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Rounce Playfair had been a good friend to Fort since the captain had been knee-high to a grasshopper; he was an old friend of Da's. Not sure how the old pirate had seen fit to cast in his lot with a man who claimed the oft-maligned profession of tailor. A man who wielded a rapier and bolter did not often stand shoulder to shoulder with one who had never held anything more substantive than a pair of scissors. But the two had always been friends, it seemed. So Fort really had little choice in the matter.
Especially when the man did such damned fine work. Fort's wardrobe boasted many original designs by the renowned Master Playfair. Each was a small miracle of drop-stitch and careful cut. And Rounce always had something new to show his favorite customer.
Fort accepted Rounce's help as he shrugged into the fine shirt of Tyrisian damask. The color of a perfectly ripe plum, it was a rather heavy affair, accented by a dark black checkered pattern of interlocking diamonds. Beautiful, doubtless, and of a cut which would not interfere in the necessary actions of his trade. The form-fit sleeves managed not to restrain his shoulders. Nor did the toggles fit too closely about his chest. Perfect.
Playfair knew his trade, that much was sure.
"It suits you, Fort." Playfair stepped back to admire his work, running a cursory eye over the swashbuckling son of his old shipmate. The stitching would no doubt be abused in the course of Carlyle's life, but it would hold. Hell, the thread itself was strong enough to reel in a sixty pound steel-head.
Fort turned toward the full-length looking-glass. The old sailor-turned-tailor was not lying, it was a fine garment, and Fort's was a frame that wore it well. "You could stitch a shirt to make a hog look a prince, Rounce. Make no mistake." He shifted, taking in the angles, and a slow smile took up residence at the corners of his mouth. "I'll wear it out, I think."
No sooner were the words passing his lips than the door rocked inward and Cas, dragging a disheveled little ragamuffin behind her, stormed into the room. She made not the least obeisance to the owner of the store, nor stayed her steps for even a moment. Rather, she raged over like a cannon-full of ill news. Her hands lashed out and took hold of the front of the heavy brocaded damask, wrenching him toward her hard enough to make him worry for the sterling toggles. Her withering look hit him like a blast from the Long Nines.
"Get it off me or I swear I'll do it with a bullet, Fort."
Fort's eyebrows knit for a moment as he turned a querulous look downward, or yet further downward as the case warranted, toward the child who clung to his murder-maiden. A half-starved guttersnipe, a ring of chocolate circling his mouth and a wary smile curling his lips and widening his eyes. Fort returned the smile, reassuring for a moment before his patrician face turned back toward Cas, reassembling itself into a look of stern command.
Fort brought his hands up between Cas' arms and applied sharp backhanded force, wrenching her hands off of the front of his shirt. Effectively breaking the connection between them with that bit of force, he straightened the front of his shirt and narrowed his eyes. "Calm yourself, Cas."
Rounce turned a questioning eye on Fort and then toward Cas. "Things've changed since last you stepped into my shop, Fort. I assume he's yours?"
Fort turned, horror constricting his features, giving way to consternation as his jaw worked frantically. "No-no-no-no! Throne! Not with Cas! I, well. Never. I...a minute, Rounce, if you please." He held up a single long digit and turned a glance which craved indulgence back toward Cas.
By the Throne, he was sounding like a bloody moron. He cleared his throat, shut his mouth, and wiped his hands on his breeches as he decided on a course of action. Only one way to appeal to a boy's good sense. Fear.
He knelt, coming face to face with the little nipper.
"Listen here, boy. I think you know who I am." He met the boy's gaze and gave a meaningful arch of his eyebrow. "Now I'm not sure what sort of fool notion has gotten into your head, but this here is not any sort of woman you'd want for a Ma." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "She's a witch, y'see. And that doesn't even cover the half of it."
Hell, it was almost as good as true.
Rounce, across the room folded his arms and adopted a wry smile, letting it flow over his features like honey over razorblades. So very rare to see Captain Fortinbras Carlyle utterly out of sorts. A rare treat.
Last edited by Eden; 08-04-2011 at 09:18 PM.
As angry as she was, Cas Seingalt couldn’t help but feel relieved when Fortinbras started looking between her and the little mutt. She hadn’t really expected the cold, stern look, or the forceful removal of her hands from his shirt, neither had she foreseen his almost stinging order. Cas winced, slightly, feeling just a little embarrassed for needing his help with so small a matter—and even more embarrassed at his obvious displeasure.
Damn children. They were always ruining things.
Even less expected was the tailor’s casual remark, which turned Cas’ cheeks a gentle shade of indignant, flustered pink. Even less expected than that was the usually composed Captain’s awkward stumbling of words. A day of surprises, but: oh, not with Cas, he’d said? The elf raised her eyebrows, a tiny, devilish grin growing on her lips. Well, that was one thing she’d expected. Her theory was right, then. The anger removed itself from her lovely features, replacing itself with a disconcerting smile.
The Captain knelt and spoke to the little bastard, bringing his face to her level, and then some. As he spoke, the child slowly relinquished his grip on Cas and looked up at her, slowly inching away but not entirely convinced. Cas ignored him, now focused on something far more interesting—and bothersome. The elf leaned forward to exact her revenge, laying her arms over his shoulders and grinning a wicked grin. Her voice kept high enough for the tailor to hear, and faux sultry enough to be teasing.
“Why not with me, Fort? I'm a woman,” she began, raising her backside and swaying her hips suggestively to highlight her point. She feigned confusion, teasingly so, then unwound the expression into one of mock surprise. “Oh! Or is it the men you like? It is, isn’t it? I’m sure that’s the only reason you keep Cain on.”
Cas grinned, confident that she was right and hoping for a far more flustered response than before. Then, she might forgive him for all the little ills. Ridiculous sentimental orders, hiring an Innate, not firing Cain, taking on a new gunman, and his complete and unforgivable lack of interest in her. He was her Captain, and dammit if she wasn’t the most loyal member of the crew, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have feelings—or that she couldn’t have a little fun every now and then at his expense.
Well, his gambit appeared to pay off; peering into the little street-waif's rapidly widening eyes, Fort was treated to a glimpse of prepubescent terror. Fort's little tale of the bullet-witch seemed to be all the reason the little nipper needed to relinquish his death grip upon Fort's gunner. Not enough to have him utterly convinced that she was all that Fort would have him believe her to be.
But that was only the beginning of Fort's troubles, it seemed. The elf leaned forward, laying her arms over his shoulders, her lips twisting upward into a wicked sort of grin. Fort's eyes snapped upward at the unexpected contact, an unspoken question flickering within his eyes.
"Why not with me, Fort? I'm a woman." Her teasing little patter was sultry enough to cause Fort to swallow hard once, his jaw already working to frame a reply. But she kept on going, effectively cutting him off. And in a direction he had not anticipated.
Fort's face slackened as surprise washed the tension from his carved archangel's face. He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it with an audible click of teeth. On the other side of the room, Rounce began to laugh; low, deep peals of laughter like the beginnings of a thunderstorm.
Fort's face went taut, the eyes going flat. "You're not a woman, Cas. You're a little girl without a goddamn clue as to how much you don't want to go down this road with me." Fort canted his head, angling his face in such a fashion that he might affect an air of haughty disdain, the vitriol dripping from his lips like acid to sizzle in the meager span of air which separated them. Unlike the impertinent elf, he lowered his voice so that only they two were in on the conversation. "Now look here, girl, who I take into my bed is none of your damned business. Want to think I'm sly, go right ahead. You couldn't be more wrong, but that's far and away from the point. But the moment you start questioning my decisions is the moment you can start looking for a new berth."
Fort stood, sliding fluidly from beneath the threadbare weight of the elf gunner, straightening to his full height and looming down over the bullet-witch. "Cain stays on because he's proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that he can handle his job. I keep you around because you do what I need you to do, and that's take orders and not overstep your bounds." His frown deepened, cutting his features into a grim rictus of disdain. "And the way I see it, you're riding a very fine line."
Fort ran a hand down the front of his shirt, straightening the heavy damask and smoothing the crush-stress wrinkles that the little elf-waif had put into it. "Now take your pup and walk away."
Rounce's laughter had died to a low chuckle as he wiped his eyes. "Hell, things have changed, eh, Fort? Going sly on me, boy? I know a couple girls in Nosedive who'll mourn you."
Fort fixed him with a withering stare. "Ain't sly, Playfair. Just prefer blondes."
Cas Seingalt’s smile couldn’t be called anything but smug when her captain displayed his surprise. Got ya, she’d thought, her wicked grin widening. As he began to speak, the grin changed. First, it faltered almost imperceptibly, the crinkle of her eyes smoothing out as her eyes widened. But the grin did stick, at first, as the edges inched their way downward and her brows lifted just slightly. By the time he’d finished speaking, her lips had parted enough for a tiny, hard exhale.
Oh.
Her captain’s words and the look he was giving her was unbearable. By the time he was finished Cas had frozen, at a loss for words or even any sort of reaction. The child took advantage of her being stunned and reached into one of the several bags hanging at her elbow, snatching it away and stuffing it into his crumb encrusted mouth, afraid of his hand being slapped away again. Her jaw tightened very slightly with restrained anger as her head turned halfway towards the child, revolver glinting temptingly. But the child stayed unscathed, and Fort looked away to glare at his friend.
“Ain't sly, Playfair. Just prefer blondes.”
Cas winced internally and turned slightly, the child turning away as well in a poor attempt to hide the treat he’d stolen. The elf’s hands lowered and the bags slid down them a little as she completed her turn. Silently and with more effort than most would need, she pushed the door open, gripped the child by the collar and pulled him behind her as per her captain’s orders. As the door thudded closed behind them, Cas narrowed her eyes down at the child.
“Look what you’ve done,” she said, her voice rising and cracking. Children.
Her jaw tightened further with the strain of resisting all of the very violent urges she was feeling towards the little rat. He certainly looked frightened over her now, and with a puff of exhaled breath she let him go—not that she really needed to, it was obvious, and rather sad, that the boy was stronger than her. She pointed in the opposite direction of the ship, her eyes steely, and the child made the right choice and hurried away.
The order followed through, Cas’ emotions finally caught up to her. Hands shaking, eyes misting and wetting her eyelashes, the elf wasted no time in heading directly home.
So Fort wasn’t sly. And he wasn’t remotely interested in her. The elf was a woman used to being desired, although just a bit less used to putting those desires to work. But that had always been fine with her: those skills were for the more traditional cloak-and-dagger types, like her mother. She’d no real use for them as a gunwoman. But, she thought, her eyebrows knitting together and her hands curled into tight fists, this was unthinkable. Even blind men desired her kind, that had been pounded into her head since birth, not that it had to be for her to believe it. The elf could not even conceive of his lying, though it would have been her answer had he not been her captain and therefore trusted completely.
The steel in her boots pounded hard and loud against the gangplank, alerting a few nearby crewmembers to the presence of the obviously very unhappy Cas. Coughs were muffled, feet shuffled away, hands shielded valued crotches. An oblivious, and apparently new, deckhand stood in her way, washing the deck and whistling a tune. Normally, the elf wouldn’t have hesitated before putting a bullet in his thigh or foot for being in her way—and being new—but today she simply gave him an icy glare and left alone the revolver at her side as she pushed his mop out of her way and stepped over the puddle he’d created. A few crewmembers let out a breath, relieved for the new deckhand but puzzled.
The elf stormed her way below deck, glaring at anyone in her path—and making one poor sod wet himself as he tried to get out of her way. Usually the fear and respect she’d worked hard to earn—by way of a twitchy trigger finger, of course—would have made her smile to herself. But she did not. As she approached her room, she spied the pimply deckhand, Fergus. Eyes narrowed, Cas approached him.
