Amdirlain’s PoV - Material Plane - Qil Tris


    With Jal’krin starting to stir, Amdirlain used the washroom and changed into clothes she’d made a few days prior. The bright green summer dress swirled around her knees as she tested her legs'' responses swaying before the stove filling pans with thin slices of steak and eggs. Not finding a toaster or anything like it, she threw the local butter in a third pan and added halved rolls but held off trying to duplicate French toast.


    When Jal’krin woke up, he bounced out of bed and found a wobbly-looking Am cooking breakfast. At the noise of him yanking open his bedroom door, Amdirlain’s ear perked up, and she turned to find him framed in the doorway, staring at her in disbelief, wearing yet another sleeveless t-shirt, this time muted yellow, that clashed with his tortoiseshell fur and black sleep pants that reached his knees.


    “You smell of pain,” hissed Jal’krin in alarmed concern. “When did that start?”


    Amdirlain nodded. “I think it''s just the aftereffects. I’ll be fine, but I’m ravenous.”


    Blinking at him innocently, she took a big bite from a roll she’d toasted, and he wrinkled his nose.


    With a continued look of distaste, Jal’krin moved to take the tined fork from her hand. “Burnt bread—yuck—it makes the yeast stink. You told uncle you were fine the first day as well. Two days later, still trying to tell me you’re ‘fine’. Sorry, but I’m not chasing that decoy. Sit down, I’ll finish cooking breakfast.”


    “Bossy,” muttered Amdirlain, glad the time zone shift meant the operation hadn’t bitten into a third lot of light here.


    With his free hand, he rubbed her muzzle and then pointed her towards the closest seat. “You look rough. Sit down before you fall, and take your ruined bread with you.”


    Amdirlain mock nipped at his fingers but relinquished the utensils. “You’re still being bossy.”


    As she settled down, her tail moved to wrap protectively around her stomach, earning another concerned look from Jal’krin. “I can take you to a clinic.”


    “Maybe we should go to a college and pay the fee to get my record read,” proposed Amdirlain.


    “I’d prefer to take you to where there is medical staff,” responded Jal’krin.


    “I’ll be fine,” whined Amdirlain as she played into his expectations from her earlier protests.


    Jal’krin’s ears flattened out as his whiskers flared. “You and I have very different understandings of the word. I don’t know how I let you talk me into going to work and leaving you alone with the pain I smell now.”


    “I woke up aching, but it eased after a wash,” reassured Amdirlain. “Is there a place to wash clothing near here? I’m wearing the last of the new clothing I got the other day.”


    “There is a laundry hub nearby,” replied Jal’krin. “But I don’t want you walking there by yourself. You don’t look steady.”


    “Gasp, you know where the washing of clothing can occur,” rumbled Amdirlain lightly, and she clasped her face.


    “Brat! I’m worried about you,” protested Jal’krin.


    “I’m so sorry,” Amdirlain replied, her whiskers drooping as she clutched her tail’s tip.


    “Yeah, so not believing you,” muttered Jal’krin, and he turned his attention to the pans. “Should I tell you that your body language is childish, or are you intentionally trying for hyper cute? Where do you hurt?”


    “My legs feel funny,” admitted Amdirlain as her leg muscles near the problem spot spasmed, but she fortunately avoided destroying the floor. “I must have slept funny.”


    Jal’krin turned back at the sound of her foot tapping the floor. “I’ll call Pal’tran and tell him you’re staying in again today.”


    Amdirlain pouted. “I want to go out!”


    Grumbling under his breath, Jal’krin checked the time and resumed cooking. “Uncle will probably be here in an hour or two. Why not have some more rest after food?”


    “My fresh clothing will get crumpled,” rumbled Amdirlain.


    “Being in your bag for three days hasn’t done it any favours,” stated Jal’krin.


    Amdirlain reached down and massaged the inside muscle of her thigh to get her body to behave. “I’m sorry.”


