I checked the palm of my right hand as I followed Handsome Guy.
Forty-four minutes to go until… dunno.
Was it a timer for this transformation running out, the same way Pino had a limit? Or was it counting down until I could use my powers? If something unfortunate happened to me, like going into stasis, as my Erind body does during Pino’s transformation, I better be secure and out of sight.
Whatever it was, I needed at least five minutes to find somewhere to hide. Could I return to my room that fast? I should escape with ten minutes left to be safer.
But will this guy allow me to leave? That was the question.
I wasn’t naïve. Bringing a girl to a bar? Even a monkey could guess his intentions. Or maybe not; monkeys didn’t have experience with human hookup culture. And neither did I, personally. But I wasn’t a monkey, and I knew I was walking into a shark’s mouth. What’s with all the animal references?
I was trying to distract myself from the fear creeping in. Exploring the ship in my new body was chill, but it got all serious now. There might be Adumbrae around.
For all I knew, Handsome Guy could also be one.
What could I do in this form? I was as weak as a human. I’m practically a human! One stab. One unlucky shot, and I was a goner. Even if there were no Adumbrae, I couldn’t even fight off Handsome Guy.
He slowed his pace so I’d catch up and walk beside him. I matched his speed, staying to his back. I didn’t want to look at his face, or I’d have the same reaction as earlier. Embarrassing to think about how stupidly I behaved. From this position, I could still admire his—Cut that out, Domino! I berated myself.
I refused to refer to myself as ‘Erind’ in this state. This wasn’t me.
Looking over his shoulder, Handsome Guy slowed down some more. It’d be too obvious if I continued to trail behind, so I kept pace. We soon walked side by side.
“The name’s Jeffrey Nickelson,” said Handsome Guy. Finally, I could stop using the awkward nickname. He gave me a sidelong glance, eyes with a sly squint. “Nickelson, as in Nickel Solar up in Utah—our family business.”
I have no idea what that is. “Oh, that Nickel Solar,” I whispered with fake awe, no longer stammering like a flustered groupie. His slimy stare and swagger of a walk started to turn me off. Why did I even find him attractive? “The large company that makes solar panels?” I guessed, hoping they weren’t selling tanning beds or something.
“You got that right,” Jeffery said. “Third largest solar company in the country. Going to be the second soon, with a merger coming up. I’m not supposed to tell anyone that.” He winked, leaning toward me. “But I’ll make an exception for a beautiful lady like you.”
I nervously laughed. “How do you know how I really look with this on?” I asked, tapping my mask, concentrating hard to make it activate. I imagined my eyes shooting laser beams. That’d be a cool power, but I’d rather it not be that because it’d be hard to clean up its aftermath.
With a wink, he said, “I just know your beauty is waiting to be revealed.”
I drew a breath. My cheeks were lighting up. He does look good.
But somewhere in the depths of Domino, a slice of Erind struggled not to puke at the godawful lines. Tiny, shoved somewhere to the back, the real me was pushing to make its presence known. Somehow, this situation resembled my earlier experiences with Blanchette’s giant monster form.
Instead of struggling against feral urges and predatory instincts, I was consumed by… normal feelings?
I halted my steps.
My Erind self momentarily surfaced at that realization, like the first time I regained sanity in my werewolf body. My mind wavered, confusion setting in. Swirling thoughts and emotions. Anxiety at the mission. Worry about the possible dangers. Physical attraction to Jeffrey too—I couldn’t deny that.
There was also fear at the blankness inside me—I didn’t know how to describe it. Just something wrong. Like someone was looking at me, but I was also that person. Like something was trying to dampen who I was.
Wait, this isn’t me. This wasn’t the real me.
The other…
Jeffrey also stopped. “Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”
“I’m fi-fine.” I shook my head, forcing a smile.
“I’m sorry if I offended you or anything.” Jeffrey slightly bowed to peer into my eyes. “I meant to say that you’re beautiful now, wearing that. But I’m sure you’re much more beautiful without—oh, hang on.” He scratched his head, grinning sheepishly. “That also doesn’t sound right too. I’m just digging myself a deeper hole, aren’t I?”
“I get what you’re saying,” I said. “Thanks for the compliment.” He seemed like a nice guy. Acting quite cute too. No! Don’t get reeled in again.