“Go. Get. Me. Aleta,” she said very slowly, as if he were incredibly stupid, which she dearly believed. The boy nodded, eager to please and not be shot, and hurried off in the wrong direction. Cas grit her teeth, silently promising for very bad things to happen if he did not follow through, before swiftly opening the door to her room, stepping inside, and slamming it behind her.
Or, at least, she tried to slam it. But alas, the poor elf was no match for wind resistance, and the door’s slamming slowed to a mere, gentle closing thud. Annoyed, and needing more than anything some way to vent the anger which she was so used to letting out, the elf tried again. No luck. Her cheeks reddened slightly at her inability to even slam a door, and she stepped out, trying it from outside the room. Still nothing. Growling, Cas looked to her side and spied Fergus running back, having apparently remembered the direction of the infirmary.
“You. Slam this door for me. Nice and hard,” she said, then winced at the last sentence and the way his eyebrows quirked up and that stupid grin crossed his face. Not how she’d intended that to sound, but…the boy nodded and she stepped into the room, sighing with satisfaction at the painfully loud door slam. Good.
Cas staggered towards her beloved bed, exhausted and letting the bags of sweets slide off her arm as she walked. Collapsing into the sheets, she let out a slow sigh and began the long and painful process of wondering what she had done wrong.
Last edited by Eden; 08-04-2011 at 09:22 PM.
Fergus' gossip turned out to be the most effective anesthetic. The horror of the procedure to come dissipated temporarily while the events of her dream swarmed her consciousness. That haunting flavor stained her lips, Cain's foul gift to the drunk Innate, lying unaware in a heap of failure. Rage bloomed deep, paired with the indignation accompanied by the disbelief that he would pierce that personal bubble and make physical contact.
It was entirely out of character and downright dangerous considering just how foul the man could be. His mouth was a petri dish, a breeding ground for the planet's vast array of sexually transmitted diseases. Belo's sole comfort was the fact that he possessed the decency to claim her while she was comatose. Proof that, perhaps, chivalry was not entirely dead. Oh, the bar had dropped so miserably low.
You and I got business, Cain...
The needle pierced swiftly and the discomfort was tolerable, but the substance within seared her veins. The burn deepened, slowed, then disappeared altogether as the invasive concoction chased away the pain, dulling nerves and delivering sweet relief.
Belo was no optimist and knew for a fact that this blissful nothingness would not last. But the events that followed moved too quickly for her to protest. Instinct ignited her survival drive briefly and she stood up suddenly, half aware of her own attempt at escape. Aleta's grip overpowered her and the attempt to flee fizzled. She was dumped back into the chair, eyes widening as she watched in horror as the mad physician prepare to manhandle her. When the reality hit, she fumbled for her belt, tearing at the clasp until the leather strap came free. She folded it over and stuffed the thick hide into her mouth.
The precaution may have saved her from a severed tongue. The miracle drug performed admirably, but it was no match for the wrenching pain of bone grinding against bone, swollen muscle forced apart, and the inevitable jerking return to the home socket. Water welled in her eyes as the belt absorbed her screams.
Thankfully, the whole ordeal barely lasted two minutes and Belo slumped against the chair back, spitting out the belt... which now sported an impeccably accurate imprint of her teeth. She let a few beats pass before she shot upright, pale eyes rolling down to glare at the fiery-headed doctor. A customary thank you was in order, but between the acid boiling in her blood and the curses pooling in her mouth, Belo was having a hard time remaining civil.
"That was fuckin' awful. Thanks a million," she grumbled, shouldered past Aleta and slunk out of her ward.
Fergus' betrayal and Cain's uninvited attentions had soured her morning and the ship suddenly felt far too constrictive. The walls of the corridor swelled around her, uninviting and suffocating. The throbbing in her arm was still mostly dulled, but the ache persisted. A cast would have been preferably according to a standard physician, but Belo would hear of no such thing. The limb would just be somewhat useless for a while.
It was tolerable now, but something within was out of sorts and a good night's sleep would not be the cure-all. Her lust for the bottle had abated and she thirsted for fresh air. Belo arrived at her quarters and stepped over her door with a grimace. That would have to be returned to its hinges and she was in no shape to do it. She'd have to badger an engineer to take care of this disaster.
She gathered her cap and gingerly worked her bad arm through the sleeve of her vest. Dressing took more time than she was accustomed to, but managed to button and cinch herself with minimal use of the tender limb. Satchel slung over her shoulder, she adjusted her sleeves and fled the ship, barreling down the gangway. The welcoming breeze of Fort Rock eased some of the tension in her face and the frown creasing her mouth slackened.
There was no schedule to keep to thanks to the impromptu nature of this adventure outside and she, for once, felt no draw to the local pub. Rather, a hunger for more diverse sundries. A little protein would do her good, but she opted for a moment of quiet first, meandering deeper into the center of town until she found a quaint array of benches outlying the local shops. Clothing, dried goods, novelty stores... They formed a perimeter of retail, chorus of shop bells and talkative merchants.
Belo set her sights on the bench beside a small smoke shop boasting of dried meats. She sat down and slipped off her bag with a wince, reaching for her change pouch while the line of perched pigeons serenaded her. A pack of small boys burst from the smoke shop, cackling loudly while the shopkeeper shooed them off, griping as the boys pattered away. The smallest scooped up an unearthed stone as they passed and hurled it above Belo's head.
"Oh, the audacity," she shrugged off the assault with the most monotone remark she could muster, but looked up as something softly thudded beside her. The pigeon lay in a ruffled heap, dead on impact as the murder weapon rolled from the roof to the ground. She hesitated, mentally reviewing her catalog. A deft hand gently scooped up the dead bird, wrapped it in her greasy kerchief, and placed it at the bottom of her satchel. You know. For later.
As if on cue, Cas emerged from the shop across the street with a sullen stride. Belo offered no greeting, figuring the distance between them was great enough for her to claim ignorance. Besides, they'd made no eye conact as the assassin seemed wholly occupied by some emotional turmoil. She arched a brow as she mused about the nature of such a mood, but simply could not care enough to investigate or make an issue of it. The girl was incredibly hormonal, explosively so... and Belo had enough combustible elements to deal with.
The first time Cain had stopped at “Fort Rock” it had possessed an entirely separate name. It had been named after the founder of the cliff-side city or something along those lines if his memory decided to serve him. The stop hadn’t been long and it had probably been one of the finer memories of his days in the military even if he remembered it with a bitter twinge now. It’s not that his service had been particularly brutal, there were just so many moments and orders that had occurred or been followed that he wasn’t proud of. Shortly after his first stop at old Fort Rock, things had taken a right nasty turn and put every memory he’d ever have of his comrades in a hazy black light. A pretty fair trade in his opinion. It was much better than just remembering everything badly.
He had been piloting a military airship back then and they had stopped to let the soldiers cavort about for the night or two. Cain was granted the first night off the ship and the second night on watch since he’d been the pilot on duty when they docked. He and Matthias, the closest thing he’d had to a brother prior to finding out his half one was still alive somewhere, wandered off on their own to explore. The two had been comrades through training and were assigned to the same crew for duty, leaving them pretty much inseparable. They had meandered their way through both the red-light (a strip of dark road littered with ugly women and bars) and the shopping district, scaled down to the water level and back up again after splitting a bottle of absinthe, a feat that probably should have killed them if not from poisoning then by plummeting off the rocks. After they returned to city-level, drenched and giggling like idiots, Cain discovered a little hole-in-the-wall smoke shop and his habit started. Matthias also picked it up but he preferred the clean-smelling, white-smoke cigarettes of the Tyrsians to Cain’s Kerrian “abominations” as they so aptly called them. After years of thinking back on it, Cain came to the conclusion there was something else in those smokes because the crap they did after purchasing them was some of the dumbest shit he’d ever pulled.
A nudge to his ribcage sent his shifting weight onto his right foot and his body threatened to topple over until he righted himself. He dragged once and looked at the man beside him. Matthias was grinning at him, flashing white teeth that actually made his pale skin look darker. How he ever did that while spending most of his time on a stinkin’ air ship was beyond Cain. Ladies liked it. That’s all that mattered in the end.
“Hey,” Matthias started. “Heeeeey, you know wha’ we shoo do?” he asked, poking Cain in the shoulder. Cain stopped and looked at him. It felt like he was throwing his head all over the place, but he was just shaking his head “no.” Matthias giggled, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth as he did. The smoke that came off the end of his cigarette turned into a terrier before dissipating. A white terrier. Cain could’ve sworn he’d heard it bark at him. Matthias set his hand on Cain’s shoulder and pointed at him with his smoking hand. “Nikolai needs some lovin’. Don’t ya think?”
Nikolai was the lieutenant commander on board this time around. He outranked everyone else on the ship, including their captain, as long as they were not in the air and immediate danger. If they were flying, the captain outranked him simply because it was his ship, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t order every other soldier on board around. “What about Commander Nikolai?”
Matthias gaped at him then fell into another snicker-fit. “Nikolai. Nik-o. Nik-o has never been seen with a woman since we’ve known him.”
“The ship is full of dudes.”
“That it is,” Matthias said rather quickly for his drunken state. He wrapped his arm around Cain’s shoulder and pulled them closer together before walking forward again. “Wouldn’t it be nice of us to get poor Nik-o a lady for the night?”
Cain took another drag and blew it out slowly, thinking. Then he grinned and nodded. “That it would be.”
“To a bar!”
Cain chuckled as Matthias guided him towards a shoddy bar and threw the doors open. “We need a few ladies willing to spend the night with a mutual friend of ours. It’s his birthday and his girl just slapped him and took his shoes.”
Cain sat down at a table and stabbed out the rest of his cigarillo. He leaned his chin in his hands and watched as Matthias surrounded himself in whores and flashed his blinding teeth at all of them. He waved down a tavern wench and ordered a huge mug of ale for himself and Matthias while his comrade was busy picking out who to send ol’ Nikolai. Just as the mugs were set on the table and Cain moved to chug his, the tavern doors flew open and two masses of fur walked in.
With his mug in hand, Cain stood and followed the furballs to the fireplace where they sat down and two bear heads flopped backwards. “What the hell?!” he shouted only to see the two female heads that had taken their place. O…bear skins. Cain settled into a chair somewhere behind them where he could see both the two women and his friend. For awhile, he found his friend making a total ass of himself in public more entertaining than two women decked out in bear furs. That is, until the fur slipped and he noticed they were totally naked. Needless to say, this got his attention. He even leaned forward in his chair to get a better look at the blonde-haired one, slipping every so often in his drunken, and quite possibly high, stupor. Cain didn’t even notice. Matthias came over just as the girls started talking about the differing sizes of something. He hadn’t been able to catch what it was and hadn’t been able to watch what they were doing because Matthias slapped him on the shoulder and yelled rather loudly in his ear, “I got six of ‘em!”
“Wha—”
“I got four of ‘em!” he said again happily. Then he paused and recounted on his fingers. “I mean six. I got six.”
Cain frowned. He had been taken away from what could very well be a full-on-lady moment to hear that their prank had been successful and they might lose their jobs in the morning if they were caught? Not cool. Cain muttered an incoherent approval and turned back to the two girls only to leap backwards in his chair. They were fused together, sprawled out on the ground. The blonde one had pinned the other one and they were having at it in a way that made Cain stand up more than once. “Holy shit,” he breathed before he was spun around again. No one was behind him. Matthias had run off to the other side of the room and was leaning out the window, sprinkling something on the ground beyond the sill. A head popped up and Cain yelped. It was a mermaid-man with dark hair and light eyes. His boyish features were contrasted by his masculine physique and it looked positively strange. It didn’t help that Matthias was feeding the damn thing like a pet fish. The only thing that minutely saved him the fact his free hand was wrapped around the waist of a woman with long red hair. She was holding a giant knife at her side though and it made Cain cringe and scratch his ass for some reason.