    The apology drew Jal’krin’s attention from the pans. “For what? I haven’t got a lot of spare space for hanging clothing.”


    “I meant setting you up with my arsehole bet and chewing you out the way I did,” said Amdirlain.


    Jal’krin shrugged. “Forget about it. It was good advice but a shocking delivery. I saw pure profit and a confident kid and didn’t even think I had any chance of losing. Does being an arsehole to each other even things out?”


    “Maybe, as long as you don’t burn breakfast like you are,” answered Amdirlain.


    His attention snapped back to the pan, but nothing was burnt. Shaking his head, Jal’krin’s muzzle curled up, and he flipped her eggs over.


    “No! My poor yolks,” protested Amdirlain, waving her hands dramatically.


    “I had to make sure the underside wasn’t burnt,” rebuffed Jal’krin, and he ignored the rest of her grumbling until he dished out the food a minute later.


    Amdirlain regarded him with a quivering chin, deliberately making her eyes tear up and whiskers and ears droop. “You burnt my yolks, meanie.”


    “You already burnt the bread. Consider it part of that ‘see food’ diet you mentioned,” retorted Jal’krin, though he struggled to ignore the act and set her plate before her. “Anyway, I cooked the eggs, I didn’t burn them.”


    Giving a playful huff, Amdirlain dug into the food.


    “You’re going to burn your mouth,” warned Jal’krin, waving a hand back and forth across his plate.


    Amdirlain acted like she’d spit the food back onto the plate before she continued to chew.


    “Gross, girl, you’re destroying all possibility of future cuteness,” declared Jal’krin. “That food is straight from the pan. Is your mouth fireproof?”


    Looking at the plate, she considered what it would do to a Catfolk’s soft palate and gave a nonchalant shrug before dramatically swallowing. “It’s not as hot as something cooked in a hot spring.”


    “Fine, eat at your own pace. You’ll get no sympathy from me if you burn the roof of your mouth or throat,” huffed Jal’krin.


    “They’re tough enough for it,” rebuffed Amdirlain, and she dug in.


    After breakfast and cleaning up, Amdirlain refused to rest again. Jal’krin dressed and offered to take her through the rough lyrics he’d strung together. Glimpsing earlier pages of notes, Amdirlain playfully pounced to snatch the notebook away.


    “Can I see the early notes?”


    “Please don’t peek. They’re lyrics for different songs, not early drafts,” muttered Jal’krin.


    Patting his shoulder reassuringly, Amdirlain didn’t turn to the earlier pages. “Are you going to sit beside me, or do I have to read upside down?”


    “You still have pain lingering in your scent,” observed Jal’krin with a frown.


    “Maybe we should sit on the rooftop and let a breeze scatter it away?” proposed Amdirlain.


    Jal’krin nodded. “So you’re not just a pretty voice.”


    “Oh, you are going to pay for being rude,” huffed Amdirlain.


    Chuffing in amusement, Jal’krin grabbed his bag and headed for the door, giving her a tail swat as he passed.


    “I’ll pounce,” grumbled Amdirlain. Leaving her travel pack where it lay near the bench, she took her harp case.


    Jal’krin snorted in amusement. “Careful, or I’ll buy you some cub toys to chase.”


    The climb up via the inner staircase found them on a flat rooftop with a waist-high wall along the ends. On one side were a barbeque, a couple of large tables, and horseshoe-shaped seating amid ferns and other potted greenery. The other side was an open space painted with bright hexagons, some connected with a mix of overlapping lines. It looked like it was for a cross between hopscotch, Snakes and Ladders, and Monopoly.


    “Never seen Graves’ Chase?” asked Jal’krin when Amdirlain looked at it curiously.


    ‘Ring around the Rosie’ is a nursery rhyme about the Black Death. Are games and songs about terrible events common between species?


    “No,” replied Amdirlain, taking in all the lines and the energy children had left.


