HerVerse Ch. 02

There is a brief sense of falling, then, as if a switch is flipped, my senses are assaulted and I'm dropped into the middle of a forest clearing. I only fall about a foot, but the surprise and disorientation are enough to send me to the ground, bare ass first. Just one indignity after another...

I pick myself up and give my butt a pat-down to remove any inappropriately clingy detritus. I notice a cool breeze tickling my skin, and I can feel it on every part of my body. My nipples harden in response. If I wasn't feeling exposed before, I certainly am now. It's a wholly different feeling being naked out in the elements as opposed to the void or the... examination room? Portal room? Doesn't matter.

I look around. It's either morning or evening; the sun sits halfway to rising or setting, its light filtering through the leaves of the canopy ahead. The first thing that hits me is how vibrant everything is. The verdant greens of the leaves, moss, and undergrowth contrast with the earthy browns and grays of the tree trunks and rich soil. It's... beautiful here. There's a well-worn path starting from where I'm standing and cutting into the forest in front of me, leading to what I assume is civilization.

I take a deep breath and I'm stunned. The air is so fresh it's almost alien. There's no stink of exhaust, burnt trash, and piss; none of the smell of too many sweaty people in too small a space. This is just... nature. And the sounds... the rustling of leaves, the skittering of insects and small critters, the chirping of birds. I've lived in the city my whole life. This is better.

I also see that I'm alone, which is a huge relief. It's going to take some time getting used to this... situation. Am I really a full-on nudist now? I guess I can wear clothes, but I'd better be somewhere safe if I decide to wear something. I don't know the full extent of the debuffs, but they don't sound fun, and I'll be stuck with them for at least twelve hours. Fuck you, HerVerse, you pervert!

I fight back a shiver as the wind picks up. That reminds me, I have abilities! A menu appears in my mind. It's crystal clear, yet my eyes still work as normal. It's a strange sensation. I'm easily able to split my attention, manipulating the menu while still keeping an eye on the area around me. Some sort of System feature, I assume.

I can "click" around with a thought, browsing different tabs and checking my stats and abilities. Hey, I have a level now! Unsurprisingly, I'm level one. I also have health and stamina bars, both full. I check the equipment tab and there's nothing in it. Another shocker. There's also a grayed-out tab labeled "Inventory" that I can't access. Now that's a dick move, letting me see it but not use it. I do my best to ignore it and navigate to the abilities tab. My Body of Stone, Pureness of Body, and Resistance to the Elements abilities are all currently set to "off." My other two abilities are always on, which makes sense.

Next to the toggle for Pureness of Body, there's a button with the silhouette of a person on it. I click it, and a 3D model of me appears, naked as ever. Even though this is my first time seeing it, I intuitively know how to use it. I play around for a minute, giving myself varying degrees of body hair, having a surprising amount of fun.

Disappointed that I can't go full yeti and fur my way out of the nudity thing, I set myself back to my usual: smooth all over, save for a tuft of pubes (and, obviously, my head, brows, and lashes). It doesn't actually grow hair anyway; it only sets limits on what I already have.

I toggle Pureness of Body on, and a slight, pleasant tingle spreads across every inch of my skin. The feeling soon begins to fade, but it lingers on my ass for a few extra seconds. I close my eyes as I imagine the last of the dirt being magically removed from my butt cheeks. For some reason, it feels like an insult. Like the ability is saying, "Oh, honey, you've got dirt on your butt. Hold still, I'll get it. Heaven forbid you do something yourself," as if I haven't been doing things myself since I was six.

I know I'm being irrational, and I'm pretty sure abilities don't have personalities, but I don't care. I'm allowed to be petulant about it. Every little thing reminds me that I spent most of my hard-earned savings to start my life over, and all I have to show for it is a magically clean ass and a lifetime of free waxing!

I tilt my head back and let out a primal "FUCK!" It only lasts a few seconds, but it's loud and visceral, and it makes me feel better. As my scream tapers off, I can't stop the laugh that erupts from my chest. It has only been a couple of hours since I got up this morning in a panic, and here I am. I plop back down on my ass, knowing it will be spotless again in no time, and let the laughter take me. I feel high as all my emotions come to a head, and my brain releases a random slurry of chemicals to try to keep up.

