“Hey, mate!”
Charlie dashed into the RC in a manner that would’ve dented even its steel door if it hadn’t, out of self-preservation, slid aside to give the tabaxi room. Jiwon, lying on the couch in his humanoid shape, pushed his blanket out of his face to give them a tired look.
“What is it, Charlie?” he mumbled, not even lifting his head. He was forced to regardless, scooting against the backrest of the couch, as the open booklet his partner waved in his face was too close to make out details.
“New copy of the Multiverse Monitor! Thought you said you liked collecting those.”
“Did I?” Jiwon thought about this for some time. While his head had been on one armrest of the couch, his tail was large enough to drape over the other end to the point that when its tip flicked, it swept across the floor. “I don’t know, maybe I did. Is this the real one or the fake one? Why are you showing me… this…”
He finally realized what was on the pages, and the surprise woke him up like coffee. He pushed himself up by his elbows, fox ears high and attentive. “Ah, they’re doing questionnaires again? I missed those, the last one was… what, three years ago?” Adjusting to a cross-legged seat on the couch, he took the magazine and set it down in his lap to read.
Charlie sat down on the armrest beside their partner. The tabaxi was normally several heads taller than Jiwon, who barely reached five feet including his ears, but the armrest’s elevation turned their height difference comical.
“Didja bring a pencil?” Charlie chirped, scooting their rear to find good positioning.
“Charlie, I was asleep.”
“Eh, true that.” The tabaxi rummaged in their Bag of Holding until they found a crusty pencil that Jiwon leaned away from. “I’ll use this! Says down here—” They jabbed with its rock-hard eraser. “There’s this…” They squinted at the text. “Fill… in…”`
“Fill-in-the-blank,” said Jiwon, reading the best he could while trying to lean away from that pencil. “It looks like they want us to fill out these lines then send it back for some kind of survey. Do you think sending it by physical mail or this QR code would work better?”
“We gotta fill it out first before we worry 'bout that, yeah?”
“I mean, not necessarily?” Jiwon paused. “But I mean, if you want to get to the questions first we can do that now. Might as well, while I’m still here.” The gumiho yawned and stretched, one of his ears flicking as his arms came back down. “Alright, let’s see here…”
1. What is your name?
“Charlie, tabaxi bard. Well met!”
“My name is… I think I should take off the collar for this one… there. 김지원.” A moment passed as Jiwon put his Universal Translator back on. “Or Jiwon Kim, as they have me write on official documents here.”
2. What does your name mean? Did your parents/guardians or whoever named you have anything in mind when they gave you your name?
“Was I supposed to give my real name for that first bit?”
“I think so.”
“Oh, okay! Charred Grass or Charcoal Briquette. Depends on the year. And they mean what they say.”
“What do you mean, depends on the year?”
“Means depends on the year. How ‘bout you, mate?”
“Right, that. I think my mother just gave me this name because it was unisex. As for what it means, I actually don’t know. Um, this is… kind of embarrassing… one moment.”
Jiwon pulled up his phone and opened up the browser. “If mom was here I’d ask her. Ah, here we go. It says… huh. It says it combines syllables for ‘wisdom’ or ‘intellect’ with others for ‘beautiful woman.’ I’m not sure how to feel about this.”
“I think it’s a nice name. Says here the second bit can also mean… ‘or… i…’”
“It says ‘original,’ which I guess that works too. Also, uh, thank you.”
“For what?”
3. What memorable experience did you have involving your name?
“None that I can think of, other than not having to switch names when I change up my shape some days.”
“I changed it a lot! Charred Grass at first, but was never huge on it for bard work. It’s not a good-flow name, y’know? Charred is a rough word, and my teacher at the bardic college said Grass wasn’t good enough as a nickname. Doesn’t flick off the tongue right. So I went with Charcoal Briquette when I was in Waterdeep. And then I came here, and decided to fit in more by grabbing a human name! So now I’m Charlie!”
4. Do you have a nickname? Did you choose it for yourself or did someone else?
“I don’t think Charlie calling me ‘mate’ counts, so no.”
“Had all sorts of nicknames! Charlie’s sort of one! And back down in the Underdark the other party members had all sorts of nicknames for me! Not all of them were nice, but eh. Water over the bridge now.”
“Do you mean ‘under’ the bridge?”
“Same thing, no?”
5. What would you name your pet(s)?
“I’ll be honest, I’m not a pet person. The closest we got was that mini-snowman thing, and we managed to give it away within the month."
“Oh, I was wondering where Els went!”
“Charlie, you were the one who delivered it. I didn’t leave the RC, remember?”
“I don’t. But if you say so!”
“I mean, I think I remember that day fairly well. Uh, anyway, was that the last of the questions?”
“Looks like it.”
