The ground is made of asphalt, and there are iron fences to either side. In front of them is a street bustling with people, cars, and trucks. The sun is completely obscured by the city's skyline, but it seems to be dusk. Tall towers of steel and glass stretch towards the sky. On a nearby hill, there appears to be a stone castle; in the other direction is a metal spire, easily twice the height of every other building.

A manhole cover in the alleyway is emblazoned with "TORONTO HYDRO-ELECTRIC SYSTEM".

That doesn't really help Concordia, since it's not in Imperial.

She recognizes the general class of place where they are — it looks fairly similar to her home city, if with taller buildings — but a lot of the details are ... strange. The clothing, for one thing. She's used to a lot more skirts and robes than seem to be in evidence.

Probably the most startling things are the giant metal carriages. They don't look like war-machines, but she's having trouble guessing what else they might be.

"Are you okay?" she asks the girl.

Emily is perfectly familiar with Earth cities — she went down to Boston with her parent to see the science museum last year — but she's substantially less used to narrowly avoiding sudden danger, and it turns out to be more disorienting than it seems when it's written on the page.

She sits up. The cityscape is ... not what she was expecting. Normally, when you're teleported, you should end up somewhere magical. Unless this is urban fantasy? Or ...

She looks at the teleporter, in her long blue skirt and ruffled shirt. Maybe she's a magical girl? Emily doesn't really read manga, though.

"I'm alright," she replies. "If the monster can follow you, though, we need to raise the alarm and be ready for it."

Concordia nods.

"Right," she agrees. Except ... she landed among barbarians last time, and she's (presumably) only gotten further afield since then.

She pulls herself to her feet, and reaches a hand out for the girl as well. Better to be upright and mobile. And then she performs the right mental motion, and ...

Novice unstructured characteristic divination scaffold: SELECT * FROM people WHERE language = Imperial

Emily lights up, but no-one else does. Moments later, a man approaches. He's unsteady on his feet, and looks around nervously.

"Say, are your parents around here?" he slurs. The smell of alcohol is clear on his breath. "Kids like you should be care-- the hell is that?"

He stared at a point in space behind the pair, terror dawning on his face. A Chasm beast was coming into existence, the petals first, then its limbs. It was forming sluggishly, as though the world was rejecting it, but form it did.

The man rapidly forgets his previous impulse to take care of the children. He backs away slowly and then takes off in a run. "Help! There's a wolf or some shit! Zookeeper! Cops! Somebody! Help!"

The Chasm Beast snorts and shakes itself, as though amused by the man's cowardice. Then, slowly, with smoothly predatory movements, it turns its attention to Concordia.

Concordia realizes, in a moment of crystal clarity, that she will die running.

The only question is whether she drags the Beast to another series of locations, until she inevitably messes up the spell, or whether she runs from it here, and brings it into the city.

On the one hand, it will kill everyone. On the other hand ... this is a city, with thousands of people. Perhaps one of them is a mage that can kill it, even if barbarians are at a disadvantage without the benefit of His Imperial Majesty's education system.

Emily doesn't know why the magical girl isn't teleporting again, but maybe there's a time limit, or a cost, or something. But she's still holding her hand, and she knows her best bet of getting out of here is still to not let go.

"Run!" she screams, pulling her toward the street. And then, when she's gotten moving, "Help! Monster!"

Concordia jerks into motion, her feet thudding on the pavement. There must be someone here who can help.

Novice unstructured characteristic divination scaffold: SELECT * FROM people ORDER BY combatAbility DESC limit 1

Concordia's attention is magically drawn to a man wearing a dark blue uniform with a red-banded cap. He's already walking towards them with an authoritative stride. He looks like a city watchman, but he isn't carrying spear or sword, and if he has any armour under that uniform, it's very thin. When he hears her shouts, he breaks into a run, reaching for his belt.

On hearing some little kids shouting, Martinez starts to run. Sounds like there's some kind of animal, but a nasty one. Well-drilled hands the canister of OC spray from his belt, raising it to eye level as he approaches the alley.

The animal is not any Martinez has ever seen before, but adrenaline and training have taken over. He'll have time to question his reality later. As the creature approaches, he sends a long stream towards its face. He only succeeds in making it mad. The monster swipes at him, and he narrowly dodges. Its claws are the size of large knives. Martinez drops the pepper spray, and for the first time in the field, draws his firearm.

Martinez fires three shots. Three 9mm hollow-point bullets rip into the monster's body: at this distance, he can't miss. The monster keeps coming, and this time its claws connect. Martinez drops to the ground with a gasp, two long gashes across his torso. He's lucky: if not for his stab-proof vest, the Chasm Beast would have disembowelled him with a single stroke. As it stands, his wounds are very painful, but not immediately fatal.

He raises his gun, but the monster swings for his hand. The claws narrowly miss, but the paw hits him. His gun slides across the alleyway... stopping between Emily and Concordia.

... or not. If that was the strongest fighter here, then they're in trouble.

Emily has never fired a gun at a creature — and certainly never in a crowded urban environment.

But she has fired a gun.

Her parent took her out to the range last summer, and made sure she knew how to make a gun safe, and how to fire a simple pistol without hurting herself. She didn't like it. The loud bangs and the strange smells were overwhelming, and she didn't expect to ever use the knowledge again. But her parent said that if she ever did need to use a gun, she should know how.

She scrabbles for it with her free hand, bringing it up and quickly sighting along the barrel. Once she has the Beast in her sights, she puts her finger on the trigger and pulls.

She misses, of course, because one day of practice nine months ago is completely insufficient to actually hit anything.

Concordia bites her lip. She has to focus. None of these people know anything about the Chasm.

"It's immune to nonmagical weaponry!" she says, even as she tugs the girl to start running again. "Or — not immune, if you do enough damage, but it's much easier to hurt with magic."

Emily's ears are wringing and her wrist hurts. But at least she has some idea of what's going on. She's had her call to adventure, and now she's going to need some supernatural aid to survive this.

"So do — some magic," she gasps out. She's already starting to be out of breath, and that is probably not a good sign.

"I don't know any attack spells!" Concordia replies. "And that guy was the strongest fighter here."

She wracks her brain, trying to think about what to try next. She has exactly two spells, and she's tried both of them. If she were more like her mother, she would have instantly improvised a fireball or something, but she doesn't know any of the theory.

Maybe ...

That gun was a lot more accurate than the guns she's heard about coming out of the capital. The fighter fired three times and hit three times. At close range, yes, but her military science teacher said that a one-in-two chance of hitting was a sign of an unusually skilled marksman. Maybe her spell found the person who would be best in a fight in general, not a fight with a Beast in particular.

It's a slim hope, but her only other idea is trying to ram it with a metal carriage, which has as many as several problems with it, as plans go.

Novice unstructured characteristic divination scaffold: SELECT * FROM people ORDER BY magicalAbility DESC limit 3

Three people lit up to Concordia's senses. The first was herself, and the second was Emily. The third was a man sitting in the cab of a large white van, painted with an infinity symbol and the words "Canadian Blood Services". The gunshots had caused pedestrians and cars alike to flee, but the man was not moving. He was hiding behind the door, occasionally stealing a look through a window.

