A middle-aged man with a thin, slightly scruffy black beard paged through a small book in an ill temper. He paced. He slipped fingers past his decorative colored glasses to rub away a developing headache. Finally he tossed the book over his shoulder and decided to just go with it. The last time he had attempted the Springtime familiar ritual was over ten years ago, and he'd gotten a perfectly serviceable familiar who called himself Cube.

Okay, so the familiar had apparently been a demon of some standing among the hierarchies of hell, and came complete with purple hair and bat wings, but other than that was a perfectly serviceable familiar. Did the cooking and cleaning, and wasn't a bad drinking partner.

But now he needed a new familiar, and damned if he could remember how the summoning ritual was supposed to go. Still, how hard could it be?

"Pentagram of the Five Ruinous Powers," yes, that sounded right, "grant me, the Hero Gendo Shinkicker, the familiar I deserve!" And then he shoved as much magic into the ritual as he could manage, reasoning that more magic was always better in these situations.

Thick gouts of lava erupted from the circle he had drawn. It splashed about, igniting the simple wood of his home and even melting the stone floor like wax.

"Holy crap!" he shouted, and retreated before the swift-flowing basalt could treat him to the same fate as his poor walls.

From within the lava fountain, a shape emerged. A young and comely hand cut through the air, and the lava shrunk back in on itself like an obedient dog.

The girl Shinkicker could now see was quite the most ridiculously dressed person he had ever seen. No less than six large red-skull-on-a-yellow-flame adorned shoulder pads extended like spikes from her shoulders, layered one on top of the other. Hanging from her shoulder pads was a black cape with gold filigree and red velvet lining that went down to her knees. Her arms were covered to the forearm in black leather with smaller brass studs and spikes in neat rows, and her forearms sheathed in some strange red metal. The arm on the right was a red spiked gauntlet, her left a complicated twisting design of red metal vines set with a sapphire half as large as her fist. Her fingers were tipped with red nails like claws.

Her breasts were also covered adequately by more black leather emblazoned with red and yellow flames. Besides the aforementioned clothing, her only nod to modesty was a black leather loincloth that matched the rest of her outfit, with strips attached to the breast cups and around her narrow hips to keep it from falling down.

Almost every revealed inch of her was covered in red runic tattoos, in bands about her revealed thighs and stylized eye tattoos just beneath her breasts and on her forehead. Through her left eye - which seemed very large, and glinted red-brown in the light of the lava - was a jerky red line like a scar, which ended just beneath her pert, lavender-painted lips. Her long, luxurious waves of hair were a waterfall going straight up, as though buoyed by an invisible but constant updraft of wind.

"Hello, Papa," she said.

Then his roof started to cave in, and he remembered his house was still burning.

"Brimir's balls! My house! Okay, everybody out! Out, out, out!"

His bizarre new familiar obligingly fired a blast of, well, fire that detonated against one of the exterior walls with a thunderous impact. The wall exploded outward, spraying the street outside with debris.

This had the unfortunate effect of bringing the roof down on them immediately.

"The door! We could have used the - shit." Gendo threw himself aside as plaster and wood and shingle came down, but he wasn't going to make it.

Then his familiar was between him and the falling roof, straddling his body, and delivered a punch upwards into the collapsing masonry. This somehow, improbably, redirected incoming death. So, he was alive. The downside was that then he had to endure her carrying him out of the burning building bridal style.

He turned to take in his dying house. Well, she'd destroyed everything of value he possessed except for the clothes on his back and his ogre-killing knife, but she'd also saved him, too, so it turned out to be kind of a zero sum game.

Whatever, it wasn't like he was attached to the place, especially since after Cube left it had really turned into a dump (instead of only mostly a dump). He'd only got the house along with his Chevalier title and honorary noble status anyway.

Except… a small fireball erupted towards the back of the house, then another, and another. Right around where his bedroom had been.

He fell to his knees in horror. "No! Gendo's drinky stash!" he wept.

Oh, he would get her for this.

"Ah," she said, chagrined. "I'm going to get sent out adventuring again to pay for this, aren't I?"

Gendo sat on the edge of the bridge near his home and plotted terrible retribution. Oh yes. His vengeance would be slow and sure as the relentless press of time.

Gradually he became aware of his new familiar seated nearby, looking like a kicked puppy. Her hair had calmed down and lay about her shoulders and down her back like a normal human being, but she was still in her ridiculous bondage fetish gear.

