My Parasite Skill System

A terrible event was taking place.

I was being harassed by that alien object.

I–All right. I'll admit it, I called them 'boring.' So it must make up for a good reason enough for me to be harassed (what world do we even live in?) and so, that's that.

But, as I so much like to dispute: but still.

The poor me was just visiting the same poor me's house.

The house, it is mine. I insist upon that. It's mine, and I'm simply visiting it. By my right.

And now, I had to stumble upon this white weird toilet.

Not going all the details again; that weird-looking toilet–it's harassed me.

I just wanted to shake its hand, but it turned out that seizing the little flush handle (also known as the alien object's hand) got them all pissed off for some reason.

It growled!–and I recoiled!

I did try to apologize–but Old came to me at the right moment. Right before things might be going south again.

He was the savior of my day … "Old Sipping!"

The old man was looking out for me, and this is finally where he'd found me.

Letting me know I should shut it, I grew to my calmest right away–expect I did run towards him to get out of trouble for real and be done with the vile toilet.

Hugging my old man's legs, and mistrustfully exchanging glances between him and the wild toilet, I let him know how scary that was.

And replying it but with half-muttered chunks of sentences and stammering, he obviously didn't know what to heed of my speech.

Eventually, though, one question could arise.

He wanted me to fill him in on that.

There I promised to explain everything.

I could swear I hadn't ever seen him this serious before. All serious and stern yet still so magnanimous and seemingly caring.

In some ways, he was some sort of a wise, strong, radiating of light, full of light, super outgoing with me, and caring, very kind momma … with an old wrinkled man's face.

I explained and explained.

Just like it all happened.

And he lent an attentive ear.

.

.

.

"–I did try to bow to it and make excuses … but it wouldn't listen; I swear, Old!... and say something, hey, I don't like the eyes … meh!–you're not gonna help, I knew it … you're just making fun of me inside of your head. I can see it through the old wrinkles…!"

"Hoh, hoh, hoh! That object you, young lad, are afraid of is but furniture!" and he unleashed the beast.

Guffawing yet surprisingly skillfully whispering.

Old went on explaining he knew it–it was just furniture like any others. Only sort of.

What?–but no way, I could swear it became angry at me when I started to touch its hand.

Laughing at me all the more silently and dryly, I clicked my tongue, when he continued informing me:

How would I even be scared of that?? Had I been able to see that look on my face, right now, this poor old man thought something serious had happened … but this.

It was beyond himself.

According to his own account, I was scared 'senseless' of that weird-looking toilet.

I went too far in my fantasies, on this occasion.

But I stopped him in his laughter–it ticked me off. C'mon, it wasn't just any object, he agreed on that, too.

But yes it was, then again, according to his own account.

Laughing at him, I was the one laughing now … and it wasn't any sort of forced embarrassed laughter you'd give someone out of nervousness or irony or anything.

It was genuine laughter. He was to be mocked. Not me. I proceeded to show him the work.

Proceeding with great caution ... I made Old press the handle again!

And, lo and behold; the alien toilet growled again!

"See?! It clearly spits water at us … even though it fails! It must be a dragon of some sort, Old … and now that you believe me, let's take it out–"

But … ahem.

After one tiring, tedious, but worthwhile explanation coming from him: this object was just a fancy toilet. It was so weird because it didn't originate from us. It was rather ancient people's art and craftmanship.

Cutting short my thoughts, "–Such fearful and timid eyes do not suit my boy's little face ... listen up."

That kind of stuff originated from very ancient times–and that was all there was to it.

Old knew this.

Now, I knew it too.

And he would stop mocking me, now that I asked kindly.

"Well, wasn't that another one of this young lad's funny stories now, hoh, hoh! It will do for yet another anecdote to tell my grandkids … why, but I only jest, now, young lad, hoh, hoh–no angry faces, no, no."

Now that this matter was settled, I pushed him out of the 'bathroom.'

The fancy name made sense, now.

With him, I followed out, closing the door behind me.

And abruptly changing the subject (of still kind of being mocking me) I announced again that for which I waited for him in the first place: Old said he would tell me about the elven princess.

And I was eager to know. I kind of promised Calming to protect and take care of her, after all. So I needed to get that illness of hers sorted out.

As per my duty to honor Elf Calming–this should be about his full name–and also because I simply want to.

She was important, and it drove us to this.

Old understood. I understand. Everyone understood. We should talk about it. It was important, according to Old.

And what was important to that wise man also would be important (not always) to me.

That, and it was correlated to me and my very core.

So we needed to talk about it lest I forgot the very reason why we teamed up together in order to go discover the world: knowing things about the unknown and not-sorted-out me.

I drove him to the part where the fancy long table was to be found alongside its countless chairs.

Indicating the old person to sit, I pulled his chair out for him, displaying my strong manners–he did appreciate it, smiling at me.

Then I took my chair, sideways to his, and sat my butt, too.

Old placed his elbows on the table, and crossed his fingers, nodding to himself. He had his reasons, I didn't ask.

Trying to imitate the old man, I couldn't, unfortunately, place my elbows the way he did, cross my fingers all together, and narrow my eyes, all the while being nodding at myself … to the sole purpose of sounding intelligent.

Instead, I could only place both of my hands flat down the table's surface.

But I could nod to myself: "Tell me everything I should know, Old Sipping, yes. You gathered your info in your old head–I wanna hear it, yes."

Strongly nodding with each 'yes' I uttered, that's the way I went in order to hear about it.

"Young lad. First off, tell me more about your ability to … well, possess, infiltrate, take over (which is it, dear boy?) one's body. This old man wants to hear it, too, yes."

And he nodded back. Not silently to himself, but to me, this time about.

"That's … questions again, hm. You love questions.. I understand, though. Where do I start?"