[M|IC] The Price of Life (Ashen and Naming)

[Namingtoohard]

Such close scrutiny left Zula feeling a little awkward, and the blatant sympathy that followed only served to make things worse. The fire mage had adapted to the pain of her rotting flesh a while ago – mostly – and in that moment, she quickly decided that physical pain was better than this. Even so, she forced herself to remain still as the stranger finished their examination. Pulling away early would only lead to more questions later, so she decided to just let them rip the band-aid off, so to speak. She wasn’t in the habit of making friends, so situations like these were something of a rarity. Zula had no idea how she was supposed to respond, so she did the brave thing and ignored them. Her guest got nothing more than an awkward nod in response, and when they finally relented, Zula embraced the change of topic wholeheartedly.

As soon as she was free of their attention, Zula quickly pulled her sleeve back down, hiding her affliction from sight once more. When her guest mentioned the shaman from her story again, Zula maintained her silence. She was perfectly happy to let the stranger digest all this new information at their own pace, if it meant their attention was lingering elsewhere. When her guest suggested that their memories might actually contain the knowledge she needed, Zula’s eyes widened a little in surprise. She’d learned to trust her gut, but wasn’t in the business of relying on other people’s hunches. She had no idea if the stranger’s instincts were correct, or if they were just the product of wishful thinking. And yet, despite her skepticism, she couldn’t help but feel a flutter of hope as she considered the possibility.

When talk finally turned to the legality of their situation, Zula couldn’t help but chuckle softly, despite her lingering discomfort. She wasn’t sure what deductions her guest had made, but apparently their logic was infallible. “I’m no expert, but I suspect the way I broke in to an old facility and dragged you back here wasn’t strictly legal either. Nor were some of the things I had to do to get that information” Amusement tinged her voice, even as she tried to mirror their tone. “I’ll start worrying about the law when there’s a chance I live long enough for the consequences to matter.”

The stranger’s confidence that they’d find a solution was completely unexpected, but Zula found it heartening. Unaware of the identity crisis that plagued her guest, she immediately assumed that their use of the word ‘we’ suggested that she’d actually won them over. Apparently taking a leap and showing them her affliction had been the right play after all, somehow. The fire mage wasn’t entirely convinced that going back to the lab would help – she hadn’t yet realised that familiar sights might shake some memories loose – and she didn’t like the idea of wasting so much time, but their enthusiasm was endearing.

Zula had just opened her mouth to voice her thoughts on the matter when the stranger noticed their own impotence and backtracked a little. Her need for urgency went to war against the need for her one lead to not drop dead during their investigation, until she decided against pushing things. The next thing they spoke of gave the fire mage pause, though. Zula had been so caught up in her own issues that she hadn’t even considered how strange this must be for them on a personal level. They’d already discussed the time difference, of course, but they hadn’t touched on how far her guest’s memory loss really extended. A little unnerved, and a little worried that the subject might make them shut down again, Zula was quick to suggest a solution of her own.

“If going back to the laboratory doesn’t pan out, then I know a couple of people who might be able to help you. Mages who specialize in shit like telepathy and oneiromancy. If you’re willing to let them rummage around in your skull for answers, then I can set up a few meetings.. But all that can wait.” Zula found it difficult to imagine the stranger refusing, given their situation. All the more reason to let them choose, though, since she was currently reliant on their willing participation.

“In the meantime, there’s a shower just down the hall. You’re more than welcome to go clean yourself up whenever you’re feeling up to it. You should be able to find some clean towels…” Zula’s brows furrowed as she wracked her brain, just for a brief moment, before she quickly gave up. “…somewhere. Once you’re done, feel free to go digging through my wardrobe. You’re probably too big to fit into most of my clothes, but I’ve got a couple of oversized shirts and hoodies that might do the job.” Apparently Zula wasn’t particularly bothered by the possibility they’d stumble upon something private in the process, like her underwear, or any adult toys that were buried within her drawers.

At long last, Zula pushed away from the desk and made for the door. She wanted to give her guest a little bit of privacy, and not just so they could clean themselves up. If they needed to have another freak-out, better to let them do so in private. Especially if that would help them come to grips with their situation. Zula made it as far as the door before she hesitated. With one hand resting on the wooden frame, she glanced back over her shoulder at her guest one last time.

“You never told me your name.” Zula phrased it as a simple statement, but there was no mistaking the question hidden within. It almost felt a little unfair, for her to share so much without learning even that in return. If she gave one single fuck about propriety, then she might’ve been offended. Even if they were having memory problems, they had to remember that much about themselves at the very least…right?

[Ashen]

Zula’s lax attitude towards the legality of her journey should have unnerved the amnesiac, but it only made them sympathize with her more. It sounded like the poor girl had tried so many things already to prevent the rotting of her body, which meant the ice mage was something of a last resort. Even if they never regained their memories, that didn’t mean they couldn’t help her. They’d try to figure it out, even like this. They didn’t voice it, but they silently promised they’d stop at nothing to help the one person who had shown them kindness.

Unaware of their convictions, Zula continued on, mentioning other mages who might be able to help them remember who they were. Just the thought of some amateur witch digging through their memories made them grimace, though they quickly tried to rid their face of the distaste. What if those mages were wrong, and tried to convince them they were someone they weren’t? How would they ever know? Or worse, what if they did manage to remind them of their life before this, and they were some kind of monster? They didn’t know how to fix themselves if they were some kind of bigot. What if they had enemies to answer to? Did they really…want to remember? Maybe this was a chance to reinvent themselves, and help someone who needed them. “Thank you,” they mumbled under their breath. They would give the idea some thought—later, when they felt more grounded, and less like their whole personality was dependent on their fleeting whims.

