Chapter 3: Meeting the Schoolmates

The next morning brings light through dorm windows, and directly onto your face. The light is blinding, and you roll against the wall to get away from it.

Shielded in relative darkness, you wipe drool from your face and let your eyes adjust to the world. Your mind slowly boots, assembling the mess of information that comprises your most recent memories. Right. So. You are in a body that’s in a bed that’s in a dorm that’s in a school that’s on a planet that is not your own. And also maybe your own versions of all those things are… gone. Forever. This thought hits you like a bag of bricks.

It’s not as though you’d been especially attached to your world. You had no real friends to speak of, your mother was dead, your older sister was far away and your father… well the two of you didn’t speak anymore. Your sister is the only person to really grieve, but you can hardly believe the reality of that right now. It would probably hit you later. Besides, if you survived, maybe she did too? It’s a hope you’re happy to hold onto.

Though, is “survive” the right word? What had… happened? It’s a blur now, like a childhood memory of a story someone told you. There had been screaming, you think, and… light?

As if on cue the sunlight finds your eyes again, prompting you to grumble and roll to the other edge of the bed. Plopping off, you rise to your feet and yank the curtains on the window closed, bathing yourself in darkness. Much better.

Thinking about where you came from and what happened to you isn’t helpful right now. You’re in a whole new world — filled with magic apparently — and also you’re…

You glance behind you, vaguely remembering seeing a mirror on the opposite wall. And indeed, there it is, and there you are. Or… the you that you are now? Which is not you, but someone else, but you don’t know where she is, and… wow, she’s pretty, isn’t she?

A few short steps bring you close to the mirror, where you admire the body you’re now inhabiting. Ruem is much shorter and fatter than your old lanky, skinny self. She has wavy, half-shaved hair, about shoulder length and blood red in color. Light stubble covers the shaved side of her head, wrapped around one of her nubby black horns.

In regard to her inhuman features, Ruem has the aforementioned horns, long pointy ears, a short thin tail, and purple skin. Also gorgeous yellow eyes, which as you reflect on it, Radestro also had.

Ugh. Radestro.

Shaking Ruem’s head, you push that awful man from your thoughts and instead focus on the cute outfit Ruem is wearing: a long-sleeved blouse in a soft shade of green, that hangs low enough to almost make it a dress. And black leggings underneath! A red sash is tied around Ruem’s waist, complimenting the green beautifully.

A pang of jealousy shoots through you. Ruem is the woman of your dreams — aesthetically, at least — but you know that she’s also entirely out of your league. If only you’d ended up in Radestro’s body. You don’t exactly want to look like him, but on the other hand, then you could have kissed Ruem, and that would’ve been so much less horrible. It would have been a personality upgrade for the guy too, and you don’t even think that highly of yourself. He’s just the worst, is all.

Of course, you, a guy, are sitting here in the body of a woman and daydreaming about kissing her without her knowing it’s you, so maybe you’re not much better than Radestro afterall..

Fuck. You sigh and plop back onto the bed, head in your hands. What the hell is wrong with you, and what are you supposed to do in this situation? There are NO good answers, especially not any that don’t prove you’re a weird pervert, and you’re going to have to see Radestro again and he might want a lot more than a kiss goodnight, and— 

The door to Ruem’s dorm slams open and you scream, leaping onto your bed like a startled cat.

“You’re still in bed!? Class is in half an hour, and you look like total garbage.”

A woman with long blonde hair is glowering at you from the doorframe. She’s got all the alien parts your only other two examples of the species have — non-human skin and eye color, horns, a tail… Her clothes are an odd but flattering mix of college girl and renaissance faire attendee. But the most notable thing about her, aside from the eyebrow she’s popping as you continue to not answer her, is her voice.

This alien woman is talking to you in a valley girl accent.

“S-Sorry!!” you say, scrambling off the bed and to your feet. Shoving your hair out of your face, you glance back at the mirror. Ruem’s hair could use a brushing, but otherwise, this body that isn’t yours looks great. Pouting, you say, “I look like garbage? It’s not that bad, is it?”

