Diary of a Teenaged Mimic

Dear Diary,

Some days here and now really fuck with my sense of reality; when I’m walking through what feels like some kind of really bad Saturday Night Live skit from the nineties, but nobody else is laughing, everything gets really surreal.

Everybody gets that now and then, I guess. Or maybe it’s just me? Even back in Camden there were times I’d look around and see stupid people doing stupid things that even they knew were stupid, and yet they kept doing them, even when talking about how stupid they were. Utter NPC behavior, like, ’voice lines and actions aren’t matching up, devs’ kind of stuff. Maybe I didn’t understand how the world worked. Maybe I did, but my brain wouldn’t let me articulate it, lest I auto-defenestrate until the hurting stopped. Maybe the whole Tiffany Problem affects reality itself as much as it does authors and game designers.

Wait, is Tiffany still a common name here and now? Or is it common over in Europa? I ask only because every Tiffany I’d ever personally encountered turned out to be a larval extra-privileged Karen in disguise. Okay, most of those had been fictional, but the ones I’d met in real life had both been really awful. Mostly because they flirted with me, got me worked up enough to reciprocate, then bullied me for being a lesbian. Which annoyed me as much because I’m not a lesbian as because of the whole bullying thing. Seriously, just like Saffron, I’m Bi. Or Pan, as they call it here. If somebody needs convincing, I present our first piece of evidence, Isnomi. For me? The only serious issue I had with Raymond was both of our wives watching in the other room. Okay, and him not knowing about it, but it was a whole thing.

Anyway, Tiffanies. Total bitches, to the point where I wanna find one and string her along or something. Except, y’know, again, I look at my own impulses and have a sudden urgent need for a rolled up newspaper to bonk myself with. No! Bad Tabitha! Back away from the pyramid slowly, you don’t even need a litter box, what are you doing climbing up the pyramid.

Anyway, staring at a massive billboard talking about Big Johnson gave me ’this can’t be real’ vibes again.

My Lizard Bois dropped down to a ground eating stroll, leading me to the near end of the bridge. When we got there, a couple Thrall looking guys stood up from where they’d been leaning against opposite ends of a pole that stretched across the near end of the bridge, balanced on three-foot posts. A beefier guy, maybe a Warrior, stood from where he’d been leaning against the central posts and said, ”Present your Tithe to Big Johnson!”

I tilted my head; the dude had to be shorter than me. ”Tithe?”

He nodded. ”Any who wish to cross this bridge must gift one part in ten of the wealth they carry to Big Johnson!”

I looked at my Bois, who shrugged, then took the lead and stepped up until we stood just out of arms’ reach of the dude. I held out my arms and said, ”do you see any coin pouches?”

He licked his lips. ”Other tithes can be arranged, if they meet my approval.”

This dick got the full headshake eyeroll combo. ”Look, dipshit... do you mind if I call you dipshit? I don’t give a fuck, really. So, dipshit, I might, if Big Johnson not only lives up to his name, but has way better hygiene than most of the guys I’ve met here in Norfolk, let him hit this. But you? Dipshit? I can smell you from here, and no offense but you are just not up to my standard.” He growled and took a step toward me. Then froze as a pair of halberds slammed down between us, business ends leaning very pointedly toward him. ”Thanks, boys. Okay, dipshit, we’re gonna cross. I’ll let your boss know you tried to get some tithe out of us, but that since we didn’t have cash on us you couldn’t do the math and sent us up to him to sort something out.”

He sat there and seethed while the four of us hopped over the shitty barricade and jogged across the bridge. Then, about halfway across he cackled as the whole middle section of bridge we stood on rotated ninety degrees. It didn’t do it super fast, but the initial movement threw my balance enough that by the time I caught my balance and realized what was going on there was a solid sixty foot gap on either side of our bridge section. A half dozen Lizard Bois crawled onto the bridge from all four sides of the section we stood on; they had spears rather than halberds, but I still didn’t like our odds. I mean, yeah, they come at me there’ll be twelve less armed Lizard Bois, but I didn’t want any of mine getting hurt.

”Boys? Put your hands on my shoulders.” No questions, no hesitation, a second later I had two scaly palms on my left shoulder and one on my right. I stepped us across to the space between the first two buildings in the village. ”Okay. Let’s go see if this Johnson is really all that big.”