Almost unwillingly drawn from his plotting, he finally asked, "Okay, first… what are you supposed to be?"

"I'm your daughter. You aren't going senile, are you? You're only 49, Papa."

"My daughter. Not, say, some demon I summoned from the deepest pits of hell because I'd been drinking?"

"Well, that too. God gave me to you," she supplied helpfully.

"God," he said flatly.

"Yes. The first time, I mean. You killed Mister Lucifon, Prince of Darkness, and then later I appeared to you in a fireball and God told you to raise me as your own daughter. You raised me from when I was 10 to the time I was 18."

"I don't think I've drunk enough to forget all that. Cube, do you remember- oh, right. Ran away, the cowardly little bastard."

"Cube is gone?" she asked, looking sorrowful.

"Oh, yes. I had this layabout Cube as my last familiar. I think he ran off, ungrateful cur. Or maybe he died, I don't know," Gendo said vaguely.

The deviless said sympathetically, "I'm so sorry, Papa. Did you try something outside his comfort zone in bed again? You know he'll get over it in a few days and come back."

"I'm not sleeping with Cube!" he yelped, and barely refrained from tumbling into the river. His ogre-killing knife hit the water with a splash and sank to the bottom. He watched the spreading ripples mournfully. That just left the clothes on his back and… he fished around in his pockets… six silver ecu to his name.

He wondered why all these things that deserved to happen to bad people happened to him.

"Of course not, father," she said obediently, patiently disbelieving.

"Not nearly drunk enough for this," he grumped to himself. "Whatever. So you think you're my daughter. Figures I get the brain-damaged familiar, but at least there's nothing wrong with your power. What's your name?"

"Lizzie. Lizzie Shinkicker."

He pondered. He supposed it wasn't impossible he'd had a kid and never known about it, leaving aside the fact that she was apparently a fire demon… which was weird, considering what little magic he laid claim to was wind, but never mind… the two months after his chevalier knighting ceremony, for example, were mostly a blur thanks to the ceremony having an open bar and him being awarded 10,000 ecu for services rendered during the war.

He never did get those months back in his memory and most of the money - and Cube's left kidney - had been gone when he'd sobered up, but the old king of Tristain had apparently worked out a deal with him sometime during the binge to pay him 5000 ecu a year as long as he stayed away from the capital until the next war, so it was still a net win.

"Hmm…" Anyway. Daughter. A test. "Lizzie, what is best in life? If you were really my daughter, you would know the answer to that."

"To crush your enemies, to see them driven before you like leaves before the storm, and to hear the lamentations of their women and the screams of their children," she answered promptly. "That was an easy one, Papa. I've known that since I was 11."

"You are my daughter," he said, amazed. "Well, that's good enough for me. Let's go find somewhere to hole up out of the wind."

"If we walk around for a little while, we could probably find someone suicidal enough to attack me in the street. That happens a lot. Sometimes I can't even go to the grocery store without some kidnapper with more guts than brains or adventurer looking to make a name for themselves trying to defeat me. Then we can stab them and take their stuff.""I love you, Lizzie." Gendo clapped a hand on her shoulder, mindful of all the spikes. "Let's go do that."

Gendo hunched inward as the pair walked down the street, like a turtle retreating into his shell.

He had neglected to take one aspect of their plan into account; that the familiar following along behind him, seemingly immune to the stares, was a young girl dressed like the most outlandish hooker any of the watching Tristainians ever seen.

People were staring, and whispering. And the pointing! He was never going to be able to go out for a drink in this town again.

Not to mention it was just a matter of time until the local constables were called, for indecent exposure if nothing else.

Finally, an man sidled up to them. He had a pencil thin moustache and sideburns that were absurdly curled, resembling a cresting wave. He was wearing a red surcoat with a similarly absurd ruffled collar. Considering the man and Lizzie side by side, it had to be noted that Lizzie's bondage gear of an outfit came off looking slightly better. He looked, in short, like the sort of creepy middle-aged man who has damp, clammy hands and no morals.

"Ah, my good man. A simply beautiful young woman you have there. Perhaps I might… sample the wares, so to speak? If she is as delectable as she seems, perhaps a monthly fee to retain her as a mistress-"

"Oh, thank Brimir," Gendo broke in, relieved. "Into this alley out of the public eye, now. Yes, right this way…"

"So you'll accept-" the man began happily.

"Lizzie, this is the one. Your sword, please."

