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

[Namingtoohard]

The start of Froste’s answer was enough to make Zula perk up a little. She visibly straightened, and found herself watching her guest with renewed interest. It quickly became apparent that they weren’t talking about the sort of progress that she’d been hoping for, that she needed, but Zula tried not to blame them. It had been foolish of her to expect anything so soon, and the path to recovery was never a straight line. The fact that they were feeling better at all, and hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down yet, both seemed like good signs regardless. And…after all the effort the fire mage had put into reviving them, a part of her couldn’t help but feel glad they were doing okay, independent of her whole mess.

As they continued, Zula found herself weirded out by how overwhelmingly polite her guest was, for the second time that day. By how intent they seemed on thanking her, complimenting her, and just…expressing their appreciation for literally everything. She’d never experienced anything quite like it before, and it put Zula on edge for some reason she couldn’t quite name. It almost felt like they were trying to manipulate her, or they were afraid of falling out of her good graces. But could she really blame them, when she had unwittingly made them so dependent on her goodwill?

Zula mulled the possibility over for a few moments, before she realised that it might not be about her at all. They had no real idea how long Froste had been frozen before she had come along and finally set them free. If they were acting like someone from another time, maybe it was just….well, because they were from another time. A fact that was shockingly easy to forget, given how normal they looked right now. Mismatched clothes aside, anyway. They certainly had stars in their eyes as they took everything in, but so did half the tourists she saw.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Froste turned the question back around on her, with their own little flair. The dark humour made Zula snort softly, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, absolutely. But then, you didn’t set a very high bar to clear. There were times when I considered setting the place on fire just to shake things up a little.” A man in a yellow shirt stepped into her path, holding out a flyer, but Zula brushed past them without a second thought as she continued. “As for your company…jury's still out. Ask me again after we’ve made it back to the apartment.” She was chuckling softly now, laughing at her own riposte. There was no missing her growing smirk either.

When they reached the next intersection, Zula threw only a cursory dance in both directions as she stepped down off the curb. She slowed her pace just enough to let a taxi pass them by, before crossing the street without breaking stride. They were close now, with just one more street to go. As Zula stepped up onto the opposite footpath, her gaze drifted to the rows of shops once more, and another thought popped into her head. “Maybe we should buy some of the shit you need today, since we’re already here. Should probably save it for the walk back, though.” There was no point in carrying all those bags around any longer than they had to. Hopefully she had enough in her savings to cover the essentials. They’d find out soon enough, she supposed.

Halfway down the next street, they finally arrived at their destination. A long and narrow tiled plaza, tucked away between a two-story pub and some sort of trading firm. The entrance was guarded by a phalanx of metal bollards, stalwartly insisting that only foot traffic was allowed. Even from this distance, Zula could see splashes of colour along the walls. She could hear the faint lilt of live music too, just barely, buried beneath the regular sounds of the city. Spurred on by the knowledge that they were so close, drawn by the wonders the plaza promised, Zula picked up the pace. She pushed through the crowd with growing abandon, smiling all the while, and trusting that Froste wouldn’t be far behind.

Then she rounded the last corner, and was struck by a wave of wonderful, vibrant life. An explosion of colour and sounds, as overwhelming as it was brilliant.

Both of the walls that lined the alley were blanketed in graffiti, from one end to the other. So much so that it was impossible to guess what the walls were originally made of. There were no scribbled tags or crude dicks here, either. All of it was art, true art, crafted with real precision and care. There were pop artists rendered in stunning likeness, their music made visual around them. A set of feathered angel wings, painted at such a height that you could stand in front of them for photos, and pretend they were your own. There were movie characters, aliens, moons and trees. Even a few strange, abstract pieces that Zula couldn’t even begin to make sense of. They all blended together into a single mural, with no clear indications as to where one piece ended and the next began. She could even see an artist at work, painting some new creation over an older piece that had already been on display for months.

And that was only the beginning. A handful of people milled about in a small circle, standing around a street performer as they waited for the next show to begin. He looked like a magician to Zula, judging by the bag of goodies that waited near the middle of his little stage, but there’d be no telling until the show actually started. The music seemed louder now, too, and Zula cast her gaze around, searching for the source. After a few moments, she spotted it - a lone musician, sequestered away at the far end of the plaza. She sat on a small stool, strumming idly at the acoustic guitar that laid across her lap. The guitar’s case sat open by her feet, ready for any expressions of appreciation the crowd was willing to give.

It was a smaller crowd than Zula had expected, honestly, but that fact did little to dull her appreciation. She took in the collection of marvels in silence for a moment, a rare, genuine smile softening her features. When she turned back towards Froste, it was for an entirely different reason than before. She loved this place more than she did most people, and was eager to see what they made of it. Was eager to see if they’d be as enraptured by it as she had been, the first time her friends had dragged her here. “So, what do you think? Was this the right choice?”

[Ashen]

All the pressure that had been built up by their conversation this far evaporated as soon as Zula laughed. Froste still didn’t understand her, and they figured that would come with a lot more time spent with her, but for now, they were content to know they could bring her a small amount of joy even despite everything. They looked around again, their eye catching on several new stores they were now passing. The shopping trip Zula suggested was nothing but exciting, and Froste looked forward to coming back almost as much as they looked forward to seeing the art hub she was leading them to.

The burst of color visible over the heads of the crowd was the first thing Froste saw. They stopped walking, starstruck, not knowing where to direct their gaze. There was so much to see that it was hard to not get overwhelmed. Froste first turned to the murals, massive and towering over the crowd. They were made from a variety of art styles, a collection of pieces from different artists, and they featured a bit of everything. Froste approached one wall and drew their fingers against one of the paintings. It featured a person with bright blue-and-yellow patterned skin. Pop art, that was what this style was called. Froste had never seen it used to such a beautiful effect, and they fell in love with the artist without even knowing them. They wondered about the person in the painting, if they were famous, if they had ever seen this art of them. Before they could ask themselves too many questions about it, they wandered to the next wall.