I don't know how long I sit there, laughing hard enough that tears form in my eyes, but eventually I calm down, feeling spent. And cold. Right, I got distracted there with my mental breakdown. I toggle Resistance to the Elements on and instantly feel comfortable. Not cold, not warm, just a normal temperature? Whatever you'd call it. Now this is an ability! It is what it is, a calm, quiet, dependable friend, not the passive-aggressive, long-suffering foster-mom that Pureness of Body... embodies. Been there. Several times.

I stand up, and yes, my ass tingles again. Whatever. Moving on. I throw on my last toggle, Body of Stone. I don't notice any visual change to my skin, but I feel it. It's hard to describe. My bones feel denser, but not heavier, and my skin becomes rigid, but my movement isn't hindered. If that doesn't make sense, I agree. Magic, I guess?

I run through a few fighting drills and feel amazing. My body moves with an ease it never has before. It's like every joint is perfectly lubricated and every tendon holds exactly the right tension for any given motion. I walk up to a tree and mentally eye my Rapid Regeneration skill. If I break my hand, it should heal quickly, right? There are many more intelligent ways that I could test this, but eh, fuck it.

I wind up and hit the tree as hard as I can. With a fibrous crack, my hand pulverizes the bark and sinks an inch into the wood, causing a split to travel up and down from the point of impact. I pull my hand back and examine it in wonder. My hand feels perfectly fine and my skin is pristine. Holy shit. I look at the damage I did to the tree and feel bad about it. Alright, note to self: no punching trees. Unless they're evil trees. Shit, now I want to find some evil trees. That was satisfying as hell.

I eyeball my stats, and they're the same as before. There's even a qualifier in the title line saying the stats I'm seeing are "Unboosted." I have no clue how to see my boosted stats; no matter what I think or how much I mentally click around the menus, I can't figure it out.

If I want to talk to someone about this, I need to find other people. I'm going to have to get this over with eventually, so might as well be now. I don't know how long the path is, and if the sun is going down, I'd rather be somewhere with a bed than sleeping in the dirt. Money for that bed might be an issue, but I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

With great fanfare, I begin my totally normal nature stroll, as one does. And then a bug lands on my tit, immediately shattering the illusion. I glare at it, but it does not seem to care. I give it a good flick, intending to remove it from my person, but instead the little asshole explodes. And now I know what a windshield feels like. My nose crinkles in disgust until the tingles arrive and the bug goo rapidly dissipates into nothing. Alright, point for you, Poby. That's what I'm calling you from now on.

Pureness of Body sounds way too judgmental. I imagine her saying, "Look at the state of you. Dirt on your ass, bug goo on your tit. Do you have any idea how much work you are?" I wonder if there are therapists here I should seek out.

Trying my best to ignore my overactive mind, I continue my journey, unmolested by any more inappropriately grabby bugs, or anything else for that matter. I purposely step on a few sticks and rocks, and I barely notice them underfoot, which makes me smile. I start to make a game out of stepping on anything that looks sharp or uncomfortable. Barefoot Traveler is another gem. Quiet and unjudgmental.

I'm actually enjoying my stroll through the woods. I'm even starting to feel... free. Sure, I have nothing, but what do I even need? Obviously, I don't need clothing. I don't know to what degree yet, but I need less food or water than before. Shelter would be nice, though. I still don't want to sleep out here.

I know one way I could find a bed if I make it to town, and it wouldn't be hard. It's not overconfidence; I'm in good shape and naked. There is no way somebody wouldn't take me to bed. That's not a road I want to go down, though, and the long-term prospects are... not great. Plus, I'd weirdly feel guilty about jumping into bed with someone right after Dr. Watson. I wish she were here. I'm sure she'd fully enjoy my misfortune. And I'd let her.

