“Is that something people do with magic? I could get behind that.”

It is an idle comment, and the moment she’s said it, Eschalot regrets it. It was the kind of banter she’d shared with her squad back in the day. Casually cruel, making a joke of death and the promise of violence. She was supposed to have left that kind of thing behind, but it was hard, sometimes, to remember the bounds of polite society.

She glanced to the pink-haired woman now sat next to her (had she always been there? Eschalot wasn’t really paying attention) and took her in. The level of power was… significant, by local standards, but hardly overwhelming. Not something to be worried about at any rate.

As the newcomer set the tone, the Saiyan grabbed a handful of bread and stuffed it into her gaping maw in virtual mimicry of the woman’s table manners. The horrified expressions of the well-to-do found no purchase on her or her new companion. She could feel bad about making jokes about killing people, but fine dining? That would always be a somewhat secondary concern for her. Etiquette in such matters was … difficult to worry about to any great degree.

The magician on the stage was not so unconcerned by the peanut gallery, though, and shot the pair daggers from the stage. Literally. A flourish of his hands, and a pair of gleaming steel daggers materialised above the table before spearing hard into the surface of the wood.

“IF you are QUITE finished, ladies.” He announced, loudly, “The show IS about to begin, and whilst I hadn’t prepared a cutting people in half trick, the temptation is growing more prominent by the second!”

For her part, the Saiyan looked suitably impressed. She wasn’t listening overmuch to what the guy was actually saying any more, but she did draw one of the knives from the table, as the fellow guests gave quiet applause and amused laughter – as though this was supposed to have actually cowed the Saiyan and the Demon into mute silence at such a display of obvious power.

Eschalot wiped crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand, and brought the weapon up to her eyeline, inspecting it curiously. On the stage, the magician was continuing to discuss his next trick, as a crystal ball floated in from the side.

“This magical orb may not seem like much to the uninitiated.” He crooned, “But to those of us with the arcane eye to see, it is a gateway into the future! A window into the past! A mirror that reflects possibilities too intangible for the merely-mortal mind to comprehend!”

He seemed to be getting more and more into his spiel, when Eschalot chose to interrupt. Food still hadn’t been brought out, but her hunger was replaced with curiosity, and now she had questions she really wanted to know an answer to.

“Hey. Did you actually make this out of nothing, or did you summon it from somewhere?” She shouted at the stage, waving the dagger from the table. She continued to speak, but at a lower tone, to Kuueru. “I mean, I don’t know which is more impressive really. Turning energy into matter is pretty intensive and he didn’t seem to break a sweat, but warping space enough to teleport an object from somewhere to somewhere else with that kind of precision? That’s awesome too.”

These things WERE theoretically possible with energy manipulation as she understood it… but the magician had no real ki energy in him to speak of; his powerlevel was pitifully low. How could a man like that pull off tricks like this?

(Wordcount: 620)

The man on stage practically deflated at Eschalot’s further interruption.

“It is magic.” He said, as though he were talking to a child – which proved, really, that he was a terrible performer. You don’t engage with a heckler like this. You either ignore it, or cut them down. “I don’t have to explain anything.”

That response just infuriated Eschalot more, and she glowered at him as she sat back in her chair and sighed. Casually, she flung the knife up into the ceiling, where it punched through the tile of the roof and hung there. It was annoying her. She’d leave it there and see if it was still there at the end of the show, but she wouldn’t have to keep looking at it and pondering the inner mysteries of the dagger.

This distraction also meant that she completely missed the demon summoning food – which would have brought about all sorts of other questions. Instead, she’s just confronted with crackers, which she takes a large scoop of and shovels into her mouth. “Thankth.” She spluttered about it. “Thith thow ith kind of a dithapointment.”

Slow food, and more questions than answers so far, she was starting to feel like she wasn’t going to get much out of this.
Thankfully, for both of them, food did start to arrive shortly after that. Waiting staff came in from the sides and laid out large trays of salad and delicate bowls. The Konatsians on the table began to take the tongs and spoons on offer, helping themselves to small portions of leafy greens and light drizzles of exotic dressings as the man on stage entered into the first part of his proper show.

This mostly seemed to revolve around summoning an increasing number of metal rings – large hoops in a variety of shimmering colours – which he assured the audience, and showed through tossing them around and to some lucky people who hadn’t been heckling him – were completely solid, then attaching them to one another with light raps and touches.