A strange look passes over the newcomer’s makeup-covered face, gone before you can identify it. Her green hands fly to her hips as she towers over you, fuming, “Of course it is! Major bedhead and wrinkled clothes — what, did you sleep in them?”

“...Yes.”

The look returns, and this time, you can tell what it is: confusion. It disappears soon after, right back to anger, though it’s softened this time to the smallest degree. “Ugh, you were out late with Radickstro again, weren’t you? That creep is bad news!” Preaching to the choir there, girl. “Why do you hang out with him? The dick can’t be anywhere near as good as he says it is.”

Resisting the urge to vomit, you nod your head, mind whirring. Maybe this is your way out of the Radestro situation! It might be inconvenient for Ruem, if she ever gets this body back. But hey, you’ve got no idea how long you’ll be stuck here, and, well, you’re not gay. Even if you’re temporarily sort of a girl, your heart is a boy, and it’s not attracted to men!

“...Do you really think so?”

The blonde does an actual double-take this time. “I— what?? I mean of course but— Are you—”

Eager to secure an escape from that awful man, you press on. “I mean… I’ve been having doubts… And you’re my friend, I trust you, so… Maybe I will stay away from him.”

Your “friend’s” expression morphs from confusion to outrage. Damn.

“Ugh, of course! You’re fucking with me!! Why did I— Whatever, Ruem, just hurry up and get dressed. I’ll wait outside five minutes and after that I’m gone.” Spinning around, she slams the door behind her.

Clearly your acting skills leave something to be desired. Sighing deeply, you trudge over to the closet next to the mirror and start looking through Ruem’s clothes. It’s mostly tops, so you glance around and spot a dresser on the other wall, between the beds. You’re not exactly sure how to dress a girl’s body — you barely put thought into covering your own, typically resorting to oversized t-shirts and baggy pants. But using what you currently have on as a blueprint, you switch the articles of clothing out for similar but different ones, hoping the colors don’t clash. You hear that’s a thing girls worry about.

As you change, you keep admiring the hot, partially-naked body you see in the mirror. Except then you realize how creepy this is, and try to find something else to focus on. You eye the dirty bed again. Some items strewn about on it seem reasonable, like books, pamphlets, what looks like a comic book. There's also some things that point toward Ruem having artistic inclinations, such as colored drawing instruments, some half-finished drawings that don’t look half bad... But then there's the nonsensical. Some rocks, a gnarly-looking stick, and what you can only guess is moss. Girl has some weird tastes, that's for certain.

Once you’ve got on an outfit that you think looks more or less as good as what you had before — sans wrinkles and plus some cute boots — you give your hair a quick brush and head out the door, hoping your angry friend is still around.

She is, though she’s refusing to look at you, and she starts walking the second your door is closed. You try to catch her eye a few times, but can’t seem to manage it. Maybe talking again?

“Hey, about earlier…” She makes eye contact for the briefest of moments. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you mad.”

Coming to a halt, she stares at you, aghast. “Sorr—?” She shakes her head, turns and starts walking again. “No, fuck you. I’m not playing whatever sick game this is, Ruem.”

Sighing, you hurry after her, starting to doubt that Ruem and this girl are actually friends. Not that you have much experience in the matter to judge them with.

As the two of you continue to walk, traveling out of the dorms and down several outdoor paths, you occasionally pass other people, all with horns and tails and non-human skin colors. Some even have green skin and backwards-curling horns like your “friend.” You assume most are students. Your friend ignores some of these people, but to over half of them she gives a polite greeting, something like, “Hi, Tiffand, looking cute today!”

This is how you finally learn your friend’s name, as people return her greetings: Kittpey. It’s an adorable name, and combined with the sweetness on her face and in her tone each time she greets someone, you start to wonder if this girl is nicer than you thought… Except that as soon as she passes each person, the smile immediately slides off her face, leaving it with the glower you’ve come to know so well.

