Mayhem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nightmarewoken) wrote2019-02-19 05:51 am
nightmarewoken) wrote2019-02-19 05:51 am
Personal History
They weren’t the best child.
They weren’t the worst child, either. All in all, they could have grown up a lot more spoiled. Aratish was their parents’ pride and joy, and they wanted them to grow up as free of constraints as possible. Some things were necessary, like basic schooling and survival - a more tenuous condition in their base than in most households, given the number of hazardous books and artifacts they owned - but by and large, the leaders of this apocalyptic cult allowed their charming tiefling child to run as wild as they liked.
Aratish wasn’t cruel, mostly. They grew to love attention, because everyone was always so happy to see them, the living, walking proof of the cult’s progress. That was probably what saved them from being cruel; for they enjoyed playing pranks, startling people, watching people grow angry and frustrated and then have to hold back because little Aratish was, of course, untouchable, not to be questioned or interfered with. Even if anyone complained, Aratish would only be praised for being their parents’ ‘little devil’, taking joy and pleasure in a life free of all restrictions and social mores.
But the people they upset too badly started to avoid them, ignore them, and that was unacceptable. Their parents were often away seeing to other business, so it was up to Aratish to figure out how to make amends in a way that would once again gain them the attention they had been taught to crave. They learned to keep their mischief from turning to cruelty, to smooth over any little hurt with impish charm, so that everyone would enjoy their presence despite the disruptions it meant, and continue to fawn over them. The way things should be.
When they were half-grown, their parents started bringing them along on trips to the outside. They had the sense that it wasn’t something their parents really wanted to do - there was a lot of vaguely unhappy murmuring between them - but someone they were meeting with wanted to meet Aratish, and so Aratish got to come along to meetings, so long as they did exactly as they were told. They agreed to this willingly, because from everything they’d been taught, and everything they’d learned from observation, the outside world was a terrifying place.
The journey to and from was dangerous. Not because of beasts or bandits on the road - their parents could handle those - but because of the towns they had to stay in. Their parents were adamant about keeping Aratish close, to prevent their being infected by strange ideas. Sometimes, one of their parents would point out something wretched as they passed by, explain how it was an example of the hypocrisy of mortal society, part of the reason it all needed to be cut down.
Their parents couldn’t watch every minute, though, and Aratish became an expert at sneaking away, even if only for a few minutes at a time. The outside world, corrupt as it may be, was huge and loud and fascinating, and it was full of shiny things. They tried not to talk to people - people were dangerous, would try to tell you lies and make you believe they were something they weren’t - but seeing things outside the narrow cultist base was a reward in and of itself.
Once, one person, they had had to approach and talk to: a tall woman with red skin and horns, a spaded tail swishing behind her. They’d followed her semi-discreetly for a little bit before finally gathering up the courage to get her attention.
“Are you a tiefling, too?” they’d asked, in a childishly blunt fashion, silver eyes wide with awe.
“I certainly am, darling,” the woman replied, seeming confused and then a little concerned. “...Have you never seen another of our kind before?”
They shook their head. “My parents are both human. They said I’m special. None of the others have kids, either.”
They’d spoken for a bit after that, just simple things, Aratish hanging on the woman’s every word, until they suddenly realized they’d been gone too long. “I’m sorry! I have to go - my parents will be looking by now.”
Their parents were, indeed, looking, but Aratish’s explanation of having spotted a tiefling in the crowd and just needing to go off on their own and speak with her seemed to satisfy. “Your curiosity is a good thing, but a dangerous one, little devil,” their mother had purred sweetly. “At least it’s not as if you were off talking to a cleric. If you want to see someone again, tell us so that we can go with you, and make sure they don’t try to steer you away from the path.”
Aratish agreed, pretending to be contrite, but they already knew that seeing the world without their parents’ guidance was more fun. Their parents were always happy to tell them what everything was, but sometimes Aratish thought it was more interesting to figure things out for themself.
That incident, of course, only kept them from sneaking off for the rest of that trip. The next time they got to go out, a year or so later and a bit taller, there was a tent set up in the town square. Their parents scoffed upon seeing it, murmuring to one another about lies that sustained society, made people believe they could be things they weren’t, and Aratish’s curiosity was piqued.