“Alright, then. I’m going back to sleep.”
“Okay. Good night!”
“It’s close to noon.”
“Good noon!”
“...Never change, Charlie.”
Molly pattered into RC #682, a Multiverse Monitor copy clutched to her chest. “Mister Sam! Oh, Mister Sam, do take a look at this!”
“Wait, what? What’s happening?” Sam set his phone face-up on the table, his CanonChat argument interrupted. He looked at the text on the open magazine as Molly held it up as high as she could - though, with her being less than a meter tall, he still had to squint to read it. “It’s the first time I’ve seen this.”
“It’s the same for me,” said Molly, tossing the magazine onto the table. She hopped to the closest chair with a grunt of effort, eventually managing to stand up on its seat. She was just able to peek over the table’s rim as Sam rotated the paper so both agents could read it. “But I’d like to go through this with you, if you’re fine with that.”
Sam took a moment to peer closely at the Monitor, first flipping through and scanning the article writers’ names, then skimming the articles themselves. This took a few minutes, and Molly waited patiently for him to finish. Finally, he put it back down, open to the questionnaire.
“It looks fine to me, and I know a survey shouldn't take too long. I was in the middle of banning some trolls from the Floaters forums,” he added, giving Molly a sideways glance and an apologetic half-shrug.
“Don’t worry, Mister Sam! It’s only five questions.” She hopped up once more to sit on the edge of the table and set a paw to the paper. “Let’s see what question one says…”
1. What is your name?
“Molly Shortpaws, at your service… wait, who am I talking to? Please forget I said anything, Mister Sam.”
“...Sure. I’m Sam Hunter.”
2. What does your name mean? Did your parents/guardians or whoever named you have anything in mind when they gave you your name?
“It’s weird that they ask this, since I’m sure they could look it up themselves. Well, I suppose it’s not too bad if they’re coming at this from an angle of letting people explain their own cultures. That's a justified reason, so if that’s the case, consider my question resolved.
“I’m not sure, but I can go and—”
“Don’t worry, I’m already on it. This’ll be faster.” Sam picked his phone off the table and pulled up Behind the Name. “Sam is short for Samuel, meaning ‘name of… God…’ Yikes. I'll stick to Sam. And Hunter, let’s see here, it means… it's just an occupational name. Well, at least it's not a personal offense like the last one."
“I can look up my own name, if it helps—”
“I already found it, you’re good.”
“Oh.”
“Molly means… wait, it’s a medieval diminutive of Mary? Glod, it was worse than I thought back in the Dark Ages. Now, I’m going to take an educated guess and say that this World One website doesn’t have ‘Shortpaws’ in its surname databank, so you’re up next.”
“Um, thank you, Mister Sam. I think it’s just a descriptive last name. I’m not sure it means much besides its literal wording. Sorry.”
3. What memorable experience did you have involving your name?
“None that come to mind! Though, I do think it’s cute that my last name describes me so well.”
“Define ‘memorable.’ Other than Sam Hunter being a fire name, there’s been nothing objectably... well, memorable."
“A ‘fire’ name?”
“Don’t worry about it, Molly. It’s just slang.”
4. Do you have a nickname? Did you choose it for yourself or did someone else?
"You could argue 'Sam' is a nickname, but I refuse to let anyone call me Samuel. It's just not me."
"I don't have a nickname. I'd remember if I did."
5. What would you name your pet(s)?
“I had a pupper back in Seattle. His name was Stevie, and he was a very sweet Golden Labrador. See, that’s why I hate badfics that hurt animals so much. It reminds me of those days.”
“That’s sweet, Mister Sam. I had a fish, once, but I’m afraid it didn’t live for very long. Her name was Fishy.”
“Just Fishy?”
“I was eight years old."
“Fair. Looks like that was the last of the questions, so if I may…”
“Of course, Mister Sam! I’ll just go and leave you to it. A nap sounds good right about now. I hope you win your internet argument!”
“It’s not an argument, I’m just banning trolls. I don’t know where you got the idea I was arguing from.”
“Oh! Sorry, Mister Sam. Have a good troll banning.”
“I will. See you later.”
“Sorry I couldn’t visit you before, lass. Schedule’s been a right pain in the— bah, you get the picture. How’s recovery going?”
“It could be worse, sir.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Matterhorn, leaning back against the bedside rocking chair. He pulled out a copy of the Multiverse Monitor and held it up so the bed’s occupant could give it a closer look. “Brought something else for you.”
A massive dragon lay on an even larger bed in the HQ Medical ward. Ocotillo could easily bump the ceiling with her horns just by standing up, meaning the arranged bed had to be significantly larger than, say, an 18-wheeler. According to the Nurses, it had been reserved historically for canons like Potterverse giants or the Balrog (with fireproofing to match), but it also meant that it was permanently imprinted with the weight of past occupants, and heavily stained, also from past occupants. Ocotillo, still recovering from exhaustion and sleep deprivation, did not care in the slightest. She was only somewhat awake now, eyes half-lidded as she looked at the paper in Matterhorn’s hand.
