Catgirl System

“Um…” Reed, standing at her end of the dinner table, coughed. She actually trembled a little. “I do have news.”

Once again, the table was lush with food carefully and delectably arranged. On top of a delicate handmade checkered cloth, a bowl of steaming, crispy fried fish next to gravy boats and sauce bowls stole the show. There was also a vial of…cream? Melted butter? Cottage cheese? And a basket of crunchy, uncooked greens that resembled leeks or celery. Along with a few biscuits, for good measure. Each of us—Reed, Bayce, Chora and I—got a cup of water and a cup of a weird, heady, bitter-smelling drink that I was afraid to touch after my last alcoholic debacle.

Actually, the only thing I’d touched yet was a bit of fish. Eager for meat, I had grabbed it in both paws and torn a stringy bite off before Reed had even begun speaking…

And it took a full second for the rudeness to dawn on me. Helped along by a tactful look from Chora. I regretted eating so early and at such a dramatic moment, but I couldn’t take it back now. Inwardly I kicked myself for having beefed it again.

As Reed cleared her throat a second time, the rest of us waited patiently.

“Well, here’s something good first,” Reed began. “My mother sent a letter home, a long and mostly happy one.” She turned to me and said, “Mom’s a professional advance mage, one of the best in the country. She’s teaching at Omnedrick Academy. On occasion she gets called on to do missions out of state.”

“It’s an exciting life,” Bayce said with a hint of a smile.

Reed chuckled. “I-it’s a bit much for me… But anyway, my mom said everything’s going well, with the family and such.” With a little bow, she added, “She says hi to you two, Bayce and Chora!”

Bayce nodded in place of a bow. Chora smiled vaguely, seemingly uncomfortable with this attention.

Reed clasped her hands together and, with great determination, declared, “Tomorrow, I’m going to write her back!!”

Bayce leaned over to me and muttered, “It’s a big ordeal. Those letters are frickin’ huge.”

“Why don’t you write shorter ones?” Chora said, and for once she and Bayce were unequivocally on the same wavelength.

Reed said, “Because I like to write them long! And it’s what’s expected by now.” At the end her voice trailed off into resignation. How sad…a trap of her own design. Moving on, she said, “That brings me to the bad news. Mom told me that a Rare Hunter is coming to the woods. For ‘research,’ whatever that means. She may already be here by now.”

An odd silence came over the table. Bayce and Chora seemed disturbed, shaken.

“Which one?” Chora said. “Famous?”

“Yes, very.”

Bayce sighed and put her head in one hand. Chora tentatively took a plate and filled it with fish and biscuits, likely as a coping mechanism.

From behind her back—the same place-non-place where she grabbed her sword, obviously—Reed grabbed a newspapery bunch of papers that her mom Lily must’ve sent. “It’s DeGalle dmAge! And she probably has an army of camerapeople, too!”

My first thought was, Annoying!

My second was, Wait…normal! A hunter going out into the woods with a camera? Wha, woah, how scary, what a big deal.

Reed explained it to me. “Rare Hunters are like heroes, but the problem is…virtually every hero in existence is self-styled, and Rare Hunters in particular do more glory-seeking than…philosophical introspection about what they’re doing. Many of them just won’t talk to local guardians because they assume those guardians have made a mistake by ‘allowing evil to fester,’ or however they phrase it now. There are times when a hero is exactly what the world needs, and there are others when all they do is bumble around, interfere in things that aren’t any mortal’s business, and act like any good result was all their doing.”

By this time Bayce was forking food into her mouth. “DeGalle is like the worst one, too,” she said, teeth churning. “You ever read any of her books? Funniest garbage I’ve ever seen.”

“She once tried to fight a Doom Reaper, thinking they would offer her the keys to heaven,” Chora said, “or some weirdness like that. The Reaper Codex doesn’t even mention Doom Reapers as heavenly emissaries. She wanted Dread Cherubs, if anything.” She shook her head. “I really don’t know who she’s trying to impress.”

“Also,” Reed noted, “the Doom Reaper killed fifteen of her employees.”

