3 Old Knowledge, New Body

Vyfity was a rather quiet child, and a joy for his mother.

At eight months, he seemed to sleep most of his life away.

(He is waking up, and it is hard to do, especially after being nothing for so long. His senses are dulled, but everything still feels like too much. Every sensation of his skin feels overwhelming. Every single sense of his feels as though they have been multiplied by a thousand. If he was to compare it to anything, he would compare it to being in a sensory deprivation tank for an unhealthy amount of time and coming back out to the sun on your face, a concert blaring out music nearby, and having his skin pierced by hundreds of needles.)

At nine months, he is crawling.

(When he wasn't lying down, he would subtly move his muscles. Whether he was on his crib or on the floor. A twitch here, a flex there. He can't do much more than that because his whole body appears to be made of piles of mush masquerading as flesh. It was rather infuriating to deal with, because his fingers used to glide smoothly over a ukulele. He would miss the kalimba, an instrument rather close to his heart. Though, the annoyance motivates him now. This is the body he's in, and he's going to control it.)

At a year, he is babbling away, mimicking strings of syllables and words with his heavy infant tongue, either the first or last sounds Ava makes.

(The tongue is a muscle as well, and one that will certainly help him create his greatest tools, words. That being said, this language is rather tricky...)

At eighteen months, he is walking, running and potty trained.

(He most certainly could do not having to be potty trained again. Soiling his undergarments and feeling it is a very unpleasant experience. At least it wasn't as bad as walking again. While the nursery was most certainly safe, it was rather boring. He doesn't mind being cared for or doted on, what little memories he has implies that affection was rather rare in his previous life. However, the lack of mental stimulation was getting mind numbing. Thus, he left the room as soon as he could. It's at that point that he discovered that he lived in a brothel, which was... certainly a surprise, but he was hardly the person to judge.)

At two, he was messily writing his first characters, and speaking in full sentences.

(This language has a written form, and it was a struggle learning a new alphabet when he still had another in his own mind. The quill was frustrating, and he missed having a pen. Even chalk could have given him some piece of mind at this point. As for speaking, it was easier when you have no other option.)

At three, he can speak with surprising eloquence, but most of the time Ava has a hard time trying to get him to raise his voice. He can read now, albeit slowly, but his writing could be better.

(His voice was naturally quiet, always have been and always will be. It's also at this point that he decides that he despises writing with quills. The damn feathers always snapped during his attempts to write the new alphabet. The House Matron was not happy about that, and the woman took over the lessons herself. She is a strict, unbending woman who certainly took no crap from others.)

Like she said, her son was weird. Ava Gwynedahlia certainly knew weird. It was kinda hard to miss when you're a whore.

She did not lament the fact that she sold herself for money, oh gods no, that was stupid. Men paid money to wiggle on top of her for a little while, and she got to live in a nice house with decent food and access to medicine. Even getting some spending money when the matron decided that brothel had earned enough to justify a bonus. This was certainly a lot better than living on the streets, especially in this village. Especially a starving, economically crushed village.

She did lament the fact that her son was stood out a lot compared to the to other children. Even more so, considering that she had to dress him up in women's garb in order to abide by the rules.

(This part he was more than OK with. He never really had a problem with dressing up in skirts and such. He likes them and he felt pretty while he wore them, so what was the problem? At least this was more familiar compared to everything he's had to re-learn. The dress he was wearing felt both strange and familiar.)

Ava had thought that she knew weird but her son was a whole other brand of weird that she was not entirely familiar with. Her beautiful boy was an anomaly to her, and to all who lived in the brothel. Vyfity was a strange mix of too smart and at the same time, utterly stupid. He picked up crawling so fast he was almost a prodigy, the walking even faster, but still his words came out slow and strangely pronounced. His manners were already developed, even though the brothel had yet to teach him anything, which was good. She may be a whore, but she was a polite whore, so this gave her pride. It did nothing to change her opinion that her son was weird.

It was a common sight to see Vyfity stretching in the small courtyard of the building they lived in, mumbling things to himself with only the wind keeping him company. The younger girls would often gather to watch him when he was a toddler, cooing at the faces that he made. Ava simply had to follow the noises of baby babble to find her son. The toddler also liked to languidly stretch himself out on the windowsills, his dark round eyes observing them with a calm curiosity.

Unfortunately, it wasn't uncommon for him to eye the customers as well, watching them with too intelligent eyes and searching their faces before approaching them.

It was always after they were finished with the girls that Vyfity would corner them, batting his eyelashes and pouting his lips, a rejuvenating cup of tea in his hand for his carefully selected target. It was never the rude ones, Ava noticed, or the ones who get rough with the girls. Her son chose the clients that were nervous or seemingly unsure, new or one time only customers, careful to stay away from those who would react badly to living evidence that couplings did not always end without consequence.

(He is quite thankful that he looks rather feminine for a boy. Helps a lot with what he's doing. The dress helps a lot too.)

Lies would drip from the little "girl's" mouth, and the unassuming males would fall for "her" innocent guise. The raven haired toddler would coo nonsense at the patrons, flooding them with compliments and ego-boosting words, all which seemed innocent from the mouth of a child, but all of which were heavily laden with innuendo. Ava had been concerned that her son had been listening to too many of his 'big sisters' pillow talks until she saw the little trinkets that Vyfity kept from the exchanges. Bits of thread and pieces of rope, empty coin bags, small candies that were never eaten, and a few small coins here and there for his services as the little ego stroker. What the boy was collecting them for, she was unsure. What she was sure of was that her son had a manipulative streak a mile wide.