Once their parents were asleep, it was no trouble to slip out of the room at the inn, and they made their way toward the tent with all the stealth they were capable of - quite a bit, between their dark grey skin and long penchant for sneaking up on people. Moving lights were visible beneath the edge of the tent as they approached - moving lights, the quiet murmur of a lot of people who were listening without speaking, and a single clear voice above it all.
Quick as thought, Aratish ducked beneath the edge of the tent, and into another world.
At first, it was only darkness. A crowd of people stood before them, facing the sole source of light, their rapt expressions outlined. Turning toward the light, Aratish saw a raised platform, glowing lights above it no doubt provided by some caster in the background, and a man in a costume giving a speech. They knew what this must be: their books had covered subjects like plays and drama, though only in the barest of terms. And as they stood and watched, more actors in more costumes came and went, telling a story with their bodies and their voices, with a passion Aratish had never seen outside of rituals and worship. Their awareness of the crowd fell away little by little as they were swept up in the telling, until all that existed was the story unfolding in front of them all.
When the play ended and the curtains closed, they suddenly remembered who and where they were, and ducked out from under the tent again before any lights could be brought to show the rest of the audience the way out. They returned with their parents still asleep, none the wiser - it had only been a couple of hours at most. Settling into bed, they spent the rest of the night until sleep took them thinking only of the strange mutual dream they’d walked into, wondering what sort of magic it took to create.
As time went on, they began to look forward more and more to those rare trips outside. The base was no longer as large as it had seemed when they were a child, and it was endlessly familiar and monotonous - all the same sigils and profane statues and rows upon rows of dry books. The books and their contents had sustained them through the years, but Aratish had read them all now, or at least all the ones that wouldn’t kill the reader, and all but memorized the ones they really liked. They were starting to crave novelty.
The thought formed slowly, at first as sort of an idle daydream: what if they just left? Just gathered up some things and walked out the front door, into the wild, beautiful, tainted world? Just to see it, before it all went away. And since they had nothing much else to think about, the dream persisted, turning over and over in their head as bits of it crystallized further.
One day, their father noticed that Aratish had, instead of spending the day reading, spent most of it staring into space, and asked if they were feeling ill. Aratish realized they’d spent the whole day thinking about this dream that was becoming a plan...and that speaking it aloud and having it taken away would crush them beyond words. That sooner or later, they would need to make the attempt, or waste away in wondering.
They were more careful, after that, to behave normally. No one paid them much mind as long as they seemed to be in a good mood; the hardest acquisition was a spare bag. After that, some basic traveling supplies were simple enough to steal away: a waterskin, some dried food from the pantry, two of their favorite books, a blanket and some rope. All safely hidden in a corner of a storeroom no one ever went into - they knew anything in their closet might be found by someone coming to clean, but they also knew every corner of the base by heart, better than anyone else could.
And then there was nothing more to do but to go. They hesitated for a few days, but when they learned their parents had been suddenly called away for a week or so, they knew there would be no better opportunity. That night, they waited, awake and on edge, for interminable hours until they were sure everyone would be asleep, then crept to the storage room, took their pack, and snuck out of the base.
The first few steps in the open air were terrifying. They knew the way to the nearest town from traveling with their parents, but the carriage had been so much faster - walking seemed a hopelessly slow way to get anywhere, and every moment, every step, they were sure they would be caught, dragged back. The open sky above them was wrong, dizzyingly free, made them feel watched somehow, as if the roof they’d lived under for so long had been a kind of shield. Over and over again, in those first few miles, they stopped, trembling, their resolve waning, and nearly ran home again in shame.
They pressed onward. No telling how long it would be until they were missed, but they should have at least until dawn. And when at last they arrived in town, with the sun creeping up over the horizon, they knew they’d made the right choice: for there in the town square was a large tent like they’d seen years ago, the tent where a strange mundane magic had taken hold and bespelled the audience. The players were back in town.
“I’m leaving home,” they explained, to the natural query of what they wanted. “I-I want to come with you. I don’t ever want to come back here again. ...My parents, they’ll look for me, but not here, they hate performers. But I...I saw a play, a few years ago, I snuck in, and...I never forgot how much I wanted to touch that magic.”
The leader of the troupe gave them a calm look, understanding but stern. “...Come with me, boy.”
Used to obeying, Aratish nodded and followed, as the man brought them around to the back of the large tent, behind the sets. Costumes were scattered about, face paint piled on makeshift tables. The sets themselves, viewed from behind, were nothing but collapsible frames of wood and painted cloth, ordinary in the light. A man with bags under his eyes and a ruddy complexion blinked at them dully as they approached.