Eschalot helped herself to one full tray of salad, picking the whole thing up and dumping it on her plate as though daring anyone to object. A bowl full of dressing winds up poured over it, and she uses two pairs of tongs – twirling them akimbo – to begin tearing into what was supposed to be a dainty and delicate serving for the table.

“Is there actually no meat in this?” She asked, thankfully between mouthfuls this time, “I swear, nothing on this planet makes a lick of sense.”


(Wordcount: 433 / 1524)

“Mortals? Implying you’re not one?” Eschalot asked, scrutinising the woman next to her for a moment. But, well, she looked normal enough. It wasn’t like she had a halo or a pair of horns, those were supposed to be the traditional give-aways, weren’t they? Not that she actually believed in demons or kaioshin; those were bedtime stories for naïve children. If such things existed, she was sure that she’d have seen them by now, the amount of death and destruction she’s meted out and witnessed in the galaxy… any Gods would have to be blind or cruel to allow it to continue without interruption, and demons just seemed superfluous when the galaxy was filled with so many people willing to be monsters all on their own.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully as she eyed the man more closely. She wasn’t sure she could explain how he was doing what he was doing with the rings, but this wasn’t the kind of magic that she had been excited to see. She thought that magic was turning people into frogs, summoning bolts of lightning and blasts of flame. The knives had been impressive, but this? This just felt like parlour tricks.

“I don’t know.” She admitted, when asked what she thought of the man. “I mean, the knives were impressive. He didn’t throw them, he’s got some ki but it is a pitifully small amount, I would have felt it if he was just using physical power to throw them at us. It could be a machine of some kind I suppose, a matter converter or teleportation device, but to do it with such precision at a relatively long range with no indication of how it was done…”

She trailed off again, and seemed to lose interest in the food – which was the excuse the waiters had been waiting for in order to liberate the tray from the woman and rush it out back before she could cause any more distress to the more well-to-do guests at the table. She stared intently at the Amazing Taraj and his continuing demonstration of magical talents.

Now, he had produced a transparent box full of water, and a pair of assistants were tightening him into a straitjacket and wrapping him in chains. Lowered into the water, there were gasps of appreciation from the crowd as he wriggled and squirmed, apparently trying to free himself before he drowned. This just got rolled eyes from Eschalot.

“But this stuff?” She said, waving her hand dismissively, “I mean, what’s so impressive about this? Any Saiyan worth their salt would be able to tear their way free from that kind of binding. If this is what magic is all about, I’m very disappointed.”

(Wordcount: 467 / 1991)

Eschalot looked askance at Kuueru as she confessed to being a demon, as though trying to work out if the woman was just making a joke in poor taste or was actually being serious. She definitely didn’t look like a demon. If she had to guess, she’d have gone with human – though she could easily be a blunt-eared Konatsian, or a Kabochan with an unusually short forehead. She could even be a Saiyan who dyed her hair. Really, the galaxy was filled with a lot of races that looked very similar to each other, so trying to guess was always a difficult proposition. But demon? Really?

“I don’t think it is magnets.” Eschalot said, doubtfully. Her eyes drifted back to the stage, and she tried to put the woman’s words out of her head, but it was difficult. It was made all the stranger by the fact the woman clearly didn’t consider it anything particularly noteworthy. It was like she considered it obvious, or as irrelevant as the weather outside.

At least the actual food was being served up now. Meat and vegetables – not in great quantity, and the serving staff are being careful to keep the trays out of Saiyan-grabbing-range this time – but that was at least a partial distraction from the woman’s wild claims.

Only, it wasn’t enough. Eschalot didn’t particularly care about the man on stage any more. He was either a charlatan, or the ‘magic’ he was using was of a kind that was completely useless to her, in either case she couldn’t find it in herself to keep pretending to pay any attention to him when she was, apparently, sitting next to an actual demon.

“So.” Eschalot said, between mouthfuls of juicy steak. “If you’re a demon, shouldn’t you be in Hell, or cursing everyone here horribly, or something?”

The Saiyan was being much less circumspect in her voice – apparently, discretion was not something that the Elite was used to, and it was only the fact that the people on stage were clearly trying to ramp up the show and make it as dramatic as possible which kept the attention of the other guests on the entertainment, rather than their boorish dinner companion.

