Yup, he had. The bronze plate with the title of it was the very same, as well as the white steps and everything. It was less crowded at this time of day, but he’d recognize it just as well.

  That girl sure had been kind to bring him there. Had she known he’d need it?

  Surely not. Then again, the world worked in mysterious ways.

  They entered. Kreig noticed the second he stepped inside that no few eyes turned on him. And not in surprise or fear, although the latter was present, but more so in silent, unified acknowledgement. As if they’d been expecting him. It felt tense, but Kreig couldn’t possibly act rashly while his family was there. No, he followed them, letting the fact that so many people were watching him so intently remain in the back of his head.

  “Hey, Leo, I’m here for the 9 o'clock ID-thing? Kreig Wiedemann. Look it up. Should be right in the box,” Sam said openly to the first man available behind the counter.

  The man in question, Leo, seemed more confused than anything. “Uh, M’am, do I know you?”

  Sam pulled a blank. “I, er, uh. Dude, we meet every day!” Leo didn’t seem any wiser. “It’s me! Sam! Do I look that different in normal clothes?...” Although Kreig had no idea what she could possibly look like in any formal measure, he could tell by Leo’s expression that her hypothesis was at least somewhat correct.

  “Sam?... Oh, alright. Sorry. Um, Kreig Wiedemann would be,” Leo craned his head where he sat, glancing beyond George and up at Kreig, “...that’s the guy. Alright, the photo things are over to your right, which you should know by now, and try to ignore the guys stationed there, it’s for the safety of the police station and the place as a whole. I think. Between you and me, I have no idea what’s going on.”

  Sam scratched her cheek. “Yeah, understandable. Alright, see you tomorrow Leo.” There would be no explanation from her side.

  As per the receptionist’s guiding, Sam and George both brought Kreig to the right of the front desk, and sat him down on a little stool, all the while trying to pretend that the people standing in all corners of the room didn’t each have a level above 200. Kreig himself was just lost and confused, hoping the guidance he received from his siblings would be enough.

  Sit on this chair. Look at the strange thing in front of the chair. Look happy. No, not like that. Just look natural. -Good enough. You can stand up now.

  And through it all, Kreig felt more like a tag-along than anything.

  Finally, they made him place his ink-dipped fingertips on a paper and that was that. According to the receptionist, although an ID would usually take around six days to be delivered, since this was a special situation, they would be able to hurry it to such an extent that it would arrive just later that day. Neither Sam nor George seemed too surprised by this development, simply saying goodbye and leaving it at that.

  “You did great, Kreig!” Sam said enthusiastically, although Kreig wasn’t sure what he did. “Next stop: a clothes store! Of some sort! I haven’t really planned this part since I’m terrible at clothing and stuff, so, uh, George. You’re the suit guy. Where do we go?”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Sam, if we bring Kreig to my regular tailor he’ll throw a fit. Kreig’s built like a log. Let’s just go to that mall in the middle of the square.”

  Sam pulled her lips tight. “I mean-, yeah, but… Are we allowed to do that? Y’know…”

  “If we weren’t allowed to bring Kreig wherever, he wouldn’t have been allowed home. Come on, let’s go there before rush hour comes along.” And since Sam accepted his words, they all started wandering in a certain direction while Kreig felt just a smidge left out. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t hear them or anything, and still they talked about him as if he wasn’t there at all. It felt strange, but since it wasn’t his first time being treated like an object or mindless machine of human suffering, he couldn’t find it in himself to complain about it. Especially since it was his siblings doing it.

  And all of a sudden, when Sam and George started talking about things again, he didn’t feel like he was just silently listening in, a muted part of a larger conversation. He felt like he wasn’t even apart of it.

  So far from his family that he was hardly even walking with them.

  “Kreig? Are you-,” of course, it wasn’t the first time he’d felt a bit left out. Soldiers in the mud at his feet, proclaiming love to people Kreig didn’t know and grasping for each other’s hands to have someone to hold on to in their final moments. “Everything alri-,” even while on the run with his party, even though he acted as their leader, he was oftentimes mostly ignored. The bard sang and the ranger joked with him and everyone was talking and at the time Kreig had felt perfectly content just being a part of the fellowship. It wasn’t-,

  “Kreig!” Sam was right in his face, or rather, standing on her tip-toes atop an elevated fountain, face-to-face with Kreig. “We’ve been trying to call out to you for a while. You alright?”

  Huh? Was he-, of course he was alright. He’d just gotten a bit lost in his thoughts. “Yes.” He sincerely hoped she wouldn’t need a better explanation, because he really didn’t want to give one.

  She smiled in relief. “That so? Good, good, you seemed a bit… Anyhow! We’re here now!”

  Saying so, she gestured broadly all around. As it turned out, the fountain she was standing on was just the centrepiece of a very large plaza. It was half-crowded with people, everyone milling in and out of restaurants and stores with nary a care in the world. The sun had almost risen to stand above them and was currently splashing off of the fountain in large droplets.

  George made his presence known by stepping into Kreig’s view. “Where would you like to go first?”

  ...Where?

  “There’s like a bazillion stores here! I used to go to that one over there all the time,” Sam said, pointing straight at a little store on the edge of a building, labelled ‘Pam’s Candles’. “Ah, good times. My favourite were the vanilla ones.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Now, Kreig. This mall over there,” George pointed at a building a bit larger than the rest, “has a lot of stores. Some for women, some for children and a few for men. We’ll be going to the men’s ones, and if they have nothing in your size, we’ll consider finding a specialist tailor. You wouldn’t happen to know your sizes, would you?”