A person was crouched against this wall, working on a new mural with an array of green spray cans. Froste got the urge to grab one of the cans, to see if they could make beautiful art too, but they decided against it. Getting arrested for theft and vandalism probably wasn’t a good way to help Zula, as much as their curiosity called to them. Instead, they watched the artist work in silence for several minutes, a bouquet of compliments stuck in their throat. They didn’t want to disturb an artist at work, though, so they kept to themselves until finally, they continued onwards.

Froste studied every inch of every wall, trying to guess at the subject of each mural. Some of these people seemed familiar, as if they were celebrities from a different time, but Froste couldn’t place any of them. They preferred the abstract art anyway. Planted in front of one such mural, their eyes traced the delicate, multicolored lines, and they lost themselves in the art. The streets, the people, the chatter, everything else fell away as Froste wandered through this piece, imaging the artist’s process. They could easily spend the whole day here speculating new interpretations for this piece alone, but after several long minutes, they remembered where they were, and that they weren’t alone. They were being horribly rude in ignoring Zula, so they turned to find her.

But Zula for her part was having just as good a time as they were. Froste hadn’t seen her this excited about anything before, and they admired the stars in her eyes as she took in the scene around her. A fellow lover of art, Zula looked at home in this place. Her appreciation was clear in her face, and Froste felt they learned more about her in just this look than they had in their whole morning with her. They felt they could get lost in this, too, in watching her passion burn brightly behind her eyes, until someone bumped into them and they remembered where they were.

The music filling the air was the next thing they noticed, and Froste wandered towards the source. A musician was strumming away at a guitar, and Froste watched her fingers for a short while. Her movements were familiar, and Froste tried to mimic them, strumming at an invisible guitar. They knew this feeling; they had played a stringed instrument before. They held onto this tiny victory, this vague memory, and tried to follow it further. Had they taken lessons? Had they been any good? They absently reached towards the musician, wanting to try out her guitar and see for themselves if they knew how to play it, but they stopped themselves once again. They let the musician continue her beautiful song, longing for anything to offer her for her for the experience of her art.

They then realized, once more, that they’d lost Zula. Froste thought she had followed them towards the musician, but she was no longer beside them, and they couldn’t see her through the crowd. She shouldn’t have been hard to find, what with her colorful hair and her repellent personality, but if was as if she had disappeared. “Zula?” Froste mumbled as they pushed through walls of people to try to find her. Feeling like a child who had lost their mother, Froste swallowed the dread creeping up their throat and went searching for the only person they knew.

They found her standing in front of a stage, where a performer was getting ready for something. Before Froste could even reach her, they stared up at the performer, admiring his outfit. There were sequins and sparkles and a really big hat, and they wondered if his fashion tastes were as outlandish to the crowd as they were to the cryogenic sleeper. That didn’t stop Froste from wanting to try on such an outfit, though, and see if they could make it as a performer. If they really had been a researcher, they doubted they had much experience entertaining, but the thought still tugged at them.

Zula’s question pulled Froste’s attention away from the stage, and they realized then just how distractible they’d been since they got there. They mumbled a quiet apology for that before smiling into their answer. “It’s magical,” they breathed, gesturing around them. “Coming here, I feel rejuvenated. Inspired. I could spend days here looking at the art alone. Do the pieces change frequently?” They motioned their chin towards the stage. “Is there a show coming? Can we stay and watch it? Have you ever performed here?” Like an excitable child, they had no shortage of questions for their guide. Froste wanted to learn everything about this place, and their enthusiasm brought a wide smile to their face. They turned back to the stage, trying to guess at what kind of show was going to take place.

[Namingtoohard]

It took Zula a couple of moments to realise that she was alone. When Froste failed to answer her question, she glanced back over her shoulder and realised they had frozen, starstruck, several metres behind. She watched as they beelined towards whichever mural had caught their eye, her presence momentarily forgotten. The sight brought a small smile to her lips. It felt like they’d still answered her question indirectly, even if it wasn’t the sort of response that she’d been expecting. She’d done almost the exact same thing the first time she’d been brought here, more than a year ago.

Some small, instinctual part of Zula’s brain tried to insist that she follow her companion. It argued that she couldn’t afford to let Froste out of her sight, when they were currently her best chance at survival, just in case something happened. Zula quickly squashed the urge. Froste was their own person, a grown adult, and she wasn’t their mother. Besides, it was the middle of the day, in a semi-crowded street. They were safe enough, and she wasn’t going to steal this moment from them by hovering like an over-anxious parent.

That left the fire mage with some unexpected free time. A welcome break, after Zula had spent so long babysitting, and she was happy to capitalize. She set off down the alley at a casual pace, meandering through the crowd slowly. She let her attention wander freely, drifting from one piece to the next in no real pattern. When she neared the performer and his little crowd, Zula moved to join them, quickly claiming some vacant space with a decent view for herself. Then there was nothing for her to do but continue to enjoy the art, to appreciate the guitarist’s music from afar, while she waited for the magician to decide the crowd was big enough for him to begin.

She was still there when Froste finally reappeared, pushing through the growing crowd in an attempt to get to her, before getting sidetracked by the performer themselves. Zula greeted them with a genuine smile, made larger by the sight, and just the general experience of being here. Far from annoyed that they’d brushed off her question the first time, she posed the same one again, more interested in the answer now that they’d had some time to explore and take everything in.