I tried to devise believable excuses if he asked me to remove my mask—I’d return to my Erind body if I did. And I didn’t even have an explanation for the mask. Good thing he hadn’t brought it up yet. He probably assumed I was attending some masked event in another part of the ship and was just messing around, still keeping it on.
“Let me try again,” said Jeffrey. “There’s nothing wrong with your glasses.”
“Glasses?” Did I mishear him?
“Glasses or not, you’re gorgeous.”
“Okay…” I said. There was a certain confidence in the way he spoke—it didn’t come off as creepy. Slightly flattering even. He probably had lots of practice delivering that line to many girls—this thought kept me grounded. But I was puzzled why he suddenly brought up glasses. An unfamiliar expression from Utah?
Jeffrey nudged his head down the hallway and resumed walking. “Being honest with you,” he said. “And don’t take this the wrong way. I have a thing for glasses.”
“Glasses? What do you mean glasses?” I asked. He wasn’t wearing any unless I needed glasses myself. “Like you have a hard time seeing?”
He smiled at me, his dimples revealing themselves again. “You’re quite funny… um. I didn’t quite catch your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t throw it to you yet,” I quipped, putting on a mischievous smirk. “It’s Domino. There, catch it.”
“Yep, I got it. Is that a nickname?”
“My real name,” I said. “My surname is nothing to brag about, unlike yours.”
“I wasn’t bragging,” he said, blinking at the uncharacteristic pushback he probably seldom encountered from women. Either he would get turned off because things weren’t going by his usual script, or he’d get interested in the challenge. “Anyway, Domino, I guess I’m trying to say you’re adorable with glasses on.”
The fuck? Such a weird thing to say. What was up with the glasses bit?
I touched my face. Did he mean my mask?
“Don’t take them off,” he said. “Not because I have a thing for them, but because… you can’t see.” He laughed at his joke. “God, being creepy, then saying dumb stuff. I’m just hopeless talking with women, aren’t I?” He flashed another winning smile, absolutely not meaning any word of that sentence.
I hesitantly chuckled, growing more confused. “I think you’re funny,” I said, giving him the validation he wanted. But inner Erind strained to emerge again. My hands tingled, a sliver of me wanting to choke him for that terrible joke.
“This may sound cheesy,” Jeffrey said, “and you probably heard this before from some guys, but I think our meeting might be fated.” He groaned, shaking his head. “Okay, that’s another bad line. I really need to get a drink.” With a slight dip of his head, he gestured for me to enter an open archway into the bar.
It was smaller than the other bar I had visited, about half in size. It was dimmer, not helped by the excessive antique dark wood paneling. The old-timey feel was boosted by relief carvings on wood, though mixed with modern touches like an industrial finish on some walls, almost like a statement piece, and yellow mood lighting.
Some twenty people were here, spread among tables and by the bar, a surprising number at this late on the first night of the voyage. I’d imagine that passengers—mostly old people, as with cruises—would want to rest early after the hectic boarding and the theater shows were done.
I purposely strode ahead of Jeffrey and sat by an empty stretch of the bar so he wouldn’t lead me to a corner booth. The bartender came over, dressed in all black, poised to take our order. Jeffrey’s shoulders noticeably slumped as he followed me, his eyes flicking to the booths opposite us. He took the chair beside mine, to my right, and ordered two drinks for us. I wasn’t familiar with their names.
“Wow, this place is so exquisite,” I gushed.
“First time here?” he asked.
“First time on this cruise,” I replied. “It’s not always I can afford this sort of luxury.” There, I gave him an opening to brag about being a rich kid. Domino or Erind, reading guys like Jeffrey Nickelson was easy.
“Me, I’ve cruised on this ship twice before,” he said. “Had visited Catalina and Enseda ‘bout five times already.”
“I’m so jealous you get to travel all the time.”
“Nothing new to me. But Catalina does have fine bitch—erm, beaches. White sands and clear blue water.”
“So, why are you here?” Time to do some fishing. It was weird that he and his friends were taking this cruise. This wasn’t the place to pick up girls. “Why not travel elsewhere?”
“My parents,” he curtly said in a low voice, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Traveling with daddy and mommy at his age did chip at his game. He mumbled, “Business matters, they hold meetings here, don’t know why…”
That explained it. Could his parents be Adumbrae? Clients of the 2Ms?
