Love Crafted

You land gently against the side of a big statue in front of the Inquisition’s conclave building. The statue, a big stone man with an impressive hat and ugly robes, cracks and topples to the side a moment before you splat to the ground.

It’s okay, your legs are only broken for a little bit before you fix them, so no harm done.

Standing up, you straighten your pretty dress, make sure your cool hat is on straight, and then you walk over to the front doors.

There are a bunch of guard inquisitors gathering at the front of the building, pointing sticks at you and opening scrolls with magical circles on them. "Halt!" One of them says. He must be the leader; he’s the one with the most tassels on his shoulders and he’s standing before all the rest.

You’ve already decided that you want to be polite, just like Abigail would want you to be, so you do as he says and stop at the base of the stairs leading into the building. "Hello."

"Identify yourself," the man demands. The other guards start circling around you, still pointing sticks and such.

"I am That Which Dreams Eternal Between Space and Time. The nightmare consumer, the tentacler and Abigail’s familiar. Oh, and the leader of the Cult of Abigail." That should be enough to differentiate you from any other people like you they’ve met.

The guards seem a bit tense. "Right, well you’re under arrest."

"But it’s not nap time yet," you say. Why do these mortals have to be so confusing?

"What?" the boss guard asks.

"You said it’s rest time?"

He shakes his head. "No, you’re under arrest. For destruction of public property and, ah, for some other things."

"Will I get to meet Lord Inquisitor Shooksword if you do that? ‘Cause that’s why I’m here."

"I’m sure he’ll deign to visit you in a few days," the guard says.

You’re almost ready to agree when the amount of time sinks in. "No. Days is too long. Abigail will get worried and that’s bad. Can I meet him now?"

The guards start moving in closer. "I’m afraid not. Please lay down on the ground and place your hands over the small of your back."

You’re not doing that. Maybe if you try being polite? "Can I go meet him now... please?"

Instead of being nice and helpful, the guards start getting real handsy with you. You’re pretty sure Abigail told you that if a boy you don’t know tries to touch you, you can do whatever you want with your tentacles to them.

A bit of flicking and some whipping and a pinch of tossing later, and all the guards are scattered across the front of the Inquisition building. You, of course, took the guard captain’s hat before flinging him through the entrance doors.

You add the new hat, which is more of a cap, really, to the top of your cool hat.

Your authority has doubled.

After making sure that your pretty dress isn’t stained by any of the bits that flew off the squishier guards, you walk up to the front doors which are conveniently held open by the guard captain’s slumped over form.

There’s a nice little reception area, with a long wooden desk and a lot of magical lights built into sconces along marble pillars. A row of chairs off to one side has a bunch of people who are waiting around, most of them staring at the guard that you’re stepping over.

You probably should wait in line. That would be the polite thing to do.

Humming to yourself (and not even a song of madness. Polite!) you step up to the very back of the line leading up to the wide-eyed secretary and begin to wait.

You’re barely waiting more than a minute, watching as some of the people in the chairs move over to poke at the guard captain, that a bunch more Inquisitor types rush into the room.

"It’s her!" One of them screams.

He’s pointing at you.

That’s supposed to be a little rude.

"Everyone back off!" One of them says. He points a stick at you and a ball of fire leaps out of it with a rumbling whoosh. It rushes across the room, screaming on a path straight for you.

You poke a hole in the world and let the fireball slip though.

There’s a bit of staring after that. "So, uh," you gesture to where the line was. All the people in front of you have run away. "Does that mean I’m next?"

Your answer is another fireball.

You bat that one aside with a tentacle, then use a few more to grab and hold the guards against the walls. Then they start screaming, which is very rude, you
stuff some tentacles in their mouths.

Seeing as how you’re the next in line, you move up to the front desk, like a polite mortal wound, and tap the little ring-y bell next to it.

Then you tap it again for good measure.

"I-I’m right h-here," the lady behind the counter says.

"Oh. Yes. You are. I would like to speak with Mister Lord Inquisitor Shooksword... please."

"Do... you have an appointment?" she asks.

Do you? No, no you don’t. "Can I make one?"

She grabs a notepad with shaking hands. "Sure?"

"Okay, good. Tell him that I want to see him. Um. I’m Dreamer, Abigail’s familiar. And I want to see him because I ate like... thirty of his people. Maybe more. They’re in my body still if he wants them back, I’m practicing tentacle things with them."

The lady looks to the guards pinned against the walls. "Wh-when would be a good time for you?"

"Right now. Please."

"Of course. Do you want to go to the, ah, waiting room on the second floor?"

"No. I want to meet Mister Lord Inquisitor Shooksword." Waiting rooms are for waiting, that’s the opposite of what you want to do. Now, if they had a napping room...

"There’s... tea and crumpets?"

"There’s food? Well, okay then." Being polite really pays!

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