A shower after everything they’d been through sounded like bliss. They nodded along with Zula, eager to remove the twenty-year-old grime soaked into their pores. Her uncertainty about where her spare towels were gave them pause. She must not have had people stay over much, which wasn’t surprising considering the abrasiveness they had already picked up on. They didn’t know whether to feel honored or afraid, but they chose the more positive option and offered her a small smile as she tried to remember. The smile fell away, however, when Zula told them where they could find clothes for themselves. Maybe she didn’t mind them looking through her things, but they did. Had society progressed past the need for modesty among strangers while they’d been asleep? Not wanting to seem weird about it, they nodded along in silence.

Zula started off, and the ice mage braced themselves for a shower. But Zula stopped before the hallway, and they met her eye. Her question gave them pause, and they looked away only briefly before returning to her with a smile. They shrugged. “Looks like you’ve got until the end of my shower to give me one,” they said. “You better think of something charming, eh?” They flashed her a cheesy grin before excusing themselves and walking past her into the hallway. It was a smoother move than just admitting they didn’t know their name, they hoped, and they only briefly wondered what kind of name Zula would pick before their mind wandered back to their shower.

The bathroom wasn’t difficult to find. They turned into it and shut the door behind them, then looked around the room. There was a burst of color in here, and for several minutes, they looked between all the patterns across the walls, the floor, the carpets, the curtains. The decorations here were a lot louder than they were used to in such a sanitized research lab, and it was easy to get lost in all of the colors. Finally breaking their gaze away from the room, they battled with the faucet until the water was a decent temperature, then poked around the various bottled lining the tub for some soap. They discarded their gown on the floor, then decided to throw it directly into the trash, worn and stained as it was. Before they stepped into the shower, however, they caught of glimpse of themselves in the mirror.

Once again, they were caught off guard by the face that looked so different from the one they thought they remembered. They looked over their arms and legs, trying to jog any memories about this freckle, or that mole, or the various scars they must have gotten somewhere. Finally, they moved their fingers between their legs, trying to solve at least that mystery. To their surprise, though, they had both—not quite male nor female—and they sighed. The universe wasn’t about to give them any clues, evidently. Things like sex or gender didn’t matter much to them, but they were growing frustrated with how adamant their old self was at remaining an enigma to them.

Realizing how much time they’d wasted, they stepped into the shower. Zula’s soap was strong and unpleasant, but they tolerated it to vigorously scrub the dirt out of their skin. They watched the tinted water swirl around the drain, and they cringed. How had they gotten so gross? When they moved onto their hair, they pulled dark, sticky strings of…something out of it. They were mortified, and they wondered what Zula might have thought of them. When their lab exploded—that must have been where all this residue had come from. They clung to that memory, trying to remember anything else about what had happened, but by the time the water went cold, they were just as confused as before they started.

Their fingers were wrinkled and they were shivering when they finally found a towel to wrap themselves in. Their skin was rubbed raw, and their hair was tangled from the wash, but they felt much cleaner. They had hoped their shower would be a good opportunity to remember some things, too, but they would take what they could get. They had to be patient, even if it was frustrating. There was no use in trying to force things.

They stepped out of the bathroom and peeked down the hallway, hoping to find Zula. When they didn’t see her, they called her name, but she didn’t answer. They showed themselves back to her room, where they opened the first drawer they saw to find something to wear. They were greeted by Zula’s underwear, and they quickly closed the drawer, their cheeks warming. They tried another drawer, and another, until they had found an old-looking T-shirt that fit over their broad shoulders and a dingy pair of sweatpants that were just a bit too short. These would have to do until they found the means to get new threads.

After getting dressed, they went back into the hallway, where they called for Zula, louder this time. “I hope you’ve thought of a good name!”

[Namingtoohard]

The stranger’s hesitation seemed like an answer in and of itself, until they suddenly smiled at Zula. The words that flowed out of their mouth next were beyond anything she had expected, and the fire mage made no effort to hide her surprise. As her guest brushed past her and struck out in search of the bathroom, Zula spun after them. She opened her mouth to object, but no sound came out. By the time she’d recovered enough to find her voice, the stranger had already found their destination. They slipped inside and disappeared from sight, taking her opportunity to complain with them.

Zula pursed her lips and glared down the empty hallway for a moment. She briefly considered going after them, before deciding that it wasn’t worth the effort, since they’d probably just insist anyway. Besides, she’d wanted to give the stranger some privacy, right? Barging into the bathroom behind them felt about as counterproductive as possible in that regard. Finally, she let out a soft sigh and resigned herself to her fate, before turning towards the opposite end of the hallway.

She stepped out from between the narrow walls and into her living room. Just like her bedroom, it was of modest size, and filled with a collection of mismatched furniture. A two-seater chaise and an old armchair sat together by one wall, facing a dusty IKEA tv-stand that supported a flat-screen of respectable size. They were separated by a simple wooden coffee table that she’d picked up nice and cheap, and then condemned to life as a makeshift footstool. An oversized curtain covered the far wall, hiding an old cast-iron window and everything that lay beyond. Down the opposite end was a kitchen that looked just as old and worn as everything else in her apartment, partitioned away behind a bench that jutted out from the wall.