Eventually the two of you enter a new building, more ornate than the dorms. There’s an overall gold and brown color scheme throughout, with high ceilings and long windows. It’s a little intimidating to walk through, especially coupled with the large amount of people bustling through it. You swear a few of these people look at you with judgement in their eyes. Aside from being very cute, this body is proving to be a lot more trouble than it’s worth. …Also, being cute isn't exactly ideal, given you’re a guy. So actually everything about this is going terri—

“Why are you still following me?”

Kittpey is staring you down again, hands back on her hips. A quick glance around at the people pretending not to stare provides no helpful context. “Should I… not be?”

You’ve never seen someone’s eye twitch in person before now. “...What — are you hungover or something?”

Hoping this woman is capable of pity, you say, “...Yeah, a little.”

“Holy Yllna, Ruem,” Kittpey says, closing her eyes in frustration. Pointing down the hall, she says through gritted teeth, “Your class is over there.”

You turn to look, but find yourself unsure where exactly she’s pointing. Turning back to her, you manage to say “Um—” before being interrupted.

“Room 117. Gods, Ruem, get yourself together, you’re a wreck.” She walks into a nearby classroom without looking back. You do know where to go now, though, so she's clearly not heartless.

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Making your way to room 117 as fast as you can without actually running, you enter and take a seat toward the back. The room is a large lecture hall, with at least a dozen rows and a large screen on the far wall. Wait, do they have projectors here? What is the technology level of this place, anyway? Glancing around, you see people have pencil-like writing instruments and pieces of parchment… nothing that looks like a phone or a computer, though. Oh, but this is magic class! Do you need a wand or something? No one else seems to have anything of the sort, though. Unless the pencil things are wands…?

A bell that sounds like a pteranosaur shriek sounds from somewhere above you, making you jump out of your seat. No one else seems bothered. You’d been thinking this was a college, but with the bell, maybe it’s more high school level? A shriveled husk of a man, white beard literally trailing the floor, shambles out in front of the class. His clothes read ‘old timey businessman’ to you, while his hat reads ‘victorian lady socialite’. It’s an odd combo, but this shaky old man is making it work.

He starts talking, but he’s so quiet and so far away that it sounds like a creaky whisper on the wind.

“Professor Spakle, you haven’t amplified your voice yet!” a student shouts from one of the front rows. The old man startles, sheepishly tugs on his beard, then points at his neck with a finger gun.

“Apologies!” the old man says, louder than an airplane engine. No one else seems bothered. “I’ll remember next time, I promise!” The class laughs; you’re sure he won’t remember next time.

With a flick of his wrist, an image appears on the screen behind him — some sort of chart in an upside-down pyramid shape with a squiggly tube snaking through it. “Now, I believe last time we had discussed Archkibal’s Theory of püngetivity, and its influence on 14th century magickmatics?”

The volume of Professor Spakle’s magically-enhanced voice soon evens out into something much more reasonable as he drones on. But it’s still difficult to listen to, since the timbre of his voice is similar to two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. It’s not pleasant for your ears, but you worry it’s even less pleasant for the man’s throat.

As you attempt to adjust to the Professor’s voice, you come to realize two things. One: this is a magical history class. Two: this class is oppressively boring. Maybe it’s that you lack the prerequisite knowledge that would make half the words being said intelligible, but you have a feeling the greater issue is that the Professor’s oration style is the audio equivalent of a train rushing past and crashing every few minutes.

Glancing around the rest of the room, you discover that you’re not the only one having a hard time paying attention. Several people are doodling, several more seem to be carrying on conversations via words conjured onto their pieces of parchment, and at least a fourth of the class is actively sleeping.

There is one girl that is doing none of those things, however, and she is also not paying attention to the Professor. No, she is instead looking directly at you from the far left front row, and she does not seem inclined to look away once you catch her staring. Unnerved, you give her a small wave, hoping that will satisfy her, but it does not. She continues staring at you for the rest of class, which you think ends up lasting at least an hour. You don’t see any clocks around to be sure about it. Once the screeching dinosaur bell goes off again, she marches up the steps toward you, nearly at a sprint. Maybe you should run.

The girl approaching you has a baggy sweater and short skirt, unwashed black hair that sticks to her face, and thick round glasses that you can barely see her yellow eyes through. Her horns are long and thin, but her tail is so short that you can barely see it poking out from behind her. She’s carrying three thick tomes that she’s clutching tight to her chest as if they might fly away.