“Hey, hey Matthias. What are you doing? We needa get back!” Cain called out at his friend but he was properly ignored as Matthias leaned over and kissed or rubbed his nose against her neck. “Damnit,” Cain growled before starting to walk over.
“Are you sure you have to go?” Cain turned around and blanched at a very pretty man behind him. He was wearing a finely tailored suit and his long red hair was pulled back and tied with a simple black ribbon. The man smiled slightly if at all. It was difficult to tell, and as Cain tried to figure it out the man held out his hand and bowed slightly. “One dance won’t take long.”
“Dance?”
And despite the uniform he was still wearing, the empty mug of beer in his hand, and the smell of cigarillos, Cain felt very much like a small woman at a ball. And then he ran into an old woman and sent her basket of groceries skittering across the street. “O shit!” he shouted, both realizing he’d just ran over a person and had the craziest flashback ever. Was that even a flashback? Half of that had never even happened before!
“Don’t curse and help me gather my things!” the woman scolded. Cain nodded and stooped to gather her stuff. When everything was neatly collected aside from a broken bottle of something the reeked of fish, Cain took his leave and moved on.
He fought down the strange mixture of memory and fantasy that both tied in with his first impressions of Fort Rock and his own twisted mind trying to protect itself. It was difficult as the image of Cas and Belo decked out only in the furs of their kill and comparing sizes, Matthias feeding Mer-Rem in his tank and nuzzling Aleta, and Fort holding his hand out towards him for a dance resurfaced on the forefront of his mind. Cain grimaced a bit and earned a strange look from a passing couple. Focus on new Fort Rock. New Fort Rock is not old Whatever-Its-Name-Was, he chanted until the dream went away. When it finally did, he settled on the memory of his second impression.
The town had not been as exciting as it was now. At some point between his youth and the first time he stopped there while piloting the Ardent, Captain Fort had made his mark and the town became a company of fools in his honor. It was cute in a way. Cain had made the mistake of making a crack about the reason for their frolicking about at poor Fort’s ankles, but the captain either had a decent sense of humor or the decency to not throw Cain off the bridge they were crossing. Every so often, Cain might come up with some new, stupider reason for his and possibly Fort’s amusement. It was tradition. And entertaining.
The third time coming here topped all the rest by far. As Cain wandered up and down the narrow streets and glanced in at the various shops, the grin on his face grew wider. As he passed through the shopping district, he took note of all the little Fort pictures, Fort banners, Fort signs, and such that adorned windows, doors, and counter tops. One shop in particular had a chicken-scratch sign on the front that vaguely read “Captain Fort shops here!” It was a knick-knack store and Cain was pretty damn sure his captain wasn’t a regular shopper there, if ever. Unless they were hiding a boozing-ring in their basement of fine, expensive liquor, Fort probably never set foot through that threshold. The thought was amusing and the advertisement idea was clever. Cain gave the manager props for that one and moved on. Further down the way, Cain saw the familiar old sign of his favorite store. It was his smoke shop and one of the few places outside of Kerria that he could find some real Kerrian cigarillos. As he walked in, Cain took a deep breath and smiled at the scent. The counter boy looked up at him then ran a finger down an old, weathered book in front of him. “Cain Nakim?” he asked. Cain nodded and walked towards him. The boy pulled out a box with a piece of paper tied to it and handed it to him. Cain looked at the tag, his own name, and back up at the boy. He simply shrugged and said, “Master Nikolai left it out for you. Said you’re usually around once a season.”
“God, I love that man. Tell him thanks.”
“Will do,” he said. Cain walked out and stood outside, looking at the wooden box. He slid back the cover and pulled out one of the small, light brown rolls and held it between his fingers. He dug a match out of his pocket and lit up. The lazy smoke that drifted up past his face and the all too familiar smell made Cain smile so wide the cigarillo almost fell out from between his lips. He started walking again, sighing in pleasure and breathing a low “Awwww yeah.”
Until he fell off the cliff.
Not really. Cain had reached a part of the road that led lower along the side of the rocks and dropped to the steep decline rater quickly. He missed it and as he tried to put his foot down on what once would have been pavement and was now sea air, he toppled forward and began to skid and roll his way down the hill until it flattened out again at the curve. The townsfolk at the bottom of the hill had watched him come down with horror and some with amusement until he landed in front of him. At first, they thought him to be unconscious or even dead. They started to move in closer and one even got a stick to poke him with. Then he yelled as loud as he could and sent all of them stumbling backwards in shock.
“FUCK!”
He sat up suddenly and clutched at his left wrist. It was most likely sprained. Hell, he hoped it was only sprained. Trying to pilot a ship with one hand for the weeks it took to heal a broken bone or joint was a huge pain in the ass. Totally possible and only marginally difficult if they got in trouble, but everyone harped on him constantly to stay in bed and never, ever come out again. It was a bitch of a situation and he did not want to have to deal with it.
“Gawdamned,"—he paused and whistled out a sigh—"…me not paying attention at all,” he muttered dejectedly as he stood up and started back towards the docks. It took awhile, because his body was sore and a patch of skin on his shoulder was especially raw from the shirt ripping open on something part of the way down. He almost rented out a room to hide in on the way back, but his feet kept him going towards the Ardent.
He really did not want to see Aleta now. Not at all. So when he finally walked in the infirmary and sat on the nearest open bed, he wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to get all the way there. He wasn’t much for commitment. Apparently his legs were.
Only thing that saved the situation was his undamaged box.
Although she had numbed the area, the pain of resetting Belo’s shoulder would still be an unpleasant experience for the woman. A shoulder reduction was defiantly not a gentle procedure. So Belo was smart to stuff her belt into her mouth before Aleta shoved her arm back into place. There was a quick click and a pop as the arm slid back into its socket, and then it was over. Belo’s muffled cry finally died and Aleta took a step back. Was she ready to dive under her desk should things start exploding?…You’re damn skippy! Belo wasn’t exactly the calmest of individuals. Aleta watched as Belo spat her belt out and stood up. The woman’s bloodshot eyes glared down at her, and Aleta could sense the fury behind the glower. It kinda felt like she was trying her hardest not to destroy the red head on the spot. Aleta normally would have been snarky right about now and asked for the gratitude that she deserved. However if she wanted to stay in one piece…right now was probably not the best time to get on the Innates nerves.
"That was fuckin' awful. Thanks a million."
Finally it spoke! And that was all that rolled out of the Belo’s mouth as she pushed passed the Doc and made her way for the door. “What were you expecting? A lolli pop?” well so much for keeping her mouth shut. However Belo didn’t seem concerned with what Aleta had to say. She just kept on trucking towards the door. That shoulder of hers was going to be in pain for quite some time. The least Aleta could do was help the girl out…even if she was ungrateful. “Hey…wait just a tick” Aleta said as she turned to go to her cabinets. The one she opened was lined with bottles and other various containers. Her eyes scanned the bottles before quickly plucking one from the lowest shelf. “Here I’ll give you -” She started to say as she turned back around. However, she found she was only talking to herself now. “ –somethin’ for the pain” she finished her thought with a sigh as she set the bottle on the counter. Well, maybe this was for the best. God knows that Belo wouldn’t be able to avoid mixing the meds with alcohol.
With Belo gone, the clinic was quiet again. There were a couple people recovering in the beds, but they were all in drug induced comas. Well not really, Aleta just gave them enough meds so that they could get to sleep comfortably. Something that Aleta actually wished she could be doing right about now. Her body was so exhausted that it ached, so she took the chair that Belo had been slumped in just a second ago and just fell into it. She kicked out her feet in front of her and she just sighed, tilting her head back and letting her red hair fall over the back of the chair. Green eye just stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, contemplating how much free time she might have to dedicate to a good nap….
Suddenly Aleta heard the door open. Apparently no time at all she thought to herself as she just continued to stare despondently up at the ceiling. Footsteps followed the sound of the door however she still didn’t move. She half wanted to just yell at them to go away unless they were dying. There was a small squeak as whoever it was sat down on one of the beds. And finally, Aleta just groaned. There was no way she was going to be getting any sleep today apparently. So she just lifted her head to face her newest patient. And lo and behold….imagine her surprise when she saw Cain sitting in her clinic. Was there no end to today’s torment!
“What’re you doin’ here?” she asked as she reluctantly got out of her chair and walked over to him. Normally he avoided the clinic like the plague, so to see him here of his own volition was odd. Especially after she convinced him he was dying that one time, along with other...unmentionable things. Well maybe he was just a glutton for punishment or something.
As she got closer, she got to get a better look at him. He was just sitting there on the bed, slumped over and cradling his left wrist. Even from here she could tell it was beginning to swell. Just great, it better not be broken….the Ardent took enough damage when he was piloting with both hands! However it was not just his wrist that she noticed. In fact it looked like he had gotten into a bad scuffle or something of the sort. He was beginning to bruise up and even his shirt was all torn in back. From what she could see of the exposed flesh on his shoulder it wasn’t bleeding too badly. It looked as though it was just a bit scraped up. “Just what in bloody hell did you do to yourself?” she said, her hand finding her hip. Although the answer to that question was probably going to be a stupid one. “You know what?....on second thought….I don’t really want to know” she said with a little shake of her head. “You just take off your shirt… and stay there” the last thing she wanted to see him shirtless. However it would make it easier to clean up the scrapes on his back.
Aleta then just turned and walked back to the counter to grab a couple things that she was going to need. Disinfectant, bandages, a clean needle and syringe, and of course…drugs. Cain had a habit of complaining a lot…so they helped keep his mouth shut and Aleta migraine free. “Alright…” she said as she came back with an armload of crap and dragging a chair. Aleta set everything on the stand next to the bed, then set the chair in front of Cain and sat down. In her hand she had two pills to dull the pain, but before she gave them to him…she needed to know a couple things. Because if he was loopey, he wasn’t really good at playing twenty one questions. “ Now…about your wrist. I need to know if there is a certain area that’s hurts more then another….” The localization of pain was a distinguishing factor between whether it was a sprain or a fracture. Both traumatic and stress fractures most often result in “pinpoint” pain. That is generally how Aleta would find the fracture point. Sprains, on the other hand, result in more general pain and swelling in the affected region. If it was a sprain, well then awesome…easier for her to deal with. All she would have to do is wrap it tight tell him not to move it and ice it every couple of hours. "Once I know the problem....then we can deal with pain" Aleta said as she rattled the pills around in her closed fist.
The tiny moment of peace that the doctor and Rem had been enjoying was quickly interrupted by the loud intrusion of one of Aleta's assistants toting the –very drunk- Innate. The woman was muttering some string of curses off as she was handed off to Aleta. It seemed like the two had some sort of bad history behind them. For a split second he wondered what had happened to make the Innate so passionately upset with the doctor, but the scientist had no particular death wish so he would not try to dig up the details... At least he got to enjoy the show that two put on. The Innate was quick to be drugged up and drift off before any further treatment. Perhaps that was the best thing for such a difficult patient. Without the drugs she would probably struggle and end up doing more damage than good. He made a mental note to remember sedatives if he ever was forced... or given the opportunity to treat her.
