Kagerou crouched near the mermaid, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. Not exactly an easy feat when your nails are as sharp as claws. She brushed away the hair from her face and kept at a quieter, flatter tone in order not to upset the mermaid any further. “There’s no reason we can’t be nice to each other, right?” she started clumsily, not quite getting my advice. I held my tongue, as it were, for a while longer.

“I am nice to everyone,” the blue-haired girl mumbled and avoided eye contact. A more courageous person might have expressed their offense more starkly or, at least, been able to meet Kagerou’s gaze. But she was intimidated and unsure of what to say or do. In other words, she was unlikely to talk much and definitely wouldn’t share her secret.

“Part of being nice is trusting that the other person will also be nice,” the werewolf said, not really making a very logical case. She lacked the charisma and magnetism to get away with improvisation. Still, the way she said it was a marked improvement from earlier. She actually sounded empathetic, if not actually respectful of the mermaid’s mental state. “I’m not really good at making friends,” she confessed, making a little joke at her own expense, “and I think you just saw why. That wasn’t very endearing, was it?”

“It was scary,” the mermaid blurted out. Having said the first thought that crossed her mind, she seemed to get embarrassed by the admission and covered her mouth with her hands. She mumbled a quick apology, “sorry, that was rude of me.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Kagerou chuckled and was as unsubtle as could be, “honesty is also part of trust. And friendship.”

“Yes, we’re true friends because I freely tell you what I think all the time, wolfy” I said, because… well, I couldn’t really help myself. I knew she couldn’t say anything either or betray her emotions towards me—the mermaid would pick up on something that obvious. “Get to the point,” I told her, “you can keep lying about being an enlightened individual in front of the mirror later.”

I just didn’t want her to trip all over h

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One day at the scene of a fire, the Derp found the perfect Wars. That was the day it became Derp Wars.

Look at this shameless self-promotion! Look at it! http://lowenly.wordpress.com/

That is not dead which can eternal lie about whether or not it’s dead.

Is this the longest-running-yet-still-active unfinished story yet?

Now with the same amount of Koishi it always had!

~

As the gate closed behind her, Kagerou paused and let out the smallest of sighs. She stole a quick glance backwards and found that the gate guard was still smiling, watching her with with arms akimbo. The guard nodded at her, her green cap slumping forward a little as a result of the gesture, as if to urge her on in a friendly manner to keep on moving forward. Kagerou obliged and steadied her resolve before starting again towards the building ahead.

The path ahead wasn’t very long but there was plenty to distract a wandering eye—chiefly the large hedges and flowerbeds that were in full bloom. Kagerou looked somewhat amazed at the variety of flowers and the many different colors on display. Some of these floral patches had been arranged in such a way as to make a pattern. Most were simple geometric shapes or checkerboard design but there seemed to be a few that were meant to be objects or animals. Those were further away by a large fountain so it wasn’t easy to discern at a glance. At any rate, the smell was positively lovely and a soft breeze carried the delicate perfume quite well.

If she had any desire to stop and look (or smell) closer, she hid it well. Her gaze stopped wandering as she neared the doorway and instead she looked expectantly at the dark and thick wooden doors. She had just reached for a grotesquely heavy-looking brass knocker when the doors began to swing open with a groan. A pair of small girls dressed in smart short-sleeved uniforms stood at either end; fairies dressed in the typical warm-weather uniforms of the Scarlet Mansion greeted her with a smile.

“We’ve been expecting you,” one of the fairies said and beckoned her in with a casual wave of her hand.

“Yeah,” the other fairy added, “follow Ana here and she’ll take you to the Mistress.”

Kagerou nodded and began to follow the fairy. She chose to stay silent and slyly looked around at the luxurious atmosphere within the manor. Lots of polished surfaces and dense and expensive-looking bits of wood and stone were decorated with everything from simple patterns to frescoes and carpet. She saw grand staircases and equally imposing corridors wit

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[x] Straight to the underground! Resolve the problem directly!

You might as well go straight to the underground! But the problem is how? “So. Flan,” you address her. “How exactly we are going to the underground?”

She just shrugs. Welp. This incident may be more complex than you think.