"That man!" she points. "He's a mage."

The girl stumbles, but she hauls her back upright and leads them in the direction of the man. Concordia still doesn't speak the language, and will need someone to translate.

"Tell him to hit it! Fire usually works."

If she had more time to think, she might be dubious about the idea that the Canadian Health Service employs wizards. She doesn't have time to think, though, because she is running. Emily skids around the van and yanks at the door.

"Monster, weak to magic, can teleport," she pants. There's a stitch in her side, but she tries to straighten up anyway. Maybe she can brace herself on the engine of the van and actually hit the monster. "Fire might work."

The door is locked, but Lucas rolls the window down and listens to Emily's warning. "But I don't have any... okay, clearly gotta figure something out." He turns to the back of the van and grabs a suitcase-sized defibrillator. "Does electricity count as fire? We can use this as a weapon. If not, I have a jerrycan in the back, but that sounds like a nightmare to fight with." He's clearly scared, but not panicked, and seems to take the presence of a monster as natural.

Of course he isn't panicking about the monster — he's clearly their supernatural aid, and possibly their threshold guardian.

"Is electricity fire?" she asks the teleporter.

Concordia struggles to recall whether that came up in her introductory elementalism class.

"... maybe? It's better than a sword, anyway," she replies, carefully peering around the engine block to see how close the Beast has gotten.

"We don't know," Emily tells the man. "But it's worth a shot."

She tries to steady herself against the hood and see if she can aim at the monster and buy them some time, but between the adrenaline and the shortness of breath, she can't be sure of hitting it instead of a bystander.

The man opens the door, holding the suitcase with both hands. He sets it down, opens it, and begins flipping switches. "I have to somehow bypass the safeties. Give me thirty seconds!"

The Chasm Beast does not seem content to wait, instead advancing menacingly.

Concordia looks between the foreign mage — clearly setting up some kind of lightning-artillery spell, based on his question — and the obviously-a-civilian girl failing to aim.

"Give me the gun — is it like a blunderbuss?"

"No," Emily answers her. "Not at all!"

If the teleporter's best point of reference for a semi-automatic handgun is "blunderbuss", there's no way she is going to be handling it safely. On the other hand, they're going to be eaten in less than 30 seconds.

She hands her the gun.

"Sight along the top and pull the trigger," she says. "You don't need to reset it between shots."

Concordia has done her mandatory bow-and-arrow training, and she could totally hit a Beast with an arrow at this range. With an unfamiliar weapon ... her chances are a lot more dicey, but at least she has the benefit of steady aim.

She aims at the Beast and pulls the trigger repeatedly, until the gun stops banging and starts clicking instead.

The not-a-blunderbuss kicks back with surprising force, and it fires as quickly as Concordia can pull the trigger. Unlike with a bow and arrow, she can't see the projectile, either in flight or after it hits. She misses a lot, but manages to get several more shots on target. Black ichor oozes from the beast's many wounds. One of her shots finds a leg, and the leg stops working properly. The Chasm beast limps forward, slowed and injured but just as vicious.

"Got it!" Lucas stands up with two rubber-coated paddles in his hands, connected by a cord to the suitcase. He adopts a defensive stance, holding them like daggers. "I need you to press the big white button when I touch it, okay?" Without waiting for confirmation, he looks towards the beast, trying to overcome his fear. "Hey ugly! I ain't never seen a werewolf before, and I'm not impressed. You get hurt by a kine officer? What kinda excuse for a monster are you?" His voice wavers, but he stands firm.

Emily dives for the defibrillator, and hovers her hand over the button.

Concordia glances back at the foreign mage, but he doesn't seem to be launching a spell.

But. He's clearly done something, the gun is empty, and she doesn't know how to recharge it. It doesn't feel like there's a spent focusing crystal, or anything.

She carefully retreats behind the man, ready to run or grab them and teleport, whichever seems called for.

"What is he doing?" she quietly asks the girl.

"When it gets close, the —"

Huh. She gets the sense that 'defibrillator' is ... the wrong word in some way.

"— the medical lightning box will channel lightning through those pads," she explains. "He's just trying to taunt it close enough."

... oh. Her spell picked up a healer. No wonder he couldn't launch a ranged artillery spell. She really needs practice at coming up with better conditions on the fly.

But she knows what got the beast's attention last time. She steps up behind the man — just far enough away not to get tangled if he needs to step back suddenly — and starts calling on the gods.

"By Veritas! By Aurora! By Focis!"

The Beast charges Lucas, or perhaps Concordia with Lucas in the way. Claws swipe up. Lucas dodges, lunges with the paddles, but misses. Before he can steady himself, the Beast attacks again. He blocks a claw-swipe with his forearm, and jams the paddles into the beast's body. Emily presses the button, and there's a loud beep. The Beast convulses... and drops. There's a smell of ozone and burnt fur.

Lucas steps back, wheezing. The Chasm Beast hit him hard in the stomach before it went down. Although the claws struck his arm dead-on, his forearm bears only a thin line of blood, as though the claws were a pocket-knife rather than the deadly blades Concordia knows them to be.

Is it dead?

Concordia really hopes that it's dead.

"We should cut its head off," she tells the girl, "just to be really sure that got it."

"R-Right," Emily manages, flopping back onto the pavement and staring at the pale Canadian sky. Now that she's no longer being chased, it's all sort of catching up with her.

"She says we should cut off it's head to be sure," she relays to the man, because priorities. And then "Thank you. Thank you so much, I'm so glad that you were here," because manners.

Lucas nods. "Haven't seen you two around before. Does your friend speak English?" He pokes tenderly at his belly. "Ugh, I think I broke a couple ribs. There's a knife under the passenger seat of my van, can you take care of it?" He leans up against a fence on the side of the alley.

Martinez groans and rolls over. He's lost a lot of blood, he's not exactly lucid... but he's alive. For now.

Emily has never butchered an animal in her life. But she bets that the teleporter — who seemed to assume that someone would have a sword available — probably has.

She fetches the knife from under the seat and passes it to her.

"She says she doesn't," Emily replies. "But I only know English and I can understand her just fine, so I don't know what's going on. Actually —"

She turns to the teleporter and says "Now that there's no monster, what's your name? I'm Emily." in fluent Imperial.

"I'm Concordia," she replies. "Trainee Mage Concordia Bucher."

She crouches by the Beast, and begins sawing at the hide of its neck.

"I heard of a Malkavian ghoul who understood other languages, but kept insisting he only spoke French. Fluently, in other languages. Is your master a Malk?"

Quietly, in the distance, a police siren sings out. "Great, more cops. Sunset's soon, but not that soon. God, how the hell did we have a Masquerade breach in daytime?"

Ha! She knew there was a masquerade. That means that once the book has wrapped up, she can just call her parent to come get her. Or maybe take the AmTrack, if they have AmTrack in Toronto.

"I don't know what a Malk is, and I'm nearly certain I'm not a ghoul," she tells him. Unless it's part of the masquerade that she is secretly part-ghoul, and will get magic powers from it.

"Do we ... need to get you to a hospital for your ribs?" she suggests.