  ...Sizes? As in-, as in his height?

  That was… He used to be pretty normal for a man, but as he grew stronger and as his race changed, well… “I cannot remember.” He had no idea.

  George shrugged. “I figured as much. Let’s go to Keaton's, they’ve got too many yardsticks for their own good.”

  Kreig wasn’t sure what was going on, but he was damn happy they didn’t continue asking him for answers or directions on where to go. He didn’t know, and admitting that he didn’t know would only lower his beliefs about himself. Not that they were much to be lowered to begin with.

  He just followed his siblings as they went into the large building, stepped onto some magical moving stairs, went up two floors without having to walk a single step, and entered a store. It was filled with all kinds of clothes and fabrics and it was, by all means, a pretty regular store. The kind of place Kreig hadn’t been to in around 70 years. Of course, everything imaginable was different. As with the people outside, as with the clothes he himself wore, it was all very strange.

  Nothing he wasn’t used to.

  George entered the store confidently, followed by Sam and finally Kreig. Unlike what you might think, since the suits and shirts all seemed to be of high quality, it was almost completely empty, with only three people apart from the siblings inside it. And one of these three had a familiar scent dangling around him. Kreig knew exactly who he was and where he was. He just didn’t know if he should dare approach him. Was it socially acceptable? What would he have done if he was still 17 and hadn’t forgotten his Earthly manners? Would it-,

  Oh, it seemed the decision was made for him.

  The man in question had apparently noticed Kreig’s existence since he made a half-hearted attempt to bolt for the entrance/exit before finally admitting to himself that since the three siblings were standing exactly there, he had no means of escape.

  “...Don’t I know you?” George asked.

  “Oh-, uh, no you don’t-?” Craig said foolishly.

  anything!

  to these characters and the world, however interesting it is, is only a backdrop for these characters to experience the plot through. In One Piece (I really love One Piece), despite how utterly transfixing and fantastic the world is, despite how much focus is on that aspect of the story, what truly captivates and audience, what keeps them around, are the characters through which we view this world, through which the world is augmented. That's the first step to writing good characters. Your characters are a reflection of the world they reside in, not a separate entity from them. As much as I love Usopp, divorcing him from the world he was born and created in and placing him in some other setting (be it modern-day or 1947 East-Berlin) would be to rip out an essential part of what makes Usopp Usopp. It's like plucking the wings off of a butterfly thinking it'll still fly. Sure, it can still walk and sip nectar, but the crown of its being is robbed. The characters you create, specifically, your main characters, should be a reflection of the world and the plot and should mirror some aspect of it to tell us more about it, developing the world-building through their mere existence. This is extremely important, and any time you see a character that isn't fitting of the world they live in, a character that brings you out of it and makes you question their place in the world, something is damn wrong. A character is moulded by their reality. They are what they were made to be. Okay, so, enough about that. I could probably say a whole lot about how important it is that each character has a distinctive voice and feel and how their relationship to the main character should always somehow mirror the plot, but I can't bother, so instead I'll discuss something fun. Basically, every single time I've written a character, I've placed a little bit of myself in it. Not enough to make it a self-insert, just... Just barely enough to give them a soul and a voice to breathe with. Think of it like a horocrux (I don't know how horocruxes work), I give them each a little bit of my soul and they come to life. I really don't want to point out every part in this work since it'll make me feel flustered and exposed, so instead I'll explain the characters in a work remarkably similar to this one which I'd almost call a beta-story of sorts. Same general idea, "the main character fucked off to a different world where they remained for 130 651 years or whatever and though they gained immense power and infamy they also gained just a whole lot of bad psychological health so when they return to Earth they do some damn stupid shit", but with some key differences. Mostly, the characters. Also, yeah, I received a lot of flack for that main character too. Ah, poor Adam, you didn't deserve it. For Adam, I mainly incorporated my general voice. My tendency to not talk much and mostly want to keep quiet. For Chad (yes that's his name and yes people shipped Adam and Chad and yes I understand why and no I don't ship them), I gave him my more boisterous side, loud and talkative. But also my, er... Saying "my kinder side" feels weird, but that's what I gave him. My optimism and need to see the best in everyone, even people like Adam. I gave Pete my weebness because he needed it. Godspeed, Pete. You were too good for this world. And this sort of just went on with every character. Fernigus got my eccentric side, Daisy my more modest one. One character trait for each. It made their voices unique and I'm starting to hope nobody got far enough to read this part because I feel very self-conscious, even though I'm well-aware many (most?) other writers also do this. You really mean to tell me the main character of Misery wasn't a Steven King self-insert? Damn straight it was. If I'm going to write a story spanning a hundred pages, you're damn straight I'll make the main character pretty alike me. How else should I stand it? Of course, I'm not the kind of person who can only read/watch characters I relate to, that's almost impossible since most main characters or even side-characters aren't autistic, but I still prefer writing these sorts of characters than others. I can't stand writing mean or vindictive characters. I could, but I haven't got it in me. I can give them a million other flaws, but genuine evil is just now a way I like writing characters. I understand that some stories may need an evil stereotypical villain for the main character to kill in order for their death to feel justified, but I have a great problem writing those kinds of one-note characters. Uh. I think I'm done. Lesson of the day is: don't put any of your own traits into your characters or hearing people call your characters will be even more painful than it should be. Rip Adam, you weren't as nuanced as you could have been.