“Can you look at this and still think it’s magic?” the leader demanded. “This is what we are in the light of day: props and paint and tired people working hard to build an illusion for those who’ll never see what’s behind it. Is this what you wanted?”
Aratish took a deep breath and looked around. It did seem cheap, plain and ordinary during the day, with the lights up and the costumes off. But… “...Yeah. I remember what I felt that night, the little world you built for all of us, for just a little while. I’ll never forget it. So...if you can make people feel like that, with only this and your words...yeah. That’s definitely good enough. I want to help. I want to learn.”
The man showing them around broke into a wide grin. “Perfect answer, my boy. Full marks! To a theater person, this here is still part of the magic! I just had to make sure you’d see it that way, too. Welcome to the company! What’s your name?”
They took another deep breath. It probably wasn’t a good idea to use their own name, they’d already decided, and the tiefling woman who they’d spoken with once long ago had explained virtue names, taken by those whose parents hadn’t cared to care for them or who wanted to get away from an unfortunate reputation.
“I’m Mayhem. I’m so glad to meet you all.”
The newly-renamed Mayhem was started off on simple tasks, of course, while they got used to everyone and learned names. Despite their inexperience with nearly everything, their willingness to learn and easygoing nature put even the more standoffish players at ease fairly quickly, especially once they explained that they hadn’t been taught much because their parents were ‘very devout’, that most of what they knew of the world they’d picked up themself from books.
That little not-quite-lie also stopped any questions of what they were running from; people’s eyes would widen, glance to Mayhem’s horns and tail, and nod solemnly. Mayhem decided the very first time that happened not to clarify what they meant by ‘devout’, since this option seemed to get them what they wanted.
In many places, it wasn’t entirely safe for Mayhem to be seen on their own or in a prominent position; though the players themselves mostly had no issue with tieflings or any other race, small towns were often less accommodating. They learned to play the instruments that provided atmosphere and scene cues for the actors, instead, which was fine: the position they took near the stage let them have almost the same view as the audience, let them slip now and then into the dream as it was being woven.
And then a request came. A local lord wanted a particular play put on, and would pay extra for it. But there were many minor roles to be filled, most of them for women, and few could be doubled up. One thing led to another, and Mayhem, with their slim figure and pretty face, made their proper debut onstage in a dress and bright lipstick, a lovely lady-in-waiting.
The play was a rousing success, and the troupe continued performing it for the next few towns. Enjoying the attention, laughter, and appreciative looks they got, Mayhem took to wearing skirts backstage as well, and discovered they were comfortable not correcting townsfolk who truly believed them to be a woman. If anything, it was amusing to be so good at fooling people, but also they truly didn’t mind one way or the other how people saw them. They even started growing out their hair to create further ambiguity.
One day, one of the players overheard such a conversation, and rather testily corrected the villager who was flirting with Mayhem. After the man had apologized and left, Mayhem pouted at him a little.
“Why did you do that? He wasn’t going to go any further than flirting, anyway.”
The man looked at them, confused. “...It doesn’t bother you, to have people think you’re a woman?”
“Should it?”
Mayhem’s genuine confusion earned them a considering look from the other player. “...Huh. Well, maybe not. ...Did you ever think you wanted to be a woman, like, for real? Because we’ve had all types here, we can work with that if you’d rather.”
They thought about it, then shook their head. “No...I’ve never really thought about being a man or a woman. It never occurred to me. Is that strange?”
The man smirked a little. “Aren’t we all a little strange here? It’s not like it’s a bad thing. ...Most people want to be seen as one or the other, and sometimes what they feel like doesn’t match what they look like on the outside, you know? ...And then some people feel different on different days, or don’t really feel like either. I’m guessing your folks didn’t talk to you about that kind of thing.”
Mayhem shook their head. “...They spent more time telling me who I was to them than asking who I wanted to be. That’s why I’m here.”
“Sounds about right,” the man sighed. “Well, maybe take some time to think about it, if you want to be called by something different. Like I said, we’ve had all types, so we’ll get used to whatever you pick.”
So after thinking it over for a week or two, Mayhem decided they wanted to try not being either a man or a woman, and the players adjusted their address accordingly. There was a feeling of freedom, of being seen, that came with making that choice, something they’d never had the chance to feel before, and it didn’t take long at all to decide that they were never going back.