(Manipulation came surprisingly easy to him. His previous life came with many secrets to keep, and thus going to desperate measures to keep them secret. Lying came easily to him as well, and there was hardly a reason for him to be good at it. He was just... good at it.)

And that mark! The disfigurement was usually hidden behind a dress or a shawl, but it was there, a symbol of some sorts twisting in between her baby's shoulders and twisting down his spine. At times, she swore it moved. She could never seem to concentrate on it properly, her eyes always seem to slide off it. The matron had taken one peek at it after the birth and headed straight for the almanacs. Days later, she would come out of her room and declare it as a most auspicious sign from the heavens, a sign that her baby was to lead the brothel to riches. Looking at her child's beautiful dark brown, round shaped eyes, full black hair, and pale skin, Ava knew exactly how the Matron thought he would lead them to riches.

(Vyfity learned a few things that day. His time in the Void marked him, and left a reminder of what is inevitably coming. He also learned that whores are the most superstitious people one can ever meet. The Matron had a whole room dedicated to astrology, horoscopes, omens, and more that he could not name. The Matron took all signs of his rapid progress as more signs of fortune.)

Ava prayed that this would not the case, and she would be able to earn her place in the brothel for the both of them until her baby could make his own way in life. She had hope, because Vyfity was a strong child, strong and healthy. It was more than she could say under the reign of a horrible thug.

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Vyfity was convinced that this situation was, in his own words, a steaming pile of shit.

In his old life, Vyfity had been a repository of information. He's going to need every last scrap of that knowledge to survive. He cursed and thanked his knowledge in turns. Thanked because that information was going to be very helpful in his life.

He cursed it because this was not his world, not his family. Who would lead them now? Who would keep Ella from completely losing it? Will he ever hear Rayla's teasing laugh again? Would they be able to keep the home if he's not there? Who would watch his friends (histreasureshistreasureshistreasures-), talk with them, make them smile, make sure they were okay? Would they be able run out to fast food joints at 3 AM again? Who would make sure that his hair always looked good? How were they, are they alright? What if one of them got sick, or they pushed themselves too hard in their jobs? (histreasureshistreasureshistreasures). He cursed because he had no idea what this new world was like. It could be chaotic, dangerous and even worse.

(The epiphany about his current universe had been rather simple actually. When he had hit eighteen months he had woken up with the most unpleasant feeling right underneath his skin. It felt as though something was trying to burst out from his body. Crying and afraid, he had went to the nearest woman, which had happened to be the House Matron, who had snickered at the sniveling child and informed him that the feeling was not a sign that he was to be deathly ill, but was simply his magic making itself known.

Which meant that somewhere, somehow, something decided to give Oscar Nevermore, now known as Vyfity Gwynedahlia, power.

Which was most certainly an oversight made by them.)

Anyway...

His knowledge about survival from various books and videos would likely serve him very, very well. While he may not have actually done any fishing, foraging, hunting or trapping, he could learn. He hoped that not too many fauna differed from his past. Failing that, he could still easily point out edible greens and tubers from his window.

(He only bothered learning about survival when Ella and Rayla got a little too obsessed with zombie apocalypses and they wanted someone with the proper knowledge in their friend group, on the very, very rare chance that one would occur. God, he already misses them so much already.)

He also saw starving children in the streets. He's going to have to fix that.

His social skills where practically nonexistent. It was practically a miracle that he made friends in his previous life, as little as they were. Learning the etiquette of this new world was not hard. Oscar Nevermore had been quiet and kindhearted. Though, he was also blunt, a touch too apathetic, and too duplicitous for his own good, and Vyfity would likely be the same. He can't account for the Other's personality though, but that can change in due time.

Change took effort, something he barely gave. Changing, he concluded, was exhausting. Besides, he spent too long fostering that personality and he refused to throw out the results of his previous effort. While he does know how to make meaningful connections, he is still more than willing to lie and twist his words to turn situations to his advantage.

Physical skills were practically a no go. He doesn't know gymnastics or some sort of martial art, he was always meant to be the brains of the operation. At the very least, he could learn how to run fast.

While he would prefer not to sound boastful, he was clever, and wise. Clever meant that he could make a slingshot of twigs and string. Wisdom meant he would not do what Rayla would do and fire stones in the house and possibly breaking a vase.

(He did not know the feeling of being spanked in his previous life, and he's not going to find out in this one. The House Matron had hands that could only belong to Frederick Krueger.)

He would live because he was smart. He may not be strong or very skilled, but if there was one thing that kept him alive in his previous life, it would be his brain and his determination. There was no surviving this world without both.

Those children in the streets needed someone to help them, and if no one was going to do it, he would. He knew what it felt like to be cold, alone, and lost. If not for Ella and Rayla, he would have stayed that way. He's going to help those kids, dammit. He had been a good friend before, he can do it again.

Vyfity always thought that every stranger deserved kindness and love until they showed otherwise. There would always be things that he could do, that he would do, starting here and now, because everyone deserved a choice.

So he wasn't athletic, nor was he particularly rich. His mental stability was shaky at best.

There was always one thing he did, even in his previous life.

He would improvise. He would adapt. Most of all, he would overcome.

...Or, maybe he could nothing, because all of that sounded like a lot of work.