1.14 Loot II

Swimming down through the lake of slime was uncomfortable, but all things considered, not especially difficult. Exhausted as Zoey was from her thorough ‘fight’ with Mel, her arms and legs ached as she struggled her way through the surprisingly loose liquid—not nearly as clinging as it appeared. She even sank with ease, not floating, and spurred on by her long strokes, quickly descended.

She reached the bottom and hit air—then tumbled eight feet and toppled, landing on her back in a pile of spongy green gelatin. She sank in and bounced a few feet from the impact, arms cartwheeling, then bounced again, before she managed to steady.

“Are you intending to make a fool of yourself, or is it coming naturally?”

Rosalie, ever the dexterous acrobat, must have landed gracefully, giving her a perfect view of Zoey’s flailing.

“Let’s say intended,” Zoey said. “That makes me look better, right?”

Rosalie rolled her eyes, then advanced toward one of the two things of import in the slimy green cavern: three chests, two with bands of emerald wrapped around their center, and one with a band of sapphire. Zoey blinked in surprise. All three chests were of higher rarity than the one they’d previously raided, and by how Rosalie had described things, the blue-band—sapphire, representing ‘superior’—was the second best quality a person could find, and was supposed to be exceedingly rare.

“Wow,” Zoey said. “That’s a nice haul, huh?”

“Depends,” Rosalie said. “But not as good as it seems, I suspect. I have my suspicions what’s in the sapphire chest.” Without ceremony—these things didn’t have quite the novelty for Rosalie as they did as for Zoey, and so she had no reason to take her time—Rosalie flung open the centermost chest.

She pulled out a seven-foot gleaming spear.

“Mmm,” Rosalie said. “Good. My inventory.” She reached in, and the next item out was a pair of metal boots. Rosalie nodded along in satisfaction as she continued to empty the chest.

So that one didn’t count as ‘real’ loot, then. The superior-rated chest was a fluke, simply Rosalie’s inventory handed back to her. Zoey looked at the two green-banded chests. “Still, two rares is pretty good, right?”

“For the nightmare of this shard? Hardly.” Then, reluctantly, “But objectively, yes, for how it was relatively small, as far as shards go. Assuming we don’t get exceedingly unlucky with the yield. Always a possibility.”

Zoey didn’t think the shard had been that bad. She’d had some, uh, good times. Funny enough, the few parts Zoey hadn’t especially liked—the monsters and patches of brutal fighting—were probably the parts Rosalie considered tolerable.

The next item Rosalie pulled from the inventory-chest broke Zoey’s heart.

“Thank the gods,” Rosalie said as she slipped on her undergarments. “I half expected these not to be in there.”

“If only they hadn’t,” Zoey sighed. Her days of ogling Rosalie’s naked body were over. Was there any greater tragedy?

Rosalie shot an annoyed squint at Zoey’s dramatics. “Some of us don’t like parading about with our privates on display.” She tossed Zoey a towel, one of the many items Rosalie continued to pull out and deposit into that private pocket-space between worlds. “Clean yourself up.”

Zoey did so, using the fabric to wipe the copious amounts of green slime from her body, and the other mixture of less-appropriate liquids spread across her lower half.

She supposed getting dressed was necessary. They couldn’t continue their nudism in civilization, obviously. Zoey was a bit surprised at how accustomed she had become to the feeling of being naked around Rosalie. Even at the start, she’d been less bashful about it than she’d have thought. Their first meeting—the tight coffin—had been quite the icebreaker.

“I’d offer you some of my clothes, but they won’t fit,” Rosalie said. “You’re too tall. And busty. And …” she cleared her throat. “I don’t think women’s garments are something that fit you, down low. But I have a pair of men’s britches and underwear, somewhere in here.”

Right. Zoey couldn’t exactly go around wearing tight pants and women’s underwear anymore, not unless she wanted some awkward things on plain display. She’d have to wear loose pants and boxers, and even then, there’d probably be a bulge, considering how much heat Zoey was packing. She paused, coming to terms with the reality of her situation. For having gotten extensive use out of her cock in the past half-day, there was still a lot of accustoming to do.

Life as a girl with a fourteen-inch cock. Sure to pose some difficulties—or at least strangeness—in civilized society.

Finally finding the items she was looking for, Rosalie tossed her some plain, hardy-looking clothes. Zoey shrugged on the long-sleeve shirt, a pair of men’s undergarments that she guessed qualified as this world’s equivalent of ‘boxer-briefs’, then the brown traveling leathers. They fit poorly, to say the least. The shirt was far too loose, meant for someone much broader than her; the underwear too tight, both from excessive equipment and wide hips; and finally, the pants, which were the closest to being acceptable, but still too baggy for her liking. At least it hid Zoey’s secret. While she wasn’t hard, at least. She doubted much on the planet could hide it when she got excited.