“Well, well, well...” Suika points to a very conspicuous well in the corner of the shrine grounds. “You could always take the well down. Reimu and I made an elevator of sorts. Well, it’s more like a hellevator. Hahahaha! Hah. Ha... anyway. We made it in case another incident like this ever happened.”

“As expected of Reimu!” She’s an experienced incident investigator. She would know. She’s prepared!

“...All Reimu did was tell me to dig and somehow it worked out.” Suika shrugs. “So, yeah. Just hop in the well and get on top of the bucket and it’ll take ya to the underworld.”

You hop on and squeeze inside, sitting on the edge of the bucket. Flandre sits on the other edge. “It’s... kinda cramped.”

“If Reimu can fit, you two definitely can! Not that I’m saying she’s fat.” She snickers to herself. “Oh, also. A note of advice. People may seem scary in the underground, but you can tell what kinda person they are by the look in their eye!”

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[x] Get Mystia to sign a contract.

Remilia scratched her fang. An opportunity like this was begging to be taken advantage of, but she would have to be careful. Fate was monstrously unpredictable. She liked to give the impression that she could bend it to her will, but in actuality she was little more than a secretary, sending it the occasional note that it may or may not pay attention to. When it did, it was under no obligation to work in her benefit, and if there was anything that brought down fate's ire, it was someone trying to game the system to their advantage.

She could do something minor, though. Fate didn't seem to mind minor pokes and nudges, if they were spaced out appropriately.

"Sakuya, my fate-papers and fate-pen."

"Yes, milady."

A hidden pouch in Sakuya's apron held the paper Remilia reserved for fate contracts. There was nothing exceptional about it, but it helped make the whole affair feel more special. Remilia took the papers and walked back towards Mystia.

"Food's up," Mystia chirped, and presented them with two bowls of grilled eels over rice, chopsticks sticking out of them. Remilia thanked her own brilliance that she spent so much time farting around in China and Japan, so she knew how to use these effectively. Sakuya was halfway to scooping up food with her hands when she saw Remilia pinch the chopsticks between her fingers and followed suit.

Remilia took a bite. It wasn't bad at all. There was certainly a unique terroir from the food around here.

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>[x] ...I got nothing. Help me, Clover!

I stop mid-sip and rack my brain, coming up empty. Damn it, Applepicker, think.

"...I have no idea," I admit. "But--but why is it my job anyway? I mean--"

"Because you're the man!" Clover insists, thumping the table with her palm. "You're supposed to be all seizing initiative and being bold! In charge and all that!"

"...Clover, that's stupid. Really, really stupid. Have you seen her?" I ask pointedly. "Do you really think I'm in charge of ... anything?"

"Excuses!" Clover shouts, sitting on the edge of the table beside me. "And besides, it's not that you're a man--"

"Not what you said," I grumble.

"--It's that you're her man." She pokes a finger at my chest (right in the geta-shaped bruise, though I'm too drunk to feel). "You don't think a dragon likes being swept off her feet?"

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Does anyone have a pdf or epub file of SDM:LA?

I was about to begin to make my own, but realized it could save me a lot of effort if someone else had a copy and was willing to share

You don't “startle” awake. Instead, your eyes open slowly, as if coming awake from a good dream that you don't want to leave. Your body feels heavy, somehow, even with all the power coursing through it. Your breath is clouding in the air in front of you, which is also odd, since you don't remember the last time you even had breath. Everything else, though, is mostly familiar. Midnight blue robes with gold trim, check, green hair (with bangs dangling in front of your eyes, annoyingly), check, legs that weren't supposed to be there, check. Least surprising of this whole mess is that you're occupying a coffin that's obviously not buried anymore. The lid is embedded in the ground some twenty feet away, and must have been blown off to have gone that far.

The resulting question has an answer, but that answer is just another question. Whoever resurrected you is likely the one who forcibly blew the lid off of your coffin, but who is that? What business do they have resurrecting one of Gensokyo's strongest wizards? Pushing those questions out of your mind for now since you can't answer them yet, you conjure up a mirror and take in your appearance. Your face is a lot younger than you remember, and your hair is similarly shorter than you remember (what used to run down to your upper back now only reaches to the middle of your neck), though at least that is explained by the pile of hair at the foot of the coffin. Your eyes, at least, are still the vivid green you remember.