"Yes, Papa."

"Why are you- where did you get that sword?" The fop was sweating profusely. "I'll have you know I am a noble, and you cannot simply-"

Lizzie had produced a very large weapon with a guard wrought of gold and set with a single uncut ruby the size of Gendo's eye, and three barbed blades extending outwards in a fan like the claw of some apex predator. Where she had been hiding it, he had no desire to discover. Despite the material worth and a shape that shouldn't have been practical to swing around at all, it would never be mistaken as a ceremonial piece, too smoothly was it handled, too well-fitting in her hand. There was a certain air of lethality about the sword that said without words, this is a weapon that has ended many lives. Also, the blood dried on the blade was a good clue.

Without another word, she swung. The sword all but ripped the man in half, the blades both cutting and tearing. She smiled cheerily despite the few drops of blood that now dotted her leathers and face. Blood came out of leather easily, after all, not like her old dresses she was forever having to wash again and again to get the stains out.

"Lizzie, I am shocked at you!" Gendo said heatedly.

She blinked. "But Papa, you said to-"

"A fine blade like that, and you let it rust by leaving blood on it? No daughter of mine would be so careless with their weapons. I should think I taught you better!"

"Daaa~d, it's the Sword of the War God, its thirst for battle keeps it ever-ready to strike down the foe. Also, it's like made of Godmetal or something. It doesn't [I]get[/I] rusty!"

"Don't you take that tone with me, young lady! You will clean your sword or I will turn you over my knee," Gendo ordered, getting into the swing of fatherhood.

"Fine, Papa. size="1"Such a drama queen/size."

"Good. Now, let's go through his pockets and go rent a room."

"I think I know how to loot a corpse, Papa, geez…"

Gendo and Lizzie were soon on their way, an unusual feeling of good karma lodged in his breast.

The 'Noble Hare' was a quality establishment, as inns went, catering more to merchant caravans in need of a rest stop and slumming nobles who didn't want to give up all their creature comforts than the everyday working man. The common room was well-kept and comfortably warm even on a brisk spring day by the large fireplace. The rooms above were spacious and comfortable.

The price matched the quality, but it was worth every ecu.

Or it would be, except that the proprietor didn't seem inclined to give them a room.

"And why not?" Gendo demanded. "My gold is as good as the next man's!" Except for being taken from a dead man's pockets, but that was just standard adventurer stuff.

The matronly woman behind the counter sniffed in an annoyingly superior way. Gendo controlled his Fist of Death with some difficulty. "I have money. You are an inn. Why must this be a problem?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Sir, we are a reputable inn. We do not cater to… to… that!" She pointed at Lizzie.

He turned to look at the girl following behind him. What was it that was so objectionable? Maybe it was the drops of drying blood splattering across her face, but really it was hardly noticeable. And hell, he'd come into inns absolutely covered in blood during his adventuring days, and aside from requiring a little extra coin for cleaning fees they'd never raised a fuss. Adventuring was more of a Germanian thing, but Tristain still posted bounties on orcs and other unsavory types all the time.

He turned back to the woman, baffled. "And what is 'that', exactly?"

"Sir, we are not that kind of inn! You can take your… your… lady of ill repute to some lower-class tavern!"

Gendo froze. "Ah," he said quietly. Oh, yes, that was right, wasn't it? He'd apparently gotten so used to Lizzie, the girl slotting in at his side so simply and without fanfare that he'd briefly forgotten the outfit. Probably to save his sanity. In conservative Tristain, Lizzie's black Bondage Queen leathers were as shocking as one of the barbarian queens of ancient Germania sitting down to join you for an afternoon tea.

Lizzie's hand had disappeared ominously beneath her cape, which suddenly looked like it could indeed hold her wicked blade within its confines. She said, "Papa, should I -?"

"Not right now, Lizzie," he said hastily. Killing a man out of sight of the public was one thing, and the man had been a loathsome toad anyway, but cutting down a respected merchant in broad daylight would be tricky to get out of. He needed his good reputation or he could wave goodbye to the king's stipend.

Having a demonic killing machine for a daughter was going to take some thought, he realized.

Time to brazen it out. "That woman," he told the proprietor frostily, "is my daughter." -Ish. Familiar. Whatever.

"I don't care what sick roleplay you're doing, you and your 'daughter' can go find another inn," she said with finality.

Gendo stomped away. Lizzie went with him, quizzing him on what 'roleplaying' was.