    Jal’krin’s ears twitched rapidly, but he didn’t make an issue. “The apartment cubs are regularly up here ?on the weekend playing.”


    “Is this common to find on apartment roofs?” enquired Amdirlain as she followed him to a seat.


    “Nah, some parents stencilled it out since their kids kept going through chalk,” explained Jal’krin. “Given the crowd up here some weekends, the neighbouring buildings’ cubs must join in.”


    “Not enough play spaces?”


    “Not at all, but most around here have grass, trees, and climbing sets. Makes it hard to set up the game’s layout,” explained Jal’krin. Setting down at the first covered table, he sent Pal’tran a note to let them know to come to the roof. “So you want bright music?”


    “Blinding earworms,” gushed Amdirlain, wiggling in excitement.


    Jal’krin huffed, “Don’t mix metaphors.”


    A deep growl rumbled from Amdirlain. “Oh, I’ll teach you.”


    The sung instrumentals of the first Eurobeat song made his ears prick up. Jal’krin’s attention was divided between working on his lyrics and listening to her. In between songs, Amdirlain restrung her harp before she continued the vocalisation of the electronic instrumentals when Pal’tran arrived.


    Standing at the end of the table, he looked her over with his tail and ears twitching in concern. “You sound good, but what was that?”


    “Just playing with some sounds while Jal’krin scrambles for lyrics,” chirped Amdirlain.


    Pal’tran chuffed softly. “More instruments from your imagination. I assume you’re feeling better, but please don’t wear yourself out.”


    “I’m still feeling fragile, but I seem intact,” replied Amdirlain honestly. “Singing this helps lift my spirits after the last couple of days.”


    “At least she didn’t say she’s fine to you as well,” huffed Jal’krin.


    “How about I introduce you to my cousin, and she can show you her studio without discussing offers?” proposed Pal’tran. “We can even meet her for breakfast.”


    “I’ve already cooked breakfast,” advised Amdirlain.


    Pal’tran turned to glare at Jal’krin, who flattened his ears defensively. “I woke up to the smell of cooking eggs, steak, and burnt bread. I finished cooking for her.”


    “The bread was toasted,” protested Amdirlain.


    “Toasted. That’s when you brown the meat, not burn the bread. Burnt bread smells bad, and doing so intentionally is weird,” muttered Jal’krin.


    “Words can have multiple meanings or apply to other foods,” grumbled Amdirlain, playing up teenage stubbornness. The knowledge she’d gained of the language having misled her in context made Amdirlain even more wary of translating songs.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Pal’tran''s whiskers twitched upwards, and his gaze gleamed, but he kept his composure. “Cubs. Morning traffic means it''s a bit of a drive to the studio. If you’re hungry again when we get there, I’ll get you another breakfast. Your body might need more food.”


    “I think I’ve eaten plenty,” Amdirlain replied.


    “Says the girl that kept telling me she was fine when the pain scent was scraping out my nose,” complained Jal’krin.


    “Hush, it’s faded. While I had a rough night, I''ve been looking forward to seeing the studio,” said Amdirlain, and her tail twitched and twisted around her legs. “I’m sorry I got you worried.”


    “Nonsense, there was nothing you could do about it,” reassured Pal’tran. “I spoke to some people yesterday, and it seems it could have been far worse. Since you’re up and about, you’re over the worst. I got told to take you to a hospital if you weren’t active today.”


    Amdirlain made her ears stand straight up and scoffed. “What would you do that for?”


    “I found out some people have, in the past, killed themselves by advancing levels too quickly,” explained Pal’tran. “Their bodies broke under the strain when they paid high-level individuals to slaughter powerful monsters while they were along to ‘help out.''”


    “Killed?” squeaked Amdirlain, and she let her gaze widen and tail fluff up.


    “The rush of life experience they gained progressed them so fast, their body broke trying to adjust,” Pal’tran explained.