Zula beelined for the old lounge, and collapsed atop it. A soft groan filled the air, and she wasn’t sure if it had come from her own lips, or the old frame. It was the sort of couch that everyone’s grandparents seemed to own. The upholstery was stained and threadbare, and the pattern was ugly, but Zula cared about neither of those things. The broken-in cushions were comfortable in a way that no modern, ‘designer’ couch could ever hope to be. Her only complaint was that it was small enough for her to use one armrest as a pillow and still have her legs dangle over the other, despite how short she was. Zula had tried to sleep on it for the past three days whilst the stranger had been occupying her bed, and had probably fucked up her back for life in the process.

The fire mage swung her legs idly while she got comfortable, hoping that the motion would help burn off some of her restless energy. She couldn’t hear any running water yet, and she was already starting to chafe at the delay. Zula cast her eyes around the small room, searching for some sort of distraction, only for them to settle on the fridge. She found herself wondering if she had any more pizza, or if there was any alcohol laying around – not because she felt the need for either, but because it’d help her pass the time. After a few moments, she decided that getting drunk now probably wasn’t the best idea, and instead turned her attention to the task at hand.

“Why the fuck do I have to name you?” Zula muttered the question softly to herself, eyes fixed on the cracked plaster of the ceiling above. She turned the question over in her mind slowly, but was met with a disappointing lack of ideas. Every possible name that occurred to her was dismissed relatively quickly, for a whole host of reasons. Was this how her parents had felt when they’d tried to name her? It was a sensation she hoped that she’d never have to experience again. She pushed the thought from her mind, forced herself to focus. She lay there until the sound of running water stopped, pointedly informing her that she was running out of time.

The first time the stranger’s voice reached her ears, Zula ignored them, just because she still didn’t have an answer, and wanted to buy herself a little more time. The second time her guest called out, their voice more insistent than the first, Zula finally accepted her fate. She reluctantly rose from her position atop the couch and began to walk back towards the hallway, fully intent on seeing how they were faring. “Hold your horses, Frosty” she called out, just a moment before she stepped around the corner. Zula wasn’t sure where the stupid joke had come from. Hell, given their circumstances, she had no idea if the stranger would even get the joke. Maybe, if she were lucky, it’d stick.

When her guest came into view again, Zula paused where she was. She ran her eyes up and down their figure once, giving their choice of clothing an appraising look. The results of their scavenging weren’t exactly ideal. She had no idea where they’d found those pants, because she certainly hadn’t seen them in weeks. Under the circumstances, though, they’d serve. “Those will do for now. Once you feel up to going outside, we’ll try and get you some clothes of your own.” Another thing to add to the never-ending list of shit she had to do while trying not to die. Fantastic.

After a brief moment of silent thought, Zula shrugged. “I guess I should show you around” she offered, before turning on her heel and starting back the way she’d come. They passed another hallway door that she pointedly ignored, before coming to the room she’d been relaxing in just a few moments ago. It still felt just as old and unseemly as it had the first time, but Zula briefly wondered if that might not be better. If her guest had been frozen for twenty years, then maybe all the old-fashioned décor and outdated fixtures would have them feeling right at home.

“The television is over there. Probably a little more modern than the ones you’re used to, but the core concept is still the same. I don’t have cable, but you’re welcome to stream whatever you want. The kitchen is over there. Help yourself to whatever you can find, but I don’t think there’s much at the moment.” Zula gestured towards each ‘feature’ idly as she mentioned it, and then promptly ran out of things to say. She wasn’t used to having guests over, so she didn’t have any rules or anything to explain.

She finished by stepping over to the curtain covering the far wall, and pulled it back to reveal the cast-iron window beyond. They were several stories up, but all you could see through it was the fire escape, the apartment block opposite, and the grimy alleyway that ran between. Zula took a moment to unlatch one of the windows and swing it open, before leading her guest out onto the fire escape. The smell wasn’t present, but the breeze was nice, and the better vantage point allowed them a glimpse out into the street beyond. The stranger’s first look at the modern world. Zula leaned against the railing, her arms folded atop it, and shot them a sideways glance.

“I know it’s a bit of a shithole, but it’s home. So, uh. Make yourself comfortable, I guess.”

[Ashen]

When Zula met them in the hallway again, the ice mage swore she looked even more irritated than when they’d left her. “Frosty?” they repeated, an amused expression crossing their dark eyes. It wasn’t the most creative choice, and they certainly didn’t like the connection to an annoying holiday mascot, but they hadn’t given Zula much to work with. All she knew about them was that they were an ice mage. All things considered, Frosty was an apt name for them. “Froste,” they mused, tasting the variation. “With an E.” That felt more distinguished, at least. They weren’t sure if Zula had been serious about the name she’d given them, but they accepted it all the same. They smiled to themselves. Among all the frustration of not knowing who they were, they took comfort in finally having a name.

Froste gratefully accepted the impromptu tour of Zula’s home and followed behind her. They didn’t know how long they would be staying here, and they hated the idea of further inconveniencing their host, but her considerate and welcoming attitude made them feel better about being such a burden. She led them to a living room, and Froste took in the worn, cozy furniture. The television stole their attention, thin and large as it was. They didn’t really know what Zula meant by streaming, but that was a question best saved for later. They wondered instead what kinds of shows or movies Zula liked, and what such things could tell them about their guest. Unsurprisingly, they couldn’t remember any of their favorite shows, or if they had watched TV at all. If Zula would humor them later, they’d flip through the channels in the hopes of sparking some memory. Even if they didn’t, though, the idea of watching TV with someone sounded like the kind of comfort they could use after the chaos of their day.

