Frank gave a sigh, tapping his foot impatiently. It was time for the revelation of the challenges for the next round in the Way of Moderation. He had a cold, a headache, and he hadn't gotten enough sleep last night, and on top of all that, it was slowly growing colder in the Land of Armor. Frank had yet to prepare for the winter, when game would be sparse.
Up on the stage, Strop prepared for his speech.
"Thank you for making it out here. As you know, the past few days have been rather tumultuous." he said, brushing something from his eye.
"I shall now announce the results from the previous round. Cen?" The young man brought out a clipboard and slowly flipped through the pages. Strop bowed his head for a moment, probably reflecting upon something. Or meditating. Or maybe something else all mystical and ninja-like. Cenere cleared his throat, waving the results in Strop's face. The ninja snapped out of his trance, glancing over at Cen. Then he spotted the notes.
"Oh, yes, thank you." He took the notes and began to speak, but was cut short by a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to meet the disturbance.
"Hm?" He was met with what appeared to be a jester, but upon closer inspection, the figure was recognized as Zophia, a fellow moderator.
"Hi!"
"Zophia, what in the name of McNeely are you- I mean, can I help you?" A sly grin slowly spread across the Dryohr.
"Trick... Or treat?" She dropped a small black sphere near Strop's feet.
"What are you talking abo- Uh!" Tic tic tic it went, and then exploded. When the smoke cleared, there was no sign of Zophia. The victestants got up from fetal pos- Duck-in-cover mode, and looked around, and then at Strop. Who had either magically obtained implants, or had taken waaaaaaaaaay too many steroids.
"Ugh, what was that...? Huh..." He looked towards Cenere, whose cheeks had flushed red.
"Since when did you grow so tall? And how come my voice has gone all high..." Strop cleared his throat, trying to work it out, but to no avail.
"Hrm... And why do I feel so lumpy? And what are these funny bumps on my ch-" Hi- Her head shot up in surprise. H- She knew what had happened. At this point, Frank had stopped staring at Strop's new endowments and examined his own body, which he realized had taken a turn for the femme. Wide eyed and shocked, he glanced around at all the other victestants. There was no longer any man - besides Cen - standing at the District Courts that morning. And one, in particular, really needed to cover up.
"Oh em gee..." Frances said, unable to find proper words to describe the glorror. "I have a... And... Ohmygosh..." She fainted, right there on the spot.
Several minutes later, Frances was startled awake by the sound of an engine revving. She rose, quickly spotting the source of the disturbance. It was beautiful. A Harley-Davidson 2010 XL1200N Sportster, completely customized to perfection. Jet black, chrome, and a whole lot of kickass. And it was all hers.
"I get the feeling I'm gonna be saying this a lot more often, but oh... my... god... It's... Perfect!" She pounced on the bike, hugging it's cool metal frame to her body. Then she got seated properly, released a wild laugh, and set off to the nearest clothing store, because she suddenly had the urge to purchase new shoes, among other, more necessary items.
Fortunately, there was a huge sale in the freemarket, and Frances was able to pick up a new pair of boots and some fingerless gloves, along with a tanned leather vest and black t-shirt. Sadly, the bra and panties were going to have to wait, because something was going on in the square. Somebody was... Selling something.
"Ugh. People should just keep to their stalls..." But this person wasn't. He- it was a he, Frances thought, but she couldn't tell through all that beard- was yelling about a cure for something. Whatever it was, though, Frances was sure she didn't need it. As she was walking out of the market, a small vial rolled unnoticed under her boot, tripping her and causing her to knock her head on the stone of the streets.
"Oooooh... Ow.... What was that...?" She probed her skull gingerly, searching for any sign of damage. There were two large bumps, but that seemed to be it. "Ugh... Dammit... Gonna have such a headache now..." Frances picked up a particularly ripe orange that had rolled near her feet, and proceeded to throw it at the old man, but before she could throw, some newbie got in her way. Though the orange made a satisfying squelch, it had missed it's target, and in turn, enraged the young newb. Flaming would soon follow.
The newb conjured up a fireball and threw it with, luckily, poor accuracy, and proceeded to throw another, and another.
"Oh, not good, not good!" Frances said to herself, trying to get by the crowds surrounding the square. An opening, and beyond, another group to get lost in. Good. Frances ran like mad through the opening, but before she could make it to safety, a bit of flame caught her in the foot. Quickly, batting her heel like hell, she suffocated the flame. But the newb was upon her, now. And conjuring up another fireball. Frances pounced, pinning the boy down, and quickly covering his mouth with her boot. "Whew... Okay, okay... Ah!" The newb was melting through her sole. "I just bought these, you little jerk! Grah!" Now, flame began to seep through Frances' own pores, nearly engulfing her in the stuff. Quickly, though, she calmed down. It was no good setting a poor example for a newb. But, that didn't mean that Frances couldn't make an example of the boy. So, she drew her bow and ordered the boy to follow in front of her, all the way to the Tavern. There, she tied the boy by his hands and feet to a target that she had dragged out, and proceeded to fire, each arrow pinning down his clothes in a different position, and nearly grazing the skin. Then, she took the target board, with the flamer, off of the stand, and kicked it down the nearest hill. "Well, that was fun. But now I need more arrows... I'll get some tomorrow. 'S gettng a bit late out."
So, after punishing the flamer and picking up the rest of the things she needed, Frances rode back to Profile Lane, did a few donuts in the street (to the annoyance of her neighbors), entered her apartment, and slumped into bed, hoping that Strip had found a cure for this gender swap. Or not. She couldn't decide. So instead, she went to sleep, looking forward to the morning.
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Thar. Longer ending, too.