A message from the author.
What follows is the beginning of an idea I cooked up while extremely bored. Working a 10 hour shift doing nothing that provoked any real thought, my brain started kicking ideas around out of sheer desperation, just to keep me sane.
So, imagine a wage slave factory drone who's mortal boredom levels made the Gods themselves notice.
But where's the fun in that? Hopefully, dear reader, I can present said fun to you.
I've read (just recently) the ninth book too. And will be using various wiki sites to try to keep characters true to form as I run my own tale through the paces before eventually de-railing or something. Who knows?
Also note: I am putting the 'M' rating on every chapter, because I KNOW at some point, something is going to cross a line with some one, and I'd like to avoid a 'well you should have put an 'M' rating on it' down the road some place.
An 'Is it wrong to pick up girls in a dungeon' fanfic
I am a girl in the Dungeon?
From the Dermegil Works.
My life to the point before the incident was like a broken vinyl record. Wake, eat, travel, work, eat, work more, travel, eat, attempt to entertain myself with some kind of hobby or the like, fail to do so, shower then sleep again.
Only to repeat it the next day.
Like some sort of golem who refused to break yet couldn't be bothered to aspire to something more, I was just another wage slave for yet another faceless corporation, who tried to avoid thoughts of suicide through copious amounts of video games and internet browsing.
The downfall of having a genius IQ but lacking the focus to apply it. My schooling was Canadian standard, and nearly drove me insane on its own with the lack of mental stimulus a cookie cut curriculum provided.
Books and book like games were my release, imagining myself as the camera behind a hero, or being the hero myself. I even did a little writing, though I hadn't actually managed to get anything published.
No wife, kids, family whom I kept in touch with. I was simply an 'existence' in the modern world.
Leaning way back in my computer chair, closing my eyes and stretching my arms high above my head, trying to ease the seemingly eternal stiff shoulders of a factory grunt, I declared to my small empty apartment, "I'm BORED!"
It was at this moment, my chair seemed to tip, and after an instant of weightlessness...
"-ED-ouf!" My rear hit the floor and I suddenly felt wind over my skin. My eyes snapped open, letting in what felt like a spotlight directly to my retinas.
Squeezing my eyes shut again I brought a hand to my rear and froze.
I was naked. I was still in my work clothes a moment ago, but the hand on my rear was touching bare skin. I was also in my apartment, not outside, though the wind blowing through what sounded, (and smelled) like an alleyway told me otherwise. I also just worked a night shift, so the sun would just be coming up, not be directly overhead.
"What the hell?" I moved my legs to start getting up, then put a hand to my throat at the sound of my voice.
Slender throat, no beard, smooth fingers and palm. I turned my eyes downward and looked at my hands. Gone were the familiar work worn hands and roughly kept fingernails. The rest of me hand changed too. My chest and belly were now...
I think my brain finally decided it needed to reboot or some thing, because when I heard a scream of distress, the side of my head was flat against the ground and I was starting to shiver against what felt like rough cobble stones pressed into my side.
More of an act of mental desperation than one of potential heroism, I set aside what ever it was that had happened to me and looked around for the source of the noise. Another cry of distress came from my right, and I felt something on the top of my head twitch an instant before my head turned to look. I got to my feet, (nice delicate feet with perfect toenails) found my balance, (that something below? my spine seemed to find for me) and headed towards the noise. I was thankful the streets were at least reasonably clear of debris.
I felt my adrenalin spiking as I heard another cry, the crinkle of newspaper and a collection of small impacts on the ground, then a solid 'thud' of something hitting a wall. I heard voices too, but I didn't understand the words at all. I stopped at the mouth of the next turn in the alleyway and looked at the scene.
Two men, one with sandy hair, the other curly black, dressed in what looked like a random assortment of conflicting era armor, were accosting some one in a green dress. I couldn't make out her face, as they were both in the way, but one of them had a hand on the wall near what I assumed was her head, while the other was standing by his shoulder making for all the world looked like 'grabby hands' towards the lady. Judging by the size of the feet and ankles peeking out from the bottom of the dress, I guessed the two of them outweighed her by about twice apiece.
I picked up what looked like an orange (but smelled like an apple), from a few that had rolled away from the paper bag on the ground near by, gave it an experimental little toss in my hand, and with all the strength I could manage I threw it at the the two hoodlums.
It was an odd sensation. My brain knew the motions. Like just about everyone who went to a North American school, I knew how to throw a ball. That automatic twist, flex and extension of the arm. My body however, didn't seem to have a clue, and though I've known girls who could keep up with any of the boys in gym class baseball, I... Threw like a girl.
Mid way through the not-orange's arc, I picked up another one, feeling my shoulder twitch with the recoil of unfamiliar effort. I switched my throwing hand from right to left, figuring that I couldn't do any worse, I let fly again.
The result was a little better, smoother, and just as 'Sandy' stopped making 'grabby hands' at the girl pressed against the wall, the second not-orange hit him in the face.
