Mech Pilot who has something in their heart that is not in the world.
The smog rolled low through the city, coating the streets in a gray haze that clung to the skin with gritty fingers. The Corruption was quiescent for the moment, but it could never truly be forgotten in its home territory. The closest thing to escape was the rooftops, where it thinned ever so slightly. For Plicatula, that was enough.
They were on their nightly patrol, keeping watch for the next beast of the Corruption to burst forth from a chance convergence of smog and magical energy. If they were lucky, it would be a creature born solely of that accident, with fantastic shape and power that was always challenging to comprehend, but satisfying to lay low. They could intervene if it threatened a bystander, and nobody would be hurt or betrayed. They'd been lucky for a while now.
They tried not to think about the last time they were unlucky.
The vague (but thankfully directional) unease of concentrated Corruption heralded the first nasties of the night, coalescing at last. Plicatula summoned their trusty bow and set forth towards the heart of the anxiety, leaping from roof to roof while scanning the streets below. The routine was, if not desirable, at least familiar. Less familiar was the sudden pillar of light erupting three blocks away, paired with human and inhuman screams of surprise. They quickened their pace.
A few hops later, Plicatula was looking down at a street smeared with black, a lone pactbearer with staff in hand, and a cowering civilian well away from the action. "Need any help down there?" they called to their unknown comrade, an arrow nocked but not drawn.
The pactbearer below peered through the smog at Plicatula, then up and down the street. At last, they gestured to the civilian and replied, "Talk to that one," before turning to consider the remains of whatever had arisen from the polluted air. Plicatula scrunched their face slightly at being delegated PR duties, but let it go with their next breath as they leapt down beside the slowly-standing mundie.
"Good evening," they said, voice pitched high to come across as less threatening. "My name is Plicatula, I'm a pactbearer. Are you hurt?"
"Well, I'm still seeing an afterimage of that weird beam attack, but otherwise I'm fine."
"Any injuries or concerns from the Corrupted creatures?"
"I'm fine."
"Any questio—"
"I said I'm fine." The civilian huffed, straightening their clothes and rubbing at their eyes. "If you'll excuse me..."
Plicatula watched them go, pressing their lips tight to keep from spitting back an unhelpful barb. When at last the civilian had rounded the corner, they sighed and muttered, "Koinologists," before turning to approach the pactbearer in the street.
"Any concerns?" the pactbearer asked as Plicatula neared. They were looking down and scrawling symbols in the muck of the former monsters; Plicatula didn't recognize the spell circle, but a glance was all it took to know they were also a heterologist.
"No more than any other koinologist," they replied. "Plicatula, by the way. They/them."
"Lunulata. Xi/xiir.1" Xi finished xiir markings, took a deep breath, and tapped xiir staff on the edge of the completed sigil. A flash of heat rose from the ground as the Corrupted remnants burned away, until a wedge of the inner circle pointing east was all that remained. "And away I go."
"That's back towards my patrol area, if you want company," Plicatula remarked. "If you don't have the right amulets I can even get you up on the roofs to make it faster."
"I don't need company, and I don't need the roofs. Not about to have someone say I'm pretending to be better than the mundies."
Plicatula blinked in shock as Lunulata set off down the street at a jog. After a moment, they followed suit, taking longer strides to catch up. "Lot to unpack in that statement."
"It's unpacked as it'll get," xi replied. "You don't have to act like it's true, but I will."
They jogged on without speaking.
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Pronounced /ʒi/ & /ʒir/. Wikipedia's Help:IPA is useful for reference.