“You don’t look very demonic. I always thought demons were supposed to have horns and wings and stuff. You just look… normal.” She narrowed her eyes, and focused her senses on Kuueru, even as Kuueru focused on the stage. “You don’t feel too strong, either…”

And, there it was! If Kuueru was able to keep her focus through the insistent questioning of the curious Saiyan, she’d feel the briefest flicker of magical energy on the stage, and then Taraj would suddenly no longer be in the box, but would be standing at the front of the stage, dripping wet, much to the rapturous applause of the audience as he took his bow.

(Wordcount: 494 / 2485 Queen Kuueru)

Apparently, her newfound dinner companion was determined to push this ‘demon’ delusion as far as it could go. Eschalot had no idea what the distinction between ‘Demon Realm’ and ‘Hell’ was, and ‘Other World’ was just a euphemism for the afterlife, wasn’t it? She frowned deeply as she found herself concentrating more intently on Kuueru – she wasn’t even touching her food, which spoke volumes as to the level the demon had actually managed to unnerve her.

“Hey, now.” She said, tapping her fingers on the table. “My name’s Eschalot. Let’s not start with that whole ‘Saiyan’ business, or I’ll start calling you ‘Demon’.” That was where a lot of problems stemmed from, wasn’t it? People assuming that because they knew where you were from, they knew everything there was to know about you. Eschalot was a Saiyan, yes, and she had a lot of the traditional Saiyan baggage – but she wasn’t a lapdog for the Queen, and she wasn’t that interested in fighting for its own sake. That alone set her apart from her fellows in a number of core respects, and apparently this demon wasn’t the kind of cackling monster she had always associated with the term, either.

When her eyes turned bloody red, though, that leant credence to her claims more than anything else. A shiver ran down Eschalot’s spine, but she couldn’t deny the usefulness of it. If it weren’t for Kuueru’s apparently mystical nature, she would not have been able to guess how that was actually done – but apparently there was something to this magic stuff after all. From what she’d seen, with animated bones, elemental forces shooting her from walls, and now an actual demon having a dinner conversation as though it were no big deal… yeah. Eschalot’s scepticism had its limits. When the universe is showing you that kind of evidence, maybe it is time to concede that magic might exist. Which meant she wanted to know how it worked.

“That’s not a bad idea!” Eschalot said to Kuueru’s joking suggestion. The magician was already taking his final bow and stepping back behind the curtain. Now, Eschalot stood up, and clapped her hands together.

“Interrogation might be a strong word, but I didn’t come here to watch parlour tricks, I came here to learn how it’s done. Want to go ask a few questions?”

It was a genuine question – she was hardly going to force Kuueru to come with her… but either way, the Saiyan was making a beeline for the backstage, employees-only area now; she might not go looking for fights all the time, but her way of dealing with problems was still rather… direct.

Wordcount: 461 / 2946 Queen Kuueru

As much as Eschalot might dislike the assumptions that tended to follow her given her choice in clothing, she couldn’t deny that sometimes it was a useful tool. Most people assumed that, as a Saiyan, she was violent, loud, and prone to outbursts of sudden property damage. All of those things were true, of course, but she did try to target that rage in a useful direction. It wasn’t like she wanted to cause trouble for normal people. In fact, much of her life was now about trying to atone for the sins accrued when that wasn’t true!

But regardless, the armour – and the reputation that came with it – meant that it took a very brave civilian indeed to tell her that she couldn’t go somewhere she wanted to go, and it didn’t seem like there were any in the serving staff tonight. Eschalot led the way with her ‘demon’ friend in tow, and when they made it to the gaudy door, she rolled her eyes.

“Should have expected something like this. At least he isn’t hiding.”

The muttered condemnation of his arrogance was followed by even more eyerolling when Kuueru opened the door and disturbed what looked like it was going to be some sort of love-in. Taraj was rather less sanguine about it. In person, he also seemed... much shorter than he had done on stage. He barely came up to Kuueru's shoulder!

“What is the meaning of this?!” The ‘wizard’ spluttered, “You two aren’t allowed back here! Get out before I call security!”

Eschalot chuckled dryly at that, and shook her head, stepping around the side of her pink-haired companion to pinch the bridge of her nose with one hand, and hold up a gloved finger with the other.

“Look. We’re not here to cause trouble. We just have some questions about how you were doing what you were doing. You didn’t like me shouting questions in the show, so what else was I supposed to do?”

Taraj drew himself up to his full, rather unimposing, height, and adjusted the wizard’s hat atop his head. His hands found his hips, and he glared between the Saiyan and the Demon in equal measure.