He had always wanted to examine the Innate’s biological structuring. He had a theory that Innates' ability created physical changes, but he had never gotten the chance to prove said theory. Right now was the perfect opportunity. So when Aleta insisted that he leave he was more than disappointed. What could be called a smile on his face soon dropped back down into a unsatisfied scowl. He knew that she only meant well, but there was hardly anything that made him eager to leave the ship. His silver platter was suddenly becoming a lost opportunity. With a small sigh of disappointment he followed the order and left the infirmary.
He debated whether or not he should change or not. His current clothes were pretty much ruined. The stains of the crewmembers’ blood were becoming set into his jacket and pants. It would be impossible to remove the mess from anything light, so he could be grateful that the majority of his wardrobe was black. Rather than go through the pains of changing before and after he explored the town he decided to take a chance and hope nobody noticed the large amount of blood smeared across the dark clothes. Even if they did he could always pretend he was some sort of crazed maniac and pray that the crowds left him alone.
Once outside the ship he automatically began wishing that he was inside again. There were still plenty of people outside greeting the departing crew. The reverence these people had was ridiculous. The crowd had a look of confusion as they saw- what they thought- was a small child in black descend down the dock. Most were polite enough to remain quiet pretending like his presence was completely normal, but there were an annoying obvious few who automatically began exchanging comments. Rem was quick to escape their gaze by ducking into one of the ship's loading areas. The place was crapped full of all sorts of supplies for the damaged ship. It could be assumed that most of the items in stock were gifts. These people and their silly obsession... He had heard some of the rumors about how this all started, but he hardly believed anything that came out of these gossipers' mouths- especially when said mouths reeked of booze.
Propping himself up on one of the larger boxes Rem slowly begun to relax a bit. His shoulders eased into somewhat of a peaceful position. The sky was a bit smoggy, but the air was much more refreshing than normal. The mix of the salty water mixed nicely with the scents of the cooked food from the nearby restaurants. Neither overpowered the other. It was… nice. It was certainly not a place that he would ever call home- far too noisy to concentrate on work- but visiting did not really bother him too much.
The tranquil atmosphere was interrupted by the loud cackles of a group of men. As they stumbled into sight Rem was able to see that there were three of them. Two were tall and lean. The third was significantly shorter, but equally lank. All were dressed in… compromising attire. They had on tight pants and tall leather boots. One of the large men had on a thick leather jacket that did not match the time of season. His dark hair was tied back into a tight ponytail revealing a pair of sharp dark eyes. The other tall man had on no shirt at all a wave of curly blonde hair draped down covering most of his chest. The short man looked more feminine than the other two. His dirty blonde hair was styled in a way to perfectly shape his slightly rounded face. They did not seem frightening or threatening, but they were certainly not the kind of company that he would ever consider keeping. Rem had seen their type before. They were the kinds of men to dabble in all sorts of dirty activities. He was not sure how far these men had fallen from grace, but he certainly did not want to find out.
The men were not as compliant to follow his unsaid wishes. One of the men- the one in the jacket- spotted Rem from his hiding spot. With a smile that mimicked a wolf that had just caught sight of a stray lamb strutted forward, ”Look’y what we got here boys!” Rem’s eyes narrowed as the other two men turned following behind with equally suspicious looks. He was pretty sure he was not going to like where this was heading. The shortest of the men was the first to respond, ”Looks like’a brat look’n for a good time.”Rem straightened up. He was positive that he did not like where this was heading. The third of the men finally spoke, ”Wha’d ya say boy? Wanna have some fun?”
Rem tightened up as he said acidly, ”Whatever you…gentlemen are insinuating does not interest me, please carry on and find someone else.” Hopefully he had not used to high of a vocabulary for the men to understand. The men paused, but only for a moment. The leather wearing man laughed a bit as he said, ”Don’t play coy wit’ us, kid. It does not suit you. Come quietly and we’ll teach you how to use those assets of yours properly.” As he spoke the three took a few more steps forward as if they were closing in on their prey. All of Rem’s warning signs began to flare off. This was not a situation that he wanted to be in. He needed to get to somewhere safe ASAP.
“I said no.” but even as he said that the men continued stalking forward. Rem jumped off the crate and began backing up. He had to get out of this situation, but he did not dare turn his back on them. He began to think of someway to escape... The Ardent! It was safe- the perfect sanctuary. If he could make it back inside the ship he would be okay. The problem was actually getting there. All hopes of winning a foot race were pretty futile for him. As he backed himself into the corner the last chance of escaping were lost. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped a bit as he began to realize how royally screwed he was.
“Now that’s a better look for ya’, lad.”
The man in leather snapped- He must be the leader of this lot... Rem though in a moment that seemed to be suspended in time. Suddenly the other two began to restrain Rem. They had a lot more strength then he would have thought. The shorter held him place while the shirtless one tied off his hands with rope that he seemed to have pulled out of nowhere. As the binds constricted what little movement he had, the scientist hissed, ”How dare you! Release me or I swear you will regret this!”
The assumed leader of the bunch simply laughed and put his finger to Rem’s lips. ”Now hush or I’ll have to teach you to obey my orders… and I’m not a very nice teacher.”
They say that even a cornered mouse will attack a cat and at that very moment Rem felt that very same mentality. The scientist bit the man in the finger and mid chomp said, ”Go to hell.” Immediately after the insult was said the bitten leader struck Rem in the head. The blow was hard enough to knock him out… or perhaps he was just too weak to withstand the impact. As his vision blurred he was able to hear the man hiss, ”Have it your way...” With that Rem crashed unconsciously onto the dock completely at the mercy of the three men.
.~*~.
The youth lay unconscious on the dock. Luckily he did not seem to be bleeding, but the blow had still been pretty hard. With a bit of hesitance the shortest of the three men asked, ”Did’ya have’ta hit him so hard, Dimitri?” The adolescent had bitten their leader pretty hard, but it was not really much of a surprise that he had. Anybody would have acted similarly. Still the damage was done. Nobody hit Dimitri without repercussions... and to be fair to their leader, he had warned the brat. Either way the men were now stuck with a very unconscious kid. The leather-wearing leader slapped the shortest- Gus- in the back of the head (But not quiet as hard as he had hit Rem). ’I said no names you numbskull!” As Gus massaged his head softly the shirtless man-Adrian- spoke up, ”Well… now what?” Dimitri had to cover his face as he tried to control what was left off his patience. In his line of work he was surrounded by all sorts of morons, but these two were particularly clueless. It was a good thing they had their looks, because that was about all they had.
After Dimitri was able to compose himself into somewhat of a stable state he said, ”Pick up the brat and let’s scram... We still have a work to do.” Gus was quick to follow order, just like a good lackey should, but Adrian simply stood there like the simpleton that he was. ”You mean we’re still gonna go through with this?” Once again their leader’s patience was tested. ”No. We just accepted all that money just to go around and give it all back... Pray you never have to use that brain of yours, you nitwit.” Dimitri led the way as the other followed carrying, the still unconscious, Rem off.
”We have the money, we finish the job.”
Rounce Playfair sank his teeth into his bottom lip, stifling the last of his unbidden chuckles as the humiliated elf took her wayward charge and pushed her way out of the shop without so much as a backward glance. She’d come in like a hurricane, blustering through his doorway with her ragamuffin in tow, laying paws on Fort like a cat straight from the kennels of Acheron itself…even taking a moment to cut at his manhood, calling him little better than a catamite. But with a handful of cutting words from the mouth of Grayson Carlyle’s oldest boy, she’d lost her caustic smile, withering under a softly spoken barrage of cold wrath. She’d turned away, her jaw tight with hurt and restrained anger, pulling the guttersnipe along behind her like a crumb-encrusted duckling, but Fort hadn’t even taken the time to weigh the impact of his words. Like a hunter fully confident that his bullet had found the mark, he’d simply turned away to see to the next target…Playfair himself.
Rounce swallowed the tail end of his final barb and spread his hands, begging the indulgence of the Captain. “My mistake, Fort.” He ran his hands over his black twill doublet, straightening the imagined wrinkles that he found there.
“No harm, Rounce.” The tremor of the shutting door punctuated his sentence. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly, as though the weight of the tiny elf was enough to do that which so many years extricating himself from beneath the weight and infamy of his father, the stern instruction of the Tyrisian Naval Academy, and the unremitting tyranny of Crispin Rudain could not. For a moment, Rounce wondered if there might not be more between the captain and the elf than Fort was willing to come forward with.
But the moment was a fleeting one. Fort ran a hand through his the blood-silk length of his hair, a heavy sigh breaking from beneath the barrier of his teeth as a rueful smile broke over his features. “They’ll be the death of me, I swear it.” He fished into the pocket of his trousers and came out with a small leather pouch stuffed with silver sovereigns. With a backhanded gesture, he tossed the pouch toward the tailor. “Thanks for the shirt, Rounce. Keep them coming, so will I.”
Playfair inclined his head softly in something which might’ve shared its lineage with a bow. “I’ll have the rest of your purchases brought onboard the Ardent. Off to the Taphouse?” Fort nodded, taking his first backward step toward the door and the winding street which led to Fort Rock’s most widely frequented and most respected tavern. “Well, best to not keep them waiting. Give my love to Miranda.”
Fort turned on his heel with a three-fingered wave over his left shoulder and a nod of his head. “Take care, Rounce.”
“You too, Fort.”
“Always.”
Fortinbras Carlyle, took to the streets like a man who’d been born to them. Here and there, a passerby would turn and offer a half-maddened smile and an affectionate wave. Fort inclined his head with his vaguely lupine smile and brushed past them, taking the winding cobbled streets with the intensity of a man on a mission, for indeed he may well have been. The Taphouse was his hub for news and information on this particular stretch of his journey toward Kerria. It’d be best if he learned all he could of the route. He hadn’t taken the long haul into Kerria for nearly two years. Throne only knew what trials might’ve sprung up to wait upon the way…
The Taphouse was well-built and sturdy in a way that any simple rustic bawdy-house could never be. Constructed of mortared native-stone chipped from the quarry on the windward side of the rock, it appeared rather squat from the outside, hunched over like a jealous gargoyle. However, as Fort split the hinged doors and stepped down the six stairs into the common room, the lie was exposed, as it always was. The room itself began nearly three feet below the level of the street, its vaulted ceiling rising nearly twice the height of a man. The fire on the far wall was already stoked into a merry little blaze within the cheerily carved hearth. Floors of well-swept stone and tables of imported alderwood completed the array, save the heavy bar on the western wall; well-oiled and carved in exotic scroll-work.
Eighteen Rockers, men and women of various stripes and stations sat about the Taphouse, drinking off the trials and tribulations of the day. The ‘tender behind the embossed slab of alder was an aging man with salt and pepper hair and a bristly mustache who might’ve been a sailor in his own day. He lifted a hand and waved, a smile making the caterpillar line of his mustache writhe. “Fort! Welcome.”
“Deacon. How’s business.” Fort sidled up to the bar and rested his elbows against the well-worn surface as he lowered himself onto a stool as though he never meant to rise.
Deacon’s broad shoulders rose and fell like the surging of the tide. “Same as always. Y’here long?”
“Same as always.”
Deacon nodded sagely, rubbing at his craggy jaw with a massive paw. His eyes lit for a moment, crinkling with hidden mischief as he dipped beneath the level of the bar, rising only when his hand found the object he’d sought. A glass bottle half-filled with amber liquid. His other hand quested out for a tumbler.
Fort’s lips twisted upward. Dantalion’s Dew. “A saint and a scholar, Deacon.” The fine Tyrisian whiskey poured into the tumbler like a river of flame and Deacon slid it toward the airship captain. Fort’s fingers twined about the glass and brought it to his lips. It exploded across his palate, redolent of white-ash, honey, wheat, and lightning; it tasted like gold. He drew a breath and sighed it slowly through his nose; with it came with a small groan of pleasure.
