Regis Altare was tired today.

It had been a four day long series of missions that had wrung him out to this point, and it left him wandering the streets of Elysium with a slumped gait. Normally he prided himself on being full of energy – you kind of needed to be when corralling everyone in the Tempus guild – but now? He just wanted to take a long nap, and he was denied even that when Flayon had a training mishap with the R-TRUS, flattening his bedroom specifically to nothing more than rubble.

He had gotten a bit pissed, he would admit. Enough so that Flayon was still bleeding by the time he stalked out of the building.

And so, he resolved to not go back there, at least until he had gotten his emotions under control. It was far too early for a hotel to be viable, and so he just…wandered. He went through the main thoroughfare, he went towards the city outskirts, and eventually he was just walking through the plains surrounding the city. There were plenty of monsters here, but none of them approached him, sensing the danger that was wafting off of the man.

Eventually, he just collapsed on the spot, looking up at the blue sky stretched out above him. The grass was warm and caressed his weary body, and he slowly felt all of the tension draining from his form. Why had he gone ballistic on Flayon? Incidents happen, and even though it would be a lot of money to fix, it wasn’t like it was out of the ordinary. Had he been working too much? Had his patience really worn so thin?

Altare is distracted by the sound of something hopping, and before he knows it, an iridescent slime is sitting on his chest.

It doesn’t make any moves to attack him, it just looks down at him with a hint of curiosity. Another appears, and then another – and then ten more. They form a circle around him, and for a second, Altare gets worried.

“Hey…uh, you’re not gonna sacrifice me or anything, are you?” He chuckles, trying to ward off the fear – and then the gelatinous orb on his chest nuzzles his chin. All of them begin to enclose on him, and soon his fear is replaced with laughter as the creatures begin to comfortably nuzzle him. Altare’s tiredness begins to increase in that moment, with the strange sensation of the cool slime and the warm grass against his skin feeling comforting in a way. His eyes begin to close of their own accord, and before he falls asleep, he shares one last glance with the slime on his chest.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be safe.” It seems to say.

Maybe he’s out of it, but he trusts the creature. Altare falls into his slumber moments later.

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Pub: 10 Jul 2023 03:11 UTC

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