“And she’s still in business!” Bayce cried, hands flying outward.

Now my thought was, Sad!

This DeGalle person sounded like a reality TV show mogul to me. Only instead of making sadistic comments about the quality of people’s food, singing voices, or celebrity marriages, she, um, found the real, actual equivalents of Bigfoot and watched as they slaughtered her employees, it sounded like.

I didn’t have a single coherent reaction to this, but I felt I couldn’t just go without showing my sympathies somehow, so I gave them a sad, ambiguous “maowww…”

“But the worst part is how much it’ll disrupt things around the woods,” said Reed, who had finally sat down to eat with the rest of us. (I myself was trying a crispy vegetable—horrible idea.) “She and a whole cavalcade of assistants, just marching through the woods, calling anything they see that might be a little off in their minds a sign of the end, or the next big clue to another horrible monster.”

“And she’ll interview us!”

“…Bayce, you almost sound excited.”

“I am, kind of!”

“But she…she sucks, Bayce, you know that.”

“Yeah, but I get a cameo in my favorite bad book series. If I ever have nieces and nephews,” she said wistfully, “they’ll hand my story down for generations.”

“Or give your story to me,” Chora said, “and I’ll burn it.”

Bayce’s expression flatlined. “You two are no fun sometimes. I’m sure our cat friend here has a different opinion, seeing as they’re from a spiritual plane, probably have some transcendental ideas about what really makes life worth living.”

Err…apart from my recurring urge to catch live prey, no, I didn’t have much of an idea about that. Even learning my own existential purpose in life hadn’t made me any wiser on that front (and you’d really think that it would). Hopefully my innocent stare into Bayce’s eyes could tell her that much?

“Aw, they’re an innocent,” Bayce said, indeed getting the right idea. “See? Those eyes are glittering with faith in the good that DeGalle might do. Or blunder into. I told you, I study luck—and I know just how easily a bad turn can flip to a good.” She snapped her fingers.

I was inclined to agree. DeGalle coming around didn’t sound like the end of the world.

And then I remembered the mass ecological destruction that heroes fighting with magic might bring along.

Oh.

Reed told Bayce very carefully, “I promise you I like fun as much as the next person, but if she or anyone she might be associated with knocks on that door, please don’t open it.”

“Can I…exit the cabin and accept her interview elsewhere?” Bayce said cheekily.

Reed’s eyebrows creased with worry. “Yyyyes, but in such a way that I won’t be held legally liable?”

“’Course.” Bayce winked and made a clicky mouth-sound.

We ate for a while, all deep in thought, but I noticed that Chora was halting and hesitant. She kept scanning the room, the faces at the table. Wondering when she could drop the news about…

“I have a sword,” she said, “that I’d like to show you.”

Reed and Bayce looked up, not comprehending.

“It’s actually from the cat spirit.”

I nodded to confirm.

Bayce turned to me. “Do you know what it…why you…”

I shook my head and gave a cat-shrug.

“And here it is,” she said, pulling it out from under the table. A grandiose swishing sound followed it (and implied that there were now wood shavings on the carpet).

Reed shouted incoherently. “Aah! Aah!”

“What the heck is that?!” Bayce screamed.

“It’s just a sword, I think. She didn’t add a name to—”

Bayce hollered, “That sword could pay off my student debts!”

“All of our debts for everything!” Reed add-corrected.

Chora remained stoic. “Let’s not lose our heads over it,” she said, still looking like a calm and reluctant Arthurian hero.

Reed stammered, “W-we could also use it to—”

“Hit DeGalle in the face!” Bayce said, almost tearful with joy.

“Y…yeah, but that’d be assault.”

“Not in a duel!”

“We could also kill those thieving magpies,” Chora said—pretty sensibly, I thought, but that suggestion got lost in the commotion.

“What blade is that? It has to be something big or famous. Either that or it’s a cruddy recreation of something big and famous,” went Bayce.

“Don’t look at me,” Chora said, brows furrowed. “I already told you—”

Poof!