Concordia listens with one ear to the barbarians as she focuses on separating the Beast's vertebrae. Now that she has had a moment to calm down, her mind is going over what she could have done better. Still, she was ultimately correct that a city would have someone who could stop it. She just wishes that she hadn't led it to a school first.

Actually, that's a good point. She makes a note to ask Emily where her school was, so they can send some mages to go check the area, once she's done talking to the healer.

"No, no hospital, no human doctors. We got half an hour to sunset. I don't have very many phone numbers, but I'll call one of the Prince's people. They should be able to get... a police cordon set up, or something."

Lucas stopped, and seemed to be wrestling with something.

"Well, you're not a ghoul, and obviously not Kindred. So none of my orders involve you. And you did probably save my life, since there's no way I would have killed that thing without knowing its weakness. So I'll just say: after I make this phone call, somebody will lock down the area, and after sunset the big boys are going to come in and do memory wipes on the bystanders. And ask the three of us a lot of questions. I've got broken ribs, and no gun. If getting mixed up in Cam business doesn't sound fun to you, I wouldn't be able to stop you from tying me up and leaving before more cops get here."

Emily blinks.

All of that sounds like he's expecting her to have a lot more context than she actually does. So the question is whether this is more of a Greek story — where she has to demonstrate the virtue of humility by asking questions — or more of a folk story, where she has to trick her way in without knowing what's going on.

... except she already has someone who knows about magic, and the man implied that she doesn't speak English when she's talking to her.

"Hey Concordia, why would sunset be important, what's a Kindred, and what's Cam business?"

The beast's head thumps to the pavement, and Concordia wipes the knife on its hide.

"No idea," she replies. "Maybe I could do better with some context?"

Emily relays what the man said in more detail.

Once the knife is clean-ish, she sets it down and starts cleaning her hands on her skirt.

"I ... still don't know what any of those things are. The healer sort of implied that we should tie him up, though," she points out. Although she's beginning to doubt that he's a very good healer, if his rib is still broken. Maybe barbarians haven't figured out how to heal broken bones? They don't have any good academies.

"Only if we don't want to get involved in 'Cam business'," Emily responds. "But maybe we do want to, if Cam business is magic."

Concordia shakes her head.

"Not if they're using mind magic," she insists. "It's dangerous, and illegal everywhere civilized."

That's good enough for Emily. She searches the truck for some rope, and begins tying the man up — with Concordia's help on some of the knots.

Lucas hangs up the phone just as Emily grabs the rope. "I'm afraid I'll have to tell them the truth, apart from what happened after I made that call. If they do catch you, I fought you really hard, ya hear? You both had to hold me down to tie me up, and I wouldn't stop struggling."

Emily is privately doubtful that this will do much against people who apparently have mind magic, but it does sort of seem to put tying him up in a more reasonable light. If whoever he's called for aren't going to accept the real story, then it makes sense that they'd be at least a bit villainous.

"It's the least I can do, for saving us," she agrees. "I promise that if it ever comes up, I'll tell it just like that."

And a few moments later, they're ready to go. Concordia nabs the knife and the gun, tying the former to her belt with a spare hair ribbon — in lieu of a proper sheath — and handing the latter to Emily, when she flinches and makes urgent grabbing motions.

Emily figures out how to pop out the spent magazine, checks with her finger that the chamber is empty, and switches on the safety.

"... where now?" she asks, glancing around the darkening streets.

Concordia is no more familiar with the city, but she does have the time to formulate a query properly now.

"Let's find somewhere with a lot of people," she suggests. "Both so that we can blend in, and so that we can find someone trustworthy. Oh — I actually haven't said. I have a spell that lets me ..."

She briefly explains unstructured characteristic divination as the two make their way in the direction that Emily tentatively guesses leads toward the city center. Concordia occasionally has them duck around a building, so that they'll be out of sight of whoever comes for the healer.

The pair get out of the area fairly easily. They pass by police officers, who do not stop them. Nobody, it seems, suspects that a pair of teenage girls have anything to do with the gunshots.

Toronto is a big city. The pair walk towards the spire, which is surrounded by other tall buildings, but after twenty minutes of walking it barely seems closer. The sun has set, now.

They pass into a much more open space, with lots of trees and grass. There's a sports field, some very old brick buildings, and a clock-tower off to one side. There are also some much more modern buildings in the same area. They're on the university campus. Students walk this way and that, going home for the evening or heading to night classes. There's a map nearby, which indicates a nearby subway station as well as the various university buildings.

There's something niggling in the back of Emily's head — too many things, really.

As they walk, she keeps half an ear on Concordia's explanation, occasionally asking clarifying questions or suggesting how they might make use of her spell. The rest of her thoughts are consumed with trying to hold off the growing sense of helplessness she feels. When there was a monster, and an emergency, what she had to do was ... well, it wasn't clear, but it was ...

... it was determined. There were things to do, and she did them.

But now she's walking with a near-stranger through the darkening streets of an unfamiliar city, the cool wind leeching the heat from her, and she doesn't know what to do next. Only a few minutes ago, really, she was at school, at recess.

And — the insight hits her like a flash — Toronto is only one timezone west of Vermont. But now it's dark.

"Concordia," she interrupts. "Your teleport — is it instant?"

Concordia cuts herself off, and looks down at Emily.

It didn't really strike her, because Emily is obviously so much more used to this style of city and the people that fill it, and she was really helpful with the Beast, but Emily is really just her brother's age. She sees her shiver, and regrets that the academy students' uniform doesn't include a jacket.

"Yes, it is," she answers. "Why do you ask?"

"This city — it's only about a thousand miles from my school," she explains. "Which is much too short a distance for it to have become night so quickly. I don't think — I don't think we're where either of us thought we were. Your academy, where is it supposed to be, globally?"

Concordia frowns.

"About 30 leagues east of the coast of the north-western continent," she explains. "But I wouldn't expect people to know where it is, around here. The world is big, and we're clearly in the far orient."

Emily presses her lips together and shakes her head.

"This isn't the orient. We're in the Americas. Near the great lakes."

"— but that's ... No!"

Concordia starts to explain exactly how impossible that is, but then she sees that Emily's eyes are welling with tears, and she pulls her into a hug instead, rubbing hands up and down her arms to warm her.

"Hey, it's okay. Maybe we ... maybe this is the future, or something," she suggests. "We just need to figure out how to get in contact with the local mage's academy, and they'll have records we can check, and people who can go check on your school, and —"

Emily shakes her head.

"No. Not tonight. It's too late for offices to be open, and we don't have any Canadian money, and I dropped my book—"

She's crying properly now, digging her face into Concordia's collar bone.

Concordia takes a deep breath. She feels like she hasn't been handling this well. On the one hand, nobody would blame her, when she had to escape a Beast. On the other hand, once it was dealt with, she should have re-assessed. Emily is clearly in shock, and she should be going through the steps of her basic survival training.

Shelter, water, and food. Only this isn't the wilderness, and there's an easy way to get those. She doesn't have 'Canadian' money either — although they must take Imperial bits; they're real copper — but even in 'Toronto', she doubts that there is nobody who will at least let them out of the cold and get them some water and oats.

"Hey, it's okay," she repeats herself. "We'll figure things out. But first, let me see if there's someone who might have a place for us to stay the night."

