The Wavering Girl's Heart
The heart of a shaky girl! If the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is up to, then its owner falls into one of two categories. Someone worshipped for over two thousand years after writing humanity's all-time bestseller. Or someone living blissfully with a right hand that could cause trouble at any moment. In this dizzying balance game, I unfortunately leaned a bit more toward the latter.
I'd spewed a barrage of menhera lines without realizing Dorothy had woken up. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wedged myself into the corner of the truck bed.
"…."
While Dorothy pulled herself out of the oil-filled tub and wiped down with cloth scavenged from the trucks, I truly never once turned my head toward her. For real.
Am I losing it, Tiara? Right now, one side of my brain was berating myself for saying something like that to her, while the other side was all, So what? Fact is, Dorothy's love is keeping me healthy!—unnecessarily bold. And "I" couldn't tell the two apart at all. It's not like I had split personalities or anything…
"Hehe~! Hum-hum-hehe!"
Meanwhile, Dorothy—who thrives on affection like a pro—didn't show even a hint of disappointment at my lack of attention.
"Uhehe… It's okay, Tiara. That can happen!"
She even tried to comfort me.
"…It can't."
But that kind of emotional reassurance didn't help me one bit.
"Yeah, actually, it can't."
"Sorry…."
Ha, but without even that, I might've burst into tears. Watching my reaction, Dorothy didn't hide her glee and chattered on in a sing-song voice.
"Bad Tiara! How could you say something like dying so casually? But good Tiara! That bold way of demanding love—it was super cute. Come on, get in my arms. Baby waa-waa fail Tiara."
…So it wasn't comfort. She was teasing me. Uwuu.
I pouted like a cheeky pup in rebellion. I know! I know this is a total pushover move. So I should just say "Shut up" and move on. Then Dorothy would go, "You say something mean like that and think you can just brush it off?" and headbutt me. I'd ruffle her hair all waaa~ and say "I won't do it again," and actually not do it next time.
But…! Getting hugged feels so good…! So squishy…!
As I nestled into Dorothy, her soft, pale arms flailed in the air.
"Wha…? T-T-T-Tiara?"
Dorothy panicking—cute…!
"Hug me more."
Ah, I said that, but it feels like I went too far. My mouth just opened on its own. I froze up, hugging her stiffly in total tension, until…
"…M-maybe this is enough."
Thankfully, Dorothy drew the line at a good spot. I sighed inwardly in relief but puffed out my cheeks anyway.
See? These double-edged feelings keep bubbling up. I grumbled curtly on purpose.
"I was joking too."
"Youuu, seriously! Don't tease like that!"
Bonk!
Dorothy delivered a headbutt hard enough to bruise my arm, capping off her new puppy variant with flair.
We dumped all the used bath oil into the wasteland. Once opened, its effects wore off fast anyway… and we had a job for those empty oil drums.
"Alright, stuff 'em all in."
To wash the cloth ripped from the gang trucks, we shoved it all into the oil drums. Even Dorothy's makeshift towel—cobbled from the cleanest scraps—went in.
There were 25 trucks from the gang chasing us. No way they came all that way just for little old us, right? Who's paying their wages?
"They probably weren't planning to end with just us."
Dorothy cleared up my doubts quick. She pulled a pile of clothes from the corner of the empty trailer—men's, women's, kids', all sorts of casual wear. But bloodstains everywhere.
"Human trafficking, huh."
They must've planned to start with us and hunt people along the City-wasteland border.
"Yeah… probably."
The area between Districts 50 and 70 is like a medieval slum right outside the castle walls. Divided into zones, sure, but no City sheriffs or megacorp private security. A honey pot for gangs playing with people like toys.
"Bastards."
Dorothy's big eyes filled with sorrow and pity as she sniffed each tangled bundle of clothes.
"This person, and this one—they were so scared."
Sensing their emotions from the lingering scents. It reminded me of a droopy dog, so I reached out and petted her head without thinking.
"Tiara…."
She leaned into my hand without resisting, and my mouth opened on its own again.
"Can we wear them?"
"Hey!"
Smack!
Dorothy swatted my arm. Thinking out loud again… Isn't this something I gotta fix? In full menhera mode, I was spilling every little thought instead of just mulling it over for two seconds. We usually call that a psychopath—or someone who skipped etiquette class.
I apologized quick.
"Ah, sorry…. I keep doing it without meaning to…."
Dorothy sighed—whoosh—then petted my head instead.
"It's fine. After soaking in black water, stuff like that happens sometimes. Sorry I teased you earlier…."
According to her, sleeping in the black water brings super realistic dreams that absolutely aren't reality. For example, she told me hers with a super pervy grin…
"Hey! H-Hey! How can you just say…! That! So casually!"
Super embarrassing stuff, so for Dorothy's dignity, I shoved it right out of my head.
"Whyy~? Don't like it? Don't wanna do that with meee?"
I poked her pushing cheek with a finger—boop—and it puffed up late, hissing out air like pssh pssh.