That wasn’t me transforming by accident—though the sound and smoke gave my heart a pang of fear. It was Bayce summoning a big encyclopedic book into her hands a second before she leafed through at extraordinary speed.

Just as quickly, she poofed it away.

“It looks to be the Drunken Dragon’s Blade,” she said. “According to one legend, the dragon makes things after drowning himself in regret for his crimes against humanity. Wow, that’s dark, but also, if the thing’s authentic, it should’ve come from a patch of open field just northeast of here. A dragon is said to touch down there every thousand years.”

Now Chora’s eyes widened like they had in her bedroom when she first saw the sword.

Reed said wide-eyed, almost whispered, “That strongly implies that the sword is part of a prophecy.”

Bayce crossed her arms, clearly deep in thought again. “Mm-hm…”

“So we can’t sell it?” Chora said.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Bayce said.

“We have to be heroes?!” Reed cried.

“Yeah,” Chora said, with a slight dip in her spirits.

Reed sighed. “At least we’d be actual ones, not bumbling ones.” With a nervous laugh, she added, “Well, I do have a bit of experience turning evil away under pressure.” I knew she was talking about that spooky chapel we’d been to together. Maybe several other incidents throughout her young life too.

Bayce said, “Honestly, a summer adventure with my friends wouldn’t be bad at all, if that’s what hurtling toward us…except I have to ensure my survival for the upcoming semester. And I’m really much more interested in honing my craft for a very specific career path, which, in the vast majority of cases, doesn’t have crap to do with whacking monsters in the face. Plus: my debt.”

“We’ve heard about your debt,” Chora threw in. “No way we can sell this sword, though. If it went wrong, we would definitely be legally liable for that.”

Bayce said uncertainly, “We could bury it…”

Reed shook her head. “Nobody in this room is powerless. But whoever finds it years from now might be.”

Bayce opened her mouth again.

Reed blurted, “And we won’t break it!”

“I guess that would truly get someone to smite us.”

“We just have to keep it and…use it in whatever saga has just landed at our doorstep.” She was now running her hand up and down the flat side of the blade, feeling its quality. “Sure, we might be getting roped into a destiny none of us wanted to accept, but it’s better than getting cursed by an entity as mighty and prestigious as a dragon.” Bayce started to protest, but Chora snapped back, “Don’t you say anything else until you’ve given it more than two seconds of thought.”

Bayce looked enraged. “I think! I was just going to bring up the obvious! That we’re not alone, we can use the person who brought this sword into our lives, our friend—”

“How dare you,” Chora growled. “The cat spirit isn’t someone to burden, they’re not our pack mule or servant. They are our quest-giver.”

Woah. Her fury was shocking, but I had trouble figuring out precisely why.

There were palpable differences in the fury of every person here. Reed had trouble revving the motor. Bayce’s rage was obvious, too obvious. But while Chora wasn’t devoid of emotion, and her bitter sarcasm and passive-aggression could be plain as day, when she lowered her voice and anchored herself in the supposed power of a spirit like me, it hit me in the gut.

Yet I couldn’t help but feel a surge of something strange, as if I was a god defended by my overzealous zealot. But…I pushed away my semi-religious pride. It didn’t feel like now was the time for it.

Maybe this was a strange thing to admit,…but if Bayce was ultimately about to ask me to do her bidding vis-à-vis the sword, I didn’t mind that. Being an errand girl appealed to me, as long as it came with some actual advantage on my end. I didn’t know if I’d appreciate that relationship in an alternate reality where I was reincarnated as a Systemless average cat, but…

If I got to beat stuff up and gain Levels, it was cool!

And so was taking on a Quest, honestly. Having a Quest tamp down my freedom was okay as long as it came with, at least, some sort of cool vase.

I also began to wonder if DeGalle wandering around this place had something to do with the sword. Maybe I’d get to meet her and figure out what she’s after? Or maybe she’d give me intuitive Quest Vibes and I’d somehow know she’s fated to join our adventure too?

Not that I could say any of that easily. But I did my best impression of a doggy wagging tail and turned toward Bayce.