He said something I didn't understand to the other one, and the 'Curly' turned to look over his shoulder at me. They both had the well worn faces of people who lived a rough life, but they lacked the missing teeth you might expect of what seemed like a medieval mercenary. My train of thought was interrupted as 'Curly' said something with a grin that showed almost all his teeth to 'Sandy', who's face also split into a grin, and he started towards me.
It was about here my brain reminded me I was NOT who I used be. I lacked my utility knife from work that I usually kept in a pocket. My keys with the sharp little leaf ornament I got for a birthday, or even my belt. Or clothes, for that matter. Anything that could be used against the short sword sandy haired man was drawing menacingly from his hip. Next thing I knew my back was against the wall, the sword was touching the wall by the side of my head and not quite touching my throat. His other hand and eyes started wandering over my bare chest while the other laughed at my horrible rescue attempt.
Reality slammed into me like a hammer, and my body suddenly felt like it actually belonged to me. And I hated it. The man must have noticed the change on my face, because he laughed and turned his eyes away from me to say something to the black haired man.
It was clumsy, and hurt my knee, and gave me a nasty cut on my hand, but I exploded into motion. I put my right hand over my throat under the sword edge, kneed the man as hard as my body could manage, and tried to slam the heel of my left hand into his elbow to get the sword away from me.
The effect, despite my slender build, seemed to work. Mostly. His armor didn't seem to cover his groin, and he folded into my knee with a wheeze. His sword cut the back of my hand, and the tip traced a line across my shoulder, while my strike on his elbow brought the blade back up, earning me another tap against my upper arm this time, and a brush through my hair.
I didn't stop there however. I punched elbowed and kicked as fast as my awkward muscles allowed. And weak as I felt, I managed to drop him to the ground before he could recover by kicking the side of his unarmored knee. I finished the motion by punching the back of his head with my right hand while grabbing his left wrist and twisting it behind his back, before sitting on his back.
His friend had turned and was looking at the two of us in stark disbelief. The man under me was recovering however and I had to do something fast. He was already using his free arm to push himself with me on his back, off the ground slowly. I felt something cold under my naked rear and reached for it, cutting myself on the back of my leg as I drew a knife out.
"Don't move." I said to the other man as he let the girl he was now absentmindedly holding against the wall go and took a half step towards me. My words were lost on him as much as theirs were on me, so I flipped the knife in my hand, and rested the edge to the sandy haired man's throat. That stopped the both of them, a moment before the girl behind him smashed what looked like a flower pot over the back of the black haired man's head.
The sandy haired one said something that made the girl frown. Then a few more things as she calmly walked towards us, another bit of pottery in hand.
After we had quickly tied up the two unconscious men with their own bets and various bits of armor straps, she took one look at me, and started rummaging through their belongings. Upending two backpacks, four pouches and one coin purse, she came up with a length of some sort of light red cloak which she draped over me, and two little vials of red liquid.
Before she did this, I had a chance to finally look her over a little better. Shorter than me, coming up to only my chin, she had light gray hair and eyes, wore what looked like a (slightly rumpled and dirty) green red maid outfit, and now that the crisis was over she exuded a businesslike air of confidence.
My hands were trembling by the time she offered me the two vials, and she used her other hand to steady mine as she deposited them into it. She said something, and only now did she realize I couldn't understand her. She had been chatting constantly while we tied them up and she went through their belongings. But only now, as she looked at my face did she notice my total lack of understanding. Frowning, she took one of the bottles back, pulled the cork with her teeth, and dribbled a little of the liquid on the cut over the back of my right hand. I winced as the sensation of what felt like rubbing alcohol was poured into the cut. What little blood was washed away showed clear uncut skin underneath.
My brain kicked again, and I my vision went dark around the edges. Potions? That worked? Mercenaries wearing a half dozen era's of armor patches? A young girl who had perfectly gray hair and eyes? Wearing a simplified French Maid outfit?
She shook me and I regained a little focus. Her showed her worry clearly. Without taking her eyes off mine, she held me up with one hand, and brought the rest of the first vial to my lips. Numbly, I tasted something that might have been sweet, and shivered as it tingled down my throat. I felt my shoulder stop itching a moment before some of my other bruises stopped throbbing. She poured the second vial into my mouth before I could really comprehend the effects spreading through my body.
When the tingling finally stopped and my body recovered from the lack of adrenaline I must have given some sort of outward sign, because the girl helped me to my feet, kept me steady until I could stand on my own, then took my hand and tugged me towards another alleyway. The stone under my feet felt cold despite the sun that looked to be just past noon. My diminutive guide walked with purpose, and soon we stopped in front of what smelled like the back door of restaurant. A few neatly stacked crates of bottles and carefully piled sacks of what looked like garbage near the door added to my hypothesis.
She turned, said something to me, let go of my hand and opened the door. She didn't actually enter, but instead called inside. There was a bit of back and forth between her and at least two others, before a new face stepped outside to join us.
