2.05 A Trip to the Trees

2.05 A Trip to the Trees

Zoey’s dreams were odd. Turned out, having her memories wiped by a demanding goddess resulted in dreams that didn’t have much to latch to, and thus, were incoherent. Strange. Twisting and ephemeral. She wouldn’t say they’d been outright upsetting, but they’d been bizarre. More mind-bending than most.

Rosalie’s enthusiastic extracting from Zoey’s lower half had made things up. Zoey’s morning had started off pretty great, all things considered.

Rosalie had, of course, immediately upon their mutual satisfaction, risen from the bed and professed how they ‘needed to get things moving’. Which was true enough. Zoey was supposed to be saving the world, whatever that meant. Why her party-member was more devoted to that goal than she herself was, Zoey didn’t know. Considering Rosalie’s urgent coaxing of Zoey’s lower half, maybe Ephy had made the wrong choice. Here was a girl dedicated to power and sex in equal measure, for all her reticent and denying nature.

Why had Ephy chosen Zoey, anyway?

Zoey had a thousand and one impossible-to-answer questions bouncing around in her head, so it was hardly difficult to add that one to the list of ‘ignored’. If there was any skill Zoey was cultivating since her arrival to this world, it was blissful ignorance.

She didn’t ask, this time, to join Rosalie in the shower. And Rosalie didn’t protest when she slipped in, then wrapped her hands around her waist, her lower half pressing into Rosalie’s ass. Zoey was learning a few things about her serious-faced partner. Primarily, that she ought to stop asking, and start paying attention to how she reacted, instead. Which was a problematic mindset, Zoey knew. If a direct no ever came out of Rosalie’s mouth, she would stop in an instant. But initiation—well, Zoey needed to be assertive when it came to that. Even if Rosalie alluded to not wanting Zoey’s attention.

Shit. That sounds bad. She’d have to walk that tight-rope carefully. But for Rosalie? She would. Happily.

Zoey enjoyed the hot spray of water, hunched over and resting her head on Rosalie’s shoulder as Rosalie lathered soap across herself, pretending to ignore Zoey. Or maybe actually ignoring her. Again, hard to tell with this girl.

“You’re so useless,” Rosalie huffed. “Not even going to help?”

Zoey laughed, water droplets slipping down her face and from her lips, before aiding Rosalie in lathering the soap across her body. She made sure to play with Rosalie’s tits—rubbing pointer-fingers across cute, hard nipples until she was breathing hard—while getting her well and thoroughly clean.

Rosalie returned the effort, though stopped thrusting her hand into Zoey’s cock when it had reached full mast. Tease, Zoey wanted to say, despite the fact she’d done the same thing just a second earlier, rubbing fingers into Rosalie’s tits and between her legs.

They stepped from the shower, skin flushed in excitement, but knowing they needed to move on with their day.

Can’t spend forever fucking each other, Zoey thought.

Which was a tragedy, but she’d have to learn to live with it.

Zoey watched Rosalie go about her morning routine. She dried her hair with some magical item that vaguely resembled a hairdryer—only vaguely, by function, a rock with some sigil carved into it that blew hot air—then how she wrangled her long, platinum hair into a ponytail. The domesticity of it all ached Zoey’s heart.

“It looks great on you,” Zoey said, which received a huff as Rosalie continued to go about her routine.

“Are you going to get dressed, or just watch me?

“The second.”

Zoey savored the coloring in Rosalie’s cheeks. Zoey’s heart skipped a beat, and her earlier words—you’d be easy to fall for—hammered into her ears. Not easy. Effortless. Impossible to not.

It had already happened.

Shit.

Was it unreciprocated? Zoey couldn’t be certain. Rosalie allowed Zoey to nuzzle her head into the crook of her neck, but she rolled her eyes when she did. When Zoey lathered her in compliments, she mostly seemed annoyed. And Zoey wanted to be confident that it was part of Rosalie’s act, but such consistent rejections were hard to shrug off.

And sex was sex. It wasn’t romance. Did Rosalie only like her for the pleasure she could provide?

Because. Uh. Obviously not, for all she’d convinced herself it might be plausible.

Zoey took the lead on the situation, though even she—somewhat experienced in sexual matters, and much less shameful than Rosalie—found difficulty in explaining the situation. She wouldn’t say her face blazed as she talked to the hunched-over grandma (why did it have to be an old woman? Zoey might have preferred any other demographic, especially considering her raised eyebrows, and vaguely disapproving expression), but her cheeks were definitely colored as she explained the nature of their items.

“An artefact,” Anja One-Eye said, “that inserts into the anus.”

“Two people’s, they come in pairs,” Zoey mumbled, not a person to trip over her words, but Jesus, if there was ever a time. “Sounds like there’s some kind of linking effect? You can look at them yourself.” The box of growing-in-size butt plugs were set across the counter, Anja eying them with something between distaste (Rosalie had an ally there) and curiosity (Zoey had an ally, too).

“Just what kind of shard did you wander into, dear?” Anja asked.

Rosalie snorted, and Zoey cleared her throat. She’d been much more amused when their bizarre circumstances had been a shared hilarity between her and Rosalie only. The titillating nature of the shard was much less funny in face of a disapproving, hunched-over, leather-skinned grandma. “An odd one,” Zoey said. “Do you think you can have them identified, or not?”

“Don’t get snippy, now,” Anja scolded. “It’s an odd collection to take in. I’m not intending to make you uncomfortable.”

“Great,” Zoey said. “Can you, or can’t you?” She was only human. Her polite nature extended only so far, and after explaining her suspected use of several sex toys to a blissfully unaware, painfully vanilla seventy-year-old-woman, her patience had frayed. Or maybe her embarrassment. Rosalie’s snorts weren’t helping.

“Sigils are sigils,” Anja One-Eye said. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t. Though perhaps seeking out a specialty identifier would be best.”

“And you can provide directions to someone like that?”

“I could. But the rest of your haul, I would be happy to handle for you.” Anja was, ultimately, a business-woman; her discomfort with handling Zoey and Rosalie’s less-common portion of equipment wasn’t overshadowed by her desire to secure a profitable arrangement.

“Perfect,” Zoey said, not caring about the economics behind the whole fiasco, and wanting to be over with this. “We’ll do that.”

Finally, Rosalie stepped in. “Twelve copper for every sigil identification, expedited. Two silver for connecting us to a specialist. We’ll discuss sales in the morning.”

The offer must have been generous, because Anja accepted immediately. Though, ever the business-woman, she didn’t show her satisfaction, and grumbled instead. “I can make that work. Tomorrow morning? How early?”

“When do you open?”

“First bell.”

“We’ll be there.”

Anja nodded. “I would help you with the rest, but ...”

“It’s odd, we realize. A specialist is fine.”

“Fe is an odd woman. But competent. She’ll sort you out without problem.”

“That’s all we ask. She’ll take expedited orders?”

“As far as I know. You’ll want to get there as soon as possible. She closes early.”

Rosalie nodded. “Then let’s finish this, and have you pass us directions.”