“You.”

A few seconds pass, during which she avoids eye contact and says nothing else.

“...Me?”

Her eyes snap to yours. “Ruem Phasos.”

Attempting a smile, you say, “Yep, that’s me.”

“No it is not.”

Your breath hitches. “I—I, um… excuse me?”

“You are an imposter and a body stealer.”

The class has mostly emptied out at this point, but those that remain are not even trying to hide the fact that they’re staring at the two of you. Leaping to your feet, you gesture toward the door. “I’ve got no clue what you’re going on about, but if you want to talk, we can step outside?”

She peels some of her long hair off her glasses and shoves it to the side. It falls back to its former position immediately. “No, thank you. Explain your—”

Grabbing her hand, you pull her toward the door and out into the hallway. The moment your hands touch she goes quiet, so you use the reprieve from her accusations to guide her through the building as you search for an exit. You don’t exactly know where you’re going, but somewhere outside and away from all the prying eyes seems preferable.

Eventually you escape the building and find a spot, out by a tree surrounded by grass and walkways. It’s not completely secluded, but as long as neither of you are screaming, it should be private enough. You let go of her hand, feeling a strange pang of disappointment as you do so, and turn to face her.

“Okay, so, you’re saying I’m not Ruem. Why do— are you okay?”

She is staring at her hand, face flushed, expression outraged. You worry you might have magically frozen her somehow; you still haven’t figured out how magic works. Her eyes scrape upwards to glare at you. You haven’t been glared at this much in one day since you moved out of your parent’s house.

“My. HAND. You GRABBED it.”

“...Sorry?”

Taking a deep breath, the girl presses the hand you held against her books, as if they can wipe away whatever it is you did to her. “I will… set aside your transgression. Since you are from another world, you must not know better.”

“Okay, you have GOT to tell me what you know and how you know it. But, like… what’s so bad about holding hands?”

She closes her eyes and takes another breath. “It is… intimate.”

You blanch. “I—I didn’t mean— I’m sorry!! …How… why is that??”

“It elicits pleasant sensations in both the hands and minds of those involved, leading to a cultural perception of intimacy. It is not explicitly sexual, however.”

Blinking, you nod, a little puzzled why she’s suddenly talking like an encyclopedia.

“You are not the first one I have had to explain this to in recent memory.”

Every other sentence out of this woman’s mouth sends your mind reeling. “...What does that mean? Who else? Why—” You pause and take a deep breath, trying desperately to wrangle your out of control thoughts. Just blurting out every question won’t lead anywhere, there has to be a place you can start. “…Can you just spell out your whole deal, please? Maybe starting with a name?”

“My name is Umeso.” Her eyes move away from you again, then back a few moments later. “I will explain nothing further until you explain why you have commandeered that body for your own. It does not belong to you.”

At a glance, no one around you seems to be reacting to Umeso’s accusations. Hopefully her words sound ridiculous? But then, this is a world of magic, and this mess seems to have started, at least on Ruem’s end, from her literally astral projecting. If that’s common, maybe soul switchups are too? Maybe if you just explain… Speaking in hushed tones, you say, “Yes, I know, but I didn’t do this on purpose! Do you understand what’s going on? I’ve been confused since I woke up in this body.”

Once more she looks away from you. “...I am being told to ‘do the thing.’ Please hold your arm out.”

You take a step back, heart rate spiking. “Are you going to take me out of her? I don’t— what would happen to me?”

“What? No.” To your relief, she seems baffled by the suggestion. “To my knowledge, I do not have the capability. But I believe I can allow you to speak to one another.”

Tentatively raising Ruem’s arm, you say, “Speak to who?”

Setting her tomes gently at her feet, Umeso reaches out to touch your arm. Her other hand lifts into the air to touch… seemingly nothing. But then something is there, and it is LIVID.

A floating, semi-transparent ball of darkness is glaring at you with gleaming white, pupil-less eyes.

“Give my body back, you bitch!!”

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