When the tour of the living room was over, Zula threw open the window. Froste cringed at the light at first, but once they’d adjusted to it, they approached and peered outside. For the first time, Froste gazed out at this new world, their curiosity peaking. They climbed out onto the fire escape with Zula, and though they were wary of being so far up, their acrophobia was silenced by their need to take everything in. They clutched the guardrail and leaned over the edge at the city below. Had they been living here before, too? Or maybe in a city like this one? If their research lab had been in a secluded cave, it was possible they could have commuted from a place like this. They wondered if they had ever missed home.

Of course, they had seen cities before. They could remember photos in travel brochures of Paris and New York and Athens and Tokyo, of the picture-perfect appearance each of these tourist destinations showcased. But those were nothing like this city, whose breezes carried a perfume of street food and smog, whose people bustled about with a million places to be, whose buildings cramped the streets in a way that was barely practical. There was a beauty to a place like this, Froste thought, and they wanted to explore it all, see what mysteries this city held, experience for themselves what life was like for those they shared breath with. They had a million questions—for Zula, for the people walking below them, for anyone who would listen to them—but they didn’t know where to start.

A breeze interrupted their thoughts, raising the hairs on their arms and sending a shiver down their spine. It was embarrassing, an ice mage not remembering how to regulate their temperature, and they climbed back into the apartment with only an apologetic grin sent Zula’s way. When the window was shut behind them again, and after they’d rubbed their hands together for warmth, they sighed softly. “You have a lovely home,” they told her. “I don’t think I thanked you properly for sharing it with me.”

Now that their tour was over, there were so many things they wanted to do. They still had nothing in their stomach, though Froste wasn’t feeling up to chancing that yet. They wanted to figure out the TV, and finally give themselves a chance to relax, but they would probably have time for that later. What they really wanted to do was see more of the city. “Do you have a spare sweater?” they asked Zula. “And maybe some shoes? I don’t know if it will help me remember anything, but I think I’d like to walk around a little outside. It’s been…so long since I’ve been able to do something like that.” Longer than they could really know. Just how much had the world changed when they weren’t looking? More than anything, Froste wanted to see the people, to observe their behaviors and listen to them talk with each other. Maybe they’d learn a thing or two about who they were supposed to be.

They met Zula’s eye and tried on their warmest smile. “I’d love for you to join me,” they continued. “But if you’re not feeling up to that, I’m sure I could find my way back here. …Eventually.” They weren’t even sure if they would go if Zula turned them down. They didn’t trust themselves to not get lost in a city they didn’t know, especially with how dazed they still felt. But Zula didn’t need to know that—they just hoped she’d pity them enough to go along with them.

[Namingtoohard]

When it became apparent that Froste wasn’t going to respond, Zula threw a sideways glance towards them. After a few seconds, though, she decided against pressing the issue. Empathy had never been one of her strong points, but she knew enough to suspect that they had their reasons. Her guest was probably still coming to grips with everything that had happened to them, or maybe this small glimpse of city had been enough to throw them through another loop. So long as they weren’t freaking out like before, though, the fire mage saw no reason to intervene. She just turned her attention back to the street beyond, perfectly happy to relax in companionable silence until they were ready.

Given their close proximity, there was no missing the full-body shiver that ran up her guest’s spine a few moments later. Zula had barely noticed the chill, thanks to the jumper she was using to hide her ailment from sight. When Froste slipped back inside, the fire mage followed without complaint. She slipped through the window with the easy grace that came with familiarity, before taking a moment to pull it closed behind her. She even took a moment to pull the oversized drapes back into place, obscuring the depressing little alleyway from sight.

She turned back towards Froste just in time for them to break their silence, and compliment her on the loveliness of her home. Both of Zula’s eyebrows rose towards her hairline then. When she’d called her apartment a shithole, she’d done so without a hint of self-degradation. In her mind, it had just been a fact, plain and simple. She might’ve thought that her guest was just fucking with her, if not for how genuine they sounded. Were they just being polite, then, or did they actually believe what they were saying? Before Zula could make up her mind, they’d already moved on to the next order of business.

“Sure. Can’t promise that they’ll fit you any better than what you’re already wearing, though.” Zula punctuated her words with a casual shrug, before she started strolling back towards her bedroom, expecting her guest to follow. She wasn’t entirely convinced that letting Froste go outside so soon was the best idea, but after spending so long playing nurse, she was desperate to get out of her apartment for a bit herself. Besides, there was no way in hell she was letting her one chance at salvation go out there alone, especially if there was a chance they’d get lost. She’d just have to hope that they knew their limits better than she did, and if not…well, Zula knew from experience that she could drag them back up the stairs, if necessary.

Back in her room, Zula knelt before the mess that was her wardrobe, and started digging through the contents. On more than one occasion, she grabbed an article of clothing and threw it aside with no regards for where it would land, just to get it out of the way. After a few moments, she came upon a grey, knitted sweater with long sleeves. It was embroidered with a diamond pattern, but in the same colour as the rest of the sweater, making it hard to notice from a distance. She threw this at Froste without so much as a glance in their direction, and immediately set about searching for the shoes. A few moments later, Zula turned towards her guest properly. She held up a pair of old Vans, styled in the basic black-and-white pattern that was their unofficial trademark.

