“Why is no one bothered,” Yumi whispered, “by the things Design is saying and doing? Ghosts? Dropping a mop? Talking to the air?”
“This place is mostly full of longtimers,” Painter explained, his voice sullen. “They’re…accustomed to Design. She acts like this even on normal days.”
“I ignore social boundaries,” Design said, bustling out of the kitchen with a bowl of soup for Yumi. “It’s endearing.”
She set the bowl down and leaned forward. People on this planet…really liked their low-cut tops, didn’t they?
“Eat,” Design said, pointing.
Yumi started eating. It was a stronger flavor than she was used to—in fact, it was also a stranger flavor than she was used to. Spices she’d never tasted mixed in her mouth, making it wake up from a long slumber. The first spoonful was a lot. The second was satisfying. The third…divine.
“Usually,” Painter said, “you use the maipon sticks to eat the noodles.”
Yumi glanced at the sticks, which she’d seen her attendants use to feed her. She’d never held any herself. So she stuck with the spoon.
“I still don’t understand,” Painter said to Design, “why you can see me.”
“It’s technical,” Design said. “It’s mostly because I’m not actually human, but an immortal essence of pure Investiture with an imitation human fleshy-type shell stapled on.”
Yumi paused, her spoon trailing noodles halfway to her mouth. She tried to parse that sentence—which was difficult—but came to the obvious conclusion.
“Are you…a spirit?” she asked.
“Depends,” Design said, “on what definition of the word you’re using. What is a spirit to you, Yumi?”
“They’re the soul of my world,” Yumi explained between bites. “They rise up from the ground at my summons if I—as the intercessor between the divine and the mortal—please them with my stacks of stone, arranged to their liking. In return, they will do as I ask and take shapes of power and utility, serving for a time to bless the lives of my people.”
“Stacks of stone, eh?” Design said.
“Arranged in patterns,” Yumi replied. “For reasons beyond the knowledge of mortals, the spirits love to see order made from chaos. There are other ways, but stacks of stones have proven among the most attractive to the spirits.”
“It’s the mixing of math and art,” Design said. “Plus the human aspect—the concentration, the satisfaction, the emotion. This entire region is littered with Splinters that Virtuosity left behind. Regardless, it seems that, yay, I can answer you. Yes! I’m absolutely a spirit. Basically the same thing.”
Yumi had suspected, but still she found the idea daunting. She reverently put down her spoon, and after a moment of trying to decide what to do, she started one of the prayers.
“Stop that,” Design said, smacking her on the head with a spoon. “I’m not an honorspren. What’s wrong with you?”
“I…” Yumi said （highly）， “should show you devotion.”
“I’m not one of your spirits,” Design said. “Besides, I’m on vacation. No worshipping the bits of God when they’re on vacation. It’s a rule I just made up.”
Well, that was going to be difficult, but it was Yumi’s duty to do as the spirits asked, so…she hesitantly picked up her spoon and continued eating. As she did though, she shot a glare at Painter.
“You had a spirit here,” she said, “and you didn’t mention it to me?”
“I didn’t know she was a spirit,” Painter said.
“I’ve told you,” Design said, lounging with her elbows on the bar. “I’ve told basically everyone. They ignore me. If I were a more vengeful bit of God, I’d be offended. Fortunately, I’m eccentric instead. It’s endearing.”
“She always says strange things like that,” Painter said, still addressing Yumi. “How was I to know she was being truthful rather than crazy?”
Design leaned in toward Yumi and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “I don’t think Nikaro paid much attention to what I was saying. In his defense, he was staring at my butt the whole time.”
Painter blushed something fierce. “That’s in my defense?”
“Sure,” Design said, turning, “it’s an honest explanation. I mean, it is a remarkably nice butt, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t think you’d noticed I’d been…looking,” Painter said, wilting.
“Kid, women always notice. I’ve only been one for a few years, and even I know that.”
“I…” Yumi said, “don’t think I’d notice.” She continued eating the food, which was more incredible with every bite. But now that her hunger had finally begun to be satiated, she was feeling drowsy. She’d lasted far longer this excursion into Painter’s world than last time, but she wasn’t certain how much longer she could remain awake.
“Can you help us, Design?” Painter was asking. “Can you find a way to fix what has happened to us?”
“I don’t know,” Design said. “I’m…not terribly good at this sort of thing. The guy you want is Hoid. He’s a pain in the butt—remarkable ones and common ones alike—but he understands Realmatic Theory better than anyone I know.”
（It’s nice to be appreciated.）
“Great,” Painter said. “So where is he?”
Design pointed. Yumi turned to see the statue by the door, posed to hold people’s coats and bags when they entered. That…was an actual person? Or perhaps another spirit? That made sense to Yumi, as the spirits she called often became stone or metal when transformed.
“Oh,” Painter said. “Him. You…told me about him the other day. I didn’t believe you.”
“Can we wake him up?” Yumi asked.
“You’re welcome to try,” she said. “I’ve been trying forever. Granted, as I told you, I’m not the best at this sort of thing. I have, however, established a reputable restaurant with a loyal clientele and learned to make seventeen kinds of noodles. That was on my list of human experiences to try, so I have to say, the visit here has been rather successful.”
（Sigh. Of all the spren I could have bonded…）
“So,” Painter said （lowly）， “you’re saying you’re useless?”
“Painter!” Yumi hissed. “You can’t speak to a spirit that way.”
“Yes he can,” Design said. “I’ve insulted him like twice today already. He’s owed a shot back.”
“My apologies, honored spirit,” Yumi said （highly）。
“Stop that.” Design rapped her on the head again. Which was demonstrably unfair.
“Painter,” Design continued, “I’ll try to think of something I can do, but this world of yours? It’s strange. The strangest I’ve visited—and I’ve been to Threnody. You have nightmares that come alive? Creeping out of a miasma of raw Investiture? That’s the kind of stuff you get on a planet when a god has been killed.