I wanted to ask, but it was apparent Jeffrey didn’t want to talk about them. He soon changed the topic, going on about himself again—this or that famous person he knew, his travels the past couple of months, his car collection, the small business he had started all over the country, no doubt with daddy’s money as capital.
I tried to filter through the crap he spouted, waiting for an important detail, maybe a clue. There didn’t seem to be any, just endless bragging.
The allure of his good looks soon faded as I realized there was nothing much beneath, like the set backdrops of stage plays, just painted cardboard propped from behind. He was like a piece of white bread that learned how to talk—good to look at, like it’d be super fun to see talking bread, but quite plain.
I nodded and smiled, pretending to be impressed while subtly spying on my surroundings—nothing much to see other than an expensive bar being expensive.
What was I expecting anyway? People huddling to discuss evil plans?
As Jeffrey droned on, I glanced at my right palm—thirty-five minutes to go.
“Here are your drinks,” the bartender said, placing them before us when Jeffrey paused his sales pitch to womankind. The glass in front of me was copper, piled high with ice, topped with mint leaves, dried orange slices, and other stuff. Spices? Was that star anise?
“I got you a julep,” Jeffrey said, taking his drink—a dark amber liquid with no pizzazz like mine.
“I’m not familiar with this,” I said. “You can tell I don’t frequent bars. This isn’t too strong, is it?”
“Consider it the bourbon counterpart of a mojito. I’m sure you’ve drank a mojito before. Not strong at all. Maybe a bit sweet, like you…” He waited for my reaction, a smile ready.
I exaggeratedly cringed at his words, as he expected from me.
He laughed, raising his glass to me. “I’m terrible with lines. I hope the drink makes up for it.”
“It’s not so bad,” I responded with my part of the script.
How many times had he used this setup with other women? Props to him because it was good. Capitalizing on his looks and social standing, then pretending to be socially awkward at times to disguise his forwardness, made him stand out from the usual bastards in bars. Many women would eat this up.
Me included—just a bit.
The protests of Erind from deep inside distantly echoed like the muffled noise of Vegas rush hour traffic trying to penetrate the windows of my condo. My? Her condo? Which was which?
“What’s your drink?” I asked, distracting myself from the conflict inside me. I could tell Jeffrey was dying for me to ask. I bet he would’ve explained the next second even if I hadn’t.
“Vieux Carré,” he said, leaning in on the French accent to pretentious levels. “It has rye whiskey, Cognac…” He rattled off a bunch of other stuff to show how well-traveled and sophisticated he was. If he cut half his words, he’d instantly be more tolerable.
As he continued to prattle, minutes continued to trickle uselessly.
I came to accept that my first—technically, second—time as Domino wouldn’t result in anything useful. But I shouldn’t rush. I had other opportunities. The mask was useable again after six hours. I’d set the alarm for tomorrow. Actually, later, since it was already past midnight. I could snoop around for an hour as myself, Domino, then return to my Erind body and have breakfast with Deen.
For now, I would establish a connection with this guy, string him along, and maybe schedule another date with a hint of something more from me. By then, I would’ve come up with a better plan. If not, I could ghost him.
I had to suffer a bit more of his bullshit before exiting.
Maybe this julep could ease my suffering. I held the copper glass. It was cold, and condensation had set on its sides. I took a sip.
There was only a touch of alcohol. It was more citrusy and sweet, making me feel minty fresh, rather than stinging. I set down the glass, bored out of my mind, my eyes wandering over its surface, looking for something interesting as if it were a shampoo bottle. Then I saw my yellowish reflection on the shiny copper.
I gasped, jerking back on my bar stool. I would’ve toppled over its low backrest if I hadn’t grabbed the table’s edge. Balancing myself, I glanced at Jeffrey, preparing for a story about how I wasn’t sitting correctly.
But I didn’t need to explain.
“Right?” he excitedly said. “I had the same reaction when they let me in backstage for Polly Dorama’s concert. I got to meet her and take pictures. My pals couldn’t believe that I managed to get in without an ID, without anything!” He continued about his shenanigans with his friends at the concert of a chart-topping singer.
“Pretty unbelievable, yeah.” I nodded, looking into Jeffrey’s eyes to assure him I was listening. “Awesome how you talked your way backstage.”
His blue eyes didn’t have the same effect on me as earlier, the shock still fresh in my system. My gaze traveled down to the side, back to the top of the bar, and onto the copper glass, examining my face.