“They’ll squish your toes a little, but you should be able to loosen the laces enough to stop them from crushing the rest of your feet.” She handed these over a little more politely than she had the sweater. These new additions definitely didn’t match what Froste was already wearing, but Zula didn’t think it mattered. They were going out to explore, not to pick people up. They could worry about aesthetics later, after they’d dealt with the more urgent shit. The fire mage turned her attention back to the closet, and quickly dug out a pair of dirty, creased Nike shoes for herself. She took a moment to slip them on quickly, before she glanced back across at her guest to see how they were faring.

“You don’t need me to tie them for you, right?” Zula teased. Her tone was playful, but after a few seconds, she realised that Froste might actually need help. In hindsight, it was a little hard for her to make assumptions about the information they retained when they’d forgotten something as basic as their own name. Zula had a feeling that this was going to get real tiresome real quick.

[Ashen]

Froste awkwardly trailed Zula to her bedroom, unsure if she wanted them to stay put or some with her. As she took to her wardrobe and painted the room with its contents, they shifted their weight from one foot to the other. They wondered if they should help somehow, maybe pick up the clothes she was discarding and fold them into a neat pile on the bed, but ultimately they decided against it. They would just be getting in her way, and besides, they didn’t want to get buried under all the clothes she was still throwing. After a few minutes of her search, Froste’s attention drifted, and they looked over her bedroom yet again. It was the place they knew best, not that that was much of a statement, but they wondered if Zula would find that sentiment as amusing as they did.

They hadn’t been looking at her, so when she tossed a sweater at them, they fumbled with it for an uncomfortably long time before it fell to the floor anyway. Froste was quick to pick it up and make like they had caught it. They ran their hands over the material, trying to decide if it was warm enough. They didn’t care for the pattern; they were practically a beggar, and they knew they couldn’t afford to choose the limits of Zula’s generosity. When they figured out a way to access whatever money they’d had twenty years ago, then they could work on not looking so mismatched and disheveled. Froste didn’t know if Zula heard their thanks over all the things falling around her. While she continued her search, Froste pulled the sweater on and held out their arms to check its fit. It would ride up their stomach if they had to reach for anything high, but it would do. They looked at the woman still making a mess of her bedroom for them. Froste had no idea what they’d do without Zula, and they only hoped someday they might be able to repay her with the memories and magic she sought.

Like everything else they were wearing, the shoes Zula offered them looked small for their feet. Froste hesitantly bit their lip, hoping these things wouldn’t do any permanent damage before they could find bigger replacements. They graciously accepted the Vans and walked to the bed to try them on. As they looked over the shoe in their lap, though, they worried about the mess of old, dirty laces knotted in a way that was difficult to tug free. Even if they heard the teasing in Zula’s voice, they shifted under the weight of her question. “No,” they mumbled, even though the laces they were picking at weren’t budging.

Ever since they had woken up—and before that, really—they had been nothing but a burden for Zula. Being unable to tie their own shoes would make them feel even more incapable than they already did, and they were determined to do something for themselves. Eventually, the laces did come undone, and Froste sighed in relief. It took them several minutes to re-lace them because they couldn’t remember how to. In their youth, their friends had held contests on who could tie their laces in the most unconventional and coolest ways. Actually, Froste had had shoes just like these, and they vaguely remembered the crisscrossing pattern they had shown off to now faceless people. They absently poked at their laces while they thought, until they suddenly looked up at Zula. They had remembered something. They turned back to the shoe they were nearly done lacing and undid it all just to redo it a different way. This time, they were confident they knew how.

They ended with a monochrome checkerboard pattern, and when they tightened the laces, it all came together in a way that brought a proud smile to their face. So satisfied with their accomplishment, they almost didn’t notice how tight the shoes actually were. Froste offered their foot to Zula so she could look over the laces. “I think my friends and I used to play this game in school where we would reward whoever tied their shoes best. We even brought in other kids to judge, and once even a teacher.” Only then did they realize how silly it was to be proud of something so dumb, and the smile fell away from their face. Zula was waiting on them to leave, and here they were making pointless shoelace art.

But they couldn’t just leave the other shoe. Luckily, its knot was much easier to tug loose, and it didn’t take Froste long to make the same pattern with this shoe. When they finished, tying it, they finally hopped off the bed. On their feet, they wondered how Zula could tolerate shoes with such little support, but they kept their complaints to themselves. “So,” they said, ready to move away from talking about shoelaces. “What kinds of places do you have in this city?” They started for the hallway and assumed Zula was following them. “What do you and your friends like to do for fun here?”

[Namingtoohard]

Froste’s sullen tone was enough to let Zula know that she’d hit something of a sore spot, despite the brevity of their response. The knowledge didn’t bother her all that much. Her guest’s memory problems were a bit of a defining issue right now, and they’d need thicker skin than that to survive the modern world, to say nothing of life with her. Besides, after all the effort she’d put into reviving them, and with no real guarantee of compensation, they owed her a couple of jokes, at the very least. With her death looming, she needed some way to blow off steam.