We walked forward through the biggest village yet. Three concentric rings of buildings, with each ring bowing out further from the last. I heard hammers on anvils, some kind of ongoing crunching sound, and oddly enough something that sounded melodic. Like, maybe some kind of stringed instrument, maybe? Also a kind of clackity clackity noise, kind of a wood on wood thing. I couldn’t see into any of the buildings; the central path ran north-south, and the buildings had windows on the eastern and western sides, but they were high up on the sides. Even my Lizard Bois wouldn’t have been able to see in.

Nobody got in our way, so we sauntered all the way up to the longhouse itself. A pair of Lizard Bois stood in the way, but my guide stepped in front of them, and after a bit of staring at each other, the door guards thumped their spear butts on the ground once, and my boi opened the doors for me. The moment he did, music drifted out of the room. Weird string music, nothing I remembered hearing before. As if that wasn’t enough, the place practically sparkled compared to the other longhouses I’d been in so far. I took two steps into the room, watching some actually coordinated dancers grooving in a smexy way to the music, a weirdly proportioned dude at the head of the ubiquitous squared horseshoe table swaying to the beat as well.

I stepped in front of the big guy, my eyes adjusting as I held a letter out to him. I managed to keep my smile friendly rather than hysterical, but only just. The dude’s outfit had to be the weirdest combination of chuuni wraps and black leather over Viking chic that I’d ever seen. To top everything off, he had an old school black eyepatch and a rakish pirate hat. Now, don’t get me wrong; the outfit topped the oddity and edgelord scales, but somehow it came together and worked. If I’d walked in and seen David Bowie in that? Johnny Depp? Even Steven Tyler? Or maybe Finn Wolfhard? Oh, shit, yes, if I’d have walked in and seen Wolfhard in that outfit Saffron would not be sleeping tonight, what with all the tithe paying going on.

Unfortunately the Jarl’s body didn’t live up to his fashion sense. He reached out and plucked the letter gently with thick, stubby, calloused fingers. He cracked the seal and unfolded the letter with one hand, pulling it in close to his face to read it, sliding the eyepatch out of the way to reveal a perfectly functional eye. I could see one eye on either side of the damn letter darting back and forth as he did. I’d been a little wordy in the text of the letter, but he read through it pretty quick, then sighed, started at the top again and reread it. As he did I took in the rest of him.

His waistline dominated that side of the table. Dude had to be at least seven, maybe eight feet wide. It wasn’t Dionysus’, Angel’s or now Bill’s comfy padding over muscle, either. Or at least if it was, the fat lay too thick to see any hint of muscle. From how he hunched over the table, I guessed he’d stand taller than he was wide, but not by enough to make him look like anything so much as an edgelord blimp.

Then he finished reading and pushed himself to his feet. Definitely a Jotnar, I think, but if he was more than fourteen feet tall I’d eat my own underwear. Which would probably take some Co-Location, but you get my point. Then he took a long step backward and bowed. Not just a simple bend at the waist, but a full on flowery thing starting with doffing his hat and whipping it around. I kinda lost track of it, at first because when he stepped back I’d noticed his high heeled chunky platform boots, but after the hat no longer shaded his face I realized this big fat bastard had black kohl around his eyes stretching into some bitchin’ eye liner wings. Lemme tell you, when your head is two foot tall and four feet wide, you can get some insane wing surface going on with those.

I guess the wings captivating me saved me from fucking up the whole social thing too bad, since technically my eyes were pointed somewhere near his, rather than at how his gut strained the waist of his leather pants, or where he had to be cutting off circulation with the arm wrap, or how his scraggly stubbly beard covered two patches of his neck in total. ”M’lady Tabitha Diaz, I presume.”

I had no fuckin’ clue what to do, so I grabbed The Dress’ skirt and tried a curtsy. I didn’t drop my eyes, but he sure as fuck did. Right about then a little twitching drew my attention to the fact that the tiny breastplate under his long black short sleeved coat took up maybe a quarter the square footage of his massive codpiece. I locked my eyes back on his awesome eyeliner wings and said, ”That’s me. Jarl Big Johnson?”

He smiled, and even if everything else about him screamed ’fat kid trying to hard’, he had all his teeth and the smile reached his eyes. ”Big Jarl Johnson, please. It’s a common enough name. There are three Jarl Johnsons, and,” he straightened and tried to preen without moving, ”I’m the tallest.” I couldn’t speak. If I opened my mouth, I was gonna laugh until somebody killed me. Probably Johnson. Big Johnson. Probably by sitting on me. Which, don’t get me wrong, I would totally deserve for laughing at a poor bastard doing the best he could with the shit hand life dealt him. He sighed and said, ”you wish to challenge me for ownership of my Jarldom.”