After about ten minutes, I hear a commotion in the distance. I'm not sure at first, but the more I walk, the more apparent it becomes. There's a battle going on up ahead. Shrieks and yells, weapon striking weapon, strange firework-like sounds that I can only assume are magic.

I slow to consider my options. Whatever is going on has nothing to do with me. For all I know, it's a bunch of idiots in a brawl. Then my menus start pinging insistently. There's a new tab available labeled "Quests." I quickly navigate to it and find a quest titled "Goblin Raid."

Long story short, there's a town called Banesbrook ahead under attack by goblins. That seems pretty cut-and-dried. Even if the goblins aren't evil, they're the aggressors, if the quest can be believed. Besides, what better way to start my adventure than with a goblin-themed quest? With that decided, I start running toward the sounds of battle.

I emerge from the forest a few minutes later, barely winded to my surprise and delight. My stamina bar has hardly moved. I take in the scene before me. The town ahead is besieged by goblins. They're short, maybe three to four feet tall, with varying shades of greenish skin, and they all appear to be female. They aren't the twisted, ugly, gross goblins I was expecting. They're short green women with pointy ears and exaggeratedly sharp features. Honestly, I wouldn't kick one out of bed. I shake my head and scold myself. Get yourself under control, you maniac! Not the time.

Banesbrook seems to be holding its own. A loose line of women has formed in front of the timber walls, keeping the goblins back. No uniforms, no formation, only a wild variety of weapons and armor. These are adventurers, not guards. A few look confident and competent; the rest, not so much. Some are wary, throwing out clumsy attacks or waving staves and wands around uncomfortably, weakly shooting what can only be described as magic into the attackers. Others make up for their lack of training with enthusiasm. It's almost comical.

The goblins, on the other hand, are wearing little more than loincloths and mostly brandishing rough wooden clubs, though I see a few makeshift spears and crude bows. I'm obviously not a trained soldier, and the "combat" training I do have is for one-on-one fights, with rules. That said, I don't think it matters. The defenders mostly suck, and the goblins aren't making much headway against them despite their greater numbers.

Hanging back some distance behind the goblin attackers, a figure towers over a group of much better-equipped goblins standing guard. The larger figure has similar green skin and wears only a loincloth and a leather thong around her neck, though I can't see what hangs from it. From my vantage, I can at least catch some impressive side-boob. She's clearly some sort of leader or general, surveying the battle. She seems important enough to have a name. I hereby dub her War Chest. For reasons. Her posse, by extension, are the Chest Guards.

I weigh my options, and much like with the tree, I land on "Fuck it." Maybe attacking War Chest will get them to retreat. At the very least, it will sow chaos in their ranks. The sooner this ends, the fewer people get hurt. Decision made, I waste no time and charge straight toward her. When I'm about twenty yards away, one of the Chest Guards glances my way, her eyes going wide. She shouts a command, drawing the attention of the rest.

By the time they start to form a blockade in front of War Chest, I'm on top of them. I block the mace of the first goblin who noticed me with my forearm, and my knee connects with her face. She's lifted off the ground and sent flying right into the very chest she's supposed to be guarding, both goblins tumbling to the dirt. I'm grossed out by the fact that I felt her face cave in against my knee.

A dull sword catches my right hip, stinging slightly. Right, process the murder later. I turn and backfist the culprit, greatly reducing the force behind my strike but still sending her stumbling into two other goblins, who catch her and keep her on her feet.

The remaining Chest Guards are on me in an instant. Their crude metal weapons come at me with wild, uncoordinated swings that are easy to block or redirect. A few get past my defenses, striking my legs or ribs. Do they hurt? Sure, but I'm no stranger to a little pain. Are they doing any real damage? The health bar I've mostly ignored until now tells me no, and even when it drops a tick, it fills back up almost immediately.

I keep my forearms up to protect my face and wait for the easy openings these little assholes leave me. I could have taken on one of these ladies easily even before the System. Now it's just unfair. Even pulling my punches, I lay out four of them in about ten seconds.