She doesn't know who these people are, and she can't search for complex, dependent conditions. But she can find someone kind.

Novice unstructured characteristic divination scaffold: SELECT * FROM people ORDER BY kindness DESC limit 5

The spell lights up Emily and four other people: two are barely visible through a second-floor window, and seem to be talking to each other. One is pushing a cart stacked high with boxes. And one is wearing a backpack, walking towards the subway station.

Hmm. Getting to the two in the window might be tricky — although it's not that far to climb. Better to go to the one with the backpack, probably, who doesn't seem to be in the middle of anything.

"That person, there," she says, pointing them out. "They might be able to help. Let's go and ask."

Emily rubs a hand across her face, clearing away the tears.

"ᵒᵏᵃʸ," she says, her voice small.

She takes one of Concordia's hands, and they proceed across the street, trailing the person with the backpack. When they're close enough, Emily makes an act of will and raises her voice.

"Excuse me?"

Emily and Concordia have to run to catch up with him, but they do catch him. The man turns around. He has short curly hair and a somewhat tired look about him. When he sees the two girls, he stops and pays attention to them. "Yes?"

"I'm terribly sorry," Emily begins, "but do you know somewhere warm we could stay the night, and maybe get a meal or use a phone?" she asks.

It's embarrassing, to need to rely on someone else like this. But she doesn't really have a better option, and Concordia says he can help.

"It's just — we ended up here very unexpectedly, and we can get it sorted out in the morning, but it's already getting late," she elaborates.

The man stops and thinks. "Well, hotels are very expensive on such short notice... they don't have badge readers at the university residence." He points to a large concrete building covered in small windows, very brutalist. "You could probably find a couch in one of the common rooms to sleep on, and there are communal showers. If you have any money at all, there's some fast food around. If not, you can usually find some free snacks in one of the student lounges."

He pauses, seeming somewhat uncomfortable. "Not to pry, but, uh, do you think you should go to the police? If you can't find your parents, or if your parents aren't safe, they can probably help."

That is ... a very good point. And if she didn't suspect that this wasn't her Toronto, or if she thought Concordia had a passport, she might go for it.

She shakes her head.

"My Parent is great — and I'm going to try to call them. But. We're really quite shockingly lost, and I don't think the police will help," she explains. "If we can hang out in one of the common rooms and figure things out in the morning, that would be a big help. Thanks."

Kevin seems pained. "Okay, well, I can't tell you to go to the authorities or anything, but..."

He takes out a notebook, scribbles quickly, and then rips out the page and hands it to Emily. "This is my phone number, okay? If you can't get whatever it is sorted out, call me, and I'll..." He shrugs helplessly. "I'll figure something out."

"Good luck." With that, he turns and resumes his walk to the subway station, glancing over his shoulder several times.

"Thank you," she calls after him.

She turns back to Concordia.

"You were right," she says. "He was kind."

Concordia is rapidly coming to realize why the empire standardized on a single official language.

"What did he have to say?"

"He's ..."

She looks down at the paper in her hands.

"He told me where we could stay the night, locally," she explains. "Come on, I'll show you."

She brings her around to one of the doors to the dorm building, and sort of awkwardly nods-and-smiles her way in.

"... so as long as we don't bother anyone too badly, it should be fine," her explanation concludes, with a certain amount of false confidence. The kind man gave her a path to follow, and she is following it, even if she isn't entirely certain how things really work in university dorm buildings.

She gets in easily. In front of her, there's an empty reception desk; a sign indicates that someone will be there at 8 AM tomorrow. To the right, there are elevators that seem to require a keycard, but to the left there are some unlocked doors: a laundry-room, a small fitness centre, and some sort of common room: couches, chairs and tables, some board games, and an old, bulky TV. There's a first-aid kit mounted on a wall. A little exploration also turns up an electric kettle, some mugs, and some teabags and hot chocolate powder.

Occasionally a student passes through the hallway, but nobody comes in. Small windows positioned high on the wall would not make them visible from the street. Emily and Concordia have, for the moment, privacy.

She relaxes a little, and drags Concordia over to the common room area.

"S-So we can just ..." Emily starts to say, before trailing off and trying to think what comes next. It's kind of been a whirlwind.

Concordia pokes around the room, finding most of the contents unfamiliar — although the furniture is obvious enough, if built in a barbarian style.

The big flat glass block is ... probably a spell focus of some kind? Maybe a heating element? And the racks of little pouches are probably stimulants or silphium powder or something like that. This is, after all, apparently a place of learning.

Emily sees her poking around the hot chocolate packets, and gives up on coming up with a plan. She's hungry, and tired, and still on the edge of being overwhelmed. It's ... probably fine to take some hot chocolate.

"Here, let me," she says, filling the kettle.

Concordia watches the kettle make hissing noises as it heats.

"... is it summoning flames inside the water?" she guesses, trying to peer into the spout. "That's dangerous, because it means you can't have the normal safeties against not summoning flames that intersect with something; you could turn it into a weapon pretty easily."

"No, it's ..."

Emily shakes her head. Normally she would love to explain electricity, but right now ...

"Can we just ... sit in silence, for a little bit? And then we can have hot —"

The words stop on the end of her tongue again.

"Hot, uh, sweet-and-slightly-bitter tree-spice milk and sugar drink?" she tries. "What, do you not have chocolate?"

"The Empire has all kinds of spices," Concordia automatically replies. "But I haven't heard of 'chocolate', no. I like a lot of teas, though. If it comes from trees, is it like cinnamon?"

"A little?" Emily hazards. "Only it's not so, uh, spicy? Or, it can be, I think."

She shakes her head.

"It's not important, you'll see for yourself soon enough."

She lapses into silence and watches the kettle, wrapping her arms around herself.

Concordia searches for something to say. She's not without compassion for Emily's plight — she doesn't know how well she would have handled things at her age, frankly — but she also doesn't know what to say.

She needs Emily, at least for the moment. Moreover, she needs her functional. She doesn't speak the language, even if she's probably going to have to change that, and until she does she's really only going to be able to see the city through the lens that Emily presents.

For tonight, though, they have the basics covered. They have shelter and tea, and this will have to suffice. Tomorrow, she can suggest trying to find someone who ... wants a mage-bodyguard for their heir for prestige, but can't afford better than a foreign trainee, maybe. Or who wants tutoring in the Empire's basic casting style.

Emily is startled from her stillness by the whistle of the kettle.

She quickly pours water into the two cups, and hands one to Concordia, wrapping her hands around the other.

It's warm, and it smells good. Wisps of steam curl up from the surface, and she inhales them.

But one more goal accomplished leaves her yet again adrift. She pads over to the couch in the corner, and curls against the armrest.

Concordia mimics her, settling at the other end of the couch. It's tempting to try the 'hot chocolate' immediately, but she knows enough not to burn her tongue.

After a few minutes, she takes a tentative sip, and then perks up.

"That's pretty good!" she remarks. It's a bit watery, but that's to be expected with tea. Mostly, it's very sweet.

Emily nods silently.

Concordia takes another sip, and then balances her mug on her knee.

