Videoland QuickFic: Where Are They Now?
Elsa barely recognized herself in the fountain's rippling surface. She cupped her hands to splash crisp, cool water on her face, scrubbing off the smears of dirt and blood. Her scratches and bruises were minor, nothing a potion wouldn't fix, or one of Red's low level Cure spells if he hadn't gone ranging into the Coneria forests like she had.
As often as she hunted, she expected that the woodlands would be clear of monsters by now. Her blade cleaved through the ravenous wolves; her arrows yanked the eagles out of the sky. But if anything, there seemed to be more monsters than less, and she didn't know why. No one did.
"Maybe something's stirring them up. Making them violent," she'd muttered around a joint of lamb at the supper table last week.
Red shook his head. "They were violent to begin with."
"Do they have a den they normally take to? Would something be driving them out?"
"I don't think so. There's just...more."
So Elsa resolved to explore the area in search of clues, and here she was. Her muscles ached, particularly her shoulders, and she was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to mend the green patched tunic that clung to her sweat and skin. It was well worn out from previous explorations, and was doomed for the wastebasket. Her search for answers turned up nothing but cackling imps, but if she had to guess as to the source of the sudden surge of monster attacks, her finger would swing straight toward Gameshark. The only flaw with that theory was the absence of Gameshark himself -- no one had seen him in years, nor any of the other gamemasters. Some said they had been slain. Some said they'd given up on Videoland and went home. The Princess said nothing at all, and surprisingly, Mother Brain was silent on the matter too.
Blinking droplets from her dark lashes and flicking the water from her fingers, Elsa straightened, shouldering her bow and tossing back her tangled blonde hair. Her worn boots thumped softly on the white cobblestones as she made her way back toward the Adventurer's Inn.
Toward home.
She'd flitted from place to place in the years she'd spent roaming the different worlds and exotic locations of Videoland. New warp zones were always opening up to worlds both beautiful and awful. But the Adventurers' Inn was the one place she always found herself drifting, time and time again, the one constant in her chaotic life. No matter where she went or how long she was away, Red Wizard was always there to welcome her back with a smile, a hot meal, and a warm embrace. Their friendship was solid, and she was grateful for that. She hailed from the Valley of Spielburg, but she couldn't think of any other place where she felt more welcome...or relaxed, for that matter.
Her chicken, George, was the first to greet her as she plodded wearily down the dusty path. The bird scampered swiftly in her direction, crouching at her feet with wings slightly spread in expectation of Elsa's affection. Elsa couldn't restrain the crooked grin that tugged the corners of her mouth, and she stooped to pet George's feathery back before scooping her up in her arms. She didn't like to leave George outside after dusk, especially with the imps and wolves growing more daring with each passing week.
Red didn't seem to be at home just yet. She heard floorboards creaking upstairs. Waluigi, maybe? Or a new guest? The doors in the upper hallway were all closed, so she couldn't catch a glimpse of the occupant from the bottom of the stairwell. Just as well. She'd feel more up to being social once she'd had a bottle of the good dark ale imported from Gloriana. She shed her dusty boots at the door, set George down, and arched her back to crack out the kinks. Then she padded straight toward the outdoor hot spring, fingers already working to unlace her bedraggled tunic.
After she bathed, dressed, and mulled quietly over the monster problem (in utter futility, unfortunately), she wandered into the kitchen in hopes that Red was back. He wasn't. That meant the cooking was up to her, more's the pity for the houseguests. Complex dishes were never her strong suit, though she could fry a fish or roast whatever meat happened to be on hand. She chopped some greens and tossed them in a bowl, then salted and grilled a few trout. She gave the dinner bell a single tug to alert anyone in the inn to the presence of food, but no one came. She took her plate upstairs along with a cold bottle of ale. George followed.
Elsa shut the door and plopped down onto her bed, digging her toes into the thick silver fur of the bear rug flung on her floor. Her videophone lay on the nightstand, gathering dust. For a moment she peered at the phone, quietly considering the list of people she'd come to know. Hero, Helena, Adol, Cody, Simon... Her gaze stayed fixed, even as she tipped her head back to take a quick gulp of bitter ale. She should call them, see how they were faring, maybe talk about the old days.
But she didn't. She set the ale beside the device and ate her fish. She'd made too many mistakes, and harboring both regrets and pride seldom brought about any real changes or results. Elsa didn't feel like much of a hero, or even much of a friend. It would be welcome to see their faces again, but more painful than any blade if those faces were set in disgust, or disappointment.
She almost choked as a sudden laugh lurched from her throat. She could brave any monster, go up against any foe hellbent on opposing the innocent. But she didn't have the courage to apologize and make amends? That was more than a little pathetic.
'Maybe next time,' she thought, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. 'Maybe next time.'
She would think the same thing tomorrow, too.