Not having a bra wasn’t ideal, but Rosalie didn’t have something that fit her. Zoey supposed she should be grateful this world even had them. Hadn’t they used, like, corsets and other types of chest bindings, before? Zoey wasn’t great with her history. Either way, by the modest white support Rosalie had put on, Zoey could tell their worlds’ clothing standards were in a similar place; she just didn’t have something that fit Zoey’s chest.

“Why do you have men’s clothing, anyway?”

“To be prepared,” Rosalie said. “Anything reasonable that I might need, I try to have.”

“And why would you need men’s clothing?”

“For if a party member needs it?” She raised an eyebrow. “Like now.”

Zoey guessed it was fair enough reasoning. “Thanks.”

Rosalie snorted. “Please. You’re doing me a favor by covering up. So no, thank you.”

Zoey refrained from pointing out that Rosalie’s fondness of her ‘extra equipment’ had been quite apparent in their adventures, and not just that, but Zoey’s body in general. Would it kill the blonde girl to be honest with herself?

Rosalie tossed her a pair of boots. “Store those for if you need them. They’re too big, but depending where we end up in the Fractures, big might be better than barefoot.”

Zoey pocketed the boots as instructed. “Sheesh. You’re still going.” She had been pulling items out in a constant stream, and had yet to slow. “How much can you put in an inventory, anyway?”

“Depends on your advancement. You, less than me. But still quite a lot.”

“Convenient.”

“I suppose?” Rosalie gave her an odd look.

Zoey tried to put herself in Rosalie’s shoes. Inventory was, presumably, something all people in this world had access to. Calling it convenient might be similar to making a casual comment about how ‘convenient’ thumbs and brains were. Not incorrect … but a strange, perhaps even revealing, thought to muse about.

Then, absurdly, her mind bounced to the implications an ability like an ‘inventory’ must have on the world. It’d be impossible to enforce security standards, like ‘no weapons’ in certain places. Also, depending on how significant the storage capabilities were, it could affect how trade worked … as in, a person could load up with boxes of material and set off without need for a wagon, or mules, or such.

Or, say, theft. Could a person walk into a store and drop items into their inventory, then waltz off? How would anyone know? Did people have to be followed around in shops to prevent that? Were ‘shopping-procedures’ wholly modified from what Zoey knew back on Earth? Or some stranger solution that Zoey hadn’t considered, or couldn’t, like a spell that prevented the use of inventory-deposit? Maybe it could be detected somehow.

Zoey shook her head. She might ask Rosalie later—or find the answer naturally. There were a million and one questions she could pour out on how an alien world functioned, but she both didn’t want to reveal to Rosalie her (what she would see as) odd thought processes, and she didn’t want to waste time, since it would take all night to cover even a fraction of her questions.

Take things as they come. A good motto by Earth standards, and doubly applicable here.

Rosalie started pulling out clinking bags of coins, which gave Zoey pause. She counted five before they stopped.

“So you’re loaded, or something?”

“Hardly. Those were mostly copper and silver. The earnings of a second-advancement Wayfarer is by no means lucrative.”

Copper, silver, and presumably gold coins. Maybe higher denominations, too? Finances were going to be another curious thing to learn about. Sounded like it was straightforward, at least. Coins. Couldn’t complicate those too much.

“You can start laying out the loot from the other chests,” Rosalie said. “You don’t need to stand there and watch me.”

“Just figured you’d want to be the one.” Rosalie had taken over the process of looting the last chest they’d found; Zoey hadn’t pulled out any of the items. Rosalie did that—took charge, naturally, part of who she was. Zoey didn’t mind. She wasn’t a pushover, but she’d never felt the need to take command. Could do it, sure. Just preferred to only when no one else would.

“For the excitement of the reveal?” Rosalie scoffed. “Who do you take me for? Some green, first-generation Wayfarer? Only wet-eared novices care about something like that.”

Zoey paused. “I think it’s fun,” she said defensively.

“Point in case.”

Sometimes Rosalie’s arrogance peeked through with more obviousness than others. Zoey still saw the goodness in her—it was blindingly plain to see—but she had her flaws, without a doubt. “There’s nothing wrong with taking enjoyment in the small things.”

Rosalie snorted, again. She didn’t look over Zoey’s way.

Zoey bit her tongue on pushing the point, because she knew when to pick her battles.

“Just lay them out,” Rosalie said. “We’ll divvy it up.”

“I’m getting a cut, this time?” Rosalie had pocketed most of the loot from the first chest, which Zoey had thought entirely fair; Zoey had done exceedingly little to earn any of it.