I hear a noise behind me and turn to see a large, gnarled club headed straight for my face. I try to dodge but take a glancing blow to the side of my head. Okay, that moved my health bar. Slightly. I look up to see a truly tremendous pair of breasts, a bronze pendant with a stylized eye resting between them. Something about it is eerie. I force my eyes higher. The leader looks down at me with hatred as she raises her club over her head, intent on ending me here and now.

Not wanting to be brained, even though I could probably take it, I hook her ankles with a sweeping kick, dropping her to the ground. I'm on top of her in an instant, straddling her waist. Proudly mounted atop the mighty War Chest, gravity doing fun things to her... assets. I pull back my fist. She looks stunned, eyes wide, taking me in. The moment slows as we both consider our positions. As I tell myself I will not fuck a goblin, she regains her sanity more quickly than I do.

She narrows her eyes, and with a quickness I don't expect, she punches me in the face. I think I feel her hand break against my jaw, but the blow is still enough to knock me off her. My health bar takes another small hit but keeps regenerating, leaving me essentially unharmed.

I roll away, putting some distance between us, and kip up, ready to continue the fight. War Chest is slower to stand, cradling her hand. She stares at me as if weighing her options. I make a show of scratching my face where she punched me and give her a grin.

Her remaining guards don't seem eager to approach me. Cowards. She grunts a word I can only assume is the goblin equivalent of "fuck," then grabs a horn slung at her waist and blows it. She slowly backs away from me, testing if I'm going to pursue. I am not. Eventually, seeing that I'm staying put, she turns and runs into the forest, followed by her guards, who take the time to help the ones I laid out. The only one unable to move is the first goblin I kneed in the face. Her limp body is lifted and carried away.

I turn to see the rest of the goblins disengaging from the town to follow, similarly collecting the fallen. I don't know if any died, or how many, but the goblins leave no one behind, and the town's defenders seem more than happy to let them. Why wouldn't they? The goblins' gear looks like shit, and who wants to deal with a pile of dead goblins?

When the last little green woman is gone, my legs decide they're done. I plop onto my ass, then keep going until I'm flat on my back in the dirt, staring up at the sky. Did I really just do that? I charged into an actual battle in nothing but my skin. That was fucking awesome! I bask in it. My health bar is already full. Yep. Wolverine. If my stamina bar moved at all during that fight, I didn't notice. I'm strangely at peace with potentially having murdered someone.

I open my menu to check the quest and find a notification telling me that I've gained a level and have three attribute points to spend. I'll hold onto those for now since I don't know what the hell I'm doing. My skills all have a progress bar next to them. Excluding Heightened Magic Resistance, each of them has a small amount of progress.

I also now have a log tab. A cursory glance shows me way too many details on where all that progress comes from. I am hesitant to dig into it, but I force myself to. Hey, I'm not a murderer! Just a brutal incapacitator. Is incapacitator a word? Either way, the System saying I "brutally incapacitated" someone seems judgy.

Finally, I check the quest and find it marked as completed. There's a button with a little treasure chest icon to click to receive my rewards. Hoping I don't explode into a loot piñata, I click the button. Aaaand, nothing happens. Did I not get anything? Did my lack of inventory completely fuck me? Then I see it. I have another new tab labeled "Pending Rewards." I click the tab and find 10 gold and a ring, each with the message "Pending Transfer to Bonded Partner" next to it.

Well, fuck. Like my new life isn't already complicated enough. I decide to ignore that tab altogether. I don't even look to see what the ring does. I'd rather live without than compromise myself. That feels too much like my old life. I have much more interesting things to focus on. I clear my mind, and it naturally wanders back to straddling War Chest.

I hear footsteps quickly approaching, interrupting my important musings, and soon a towering Viking of a woman with pale skin, kind eyes, and short-cropped silver hair looks down at me.

"Are you alright?" she asks, concern clear in her voice.

"Why are the goblins so hot?" It slips out of my mouth, beautiful green breasts still fresh in my mind.

Her mouth twitches. "That doesn't answer my question. Also, why are you naked?"

"And you didn't answer mine." I flash her a cheeky smile, which earns me a laugh. "I'm good. Barely a scratch. As for the naked thing, it's a long story. I'll tell you if you buy me a drink." I reach my hand up toward her.

