God of Trash

Laurent was waiting for him by the chip stand, one hand resting on the table. He looked up as the two of them approached, and his whole face lit up. Rhys thought to Bast’s warnings, and almost chuckled. How could someone so harmless and puppy-like do anything like that?

But then, people were strange in love, and this was the enemy, who had mistakenly fallen for his female self. He hardened his heart and reminded himself not to let his guard down. This was the Empire. The ultimate threat before him. Underestimating this man would lead to not only the destruction of the potato chip stand, but potentially, his downfall as a human being.

Honestly, between the destruction of his potato chip stand and his downfall as a human being, he’d much rather fall as a human being. He was quite comfortable with being trash, but he wanted to keep making money selling junk food to mages for as long as he could. Better to be caught as a crossdresser and ruin his personal reputation than ruin his future as a potato chip seller. Of course, in this case, getting exposed would lead to both, so he firmed his heart, girded his loins, and stepped forward to greet Laurent.

He didn’t make it more than a step before a pair of laughing boys stepped out of one of the taverns that lined the square and knocked into him and Bast. Still playing at being Rina, who was delicate and not much of a mage, Rhys stumbled over, falling into Bast, who didn’t budge an inch. He caught the offending boy by his shoulder and shoved him away, letting Rhys pass by to stand on his other side. Both boys smelled thickly of alcohol, clearly enjoying their relative freedom away from their home school to indulge a bit.

“Idiots,” Rhys muttered. Trashy idiots, though. He flicked his gaze of the two of them. Day-drinking fools who acted before they thought? There was a place for people like them, and it was caught up in schemes enacted by people like him. He made a note of their faces for later, and went to walk past.

Bast stood still, frozen like a board. Rhys furrowed his brows and glanced at him. Bast glanced away, turning his head from the boys. Rhys’s frown deepened. He nudged Bast, trying to remind him that they were ladies, they’d succeeded at disguising themselves all day, so why would it stop working now… and then he looked at the boys again. Their robes were less grand than Bast’s, touched with pale green instead of pure white, but they were a familiar design. Not unlike the masked Bast’s attire. He glanced at his friend’s face, raising his brows in an unspoken question.

Bast nodded, just a hair, and Rhys’s eyes widened. These were people he knew. Whether they were students at whatever school the Sword Saint lingered at, or apprentices of the Sword Saint’s sycophants, they knew Bast, and Bast knew them.

Well, well, well. I guess we’re testing our disguises right here, right now, right in front of Laurent. Rhys glanced at Laurent, then let out a quiet sigh. Of course this was how this went down.

Laurent’s eyes widened. He pushed away from the stand, not sure if he should intervene or not.

One of the drunken boys stumbled back a few steps, then caught himself and looked at the two girls. His eyes flicked up and down, and an appraising gleam appeared in them. He quickly grabbed his fellow and bowed to the two of them. “My apologies, beauties. Me and my friend here were just passing through.”

Disguise 10 > 12

“It’s no trouble, no trouble at all.” Rhys beamed and put a hand on Bast’s shoulder, pushing him forward. Keep moving. Now isn’t the time.