He told her it was a board game.

Another inn turned them away before Gendo finally admitted defeat and turned his feet to a particular inn just off the main street. It was fairly small as inns went, with only six rooms on the second floor and the first floor devoted to a bar area, but the many windows bedecked in colorful curtains made it seem larger and more open.

"The Charming Fairy Inn?" Lizzie wondered, reading the sign. She dimpled. "I like fairies!"

"As well you should, young Madam. For fairies are light, and air, and beauty! My wonderful little fairies attend to my customer's every need, relieving stress and relaxing weary bodies. Oh, Gendo, I just knew you would return to me one day! Welcome, welcome!"

Gendo sighed, like the last breath drawn from a dying man's lungs. "Hello, Scarron."

The man in question was large and powerfully built, his muscular body shown off to great effect by his brief shorts and purple tanktop. He was also in possession of a rather dashing moustache and a short pointed goatee. "Please, come in, come in! My humble inn is yours. Why, Gendo, darling, it's been ages!"

"Papa," she began, but was cut off.

"Not a word, Lizzie," Gendo said firmly but wearily. He looked like he was steeling himself to enter. She wasn't sure why, this Scarron seemed really nice.

"Please, take any seat you like. Oh, you never stop by, you never write… this is a wonderful day. And did I hear correctly, Gendo, is this darling thing your daughter?"

"More or less," Gendo agreed for the sake of expediency.

"Oh, tres bien! I have a daughter as well, you know - oh, you simply must meet. You must! Girls, someone please serve my old friend and his daughter, I must bring Jessica by. Oh, Jessica~!"

"Yes, mi Mademoiselle!" several of the working girls chorused.

And with that the muscled inn owner flounced off in search of his daughter.

Lizzie was looking around with a practiced eye. Her time working sleazy bars was just a little blurry from all the alcohol fumes, but this seemed rather more upscale than her old job with Sam. And more importantly…

"It's really busy," she realized.

The bar area was packed with patrons seated at large circular tables eating the usual inn fare and young women in pastel, flouncy dresses that nonetheless left plenty of cleavage on display flitted about delivering drinks and collecting tips.

"Yes," Gendo said. "Scarron may act like that, but there's a keen mind hiding under all that corny creepiness."

A girl in a pale green ruffled dress with stiff skirts swung by and got their order; wine, stew and strawberry cake. The Charming Fairy Inn was suffused with the sort of noisy cheer that comes from people drinking their cares away.

"Cake?" Gendo asked.

"Cake," Lizzie said firmly.

Soon enough, Scarron returned from the back with a buxom young woman hardly older than Lizzie, more conservatively dressed than the 'fairies' but still with a vast expanse of cleavage. Lizzie wasn't exactly unendowed, but this girl had her beat by at least a cup size.

"My daughter Jessica," Scarron introduced proudly.

"So, you're the Hero Shinkicker, huh?" the girl said breezily. "Kinda scrawny for a war hero. Hey, Lizzie, right? Love your outfit."

"Thanks!" she said, pleased. "I like your hair handkerchief thing."

Jessica patted the item, pleased. "Come on, Lizzie, I'll show you around. Let's leave the old guys to their fun."

Scarron leaned over Gendo's elbow, putting his lips uncomfortably close to his ear. "I hate to ask, Gendo darling, but you can pay, can't you?" If he couldn't, old friend or not he might just end up tossed out on his ear. Scarron was generous to a fault, but business was business. And there was a reason Scarron's place didn't need a bouncer; the muscular effeminate more than amply filled that role.

Gendo in answer tossed a few coins on the table. His purloined - somewhat blood-spattered - man-purse was starting to feel rather light.

"Ah, that takes me back," Scarron reminisced on seeing the bloodied silk purse. "Out adventuring again, Gendo?"

"Something like that," he agreed.

"May I?" Scarron asked, gesturing to the empty seat at Gendo's table.

"It's your bar," Gendo pointed out.

"It is, is it not?" Scarron smiled proudly at his fairies. "Ah, Gendo, how long has it been since we were young and hearty adventurers, ready to take on the world?"

"Decades," Gendo agreed. He poured himself a glass of red wine and, after a few seconds indecision, poured one for Scarron too.

The inn owner took that as the invitation it was and took a seat.

Gendo took a sip. He tended to prefer something stronger, but strong spirits were more the province of Germania. Tristain and Romalia mostly did what they could with wine.