Her smile only grew as they expressed their appreciation for everything they had seen, all the vibrant sights and sounds that surrounded them. This time, at least, the overwhelming abundance of praise seemed to fit the situation. The barrage of questions that followed was enough to make Zula laugh, long and loud, and perhaps it was a testament to their surroundings that nobody found it strange or looked twice when she did.

“There’s usually a couple of new pieces every other week. Most of the artists are respectful enough to avoid painting over anything new. There are plenty of Insta accounts cataloguing all the pieces, too. I’ve always suspected that they’re all coordinating, but...” Zula punctuated her words with a casual shrug, silently confessing her ignorance. She turned her gaze away from Froste, then, and back towards the performer that they were all waiting on. “I don’t mind hanging around for a bit. I already have a pretty good idea of what to expect, but I won’t spoil the surprise.”

It looked like they still had a few moments before the performer began his show, so Zula filled the silence by responding to the last of Froste’s questions. “I’ve never performed here, no. I don’t have those sorts of skills.” The only real abilities she had were magical ones, and displaying those in public was generally ill-advised. Froste’s question did make her wonder if anyone had ever tried it, though. Practiced real magic in front of a crowd, whilst pretending they were just performing regular parlour tricks. The fire mage certainly wasn’t powerful enough, and lacked any sort of variety, but maybe someone out there had. Hell, maybe that’s why big names like Houdini or Penn and Teller were so famous to begin with.

“I would’ve liked to try it, once, but I was never very good at practicing. Always had other things on my mind. Maybe one day, though, when time is less of an issue.” Zula trailed off again, before shaking her head at her own foolishness. Coming here always kindled some sort of strange yearning in her, made her prone to overly sentimental fantasies. Thankfully, she was saved from any follow-up discussion by the performer. He finally began to speak, his voice projected by a small mouthpiece and a common Bluetooth speaker, drawing everyone’s attention with promises that he was about to begin. Zula fell silent then, turned the whole of her attention his way, determined to let Froste watch the show without interruption.

Zula’s assumptions about the man’s performance were quickly proven correct. Most of the tricks he performed were common street magic. Coloured handkerchiefs, pulled from the sleeve of his outfit in seemingly endless numbers. A traditional black-and-white wand, used to produce a bouquet of plastic flowers out of thin air. A pair of linked metal rings, quickly pulled apart and joined back together again despite a lack of visible openings. The man even pulled a fake rabbit from his hat, as was only traditional. Most of them were tricks Zula had seen before, and she even knew the secrets to a few of them. She kept her mouth shut, though, still determined to avoid ruining the show for her companion. Even so, a part of her still couldn’t help but admire the man’s showmanship. His dedication to a craft that many might consider ‘old’ and ‘overdone’, and the artistry of it all.

“He’d certainly be popular at children’s birthday parties” she muttered softly to herself, once the man had announced that his show was over. Even so, Zula continued to watch as he plucked his oversized hat from his head, placed it on the ground in front of him, and set about packing up his equipment. The vast majority of the crowd began to disperse, but a few people stepped forward to throw coins into the man’s hat. He met each of them with a smile, a bow, and a few short words of thanks. The sight made her pause, just for a moment. She slipped a hand into her pocket, dug out her wallet, and rummaged around in it until she uncovered a couple of loose coins she’d forgotten she had.

“Here. Take these.” She took a moment to tuck her wallet away again, before pressing the spare change into Froste’s hand. Only afterwards did Zula hesitate, wondering if her guest remembered what such a gesture meant. “If you enjoyed the show, you can throw your money in the hat as a gesture of appreciation, like everyone else. If not, then maybe we can go give it to the lady with the guitar instead.” She wasn’t entirely sure that throwing away more money here was wise, but would it really make a difference, compared to what she was about to spend on clothing her guest? Zula doubted it. Besides, she enjoyed supporting the people who worked to make this place such a wonder. More sentimentality, forcibly dragged out of her by their colourful surroundings.

[Ashen]

The idea of this alley, this hub of art and music and entertainment being a different place every few weeks, washed in new murals and filled with new performers, left Froste feeling excited about the future. They didn’t know when they would get their memories back, if ever, or who they would be when they did, but they hoped that, if they were still here, if they were still trying to help Zula a few weeks from now, the two of them could come back here and take in the beauty surrounding them once more.

They were just about to ask Zula what an Insta was when the performer addressed the crowd. Everyone looked to the stage, and for the first time, Froste noticed the lack of wires attached to the speakers. Was the performer amplifying his voice himself, maybe through magic? Or was this something very mundane that Froste was too ignorant to understand? They didn’t have long to think on it, because soon, the show was starting, and the performer stole whatever thought they’d had.

The smoke that billowed out of hidden machines off to the side of the stage cloaked the performer’s feet, making him seem like he was in the clouds. Froste recognized his common magic tricks, even if they didn’t quite know how he pulled them off. They were fascinated by the special effects, and by the way the magician owned his stage, celebrating his theatrics and using his sense of humor to highlight some tricks. Froste watched him, fascinated, and clapped whenever a trick was finished. At the end of the show, they stood, joining a few others already offering the magician a standing ovation. Even if Zula thought this performance better suited for children, Froste was completely charmed, and they expressed their enjoyment to Zula as people started dispersing down the alley.

“That was incredible.” Though they spoke to Zula, they were still watching the stage. Some people had formed a line from it to drop coins into the magician’s hat, and the performer looked humbled by the attention he was getting. “I was impressed by the sleight of hand in particular, and all the colorful lights and smoke made the whole thing feel…magical. If this is what the street performers are like here, I can only dream of the professional shows. How captivating they must be.” Froste sighed as they thought about it. In their rambling, they didn’t notice Zula reach for her wallet, so when they turned to her to accept the coins she gave them, they raised a brow in question. Understanding her intention before she even spoke, a new smile bloomed across their face, and they gratefully accepted her money.