    “Wow,” huffed Amdirlain before she relaxed her posture. “Maybe we should drop by a college after the studio.”


    “Or a clinic and get checks done,” proposed Jal’krin.


    Amdirlain poked out her tongue. “No, they might detect my warped sense of humour and ask for an explanation.”


    “That’s a pretty lame excuse,” huffed Jal’krin, giving her an unhappy look. “You had us worried.”


    With her harp case in hand, Amdirlain started towards the stairs. “Race you to the parking lot.”


    Amdirlain heard Pal’tran calling ahead to advise his cousin they were coming over, but she continued to his vehicle. Letting Jal’krin ride shotgun, Amdirlain settled into the backseat with an exaggerated sigh and checked the new Power options.


    [Immortal’s Endurance


    Details: Provides immunity to all outside effects attempting to alter a being’s form or mind from their condition upon gaining this power. Dramatically increases health recovery previously provided by Protean. Enables recovery and shedding of foreign objects and/or energies.


    The shape-shifting upper limit is the mass of the being’s True Form, and the Power’s Rank determines how fast an alteration of form occurs.]


    [Primordial Malleability


    Details: This evolution of Protean increases the flexibility of the possessor’s form and mental limits. It increases the mass previously able to be absorbed by Protean and blurs the lines on a being''s True Form. Any living connected tissue remains under the being’s control.


    Note: Can’t chop the spiritual presentation of legs off something with no set form. Like above, you’d still need to heal your spiritual net first.]


    [Phoenix’s Immolation


    Details: Encapsulates an Immortal Phoenix''s endless primal cycle of death and rebirth. Activation of Phoenix''s flame aura increases the regeneration provided by Protean.


    This Power reduces the being’s shapeshifting capability to True Form and living species with static forms.


    Once per thousand years, the possessor may opt for physical rebirth when badly injured or in failing health. This causes an explosion of Primordial flame to rush out from their body, consuming matter and individuals around them to fuel their rebirth. The extent of matter consumed is based on the individual''s lost health. This rebirth leaves the possessor’s memory, species, and Class related aspects intact.


    The possessor''s species determines circumstances related to physical death outside this activation.


    Note: Won’t body shame you, but you’d leave a crater. It''s meant for a pretty bird.]


    The ability to recover with a bang but lose most of my form-changing. Still, some beings have massive forms beyond anything I’ve used. Nice and explosive, but pass.


    Gideon seems to hint at Primordial Malleability, but Immortal’s Endurance also looks useful. The condition I’m in when gaining the Power, so my crippled net would stay crippled. So heal before I take it.


    Immortal’s Endurance will limit my size and tricks, but I don’t know the eventual mass of my True Form. Either sound like they’re possibilities. Do I take them or see what happens if I increase other powers or skills?


    A distortion off to one side of their path snapped Amdirlain out of her thoughts. With the individual possessed by an Eldritch Manipulator in the backseat of a stopped car, Amdirlain killed it. After teleporting the person—cleansed of corrupted memories—to a hospital, she dropped a card with their location on the seat.


    The drive through the morning traffic was just over an hour and a half. The audio receiver in the car let Amdirlain hear more local tunes and gave it the feel of a drive to work. And work it was, with Pal’tran unknowingly chauffeuring Amdirlain past hundreds of eldritch manipulators.


    They were nearing the studio when the vehicle’s receiver shared the news of more people collapsing. The announcer referred to all the events Amdirlain had acted on, including the manor. Common factors of black mat stone, missing memories, and individuals sent to safety had the announcer grouping them into the actions of a single party or parties unknown.


    Pal’tran’s mouth tightened in concern. “It''s been quiet for two days, and now more people collapsing? It''s all so bizarre, some of it random, other parts like a Sharpshooter taking down a target, and others destructive.”


    “Or it''s all sharpshooting, and some targets are bigger than others,” proposed Amdirlain.


