After AnimeCon 2: To a Happy Partnership

    “So, uh,” Judas said, looked up from the printed report in his hand to size up the scrawny individual standing before him. “You’re my new rookie.”

    They were meeting at an interstate rest stop, which after a wave of his hand and an annoying amount of magic spent became invisible to the passing cars and semi-tractor trailers looking for a rest area. A stretch of grass with a few picnic tables went on for a ways to his left, and then covered restrooms and a couple vending machines were on his right. The only vehicle parked here in the long row of empty spaces was his own black ‘government’ Suburban SUV, because apparently this new partner of his had walked here along the side of the road.

    He had been watching their approach for the last five minutes, because it was a long segment of interstate visible here, and only Judas would be so lucky as to get saddled with some bizarro nonconformist hobo Master who refused to drive to their meeting point out in the middle of nowhere.

    “You’re late.”

    The person—its gender was indeterminate—wore a kitsune mask overtop a hockey mask which was then in turn sitting askew overtop a rubber halloween mask of some president or celebrity, Judas couldn’t identify who it was supposed to represent. Beneath what was undoubtedly several more masks he could see his new rookie was wearing a red and white jester’s cap, three liliripes of fabric panels extending out to drooping points, each adorned with a bell which was mysteriously silent. They wore a faded green hoodie which had been mended with amateur stitching to borrow a pink sleeve from some other garment, as well as faded dark skinny jeans and beat up sneakers, both of which were wrapped tight with dirty bandages.

    Judas couldn’t tell if this kid was thematically supposed to be a clown or a dumpster packrat—the immediate first impression was that of a child who was trying to wear everything they found in their parent's closet all at once.

    “You go by the name… ‘Red Herring,’” Judas said with a wince. “So, uh, do you prefer I call you Red? Or, Mister Herring? Miss Herring?”

    The rookie cocked its head in confusion at the question for a moment, and then looked down at the ground for even longer in consideration.

    “Either’s fine? I guess?” A young, timid voice answered. “I’m a girl, though.”

    “Sure, kid,” Judas shrugged. “What are you supposed to be? How old are you?”

    “I’m…?” Red Herring paused as if genuinely bewildered. “Uh?”

    She held up her hands—mismatched cotton winter gloves, one turquoise and one cream-colored, because of course they were—and slowly counted out each of her fingers. When she reached all ten, her right glove blurred, shuddering and frozen in place as another glove beneath it in a different color moved to the side and started counting up more fingers. To Judas’ chagrin and dismay, Red Herring’s fingers stopped going up when she reached nineteen—she really was some dumb kid fresh into her powers and full of pointless theatrics.

    “Okay, uh, great,” Judas said. “Yeah, they must love you at parties. I’m sure you—”

    “But, I don’t even go to parties,” Red Herring said. “Do—”

    “Uh-huh,” Judas sighed. “Listen. I asked—”

    “—D-do you go to parties?”

    “—I asked around some friends about you, and every single one of them had something different to say. Different as in… contradictory. Every one of these reports has completely different information attached to your, uh, moniker. These’re friends I trusted, too. The one confirmed to me that you’re a total bumfuck newbie and that this’ll be your first real gig. The other says you’ve been mid circle for a while, years and years, but that you’re not real, ah, socialized, and that some details slipped out and transcribed before it got obscured in the Akashic. My buddy Spook, now he told me you must be a Nepo, but that you got kicked my way for breaking the Rules. Refused your last big circle summons. Now, I don’t know which—”

    “I was… late!” Red Herring admitted with a sheepish shrug. “I thought that if I went back and changed it so that I wasn’t late, that it’d be fine—but, uhh, no I guess not? Because it didn’t work that way for everyone, or whatever. Just some people? I don’t get it.”

    Definitely some kind of Nepo baby Master, then, Judas decided to himself with an inward scream. Nepo Mastress? Mistress? They’re always the super weird ones. Because, fuck me, right? Yeah, it’s ALMOST like there’s people throughout the circles pulling strings to make ABSOLUTELY fucking sure I have the worst possible matchup here.

    “Hey, look. I don’t know what happened, I don’t care—we’re stuck with each other for now, right?” Judas offered his hand. “We’re partners. Just gotta make the best of it.”

    “Y-yeah!” She brought one of the blurry and shaking gloves floating in the air up to return his handshake, awkwardly realized she would be using the wrong side hand, and let it fall to the ground as she scrambled to clasp palms with him. “Cool. Yeah. Thank you.”