"Hey, we've got this," she tells the other girl. "I may not know much magic, but I know some, and there's always people willing to put mages to work. We can find a market tomorrow and start advertising," she suggests.

Emily screws her face up in frustration.

"That's not how it works!" she retorts. "I think you're a lot further from home than you think you are, Concordia."

"I think we both are," she adds quietly.

Concordia reaches over a hand to gently rub her back.

"So you'll tell me how it works," she reasons. "Not right now — in the morning. We're in a pretty good position, comparatively. Plenty of people have to deal with worse. I just wanted you to know that we're in this together."

Emily sniffs, and takes another sip.

"... thanks," she says after a moment. "Yeah, I know we can try to sell your magic. But ..."

She struggles for words.

"You have the wrong genre," she finally explains. "There aren't really open-air markets where people ... haggle over silks and spices. But we could probably be street magicians. Uh, performers who do magic tricks on street corners to entertain crowds and solicit donations."

That sounds so weird. Why would professional mages stand around on street corners entertaining people when they could be doing something important. Maybe it's a government program of some kind, since barbarian governments need some way to maintain order amongst an uncivilized and unruly populace?

"Then that's what we'll do," she agrees.

Emily finishes her hot chocolate, and Concordia wordlessly pulls the smaller girl against her side, rubbing a hand on her back and soothing her to sleep.

She'll have to wake her if someone comes in and says anything, since she doesn't speak the language, but otherwise she can let her sleep and process.

Concordia intends to stay up and watch, for a few hours at least, to make sure they really are safe. But soon the warmth and the quiet overcome her, and she, too, falls asleep.

Concordia wakes up to an unexpected noise close by. She opens her eyes and sees the room is much darker, and the door is swinging open. Then, a few seconds later, the doorknob rotates on its own, and the door closes once again.

She muzzily blinks sleep out of her eyes.

"Is someone there?" she wonders aloud, before remembering that she's a mage now.

Novice unstructured characteristic divination scaffold: SELECT * FROM people

Concordia's attention is drawn to a man standing near the door. He hadn't been invisible, exactly, but until her spell pointed him out her eyes and mind had simply ignored him.

The man is hideous, deformed. His jaw seems misshapen, and his fingernails elongate into dangerous-looking claws. He's wearing a faded jacket and even more faded jeans. His ears are far too large, his nose far too small. He holds a black smartphone in one hand, and the other hangs near his side -- and near the pistol on his belt.

He doesn't move, staring at Concordia. 

She is suddenly wide awake. She recognizes the weapon for what it is — something capable of briefly slowing down a Chasm beast, and therefore most likely capable of utterly obliterating her.

But ... the man has some kind of attention-diversion magic, clearly, since she didn't spot him until she used her divination.

She looks around the room, deliberately not letting her eyes linger on him, and hopes that it looks natural. Then she stretches, and drops a hand to Emily's shoulder, gently shaking it.

"Emily, we have to go. There's a mage here, and I don't think he's friendly," she says, her calm tone at odds with her words, risking that the mage won't have learned Imperial either.

"Wha—?"

The man walks with silent footfalls to the corner of the room, waits, and watches. He's pointing the phone's camera at them.

"Act natural," Concordia says, in the gentle, cheery tones of someone who does not know anything is wrong. "There's a man here, invisible. He has a gun, and he's pointing some kind of spell tablet at us."

A look of confusion briefly passes across Emily's face, before she gets it under control, and responds with a sleepy nod.

She rubs the sleepy seeds out of her eyes — partly as a reflex action upon waking up, and partly to give her a moment to compose herself.

"Right — do you have a plan?" she asks.

"Keep holding my hand, so I can teleport us out if I have to," Concordia tells her. "But otherwise — he's not actually doing anything. If we pretend we don't know he's there, we might be able to walk out, and then make a run for it."

She really wishes this had all happened next month, when she would have been capable of setting things on fire.

Emily nods with determination, and then regrets it. 'Act natural' is a surprisingly tricky instruction to follow in her half-sleeping state.

The two girls rise, stretch, and make a slow and unhurried break for the door, holding hands the whole time.

The man watches them the whole time, at one point typing on the phone screen. As the girls leave, he follows them, but doesn't attempt to interdict.

As Concordia and Emily enter the hallway, they see the headlights of a van parked near the main entrance to the residence.

"... which way, do you think?" Concordia asks Emily.

Emily briefly closes her eyes, trying to visualize how things were laid out when they came in.

"There was ... a curb, I think, between the van and the left hand side. If that's their van, and we run that way, they'll find it slightly harder to catch up," she offers.

"Right."

Concordia pushes open the outside door, shivering at the biting cold the gesture unleashes.

"On the count of three. One, two, three!"

The girls break into a run.

The double doors pose something of a problem to their tail, who is still trying to remain unseen. When the girls run, the man following them is behind a closed door, buying them valuable seconds.

Chaos erupts. Tires squeal as the van takes off at great speed, but it's pointing in the wrong direction and has to make a three-point turn in the narrow street. The man who was following them gives chase, but the automatic door shuts in his face, buying the girls a few seconds. There's an alleyway nearby that leads deeper into the university campus, and they run as hard as they can.

The man gets out, along with a tall, thin woman who seems to be working with him. As the girls tear into the alleyway, their pursuers seem to be gaining.

"Fuck!" Concordia exclaims, when a glance back shows that they're failing to outpace them. If she were on her own, she might have a better chance. But Emily is neither as tall nor as athletic as she is, and they need to stay together.

"Through there!" Emily suggests, pointing at an alley that might do for losing their pursuit.

Or it might be a dead end, but probably only if the story actually needs them to meet the people who are chasing them. And Concordia can teleport if they're cornered.

It's not a dead end. Better yet, it ends in bollards which should block the van. An open courtyard is before them, with a few trees and bushes. Streetlights and the crescent moon provide dim illumination. There are precious few places to hide, although there are some dumpsters that might serve as cover. There's also a fire-escape which they could climb, and on the other side a blue column, a little taller than a person, illuminated by a blue light on top. At eye level is a speaker and a red button labelled PUSH FOR HELP.

Emily has never actually visited a college campus, and so is not already familiar with the blue-light emergency phone systems that started popping up after the passage of the Clery Compliance Act in the US (and presumably appear for similar reasons here in Canada).

But it's not a complicated concept.

Emily slams the button as they go past, shouting "Help! They're chasing us!" without slowing down.

There's a click and a tone, and an alert voice says "Who is chasing you?" to empty air. The thin woman stops and begins speaking into the phone, but Emily and Concordia are already out of earshot. The man continues to give chase, not slowing down.

They could cut across the courtyard, where there's a street that is still busy despite the late hour. To the left is a row of buildings, separated from each other by two-metre-wide pathways. In front of them is still more of the campus.

A crowd of people sounds pretty good to her right now. On the one hand, they might have to dodge people. On the other hand, whatever magic the mage is using to hide himself clearly isn't absolute, and enough people paying attention to him sounds like it could be a good thing.

She gives Emily's hand a tug, angling across the courtyard and for the street.

The pursuer stops short as they approach the street, seemingly unwilling to get within public view. There are not many pedestrians at this hour, but there are still a lot of cars. A light turns red, and the cars stop.