    “Sharpshooters don’t leave buildings in rubble,” argued Pal’tran.


    “Maybe they’ve got a big gun,” proposed Amdirlain, and she shifted the conversation. “Jal’krin, you mentioned having Sharpshooter?”


    “After lots of hours supervised by mum at the range,” confirmed Jal’krin.


    “Your mother’s a Sharpshooter as well?”


    “Sniper. She works in the ghost caverns’ entry area, doing shifts in one of the lookout nests,” advised Jal’krin. “Laying in a sniper’s nest doesn’t strain her leg.”


    “How did you get levels in Sharpshooter?” asked Amdirlain.


    “Hunting in the southern hills, but it’s hard to get levels amid all the other competition for monster kills. Dad used to take us on a hunting trip each year, but the borders shifted and the military restricted permits. They use the spawning grounds of monsters to gain initial levels for troops,” explained Jal’krin.


    “Weak troops in the ghost caverns is just asking for dead soldiers,” observed Amdirlain. “I can understand, even if things are harder for others. Maybe someone will figure out a solution.”


    The situation with the gods’ graves started ideas bubbling for Amdirlain, and she hummed thoughtfully. The fragments of music she composed had Pal’tran occasionally glancing at her in the review.


    As Pal’tran pulled into a nearly empty parking lot behind a three-story building, Jal’krin looked around. “You want food first?”


    “No, must see the shiny studio,” insisted Amdirlain, and she waved her hands dramatically towards the building.


    “Really? Not hungry at all?” persisted Jal’krin.


    “Yes, because I’m fine,” gushed Amdirlain, and she fluttered her eyelids. “I’m not a kid.”


    “Then don’t act like one. If you collapse and I murder you, you’ll know why,” grumbled Jal’krin ominously.


    “I’ll take the knowledge to my grave,” chirped Amdirlain.


    Jal’krin growled in frustration.


    As he shook his head, Pal’tran tapped the tip of Jal’krin’s ear. “I’ve heard you tease others. You need to learn when someone is teasing you.”


    “Not hungry,” insisted Amdirlain. “I cooked too much meat for breakfast. I’ve got a food baby still going on.”


    Pal’tran led the way inside via what was the back entrance. Boxes of metal discs in which Amdirlain could hear thousands of audio traces sat in an alcove by the outer door. The corridor led them to the side of a reception area with a wider set of doors to the street.


    “It seems Jan’era and the others have been busy,” Pal’tran commented. “I think that’s all the samples they’ve received lately.”


    Ouch, I hadn’t intended to be stealing someone else’s chance. Will just have to ensure they can give more people chances.


    A pale auburn male already had a link unit to his ear and was shifting raised panels around on the metal display. The enchantments had the metal flowing like mercury beneath his touch. “No, they’re here. Should I send them through, or will you handle that call?”


    The muffled reply had the receptionist dragging another panel side before pointing to the staircase. “Boss lady’s calendar is free for the day. She’s in studio 1.”


    “Thanks, Kril,” replied Pal’tran, and he immediately headed up the stairs. Amdirlain felt like a duckling in tow.


    She listened to the layout and while there were four large sound booths on the lower floor, upstairs was one massive, two-story sound booth, along with a few offices. She could feel the quality but aged state of the room before Pal’tran opened the door. The room spoke of the care that had gone into its maintenance.


    Determined hands had scrubbed the thick rugs, cleaned a few times too many, and wood trim in various places reflected scattered images despite their fractured lacquer. Within the recording station, the audio mixers were all functional, but the runes’ energy was a little dimmed and gave her a blues feel. The walls had plaques recognising various artists'' grand successes, but the most recent Amdirlain spotted was twenty years ago with a ‘signing-off’ tour.