Zula didn’t dwell on the subject for long. She just shuffled around into a sitting position and began picking at her own shoes. Unlike her guest, she had no problems pulling the old knots apart, or slipping her feet inside. Her hands twisted the laces into basic knots seemingly of their own accord, working with the absentminded precision that accompanied a lifetime of practice. She never would’ve appreciated such a thing before, but Froste’s unique situation had given her a little bit of perspective on the matter.

As soon as she was done, Zula threw a glance towards her companion, and found that they were still struggling with the first step. Wrinkles creased her brow, but she quickly decided against commenting on their lack of progress. They’d already made it perfectly clear that they didn’t want her help, after all, and she suspected that more teasing would just delay them further. With nothing better to do, Zula planted both of her hands on the floor behind her, leaned back, and tried to look like she wasn’t staring. They’d probably had enough of that recently, too.

She watched on idly as Froste finally got the old knots undone, and started the slow process of loosening and re-threading the entire shoe. Then, when her guest looked up at her suddenly, Zula straightened a little. She began to rise, anticipating a reluctant admission of incompetence, and was surprised when her guest started attacking their task with an unexpected burst of energy. She made no attempt to hide her staring as Froste finished the rest of the shoe in record time, weaving the laces into a checked pattern that she’d never seen before. When they extended a foot towards her, she couldn’t help but shuffle towards them a little, so that she could get a closer look.

“Huh.” Zula’s response wasn’t at all proportionate to the story she’d just been told, but the curiosity in her tone suggested that she understood the implications. While Froste busied themselves with the other shoe, Zula finally climbed back to her feet. The fire mage waited with uncharacteristic patience as her guest finished their work, before following them out into the hall. When Froste began to question her on the particulars of the city that surrounded them and her lifestyle a few smartass comments sprang to mind, but Zula quickly bit them back. She wouldn’t have showed that sort of restraint around anyone else, but…well, Froste’s situation was impossible to forget. Zula knew that his inquiries were genuine, no matter how basic they might’ve sounded on the surface.

“You can find most of the basics pretty close by. Shopping, restaurants, clubs, coffee shops, all that shit. Be careful with that little coffee cart on the corner, though. It tastes terrible, and it’s strong enough to kill a horse.” Zula had learned that lesson the hard way. She still went there occasionally. Usually after a big night out, when she needed an injection of pure caffeine big enough to kill a horse-sized hangover. There was no telling how well Froste’s body would cope, though, after they’d spent so long under ice.

Zula paused briefly when they reached the front door. She took a moment to stuff her wallet and keys into her pockets, snatching them from a ceramic bowl sitting atop an out-of-place nightstand that crowded the door. Once she had everything, Zula would step out into the space beyond, and pull the door closed behind them. Then it was past the old elevator with an ‘out of order sign that had been there for years, and down the stairs beyond. Once they’d started their descent, she’d pick up right where she’d left off.

“If you travel a little further out, then there’s this cool little lane that’s dedicated to street art. All the buskers go there, and everything’s covered in really vibrant graffiti. There’s a library with a dedicated section for our kind, too, and a couple of hangouts specifically for mages. Places where you can show off your skills, or where the staff use theirs as part of the service.” As the pair rounded another landing and started down the next section of staircase, Zula tugged at the sleeve of her jumper idly, making sure her necrotic flesh was hidden from view. A needless gesture, performed without any active thought.

“I tend to prefer those last ones, but my little circle is happy with any sort of nightlife. Most of our usual spots probably won’t open for another couple of hours, though.” Zula was puffing a little as they finally reached the ground floor, and not just from the climb. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken so many words at once. With her monologue finished, she turned her attention to the security door at the far end of the hall – the only thing left separating Froste from their first experience with the outside world. Zula continued towards it without missing a beat, as if this weren’t some sort of important threshold for them. She just glanced over her shoulder at Froste idly, and posed a question of her own. “Did any of that pique your interest, or should we just wander a bit and see what we find?”

[Ashen]

As their tour guide answered their question with a plethora of hangout spots, Froste felt overwhelmed. They wanted to see all of it, experience the world they didn’t remember, or perhaps didn’t know, but how could they choose any one place to start? Zula had so much to say, and while they appreciated her warnings and suggestions, they wondered how they would ever get to all of it.

They couldn’t help themselves. As Zula described her favorite spots, Froste daydreamt about them. Even if they were only minutes away from seeing these things for themselves, they imagined what they would look like, what they would smell like, the too-strong coffee, the towering library shelves, the lively street art. Froste held onto these mental images, desperate to tie them to something from before. Hadn’t they ever tasted a drink too strong? Lost an afternoon in a library? Created their own art? But of course, the more they reached into their fragmented memory, the more blank space they grasped at until, defeated, they gave up.

It was then they realized they had stopped moving, and that Zula was waiting on them. A blush ran to their face, and they mumbled some kind of apology before following after her again. Beyond the threshold she stood in was the world Froste had lived in once. Their foot hesitated, afraid of the first step. They had been asleep for twenty years, and before that, there was no telling who they might have been. What if they didn’t belong in this world? The collapse of the research facility; they should have died back there. How would they ever fit in this new world, on borrowed time, that had outgrown them?

They swallowed the bitter thoughts. Zula was, once again, waiting on them, and she did not deserve to put up with another of their identity crises. Idly, Froste wondered if they would ever stop overthinking everything. After their raging thoughts from today alone, they were mentally exhausted, and they wished they were used to their circumstances already, if only to give their hastened heartbeat a break.