Fingers alighted on his shoulders as he made love to his glass of whiskey; soft, slim, and feminine, they made Fort’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. Deacon’s face twisted downward into disapproval, his eyes describing a slow circle.
“Welcome back, sky-dog.” Miranda’s voice, as sweet and slow as the running of molasses downhill brushed the back of his ear and sent a small shiver down his spine. Fort pivoted on his stool and came face to face with Deacon’s daughter and principal waitress. She had always been a rare beauty, though how she’d managed that with the craggy and weather-worn looks of her father was beyond him. Her face was heart-shaped, lovely; set with eyes greener than any verdant field had a right to claim and a mouth just a fraction of an inch too wide. It was twisted into a canny little smile now, sizing up the captain with a hungry glint to her eyes, her pixie’s nose crinkling with mirth.
“Miranda, shouldn’t you be seeing to customers?” Deacon’s tone was that of an indulgent father without a prayer of overturning the will of his daughter.
“Fort’s a customer, Da.”
“Mhmm. And he don’t need anymore seeing too. Git.” Deacon tried for iron and got butter. The command became a query. Miranda offered a wink to the captain before bustling off to heed the call of another thirsty patron in a far-off corner.
“No ideas, Fort.” The captain didn’t need to turn to see the look in Deacon’s eye, the same protective glint that every father got when he saw his darling girl fall for the scalawag.
“Never, Deacon.”
“Business?”
“Let’s.” Fort leaned back against the bar, still cradling his tumbler of liquor. One of his slate-blue eyes wandered to watch the young woman scurry about her duties, appreciating the subtle cant of her movements.
“Headed to Kerria, right?” Fort’s head dipped in the affirmative. “You ain’t the only one.” That got Fort’s full attention. He twisted about on his stool, turning to face the aging bartender. His brows furrowed, beetling over his eyes and forming the first threadbare glimpse of a scowl.
“That a fact?”
“That’s a fact, Fort. Two days ago, just ten miles from Port. Fortune’s Friend.”
“Rudain? You positive?”
It was Deacon’s turn to beetle his brows. The question was ridiculous. One did not forget an airship like the Fortune’s Friend. Rudain’s ship was three times the size of the Ardent, sleek and low-profile. While not as quick as the Ardent, it mounted more hurt and thicker hull than the little blockade runner could ever hope to bring to bear. Its soarwood plating was stained a rich ebony and chased in silver, its vanes rose from three sturdy masts. And at its head...Rudain himself. A man with a decade of experience and wealth and connection far beyond the means of a man like Fortinbras Carlyle.
“Throne.” Fort swore into the depths of his whiskey, tossing it back with a steely hiss as the liquor burned its lush course down his gullet. If Rudain was headed to Kerria, it only stood to reason that he’d gotten wind of the same payday…and was angling to get to it first. The bastard lived for that sort of petty victory. Always had.
Even when he’d signed Fort’s checks.
Fort pulled a gold sovereign from his pocket and laid it against the counter. Deacon’s eyes widened as he reached out to scoop up the heavy coin and ferret it away in his apron. He nodded his thanks and reached out for Fort’s glass.
“Thanks for the drink, Deacon.”
The bartender folded his arms and his caterpillar mustache bristled, “No time for another, I suppose.”
“Only when I come back with whatever the hell Rudain is looking to find in Kerria in this damned hand.” Fort stood, waggling the fingers on his left hand.
“Fort? Leaving so soon?” Miranda narrowed her eyes and smiled like only a woman can, a tray of wooden steins balanced against her hip. Her tone was pure sugar-candy over disappointment.
“Always too soon, Miranda.” Fort smiled like a devil, dipping his head in reverence as he made his way toward the door. “But time waits for no man. Nor does a swift west wind. She always comes too soon.” Fort winked once and disappeared into the already darkening streets. Miranda held a smile until he was out the door, letting it die a slow death on her lips as he vanished once more. "May you one day learn from her example, sky-dog."
If Rudain had a two-day lead on the Ardent, Fort would be damned if he’d let him make it three. He’d beat the grinning bastard. Or he’d die in the attempt. His footsteps drew him closer to the quays and the familiar form of the Ardent, the closest thing to a lover he had.
“Once more, darling girl. To the skies.”
The third watch was just cycling as the sun drew toward its ignominious death in the West. Fresh eyes for a fresh start. The Captain permitted himself a small smile, wolfish and predatory. It was, after all, the only civilized way to bare one’s teeth. Fort had never been a soldier, but as he mounted the gangplank, he had the sneaking suspicion that he was off to war.
Cain had half a mind to get up and walk right back through the door of the infirmary and just deal with his stupid injury on his own. He’d had to bandage more than his fair share of personal wounds back in his military days, and the skill of first aid was like riding a bicycle. You never forget. Course, he didn’t have any of the proper supplies and would probably end up worse for wear and back in this room for much longer than it took to wrap a wrist and slap some linen on his shoulder if he tried. However, the choice of backing out now would have made the two of them very happy campers. He was pretty sure she was less than pleased with his sudden arrival considering the large, black clouds of “You ruined my nap, you f*cker” coming off of her shoulders that he was imagining. He hadn’t even thought about the fact she might not get the chance to leave the ship while they were docked. She was the doctor and a shit-ton of people had either been thrown overboard or injured during that bout with the fish. Taking a look around, Cain noted that most everyone was asleep or stuck in a weird, drugged-up almost sleep. She probably almost had a real break and he had just barged in and ruined it. Even if he didn’t want to be here, he was going to stay now. Knowing he was inconveniencing her was the little extra push (alongside the pain all over his body) that kept his butt on that cot.
Still didn’t mean he was going to be complacent.
“My ass hurts. Kiss it better,” Cain bit out sharply as she turned to gather supplies. It was hard to tell what had bruised more, his limbs or his ego. As soon as her back was turned, he shoved his box of cigarillos up under the pillow beside him. She’d probably take them away from him, claiming heal hazard or some other bullshit. On second thought, she’d probably let him keep them in hopes he’s die sooner…after lacing them with something crazy. Yes, best to keep the dear things hidden. Next, Cain moved to take off his shirt as commanded. It proved difficult with one good hand and a multitude of buttons. If he had been wearing his vest, he’d probably be swearing up a storm right now and taking a scalpel to the damned fabric. He almost did, if there had been one nearby. The shirt was ruined anyway. He managed to wiggle it up and over his head after deciding to completely forgo being gentle on his raw shoulder. Tossing it over the pillow and further hiding his treasure, Cain feigned a smile as she sat back down in front of him and began to organize her armload of stuff onto the stand near the bed. Cain saw the needle first and his eyebrows flew skywards. What the hell was that for? Did he smell almonds? Good grief, this chick was going to poison him. Or she could just be trying to convince him she was going to poison him. She did convince him he was dying before. There was no way Aleta was as old as she claimed. It took way longer to be able to outsmart him…and be such a conniving bitch.
He noticed the pills in her palm and reached out to take them but she closed her fingers over them and pulled away. Gawdamnit, Cain growled in his head, just knock me the f*ck out already and get this over with for the both of us. But no. She couldn’t do that. She had to make sure she was treating everything properly. Well screw that. Cain did his best childish, pained face and whined “It burns!” making sure to drag out the poor vowel for as long as possible. “It burns ev-wee-where!” Such juvenile grammar spoken in his deep tone made the whole situation simply aggravating, even for him. After saying his peace, however, Cain took an opportunity and snatched the pills from her hand. He swallowed them like the man he was and waited for them to kick in. Pain meds had always worked rather…strangely on him. They kicked in quicker than usual and usually left him in a weird state. Apparently, it wasn’t normal and the medics back in his service days had claimed it might be hazardous to his health if he continued to take them. He had listened somewhat and only took offered pain meds if he really needed them. He had to be on the verge of dying to want them. Sitting in a room with Aleta was as close to dying he could get, so he did the stupid without even thinking.
She was probably going to be scared. He’d never taken medication around her before so she wouldn’t be used to his reaction.
The edges of his vision swirled slightly and the range of things he could see clearly shrank. His head felt like it was floating up and down, up and down like a buoy on the shore of a common fishing village, signaling the edge of the harbor. Was that his mouth moving? No, it was too far forward to be his jaw. But it was moving with the things he was saying? Wait…yes…no. It sounds like him, though. What’s this guy saying, though?
“Belo is a very, very good wife,” someone mumbled. His words bordered on incoherent as they slipped through the goofy smile. Cain smiled himself, nice and big. This guy was whipped if he thought Belo was a good wife. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember Belo mentioning a husband. Did she even have a ring? Maybe it blended in with her metal arm.
“Have…have you ever done the deed with a mermaid? I mean, where does it go? They don’t have any ori-orifi-orif…holes. They don’t have any holes. ‘Specially them men types.” Cain laughed at this one and nodded his head. How did you f*ck a mermaid? They just had that tail right? There must be a way to do it and if this man figured it out, he would be like a god. A sex god. A sex with mermaids god.
“That big one though, with the dark hair and pretty eyes. Ya, his face don’t match his shoulders. Too book-smartish face. Not sure what his name was. Should’ve got it…” Cain shook his head and grimaced slightly. Nah, he should’ve passed on the dude. Doesn’t matter if it’s a mermaid or not; don’t screw dudes. The shaking of his head sent him tilting to one side. The feeling of falling was interesting. The feeling of falling up (as he sat back up), not so much.
“Matti got real lucky with that redhead.” Cain leapt slightly in his seat in surprise. He knew Matthias too? Weird! “I got lucky with some mystery chick but she clonked me upside the head before running off. I still haven’t found her!” Hey, that happened to Cain too! This was getting really creepy. This guy must be stalking him and pretending to be him.
O wait, he was still looking for a mystery chick. And there was a mystery chick sitting right there in front of him. He couldn't tell what she looked like, but she was small and white. Really white. Wow, can people get that white? Hell, maybe an albino snuck on board and attacked him. Worth a shot. Best take the opportunity now.
So he did, rather sloppily and probably off his target.
Then, he fell forward and passed out.
The first thing Rem noticed when he woke was the pain shooting down from the front of his skull. The constant abuse to this particular section of his head was beginning to catch up to him. It could be assumed that previous injury was going to continue hurting for a while. For a few moments the scientist considered retreating back into unconsciousness. Sleeping hurt a lot less than this. It was not until he actually recalled what had cause the pain that he snapped into full awareness. There had been a group of men… a few insinuating comments… he had been cornered… then…? The rest was turning up blurry. He tried to recall the lost memories, but the harder he dug the farther away the memories seemed to drift from his mind. All searching was cut off when another stab of pain struck his head.
Rem tried to drive the horrid feeling away with a wave of his hands, but found such movements to be impossible. I’m tied up? He tried to open his eyes to asses the situation, but all vision was cut off by a dark sheet of material. A blindfold?! The slow realization that he was still living through his living hell was hard to accept. The feeling was very similar to having to down a spoonful of bitter medicine. The taste lingered unpleasantly in his mouth and slowly dripped down to the back of his throat causing an involuntary gagging. The scientist tried to focus on anything else to rid himself of the second revolting feeling he had felt after waking.