    The female was visible through the glass door to the recording section. She was maybe early thirties or late twenties, far younger than Pal’tran’s fifties. Her fur was a deep red colouration except for a pale pink nose and left ear, which gave the impression the printer had run out of ink. She wore a loose purple cloth blouse, pants, and matching boots, hints of silver notes through the fabric matching the buckles on her belt and boots. The silver-capped ties down the front of the blouse worked well to hint rather than show her generous cleavage.


    With a collection of three non-combat classes—Sound Virtuoso, Business Manager, Promotion Artist—and again, a Sharpshooter Class at far lower level, analysis shared the name of Jan’era and that she’d graduated from a college rather than the campus.


    “She’s a younger cousin, right? Because otherwise, you’ve aged so badly, Pal’tran,” commented Amdirlain.


    He snorted as he pushed the inner door open and stepped to the side.


    “Am of the Blackcliff pride. Jan’era of Silverstring pride,” announced Pal’tran.


    Amdirlain headed straight up to Jan’era, taking in their well-formed figure that loomed over her at one hundred and ninety centimetres.


    “Pleasure to meet you, Am,” Jan’era said, as she graciously extended her hand despite the tension and anger in her song. “Unfortunately, I only heard a trace of your performance after it had ended. It misses the zest the casters provide artists like yourself. I hope you’re feeling better now?”


    ‘Far too adult for her age. Her glide’s like a professional companion. What sort of training has someone put her through? Peered at me as if she knew every curve, and my Mental Clarity is having fits. Not felt that impact since…’


    Amdirlain broke away from Jan’era''s thoughts as they conveyed a flash of intimate images.


    I should have told the law keepers I’m eighteen, I’m giving people complexes.


    [Mental Clarity


    Details: This Power is provided by classes such as Business Manager and Promotion Artist. It allows possessors to deal with high Charisma individuals and not cave into their demands or sign ridiculous contracts. It only buffers them against Charisma effects, raw or supported by Skill sets like Femme Fatale.


    Note: Poor girl. Is it her fault your furled Charisma still hits at over two hundred? So many people want to help and watch you.]


    And I wasn’t even trying. Maybe I can help her progress.


    “Thank you for asking. I’m feeling fatigued still, but overall I''m fine,” replied Amdirlain, and she heard Pal’tran step on Jal’krin’s foot when he grumbled.


    Amdirlain didn’t catch more than the barest twitch of annoyance at the display from Jan’era. “Why don’t you two go get us drinks or something?”


    The wording made it sound like it might be a question. They both left.


    Jan’era pulled out a chair from the closest recording console and offered it to Amdirlain. “Family can be good, and a headache. We’ll not talk about offers of any kind until you feel completely recovered, but I’d like to hear about what you’d like to achieve.”


    Sitting down, Am gave her a beaming smile. “That’s an excellent negotiating tactic to get the inside scope to frame your offers. Do you find it often lets you propose situations where the artist feels like even an average offer is a win for them?”


    There was only the briefest hesitation in Jan’era grabbing a chair of her own. “I guess you could take its purpose that way. Pal’tran said you went right for the kill the other day. If this is you fatigued, I see exactly what he meant.”


    “Then perhaps you could explain how you see it?”


    “You obviously don’t like people wasting time. So, if I know more about you, I can avoid wasting yours. If you want to perform in cosy clubs, and recording traces isn’t a priority, then I’d work to line up club appearances for you. If you want your music to be known far and wide quickly, then working out the details for a string of minor club appearances to spread your name by word of mouth wastes our time,” explained Jan’era. “However, if you want to get straight to cutting traces and selling them, we would put together a proposal around building up from that preference.”


    Amdirlain huffed. “Other studios wouldn’t let me do that?”


    “Most studios have a prepared plan for new artists, starting with promotional programs through a series of steps incrementing the scales as your sales progress,” explained Jan’era and her extended claws repeatedly stabbed into the air, gouging out an imaginary checklist. “Given your performance, they’d let you pick some details, but most will be by the patterns of hunting profits they know. Big studios, they’ve seen artists come and go—some well before their time—so they control you by doing what they know works to maximise their profits, both at each step, and long term. To them, you’re a resource to mine, not an individual. I got sick of how they handle talent.”