Puppy mode's getting harder….
Anyway! The oil converts short-term memories to long-term ones… that's the "storage" process, I guess.
"Tiara's symptoms seem like early-stage Black Ops procedure side effects," Dorothy added.
"You blurt out random thoughts, or dream-talk slips into reality. That's why we never lied to each other. Black water gives it all away anyway."
Now I get why Dorothy hates lies. Hearing a friend badmouth you in their sleep hurts when you're a kid. Even I, orphan-raised, have been there.
I stroked her head to cheer her up with a light joke.
"That's why your sleep-talking was so loud, huh?"
"W-Was it weird? A lot?"
She deflated and asked timidly. I shrugged.
Her sleep-talking was cute level. Compared to me dumping menhera lines wide awake, calling me a killer's nothing.
"Nah, not really. Wasn't bad."
Thanks to it, I soaked too and scored a status window, tin can mamang, and more. Dorothy sighed deeply and rubbed the black stains on my body with her finger.
"I'm no biomech, so I dunno what black water does to hackers or Netdivers."
We spent a while petting each other's heads, shaking off worries and gloom, then reached a conclusion.
"It'll work out somehow. Let's wash up quick!"
We tossed some clothes into the cloth-stuffed drums—decent ones from Dorothy's trailer haul.
"Dorothy, you okay? Not grossed out?"
"It's fine. No choice."
Time to bid farewell to our beloved experiment suits, soaked in blood and sweat. We could wash them, but with just one lousy soap bar after scouring the trucks—versus piles of jerky and drinking water—water for bathing was short too. No spare for eye-catching lab suits. Plus,
"Gang clothes are just…."
Too filthy to strip off the dead guys and wear. Dorothy nodded. We didn't kill them, but what happened was worse… revenge enough. Victims might approve.
Laundry would take a day. The wasteland road's faint tire marks and laid-out drums would drum-wash it all.
"Tiara, go inside and sleep first. I got this."
Dorothy sealed the drum lids and spun them—chug chug!—telling me so. She'd drive too, being taller. I thought my closet-license regular-type experience might be better, but…
"Haa…."
With my short legs, I'd have to slide way down to reach pedal, blocking the view.
"I said I'll do it."
Does laundry, packs jerky, drives. "Dorothy's a goddess!"
"Uhehe—! Go sleep!"
I gave all-doing Dorothy grateful headpats and climbed into the truck. Slumping in the passenger seat, fatigue hit hard. But… wait a bit for Dorothy.
"Status window."
Fatigue had jumped from "High" to "Very High."
"Haa… Used my brain a ton. Should've asked for status ailment info."
Does tin can mamang know my condition? Spewing menhera lines or emoting wildly tires even me out. Rubbing my temples, I checked the status again.
"Why'd server capacity only double, though?"
Didn't mamang hand over wasteland server admin? Reasons popped up. Admin rights transferred, but not ownership… or something risky happened mid-process, booting me from Outernet.
…Deep-sea lanterns floated up unbidden.
"Hmm."
Voices bubbling up like foam… mamang-level beings. Me managing them?
"Whatever."
They're under mamang anyway. Doomed menhera from menhera world… my specialty. Come on in, menheras.
"Tch… Is this why menheras keep swarming me?"
Faces flashed—head spun briefly.
"Anyway… focus on gains first."
More tasks, more worries—but key is one thing. Wasteland server boss now, server doubled. Plus tin can mamang and status window gifts. Survival odds and dev setup skyrocketed.
But…
"Gotta tell Dorothy, right?"
Staring at the translucent UI, I pondered. I'd told her everything. Except two things. Past life stuff, and mamang's cheek kiss.
Past life? She might not believe it… and knowing her cat-eyed beauty was a grubby dude? Scary she'd hate or fear me! Too chicken to say.
"Haa. Thoughts jumping again…."
Light cheek slaps, back to it. Mid-mamang kiss and status thoughts.
Yeah. Hid mamang's kiss from Dorothy too. Too scared to spill.
'A ring? She gave you a ring? That bitch?'
During Outernet tales. When I said Theia passed me her ring and logged first, Dorothy's eyes blazed, staring then bolting up.
'Wha—Dorothy, wait. Why wall-slam again.'
'Tiara, tell me straight. What's your deal with her?'
I rushed: It was a couple ring with some guy Felix.
'Dire straits. Had to give her precious ring to me for later.'
Did she? Felt like Theia coolly shoved it in my hand. Probably misremembered. Felix was a bit freeloader-y but hot as hell. Must be close.
Even my calm-as-possible ramble only narrowed her eyes.
Q. What's wrong, teach? A. 'Just words?' Ah!
I pinky-promised quick. 'We'll match ours later!' She grinned like nothing happened.
'Guraang!'
But slipping into oil like a croc missing prey.
Say mamang kissed me then? She'd devour me.
"Mm."
Status and kiss talk can wait. Still early access! Tell after finishing status window?