The man speaks into his smartphone. "They're on St. George Street, too many eyes on them for the likes of me. See if you can get there in the van." His voice is raspy, inhuman.

The thin woman approaches him, and they begin having a hurried conversation, too quiet for Emily to hear.

"They don't want to go after us in —" huff "— in public," she relays to Concordia. "Or, not all of them, maybe some of them can."

She fights the urge to stop and bend over, the pain of stitches in her side informing her of how out of shape she is.

Let's see. They want somewhere that cars can't go, that will have lots of witnesses even so early in the morning, and, ideally, that will let them get away quickly ...

Well, when she puts it like that, it's obvious. She looks around to see if she can spot a way down into the subway.

There's a sign indicating a subway station a couple blocks away. 

The thin woman starts moving towards them. She's not running, only walking swiftly -- as if she's trying to act casual.

Emily isn't afraid of drawing attention. She tugs Concordia's hand.

"This way!"

They race down the blocks, dodging pedestrians.

The few pedestrians still on the street are easy to dodge. "Listen, we can just talk! Stop in an intersection or a cafe! My friends will stay at a distance!" the woman calls, jogging after them.

The girls can probably make it to the subway station before she catches up.

... that sounds very reasonable. For people who watch sleeping girls invisibly. But it's not like they were really supposed to be there either ...

"She wants to talk," Emily says. She pulls to a stop and doubles over, trying to catch her breath. "Let's — Let's hear her out, but be ready to duck down there."

She subtly points to the subway.

"There will be lots of people down there and other ways out."

Concordia makes a dubious face. She doesn't know what's going on, and she doesn't like it. But she also doesn't think Emily can actually run much farther.

She tries to think how to formulate "is this woman hostile to us", but the "to us" qualifier is something she hasn't quite learned how to phrase yet. Instead ...

SELECT * FROM people WHERE violent OR NOT trustworthy

The woman lights up. So does Concordia, and Emily. So do most of the pedestrians, and a fair few drivers. And the first guy to chase them, who was following invisibly behind the woman.

... okay, yeah, that's fair. Uh.

"That invisible guy is still here," she warns Emily, stepping a bit in front of her and resolving to keep an eye on him.

Straight up violence is probably what she's most worried about, but anyone who fights monsters probably counts. And so would, for example, the city guard or her instructors.

It's not perfect, but the people are getting closer, and she feels like she needs some kind of indication about whether they should really be letting these people approach. What if she tries ...

SELECT * FROM people WHERE cruel

A couple of drivers and someone two blocks away and moving away from them light up. Neither of their pursuers do.

That's ... mildly reassuring. She decides to trust Emily on this one. For now — she's still poised to run if needed.

Emily has mostly recovered and straightened up by the time the woman reaches them, although she's still breathing heavily.

"You wanted to talk, so talk," she tells the woman. Partially because she doesn't really know what else to say, and partly because it sounds like the kind of things protagonists say in a situation like this.

The woman steps off the sidewalk into a parking lot so she doesn't block pedestrian traffic. The invisible guy (who Concordia can see, but Emily cannot) is hanging back a good twenty paces, keeping the two girls and the woman in his line of sight. The van, a few blocks away, is stopped at a red light.

"You brought some sort of monster to our city, killed it, tied up some Ventrue's ghoul, and escaped. People are scared. They sent us to capture you and bring you in for questioning, but getting information is a good consolation prize. What are you doing here? Who are you with?" She's keeping her hands where Concordia can see them, and is standing a respectful distance away.

Emily quietly relays a translation to Concordia, but doesn't wait for her to reply, instead speaking herself.

"We're with each other," she says, gesturing between Concordia and herself. "That monster was chasing her — it could follow her even if she teleported — and she grabbed me and brought me along when it lunged at me. We just want to go home. If that's ..."

She cuts herself off.

"What are you telling them?" Concordia whispers. "They just said they want to interrogate us! Don't tell them things!"

"Teleportation? Where did you come from?" Her body language has shifted: she is no longer speaking to a pair of children, but a pair of equals. She might even be scared.

"I'm originally from Vermont," she offers, because either they are in a different world (and that information is useless) or they are in her world and she really does intend to go back to Vermont.

Concordia clearly isn't going to be able to get Emily to stop talking to them. She looks pointedly at the invisible man again, in order to make the point that he can't sneak up on her.

The invisible man isn't advancing, but he does seem to notice Concordia's gaze, and flinches from it.

The woman fixes her gaze on Emily and Concordia in turn. Concordia detects a stirring from the woman, some sort of divination magic. "I believe you, strange though your story may be. And it makes sense, really, that you'd run. But even if you escape us tonight, people aren't going to give up. And at that point, you'll be lucky if you're caught by the Camarilla."

She takes another step away. "I'm going to ask my compatriots to get out of the van, so that we can talk. You have my word that they won't attack you."

That sounds an awful lot like a plot hook. Either they're about to learn who the villain of the story is — or they're about to hear about a group of rag-tag heroes, unfortunately maligned in the public eye, who will reveal themselves to be good and noble during the conflict in the second act.

Probably the first thing, though.

Emily tries to look calm as she nods, and does her best to regain her breath without being obvious about it.

The two others get out of the van. One is a man wearing a well-worn, almost tattered suit, and the other is a woman draped in what looks like ten kilograms of costume jewellery. They form a sort of huddle to speak. They're definitely keeping an eye on the girls, but if the girls made a run for it they could almost certainly make it to the subway before they were caught.

Concordia subtly looks back and forth between the huddle and the subway entrence, painfully aware of this fact.

"Emily ... are you sure talking to them is a good idea? If we make a run for it ..."

"Then they'll just track us down again," she replies. "Ducking into the subway is a temporary solution to losing them, not a permanent one."

Plus, they're about to do some exposition, and running away would be rude, she doesn't say, because she is a normal human person who relates to fiction in a healthy way.

No she's not. But she knows how to act like one, anyway, and that's pretty much the same thing.

"... and we might as well let them tell us more about their capabilities and what's going on with the local magic," she says instead.

Concordia is torn. On the one hand, she definitely does want to know more about what's going on. On the other hand, she was woken up in the middle of the night and is still sort of keyed up for a fight.

"Okay," she agrees after a moment. "But translate for me, and don't hesitate to run if needed."

The tall woman, apparently the spokeswoman, turns back. The other two keep a short distance. The "invisible" man stands further away, maintaining overwatch. A passer-by avoids him, seemingly fearful, but then continues on as though he was never there.

The woman approaches. "We think we have a way to... sort this out. My name is Florence. What are your names?" She looks at Concordia, seeming to recognize her nervousness. "Or what should I call you?"

Shoot, she probably wouldn't make that distinction if names weren't potentially involved in magic, somehow. She's read Earthsea, she knows how this goes.

But she wasn't prepared for the question, so the only possibilities that come to mind are "Ged" and "Esmerelda McFondue", neither of which is great.

"You can call me Esmerelda," she replies, because it's really only the last name that's problematic and that will give her time to think of another one. Everdeen? "And this is ... Harmony."