It was a way to show the magician their appreciation for his show, though Froste lamented that it wasn’t really from them. Despite her tone, Zula really was a nice person, and they added this to the mental list of things they’d have to pay her back for. In the meantime, though, they thanked Zula with an appreciative bow of their head and excitedly made their way to the line to the stage.

They didn’t wait long before they were in front of the magician. They dropped a coin into his hat and complimented his showmanship, telling him it was the best show in recent memory. It wasn’t a lie, but the magician didn’t seem to believe them, and he waved them off with a humble smile. “Thank you so much, sir,” he said, but he faltered. His eyes trailed Froste’s body, their interesting choice of clothes, their long hair, and he shifted uncomfortable. “Ma’am,” he corrected, then added, “I’m so sorry.”

But Froste only chuckled. “Don’t worry about it,” they assured him. “I don’t know either.”

The strange look they got in return suggested that was not the correct thing to say. Froste thanked the magician for the show again, wished him well in his future endeavors, and then wandered off, unperturbed. They went to the guitarist, who was still strumming away, though she was playing a softer tune now. Froste threw their other coin into the guitar’s case, and when the guitarist met their eye, they gave her a smile and a small wave. Then they left to find Zula again.

While they would have loved to spend the whole day here surrounded by art, they wanted to save some of the amazement for next time, and there were plenty of other things to see in the city. The thought of that did worry them somewhat, though. They were already feeling tired—not physically, they’d slept too long for that. They became hyperaware of all the people around them, and they wanted to get away from them. Maybe, they thought, they were an introvert, or maybe this was all too much too soon. Either way, they didn’t want to go home quite yet.

When they met up with Zula again, they asked her, “Where should we go next?” Remembering what she’d said before, they suggested, “Is it time for that shopping trip?”

[Namingtoohard]

Froste’s lengthy, rambling praise was enough to coax another small smile out of Zula. She’d expected her guest to be mystified by the show, and had expected them to compliment it as thoroughly as they did everything else, but their sense of wonder was still infectious. More surprising was the commentary on the magician’s sleight of hand, and his use of the smoke machines and lighting. Zula certainly hadn’t thought about that sort of thing the first time she’d seen a magician perform. She’d only been a child, admittedly, but still. The insight was a reminder of sorts. Froste’s condition might have made them ignorant, but that didn’t mean they were stupid. Something she’d do well to remember going forward.

While her guest moved to join the line of people waiting to offer the performer their gratitude, Zula opted to stay put instead. She saw no need to join them, when she could just continue to relax and take in all the art. As such, the fire mage totally missed the brief discussion that Froste and the magician shared. The next time she took notice of her guest was a few moments later, when she caught sight of them strolling towards the guitarist. Zula chuckled softly to herself at the sight. Of course her generous guest had decided to split the coins to reward both of them. Of course.

Once the two of them were reunited again, and Froste asked about their shopping trip, Zula reached for her phone. A quick glance at the screen was enough to confirm that they still had some time before things started closing. She responded to her guest’s question with a simple nod, before asking them to follow. Then she led them back the way they’d come. Out of the alleyway, away from the music and laughter and bright colors, and back into the streets beyond.

As Zula slipped through the crowd, her attention was fixed on the rows of shops that lined both sides of the street. Designer brands greeted her, one after another. The streak-free windows were filled with mannequins and stands showing off jackets and purses and shoes, all emblazoned with logos that anyone from this century would recognize immediately. Zula knew without looking that most of the price tags probably had more zeroes than her bank account. Even if they walked past the displays to the ‘cheap’ options, they’d probably all cost more than she could comfortably afford. Zula cringed a little at the thought. She needed something considerably cheaper. They were here for basics anyway, so she doubted Froste would complain.

After a few more minutes of walking, she finally spotted a store that was a little more appropriate for their price range. Zula bee-lined towards it, once again trusting that Froste would follow. She stepped over the threshold and found herself standing in a quaint little shop. Clothing racks lined the walls, while tables of folded merchandise and mannequins filled the rest of the limited space. Invisible speakers were playing some of the best hits from twenty years ago, the music only just loud enough to drown out the sounds of the cars outside.

A sales assistant looked up from her work as soon as Zula entered, and offered her a smile that looked as forced as any she’d seen. The woman stepped around the table and walked towards them, abandoning her work in favor of greeting the new customers. “Hi there! Can I help you with anything today? Are you looking for something in particular?” Her words were cheerful on the surface, but Zula doubted they were any more sincere than the rest of her.

“We’re good.” Zula brushed past the woman without so much as a glance, her presence forgotten as soon as she was out of sight. The sales assistant rolled her eyes behind the fire mage’s back, but even if Zula had noticed, she wouldn’t have cared. She just headed deeper into the store, making her way towards one rack that looked particularly promising. She spent a moment leafing through the plain-colored shirts for a moment, before realizing that she’d forgotten about one basic detail. The fire mage glanced back at her companion then, lips pursed.

“You probably don’t know what size you are, right?” Her gaze flickered down Froste’s body and back up again, appraising. “Well, aside from being bigger than me.” She turned back to her search for a moment, before holding up a black shirt labelled as a medium. Zula pulled it from the rack and held it up in front of Froste, trying to eyeball it. Then she swapped it out for one labelled as a large and repeated the process. After a moment of silent deliberation, Zula stuffed both into her guest’s arms, before repeating the process with a few pairs of equally plain pants. “Go try those on, and let me know which ones fit properly” she instructed simply, before turning back to her search. Hopefully this would be a little easier once they knew what to look for.