They jogged up to Zula, an apology somewhere in their expression. She had asked them a question, and they felt the overwhelming sense of dread crawl back to them. They had to pick somewhere to go. “We…” they started, but their attention was pulled to the world around them.

It was the same city they had seen from Zula’s fire escape only a few minutes ago, but this time, they didn’t have the advantage of being a few stories removed. The apartment buildings formed narrow alleys around them, some decorated with lifeless graffiti they could barely read, and others filled to the brim with dumpsters, trash bags, and abandoned broken appliances. Froste thought to approach one of the appliances, crack it open and see how it worked, but they didn’t want to keep Zula waiting even longer. They could smell the clashing aromas of different food trucks nearby, and their stomach turned from the assault. Someone was laughing nearby, and a few other people were loudly gossiping. This was a city, a real, living city, nothing like the brochures and far more beautiful as a result. For several moments, they stood in front of Zula’s apartment building, awestruck. Their reaction didn’t make sense, not even to them. They must have been here before, or to a place like it. Everyone had been to a city at least once, right? But the more they tried to remember, the more they suspected this was entirely new for them. They hoped Zula wouldn’t mind a bit of gaping at their surroundings.

They still hadn’t answered her. Froste pulled themselves from their appreciation of the city to look at Zula, and they cringed at the irritation written all over her face. “Oh, sorry,” they mumbled. “Let’s… let’s go see the art you mentioned.” It seemed like a safe bet, and the way Zula had spoken about it suggested she liked going there too. Besides, Froste was sure there were a million ways to mess up a shopping trip, or a trip to a restaurant, just because they didn’t know the etiquette. There was no way to mess up appreciating art. …They hoped.

As they made their way through the streets, Froste took in as much of the city as they could. They admired the cars, so sleek and colorful and not quite how they remembered. Did they know how to drive? Maybe they’d find out, much later. Everyone around them was dressed so uniquely, and Froste tried to guess at current trends from what they saw around them. There were so many different styles, however, that they soon gave up on that task. The smells got stronger as they went, and as they passed by a food truck, their stomach yowled. Twenty years of fasting was catching up to them, and their gaze lingered an extra moment on the menu before pulling themselves away. Even the sun seemed different, so much brighter than they remembered even through its blanket of clouds, but that probably had more to do with the darkness of the cave they’d been in than anything else.

Wanting to fill the silence lest Zula think them strange, Froste replayed everything she’d said, intending to ask for her opinions on an itinerary. Their mind snagged on something, though, and they looked over at her suddenly. Her friends preferred nightlife. Then… “Am I…keeping you? From your friends?” Even if Zula had willingly sought them out, and brought them home with her, she hadn’t signed up for babysitting a grown adult—and one older than her at that. Froste was being an inconvenience, interrupting her life to make her walk them around her city. But there was nothing else for it; they needed to know where they were, and they needed to be patient if they were ever going to remember how to save her life.

Instead of feeling guilty about it, they’d just make it up to her. They wanted to buy her a drink, or dinner, or treat her to something she liked—did they even know what she liked? Probably something hip and flashy, something they wouldn’t know anything about—but without money, they had no way of doing that. They would need to be creative. When they got back, they could cook her dinner, if they remembered how to use a stove.

They weren’t going to settle on it long. Neither of them needed that negativity. “I’m sorry about that,” they said quickly. “Once I get the hang of things around here, I’ll stop being such a nuisance. In the meantime, though, I’ll try to make it worth your while.” The grin on their face was sincere, pretty. Even if Zula was only humoring them to save her own life, that didn’t meant they couldn’t enjoy their time together. “So,” they said, facing forward again and motioning an arm in front of them. “How far is this street art lane?”

[Namingtoohard]

Zula had expected Froste to be overwhelmed by their first glimpse of the city. Hell, she’d expected another overwhelmed breakdown to bring their expedition to a very premature end, based on the way things had played out so far. What she hadn’t expected was for them to stand there, awe plastered across their face, for so long that the delay began to chafe at her. Irritation twisted the fire mage’s features into a scowl, despite the knowledge that she was being unfair, and despite her attempts to reign her temper in. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Froste glanced at her, and finally got the hint. As soon as they made their choice, she turned in the appropriate direction and began to walk, setting a casual, relaxed pace.

A whole litany of strangers, all dressed in different colours and styles. The sleek, modern cars that lined the sidewalk, and occasionally flitted past. The smell of greasy street food, too alluring to ever be healthy. All the things that struck Froste as new and strange and amazing were all utterly unremarkable to Zula, their lustre dulled by the thick gauze of familiarity. The fire mage just continued to stroll, both hands tucked deep into her pockets, while she kept a subtle eye on the stranger beside her. Zula was perfectly content with silence, and didn’t want to interrupt as Froste tried to take everything in, so she made no attempts at conversation herself. It was only when her guest broke it, another question upon her lips, that she deigned to speak.

The topic they chose elicited a soft chuckle from Zula, but it was one devoid of any real humour. “Nah. I’ve been keeping my distance recently. If they found out about my…situation, they’d kick up a huge fuss that would be more trouble than its worth. I’ve got enough on my plate right now without all that bullshit getting in the way.” There was a little more to it than that, but Zula’s tone suggested that she didn’t really feel like elaborating. Froste was still something of a stranger, after all, and she wasn’t a very social person at the best of times. Even so, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder how her motley group of friends would react to meeting her guest. Probably a question better saved for another time.