They weren’t the worst child, either. All in all, they could have grown up a lot more spoiled. Aratish was their parents’ pride and joy, and they wanted them to grow up as free of constraints as possible. Some things were necessary, like basic schooling and survival - a more tenuous condition in their base than in most households, given the number of hazardous books and artifacts they owned - but by and large, the leaders of this apocalyptic cult allowed their charming tiefling child to run as wild as they liked.
Aratish wasn’t cruel, mostly. They grew to love attention, because everyone was always so happy to see them, the living, walking proof of the cult’s progress. That was probably what saved them from being cruel; for they enjoyed playing pranks, startling people, watching people grow angry and frustrated and then have to hold back because little Aratish was, of course, untouchable, not to be questioned or interfered with. Even if anyone complained, Aratish would only be praised for being their parents’ ‘little devil’, taking joy and pleasure in a life free of all restrictions and social mores.
But the people they upset too badly started to avoid them, ignore them, and that was unacceptable. Their parents were often away seeing to other business, so it was up to Aratish to figure out how to make amends in a way that would once again gain them the attention they had been taught to crave. They learned to keep their mischief from turning to cruelty, to smooth over any little hurt with impish charm, so that everyone would enjoy their presence despite the disruptions it meant, and continue to fawn over them. The way things should be.
When they were half-grown, their parents started bringing them along on trips to the outside. They had the sense that it wasn’t something their parents really wanted to do - there was a lot of vaguely unhappy murmuring between them - but someone they were meeting with wanted to meet Aratish, and so Aratish got to come along to meetings, so long as they did exactly as they were told. They agreed to this willingly, because from everything they’d been taught, and everything they’d learned from observation, the outside world was a terrifying place.
The journey to and from was dangerous. Not because of beasts or bandits on the road - their parents could handle those - but because of the towns they had to stay in. Their parents were adamant about keeping Aratish close, to prevent their being infected by strange ideas. Sometimes, one of their parents would point out something wretched as they passed by, explain how it was an example of the hypocrisy of mortal society, part of the reason it all needed to be cut down.
Their parents couldn’t watch every minute, though, and Aratish became an expert at sneaking away, even if only for a few minutes at a time. The outside world, corrupt as it may be, was huge and loud and fascinating, and it was full of shiny things. They tried not to talk to people - people were dangerous, would try to tell you lies and make you believe they were something they weren’t - but seeing things outside the narrow cultist base was a reward in and of itself.
Once, one person, they had had to approach and talk to: a tall woman with red skin and horns, a spaded tail swishing behind her. They’d followed her semi-discreetly for a little bit before finally gathering up the courage to get her attention.
“Are you a tiefling, too?” they’d asked, in a childishly blunt fashion, silver eyes wide with awe.
“I certainly am, darling,” the woman replied, seeming confused and then a little concerned. “...Have you never seen another of our kind before?”
They shook their head. “My parents are both human. They said I’m special. None of the others have kids, either.”
They’d spoken for a bit after that, just simple things, Aratish hanging on the woman’s every word, until they suddenly realized they’d been gone too long. “I’m sorry! I have to go - my parents will be looking by now.”
Their parents were, indeed, looking, but Aratish’s explanation of having spotted a tiefling in the crowd and just needing to go off on their own and speak with her seemed to satisfy. “Your curiosity is a good thing, but a dangerous one, little devil,” their mother had purred sweetly. “At least it’s not as if you were off talking to a cleric. If you want to see someone again, tell us so that we can go with you, and make sure they don’t try to steer you away from the path.”
Aratish agreed, pretending to be contrite, but they already knew that seeing the world without their parents’ guidance was more fun. Their parents were always happy to tell them what everything was, but sometimes Aratish thought it was more interesting to figure things out for themself.
That incident, of course, only kept them from sneaking off for the rest of that trip. The next time they got to go out, a year or so later and a bit taller, there was a tent set up in the town square. Their parents scoffed upon seeing it, murmuring to one another about lies that sustained society, made people believe they could be things they weren’t, and Aratish’s curiosity was piqued.
Once their parents were asleep, it was no trouble to slip out of the room at the inn, and they made their way toward the tent with all the stealth they were capable of - quite a bit, between their dark grey skin and long penchant for sneaking up on people. Moving lights were visible beneath the edge of the tent as they approached - moving lights, the quiet murmur of a lot of people who were listening without speaking, and a single clear voice above it all.