[Ashen]

Walking through the city the second time was no less exciting than the first, but this time, Froste made an effort to not keep Zula waiting quite so much. Their attention still snagged all too often on the people around them, the cars cruising by, and the storefront window displays of every shop. They paused in front of some designer clothing store and studied the mannequin on display. It wore an obnoxiously-patterned dress with a matching handbag. Was this how people dressed nowadays? They couldn’t see anyone around them sporting the same tacky style, and they were relieved at that. Wherever Zula was taking them, they hoped there were better, more palatable outfits there.

Zula was halfway down the block when they realized they’d stopped despite making an effort not to. Froste caught up with her with a quiet apology. “Hey, where—” they started, intending to ask about their destination, but they saw Zula’s face twisted in irritation. That was her norm, they realized that, but they wondered if they had upset her somehow. She likely wasn’t thrilled about having to waste money on the grown adult she was babysitting. The guilt from that snapped their mouth closed, and they dismissed whatever they’d been about to say.

The clothing store Zula chose was much more modest, and Froste appreciated the normal-looking clothes on display, even if some of the designs were still strange to them. They were cheerily greeted by an employee, but Zula’s dismissive tone silenced the other woman. Froste looked towards the sales assistant with an apologetic look, but they stopped when they noticed her rolling her eyes at Zula. Maybe it wasn’t just Zula; maybe people were just more openly rude now. Froste wondered why that might have been, but they quickly dismissed the thought to focus on all the choices around them.

It was then that they heard the music playing somewhere overhead. They hummed along with the song for a few moments, instinctive. When they realized what they were doing, they stopped to see if Zula had noticed. They knew this song, or had known it at some point. They couldn’t remember its name, or who was singing it, or even most of the lyrics, but they recognized it. The joy of that small victory gave was drowned out by frustration. How could they remember such pointless things and still not know who they were, or how they could save someone’s life? It was still early in their recovery, they tried to remind themselves, and they had to be patient. It was enough for now to hum a song they hadn’t heard in over twenty years.

After just a few minutes in the store, Froste wished Zula hadn’t dismissed the employee. They didn’t know where to begin with fashion, and they could have used the help. Whatever aesthetics they’d favored before were likely outdated now, not that they could remember them in the first place. Deciding to start with the things closest to them, Froste approached a table of shirts and picked one up. It was a graphic tee, something that never went out of fashion—they hoped—and this one had a smiling cartoon character on it. They were trying to remember if they had seen those bunny ears or rosy cheeks before when Zula called them over, and they abandoned their pursuit.

She had found several things for them, and the knowledge that she was only trying to determine their size did little to make them feel less overwhelmed. Froste shifted all the clothes in their hands and tried to ignore the dread creeping into their throat. At this rate, they’d be here all day trying on different outfits. Glancing around the store, they found the fitting rooms at the back, so they took all of Zula’s picks and went to try them on.

Even if they were overwhelmed, they were glad Zula was here. Alone, they probably wouldn’t have even thought to get their size first; they likely would have tried things on at random until they’d found something they’d liked that also fit. Froste focused on the things she’d chosen, and when they had a better idea of their sizes, they returned to the front of the store. “That’s a start,” they mumbled to themselves. Now they just needed to search the entire store in search of something that they liked out of the many, many options.

Froste poked through rack after rack, trying to find something that wouldn’t make them look silly. They glanced towards the graphic tees, wondering if they’d recognize any of the images on them. Maybe a polo shirt would be better, something simple and unassuming. They wondered if they could rock a bold look, like the brightly-colored button-down shirt with the pineapples all over it. There were also the dresses, comfortable and elegant and probably easier than coordinating a shirt and pants.

That made them pause. Froste turned to Zula, who was still trying to help them find something fashionable. “Hey, um.” It was a weird question, and they felt weird for asking it. “Do I look more masculine or feminine?” Until they figured out their style, they wanted to avoid standing out in a crowd, and they would need to know how the people around them perceived them. Froste ran their hands through their hair, then looked down at their long legs. Maybe something feminine would fit them better. But masculine styles seemed so much simpler. Did it even matter?

They had spent too long in that clothing store; Froste knew because the sales assistant kept giving them dirty looks, as if asking them to leave. They couldn’t help it. Froste was indecisive, at least about something as important as defining their fashion sense, and the situation was made more stressful by the knowledge that they were definitely getting on Zula’s nerves. Finally, after what felt like years of searching, Zula had helped them to pick out an outfit. They’d been partial to the loose-fitting blouses, and they’d chosen one with an abstract plant-like pattern. Jeans had been the simplest option for pants, so that was what they’d gone with. As they walked to the registers together, Froste looked over their choices again. “You’re sure these look…normal?” they asked. They looked back up at her. “Thank you, again,” they said with a smile. “You really didn’t have to do all this. It’s been…tough, all this, and I appreciate you making it easier.”

[Namingtoohard]

Once Froste had finally retreated to check their sizes, Zula resisted the urge to reach for her phone, and went back to flicking through the clothes instead. There was no point in grabbing anything before her guest returned, but maybe a little browsing would give her ideas. After a couple of moments, though, her attention snagged on a dress covered in sunflowers. Zula hesitated briefly as she took it in. It wasn’t her usual style, and it certainly didn’t suit her modest tits, but with the right accessories and shoes, maybe…no. It was way too cold out for something like that, and buying shit for Froste was going to suck enough without her driving the price up even more.

Matter settled, she placed the coat hanger back on the rack, just in time for her guest to return. Now that her first question had been answered, Zula forced herself to focus on the task at hand again. She worked her way from one display to the next, before finally admitting to herself that she still had no real idea what she was looking for. Had no idea what styles, cuts, or even colors Froste preferred. Would they even know? Clothes shopping suddenly felt like a much more difficult task than it had been just a few moments ago.