Is this me? I looked at the shelves on the other side of the bar, trying to find something reflective among the displayed bottles. I couldn’t get an accurate image—my many faces on the curved bottles were warped—but it was enough.
There’s a new me.
My mask was gone from my reflection. In its place were glasses. And I now had a thin face with high cheeks, very pronounced. My chin sharpened to a point, and my not-so-voluminous straight hair, no longer in a ponytail, was combed down to make me look even more slender. I also had different clothes on, something conservatively casual.
This was the power of Domino—creating an illusion of a different person.
But how did this work? What triggered it? And how do I control it?
A bazillion more questions floated through my mind. Only half of my time remained. I had about twenty minutes to do more experimenting before I had to run like Cinderella when the clock struck midnight. Not that Jeffrey was my prince. Ugh.
But where do I begin? Something that Jeffrey had said returned to me.
“So, do you like the Polly Dorama type?” I asked him. “A thin oval face with high cheekbones?” I didn’t ask if I was his type because, one, that’d be awfully conceited, and two, he’d say yes. But I noticed my new look could pass as Polly’s sister or cousin.
“I just don’t know what’s with those sharp cheeks that get to me,” he admitted.
“What about glasses sitting on those cheeks?”
“Definitely my thing.” He raised his glass to me before drinking from it.
New hypothesis: Domino could create an illusion that’d fit the preferences of the person who saw me.
That led to more questions. Did different people see different versions of me? Probably not. I had the exact reflection on the bottles. But then, who did my power pick from a crowd? Like among Jeffrey’s group, why did I turn into the sort of woman he’d like? Why specifically him out of his group?
What about the cruise employee? When he looked at my neck, he probably saw something else that wasn’t my choker.
“I think I’ve talked enough about myself,” Jeffrey said, noticing I wasn’t paying attention to him. I didn’t have the head space to continue faking interest. “Tell me about yourself.”
“My-myself?”
Temple
What I’m going for Domino is like Erind was shoved into the body of a person with normal emotions. I’m unsure if something like this had been done before in stories, but here we are, experimenting like Erind is doing.
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I checked the palm of my right hand as I followed Handsome Guy.
Forty-four minutes to go until… dunno.
Was it a timer for this transformation running out, the same way Pino had a limit? Or was it counting down until I could use my powers? If something unfortunate happened to me, like going into stasis, as my Erind body does during Pino’s transformation, I better be secure and out of sight.
Whatever it was, I needed at least five minutes to find somewhere to hide. Could I return to my room that fast? I should escape with ten minutes left to be safer.
But will this guy allow me to leave? That was the question.
I wasn’t naïve. Bringing a girl to a bar? Even a monkey could guess his intentions. Or maybe not; monkeys didn’t have experience with human hookup culture. And neither did I, personally. But I wasn’t a monkey, and I knew I was walking into a shark’s mouth. What’s with all the animal references?
I was trying to distract myself from the fear creeping in. Exploring the ship in my new body was chill, but it got all serious now. There might be Adumbrae around.
For all I knew, Handsome Guy could also be one.
What could I do in this form? I was as weak as a human. I’m practically a human! One stab. One unlucky shot, and I was a goner. Even if there were no Adumbrae, I couldn’t even fight off Handsome Guy.
He slowed his pace so I’d catch up and walk beside him. I matched his speed, staying to his back. I didn’t want to look at his face, or I’d have the same reaction as earlier. Embarrassing to think about how stupidly I behaved. From this position, I could still admire his—Cut that out, Domino! I berated myself.
I refused to refer to myself as ‘Erind’ in this state. This wasn’t me.
Looking over his shoulder, Handsome Guy slowed down some more. It’d be too obvious if I continued to trail behind, so I kept pace. We soon walked side by side.
“The name’s Jeffrey Nickelson,” said Handsome Guy. Finally, I could stop using the awkward nickname. He gave me a sidelong glance, eyes with a sly squint. “Nickelson, as in Nickel Solar up in Utah—our family business.”
I have no idea what that is. “Oh, that Nickel Solar,” I whispered with fake awe, no longer stammering like a flustered groupie. His slimy stare and swagger of a walk started to turn me off. Why did I even find him attractive? “The large company that makes solar panels?” I guessed, hoping they weren’t selling tanning beds or something.