“So it’s another form?” said Ocotillo, slowly. “Like the ones I had to sign before my culture implants, or the ones I had to sign after joining the DIA, or the ones they had me sign when I woke up, or…” She trailed off, feeling like she’d given as many examples as her tired brain could handle.
Matterhorn squinted at the paper, then shrugged at her. “If you think of it that way, then sure.”
Ocotillo rolled her head to the side in a melodramatic flop that made her mattress creak. “Why would you do this to me, sir?”
“For one, to help take your mind off before the painkillers get working.”
“Thank you for reminding me of that, sir.”
“Haven’t heard you be sarcastic in some time, Octopus. That’s a good sign.” The old man nodded approvingly. “Means your spark’s coming back.”
Ocotillo blinked, now confused. “I’ll take your word for it, sir.” She paused. Man and dragon stared at each other. “You’re not going to leave until I take this survey, are you?”
“That or until the painkillers kick in and you no longer need the distraction,” said Matterhorn. “If you don’t want this, just say the word and I’ll be right on out.”
Ocotillo took some time to think about this, until parts of her body vividly reminded her of the aches and jabs from yesterday, and the day before, and the built-up strain from months gone by. “I think I’ll take the distraction. Might as well get this over with,” she said, but a little smile edged the corners of her maw. “So… what does the paper say?”
1. What is your name?
“Is this a trick question, sir?”
“Doesn’t seem like it. I'd bet it’s just here for completion’s sake.”
“I’ll trust your judgement, sir. Ocotillo. Of the SandWings, to be specific.”
“I don’t think there are any other Ocotillos in HQ.”
“You can never be sure, sir. Also, are doing something with your voice? It sounds… strange.”
Matterhorn smiled pleasantly. “Does it?"
Ocotillo eyed him for a few seconds, then sighed. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
“Maybe you are. Anyhoo, Ligma B. Matterhorn. Only one of those three names is real, but no one’s bothered checking my file to see which one yet.”
“B counts as a name?”
“In the same way Harry S. Truman's 'S' is.”
“Hmph. I mean, sir.”
2. What does your name mean? Did your parents/guardians or whoever named you have anything in mind when they gave you your name?
Ocotillo went silent for some time.
“Take your time. My name means jack squat, other than me choosing the two that aren’t on the record myself. Truth be told, I chose them on a whim and I’m considering rebranding, but the pseudonym’s on so many official records now that it’d be such a bother. Especially with the way my mind’s been going, ha!”
“I know this name’s some kind of cactus, but I don’t know who it came from. There’s this gut feeling that I always had that name, but still… can we move on to the next one, sir?”
3. What memorable experience did you have involving your name?
“Pass, please.”
“Fair ‘nuff. One thing I’m proud of with this name is that I’ve made a few of the younger folks laugh telling them my first. Still don’t know why they find it funny, but a laugh’s a laugh. One of them showed me this picture of a naked blue man detonating some poor sod with his mind, saying it’s the origin of this 'mey-mey'…"
A passing Nurse flinched at this pronunciation of 'meme.'
"…but truthfully? It just left me with more questions than answers, hoho!”
4. Do you have a nickname? Did you choose it for yourself or did someone else?
“This is my nickname. See question two.”
“Why are there so many name questions, sir?”
“Don’t worry, Octopus. The next one’s different.”
5. What would you name your pet(s)?
"Not much different." Ocotillo sighed, then shook her head to continue. “I… don’t think I’m ready to be around small animals yet. I can barely handle scavengers. Uh, humans. No offense, sir.”
“What’s there to be offended for? Now then, I’ve actually had pets some time ago… this old brain’s just not doing me any favors in remembering them. I’m sure there was a dog at some point. Bet he was a nice little thing. Where was I? Oh, yes. I’d name it Spot.
Of course, he’d be a dog. Or she’d be a dog, I suppose. Can’t say it’d matter either way, a Spot is a Spot. Though, granted, now I’m wondering what’d be funnier - keeping it traditional and finding a dog with an actual spot, or finding a dog with none and naming it that regardless. Bah, I’m overthinking it. Maybe I should find a dog again, just for the sake of it, and see what happens then. It’d be a novelty, I bet. Haven’t seen any pet owners in HQ with regular, non-mini canines in… well, I can’t remember. Ha!
Hey, Octopus? You still listening? Oh, the painkillers worked. Good night, lass.”
Matterhorn stood up with the sound of popping bones, then left the medical ward to let the sleeping dragon rest.