Quick as thought, Aratish ducked beneath the edge of the tent, and into another world.
At first, it was only darkness. A crowd of people stood before them, facing the sole source of light, their rapt expressions outlined. Turning toward the light, Aratish saw a raised platform, glowing lights above it no doubt provided by some caster in the background, and a man in a costume giving a speech. They knew what this must be: their books had covered subjects like plays and drama, though only in the barest of terms. And as they stood and watched, more actors in more costumes came and went, telling a story with their bodies and their voices, with a passion Aratish had never seen outside of rituals and worship. Their awareness of the crowd fell away little by little as they were swept up in the telling, until all that existed was the story unfolding in front of them all.
When the play ended and the curtains closed, they suddenly remembered who and where they were, and ducked out from under the tent again before any lights could be brought to show the rest of the audience the way out. They returned with their parents still asleep, none the wiser - it had only been a couple of hours at most. Settling into bed, they spent the rest of the night until sleep took them thinking only of the strange mutual dream they’d walked into, wondering what sort of magic it took to create.
As time went on, they began to look forward more and more to those rare trips outside. The base was no longer as large as it had seemed when they were a child, and it was endlessly familiar and monotonous - all the same sigils and profane statues and rows upon rows of dry books. The books and their contents had sustained them through the years, but Aratish had read them all now, or at least all the ones that wouldn’t kill the reader, and all but memorized the ones they really liked. They were starting to crave novelty.
The thought formed slowly, at first as sort of an idle daydream: what if they just left? Just gathered up some things and walked out the front door, into the wild, beautiful, tainted world? Just to see it, before it all went away. And since they had nothing much else to think about, the dream persisted, turning over and over in their head as bits of it crystallized further.
One day, their father noticed that Aratish had, instead of spending the day reading, spent most of it staring into space, and asked if they were feeling ill. Aratish realized they’d spent the whole day thinking about this dream that was becoming a plan...and that speaking it aloud and having it taken away would crush them beyond words. That sooner or later, they would need to make the attempt, or waste away in wondering.
They were more careful, after that, to behave normally. No one paid them much mind as long as they seemed to be in a good mood; the hardest acquisition was a spare bag. After that, some basic traveling supplies were simple enough to steal away: a waterskin, some dried food from the pantry, two of their favorite books, a blanket and some rope. All safely hidden in a corner of a storeroom no one ever went into - they knew anything in their closet might be found by someone coming to clean, but they also knew every corner of the base by heart, better than anyone else could.
And then there was nothing more to do but to go. They hesitated for a few days, but when they learned their parents had been suddenly called away for a week or so, they knew there would be no better opportunity. That night, they waited, awake and on edge, for interminable hours until they were sure everyone would be asleep, then crept to the storage room, took their pack, and snuck out of the base.
The first few steps in the open air were terrifying. They knew the way to the nearest town from traveling with their parents, but the carriage had been so much faster - walking seemed a hopelessly slow way to get anywhere, and every moment, every step, they were sure they would be caught, dragged back. The open sky above them was wrong, dizzyingly free, made them feel watched somehow, as if the roof they’d lived under for so long had been a kind of shield. Over and over again, in those first few miles, they stopped, trembling, their resolve waning, and nearly ran home again in shame.
They pressed onward. No telling how long it would be until they were missed, but they should have at least until dawn. And when at last they arrived in town, with the sun creeping up over the horizon, they knew they’d made the right choice: for there in the town square was a large tent like they’d seen years ago, the tent where a strange mundane magic had taken hold and bespelled the audience. The players were back in town.
“I’m leaving home,” they explained, to the natural query of what they wanted. “I-I want to come with you. I don’t ever want to come back here again. ...My parents, they’ll look for me, but not here, they hate performers. But I...I saw a play, a few years ago, I snuck in, and...I never forgot how much I wanted to touch that magic.”
The leader of the troupe gave them a calm look, understanding but stern. “...Come with me, boy.”
Used to obeying, Aratish nodded and followed, as the man brought them around to the back of the large tent, behind the sets. Costumes were scattered about, face paint piled on makeshift tables. The sets themselves, viewed from behind, were nothing but collapsible frames of wood and painted cloth, ordinary in the light. A man with bags under his eyes and a ruddy complexion blinked at them dully as they approached.