“You got that right,” Jeffery said. “Third largest solar company in the country. Going to be the second soon, with a merger coming up. I’m not supposed to tell anyone that.” He winked, leaning toward me. “But I’ll make an exception for a beautiful lady like you.”
I nervously laughed. “How do you know how I really look with this on?” I asked, tapping my mask, concentrating hard to make it activate. I imagined my eyes shooting laser beams. That’d be a cool power, but I’d rather it not be that because it’d be hard to clean up its aftermath.
With a wink, he said, “I just know your beauty is waiting to be revealed.”
I drew a breath. My cheeks were lighting up. He does look good.
But somewhere in the depths of Domino, a slice of Erind struggled not to puke at the godawful lines. Tiny, shoved somewhere to the back, the real me was pushing to make its presence known. Somehow, this situation resembled my earlier experiences with Blanchette’s giant monster form.
Instead of struggling against feral urges and predatory instincts, I was consumed by… normal feelings?
I halted my steps.
My Erind self momentarily surfaced at that realization, like the first time I regained sanity in my werewolf body. My mind wavered, confusion setting in. Swirling thoughts and emotions. Anxiety at the mission. Worry about the possible dangers. Physical attraction to Jeffrey too—I couldn’t deny that.
There was also fear at the blankness inside me—I didn’t know how to describe it. Just something wrong. Like someone was looking at me, but I was also that person. Like something was trying to dampen who I was.
Wait, this isn’t me. This wasn’t the real me.
The other…
Jeffrey also stopped. “Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”
“I’m fi-fine.” I shook my head, forcing a smile.
“I’m sorry if I offended you or anything.” Jeffrey slightly bowed to peer into my eyes. “I meant to say that you’re beautiful now, wearing that. But I’m sure you’re much more beautiful without—oh, hang on.” He scratched his head, grinning sheepishly. “That also doesn’t sound right too. I’m just digging myself a deeper hole, aren’t I?”
“I get what you’re saying,” I said. “Thanks for the compliment.” He seemed like a nice guy. Acting quite cute too. No! Don’t get reeled in again.
I tried to devise believable excuses if he asked me to remove my mask—I’d return to my Erind body if I did. And I didn’t even have an explanation for the mask. Good thing he hadn’t brought it up yet. He probably assumed I was attending some masked event in another part of the ship and was just messing around, still keeping it on.
“Let me try again,” said Jeffrey. “There’s nothing wrong with your glasses.”
“Glasses?” Did I mishear him?
“Glasses or not, you’re gorgeous.”
“Okay…” I said. There was a certain confidence in the way he spoke—it didn’t come off as creepy. Slightly flattering even. He probably had lots of practice delivering that line to many girls—this thought kept me grounded. But I was puzzled why he suddenly brought up glasses. An unfamiliar expression from Utah?
Jeffrey nudged his head down the hallway and resumed walking. “Being honest with you,” he said. “And don’t take this the wrong way. I have a thing for glasses.”
“Glasses? What do you mean glasses?” I asked. He wasn’t wearing any unless I needed glasses myself. “Like you have a hard time seeing?”
He smiled at me, his dimples revealing themselves again. “You’re quite funny… um. I didn’t quite catch your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t throw it to you yet,” I quipped, putting on a mischievous smirk. “It’s Domino. There, catch it.”
“Yep, I got it. Is that a nickname?”
“My real name,” I said. “My surname is nothing to brag about, unlike yours.”
“I wasn’t bragging,” he said, blinking at the uncharacteristic pushback he probably seldom encountered from women. Either he would get turned off because things weren’t going by his usual script, or he’d get interested in the challenge. “Anyway, Domino, I guess I’m trying to say you’re adorable with glasses on.”
The fuck? Such a weird thing to say. What was up with the glasses bit?
I touched my face. Did he mean my mask?
“Don’t take them off,” he said. “Not because I have a thing for them, but because… you can’t see.” He laughed at his joke. “God, being creepy, then saying dumb stuff. I’m just hopeless talking with women, aren’t I?” He flashed another winning smile, absolutely not meaning any word of that sentence.
I hesitantly chuckled, growing more confused. “I think you’re funny,” I said, giving him the validation he wanted. But inner Erind strained to emerge again. My hands tingled, a sliver of me wanting to choke him for that terrible joke.