“I don’t care what kind of questions you have!” He huffed, “A magician never reveals their secrets! That’s the Code, right there. See? So you’ll just have to stay wondering. If you want to know how to do magic, find some other poor fool to take you on as apprentices, I certainly have no intention of helping you!”

Eschalot didn’t respond to the little man’s outburst, though her frown did deepen considerably at it.

(Wordcount: 454 / 3,400 Queen Kuueru)

“Hey, now, Kuueru, don’t you think that’s a bit… extreme?”

Eschalot was clearly unnerved by the dark tendrils now wrapping around the unfortunate man, and the way in which they’d been summoned. She didn’t recognise the language but it was disturbing on her ear in a way no other language she’d heard in her travels through the galaxy had been. It set her teeth on edge, and it definitely didn’t look… good. Then again, the woman had been pretty clear that she was a demon. This sort of thing wasn’t too surprising, it just also made her wonder about the trustworthiness of her companion.

Luckily, she didn’t have to worry about it too long. As the tendrils tightened around Taraj, there was a faint pop, and an inrush of air, and he was suddenly standing to the side of the mass of squirming darkness, adjusting his clothing with a huff of irritation at the interruption.

“If you must know.” The little man complained, bitterly, “I am an enchanter.” He held up his hand, and removed one of the white gloves he wore, to show a silver ring etched with an intricate rune, faintly glowing – though not so much that it would be visible through the gloves.

“The knives, the rings, I’ve made all manner of magical trinkets. I might not be much of a conjurer.” He shot a disapproving look to the squirming mass of tentacled darkness he had escaped, “But I have plenty of tricks of my own. Happy, now? Are you going to leave me in peace?”

He still didn’t seem terribly intimidated. Perhaps he had more defences of his own, and was trusting them against the women who had decided to invade his dressing room. For her part, Eschalot looked even more curious at the revelation, peering in to take a closer look at the ring and the intricate design within it.

“So, you just make a few markings on metal and suddenly you can teleport?” She asked, “How is that even possible?”

Taraj put his hands on his hips, and huffed in irritation. “It isn’t anything so simple as that!” He exclaimed, “A true item of power needs to be tailored to the inner workings of the cosmos! It needs to be made from exactly the right blend of materials, it needs a power source, ideally it needs to be attuned to its wearer. It takes years, decades even, to learn how to craft even the most basic item, and years more to craft each individual one when you’ve learned the art!”

Eschalot looked sceptical, looking between Taraj and Kuueru, “Is this guy for real?”

Wordcount: 451 / 3851

Taraj hmphed with frustration, and brushed himself down as the demon offered her apology. “Yes. Well.” He said, “Enchanting is a more subtle art than conjuring. I can’t hold your scepticism against you. Now, if you would both be so kind as to leave.”

Eschalot, noticeably, did not apologise for her own part in the interruption or the frustration she’d caused. She was frowning deeply at the explanation that had been given, but she couldn’t see any other way of getting more out of him than literally picking him up and shaking him – which seemed a bit excessive, following the tentacle-hell he’d just been put through. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders.

“If you say so.” She said to Kuueru, taking the woman at her word – that this was, in fact, legit, and this was how it worked. Apparently, there were demons in the universe who could summon tentacles, and magic that worked because you just scratched the right kind of markings on some metal. It seemed utterly absurd to her, but what did she know? Apparently the galaxy was a far bigger and more varied place than she had given it credit for.

Walking out past Kuueru, she stopped in the hallway, and sighed, folding her arms across her chest.

“This planet gives me a headache.” She said to the other woman, “I think I’m going to take off and try not to come back. All this magic stuff? Seems like something I’m not going to be able to get my head around. Give me an engine or a brawl any day. Those things I get. Nothing here seems like it should work the way it does.”

She paused for a moment, hesitating in her denunciation of magic and all the wonders that it entailed, before she continued – the woman hadn’t seemed quite, right, since she backed down from her demands of Taraj.

“If you want, you can come with me. I’m probably going to go and find some assholes to punch in the face. The universe is full of them, and it always helps me feel better.”

The offer was made casually – but it was no less heartfelt for that. She could tell that Kuueru was struggling with something, even if she didn’t have any idea as to the specifics. She seemed like she might be fun company, and she meant what she said; there was nothing more clarifying for a Saiyan than a fight against someone who deserved to be beaten down. Maybe it would help. Or maybe they’d part ways, and that would be the end of it.

(Wordcount: 441 / 4292 Queen Kuueru)