Concepts of Hygiene (4)
The moment the shampoo barter began, the marketplace was overwhelmed by an absolute deluge of purchase requests.
[Proving I'm human..jpg]
[I'm getting dizzy here, check my pic already]
[SHAMPOO! SHAMPOO! SHAMPOO! SHAMPOO! SHAMPOO!]
Dozens of verification posts flooded into the barter queue every single second. Even with the assistant moderators pitching in to review the submissions, the sheer volume overwhelmed our meager administrative staff.
“Do I need to recruit more sub-mods?”
I had strictly capped purchases at one bottle per person to prevent scalpers from stockpiling inventory and smuggling it to El-Ladh for resale. The vetting process was undeniably sluggish, but it was thorough.
The image was dominated by porcelain, snow-white skin. That alone set off immediate alarm bells, even if the curtain of hair was unmistakably raven black.
“Tsk... that's borderline.”
Elven infiltrators attempting to pass as human were usually filtered out on sight by their distinctive hair colors. When confronted with an ambiguous case like this user, however, I possessed a foolproof second screening technique.
This second filter caught the vast majority of disguised elves with ruthless efficiency. Aware that the sub-moderators were conducting reviews, some brazen elves even attempted outright bribery.
Naturally, cheap bribes were useless against our team. Every elven purchase attempt met a brick wall, and while they suffered in exile, glowing reviews from satisfied customers flooded the boards.
(Attached photo: Before-and-after shampoo comparison)
(Attached photo: Lustrous, silky hair flowing like water)
I spent my whole damn life with a bird's nest of straw on my head, but after washing with shampoo a few times, I feel like a totally new person.
Hey Head Mod, I almost never give anyone props, but I'll make a special exception and acknowledge you today, fr.
Needless to say, not a single elf was among the jubilant buyers. Whether they had resigned themselves to their fate or were plotting something behind closed doors, all elven activity on the board suddenly ground to a dead halt.
“When they get this quiet, it actually creeps me out.”
Elves commanded the largest demographic share in the gallery after humans. For such a notoriously noisy faction to fall dead silent was inherently ominous. Just as I braced myself to see what deranged conspiracy they were hatching, a new thread popped up on the board.
(Attached emote: An elf-cat curled into a pathetic, sulking ball)
(Attached emote: A teary-eyed elf desperately clinging to a sleeve)
We believe this entire debacle arose from our people hastily picking a fight without cause. While this is hardly the first time such an embarrassment has transpired, those responsible for the initial offensive posts are deeply reflecting on their misconduct.
I offer our sincerest apologies on behalf of all elves.
Head Mod, would you be so gracious as to extend the sale of this wonder called shampoo to our people as well?
(Attached photo: Several prominent elves performing a full prostrating dogeza)
(Attached photo: Elves sniffling while enduring a stern lecture from Armion)
“Wait, an actual... normal apology?”
My heart had thumped when I first clicked on the words Official Statement. Knowing the insufferable vanity of elves, I wouldn't have batted an eye if the post had been a formal declaration of war. This humble submission caught me completely off guard.
“Come to think of it, the Elf Queen hasn't ever caused any real trouble, has she?”
Throughout this entire episode, her sole contribution had been stepping up to apologize for her unruly subjects. Seeing her statement weirdly reminded me of an exhausted parent bowing their head in public to apologize for their spoiled delinquent child.
Public sentiment had tilted so thoroughly that users were actively pitying the elven monarch. But Queen Armion's post went a step further than mere words; attached to the very bottom was an image of an intricate floral headpiece.
"This is nothing grand, merely a modest token of our remorse. We pray you will kindly accept it."
The comment section detonated into chaos. Meanwhile, I could only blink in utter bewilderment.
“What the hell is that wreath even supposed to be?”
The initial refusal to adopt shampoo had been orchestrated almost entirely by the heavy hand of the Elf Elder Council. The ancient elders bore deep grudges against the Head Mod, stemming largely from the recent turmoil surrounding the World Tree and the true fairies.
“Uuu... have you heard that the younger generation has been mercilessly hunting down and slaughtering the sacred fairies?”
“They brand them as vermin and crop pests! There is an unruly clamor demanding we officially strike the word 'fairy' from our lexicon and replace it with 'parasite'!”
“An elf must never behave in such a barbaric manner... For shame, tsk tsk tsk...”
Ever since the agricultural pesticide incident, the youthful elves had run completely rampant. To make matters insufferable for the elders, the World Tree had undergone a miraculous recovery toward pristine health. Had the tree withered further, the elders could have smugly shouted, 'See, we told you so!' Instead, they were stripped of all righteous leverage.
Worse still, Queen Armion's political authority had soared on the wings of that success.
“These days, Her Majesty barely pays heed to our counsel...”
“The holy baptismal dew upon her head has scarcely dried, yet she answers back line by line, brazenly pushing her reckless reforms forward, uuu...”
“She possesses zero reverence for her venerable elders!”
Armion had cemented herself as the shining figurehead of the Full-HP Elf faction: the monarch of the young, pragmatic, and vigorous elves. As the Elder Council's authority withered by the day, the old fogies seethed with bitterness. Gathering in solemn assembly, their resentful eyes settled upon a single individual.
“So, what shall our course of action be, Lady Mersen?”
“Hrrrm...”
Mersen, known across the forum boards by her handle, 'Cute Elf Elder-chan><.' As the highest ruling authority within the council, everyone waited on her word. Toying with a lock of her raven-black hair, her ocean-blue eyes narrowed in deep contemplation.
'Something has felt thoroughly off ever since that dreadful day.'