She returns the smile and clasps my hand, pulling me to my feet like I weigh nothing. Fuck, this woman is strong.

"I'm Yrsa, and you're in luck. It so happens I own the tavern here. Would you like me to track down something for you to wear before we head into town?" She's doing a good job of keeping her eyes on my face.

"I'm Erin, and I would, but this is how HerVerse is helping me bloom," I deadpan.

She facepalms. "Oh, Goddess, that slogan... Would you believe I was the only woman in the room when that was decided?"

"You used to work for Lethe Dynamics?" I ask in surprise.

"I did indeed. Come with me. We can swap stories."

I square my shoulders and follow her. The walk takes five minutes and a year off my life, but by the time a small, rustic tavern comes into view, I've stopped counting stares.

Yrsa leads me to a place called The Wilting Willow, which turns out to be a quaint wooden building with a hanging sign and the kind of worn-in charm you can't fake. Inside, it's bigger than it has any right to be. I look back at Yrsa, and she smiles knowingly. Dark wood, brass accents, lanterns throwing warm light over twenty-odd long tables, a bar that takes up a whole wall, a stage in the corner. Every window is shuttered, so there's no telling what time it is outside when the door is closed. The place is only a third full, so I'm guessing the sun is rising, not setting.

I feel Yrsa behind me, and there's something about her that's... comforting. She exudes a calm strength. The pure warmth and safety of it are enough to make me drop my guard for once. Yrsa's large, soft hand lands on my shoulder, and her husky voice reaches my ears.

"Let's head over there." She points to a row of large, elevated, U-shaped booths. They remind me of a VIP section at a fancy club.

More eyes are on me as we navigate the room. Only one woman approaches us, clearly a waitress. Her eyes roam hungrily over my body, which is, frankly, unprofessional. Not that I'll be filing a complaint. I do my best to remain calm and unperturbed until she finally looks to Yrsa. Her demeanor shifts when she catches the disappointed look on Yrsa's face, and she glances at me apologetically before turning back to Yrsa.

The waitress, Nadia, I quickly learn, was looking for an update on the goblin situation. After Yrsa mentions my involvement, she looks at me differently and nods in respect. Yrsa sends her to the bar for a bottle of "the special reserve" and guides me to the closest raised booth, where Yrsa takes the side facing the room, putting herself between me and the crowd without comment. I slide in across from her.

I fidget. I was never one to try to be the center of attention, except in the gym. I never liked the social pressure of trying to act normal. Right now, though, it's impossible to be normal, and I'm feeling a different kind of pressure, one that has been slowly building since I walked into Banesbrook.

I do not have the mental bandwidth to deal with that right now. A few hours ago my biggest problem was a traitorously dead phone.

Nadia returns with a large bottle and two short glasses. Yrsa orders us some food, waving me off when I tell her I have no money. When Nadia walks away, Yrsa presses one of several glyphs etched into the table, ones I only now notice. An opaque barrier cuts us off from the rest of the tavern, and the sounds of the lively room become muffled.

The absence of a dozen eyes on my body lets the tension drain out of me, even with Yrsa across from me. I haven't once felt her looking at me the way the waitress and so many others did. Like I'm prey, ready to be pounced on.

"That's handy," I say, enjoying the calm that settles over me.

"We get plenty of clientele in here looking for privacy. All the booths along the wall here have the same functionality."

"For sexy reasons, or business reasons?" I ask, unable to hide my grin.

For the first time, her eyes flick below my neck, but I still don't feel like she's checking me out, more trying to figure me out.

"Many reasons, but we don't appreciate people messing up our booths. There's a brothel in town if that's your thing, but I try to foster a more laid-back vibe here," she replies, no judgment in her voice.

"I can respect that. What about a little casual nudity?"

"No problem there. We don't discriminate. You're not the first nudist to come through here, and you probably won't be the last, though I'll admit it's not common. From your comment earlier, I'm curious: is this by choice or something else?"

"Definitely something else. HerVerse gave me an... interesting class."