I am being held captive. he though numbly. The ropes almost seemed to dig farther into his flesh in a sign of agreement with his unsaid statement. He tested out the rest of his movements to see what other movements had been restricted. Hands… tied. Legs… tied. There was an odd object attached to his feet where his shoes should be. Chest… free? It felt a bit cold. Not uncomfortably, but he was fairly sure that at least his jacket was gone. The fact that they had taken his clothing was not that pleasant, but there was little he could do about it right now. It seemed that the rest of him was unrestrained, but this did him little good. His body lacked the physical strength to forcefully break the restraints or the flexibility to maneuver his way to safety. A sigh of defeat escaped his lungs in a loud huff. He was trapped and most likely there would be no rescue from any outside party. It would be by his own hands whether he was saved or damned.
“Oy! You awake kiddo?”
I am most certainly not a ‘kiddo’… Rem though indignantly. A moment later it registered that there was another presence in this place. He had not been paying enough attention to pinpoint the voice to a face, but he could bet that it was one of the gentlemen from earlier. He was not sure how to respond to this voice. It would be foolish to lash out and even more foolish to beg for help. He could not give his captors the power here. He needed to develop a steady standing for himself at least long enough for him to make a break for it. First step was to see how far the captors were willing to deal with him.
”I’m hungry. he said as innocently as possible. There was a time to be condescending and sarcastic, but it was most certainly not now.
The voice wavered a bit, ”’ungry eh?... I guess I could… No Dimitri said not to untie him.… wait here. I’ll be back.” There was fast foot steps and a loud slamming of a door. Once his guard left he evaluated the nuggets of gold that he had gotten from him. First they did not seem to want to hurt him. If that were the case they would have left him starving. Second this guy was not in charge. This Dimitri guy was. A mental image of the man in the leather jacket flew into his head. Lastly this goon was incapable of making decisions on his own. Relatively brainless. He must rely on his leader to make all the choices for him.
The door slammed open. Two footsteps entered. He cocked his ear to the side in an attempt to figure out who the footsteps belonged to. One sounded confident as it strutted into the room. The second probably belonged to the same nervous man as before. Before Rem could even say anything a hand gruffly clamped down on his shoulder and lifted. The rest of him followed forcing the scientist up into a standing position. He nearly fell over at first. The things on his feet forced his legs into a wobbly uncomfortable pose. Whatever they were he wanted them off. Once he was steady he tried to figure out what was going on. Even with the blindfold he could feel how close the man was. He could feel the man’s breath hitting him. The smell assaulted his nose filling it with the strong mixture of whiskey and cheep smokes. The two were unpleasant by themselves, but mixed the scent was almost unbearable. ”My informant tells me you’re hungry.”
The first reaction that came to mind was to make a jab at their perception and lack of intelligence. Then perhaps to throw in a remark about needing to brush one’s teeth a bit more often, but this was disregarded, at least for now. [Just keep it simple. ”I’ve been kidnapped, tied up, and blindfolded. I don’t think a bit of food is that big of a request.” Once again Rem was grabbed, this time by the blindfold. The material was torn off his face letting his eyes land right on the leather wearer. ”Fine. You want food you’re gonna have to pay for it.” Rem was smart enough to not ask how to pay for it. He would just go with things and see what happened. When Dimitri saw that he was unwavering in the decision he gave a simple curt, “Move.”
Rem--with hands still tied behind him--shuffled forward. The small movement made him loose his balance. With another loud thud he fell onto the floor. The restraints were impossible to move in which simply infuriated him. ”What the hell are these things?!” Rem cursed as he examined the objects stuck to his feet for the first time. Heels? It did not make much sense. Why would Rem be wearing heels? The confusion only grew when he saw the little black silk that covered him. A negligee? These were women’s clothing… more specifically it was women’s underwear. The horror slowly began to set in. The group had done more than take his jacket.
”Is there a problem?” Dimitri asked in an over the top sweet voice not attempting to hide his amusement. With a bit of effort Rem held himself back from completely lashing out at the man. ”No problem.” he said forcing smile as he pushed himself back up. It took all of what little coordination he had to keep himself from falling over as he made his way out of the room. Dimitri and his subordinate seemed to be eating up the whole scene. They would surly enjoy playing over the tale to whoever would listen.
Once he successfully made out of the hall he saw the living space. They were in some type of apartment. A few scented candles decorated the area providing little to no light. Still Rem was able to see how pitiable the place was. There was a tiny stove and sink that made up the kitchen. Across from that was a large sofa was pushed into the corner. By the abused look of the furniture he was able to guess that the furniture had been… put to use plenty of times. Between said couch and cooking center was the door. Freedom was only a few feet away, but felt much farther. Dimitri was quick to sprawl himself out across the sofa and cackle, ”So what are you gonna cook us up kiddo?”
’Excuse me?!” Rem asked. There were so many things wrong with that question that he did not even know where to start. How exactly am I supposed to cook with my hands tied up?”
”Oh of course how silly of me…” Dimitri laughed as he snapped. The short goon from earlier was quick to remove the restraints before leaving the two alone. ”Now how ‘bout you cook us up somet’ing sweet… like a cake. That’s it I want a cake. Now get cooking. he pompously pointed at the inatiquate kitchen.
A second past where Rem stood there unmoving. Then he was off to baking. There was hardly any chance of producing a decent cake, but there was a chance that he could cook up an escape. He was actually able to turn up a bag of flour, eggs, and some sugar. Perhaps this kitchen is not as bad as I thought.
After a few minutes of ‘baking’ Dimitri spoke up again, “How goes the cake?”
”Almost done.” Rem lied.
”Now that’s what I like to hear.” Dimitri said chuckling. ”See how good things go when you behave. Everybody’s happy.” In the kitchen Rem tried to avoid rolling his eyes. ”If you weren’t so compliant I might just have to punish you again. Or should I say have myself a little book burning.”
The last part of the comment caught the scientist’s attention. ”What do you-“ He was cut off mid sentence by the horror of seeing Dimitri taking off his jacket and removing his beloved book from one of the pockets. It struck him that he still had the book in the back of his shirt when he left the ship. They must have found it when they stripped him. The tiny annoyances that had been building up were nothing compared to this slap in the face. It was even more upsetting to see that smug look of triumph spread across his captor’s face. I’m gonna make you regret this, you bastard
When Rem’s project was finally done he placed in on one of the bare, rickety tables. Dimitri was quick to jump off the couch to see the ending result. When he saw what Rem had actually presented left him in confusion. ”This aint a cake!” And he was right. What the scientist had presented was a large mixing bowl full of nothing but a pile of flour with a nearly completely melted candle on top. It had taken time to wear the candle down this much, but the wait would be worth the end result. As Dimitri leaned in closer to inspect the contents of the bowl the candle’s wax ran down letting the lit wick hit the baking flour.
Flour, being extremely flamible does not do too well around open flames. In fact some preformers use the substance as a way to blow fireballs. So when the wick hit the content of the bowl a burst of fire erupted. For half a second the flames covered the top half of the leader’s body. A shrill came out of his mouth as he desperately tried to hit away the flames. It would be more frightening than painful, but chances were that the fire would leave its mark on the leader's face. Rem took the opportunity to recover his notebook, ‘borrowed’ the leather jacket from the sofa- he would have taken anything to cover up a bit- and he rid himself of the annoying high heels. Before he made it outside he could hear Dimitri sob, ”Should’ve never taken this fuckin’ job.”
”You were hired to do this?”his anger was doused by his natural curiosity.
”Some loon… from da’ Ardent… Hired us out. Told us to …shake you up a bit…”
So it was a crewmember who caused this. The scientist wished that this could surprise him, but honestly he had almost expected it. Rem left Dimitri alone in the apartment –one of his men would find him soon enough- as he marched back to the Ardent. A few more of the locals gave him some looks as he boarded. It was not very often that they saw an individual wearing little more than a leather jacket and whatever the hell he had under it. A quick glare immediately got the unwanted focus to move elsewhere- some of the townsfolk would later swear that they had encountered a real vampire that day. As he boarded the ship he silently declared war with whoever it was that had hired out the men. When he figured out who the culprit was there would be hell to pay.
The look on his face when she pulled the drugs away was almost picture worthy. It was about as good as dangling a naked man in front of Cas when she was drunk, only to pull it away before she could make a move. Although, the one big difference there was Cas would probably end up shooting everyone. Whereas, Cain would just sit there on his ass, complaining until she was finally forced to fall into a self induced coma to escape his obnoxious voice. You know what? Maybe being shot wasn’t such a bad alternative. “Yer ass hurts because you do nothin’ but sit on it all day” Aleta said with narrowed eyes once she had settled into the chair she had set in front of Cain. “Lazy gobshite” she muttered under her breath as she scooted the chair closer so that she could get a better look at his wrist.
However, he wasn’t making it easy. Go figure… Because she had kept the drugs from him he decided to act like a child. The vein in her forehead was probably bulging by now, it not already about to burst. She was running on no sleep, an empty stomach, and not to mention she had been hoping to get into town and stretch her legs for a bit. The minute she found time to actually breathe, he came gallivanting through the door, making all her plans go flying out the window. Aleta just reached out and grabbed his wrist, a little less gently then she had originally intended to and shot him her best withering stare. “If Yer gonna act like a brat I’m gonna treat ya like one!” she all but growled. However in the time that she had grabbed his hand, he had snatched the drugs out of her other hand. She was obviously not paying enough attention. The red head shot the scruffy pilot an incredulous look “Hey?!...Give me those back!”
Although it was fairly pointless, seeing as before she was even finished speaking they disappeared into his mouth. And all Aleta could do was puff out her cheeks in frustration. That was at the very least double the dose then she had actually intended to give him. “You’re a fucking idiot” she grumbled as she reached over to grab the bandages and the needle that she had brought with her. If he wanted to make an idiot of himself, who was she to stop him. Anyways…according to his childish wail, the pain was pretty widespread. So that meant that it was probably only a little sprain. “You are going to feel more then fuzzy when those finally kick in” she told him as she stuck his wrist with the needle…then began to wrap the bandage a little bit below the injection sight. “If you weren’t such an impatient git I could have given you the accurate amount….but noooo” he and to go and just swipe them out of her hand. What was he…five? Aleta just continued to bandage the arm while blathering on about his idiotic tendencies. However, he was being a little too quiet. “Are you even listening to me!?” she yelled as she finally looked away from what she was doing.
“Cain?”
His eyes were half closed, as if his lids were too heavy to keep open anymore. They fluttered a bit here and there, and when they did Aleta could see that his eyes were dilated. “You feelin’ alright there bub?” she asked, waving a hand in front of his face a few times…no response. “Helloooooo? Anyone home” that was strange, even with the dose he took it would still take at least a five to ten minutes for those drugs to take full effect. “Cain!” she said again, snapping a finger inches away from his nose. And finally, there was movement. The corners of his mouth pulled back into an almost lopsided grin and he spoke…or at least he tried to.
“Belo is a very, very good wife”
Well that was way out of left field. Belo a wife? ….And a good one at that? That was a pretty laughable idea. That was like saying that Cas would make a great babysitter. “Have…have you ever done the deed with a mermaid? I mean, where does it go? They don’t have any ori-orifi-orif…holes. They don’t have any holes. ‘Specially them men types” Cain was laughing, and Aleta just sorta looked at him like he belonged in some sort of psych ward. Was he talking about how to fuck a…merman? Just what the hell went on in that tiny little mind of his. The wheel was still turning, but the hamster was clearly dead.“I can’t say I’ve ever done the deed with anything that had a tail” Aleta said with a small smirk. “That big one though, with the dark hair and pretty eyes. Ya, his face don’t match his shoulders. Too book-smartish face. Not sure what his name was. Should’ve got it…” Book-smartish, now he was talking about Rem. Pretty eyes? This was quickly becoming far too entertaining for words. Aleta would have never pegged Cain as an uphill gardener. Fort maybe, but only because Cas had mentioned to her before that she thought the captain was sly.