I nodded, then forced out, ”I do,” without laughing.

He nodded. ”I’ll need time to prepare the Green. Not to mention sending a messenger to the palace to see if Gregor has anything to say about this. I beg your patience, m’lady, but could you return tomorrow at dusk? I swear to you, should I not have arrangements made and our duel scheduled by that time, I shall forfeit all that I am and have to your...” He kinda stuttered to a stop, his eyes having slid of their own accord back to south of my border.

I hopped up on the table, which didn’t put us eye to eye, but put me at maybe a Saffron to his Marie, and said, ”one condition,” and waved him over. When he bent his ear to my mouth, I whispered to him, and he shot back upright, eyes wide. I nodded. ”Only fair, right?”

”CLEAR THE HALL! BIG JOHNSON HAS SPOKEN!”

The Warriors, the Thralls, hell, even the Lizard Bois all sprinted for the doors. Hell, I kinda felt an urge to leave, and I’m the one that prompted this shit. I nodded to my Bois, and they followed the crowd out, closing the door behind themselves. When we stood there alone, he smiled, an oddly shy thing, and pulled two strings at his waist. His Bowie-esque codpiece slammed into the floor with a resounding clang.

”Damn, Jarl. You certainly live up to the name.” He took half a step toward me, only to stop when I held up a hand. ”Hey, you got a look, I wanted to see if the living legend was alive... which he certainly is alive and waking up at the moment, ain’t he?” I shook my head and pushed my hand a bit, just to re-emphasize the ’no’. ”I’m damned impressed, and if you ever need a wingman once I’ve taken all your shit, lemme know and we’ll get you hooked up. Gotta be some size queens out there whose nips would cut glass looking at that, but...” I couldn’t help it, I shuddered. ”Nope. Too big.”

He smirked. ”M’lady is too kind.”

”Nah, if I were kind I’d give you a handy or something. Maybe both hands? Holy crap, I think it’s bigger around than Hilde’s waist.” Look, I know I was kinda going on, but you get to a certain size and shit gets just, fascinating, even if it’s terrifying to the degree of all the nope. ”Anyway, condition met, I’ll be back tomorrow night to discuss the duel details.”

”M’lady is gracious.”

”Oh, hey, can my Lizard Bois stay here with you until I get back?”

He frowned, ”you wish me to stable your Trolls?”

I blinked. ”Uh... I guess? Not thrilled with ’stable’, but as long as they’re getting as much shelter and nosh as your Bois, I guess I can’t complain.”

”As m’lady wishes, I shall make it so. Until tomorrow.” I realized just then that he could have been coming off as super smarmy, but frankly everything he’d said held the absolute conviction of somebody who meant every word.

I stepped back home, my head still shaking a little, and after a post run rubdown from Marie where Saffron teased me every time Isnomi wasn’t looking, we all cuddled up and went to sleep in an actual bed that wasn’t made of grass.

Dommy Mommy sounded kinda pissed off by now. Mimic hid under her own enormous ass.

In the morning, I hopped over to Lancaster House, where I collected Hilde from the Scrying Room. Larry’d had a pair of desks moved into the room, and if the one with Slayer displayed prominently on a mini-sword stand stood otherwise empty while he stood in the room arranging scrying bowls, Bonnie had stacks of actual ledgers atop hers, with one open. She marked her place as I showed up using a leather bookmark Hilde handed her. ”Hey Larry, Bonnie. Thanks for looking after her. Sorry I didn’t get back here yesterday.”

”The honor is ours, Commander.” Larry nodded and went back to his Scrying.

Bonnie nodded and smiled. ”She’s been an absolute dear, just looking for ways to help out. Where did you find her?”

”Norfolk.”

Her smile faltered. ”Oh.”

”Yeah. I’m lining up a Foster for her up toward New Amsterdam.”

Larry looked up. ”Please, Commander. It would be our honor to Foster her for you.”

I shook my head. ”I would, Larry. You guys would be my first choice. If something ever happens to Saffron, Marie, and I? You two are the first ones I’d want taking Isnomi in. But... I’m trying to keep Hilde out of the sight of somebody for the next couple years. Somebody I expect will wind up coming here on the regular.”