    “Did you buy out the previous owner, or inherit this place?”


    “Do you want to trade off questions after this one?” asked Jan’era, her pink ear cocking at her invitingly until Amdirlain nodded. “Neither pride picked me to run it, but I have a personal stake to encourage me. So, small gigs and slow growth, traces and fast publicity, or something like the mix of Clearstrike’s smallish setting but still reaching wider audience through their caster?”


    “I want to perform before a large audience,” exclaimed Amdirlain, focused on the need to stretch her Charisma


    “You certainly can get there, but I suggest we, or you, build up to that,” responded Jan’era. “I know someone could line up a cascaded caster gig across all the territories with the bootleg traces I heard. However, the day after, you’d die from what Pal’tran’s learnt. You know where that would leave someone nasty enough to do that to you?”


    “Rich,” proposed Amdirlain.


    Jan’era looked like she’d bitten into something sour. “Too right, and some of them would do it. No one has heard of your pride. I’ve already checked city records, so have thirty other studio reps according to the archivist. Looking in the city records and finding nothing would let your business partner take the lot.”


    “Why were you checking for my pride?”


    “Kitten, seriously, a fifth-level Bard able to pull off that performance? Don’t humble brag to me. That was no normal performance. Word spread wide after people heard you talking to the law keeper. If there is another virtuoso out there who taught you how to play and sing, they’re another gold mine waiting to be tapped.”


    “I’m self-taught,” offered Amdirlain.


    “What?”


    “I taught myself on an old harp, so old it''s not usable for any performance,” replied Amdirlain. “My turn to ask a question again.”


    There was the briefest frown from Jan’era. “You’re distracting. I’ve now wasted two questions. Too sharp for your own good, miss—you might cut yourself.”


    “I’m humourous when I''m legless,” quipped Amdirlain.


    “You shouldn’t be drinking at your age. It’ll hurt your brain and your throat,” responded Jan’era.


    Amdirlain grinned. “I’m already insane. There isn’t much left to hurt.”


    “Self-deprecating, are we? Forget I asked. It’s not a question. I heard the part where you asked to give away the gratuity. Check your reserve account. I hear the law keeper that got yours organised made sure the caster stations paid you contributions.”


    “Law keeper Mal’lyn,” replied Amdirlain, surprised at his initiative.


    “Remembering the male in uniform, was he cute?” hummed Jan’era.


    “Tall,” Amdirlain said, waving well above her head.


    “I’m tall compared to you,” rebutted Jan’era, her gaze narrowing.


    “That’s true, and it''s my turn to ask a question,” stated Amdirlain, again.


    “That sort of talk between females shouldn’t be a question,” protested Jan’era.


    Amdirlain sighed deeply. “You needed to state any conditions around questions up front.”


    [Interrogation [J] (17->18)


    Diplomacy [J] (31->32)]


    “Ask your question then,” muttered Jan’era, her eyes twinkling.


    “What is the biggest benefit you’ll get from me working with you?”


    “Given how you’re talking, practice in negotiating,” chuffed Jan’era before she pointed at the plaques and memorabilia on the wall. “Jokes aside, attracting other acts while you’re with us. This studio has seen little success lately. Being known as the studio and promoter handling even the initial years of your career would be a jumpstart.”


    “Where did you work before this?”


    “Hey, my turn to ask a question,” rebutted Jan’era.


    Amdirlain gave her an innocent smile, and Jan’era’s ears tilted sharply towards her, not buying it. “Why ask Jal’krin to compose for you? Any studio has got better connections than an ex-campus student.”


    “For the same reason I’m planning to sign with you if you give me anything close to a decent deal,” replied Amdirlain.


    Coughing, Jan’era gazed at her in disbelief, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “What? Why?”