“This may sound cheesy,” Jeffrey said, “and you probably heard this before from some guys, but I think our meeting might be fated.” He groaned, shaking his head. “Okay, that’s another bad line. I really need to get a drink.” With a slight dip of his head, he gestured for me to enter an open archway into the bar.
It was smaller than the other bar I had visited, about half in size. It was dimmer, not helped by the excessive antique dark wood paneling. The old-timey feel was boosted by relief carvings on wood, though mixed with modern touches like an industrial finish on some walls, almost like a statement piece, and yellow mood lighting.
Some twenty people were here, spread among tables and by the bar, a surprising number at this late on the first night of the voyage. I’d imagine that passengers—mostly old people, as with cruises—would want to rest early after the hectic boarding and the theater shows were done.
I purposely strode ahead of Jeffrey and sat by an empty stretch of the bar so he wouldn’t lead me to a corner booth. The bartender came over, dressed in all black, poised to take our order. Jeffrey’s shoulders noticeably slumped as he followed me, his eyes flicking to the booths opposite us. He took the chair beside mine, to my right, and ordered two drinks for us. I wasn’t familiar with their names.
“Wow, this place is so exquisite,” I gushed.
“First time here?” he asked.
“First time on this cruise,” I replied. “It’s not always I can afford this sort of luxury.” There, I gave him an opening to brag about being a rich kid. Domino or Erind, reading guys like Jeffrey Nickelson was easy.
“Me, I’ve cruised on this ship twice before,” he said. “Had visited Catalina and Enseda ‘bout five times already.”
“I’m so jealous you get to travel all the time.”
“Nothing new to me. But Catalina does have fine bitch—erm, beaches. White sands and clear blue water.”
“So, why are you here?” Time to do some fishing. It was weird that he and his friends were taking this cruise. This wasn’t the place to pick up girls. “Why not travel elsewhere?”
“My parents,” he curtly said in a low voice, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Traveling with daddy and mommy at his age did chip at his game. He mumbled, “Business matters, they hold meetings here, don’t know why…”
That explained it. Could his parents be Adumbrae? Clients of the 2Ms?
I wanted to ask, but it was apparent Jeffrey didn’t want to talk about them. He soon changed the topic, going on about himself again—this or that famous person he knew, his travels the past couple of months, his car collection, the small business he had started all over the country, no doubt with daddy’s money as capital.
I tried to filter through the crap he spouted, waiting for an important detail, maybe a clue. There didn’t seem to be any, just endless bragging.
The allure of his good looks soon faded as I realized there was nothing much beneath, like the set backdrops of stage plays, just painted cardboard propped from behind. He was like a piece of white bread that learned how to talk—good to look at, like it’d be super fun to see talking bread, but quite plain.
I nodded and smiled, pretending to be impressed while subtly spying on my surroundings—nothing much to see other than an expensive bar being expensive.
What was I expecting anyway? People huddling to discuss evil plans?
As Jeffrey droned on, I glanced at my right palm—thirty-five minutes to go.
“Here are your drinks,” the bartender said, placing them before us when Jeffrey paused his sales pitch to womankind. The glass in front of me was copper, piled high with ice, topped with mint leaves, dried orange slices, and other stuff. Spices? Was that star anise?
“I got you a julep,” Jeffrey said, taking his drink—a dark amber liquid with no pizzazz like mine.
“I’m not familiar with this,” I said. “You can tell I don’t frequent bars. This isn’t too strong, is it?”
“Consider it the bourbon counterpart of a mojito. I’m sure you’ve drank a mojito before. Not strong at all. Maybe a bit sweet, like you…” He waited for my reaction, a smile ready.
I exaggeratedly cringed at his words, as he expected from me.
He laughed, raising his glass to me. “I’m terrible with lines. I hope the drink makes up for it.”
“It’s not so bad,” I responded with my part of the script.
How many times had he used this setup with other women? Props to him because it was good. Capitalizing on his looks and social standing, then pretending to be socially awkward at times to disguise his forwardness, made him stand out from the usual bastards in bars. Many women would eat this up.
Me included—just a bit.
The protests of Erind from deep inside distantly echoed like the muffled noise of Vegas rush hour traffic trying to penetrate the windows of my condo. My? Her condo? Which was which?
“What’s your drink?” I asked, distracting myself from the conflict inside me. I could tell Jeffrey was dying for me to ask. I bet he would’ve explained the next second even if I hadn’t.