Aleta finished bandaging his wrist, and then stood up to tend to the abrasion on his shoulder. However Cain just continued his incoherent babbling. “Matti got real lucky with that redhead.” And then he kinda leapt a little in his seat. “Sit still!” she quickly ordered although she doubted that he actually heard her. His head just kept lolling back and forth, like he didn’t have the strength to keep it upright. Aleta just shook her head slightly as she finished cleaning the scrapes. And what was that he said about a red head? And who the heck was Matti? Cain’s mind was a mysterious and no doubt confusing place. “I got lucky with some mystery chick but she clonked me upside the head before running off. I still haven’t found her!” Hit him upside the head? Well now, that was interesting. “Well I’d like ta meet her and shake her hand, but not before I shower her with disinfectant” Aleta joked as she covered his shoulder with a large adhesive bandage. There, it was all done! She moved back to the chair in front of Cain and sat back down.
“Aight, you might want to rest a bit and sleep off-“
Before she could finish Cain suddenly put a hand on her shoulder and bent over, placing his lips on the right corner of her mouth. Aleta’s chair suddenly slid backward at breakneck speed, and she was on her feet before Cain even hit the ground. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YA DOIN’!” She shrieked at him, although he was already unconscious and sprawled on the floor. She wiped her mouth viciously with her forearm, and spat a couple of times. What the hell was he thinking!? What could have possessed him to….KISS HER…or try to at least. He kinda missed…but that wasn’t the point!! She just stared down at him, her face flushed and her eyes wide. He wasn’t moving, so it seemed as though he was out cold. Well…good riddance! The shit head could just sleep on the floor! God she was going to have to gargle absinthe to get rid of the bacteria.
Although for Aleta, sleeping on the floor didn’t seem like enough to make up for the stunt he had just pulled. However, she had an idea of what might make her feel better. She stalked out of the clinic and was gone only momentarily. When she came back, she was toting a small bag. No, it wasn’t full of feminine hygiene products….but it was filled with all sorts of cosmetics. A feral grin crossed over Aleta’s features as she descended upon the passed out pilot. When she was finished, Cain would fit right in with the whores of Fort Rock. A generous amount of rouge and red lipstick would really suit him. Oh and slathering on a blue eye shadow would really bring out his eyes. Aleta was just shy of finishing her little make-over when in walked Fergus. She heard the clinic door open, and merely glanced up at the pimply little deckhand. “What? I think the look suits him” Aleta said with a crafty little smile as she capped the lipstick and stood up “So what can I do you for?”
“Uhhhh” great answer. Give it a minute, Fergus never was the brightest apple in the bushel. Wait for it…..“Oh, Uh…yea…Cas sent me to come get you…she was all….slam my door!…and Go get me Aleta!” Good job, someone get the kid a cookie.
Aleta just quirked a brow at the boy, Her work was never done it seemed. If Cas was asking someone to slam her door, then something must have upset her. “Okey Dokey then…” was all Aleta said as she stepped over Cain’s body and made her way towards the door. “Aren’t you goin ta put him in a bed?” She heard Fergus ask as she passed him by. “Nope” And that was that. The door swung shut behind her, leaving Cain all dolled up and passed out on the floor, like a good little hoe bag. Although she was tired, Aleta couldn’t help but feel a little bit better now. So she wore a little smirk all the way to Cas’ room. Once she was there she rapped three times on the door…”Housekeeping!” she called in a high pitched voice. It would surely summon the elf to the door, either to pull her inside or to shoot her where she stood.
Aleta would prefer that it not be the latter of the two.....
Cas Seingalt had long since retreated into the safety of her down feather covers, where the surrounding warmth and the chocolate treats she’d dragged into bed gave nothing but comfort. She’d first nibbled, than began to wolf down each of the pastries, one by one, until her fingers were sticky sweet and the clean sheets were scattered with crumbs. Tears welled up, a ridiculous amount of them, stinging and then drying in lines across her skin. In agony, she lost her luster.
All the while, the elf was tormenting herself. She’d displeased her master, albeit a human one, and that was unacceptable. And shameful. And terribly, terribly embarrassing, though she was grateful for being the only one to know the embarrassment. She had so gravely misinterpreted someone who, had he been the god he was replacing, she should have known intimately well. And for whatever reason, he had no desire to know her intimately as a companion, nor as a lover. She had no god, no godschild, and she’d ruined her best chance at whatever replacement was left. And that made her heart twinge and tighten and the tears spill and the sweets taste oh so good, and the covers feel so warm and needed.
Cas sniffed and felt her lips, frowning. So stupid of her to kiss Cain. Dirty, shamefully stupid. She winced. And how stupid of her to give up on Fort, then and now. The humans were starting to rub off on her—
Three sharp knocks on the door, then the familiar, almost painful voice of Aleta. Cas winced again at the noise, then slowly rose from her bed, leaving a mess of crumbs and bags and tearstained pillows in her wake. She opened the door a crack, just to check it was Aleta, then tugged her in and quickly shut the door.
Awkwardly she smoothed down her crumpled and now slightly knotted length of hair, embarrassed at how she must look. The elf was a stickler for reputation, to the horror of the crewmembers, and it killed her to be seen as anything but a beautiful, violent hard-ass. Aleta being the exception—she even tried to keep her emotions in check around Fort, despite her trust of him. But the doctor had always been helpful, annoyingly so, and Cas could not help but respect and even trust her after the girl—or woman, as it were—had saved her life. She’d turned to the redhead’s help before, though it was a rare and desperate move on the elf’s part and she’d never been as upset as she was today. A melodramatic personality, hormones that raged in frightening ways, and simple loneliness made her reach out for Aleta. And, perhaps, though she would not admit it, she did enjoy her company.
Cas continued to smooth the hair down and run her fingers through the knots in her hair as Aleta entered the room. What would she even say to Aleta, she wondered. A human couldn’t understand it. They were loose, and unruly, and thought of duty as a cheap and political weapon. She wondered if they even felt loneliness, or emptiness, if they were even aware of how cheap their lives were. Gods, did she envy them sometimes.
The elf bit her lip, sitting down slowly on the bed and searching for the simplest way to explain her pain. She glanced up at the blissful, ignorant human and sighed.
“Not that your kind would understand…” she began, then stopped, frowning. No, that wasn’t right, that wouldn’t help Aleta understand. Hells, nothing would. She shook her head, giving up on the matter, and decided it would help just to talk whether or not she was understood, as she sometimes did when speaking to dogs or birds about her feelings. “I made Fort very mad. I was upset that he’s told me not to kill children, and teased him for being sly, and—” she paused to take in a breath, eyes threatening to water again “—said it was the only reason he kept Cain on, and he told me not to question him, and to walk away, a-and. And,” she frowned, very deeply, her lip trembling, “he said he’s not sly, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and why has he gotten a new gunner, a-and now I’m ashamed because I…” she looked away, blood rushing to her cheeks. She glanced up, then away, then quickly snatched one of the few treats left, and began to nibble on it sulkily. “Not that your kind would understand. But I did something shameful with Cain. I feel dirty. Like a human,” she added, curling her lip and feeling a bit better insulting Aleta’s kind.
It wasn’t long before Aleta could here movement on the other side of the door. She watched as the knob jiggled, then turned. There was a creak as the door was cracked open just a little, and Aleta could see a single brown eye peering up at her from between the crack. “Yo? you wanted to see – Wah!?” she was cut off as the assassins slender hand swiftly reached out and yanked her into the room. A simple come on in would have been fine. Although, Cas really wasn’t the polite kind of gal, so Aleta really shouldn’t have been surprised. The door slammed nosily behind the red head, and then all was silent…except for the sound of Aleta’s own footsteps as she came deeper into the room. Her emerald eyes quickly came to settle upon the petite elf standing there in front of her. And it was defiantly not what she expected. Now sure Fergus had said that Cas was upset, but Aleta didn’t really expect to find the assassin in such a distraught state. The normal stone cold expression was gone, replaced by one that clearly had despair and shame written all across it. Even her normally neat brown hair was somewhat unkempt and her make-up smudged…something that Cas would never stand for. The fierce woman was always careful to keep her appearance pristine and for lack of better words…breathtaking. I mean, when the deckhands weren’t cowering they were probably busy mopping up their own drool.
Aleta was probably the only one who ever got to see Cas looking completely disheveled, and still lived to see another day. And that was because for some reason or another, Cas seemed trust her enough to be her own little confidant when called upon. Which was funny to think about, seeing as when they first met Cas had tried to put a hole in her head with that gun of hers. Now Aleta would have liked to blame it on the drugs, but everyone knew better then that. The drugs had only made her miss her mark…
Anyways the fact that Cas felt comfortable enough to let down her guard around her made Aleta feel a little special. I mean hell you didn’t see the elf crying to Fort, who she respected above pretty much everyone. And Aleta wasn;t going to deny that it made her feel somewhat appreciated. Which was nice…seeing as that was more then she could say for a lot of the crew, the bunch of ungrateful gits. Anyways…why was she here again? Oh yea, that’s right Cas. Geez, it looked like she had been bawling her eyes out. And from the looks of the crumbs scatter on the bed and floor Aleta felt that it was safe to assume that the short woman had also drowned her depression in sweets. Now had this been anyone else Aleta probably would have asked them what the hell had their panties in a twist. However when it came to dealing with Cas the doc had learned over time that it was best to just let the woman talk and not to interrupt. So Aleta just stood by silently as Cas got herself settled on the bed.
And after a few moments of prolonged silence, she finally spoke. “Not that your kind would understand…” she began only to stop. Heh, she was probably trying to find a way to reqord it to make it less insulting. It was really no secret that Cas felt that humans were primitive when compared to herself. To be honest Aleta really could get why Cas felt that humans would never be able to understand anything that elves felt. I mean, were the emotions of an elf that complex? Who really know? Aleta was a doctor, not a psychologist. Finally after a few minutes of thinking, Cas began again, skipping the whole ‘your kind’ opener. “I made Fort very mad. I was upset that he’s told me not to kill children, and teased him for being sly, and—” It didn’t make sense up until Cas mentioned that she had poked fun at the captain for being sly. I mean her telling him not to kill a kid was a fairly regular occurrence when they were docked. However the fact that she thought he was sly was never something that should have been shared with him. Aleta yes, by all means share away, but Fort himself…bad idea.
“—said it was the only reason he kept Cain on, and he told me not to question him, and to walk away, a-and. And” she paused slightly to try and calm herself down. It look like she was ready to burst back into tears again. “he said he’s not sly, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and why has he gotten a new gunner, a-and now I’m ashamed because I” she stopped midsentence to grab another treat. Apparently she needed chocolate to get her through the rest of her story. “Not that your kind would understand. But I did something shameful with Cain. I feel dirty. Like a human,” Thankfully Aleta had been around Cas enough not to get riled up about her comments about humans. They were inferior beings blah blah blah, whatever. Aleta just pretty much learned to ignore the racist comments. I mean it was useless to fight the elf on her views, and being childish and just yelling ‘well yeah! You’re short’ would be childish and probably get her shot. So turning the other cheek was the best way to deal with the remarks.
