“…I’m sorry?” Fred’s voice was slightly shrill. Something big and important had obviously just happened to him, but damned if he knew
what.
It happened so fast—what did the man say?
Dragons? Back in the labyrinth, a mysterious figure had approached Fred, asking him to represent the cause of some organization…but Fred had declined. Yet, the blonde man that just addressed him seemed to be under the impression that Fred was indeed going through with it. And he left before Fred had a chance to correct him.
Oh god, what now?
Fred glanced nervously at the guards. How was he supposed to explain that this was all a mistake? He had been willing maybe to endure this if it would get him home, but the other price of returning had been too high, and Fred had accepted that that choice meant he was doomed to stay here in this bizarre place—and had assumed he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t be representing anything after all. He…had made it clear, hadn’t he? Suddenly Fred’s stomach turned, and his head was full of doubt. Maybe he hadn’t. Did he not actually say it? Had he left them with the impression he would still do this? Oh god, he probably had. They were still counting on him to be their representative, and it was because he’d been too stupid and distracted to clarify. How the hell could he back out now? He would let them down, it’d be too late for them to find someone else, they’d be furious…
Pale and vaguely mortified, Fred considered what the blonde man had said—at least it sounded like the cause was just. But why him? Of everyone in the world, in all of ever, why
him? He didn’t want to get involved in the politics of this place, and he definitely didn’t want to do any public speaking. But there was no way out. There was no way he could bring himself to explain the misunderstanding. So he just stood there, feeling feverish and on the verge of a panic attack.
Inescapably stuck between a rock and a hard place, Fred waited and worried and stressed, and in the back of his mind, wished fervently that he could be eaten again.