"So you let HerVerse have control of creating your class? Bold choice."

"What do you mean? It was all I could afford."

She looks at me, confused. "Explain."

"Entering the lottery nearly emptied my bank account."

"You're telling me you're a lottery client?" she asks, incredulous.

"Yep, I threw my fate into HerVerse's perverted little hands, and this is where it got me. Why, what's wrong?"

Her brow furrows. "That's what I'm trying to work out. This is generally considered a rude question for people you don't know, but I'm going to ask anyway: are you willing to share your class details with me?"

"Would you share yours in return?" I ask.

Yrsa regards me the way you'd regard a kitten that just took down a bear. "Perhaps. There's something about you, but I can't put my finger on it. What drove you to attack the hobgoblin war chief?" Her eyes are locked on mine. This is getting heavy.

War chief. And here I'd been calling her War Chest.

"She looked important. I thought attacking her might mess up the raid," I answer honestly.

"It did, but you have no armor or weapons, and you still chose to attack a hobgoblin surrounded by elites by yourself," she says, her gaze making a quick sweep for injuries I don't have.

Elites. So the Chest Guards were the best they had. Good to know.

"I did. I don't mean to be rude, but I wasn't super impressed by the ability of some of the women involved. It was only a matter of time before someone got seriously injured or killed. I figured the quicker the battle ended, the better."

Yrsa nods at that, then asks, "What level are you?"

"I'm level two. I leveled fighting the goblins, but I literally just got here."

Yrsa goes still, probably reassessing everything she thought about me.

"I saw you come out of the forest, so I assumed you were new, at least until I saw you fight. Then I figured either you had some levels under your belt and just happened to be there, or you must have been rich in the old reality. The fact that you were naked really threw me. Like I said, you aren't the first nudist to come through here, but you are the first I've seen charge straight into battle. Are you sure you're not fucking with me?"

"I'm not. Fucking with you, that is."

"Lying isn't a great way to start a friendship."

"Good thing I'm not lying, then." I flash her a grin. Then a thought occurs to me. "Where were you during the raid? I didn't notice you, and with those arms, you could have probably beaten back the goblins by yourself."

"I was up on the wall, keeping watch. The other, more experienced adventurers and I let the lower-level adventurers handle things if they can. It's good experience for them. We're always ready to step in if things get out of hand. You were hard to miss from my vantage point."

"I would imagine my pale-ass skin and flaming red hair would draw the eye." Picturing it from Yrsa's perspective, I must have looked crazy.

"They did, indeed," she says with a small chuckle. Then she holds out her hand.

I stare at it for a moment, then take it.

A notification pops up in my mind asking whether I'd like to exchange details with Yrsa Thorsdóttir. She really is a Viking.

Yrsa looks lost in thought, so I decide to focus entirely on her information. Holy fuck. I will not be messing with Yrsa. For one, her level is thirty. I don't know how high that is, but it's way higher than two! Her build is focused entirely around this tavern and her ability to defend it and its patrons. Violently, if need be.

The comfort she exudes is an aura. If she likes you, it's good; if she doesn't, it's real bad. She's basically a paladin of protection, and this tavern is her temple. I hope Yrsa and I can become friends. I liked her from the moment we met, and this place would be a great safe harbor while I figure out my place in this reality.

I look back at Yrsa, who is eyeing me suspiciously. "You're really telling me that you entered the lottery and this is what you got."

"I have no reason to lie about it. I promise you that if I had any say in this, I would not be sitting here naked."

Yrsa finally appears to accept it, and something in her shoulders settles, like a decision has been made.

"Alright, let's drink and figure this out." Yrsa grabs the bottle and pops the cork.

I nod, and Yrsa pours us each a generous glass of dark purple, almost black, liquid.

Over the course of half the bottle of Yrsa's special reserve, which turns out to be a delicious hard liquor she won't tell me anything about because of "trade secrets," we discuss my situation. Yrsa explains what my class should have looked like: a basic Brawler with no sub-class, one trait, two basic abilities, and two basic skills. She can't believe the boost traits and skill upgrades I got. Oh, and my stats are too high.