If Florence notices the pause, she doesn't comment on it. "Thank you. Okay, Esmerelda, the problem here is that the Camarilla laws don't have much in the way of protection for anyone who isn't a vampire. So there's not really any provision for you officially talking to us as equals, rather than as captives. But we think we've found a way to twist the laws a bit, to get you treated like Kindred visitors, even if you're actually mortal. That way you can't just be killed or blood-bound by some random neonate."

Wow, yup, there's the exposition. That's a lot to unpack. She whispers a translation to Concordia while she thinks.

... she wasn't really expecting 'vampires'. Is this a romance story? Because Concordia might be old enough for a romance story, but she definitely isn't. Maybe there are non-romance stories about vampires? She totally should have read Dracula when she spotted it in the library. People talk about vampires as though they're mostly a romance-monster, but Dracula might be, like, a horror mystery instead?

Either way, she's going to have to make sure Concordia knows not to let anyone bite her, just in case. If she is a romance protagonist, Emily's cautions will just be one of the things that keeps her away from her tragically doomed love interest, which will add pathos, and if she isn't a romance protagonist then not getting bitten is just common sense.

She realizes that she's been silent a little too long, and opts for raising her eyebrow and saying "Oh?", although it comes out a little bit jerky.

Florence nods. "Fifth Tradition: Hospitality. Any vampire visiting another city must present themselves to the Prince, and obtain the Prince's leave of presence, or they have to leave. If you two present yourselves to the Prince and the Prince grants you leave of presence, as far as the Traditions are concerned, you are vampires -- or at least, the city's Kindred will be confused enough that they won't move against you openly. We hope."

She turns to "Harmony". "Does your friend speak English or French? What language is that, anyway?"

Ooooh. Yeah. Princes and court politics. This is definitely a romance story — even Alanna: the First Adventure has a romance subplot. They're basically inevitable as soon as you enter a castle.

"She doesn't, no. She only speaks ..."

Emily turns to Concordia. "Is your language just 'Imperial', or does it have a different name?"

She blinks at the unexpected question.

"Ah, The Most Glorious and Noble Tongue of Their Majesties the Emperors, Rightful Rulers of All They Survey, and the Harmonious Empire Thereby Governed?" she offers. "Which is why everyone just calls it Imperial."

"... yeah, she only speaks a language called 'Imperial'," Emily relays. "But I can translate for her."

Speaking of which, she relays the comment about presenting themselves to the Prince.

"That actually makes sense — even barbarians may be welcomed by the governor, if they enter in the proper way and show deference to the Empire's laws. Do you think they're being sincere, though?"

Emily bites her lip.

"It's hard to tell," she replies. "But worst case you can teleport again, so ..."

"Imperial." Florence seems dubious. "Well, I'm sure there's a story there. Maybe I'll get to hear it some day. For now, I'm going to send a text to the Seneschal, and get you two an appointment with the Prince. And call in some favours to make sure that the Prince actually does give you leave of presence." She looks into space, thinking. "More practically, do you have a place to stay here? Assuming you need to eat and sleep."

"We do need to eat and sleep, yes," she says. And then adds "for now," because that sounds appropriately mysterious.

She briefly converses with Concordia.

"And no, we don't have a place to stay. We were going to handle that today," she continues. "Since we arrived so late yesterday. But it sounds like you might have a place in mind?"

"Not a specific place, but I can help you out." She takes a wallet from her pants pocket and hands Emily a wad of cash: Four green $20 bills, three purple $10 bills, four blue $5 bills. Being Canadian, rather than American, they're made of flexible polymer rather than cotton. "Should be enough for a few days' expenses, or one night in a motel. A computer in a library should tell you where to find one." She takes out her phone to send a text message.

"Thank you," she says, accepting the bills. "That's generous of you."

She splits the bills with Concordia, briefly explaining their relative values.

"We should probably use it on cleaning up, if we need to impress a prince," she suggests to her. "But we can figure that out later."

Concordia doesn't look away from their interlocutors, because she has not decided that this is a romance story, and therefore unlikely to erupt in (unforeshadowed, unproductive) violence.

"Yeah, later."

Florence's phone buzzes. "The Prince is busy right now. You're to go to the main entrance of Casa Loma at sundown tomorrow. You'll present yourselves then." She puts her phone away. "The Tremere primogen has already agreed to support you, so you're not in much danger of being rejected unless you do something stupid, like lie to the Prince or insult someone."

"Good luck." Florence turns away.

Florence is leaving, but the man in the tattered suit comes up to Emily. "She said not to lie, and she's right. But people here don't know much about magic. Say the name of your teacher or whatever as though it's impressive, and they'll assume it is." His posture shifts, becomes more threatening. "And whatever else you do, do not forget the Masquerade. This is the era of smart-phone cameras, the secret can spread fast. You reveal us to anyone, accidentally or on purpose, and we will stop being friendly so quickly your head will spin, then come off. Understand?"

"U-Understood!" she agrees.

Concordia grips her hand more tightly.

"Good!" Instantly, he's back to the friendly posture, a warmer tone of voice. "Sun's rising soon, so we have to get going. See you this evening. Good luck."

The group gets back into the van. The woman with the costume jewellery stares at the girls for a few long moments, but then she, too, gets in.

Emily releases a deep breath, relaxing once they've gone.

"What was that?" Concordia asks. "I am certain that I did not catch everything."

Emily nods. "Yeah."

With the adrenaline fading, she is now intimately feeling the fact that she jumped timezones and didn't get a full nights sleep. Plus, she hasn't eaten since lunch yesterday.

"Let's ... let's find some food, and then we can go over everything and make plans," she suggests.

Concordia takes a deep breath. It's not Emily's fault that nobody here speaks a civilized language.

"Alright," she agrees. "Breakfast first."

Emily rapidly discovers that there are no Dunkin' Donuts in Toronto. There are, however, various other fast food restaurants that will do just fine.

She quietly reads the menu to Concordia, and does her best to pick whatever looks like it gives the most protein per dollar.

A few minutes later, they're sitting at one of the tables, eating their cheap breakfasts and trying to figure out what comes next.

Concordia makes a face.

"Why is this so sweet?" she asks.

"There's ... a lot of sugar in this style of cooking," Emily says. "But it's food, and not too expensive."

Concordia nods, accepting it for what it is.

Over the next hour or so, they hash through what just happened, and what they can plan to do about it. Eventually, they set out to find somewhere that they can clean up — at least washing off the sweat from their running and fighting, but ideally also get some fresh clothes.

"... we might not have enough money," Emily notes, counting through their remaining bills. "But hotels also don't start checking people in for hours. If we can't find somewhere good, we can try doing some street magic for more money, maybe."

"I'm not too sure many people will pay for a characteristic divination," Concordia notes. "Especially if we have to pretend that it's trickery, to avoid breaking the Masquerade."

Emily bites her lip.

"... yeah. But, I don't really have a better idea. Look, let's just try to find somewhere to get cleaned up."

Not too far from the diner, there is a recreation centre. Windows show an indoor pool, with a few people swimming laps in the early morning. The change-room should have some showers in it. There's a laundromat a few blocks away from it, and Emily remembers passing a clothing store they passed yesterday, when they were walking south from the scene of their teleportation.

God bless Toronto.