“They might be our pack mule, if we ask,” Bayce said, and not very smoothly.

“Wh-why don’t we go on eating for now,” Reed said. And so we all did.

The tension at the table had been palpable. It hadn’t escaped my notice—not even my asocial, clueless notice—that something was up with this band of “friends.” Two were dancing around each other’s throats while the third spent a lot of time struggling not to step on any toes. Had they even known each other that long? Or did things just get really bad once they started having to be roommates?

Hmm… I pondered this as I kept eating, but I just wasn’t sure what I could do about it.

On a brighter note, I just realized that this odd boat of cream cheese tasted like a very sharp, non-cream cheese, yet thick and substantial, like hummus. It was great! I couldn’t use it well as a sauce, seeing as I didn’t have the dexterity to politely dip fish into the pile of it now on my plate, but the main course was expertly fried, and the fish themselves were so tender and…slimeless. There really was something to the human art of cooking after all.

After the meal, and after the human women had put the table and tableware away, Reed came to see me personally, sitting by my side on the couch-bed.

Immediately I glowed and sat up straighter. I hadn’t noticed just how deeply I’d been waiting for a one-on-one moment with her—it was like a little bolt of happy electricity ran through me, head to tail.

“Hey, friend,” she said. “Uh…I’m sorry if I’ve been awkward around you this whole time. When we’re alone outside, it feels different, it feels easier. And my friendships with Chora and Bayce are”—she laughed—“falling apart…”

Yeah. I could feel that.

Reed must’ve sensed the look in my eyes and the tilt of my head. “Yes…we’re friends going way back. Bayce, Chora and I met in primary school. At first we had ups and downs, but soon we were the best of friends. And we stayed that way.” She was rubbing the back of her neck uncertainly. “Then Chora moved, and it took years before she would even get back in contact with us. I think she was ashamed because… Oh, that’s not my story to tell. I’ve said too much!” She did a panicky laugh. Her way of apologizing to a friend who had already retreated upstairs.

I meowed a long, sympathetic meow. Reed was clearly tense, and probably had been all this summer. I stretched my back out and held the pose, keeping my eyes on her.

“What are you doing? Stretching?”

I kept staring.

“Is this rubbies?”

“Hey!” cried a witch’s voice from the kitchen. Her selective hearing had zeroed in on her failing: not having collected rubbies. “You petting the cat in there?”

I hissed. Not for you!

Reed ran a hand down my back, and I arched my body along with it. But her hand was a knuckle, not a relaxed palm. It was just as Bayce had said: she wouldn’t, couldn’t let herself relax.

“Murrr,” I said.

Reed lowered her voice, even as Bayce went deeper into the kitchen again. “You know,” she told me, “if I’m coming on too strong or anything, you don’t have to hang out with me. You have other housemates here. I’m not that great, but Bayce is going to university and Chora is, well, she’s so talented…”

Whuh?

Where did this come from?

Reed, self-defeating? No. No no no. I guessed I should’ve seen this coming, since she’d been so self-sacrificing, apologetic, chore-happy, compliant—pliant. But it hurt to watch.

Feral cats have no time for that kind of overthinking. Reed was such a chronic overthinker!

I began to crawl into her lap, but Reed bolted upright and made for the door, saying loudly (and probably for Bayce’s benefit as much as mine), “Well, it’s about time for bed! I’m going to get ready and…stuff. Our guest can have the sofa again—it’s already made—and there are some leftovers that everyone can have as snacks in the pantry and fridge. Good night!”

“WWWAAAAAIT!” Bayce cried out, scrambling across the den and onto the staircase after Reed. “I need to talk to you about the trash! I can’t believe I almost forgot!”

“It’s understandable, we had a big day!”

“No, but the trash! It reeks! Aren’t the raccoons coming back for it?!”

“I-I’m afraid not… I’ll explain upstairs.”

I would’ve followed them to try and help with the endless raccoon struggle if not for the way Reed left me in the cold. So I hung back, not wanting to fray Reed’s nerves any more than I may have already.

The two of them strolled upstairs, leaving me to sit on the sofa and ponder.