During the pesticide incident, she had personally marched out to supervise the World Tree, only to suffer an inexplicable blank in her memories. It left her with the sickening, phantom impression that someone had forcibly pried open her jaws, crammed Mentos and cola down her throat, and induced violent amnesia. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to retreat, but her haughty, conservative pride demanded she dig in her heels.
“Let us formally declare our collective refusal of this 'shampoo.'”
“A magnificent decision, my lady!”
“Quite so! 'Hygiene,' of all vulgar nonsense! To wash away our sacred aura would defile the soul!”
And so, by Mersen's decree, the Elder Council posted their pompous rejection on the gallery. The Head Mod's retaliatory response had been instantaneous.
“Wait... what?”
An absolute embargo on shampoo had been slammed down upon the elven race. Exactly one hour later, chaos erupted.
“L-Lady Mersen!”
“What is the meaning of this commotion?”
“A vast multitude of elves has gathered outside the council gates to stage a riot!”
“Eeeek?!”
An open rebellion had detonated in the heart of elven society. Cold sweat trickled down Mersen's neck as she cracked open a window to peek outside. Hundreds of youthful elves filled the courtyard, brandishing wooden placards and shouting at the top of their lungs.
“Council of Elders, pull your heads out of your asses!”
“Do your damn jobs!”
“Let's force-feed the old fossils Mentos and cola!”
“H-Hieeeek?!”
Slam!
Mersen yanked the shutters closed in a panic. Wiping cold sweat from her brow, she slipped out through a secluded servant's passage in the rear, hurrying toward the royal palace to seek Queen Armion's private office. Even as she fled through the shadows, the digital forum continued to blaze with righteous fury.
(Attached emote: An elf glaring with murderous, venomous eyes)
Nothing ever gets accomplished because of you withered Low-HP fossils!
I just wanted to wash my hair with shampoo for once in my life!
The civil war between the Full-HP and Low-HP Elves had degraded into an all-out bloodbath. Unfortunately for the ancients, the Full-HP youth wielded overwhelming tactical firepower. Addicted to the forum and sustained on a nutrient-rich carnivore diet that supercharged their physical agility, the young elves possessed typing speeds from an entirely different dimension.
'This cannot continue.'
If the storm intensified, Mersen's own prestigious standing would crumble to dust. Reaching the royal chambers breathless and disheveled, she found Queen Armion sitting gracefully behind her mahogany desk, greeting her with a radiant, expectant smile.
“Ah, you have arrived.”
“...Did you know I would come?”
“Of course. It is quite deafening outside, after all. You have come to discuss a resolution, haven't you?”
Mersen offered a feeble nod. Releasing an official national declaration on the gallery required the joint authorization of both the head of the Elder Council and the reigning monarch.
“I came... to seek your royal consent to issue an official statement...”
“Very well. What are the contents?”
“Here, I drafted it myself.”
Armion accepted the parchment with a pleasant expression. As her eyes scanned the text, however, her smile slowly soured into a visage of profound disgust.
“This is an explicit challenge to a duel. How on earth could this be construed as an apology?”
“It is not quite a duel... Merely an offer that, should our ideological divide prove irreconcilable, we might settle the grievance with our bare fists...”
Mersen's voice trailed off into silence as she met Armion's chilling gaze, backed by Knight Commander Eliana, who stood beside the throne with her hand resting menacingly on her pommel. As Mersen clamped her mouth shut, Armion let out a weary sigh.
“Even if we were to post such a crude apology, the Head Mod would never accept it.”
“Pardon?! Then what...”
“The enraged youth would lose all restraint, storm the citadel, and execute everyone from the royal lineage down to the entire Elder Council... Snick! Just like that.”
Armion drew a delicate thumb across her slender throat in a graphic slicing motion. Mersen turned sheet-white.
“Th-Then what should we do?!”
“A far grander, more earnest display of contrition.”
“What?”
“We require an apology of overwhelming sincerity. And to achieve that, you must perform this.”
Armion slid a sheet of paper across the desk, bearing an illustration of a person groveling flat against the floorboards in an absolute, prostrating dogeza. Mersen recoiled, finding the humiliating gesture unthinkable. But the horrifying specter of being dragged through the streets of El-Ladh by bloodthirsty youths flashed across her mind.
'It isn't a mere hallucination. That imperial prince, Frederick, suffered a similar fate...'
Gritting her teeth, Mersen succumbed to the inevitable.
“I shall ensure the angles are captured flawlessly. Come now, assume the position.”
“U-Urrgh...”
As Mersen collapsed onto her hands and knees, pressing her forehead against the polished marble floor, Armion flashed a wicked, triumphant smirk. It was the historic first step in asserting the Crown's absolute supremacy over the rotting Elder Council.
“Well, that handles the personal hygiene issue for the most part...”
Following the public elven apology, I sprawled lazily across my bunker bed, absentmindedly scrolling through the gallery threads. While we had successfully shifted the general population's perspective on bathing, the fundamental crisis remained untouched.
Even if individuals scrubbed themselves clean, the city streets remained an ocean of refuse. To resolve this logistical disaster, we required a systemic infrastructural solution. Staring blankly at the reinforced concrete ceiling, an idea sparked in my mind.
“Should I start by laying out a sewage drainage network?”
If we constructed underground aqueducts to channel the city's effluent into a centralized reservoir, we could at least eliminate the nightmare of pedestrians wading through literal human excrement in broad daylight. But that posed another dilemma: once all that concentrated filth was collected in one place, how would we dispose of it?
Right on cue, a new monster alert flashed across the monitor: a notorious Waste Slime, an organic abomination infamous for devouring any rotting biological matter in its path. Gazing at the grotesque, gelatinous blob on the camera feed, my eyes suddenly lit up with profound inspiration.
“That's it.”