Scarron, meanwhile, was starting to wax romantic over days gone by. "Not content to take the world as we found it, we took up sword and fist and went out to change it," he said dreamily.

Gendo rolled his eyes. "It was always about the money, for me."

Scarron smiled knowingly. "I seem to remember differently, but never mind, never mind. And now, you are a Hero, and I, a respectable business owner."

Gendo let out a huff of laughter. "Respectable, he says."

"It's true, it's true!" Scarron proclaimed, wriggling in place. "I am a pillar of the community."

"Whatever. So, daughter, huh?"

"Oh yes, my little Jessica. Such a darling. I do wish you'd kept in touch," Scarron said reproachfully. "You never got to meet my Mariella. Ah, just remembering her fiery temper is a balm to my soul!"

"I thought you settled down with, what was her name, the spear-maiden… Jezebel?"

"Ah, no… we parted in time. The life of a tavern owner did not suit her," Scarron said regretfully.

That was something Gendo didn't understand. Despite acting the way he did, Scarron was actually completely straight. And the man rarely lacked for female companionship.

He slapped down another few coins and signaled for another bottle.

"Tres bien! The night is young, and we are not so very old yet!"

Gendo got into his and Lizzie's room late, to find Lizzie already in bed. He was riding a pleasant buzz, and so the ensuing realization didn't bother him as much as it otherwise might have.

The room was tastefully done in wood paneling and cheery yellow wallpaper. There was a stand with a basin of clean water and a thick fur rug in a pale pink color on the floor next to the bed.

Bed. Singular.

"Damn it, Scarron," he sighed. The eccentric restaurateur probably thought it would promote father-daughter bonding or skinship or some stupid thing. "Whatever, I don't care anymore."

He glanced out the window, which offered a good view of the street and a bit of the town. He thought he could see the burnt-out wreck of his house from here, but it could just be his imagination.

He sat down on the bed, feeling the over-stuffed goose-down mattress give under his weight. Scarron did have a taste for luxuries, always had. He watched Lizzie slowly slide towards the center of the bed, displaced by the shift in weight without ever waking up.

In sleep, her face lacking her usual cheery viciousness, she seemed… well, not less dangerous, exactly. She had no sleep clothes, so she was still sleeping in her 'queen of the netherworld' outfit with all it's sharp edges and points. But with her hair down and her face slack in slumber, she did seem younger, though. Unthinkingly, he put a hand on her head- to keep her from rolling into him, of course, not out of any familial feeling, he told himself.

Then he threw himself back, tumbling off the bed as old soldier's instincts warned him he was about half a second away from death. Lizzie's half-asleep half-hearted swing cut the air with the fearsome sound of displaced air, right where Gendo's neck had been.

"S'not time t'gettup yet, Cube…" she mumbled and let the ridiculous-looking three-pronged blade drop. It sank into the floor all the way to the hilt, like a regular sword through something considerably softer than a wooden floor.

"Founder dammit, girl!" Gendo winced, making sure he hadn't thrown his back out. He was getting too old to go doing sudden gymnastics like that. Familiars weren't supposed to attack their masters, but apparently this was one of those grey area 'shades of intent' things.

Or it could be…

"Oh yes, I forgot that we never completed the contract," Gendo realized. The summoning ritual was actually two spells: Summon Servant, and Contract Servant. He'd been distracted from attempting the second by his burning house.

He stood back and threw things at Lizzie until she woke up - he was no a fool. Lizzie complained, "Is this another one of your plans to toughen me up, Papa?"

"Never mind that. Come over here, Lizzie. Okay," he said slowly, trying to remember what one was supposed to say during the binding ritual. "I think it goes… pentagram of the Five Powers, bless this girl and make her my familiar!"

Then he laid a kiss on her lips to seal the mystical contract. He felt the magic flowing between them, not so much as the summoning itself but a considerable amount. His power rushing into her and a smaller stream of magic from her back to him, making a closed circuit.

Lizzie's magic had an odd feel to it. Somehow heavier than the magic he was used to. Less flexible, but denser. It settled into the pit of his Willpower uneasily, like a boulder settling at the bottom of a still pool of water.

"Papa," she blushed and began, "I know you must miss Cube, but I'm your daughter! That is just un-"

"Holy Brimir, will you shut up about me and Cube!" he half-begged, half-threatened.

