have to have an out, a loophole they could have spotted, a way to turn the tables. The magic comes from the thrill of the chase, the possibility of their victory, which makes their eventual failure all the more delicious. If it's a foregone conclusion, it's just bullying. And where's the fun in that?'

The pink cloud pulsed, its light dimming slightly. 'And that's where the second golden rule comes in: Tricksters need skin in the game. There always has to be a chance, a real risk, that we'll be the ones getting bred. We can't just be predators; we have to be potential prey. We have to be hunted. This is where I come in. Familiars aren't just cute, sassy sidekicks. We are the hunters. We are the ones who ensure the game is always on. We are the eternal chase, the constant threat. My entire purpose is to be the thing nipping at your heels, the one trying to catch you and knock you up. I am the guarantee that you are never truly safe, that the risk is always real. Without me, there is no game. And without the game, there is no power.'

'And what did you do today?' Verdant Green projected, its chipmunk voice now laced with a profound, almost paternalistic pride. 'You, my dear mistress, didn't just play the game. You didn't just follow the rules. You looked at the board, saw all the pieces, and you flipped the whole damn table over.'

The cloud zipped around the room, a flurry of excited pink energy. 'The Life Coven set up their nice, neat little breeding ritual. A simple, boring A-to-B. Man presents Pass, woman gets bred. End of story. And then along comes Emi Watanabe. You took their tool, their boring little Pass, and you used it for your own ends. You didn't just get yourself into trouble; you orchestrated chaos.'

Emi took a sip of beer taking this madness in.

"Flattery aside," Emi said, her voice cutting through the cloud's sycophantic and self-congratulatory tirade. She leaned forward on the couch, the towel shifting slightly. "I want to hear more about the chips I am putting forward. You are trying to breed me. So let's say that happens. What then? You get my soul or something?"

The pink cloud pulsed, a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if considering the question with the gravity it deserved. 'Your soul? Oh, Mistress, you're thinking of the demons again. So, pedestrian. So....14th century. No, no, no. I don't want your soul. What would I even do with it? Hang it on my wall? I'm a cloud. I don't have walls.'

The cloud drifted closer, its core glowing with a soft, strangely tender light. 'The normal thing I think is in 9-months you have a baby.’

"That's it?" Emi asked, her voice laced with disbelief. She stared at the pink cloud, her mind struggling to process the sheer, anticlimactic absurdity of it all. The universe had bent, a god had made love to her, she'd been marked by a rival magic, and her Familiar, her supposed eternal hunter, was just... trying to get her pregnant? For a baby?

"Well...duh...” said the cloud with a condescending tone said “what do you think happens when you get pregnant. Jeez, do they not have sex education in Japan?"

Verdant Green’s voice was laced with a theatrical sigh, the sound of an entity profoundly disappointed by the intellectual limitations of its mistress. 'It's not about the outcome, mistress. It's the process that is the power. It's about me having to get clever. To get powerful enough. To trick you. To con you. To get you. And you not getting away."

'Besides,' Verdant Green added, its tone shifting from pedantic to conspiratorial, a lecherous undercurrent returning to its mental voice, 'the offspring wouldn't be... human. Not entirely. Not in the way you understand it. It wouldn't have my gaseous form, obviously, don't be ridiculous. It would be solid. Flesh and blood. But it would be a conduit, a living, breathing battery of pure, uncut chaotic energy. A nexus of trickster magic. And it would look... glorious.'

The cloud pulsed with a hungry, possessive light. 'Imagine it, Emi. A child with your sharp, devious mind, your ambition, your perfect ass... and my raw, untamed power.

‘And there’s also the status, mistress. Pure and simple. A way of keeping score' Verdant Green explained, its chipmunk voice losing its flippant tone and taking on a more serious, almost academic cadence. 'In our world, in the shadowy corners of trickster magic, a Familiar-child is a status symbol. They're magically potent, little bundles of chaotic energy, but they're also... obvious. Easy to identify. So, if a Trickster Breeder Witch like you has a powerful Familiar, but no Familiar-kids... well, that's a power statement. It means you're strong. You're in control. You've managed to dodge the most fundamental rule of our game.'

The pink cloud zipped around the room, a tiny, pink professor. 'One child, maybe... you slipped up once. Unfortunate, but understandable. Still respectable. But once you start having five, six Familiar-kids... word gets out. It marks you as sloppy. Weak. And that's when the real trouble starts. That's when some other Trickster Breeder Witch, or even a Life Coven member looking for a new broodmare, will see you as easy pickings. They'll claim you, add you to their harem’.