This lady was, politely put, immense. My eyes were level with her chin, which made her tower over my guide. Tall, wide shouldered, and built like she lifted weights professionally, her stern face was framed by brown hair, but her brown eyes held extreme kindness. She said something to the shorter lady in a rough tone before she noticed me and my appearance. Her face softened, though the cloth in her hand suffered a white knuckled squeeze from her immense hand. She was also dressed similarly to my guide.
The shorter of the two took my hand again and tugged me towards the door. My feet took a moment to catch up to my body and I nearly stumbled again but this time the huge woman put her hand on my shoulder. I felt like a kitten being herded by a tiger as she kept me steady and led me inside.
Instantly, there were two girls with cat ears in front of me, speaking rapidly to me, then the gray haired one, then to the tall one, before being shoo-ed away by the large lady. She said a few more words to the gray haired one, who gave a surprisingly formal, if a little shallow, Japanese bow. She then gave me a reassuring pat on the arm before turning and leaving as well.
With a satisfied nod, the big woman resumed her herding of me. This time, she directed me towards a set of stairs. I caught a brief look at what looked like the kitchen and common room as I walked, but only managed a glimpse of a fairly crowded room of people enjoying what I assumed was lunch, and another worker with sharply pointed ears doing dishes.
My guess that this was an inn or tavern was spot on it seemed, as she led me up to the second floor and a short corridor of doors. We walked to the end one, and she opened it, nudging me ahead of her. This room actually looked like a permanent residence. The bed was the first thing that caught my eye. It was made of what looked like wood that had grown into the shape of a bed, rather than being built into one. There were various other eye catching things, but before I could really look at them, the lady turned me to face her, looked me right in the eyes and before I could react tugged my only bit of clothing away with one smooth motion.
I took a half step back, but stopped myself from going further when all she did was look me over critically, turn towards a wardrobe (that also looked grown into shape, rather than being built), opened it, and removed a few articles of clothing. These she bundled under one arm before handing my borrowed robe back. I put it back on without really thinking about it, and was herded once again to another room. This one was a simple bath room. In the literal sense. A metal tub that looked like it might hold the big lady, what looked like honest to goodness taps, with a red and blue knob on either side, and a full length mirror.
I looked back to the lady who put the bundle of clothes on a shelf, handed me a bar of soap, a rough cloth and a horse hair brush.
As I held all these in my arms, she gave me an honest to goodness pat on the head, like I was some lost puppy.
I suppose I was, at this point. But it still felt a little embarrassing. I mean, less than an hour ago I was a man in my mid thirties. Now I was...
I looked at the mirror next to me, and regarded the person contained within. I looked about as tall as I was before, but now...
Eyes the colour of molten copper had replaced my gray ones. My once bearded face was now angular and smooth. My hair was coal black, with two pointed ears atop my head, that twitched and turned towards the lady as her feet moved her back towards the door. One side of my hair had been cut by that man's sword, revealing that yes, my ears were now on top of my head.
Still intent on the mirror, I tossed off the red cloak I was wearing and revealed the rest of my change. Clear, near white skin (at least in spots that didn't have blood over it), lithe arms and legs, a midriff that was just showing the muscle underneath, perfectly shaped breasts...
And a black fox tail.
"What the F-..." My brain processed everything a second before I voiced my confusion, and the big lady was too far away to stop me from hitting the floor as my legs went numb.
At least I thought she was. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her stop, push one foot against the floor, spin and almost 'appear' next to me. Her two big hands supported my back and middle, turning my 'collapse' into a controlled folding of my legs. I squeezed my eyes shut a moment to replay the act of such a huge person covering the two meters between us near instantly, and catching me gently enough that I almost didn't feel her hands touch me.
I opened my eyes and turned to look at her, reaching out a hand to pat her shoulder and get my feet set under me again. I needed time to think, sort and simply comprehend what had happened. I nodded my head at her and gave her a light push for her to let me go.
With a return nod, she stepped back, letting me go and smiling slightly. Apparently she had been told I couldn't understand the language, because she reached into a cupboard and pulled out a towel, made to offer it to me, then hung it near the tub on a hook instead.
To a factory worker, where hearing your own voice, let alone some one else was difficult at best, I translated her actions as "You can use this, so I'm putting it here." And then she turned and left, closing the door behind her.
Okay, so that's the beginning done.
I'm hoping I am capturing the essence of 'dropped into a situation' properly. Maybe I'm not being descriptive enough? Our protagonist currently has a whole bunch of things stacked against him(her?), and needs time to process it, so they can switch from 'react' to 'act'. But just how much of a culture shock would it be? Even if you read all kinds of fantasy books and played D&D and the like growing up?
NOTES VERSION 2. 2018
For anyone reading this, this fanfic is DONE. Finished, complete, curtains closed. So if you do decide to stay and keep reading, you'll actually get to the end. I still reply to comments, even if this story is done.
Till next time.