    “It’s my turn to ask a question,” rebuffed Amdirlain. “Why did you leave wherever you worked last?”


    “They fired me for improper conduct and breaching my employment agreement when I put an artist’s interests first,” grumbled Jan’era. “My question remains the same.”


    A thread of thoughts let Amdirlain pull out the details of the studio-induced debt spiral Jan’era''s ‘client’ had been in.


    “Your studio, him, and your pride have something in common,” replied Amdirlain. “You’re the runts of the litter, and I don’t mind working to build. We can climb together. I want lots of opportunities to work on perfecting my powers and skills. Is that okay with you?”


    “Yes,” nodded Jan’era. “You’re very eye-catching in the way you project your presence. You’d do well on caster programming, but we can’t often control how many people tune in. Which is the health risk if there is a viewer surge until you’re higher level.”


    “Must be my Bard Class,” sighed Amdirlain.


    “I heard about the instrument pieces you performed at Clearstrike’s. Would I be able to hear a sample?”


    Amdirlain awarded Jan’era a bright smile, and she felt it impact on her Mental Clarity. “Would you record them for me?”


    “But we don’t have any agreement,” protested Jan’era.


    “Can I see your standard agreement?” asked Amdirlain.


    “I agreed with Pal’tran, I won’t make you an offer until you are feeling better,” rebutted Jan’era.


    “You’re not making me an offer. We’re going to work out an agreement together.”


    “Semantics,” huffed Jan’era.


    “Just get a copy, and we can review them and work out a proposed understanding,” insisted Amdirlain. “I’ll use it for a haggling position if I go shopping.”


    “If!” exclaimed Jan’era. She fetched a copy from her office, and Amdirlain looked it over, crossing out sections about preferred suppliers and merchandise manufacturing. Jan’era dropped the studio’s percentage by a full point but added notes about a yearly collection release for the first five years with some minimum sales. Each signed next to the alterations as they went but left the final signatory spots blank.


    Amdirlain did not know where she’d be in five years but shrugged it off. The purpose was to learn about managing her Charisma and evolving Femme Fatale.


    “This isn’t formal until it’s witnessed and lodged,” advised Jan’era.


    “Yes, just a proposed understanding,” repeated Amdirlain. “We can both think it over and agree on adjustments until it''s signed.”


    “I’ll make three copies, and I want you to take one to a law keeper advocate for an independent review and filing. Since you’re a minor, they won’t charge you anything to put a copy of a commercial contract in the secure archives. Which you certainly want to do when—if—we come to a final agreement and sign.”


    “Why?”


    Jan’era angrily flipped pages to check more clauses. “Protection from a patron pride being a rut humper after you’re making money and complaining about illegal contracts. It would cause both our incomes to get suspended until the review got completed, and they’d try to get it dragged out. Yet we’d be on the hook for any outlays we’d agreed to for performances,”


    “We’d still have to pay sound crew and other support?” asked Amdirlain.


    “Yes, but we’d also get hit with commercial penalties for non-performance if you didn’t perform,” continued Jan’era.


    Amdirlain growled. “Oh, I want to smack them just thinking about it.”


    “Welcome to the territories, but at least you’re not in the Oligarchy’s northern protectorates.”


    Not liking the sound of that, Amdirlain avoided dipping into Jan’era’s mind and simply gave her a helpless shrug. “I want some of the profits in a scholarship fund for musicians.”


    Jan’era fixed Amdirlain with a sceptical look. “Wait until you’re not sleeping on someone’s couch before worrying about others.”


    “Sleeping on a couch is a step up from a ground sheet and camp stones to ward off the undead,” laughed Amdirlain, only to get a horrified look from Jan’era.


    “Tell me you didn’t,” gasped Jan’era. “Not by yourself, surely?”


    “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies,” sang Amdirlain as her tail swished about happily.


    Jan’era shook her head. “Kitten, you’re a wild child.”