"Why do I only see my unboosted stats?"

"Did you click the word 'Unboosted'?"

"Of cour-- Goddammit."

It looks like my physical stats are boosted by twenty-five percent. I'm not great at math, but my strength going from sixteen to twenty is twenty-five percent. I'm pretty sure. I already feel like a dumbass, so I will not be verifying. With my dex at eighteen and my con at seventeen, it looks like we're rounding down.

There aren't any numbers in my passives, so I'll assume they work better than advertised.

We talk through each of my skills and abilities, and Yrsa is a font of helpful information. I was one hundred percent correct that my build is broken. She's not too familiar with my sub-class, but we can both infer quite a bit from what info we have.

I ask about the food and water thing. Yrsa has seen passives like it. It's a safety net: my need is diminished, but I can eat and drink normally. Her advice is to live normally, hope I never need it, and be grateful if I do.

Eventually the conversation shifts to how this happened, and Yrsa scowls at me.

"How are you still stone-cold sober? You're tiny and this stuff isn't messing around."

"You seem fine," I reply, annoyed at being called tiny. To Yrsa, everyone is tiny!

She stares at me, unimpressed.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Hmm." I think for a moment, and Yrsa and I seem to reach the same conclusion at the same time.

I say, "Poby!" at the same time she says, "Pureness of Body!"

"Wait, Poby?"

I scoff, then tell her exactly how I feel about ol' Poby and why I refuse to use her full name.

Yrsa looks at me like I'm crazy before bursting into laughter. I join her. I know I'm being ridiculous and I don't give a shit.

After we settle down, I turn off Poby, and we get ourselves back on track. I feel my next glass of special reserve, and Yrsa looks smug when I slightly slur a word. I flip her off and we continue like nothing happened.

We land on two possibilities, one of them much more concerning than the other. Someone at Lethe Dynamics could have manually created a class and added it to my profile. Or they could have removed the restrictions on the HerVerse System, so it built something far stronger than any lottery client should get. The second is a machine following my profile, which is annoying but not personal. The first means a person sat down and decided to force me into permanent nudity. That possibility is fucking creepy.

Yrsa asks, "How well do you feel your class fits you?"

I blush and look away. "The brawler part fits perfectly. The submissive and exhibitionist parts..." I side-eye her, and she smiles comfortingly, which helps me continue. "They were always more of a fantasy. Something I never had the courage to pursue. I thought about them a lot, though. I mean, like, a lot."

Yrsa takes that in. Something almost like amusement crosses her face, and she smooths it away, careful with me. "That tells me something. If you were honest in your evaluation, this class is easily something HerVerse could build from it with its limits off. A person building it by hand would have to know some deeply personal details about you. Either way, someone made a choice you didn't agree to. Do you know anyone at Lethe Dynamics who could have done this to you? Or for you?"

"The only person I had any connection with there was... Dr. Watson," I say slowly.

Recognition dawns on Yrsa's face. "Dr. Watson? Dr. Sarah Watson?"

"I think so. I only ever called her Dr. Watson, but I believe the name on the forms was Sarah. Did you work with her?"

Yrsa rocks her head back and forth in a "kind of, but not really" gesture. "We were in different departments. We met at a holiday party and hit it off right away, just as friends, but we got close. I know it was hard on her when I left. I really miss her."

"Why did you leave?" I ask.

"Story for another time. Did you two become close or something? Sarah was never one to break the rules."

My face is instantly burning, and whatever expression it's making is apparently answer enough.

"Well now! I know there's a story there."

One of the glyphs at the edge of the table begins to flash softly and emits a light, pleasant tone.

"Your food must be here. Mind if I drop the privacy barrier?"

"Sure..."

The cacophony of voices washes over me, and I can see out into the tavern again, but the person at our booth makes my brain reset. Standing before us, holding a plate of food and wearing what I can only describe as a sexy witch outfit--less slutty Halloween witch, more dominatrix with a witch aesthetic--is Dr. Watson. As if summoned.