"- not appropriate. Oh. Oh my. Oh gods, yes! Yes!" Lizzie suddenly shouted ecstatically as even more glowing red runes etched themselves into her flesh. "The power! The absolute power!

Her flames licked up the walls, bathing them in a hellish light but not consuming the wood as she laughed and laughed and laughed. Her laughter reverberated around the small, tidy room like the toll of a great and terrible bell.

Gendo got the feeling that what he had created would one day destroy him. Of course, if he was the type to listen to misgivings he wouldn't be the man he was today, and he certainly wouldn't have accidentally summoned a daughter from hell.

"Okay, whatever," he said. "I always sleep on the left side, try to take it and I'll shiv you with this bottle." He brandished his half-empty wine bottle from the restaurant.

"Yes, Papa."

Sweet Brimir, he thought to himself. Look at those soulless eyes! She's going to knife me in my sleep one of these days, I just know it.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's so you can feel my love!"

Creepy.

Gendo woke to a tiny female form pressed against his side. His familiar, not to mention 30 years his junior, he reminded his traitorous body. It had just been awhile since anyone had shared his bed, that was all. Then Lizzie shifted sleepily and one of her ridiculous shoulder pads poked him in the cheek, drawing blood.

"First order of business," he announced to the ceiling. "Buy you some clothes that won't get us arrested for indecency and that don't qualify as a deadly weapon."

"Such a drama queen," she mumbled and rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow and bringing her shoulder pad up to menace him again.

"Okay, I'm getting up," he grumbled.

His familiar was not a morning person, it would seem.

It was a good thing his honorary noble status hadn't turned him into a clotheshorse like most nobles he knew, he reflected as he splashed water on his face and slipped on his only shirt.

"Breakfast, Lizzie," he told her.

"Sure, dad," she answered, voice muffled from her face-down position. She didn't move.

Gendo shrugged and left. Any offspring of his could presumably fend for herself.

Scarron was still flitting about downstairs, looking as fresh as a daisy. Gendo had known Scarron for the better part of two decades, and could count the number of times he'd seen the eccentric at less than his best on one hand. "Take a seat anywhere, darling," he urged Gendo without looking.

A few of Scarron's 'fairies' were moving around too, taking setting out chairs and cleaning off tables.

"Anything on the menu for breakfast?"

Scarron called back, "You'll have to wait a little while darling, the fry bread isn't ready yet."

He took a seat and watched the ebb and flow of people for a little while. Lizzie appeared shortly, looking significantly more awake than when he'd seen her last. "Oh, I'll cook!" Lizzie said enthusiastically. She slipped through the doors into the kitchen area, elbowing one fairy gently aside.

"Gendo, can your Lizzie cook well?" Scarron asked worriedly.

Gendo shrugged indifferently.

Inside of fifteen minutes she was back, bearing a plate. She slid the plate in front of him. It was some kind of egg and cheese dish, he thought.

"It's an omelet," she explained. "Egg and cheese on the outside, wrapped around other things."

Gendo ate a bite. He paused, and felt a curious sensation.

"What is this, tears? Am I crying?" Gendo wondered, mystified.

"I wrested the secrets of cooking from the hands of dead gods," Lizzie explained. "Some people who taste my cooking unprepared, die."

Gendo's eyes popped wide. "And you didn't want to mention this beforehand?"

She shrugged. "Papa's tough. He wouldn't die from something like that."

"May I try?" Scarron wondered, his curiosity aroused.

"You are welcome to this omelet over my dead body," Gendo threatened. "Or yours."

"I'll cook you one too, Mister Scarron," Lizzie promised.

After narrowly escaping Scarron forcing Lizzie into becoming a short order cook, Gendo's next order of business had been to get the girl into something that wouldn't get them thrown in jail on prostitution charges.

Scarron, of course, had known the address of a reputable tailor. Gendo was just hoping Lizzie wouldn't emerge from the experience wearing a purple tank top and shorts.

The shop sign proclaimed it to be simply "Magnimel's."

The owner, Pierre, was a whip-thin middle aged man with a pencil-thin moustache and receding but rather lustrous chestnut hair. He darted between the many mannequins crowding the shop with grace and aplomb.

"Oh my, sir," Pierre breathed. "Though I am confident you would look magnifique in my oufits, I have a very particular clientele. I'm afraid I have nothing to fit such a masculine form. Though if you like that sort of thing, I do have a colleague…"

The owner's voice was like what Scarron's would be as a light tenor. The bad feeling he'd had even before entering the shop was not assuaged.