“Vieux Carré,” he said, leaning in on the French accent to pretentious levels. “It has rye whiskey, Cognac…” He rattled off a bunch of other stuff to show how well-traveled and sophisticated he was. If he cut half his words, he’d instantly be more tolerable.
As he continued to prattle, minutes continued to trickle uselessly.
I came to accept that my first—technically, second—time as Domino wouldn’t result in anything useful. But I shouldn’t rush. I had other opportunities. The mask was useable again after six hours. I’d set the alarm for tomorrow. Actually, later, since it was already past midnight. I could snoop around for an hour as myself, Domino, then return to my Erind body and have breakfast with Deen.
For now, I would establish a connection with this guy, string him along, and maybe schedule another date with a hint of something more from me. By then, I would’ve come up with a better plan. If not, I could ghost him.
I had to suffer a bit more of his bullshit before exiting.
Maybe this julep could ease my suffering. I held the copper glass. It was cold, and condensation had set on its sides. I took a sip.
There was only a touch of alcohol. It was more citrusy and sweet, making me feel minty fresh, rather than stinging. I set down the glass, bored out of my mind, my eyes wandering over its surface, looking for something interesting as if it were a shampoo bottle. Then I saw my yellowish reflection on the shiny copper.
I gasped, jerking back on my bar stool. I would’ve toppled over its low backrest if I hadn’t grabbed the table’s edge. Balancing myself, I glanced at Jeffrey, preparing for a story about how I wasn’t sitting correctly.
But I didn’t need to explain.
“Right?” he excitedly said. “I had the same reaction when they let me in backstage for Polly Dorama’s concert. I got to meet her and take pictures. My pals couldn’t believe that I managed to get in without an ID, without anything!” He continued about his shenanigans with his friends at the concert of a chart-topping singer.
“Pretty unbelievable, yeah.” I nodded, looking into Jeffrey’s eyes to assure him I was listening. “Awesome how you talked your way backstage.”
His blue eyes didn’t have the same effect on me as earlier, the shock still fresh in my system. My gaze traveled down to the side, back to the top of the bar, and onto the copper glass, examining my face.
Is this me? I looked at the shelves on the other side of the bar, trying to find something reflective among the displayed bottles. I couldn’t get an accurate image—my many faces on the curved bottles were warped—but it was enough.
There’s a new me.
My mask was gone from my reflection. In its place were glasses. And I now had a thin face with high cheeks, very pronounced. My chin sharpened to a point, and my not-so-voluminous straight hair, no longer in a ponytail, was combed down to make me look even more slender. I also had different clothes on, something conservatively casual.
This was the power of Domino—creating an illusion of a different person.
But how did this work? What triggered it? And how do I control it?
A bazillion more questions floated through my mind. Only half of my time remained. I had about twenty minutes to do more experimenting before I had to run like Cinderella when the clock struck midnight. Not that Jeffrey was my prince. Ugh.
But where do I begin? Something that Jeffrey had said returned to me.
“So, do you like the Polly Dorama type?” I asked him. “A thin oval face with high cheekbones?” I didn’t ask if I was his type because, one, that’d be awfully conceited, and two, he’d say yes. But I noticed my new look could pass as Polly’s sister or cousin.
“I just don’t know what’s with those sharp cheeks that get to me,” he admitted.
“What about glasses sitting on those cheeks?”
“Definitely my thing.” He raised his glass to me before drinking from it.
New hypothesis: Domino could create an illusion that’d fit the preferences of the person who saw me.
That led to more questions. Did different people see different versions of me? Probably not. I had the exact reflection on the bottles. But then, who did my power pick from a crowd? Like among Jeffrey’s group, why did I turn into the sort of woman he’d like? Why specifically him out of his group?
What about the cruise employee? When he looked at my neck, he probably saw something else that wasn’t my choker.
“I think I’ve talked enough about myself,” Jeffrey said, noticing I wasn’t paying attention to him. I didn’t have the head space to continue faking interest. “Tell me about yourself.”
“My-myself?”
Temple
What I’m going for Domino is like Erind was shoved into the body of a person with normal emotions. I’m unsure if something like this had been done before in stories, but here we are, experimenting like Erind is doing.
Advanced chapters of main story and Erind x Deen on Patreon. Thanks to all Patrons supporting my stories!
Read my other story: Getting Hard - a litrpg on building a tank
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