When Froste followed up with an apology, Zula was quick to shrug it off. Even if they were directly benefitting from her actions, she wasn’t doing it for their sake. Not really. There was only one sort of compensation that she wanted – needed – and her guest was fully aware of that. Still…she wouldn’t object to a little more freedom, and she was more than a little curious as to what they intended. Zula only stood to benefit from their attempts, so why dissuade them? “I look forward to seeing what you come up with” was all she said, before moving on to their next question.

“Probably ten minutes or so, at this pace. I don’t mind if you want to look at some other shit on the way, though. We’re not really on a deadline, so take all the time you want. I mean, it’s not like I’m dying or anything, right?” The last line was intended as a joke, but Zula’s delivery was totally deadpan, which might’ve made it a little difficult for a relative stranger to tell. She really didn’t mind if Froste wanted to explore a bit, when literally anything might help jog their memory, so hopefully they would realise she was joking, and her tone wouldn’t put them off the idea altogether.

Zula quickly lapsed into silence then. She was perfectly happy to give Froste some time to decide, and see if anything they passed caught their eye. That’s what she told herself, anyway. Apparently her mouth didn’t get the memo, because after just a few moments, Zula found herself speaking again. “So, uh. I know it’s still early, but what do you make of everything so far? Is this…helping at all? With your memory, or with anything else, really.” The question slipped out before she could stop it, and god, Zula hated how desperate asking made her sound. She had known that her problem wasn’t going to be a quick or easy solve, and the last thing she wanted was to make Froste feel pressured into giving her results. A false positive could kill her quicker than just doing nothing, after all. And yet, here she was, asking anyway.

[Ashen]

Froste caught Zula’s irritated expression out of the corner of their eye. She was trying to hide it, or to calm herself down altogether, but there was no mistaking that this was not how she’d planned on spending her day. Despite knowing this, Froste couldn’t rush their walk for her sake. There were too many interesting things all around them, and they were having a hard enough time not wandering into every building they passed by. Their window shopping alone left them with more questions they knew what to do with. The boutiques beckoned, holding all of the secrets of today’s trends; the restaurants sang to their stomach, showcasing pictures of foods Froste had never seen before; they didn’t even know what a vape shop was, but it looked nice and colorful, and they wanted to follow the sign out front and inquire within about bitcoin, whatever that was. They wouldn’t remember to ask Zula half of these questions, but they were alright with that. Maybe who they had been wasn’t as important as living in the moment.

Froste didn’t know how to respond to Zula’s answer. They had expected her to have a group of close friends, several people who knew about Froste and what she wanted of them. The truth gave Froste pause. If Zula couldn’t trust her friends to not make the situation worse, maybe they weren’t good friends. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and besides, no one would want unwarranted criticism from a stranger. So Froste did not reply, only mumbled an acknowledgement of her answer, before they thought of something else. If her friends didn’t know about her condition, or about Froste… Did anyone know Zula had brought a total stranger into her house? What if they had turned out to be a monster? How long before Zula’s body would have been found, and—no, maybe it wasn’t worth thinking about. Zula was trusting them, and with so much on the line, they were no one to scold her recklessness.

At her next comment, Froste stopped to turn to her, trying to determine from her expression if she’d been joking. Her tone indicated a passive aggression, and Froste did not know how to respond to that. “We…” they started, but their voice trailed. Zula was being impatient—anyone would be, in her position—but her anger was misdirected. It wasn’t Froste’s fault she was in this mess, and it wasn’t their fault they couldn’t remember how to fix it. Or maybe she had been joking, and none of this was as deep as they were making it out to be. Froste sighed, and they continued walking without a word. There were so many things they did not understand, but Zula would perhaps earn her place at the top of that list.

The storefronts they passed still called to Froste. The law firms, the medical practices, and the hotels all tugged at their attention with their giant signs and flashing lights. But the enthusiasm they’d just had for exploring the city was dulled. Their attention was on Zula now, and the pressure they felt to remember something. Her curse was more than a looming death threat. It had made her hide her body under layers of clothing, and it had pulled her from her friends, and required her to trust strangers who could easily take advantage of her. They needed to help her before the curse could sabotage any other parts of her life, or kill her outright. How could they focus on the city around them with that kind of pressure?

Her question eased the pressure somewhat, as it allowed them to think of something else. She sounded uncharacteristically uncertain in asking it. Froste considered making up a memory to try to put her at ease, but they quickly dismissed the idea. Zula had been too kind to them to deserve their dishonesty, and besides, lying to make other people happy just wasn’t something they wanted to do. Froste considered her question for several silent moments.

“It is helping,” they answered after a small sigh. “After such a long nap, it’s nice to get out and stretch my legs, and observe the happenings around here. I’m enjoying getting to know you better, and see the kind of life you must lead.” They knew that wasn’t what she’d been asking about, but they didn’t know how to tell her they didn’t remember anything without disappointing her. “I don’t think I’ve been here before,” they said instead. “It’s a nice place, and it seems like there’s so much to explore.” They gave Zula a wide smile. “Thank you for coming with me.”

They looked away then, and returned the question to her. “How about you? Is this more exciting than watching your one lifeline sleep for a few days?” They chuckled a bit and glanced her way to catch her reaction, to check if those kinds of jokes were okay. “I do hope I’m better company now.”