She was just about to abandon her efforts when Froste approached and asked a rather unexpected question. Zula opened her mouth to respond, only for the answer to die on her lips. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more – her sudden uncertainty, or the fact that they felt the need to ask to begin with. Among all the things they might’ve forgotten, she hadn’t expected that to be one of them. Did the dressing rooms here not have mirrors? But…maybe it was wrong of her to assume things were that straightforward. Froste wouldn’t be the first genderqueer person that she’d met. They were still waiting for an answer, so Zula looked them over with again, while trying to forget her initial assumptions.

After a few seconds of silent scrutiny, Zula pursed her lips. “I was going to say masculine, but now that I stop and think about it, you could probably pull off either.” Zula answered honestly. She was aware that it probably wasn’t the most helpful answer, but if that meant they’d have more freedom of choice, then so be it.

Zula abandoned her own search then, opting to follow Froste around the store instead. She trundled after them silently, just in case they had any more questions, or needed a second opinion on anything that managed to catch their eye. It didn’t take her long to start feeling like the bored spouses that seemed to fill most boutiques, following their partners around out of some imagined obligation. Between one stand and the next, she finally gave in to urge to check her phone, and promptly frowned when she saw the time. She had no problems brushing off unwanted pests, but she wasn’t enough of a Karen to feel comfortable keeping the staff back past closing time. She’d need to kick Froste up the ass if they didn’t decide soon.

When they were finally on their way to the register, Zula glanced at her companion, a soft chuckle slipping from her lips at their second-guessing. “They’re normal enough” she answered mildly, not sounding concerned in the slightest. “The blouse is a little more flamboyant than what most people wear, but not enough to draw attention.” She hesitated then, just for a moment. “And…you’re welcome.” Apparently the constant slew of gratitude had finally worn her down. She wasn’t a totally heartless bitch, no matter how much she liked to pretend otherwise.

As the lady behind the counter scanned and bagged their purchases, Zula reached for her phone again. A few quick button presses were enough to bring up her digital card, which she quickly waved over the reader when prompted. She prayed silently for a moment, and only relaxed when the machine beeped that the transaction had been successful. Froste settling for just a single outfit had certainly helped in that regard, though their prudence likely meant that they’d be back sooner than she was comfortable with. And there were still things like shoes and underwear to consider. Problems for another day, she supposed, if only because all the other stores would be closing before long. Assuming they hadn’t done so already.

With their goal finally accomplished, Zula turned away from the counter and made her way for the door. She left the bag behind, perfectly content to let Froste carry their own purchase. It was hard for her to feel guilty about that when they were so much bigger than her, and she had bankrolled their entire expedition.

Out of the store, and back onto the sidewalk again. No longer in a rush, Zula waited for her companion to join her this time, before she gave Froste another appraising glance. “How are you feeling now? Should we head back to my apartment, or do you still want to do a little more exploring?” She didn’t have any specific destinations in mind at the moment, and wasn’t particularly bothered either way, so it felt like a good idea to let her guest make the decision, based on how fatigued they were feeling now.

[Ashen]

It must have been magic. Froste had no explanation for whatever Zula did with her cell phone, but the little screen on the card reader flashed as if it had accepted a payment. The cashier handed them their purchases and told them to have a good day, but Froste was baffled. They hadn’t paid. Had they? Zula was already putting her phone away and heading towards the door, clearly unaware of their confusion about the whole situation. Had she paid with her phone somehow? Froste followed after her, shaking their head in disbelief. This future was such a strange and interesting place, and they wondered how long it would take them before they stopped being surprised by the accomplishments of technology.

Once outside, Zula asked how they were feeling, and Froste considered that carefully. They reflected on their day, at all they had learned and done. They were feeling less sick than when they’d first woken up, and a little more confident about themselves, even if they still couldn’t remember who they were. The world, though odd, wasn’t too different from how they remembered it, and now they even had a new outfit to wear so they wouldn’t look so out of place—or so they hoped. There was still so much to explore and learn—there had been many shops they’d passed on their walks that had called to them, to say nothing of the things they hadn’t yet seen—but as excited as they were to keep going, their body shuddered at the thought.

Fatigue crept into the corners of their vision and weighed their limbs. A yawn climbed from their throat and formed tears at their eyes. Froste didn’t want to rest; they had spent twenty years comatose, and they were ready to make up for lost time. But as much as they did not want to admit it, they were exhausted, and saving the rest of their city tour for another day was probably a wiser choice. They’d have time later. Though when they looked up at Zula to reply to her, their decision wavered. They might have had time, but did she? Was it a good idea to be frolicking on the streets while she was actively dying? Froste shook the somber thought from their head. Without their memories, there was little more they could do anyway. Even if these adventures didn’t help them remember, they hoped they’d at least make Zula’s life a little more interesting than wasting away in bed waiting.

Another yawn escaped them, and they covered their mouth before mumbling an apology for it. “Let’s come back another time,” they suggested. “If I don’t sit down soon, my legs might just give out on me. I haven’t walked this much in decades, you know.” Their words were punctuated by light laughter that ended in a content sigh. It had been a long day, even if it had only been a few hours since they’d first awoken. They let Zula lead the way and followed her back to her apartment.

When Froste was finally able to wrench the shoes off their feet, they sighed heavily, until they realized they had not bought shoes on their outing. Next time they went out, they would need to borrow Zula’s shoes again, and the thought of that caused a dull ache to spread across their toes. Hopefully shoes weren’t as expensive as they feared, and that they could get their own pair soon.