“Can you look at this and still think it’s magic?” the leader demanded. “This is what we are in the light of day: props and paint and tired people working hard to build an illusion for those who’ll never see what’s behind it. Is this what you wanted?”
Aratish took a deep breath and looked around. It did seem cheap, plain and ordinary during the day, with the lights up and the costumes off. But… “...Yeah. I remember what I felt that night, the little world you built for all of us, for just a little while. I’ll never forget it. So...if you can make people feel like that, with only this and your words...yeah. That’s definitely good enough. I want to help. I want to learn.”
The man showing them around broke into a wide grin. “Perfect answer, my boy. Full marks! To a theater person, this here is still part of the magic! I just had to make sure you’d see it that way, too. Welcome to the company! What’s your name?”
They took another deep breath. It probably wasn’t a good idea to use their own name, they’d already decided, and the tiefling woman who they’d spoken with once long ago had explained virtue names, taken by those whose parents hadn’t cared to care for them or who wanted to get away from an unfortunate reputation.
“I’m Mayhem. I’m so glad to meet you all.”
The newly-renamed Mayhem was started off on simple tasks, of course, while they got used to everyone and learned names. Despite their inexperience with nearly everything, their willingness to learn and easygoing nature put even the more standoffish players at ease fairly quickly, especially once they explained that they hadn’t been taught much because their parents were ‘very devout’, that most of what they knew of the world they’d picked up themself from books.
That little not-quite-lie also stopped any questions of what they were running from; people’s eyes would widen, glance to Mayhem’s horns and tail, and nod solemnly. Mayhem decided the very first time that happened not to clarify what they meant by ‘devout’, since this option seemed to get them what they wanted.
In many places, it wasn’t entirely safe for Mayhem to be seen on their own or in a prominent position; though the players themselves mostly had no issue with tieflings or any other race, small towns were often less accommodating. They learned to play the instruments that provided atmosphere and scene cues for the actors, instead, which was fine: the position they took near the stage let them have almost the same view as the audience, let them slip now and then into the dream as it was being woven.
And then a request came. A local lord wanted a particular play put on, and would pay extra for it. But there were many minor roles to be filled, most of them for women, and few could be doubled up. One thing led to another, and Mayhem, with their slim figure and pretty face, made their proper debut onstage in a dress and bright lipstick, a lovely lady-in-waiting.
The play was a rousing success, and the troupe continued performing it for the next few towns. Enjoying the attention, laughter, and appreciative looks they got, Mayhem took to wearing skirts backstage as well, and discovered they were comfortable not correcting townsfolk who truly believed them to be a woman. If anything, it was amusing to be so good at fooling people, but also they truly didn’t mind one way or the other how people saw them. They even started growing out their hair to create further ambiguity.
One day, one of the players overheard such a conversation, and rather testily corrected the villager who was flirting with Mayhem. After the man had apologized and left, Mayhem pouted at him a little.
“Why did you do that? He wasn’t going to go any further than flirting, anyway.”
The man looked at them, confused. “...It doesn’t bother you, to have people think you’re a woman?”
“Should it?”
Mayhem’s genuine confusion earned them a considering look from the other player. “...Huh. Well, maybe not. ...Did you ever think you wanted to be a woman, like, for real? Because we’ve had all types here, we can work with that if you’d rather.”
They thought about it, then shook their head. “No...I’ve never really thought about being a man or a woman. It never occurred to me. Is that strange?”
The man smirked a little. “Aren’t we all a little strange here? It’s not like it’s a bad thing. ...Most people want to be seen as one or the other, and sometimes what they feel like doesn’t match what they look like on the outside, you know? ...And then some people feel different on different days, or don’t really feel like either. I’m guessing your folks didn’t talk to you about that kind of thing.”
Mayhem shook their head. “...They spent more time telling me who I was to them than asking who I wanted to be. That’s why I’m here.”
“Sounds about right,” the man sighed. “Well, maybe take some time to think about it, if you want to be called by something different. Like I said, we’ve had all types, so we’ll get used to whatever you pick.”
So after thinking it over for a week or two, Mayhem decided they wanted to try not being either a man or a woman, and the players adjusted their address accordingly. There was a feeling of freedom, of being seen, that came with making that choice, something they’d never had the chance to feel before, and it didn’t take long at all to decide that they were never going back.