Once you've gathered yourself, you finally step out of the coffin, using magic to brace yourself until you get used to walking again. You're missing your hat and your staff, but that's easy to fix. You don't remember exactly when (only that it was at least a hundred years ago), but you'd enchanted your staff so that you could conjure it whenever you wanted. So, you do just that. Fifteen seconds and one outstretched hand later, you have your staff. You admire the golden crescent moon that adorns the tip before finally turning to address the last anomaly: it should be the middle of summer right now, so why is the area around you frozen? T

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It was a terrible way of waking up.

I was shaken about, feeling like I was being battered from all directions. Even that summer storm that had caught us in the straits had been a gentle rocking in comparison. I kept my nerve and tried to get my bearings. The light was opalescent and blinded me as soon as I opened my eyes. I cringed but felt my breath coming back to me. In all the excitement I had barely noticed I wasn’t breathing. Luckily, the chaos died down quickly. The shaking stopped and the bright rainbow began growing duller and duller until I could begin to make out shadows and shapes in the distance.

My heart raced at my throat. I wasn’t in pain but it felt like I ought to take a moment to gather my wits. I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath. A nip of brandy would be the perfect thing to steady myself. Yes, my throat was rather parched. I believed that I still had a bottle hidden away in my kit somewhere.

The problem was, of course, my kit was nowhere to be found. In fact, I was nowhere to be found. Best I could recall I had been out for a ride. The memory of hacking on a country trail seemed both fresh but also strangely foreign. Cold stone and the dark of night should not follow from that.

When I finally got around to getting a good look at my surroundings, I found that I lay on a simple wooden table with little more than a large tunic protecting my modesty. I sat up. Moonlight crept in from a nearby window and the smell of perfumed oils and tinctures hung heavily in the air. Save for another small table whereupon a lamp, various flasks and colored stones rested, the room was otherwise barren.

Perhaps I’d had an accident, I reasoned. I had been found and taken in while unconscious. An traveler’s lodge must have been closer than the estate. I had seen plenty of such places in my travels. They often sported quaint rooms and construction made from usually a mixture of wood and stone. I felt satisfied with my conclusion and was glad I did not seem to be injured.

More importantly, I realized that I wasn’t alone. Off in a corner, half-hidden by shadow, a pair of women spoke to one

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"And so class, we must call back onto the principal understanding that an orbital is not an actual place, but an area of electron density. In fact, an orbital, like an electron or anything in the universe, is a wave function, psi..." the professor lectured with each syllable more ponderous than the last. He's important, you understand this. There are few men in education so highly revered as the department head of Chemistry and Chemical Biology at Harvard University. It's all good knowledge that you'll need for the final exams, and more importantly, the MCAT. Heck, you find organic chemistry to be an amazing subject.

You just really are not in the mood right now, so to speak.

Was it the minimal hours of sleep you got last night? Probably? Would that have made a difference? Three hours or four, the latter above the average. You're used to this though. You had to be to even be attending this lecture. High school was hell, but for the sake of the sacrifices made by your family, you worked beyond what you ever thought possible. You went from plump to sickly, only aided by the fact that you got ill extremely often due to your overwork.

Does that really matter though? You got every accolade you could, minus your rank in the school which you never bring up. Yeah, you've sacrificed some morals here and there, but you're here. That's what matters. And soon you'll take that blasted MCAT and prove yourself as the best of the best, on track to become a physician-scientist at the tender age of 28 when most would finish at 32. Maybe then it'll all be worth it, and the sleepless nights can stop.

You feel yourself shuffling out of the hall, the notebook that had mechanically been filled with notes that you didn't understand returning to the backpack. You still wear one of those, when most have sleek little binders and whatnot. Whatever.

Is there a moral event horizon after which you become a "bad doctor" that is shown so often in fiction? What does that even constitute? Maybe you understand why patients always outlive their doctors: they've gone absolutely off their rockers

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