Their stomach rumbled, and when Froste remembered the pizza they had refused earlier, their mouth watered. They walked to the kitchen, but they stopped halfway. Even if Zula was lax about them being here, Froste still didn’t feel comfortable sifting through her things alone. They called her name, then shifted awkwardly under her gaze. They felt like a child. “Would you like to have dinner with me?” Their phrasing was weird, and they internally cringed at it. “I can help. Just tell me what to do.”

Once they had finished eating, Froste felt themselves losing to their battle against sleep. They realized, guiltily, that this was probably the first night Zula would have in her bed since she’d found them, and Froste was happy to take up a less inconvenient space on the couch. “I wish I could stay up,” they admitted, but a yawn broke their words, proving their point. They sat on the couch and watched Zula for a moment. Her graciousness was not selfless, they knew, but still, they were indebted to her. Froste didn’t believe in a god—or, they didn’t think they did—but they prayed that they’d have their memories in the morning, that they’d remember who they were and, most importantly, how to save their only friend’s life.

“Thank you,” they mumbled sleepily. “For saving my life. For your generosity. Your kindness is not lost on me.” They plopped onto her couch and stretched their legs above the armrest. “Tomorrow, I promise to be more helpful.”

[Namingtoohard]

While Froste pondered their answer at surprising length, Zula found herself considering their condition again. They’d managed to stand on their own almost immediately after waking, and now they’d spent an entire afternoon out on the town without showing any signs of real weakness. After spending two decades on ice, she was constantly expecting Froste to be weak and lethargic, but they’d defied those assumptions repeatedly. Maybe they were about to prove her wrong again. At some point she’d need to stop underestimating them, reevaluate her opinion, and give them the credit they so obviously deserved.

Froste responded to her silent musing with a big yawn, right on cue, before finally giving the answer she’d been expecting to hear all day. Apparently her guest was human after all. The thought brought a small smile to Zula’s face, and mild amusement quickly grew into full-fledged laughter at the little joke that followed. It seemed that the two of them had at least one thing in common, trappings of circumstance aside. Zula turned for home then, quickly moving to lead the way again. And this time, she made a conscious effort to moderate her pace, for Froste’s sake.

Zula led them through the complex’s front doors and up the stairs, every motion and gesture habitual. She started trying to dig her keys out of her pocket just a few steps before they reached the correct floor, and she knew the perfect way to jiggle the old lock to stop it from jamming. Then, just like that, they were home again. Zula braced herself against the wall with one hand and quickly kicked off both of her shoes, before taking a moment to empty her pockets onto the hallway table, keeping only her phone on hand.

She made for her room then, only to pause when Froste suddenly called out her name. Zula backtracked just enough to give them a curious look, only to blink in surprise when they posed their question. Her guest’s choice of words brought several dirty jokes to mind, and the only thing that stopped her from blurting one out immediately was her inability to choose which one she liked best. Then the moment had passed, and Froste was still waiting for an answer. Feeling a little disappointed in herself for letting such an easy opportunity slip by, Zula finally nodded her agreement, before turning to join them.

Once they’d collectively demolished the rest of her leftovers, Zula slumped in her seat a little, a content sigh slipping past her lips. Froste’s awakening was tangible progress towards her goal of not dying, she’d gotten out of the house for something other than basic necessities, and her stomach was full. It had been a damn good day. When her guest’s words pulled Zula from her thoughts, she glanced across at them, before chuckling softly to herself. “I don’t” she answered simply, and she meant it. The sleepless nights she’d spent hunting for a cure were starting to catch up with her, to say nothing of her time on the couch. Zula was normally a night owl, but she’d be glad to turn in early, just this once.