He smiled. So weird to see him smile without it being cruel or mean. ”I understand, Commander. Know that should you or yours ever need shelter, our doors are open, and your rooms have been set aside for your family’s personal use.”

I shot him a look. ”Don’t make refugees sleep on the floor for that.”

He just nodded serenely. ”As you command.”

I reached out a hand to Hilde, ”you ready to go?”

She looked up, eyes wide, then threw her arms around Bonnie in a big hug. Then she scampered over to Larry, did the same, then practically tripped over herself getting back to my hand.

Boss? A hand to Ora’s place? I’m gonna need Antony there, too. A hand gripped mine, I took a step, and we stood in a neat little apartment. Thanks Boss, you’re the best.

I know.

A moment later, Antony Pesce stood in front of us in all his hairy glory, wearing a copy of The Dress in the now traditional commando mode. He curtsied ”Watchu need, High Priestess?”

Behind me a chair slid back, and Ora scampered in front of me. Nobody else could look that much like fuckin’ Ophelia. Then again, she had none of the bitch mode going on when she pinched both sides of her Kid’s Bop version of The Dress and curtsied. She definitely wasn’t going commando; hell, she practically had crimson boy-shorts on underneath her skirts. ”How may we serve you, Priestess High Set Above All Others?”

I smiled at both of them. ”Hey, guys, call me Tabitha. Loki tells me you’re good people, and if we can’t trust him, we’re all kinda fucked, aren’t we?” If Antony frowned a bit at my profanity, Ora just giggled.

”Yes, Priestess Tabitha.”

”You got it, Tabitha.”

I nodded, then pulled Hilde around from where she’d been hiding behind me. Ora immediately got dress up doll eyes looking at Hilde, but not in a bad way. Antony just seemed to double down on his Big Brother energy. ”Okay, guys. Here’s the deal. Hilde here needs Fostering, and I need you two to take care of it. Before you say anything, Ora, she also needs to be out of sight. Hidden. Above all, the Imperator cannot have knowledge of where she’d located, because reasons. Got it?”

Before Ora could say anything, Antony blurted out, ”we don’t wanna know why, do we?”

”No, you absolutely do not. I’m thinking she stays with you or somebody near you, where you can keep close eye on her, make sure she gets whatever education and training she can, make sure she’s taken care of well. And Ora?”

”Yes?”

”I don’t want to have caring for her causing anybody over in Newark financial trouble. Also, if someone starts sniffing around looking for her, and I mean anyone at all, I want you leading them a merry fuckin chase through all the boroughs looking for her. Got it?”

”Yes, Priestess Tabitha.”

”Cool.” I turned to Hilde. ”I’m gonna be leaving you here with Ora and Antony. They’ll take care of you, you do what they tell you. Got it?” When she nodded, tearing up, I pulled her into a tight hug, whispering for her ears alone. ”Saffron can’t know where you are, which means I really shouldn’t know either. Not for now. But...”

”But?” she breathed.

”Should Cadet Hilde want to pay a visit a few years from now, I’m pretty sure she might surprise the Imperator in the best way possible.” She pulled back. Our eyes met, and after a moment she nodded and stepped over to stand beside Ora. ”Okay, then, I gotta get going.”

I stepped home and spent the day doing some concentrated ogling of Saffron while she worked at her desk. I swear, I could watch that woman nerd out for hours, even days on end. I mean, the place would probably wind up stinking to high heaven of pumpkin pie spice from the frequent self service, but she’s just too adorable for words.

So at the end of the day I jumped back to Big Jarl Johnson’s longhouse to find him sitting alone behind the table. ”Hey, Johnson. Why the long face?”

He smiled. ”M’lady, you’re the first to call my face long. But I must tell you that though I tried, Gregor insisted I have a champion face you for the right to duel me. So tomorrow, one hour after midday, you will face Anundr the Mage in a Duel Arcane. Should you defeat him, I and my seconds will be ready to face you in a contest of melodies and harmonies at your convenience. Although sadly I must insist that you forfeit should you not be ready to face me within six days.”

I just stood there, blinking at how weird my life had gotten. Like, ’Isekai’d into being an Apocalypse Goddess?’ Weird, yeah, but I’d seen weirder shit in Anime. But this?

By this time tomorrow, I’d have to win a Mage Duel to earn my spot in a fuckin’ Battle of the Bands.

I apologize to the Fates for all the mean things I said about them. Nobody smoking that much crack rock could really be held to account for their actions.