    Her hand was frail and unnaturally thin, bony to the point of feeling skeletal, and her grasp was exceptionally weak. As if realizing too late that actual physical contact circumvented the layers upon layers of obfuscation she hid her identity with, Red Herring flinched back from him. A half-dozen gloves dropped to the ground, and she instead transformed her asymmetrical sleeves to extend down until they were flopping a full foot past her hands.

    “So, uh,” Judas wasn’t even sure how to broach this. “Yeah, you sure have a whole thing going on, don’t you? Are you supposed to be… uh? A thrift store mime? Or, is this from a show or game, or something?”

    “Huh?” Red Herring cocked her head.

    “Your… all the stuff you’re wearing?” Judas gestured. “Your… I guess ‘quirky random girl’ getup? It’s some kind of specific aesthetic you’re aiming for?”

    The diminutive girl seemed to stare at him in silence for a long, painful moment.

    “...No?” Red Herring didn’t even sound sure of herself. “I can change, if you want? I have a suit like yours somewhere? I think.”

    “Really?” Judas said. “Because—hell, yeah it would make things a lot easier for me if I didn’t have to hide you, or obfuscate you, or cover for you when we go around asking questions. Usually it’s I do my part, you do yours, so—”

    “Yeah, okay yeah,” Red Herring nodded, immediately hurrying to strip. “No prob. I’ve got this.”

    Several of the masks fell off as she worked to shuck off the poorly mended hoodie, and Judas saw that beneath that oversized garment… was a bulky dark set of padded military riot armor, with POLICIA emblazoned across the front and a small patch featuring the flag of a South American country. The riot gear, helmet, boots and all, would have in no way fit beneath that first outfit, and Judas let out a slow sigh as the girl struggled to release the velcro straps and wriggle out of that layer as well.

    Following was a tweed menswear suit that appeared to be worn by someone with a much more masculine build, which was taken off to reveal a bodacious woman’s figure spilling out of a cocktail dress—literally spilling, the latex tits fell off to the side—and then a fast food employee uniform underneath also came off before Red Herring found a dressy dark suit similar to what Judas was wearing. She was still a head or so shorter than him and had a slight figure, but he could work with a much more professional feminine figure like this as his partner.

    Standing amidst her large pile of discarded disguises, Red Herring continued her clown car trick by pulling a plastic bucket off of her head to reveal a partially deflated T-Rex costume head, which she clumsily fought free of to show a sweaty fleece balaclava, and then finally, a normal teenage girl’s face.

    Her black hair was cropped short and choppy, she had large, innocent brown eyes, and the dark circles beneath those eyes stood out on her very pale complexion. It seemed out of character for a Master of this type to so casually reveal her identity, so Judas found himself utterly unsurprised when the girl again reached up and began to rip off that face as well. It bled when it tore, and pieces of flesh stretched as she worked to free herself from it—a rigid white venetian mask was already visible beneath it.

    “Wait, wait—go back,” Judas interrupted, unamused. “That was a good one. Go with that girl one.”

    “Uhhh,” Red Herring froze.

    A good deal of one eye socket, the attached cheek, and the dangling part of an upper lip had already separated and were dangling in one of her hands, which she stared at for several long seconds as if at a loss as to what to do. Then, with cautious, awkward movements the girl tried to smoosh it back into place. It didn’t stick. Confusion and embarrassment was plain upon the amount of real face she was still wearing, and Judas gave her an unimpressed look as she tried to awkwardly mash the torn mess of flesh back into place and then keep it there.

    “Perfect!” Judas praised in a deadpan voice. “Yeah. Uh, nailed it. Suit’s a great fit, too. I think we’re gonna get along okay, after all.”

    “Y-yeah?” Red Herring gave him a hesitant smile as she held everything in place with one hand—she was bleeding more steadily now, a red trail snaking down the side of her hand and along her wrist.

    “Oh yeah,” Judas gave her an approving nod. “For sure. We’ll uh… get you some tissues or something, clean that right up. Or, maybe sunglasses or something?”

    “Sunglasses are cool?”

    “Great,” Judas said. “Listen—hop in. I’m gonna drive, if that’s alright.”

    “Oh, thank God!” Red Herring sagged with relief. “Because—yeah. I can’t drive.”

    “You’re nineteen?”

    “Uhhh—?” The girl blinked her remaining eye at him. “Yeah, but I was, uh, whatchamacallit? Homeschooled? Kind of? Everything was way way different, yeah. I see cars and shit in movies all the time, though! And, they were everywhere all over the place along the road just here. They’re all super crazy. So fast!”

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