Blissfully unaware of the scrutiny she was under, Zula continued to relax in silence, before shifting uncomfortably when Froste began to thank her. Their praise was less of a shock this time, after her realization earlier, but she still wasn’t particularly good at accepting compliments. Given the circumstances, though, she was willing to try. “There’s no pressure, yeah? I know you don’t have any direct control over it. But, uh, yeah. You’re welcome.” She rose from her seat then, perfectly happy to consider Froste’s drowsy tone a dismissal of sorts. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without any further discussion, Zula headed down the hall, and slipped into her room.

~~~

Zula woke slowly the next morning. Consciousness snuck up on her the way sunrise sneaks up on night, or a snail sneaks up on a billionaire. The first time her eyes fluttered open, they only stayed that way for a few moments, before she groaned softly and buried her face in her pillow again. It was another twenty minutes before the growing pressure on her bladder and the lure of a hot shower finally convinced her to throw back the covers and drag herself out of bed.

She made it all the way to her bedroom door before she remembered that there was another person in her apartment now. Someone who could still be asleep, or might see her walking around in just her underwear. Zula wasn’t exactly shy, and the bathroom was only a couple of steps down the hall, but it still didn’t feel like a risk worth taking. A part of her suspected that Froste would be more embarrassed than her, but that felt beside the point. With a measure of reluctance, she took the time to throw on yesterday’s shirt, before gathering up the clothes that she intended to put on once she was clean.

There was no sign of Froste when she darted across to the bathroom. Once Zula was sequestered away again, she was quick to set her clean clothes aside, before she discarded her dirty ones. After she’d relieved herself, Zula turned on the shower, waited for the water to start running hot, and finally stepped inside. A soft sigh slipped from her lips as the heat rolled over her, and the fire mage’s eyes flickered closed. She stood there for a long moment, just letting the heat work the tension from her shoulders. The air was thick with steam long before she finally reached for the soap.

Zula lathered herself at a relaxed pace, humming an off-key tune entire time. At least, until she caught a glimpse of her necrosis, visible through the suds. Zula slowed at the sight of it, her song dying in her throat. The sight of her dying flesh didn’t unsettle her, exactly. It had at first, but that had been weeks ago, and she’d grown accustomed to its presence since. It wasn’t pain that put her off, either. That was constant, always there, but…quiet. Muted, even. Like her brain had grown bored of such mundane suffering and decided to start ignoring it.

No. It was disgust that gripped her now. Disgust and fear. Every time she thought of her affliction, Zula was overcome with the urge to look, while simultaneously dreading the possibility that it had spread. Her every moment was soured by the knowledge that the next time she checked, it might’ve crept up past her elbow, or even to her shoulder, without her realizing. She was disgusted not by her necrosis, but by how terrified she was of dying. Of the weakness that this curse had fostered in her, and was now forcing her to confront. That bothered her more than the pain ever could.

It wasn’t long before the water started to run cold. A soft sigh slipped from Zula’s lips then, all traces of her good mood vanishing down the drain. She finished cleaning herself as quickly as she was able, before finally turning off the water. After she’d finished toweling herself off, Zula finally dressed in the fresh clothes she’d brought with her – underwear, black leggings, and a simple tank top. Finally feeling partially awake and halfway presentable, she started down the hallway, planning on checking if Froste was awake yet.

[Ashen]

Froste knew they were dreaming. They were looking down at a wide, empty room, as if they were somehow perched on the ceiling. Below them was a chair, like those found in dentists’ offices, with more straps and metallic attachments than they could count. There was a person sitting in that chair, strapped in place and clearly in pain. Despite the person’s pale skin, her bald head, and her eyes burning with agony and hatred, Froste knew in their heart that that person was them.

They didn’t question how they knew, or why this person looked so different from the one they’d seen in the mirror’s reflection. In dreams, there was little room for logic like that. They just knew that this woman, held against her will with needles stabbed through both her arms, was them. An electric blue liquid flowed from the syringes into her veins, and they saw it map her body, painting her inner workings from her neck to her naked waist to her bleeding toes. The liquid made her body glow, and it was then that they could see the scars scissoring her torso. Froste cringed. They didn’t know what had happened here, but whatever it had been, something had tried to tear her chest open.

Someone new entered the room then. He was wearing a lab coat, and underneath it, Froste could see the edges of a bulletproof vest. This scientist was protecting himself, but from what? Froste? She was so firmly strapped into the chair that no amount of human force could break her out. Froste watched from the ceiling as this newcomer approached the Froste in the chair. He examined her naked body, ignoring the pain in her eyes, the anger in her enclosed fist. He traced her veins with his gaze, then wrote something on a small pad he slipped back into his coat pocket. Satisfied with whatever he’d found, the scientist nodded to himself and hit a button on one of the chair’s attachments.

Electricity shot from one of the needles to singe her flesh, and she filled the room with her howls. The blue dye in her veins sped through her body, and with the next jolt, it all went to her head. Froste forced their attention to the needle, but where it had been stabbed into her skin was now encased in ice. The scientist noticed too, because he sighed and shook his head. “A failure,” he muttered. “Twenty-two is a failure.” And with the third and final invasion of electricity, the Froste in the chair stuttered and then grew still.

She was dead.

When Froste awoke, panting, the first thing they did was look at their hands. Their skin was the brownish hue they remembered, and when they reached for their head, they took comfort in the long waves that curled between their fingers. They were themselves again—whatever that meant. They cast a glance around the room to find that they were on Zula’s couch in her living room. Yesterday, she had woken them, and walked them around her city, and eaten dinner with them. Satisfied they could remember that much, they put their hand over their chest and tried to catch their breath.

Their dream… Why did it feel more like a memory? Froste clutched their head as a migraine crackled from their temple. It couldn’t have been a memory—they couldn’t have been that person in the chair, dead—but why, then, did they feel her pain, feel the fire in her veins, the anger in her heart? Who was that scientist? Who was the woman in the chair?

They were pulled from their thoughts when they noticed someone singing. Squinting against the pain in their head, they blinked the world into focus again. The shower was running. The notes of Zula’s song were pleasant, grounding, until they suddenly stopped. Froste took that as their cue, and on unsteady legs, they pushed themselves off the couch.

After the wave of nausea had passed, they looked down at their hands, as if expecting to see that same blue dye from their dream. Their arms looked normal. They tried to think of why they would ever be in such a strange situation, and they wondered if it had anything to do with their magic, or the magic they’d been studying. Was such a thing strong enough to kill people? How could something so evil also be used to save someone’s life? They tried to remember, but the more they thought about it, the worse their head ached.

They didn’t know what magic they had been researching, but they did know they were capable of other kinds. They could create and control ice—wasn’t that how Zula had found them? And if they could use their magic for something inconsequential, they hoped that would be the key to unlocking more memories about it. But when Froste focused on their hands, moving their fingers to some imaginary beat, they realized they didn’t know how to coax the frost from their fingertips.

When Zula found them, she was already dressed for the day, and Froste was made aware that they were still in yesterday’s clothes. Of course they were, it wasn’t like they had pajamas, but they still felt wrong, somehow. Shaking their head, they smiled at Zula and tried to ignore the pain in their head. “Good morning,” they greeted cheerily. “I hope you slept well! Hey, um, can you teach me how to do magic?”

There were about a thousand ways to ask that question that didn’t sound quite so awkward, and Froste cursed themselves for not picking any one of them. “I had a dream,” they explained, even though it explained nothing at all. They cleared their throat. “I had a dream,” they started again, “that someone was injecting magic into me, I think. That sounds…ridiculous, I know. But it got me thinking.” They held their hands out to her, palms up. “I remember being able to use magic before. Ice, I think. I just don’t remember how. And since you’re also a mage, I thought…” Their voice trailed as they realized how strange all this was. The poor woman was barely awake, and here they were bothering her about something so weird. Froste shifted. “So I wanted to know how you get the magic to come out,” they finished quietly.