Rosalie stilled. Her mood soured visibly, even with her back turned as she paused half-up from extracting an item from the chest. “If anything,” she said bitterly, “you should be getting the lion’s share. I might have died without you.”

Ah, Zoey realized. That’s why.

That was the reason Rosalie had been upset, before diving into the slime lake—which Zoey had misinterpreted as anger at Zoey’s involvement with Mel. She was furious at herself for losing. For needing to be saved by Zoey. Now that she’d made the connection, it was pretty obvious. That was one-hundred-percent something Rosalie would be sour over.

“I don’t care either way,” Zoey said. “Fifty-fifty, you take it all, whatever. What’s mine is yours. We’re sticking together, aren’t we?”

Rosalie stilled a second time. Then resumed. “I suppose we are. You’ll need someone to show you the ropes.”

Like usual, no effusive confirmations, no exclamations of camaraderieship and anticipation of future escapades, but it was Rosalie. Of course not. Zoey grinned. Earlier, there’d been hesitation on whether they’d be forming a party. Rosalie had made up her mind: yes.

Zoey didn’t make a big deal out of it, because Rosalie would definitely launch some biting comments her way for doing so. Instead she walked over to the rightmost of the chests and cracked it open, smiling stupidly.

An inky black void welcomed her. Zoey reached in, half expecting it to be cold to the touch, or some indescribable feeling, but instead, it just felt like—well, nothing. More air. Her fingers groped for the bottom of the chest, and grazed something. She adjusted, then gripped the jar of something, pulling it out.

[Cleansing Liquid]: Common. To aid a person in adventures down less-beaten paths. Cleans thoroughly and leaves a fruity aftertaste.

Zoey paused, then burst out laughing.

“Let me guess,” Rosalie said dryly. “Something perverted?”

“It’s playing coy, but I think so. It’s, uh. Cleaning agent.”

“Cleaning agent?”

“For, you know. A squeaky clean back door. Leaves a fruity aftertaste.”

Rosalie parsed the explanation, brow furrowed—her innocence the more amusing part of the whole thing, which Zoey had to fight down another laugh from. Her expression cleared up, and her lips twisted in disgust. “The degeneracy of this shard knows no bounds.”

“Do you just pour it in?” Zoey asked, turning the bottle of dark-red plastic-like material around. There was no label. The liquid sloshed around, viscous as water. It tapered at the top to a cap that looked like it could be twisted open. Using some basic intuition, Zoey assumed she would need to shove it ‘up there’ then squeeze, and it would do its magical work. Honestly, it was kind of amazing. Getting ready for spelunking expeditions of that sort could be an ordeal … not that Zoey had ever been that into backdoor-play. She’d had one girlfriend who was, though, so she knew her way around.

“Because I would know?” Rosalie asked. “Ugh. Stop talking about it.”

Zoey chuckled, then set the item aside, rather than putting it in her inventory—the loot would need to be divided up.

The next item out was tiny, and took some groping around in the void to find.

[Silvercut Tongue Stud]: Uncommon. Ministrations of the mouth find greater potency.

“I call this one,” Zoey said. “I so call this one.”

Rosalie glanced over. “What is it?”

“Magical tongue piercing that makes me give better head. So don’t worry, it’ll help you out, too.”

“Help me!” Rosalie flushed. “As if I would let you—let you put your—” She cleared her throat, then pointedly returned to her own chest. “You and this shard are well suited for each other. Perhaps you shouldn’t leave, and instead spend your remaining days here.”

Now there was a thought. With a host like Mel, would she really have that much to complain about?

As for Rosalie’s claim that Zoey wouldn’t be getting her tongue inside her … well, they’d see about that. For all Rosalie’s protests, they had only known each other a day, and yet Zoey had had her cock rubbed against her stomach, in her mouth, and between her tits. There were some extenuating circumstances allowing that fast intimacy, but the floodgates had been opened, so to say—and Rosalie clearly enjoyed having them been so.

Zoey pocketed the stud into her inventory, not setting it aside to divvy it up. Because she was getting it put in at the first opportunity. She was excited to see how well it worked. What kind of embarrassing things would she force out of Rosalie, aided with supernatural competency?

Speaking of, though, how did piercings work in this world? With stuff like healing potions, could she just suck it up, stab the metal through, then drink a potion? It’d be a painful ordeal, obviously, but Zoey had never been too squeamish, or sensitive to pain. For not having to go through a whole ‘process’, it’d be worth it.

She’d never had a tongue piercing, but part of the reason was because she’d heard it was a hassle, both to get and maintain. Magical healing to accelerate things—and the benefits this particular jewelry offered—had tipped the scales to ‘definitely worth it’.

She pulled out the next item. Still plenty to work through.