"The clothes aren't for me," Gendo said firmly. He glanced around. "Lizzie, where-?"

They found her admiring an outfit that was, not to put too fine a point on it, a chain mail bikini. It was backed by a leather loincloth to prevent chafing, but it was still pretty close to the most impractical article of clothing Gendo had ever seen. Still better than Lizzie's current wardrobe, though only barely, he judged.

Pierre saw his disapproving look and came to his clothing's defense. "I will have you know that this clothing line is very popular with the Germanian adventuring crowd."

Then, it seemed Pierre got his first good look at Lizzie. "Holy Founder," he whispered.

"Yes, yes, shock, disgust, if we could see something in stock a little more -" Gendo began, bored.

"Magnifique! So bold, so ferocious! A style sharp enough to pierce the heart!"

He was, after all, one of Scarron's friends.

"Oh, my inspiration is overflowing! The changing room is over there, help yourselves. I need paper!" Pierre flew off, leaving Lizzie with carte blanche to try on everything in the store. Gendo had good instincts for a bachelor, and resigned himself to not seeing daylight for some time.

Lizzie came out and gave a little twirl. The earth-toned dress with apron sewed on puffed out and settled back against her legs. She readjusted the hat in the shape of a mushroom cap. "Second opinion?" she asked.

"Too domestic," Gendo offered.

"All right," she accepted. "Let's see what else he has…"

A midriff-baring sailor suit, complete with seaman's cap.

Gendo took one look and voted nay. "Not that one."

"I kind of like it. Sporty."

"Nope, try again."

"Aww…"

A cream-colored sundress with purple and gold stitching. Affixed to Lizzie's head with wire was a halo.

"Okay, if you're going for irony."

Lizzie couldn't really disagree with that one, but it was pretty.

The next atrocity was essentially underwear with oversized raccoon paws, tail and head. It looked like it belonged in some exploitative traveling children's show. Or possibly a show aimed more specifically at adults.

"Definitely not," Gendo vetoed.

Pierre glanced up from where he was swiftly sketching with a charcoal pencil. "The 'Beastmaster' is popular with a certain -" he started to argue.

"I can't see very well with the headpiece on," Lizzie said, deciding the matter.

The next was a pleated dress in a deep crimson edged in black lace. It was drawn up on one side for ease of movement, creating a diagonally angled hem. As Lizzie moved this way and that, the dress floated away from her only to swish back into place moments later.

"Not too bad," Gendo admitted. Probably the best they'd find in this fetish shop.

"I once had a very nice red dress," Lizzie said nostalgically. "And this just feels right."

"Fire mage?" Pierre asked slyly, finally setting his sketch aside.

For a given value of 'mage' - "Yes."

"I suspected so," Pierre kept talking. "For the Fire Dancer design, I incorporated little bits of crushed firestone at the hems. It… resonates, might be a good word. You may find the power of your castings to be stronger, at the cost of more depleted willpower and a small likelihood of the spell escaping your control and laying waste to all it can reach."

"On the other hand," Gendo backpedaled instantly, "Maybe the mushroom one wasn't so bad."

"Dad, stop being a scaredy cat," Lizzie said.

"You do not need more firepower -"

"You don't know that!"

Gendo groaned. "Fine."

"Hooray!" his hellspawn cheered.

"What do we owe you?" Gendo asked Pierre.

"Non, non," Pierre waved him away. "For the cost of inspiration, what is mere cloth? Take it, and my thanks!"

"Done and done," Gendo agreed hurriedly, before he could change his mind.

"I think we should send you out to do some work, toughen up those weak noodle-y arms of yours. I'm thinking lumberjacking."

"I once slew the God of War in single combat and kicked his flaming carrion aside so he would not impede my path," Lizzie said, a non-sequitur if he'd ever heard one.

"Yes, or maybe put you to work on a farm," Gendo went on, ignoring her. "Some honest work will put some meat on those bones. Plus, money for Gendo's drinky fund."

She sighed. "Yes, Papa."

"Wait, no, even better- we'll go adventuring. This continent has lots of magical items and old ruins left over from the wars with the elves and other countries. We'll be rich before you know it!"

Lizzie gave in, as she usually did. With a patient, "Yes, Papa…"

A/N: The summon this time is Lizzie Shinkicker from SynthOrange's Let's Play of Princess Maker. A bit obscure, but quite fun.