The Sherry in Shadow

Chapter 6: Epsilon's Debrief

Epsilon, still resplendent in her formal attire from a piano recital she held earlier, waltzed into the Shadow Garden safehouse. The richly embroidered dress hugged her body, but unbeknownst to others, it wasn't the fabric that sculpted her alluring curves, but a thick–a shockingly thick–layer of slime just underneath. This gooey secret was her greatest accomplice in the pursuit of aesthetic perfection.

Introduced by the enigmatic Lord Shadow, the slime was her silent co-conspirator, a partner in crime in her mission to attain the curvaceous allure that she so envied in others, particularly the naturally blessed Beta. It was a secret she guarded like a squirrel with the last acorn of the season, fearing that if her vanity were exposed, her reputation might deflate faster than her slime-enhanced figure.

Despite an evening serenading high society with piano melodies, Epsilon found herself here, duty-bound. As one of the handful of Shadow Garden members capable of curing demonic possessions, she was frequently called to handle these situations. A bit of a nuisance, sure, but what could she do? Lord Shadow had once saved her life, and moreover, revealed her true, slime-endowed self – it was only fair to repay the favor.

Epsilon entered the lush living room. Sprawled on a plush couch, was a figure of peculiar appearance - pink-haired, long nose, and an enlarged, grotesquely twisted left arm as symptomatic of demonic possession. Flanking the sleeping non-beauty, three black-suited figures - 567, 568, and 589 - stood vigilant. 567, the blonde leader of the trio, wore her usual stoic expression.

"Report," Epsilon ordered, her voice carrying the authority of a Seven Shade.

"Yes, ma'am! We were ambushed by a group of bandits during a routine Mitsugoshi transport," 567 explained with military precision. "We found this girl in the aftermath."

Epsilon nodded along and calmly noted, "She's human; that's rare." Epsilon's gaze fell on 568's bandaged arm. "What's the story there?"

"About that, ma'am." 567 extended a bag to Epsilon. "One of the bandits threw this bag at 568, and it dissolved her slime suit."

"What, this thing dissolves slime?!" Epsilon recoiled as if she'd been handed a live tarantula, dropping the bag and vaulting onto a dresser on the other side of the room.

"Epsilon, ma'am?" 567 queried, bending down to retrieve the forsaken bag. "It's only the powder in the bag that does it."

"Oh..." Epsilon descended from her perch, albeit as cautiously as a cat approaching a suspiciously still mouse. "Still, explain. And slowly."

"568, you're up," 567 ordered.

The fox-eared redhead sprang into action, "Alright, ma'am! So when it came flying at me, I blocked it like this!" 568 held her arm up in a defensive stance. "But the bag popped like poof, and then my sword and my sleeve got all lumpy and plopped off like plop plop!" 569 rolled her eyes at 568's dramatic retelling.

"Right. They claimed it was antacids or some nonsense," 567 supplemented.

"Antacids can do that?! How are we just discovering this?" Epsilon's voice hit a high note that even her piano recital hadn't reached. She'd never heard of such a counter to slime, and part of her rebelled against the idea. She instinctively clutched at her chest, protecting her meticulously sculpted breast molds, which trembled with uncertainty.

"Where are the bandits now?" Epsilon asked. "Where did they get it?"

"Dead. We don't know where they got it," 567 answered solemnly.

"Interrogation's not your strong suit?" Epsilon shot back, a hint of accusation in her voice.

"Apologies, ma'am." 567 lowered her gaze. "The interrogation ended prematurely when he called us–" 567 cleared her throat. "... Excuse me. When their leader accused us of having a 'slime fetish'"

"He called us slime freaks!" 568 chimed in, only to receive a sharp elbow jab from 569.

Epsilon mouthed the words 'slime freak'. She had never heard of it put in that way before... Wait! What was she saying? It's as if she already subconsciously accepted the label. Nonono, that wasn't right, was it? It's not like she got some sick, perverse pleasure from it, not without thinking about Lord Shad–Oh shit! Epsilon's mind reeled in a whirlwind of internal panic.

"So like, um, just out of curiosity, how did that make you feel? Being called a, haha, y'know, 'slime freak'? It's not that bad, right? Hah ha." Epsilon asked, sounding as casual as a circus elephant.

"Ma'am! The slime bodysuits are state-of-the-art exoskeletons bestowed upon us by Lord Shadow himself! They are the pride of Shadow Garden! We are NOT... 'slime freaks'!" 567 declared with an intensity that had Epsilon's eyes bulging and her pupils shrinking to the size of pinpricks. She hadn't anticipated such a vehement response.

"Right, right... of course." Epsilon's voice was barely a whisper. Epsilon bit her thumbnail, her gaze drifting. Was she alone in this? Perhaps 567 was just a prude.

Turning to 568, she tried again. "So, um, 568, what's your perspective on this matter?"

"Ma'am, perspective on what?" 568 asked, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"On the accusation of being a 'slime freak'," Epsilon clarified, struggling to keep her voice steady and neutral.

568 tapped the bottom of her chin with her index finger. "Well, I suppose–"

"Ma'am, is this pertinent?" 567 interjected, the tips of her elf ears flushing a deep red.

Epsilon let out a resigned sigh, shooting daggers at 567 before turning her attention back to the girl sprawled sound asleep on the couch. Perhaps she'd have to conduct her slime acceptance poll another time.