Emily takes them to the clothes store first, so that they'll have a change of clothes to change into. Normally, she would want to wash second-hand clothing before wearing it, but that sounds like an unnecessary complication at this point.

She flips through the racks looking for something clean, fitting, cheap, and still vaguely acceptable to meet a prince in.

Concordia holds up a sparkly purple leotard.

"What fabric is this?" she questions, looking at it dubiously. "That can't be Amethyst grains. Is it a mage-crafted material?"

Emily would normally be pretty excited to explain modern textile manufacturing, but she just ... can't. There's too much she's responsible for, and Concordia's depending on her, and she doesn't—

Concordia pulls her into a hug, leotard flung to drape over the rack.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be demanding."

"No, no, it's okay," Emily responds, trying not to sniffle.

"It's probably polyester. Uh. Stretchy, cheap, colorful thread made from refined oil."

Concordia nods.

"Polyester. Okay. Well, even if it's cheap, it looks high class, since it's purple," she observes.

Emily either giggles or hiccups, it's a bit hard to tell which.

"I think you should maybe not meet the price in a purple sparkly leotard," she says. "Maybe we can find you a nice dress."

They make their way through the store, Emily acquiring a pile of "maybes" to take to the changing rooms.

The store is three stories tall, and filled with people. Most of them are speaking English, but Emily also hears snatches of Mandarin, Spanish, Tagalog, and Italian. Imperial easily blends in with the swirl of languages. The pair goes this way and that, up and down escalators, and eventually find some options for clothes which would fit within their budget.

They pick out several different good options for Concordia: a pair of elegant dresses (one with one shoulder strap, the other with two), a skirt-and-stockings outfit that's a bit less formal but still decently serious, and provides better freedom of movement, and a surprisingly well-fitting women's tuxedo, courtesy of the clearance rack. 

The options for Emily are decidedly lacklustre. Most of the clothes in her size are quite childish in one way or another. She quickly narrows it down to a button-down shirt and pants, and a cardigan that would go well with a plain shirt and leggings.

Emily bites her lip, trying to decide whether it's worth it to get more than one additional outfit each. They don't exactly have much money.

But ... the clothes are pretty cheap. She eventually settles on the one-strap dress and women's tuxedo for Concordia, on the basis that she doesn't know whether this romance story is trying to subvert traditional gender roles or not. She assumes that Concordia should probably go in the dress, but if the prince turns out to also be in a dress, she can have her wear the tuxedo later. Also, putting the jacket on over the dress will help for walking around, because Canada is still cold.

For herself, she gets the button-down shirt and pants; they're not too different from what she normally wears, but are hopefully formal enough.

She also sees if they can find a cheap backpack to carry things in.

Concordia — who knows nothing about Earthly fashion — goes along with Emily's choices without complaint. Although she does play with the zippers on things a bit.

The clerk scans the clothes, punching a few buttons on the register for the clearance on the tuxedo. The cash register bleeps. "Ninety-seven dollars twenty-six. How will you be paying?" He speaks directly to Concordia -- she is, after all, the older of the two.

Concordia rolls her eyes.

"I don't speak your barbarian language," she says, gesturing at Emily.

Emily winces a little at the price, and at Concordia's rudeness.

"Cash, sir," she says, carefully counting out bills from her pocket.

The clerk looks a little funny at Emily, but doesn't say anything. She might be the weirdest patron he's seen today, but only because the store's been open for less than an hour. He makes change, handing her a toonie and three quarters, along with a receipt. The girls now have thirty-two dollars and seventy-five cents to their name.

Emily puts the change in her pocket, their purchases in the backpack, and drags Concordia off to the public pool to shower.

"Look — I know nobody can understand you, but you can't just call people barbarians," she chastises her. "It's not polite."

Concordia looks at her in confusion.

"But they are, though? They're not subjects of the empire, so they're barbarians."

Emily taps her fingers against each other, figuring out how to say it.

"... and if you only used the word 'barbarian' to mean 'not subjects of the empire', that would be fine," she settles on. "But when you use the same word as an insult, then the word is insulting."

Concordia looks away, gazing out over the unfamiliar buildings.

"Yeah, okay," she acquiesces after a moment. "You're right."

Emily lets out a sigh.

"Good. Great. Okay — so we're going to be meeting a Prince later, and you should probably be able to at least greet him, even if I need to translate. But I don't know exactly what level of formality to expect—"

They spend the rest of the walk to the pool going over basic English greetings. Concordia doesn't have much of a head for languages — but then again, neither does Emily. Languages seem to have her more than she has them.

A bored-looking teenager, probably just out of high school, is sitting at a table at the reception. A sign behind him indicates swimming rules.

14+: CAN SWIM ALONE
10-13: MUST BE ACCOMPANIED BY A GUARDIAN OVER 16. MUST PASS SWIM TEST TO ENTER DEEP END.
6-9: MUST BE IN ARM'S LENGTH OF A GUARDIAN OVER 16
0-5: MUST BE IN ARM'S LENGTH OF A GUARDIAN OVER 16. MUST WEAR LIFE JACKET AT ALL TIMES.

He looks up as the girls approach. "Hey, welcome to the pool." One hand goes towards a box of paper wristbands as he speaks. "How old are you?"

... did she ever ask Concordia her age? Shoot. Uh. And she's terrible at telling how old people are. Well, she's old enough to star in a vampire romance book, so she's at least 16, and probably 18.

"I'm nearly eleven," she informs him.

She turns to Concordia. "How old are you?"

Concordia blinks.

"I'm 16. Why do you ask? Do you have to be a certain age to shower?"

Emily is preemptively disapproving of the age gap between Concordia and the prince. Unless he's a young prince. Maybe he's 16 as well, but that doesn't seem super likely for a vampire.

"No, it's because he wants to mark us by age for the lifeguards," she explains.

"And she's 16," she finishes, turning back to the attendant.

The lifeguard gives them coloured wristbands and waves them in. There's a men's and women's changeroom, as well as a family changeroom. There aren't many people at the pool in the morning. There are soap dispensers near the showers, and a door to a sauna between the shower section and the pool.

Great!

Emily will show Concordia how to use the showers. They're not that different from the ones in the empire, actually, although the controls are mechanical instead of magic-reactive.

The girls change out of their dirty clothes and clean themselves thoroughly. Emily drinks some water from the shower because she has been dehydrated and the water is right there.

Once they've showered and dried off, they change into their fancy clothes for lack of anything else to wear, and repack stuff in their backpack.

"Now we can go get our other clothes cleaned, or maybe we can try to figure out how to get to the castle," Emily explains as they walk back out.

By the time they make it outside, the city is fully awake. The streets are packed with cars, the sidewalks full of people. The sounds of a Canadian city are different from the Imperial variety -- more horns, fewer merchants, no hoofbeats -- but the hustle and bustle is nigh-indistinguishable.

One tower of the castle peeks over the skyline. Emily knows there's a laundromat nearby.

Emily has never actually been somewhere as crowded as this — which prompts a strange reversal. She points out the location of the laundromat, and Concordia grabs her hand and leads her through the crowd with the practiced ease of the city-born.

Although native Torontans are perhaps less likely to shout "Mage, coming through!" in a foreign language to get people to move.