The Advanced Society
by Ian Bernardin
The sun was just beginning to set as Ellen approached
Gerald's cottage. On his front porch, the young woman hit the knocker against
the wooden door and waited for a response.
“Ellen, you're here!” Gerald exclaimed. “I'm happy to tell you
that I thought of the perfect plan for getting you on that quest.”
“What is it?”
“I'll tell you upstairs. There's a surprise waiting for you in
my bedroom.”
“Okay,” she said, following her friend cautiously up his
dilapidated steps.
“Upstairs, Ellen,” he said, “is where magic is going to happen.”
After making their way into Gerald's bedroom, the pair stopped
in front of an enormous closet.
“Now,” he said, “I'm going to need you to take off your
clothes.”
“Gerald, I know you love me, but I don't think it's a good idea
for us to do it so soon...”
“By Quillpith's name, I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding!” he
said with a laugh. “That's not what I have in store for you at all! Here, we're
going to start by fixing up your hair. I'll find something for you in the
closet.”
“Alright,” she said with a smile of uncertainty, putting her
hair up into a bun.
“Here it is,” said Gerald, grabbing a wig of manly blonde hair. “Why don't you try it on?” After placing it over her head, Ellen observed
herself in Gerald's closet-door mirror. “Wow,”
she said, “I look so...different.”
“That's the point,” said Gerald. “Now I have to find you the
rest of your costume.” “Before that,”
said Ellen, “when you just asked me to take off my clothes...”
“You can change in my closet,” he said, “and I'll wait out here
for you.”
“That's a relief,” she said, as Gerald plunged once more into
his commodious storage area of props and costumes.
“Here it is!” he cried out, grunting as he dragged a suit of
armor from his closet.
“Uh, Gerald, don't you think that's a little extreme? Are you
sure I could even walk in that?”
“Ellen, this is the only way I can cover up your body so that
your gender is unrecognizable. Please trust me here.”
“Oh,
I think I see what you're trying to do,” Ellen said with a snap of her fingers.
“You're going to make me look like a...”
“That's right,” he said, “but first, you have to make sure that
the armor fits you properly.” Gerald stood outside his closet and listened to
the clatter as Ellen struggled with the attire.
“Are you all set?” he said. “It sounds like you're going to war
against France in there!”
“I'm fine,” she insisted, but seconds later, she tripped over
the pointy shoes of her costume. Thankfully, Gerald caught her in his arms as
she tumbled forward.
“Careful!” he said. “Now you know why I'm always doing face
plants on stage.”
Both laughed, knowing this comment could not have been closer
to the truth.
“I'm sure the armor would have kept me safe if I had fallen,
anyway,” Ellen pointed out. “I just would have had trouble righting myself.
Anyway, thanks for catching me!”
“No problem,” he said. “I'm sure that you'll catch onto walking
in it if you practice enough.”
“I hope so. Oh, and by the way, does the armor come with a
face?”
“Of course! Let's see if I can find that.”
Ellen leaned against a wall with one of her mail-covered arms
as Gerald fished through his closet.
“Wait! I see it!” he cried, “but I don't know if I can reach
it.” The room shook as Ellen's friend hopped up to grab the head piece. This
was followed by a bong and an “ouch!”
“That was a struggle,” said Gerald, clutching the item and
rubbing a bruise on his forehead. “Unfortunately, I can't find the top part
with the red horse-hair on it, but I don't think that's a problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if your blonde wig is showing, then it might lower
suspicion that you're potentially a female.”
“Good point,” said Ellen, “but now that I'm disguised, what
should I pack for the journey?”
I'm thinking that you should have...first of all, you need
another pair of shoes. I made them myself. The trails you're walking will be
muddy, but these things should be able to stop people in the tribe from
tracking your footprints and apprehending you.” Gerald dug around in his closet
once more and quickly removed a queer-looking pair of scrap-metal blobs covered
in protruding, tangled wires.
“The footprints these leave closely resemble rabbit tracks,” he
said. “Just be sure that you hop like a bunny while you're wearing them.
Otherwise, you might not fool pursuers.”
“Should I put them on now?”
“Yeah. While you're doing that, I'm going to collect some
supplies that I think you'll find useful.”
As Gerald searched his house for the scattered items, Ellen put
on her rabbit shoes and stared out the window, getting lost in her thoughts as
she admired the stars. Never before had she felt such a touching sense of
calmness.
“I think this will be enough,” he said breathlessly: “a
blanket, a small bag of nuts, spare contact lenses, some glue.”
“Why glue, Gerald?”
“Just in case your life begins
to fall apart, you'll be able to glue it back together.”
“And where am I going to store all of this stuff?”
“There are pockets inside your armor.”
“Thanks for helping me pack,” said Ellen. “Now, what am I doing
once I leave your porch?”
“This is the plan,” he said. “With your true identity hidden,
you must hurry through the town square and down the path marked with bright
green flags. That trail leads to a guard post on the perimeter of the tribe.
Since the watchmen are generally more concerned about who's coming in than
who's escaping, you should be able to find a way past them. From there, set up
camp a little after you reach the outskirts of the tribe and wait until the
quest party passes by to team up with them. You'll have to pretend that you're
a rogue who was thrown into the woods for some crime against the Advanced
Society. Just be careful; you want to be friendly with our tribe members, so
that they won't attack you. Does all of this make sense?”
“Yeah,” Ellen answered, still observing the night sky. “I'm
just trying to visualize all of it. I hope nobody outside the Wooded Prison
will attack me.”
“Oh, I have one last thing to give you before you leave,” said
Gerald, putting an arm around her. Locking Ellen in a bear hug, he planted a
kiss on her cheek.
“That was pitiful,” she said. “You might want to try that
later, when I'm not wearing armor.”
“I hope you make it back,” he said, blowing a final kiss to his
crush as she left his bedroom.
A few seconds later, as Gerald was about to host a
pity party, he stopped short as a terrible crash shook his cottage.
“I'm okay,” came the voice of his true love. “I'm not used to
hopping down stairs.”
Before he could reply, Gerald heard his
front door creak shut.