Now that Aleta had heard the entire story she could see why Cas would be crying. The fact that Fort told her that he wasn’t sly obviously irked her. And that was probably because he had never made any advances on her. Now Cas was a women who was used to being desired, so the thought of the captain possibly not finding her attractive was probably a shock to her little system. So she immediately assumed something was wrong with her and that immediately made her leap to the possibility that maybe the new guy…J….J something was brought aboard to replace her. Or at least that’s what Aleta managed to decipher from what the elf had to say. Although the last comment about doing something shameful with Cain required a few more minutes to click. However when it did, it made Aleta kinda want to shake the elf and demand that she decontaminate herself immediately. The mystery woman that he had been babbling about, the one that knocked him upside the head after planting one on him, was the sneaky priss sitting in front of her.
“Ah…so you are the mystery woman he was blathering about” The same woman that for some reason he had mistaken the red head for. Now Cas already seemed incredibly ashamed about what she had done so Aleta decided not to go on much more about the incident. “ Lets just forget about said shameful act and just try and focus on the nasty whack you gave him yea?” Aleta said with a wide grin. Although Aleta’s pitiful attempt to brighten the elf up didn’t seem to work out as well as she had hoped.
So Aleta just sighed and plopped Indian style down on the floor in front of Cas. She didn’t think Cas would take kindly to a human on her bed. And she wasn’t about to risk bodily harm to find out. And at least this way, if Aleta was on the floor…she wouldn’t be talking down to the woman. “ Don’t you pay that new shit eatin’ gunner any mind, he's about as limp as they come. Did you see him out there shootin' at that sea beastie...cause I didn't! Probably below deck pissin' in his knickers" she snorted with laughed at the idea. " I mean even if Fort was cross with you there is no way in hell he could find anyone with a shot quite like yours to replace you with” Aleta said, looking up at the depressed femme-fatal. “So don’t go thinkin’ somethin’s wrong with ya? Cause there ain’t” Aside from sporadically shooting crewmembers that is. “And Fort won’t stay mad for long, no matter what ya did he isn’t one to hold a grudge, especially one against you” she said with a little smile. “I mean hell, he hasn’t thrown me and Cain overboard yet has he?” Which really said something about the Captain’s forgiving and patient nature. Their constant bickering couldn’t be relaxing after all.
“He’s a complex one, you know? Always to busy worrying about the ship and dealing with all of us to really have a life yea? Even if he actually was sly he would probably never even have any time to actually sit and think about finding a lover” Aleta said, scratching her head slightly. Man, she really sucked at this explaining thing. In fact she probably really sucked at trying to cheer the girl up in general. All she was trying to say was that Cas shouldn’t think that just because Fort didn’t hit on her that meant she wasn’t pretty. I mean, cause that was stupid. Cas was probably the prettiest thing aboard the goddamn ship…aside from the captain himself. Not that Aleta would ever admit it, but she did sort of envy Cas’ beauty and the attention that she usually got. What? The doc wasn’t made of stone you know. It would probably shock the almighty elf to know that even the pale human loon living in the clinic felt pangs of loneliness from time to time. Not that she would ever make it obvious…I mean it was hard for most to imagine Aleta as anything but energetic and loud.
Cain woke with a headache being paddled back and forth between his eyeballs, the weird sensation of a very fat tongue, and a bitch of a crick in his neck. His cheek was pressed against worn wood paneling and slightly sticky, probably from leaking spit out his gaping hole of a mouth. All in all, he felt like he’d just woken up after drinking half his blood to liquor on the floor of a bar. He knew that wasn’t what had happened and for the life of him, he wished it was. Waking up without knowing whether he had severely embarrassed himself or not was a hell of distance better than waking up flat-out knowing you’d f*cked up in front of the last person in the world you wanted to f*ck up in front of. When he finally sat up, all he could do was slam his head against the cot behind him and drag his palm down his face. He would have settled on just sitting there in his own spit and misery for a moment had his hand not come off his face caked in oil. Various shades of oil. At least that’s what it felt like. It only took him a few moments and some dumb blinking before he realized his palm was slathered with the remnants of make-up. Cain never preferred make-up on women. He was an advocate of ugly chicks where make-up to make themselves seem less ugly; it was far easier for him to handle women if they looked better, but the natural look had always been his favorite. Not liking cosmetics on women only made it so much worse for him knowing it was on his own face.
Cain didn’t even stand. He just reached up and slapped his hand around on the table where Aleta’s supplies had been, picking up random instruments in an attempt to find something shiny and large enough to get a good picture. Tossing the needle haphazardly made a nearby patient yelp and hide under his sheets. Cain shoved up onto his feet, looked at the lad, and muttered an ashamed “You nip.” It made no sense whatsoever due to the faint buzz left in his system from the meds; it was the tone that made it seem like being a nip was one of the worst things to do. Second to being Aleta. Third to being a dolphin-humper. Dolphins should not be humped by people. That’s just wrong…
After his train of thought reset itself on the original tracks, Cain wandered over to a basin and used any water and cloth he could find to scrub his face. First thing he grabbed made the scrapes on his chin burn so he stopped and tried something else. He scrubbed furiously, cursing repeatedly into the washcloth as it was stained with reds and blues. His mutterings crossed languages and the rules of grammar were overturned. Anything to keep him from hunting down that damned doctor and lashing her to the f*cking snapped mast.
No one painted his face.
He needed a damn mirror. Taking the washcloth, Cain stalked off towards his quarters and his shaving station there. He’d probably need to shave to get all this crap off his face anyway. Gawdamnit, if she ruined his scruff, he was not just going to lash her to the mast. He would tie her up, douse her in pig or chicken blood, and throw her off the bow into the water however many feet they were above it. Then he’d sit back in a chair, pretend to be fishing, and laugh when the sharks started biting. He shut his door behind him and looked in his mirror, tipping his chin this way and that to get a good look. Everything seemed to have come off except for a bit of black around his eyes. His beard was intact. Alright, maybe he’d just leave the chicken blood in her bed. She didn’t kill his beard so he wouldn’t kill her. Fair was fair.
Dropping the washcloth in the basin, Cain went over and flopped on his cot. Then he bolted from the room to the infirmary to retrieve his box. When he got back, he stored it in his usual spot and laid back down. He hadn’t slept in his bed since they had first docked in Cann, before this entire trip had started. It felt nice, comfortable. Cain laid in that position until the buzz from the pain meds went away and the slight sting of his wounds returned. He’d give Aleta some credit: she could dress injuries very well. If it was deemed necessary, he could probably fly with his other hand for a short while. That was only if someone deemed it necessary like…a giant fish or an island of belly-dancing gypsies that warranted a sharp turn away or towards. Otherwise, it would be one-handed most of the way.
Cain rolled over and checked his pocket watch. When had they planned on shipping out? He couldn’t remember. If it was tomorrow, he would probably be on the ship anyway. As he buttoned up a new shirt, Cain let out a sigh of disappointment. He’d wanted to spend the night in some local woman’s room and maybe rid himself of these bat-shit crazy dreams he’d been having. Pulling on his vest and tucking away his compass and watch, he glanced at the box of smokes on his shelf. Maybe the deficiency of proper toxin inhalation had caused his weird self mind-f*cks. Just in case, he grabbed one and a match before heading up on deck and to his station. He wasn’t sure if they were even planning on flying out early or not. He saw the Captain making his way back on board and assumed they were.
Just in case, he waited a good while for the command to take off. He probably fell asleep in his chair for a period of time. The sun had dropped a good deal when he regained consciousness and that was the only way he could tell he’d passed out.
When he felt like all the important parts of the crew had filed aboard and he’d received the all clear, Cain made his calls and started the Ardent back out to the sea air.
Cas sighed inwardly, knowing Aleta was about to begin to give advice. She didn’t want advice, she just wanted someone to listen to her. Maybe she should have just talked to a dog. Not having a dog, however, she was forced to turn to Aleta and her “advice”.
“Ah…so you are the mystery woman he was blathering about!” the doctor said. Cas’ head jerked up, eyes wide as the woman grinned at her, sat on the ground, and continued chattering with her useless drivel. Cas opened her mouth to speak but Aleta continued, oblivious. Fine, then. She would hold her questions for later, she thought grudgingly.
Still, despite her unwillingness to listen, the elf couldn’t help but feel her spirits lift a little as Aleta spoke. The new gunner hadn’t even been above deck? She let herself smile just a little hearing that. If the doctor had noticed, certainly Fort would have. She bit her lip, the ends of her lips lifting just slightly. And, Aleta was right, he hadn’t gotten rid of either of them…still…she shook her head. No, of course, she should have known a human wouldn’t understand. She wasn’t afraid of being let go, but of displeasing him. And that she’d so obviously done.
She bit her lip a little harder at Aleta’s last sentence, looking away. Gods, if her mother could know how far she’d fallen. How pathetic this was, she thought. Elves weren’t meant to pine for lovers, or whisper behind closed doors of loneliness. Cas groaned at the thought and leaned forward, laying her head on her knees. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This had been embarrassing enough without someone to share it with.
The elf sighed and after a moment looked up. Hesitantly she spoke. “Blathering about...?” She offered a half-hearted smile. She let herself feel a little better, despite her failure. “What did he say?”
Cas Seingalt sat up suddenly, the thin blanket falling from her chest and collecting in a crumple at her waist. She winced, raising a hand to shield herself from the light filtering through the grime on the little window to her left. Her side was sore, and she fought down a gasp as she pushed herself off to bed and gripped the bedpost for support.
“Eh, you might not want to get up just yet. You’re still healing.”
The elf frowned and turned slowly, still waking up. She recognized the voice, and it took her a few moments to attach it to the redhead who’d woken her last time. Less annoying now, more restrained. She frowned slowly, remembering that she’d tried to shoot the woman last time. Perhaps, then, she’d learned her lesson.
“How long have I been out?” the elf asked, then blinked. Her voice was rough, as if she hadn’t used it in a while. Long, then. She felt her throat, frowning as she massaged the flesh there.
“Long enough,” the redhead said dismissively. She seemed annoyed at something. Cas really didn’t care to ask what about, as long as it didn’t bother her. Slowly she looked around the room, wondering where exactly she was. Calm, detached. Wherever she was, it was safer than the alternative. The door opened and another redhead—this one tall, a very pretty man—stepped in. She eyed him warily, noticing the blade at his side and feeling foolish for not knowing where hers was. He crossed his arms and looked at her for a long few moments. Thinking, she could tell. Cas frowned, not trusting of the man’s thoughts, and half-turned towards the dresser at the bed’s side, seeking the revolver that should have been there.
It wasn’t. And her blade and rifle were nowhere in sight. Now she was starting to panic.
“You won’t find them. I’ll not have you attacking my crew, and certainly not after we spent valuable resources helping you.” The man’s voice. She looked behind her, a frown embedded in her lips. Crew? Still on the airship, then. He sounded annoyed. “I’m waiting for a reason not to drop you back off on the street. If you’re walking, you must be healed.”
Cas looked away suddenly to hide the fear crossing her face. How long had she been asleep? How long would it be before they stopped searching for her? There was no telling what would happen if they kicked her off the street. She swallowed, and started opening the drawers one by one looking for the gun, though she knew it wasn’t there. But the motion would hide the shaking in her hands.
Finally, having had a moment to calm herself, she turned to him and raised her chin a little. Her mind worked as fast as an elf’s could: which was, admittedly, a little slow. She was built for physical strategy, not social.
The elf parted her lips, readying her words. “I…am a trained fighter.” It was the best answer she could give. She’d considered trying a little seduction but a combination of the man’s effeminate clothing, lack of having touched her, and her desiring anything but selling her body made her turn to other options.
The man raised his eyebrows, doubtful. “You carry a gun, and don’t even have good aim. Doesn’t make you a fighter.”
Cas’ own eyebrows knit in annoyance. “I can learn. And I was trained with a blade. Perhaps if you stop hiding it from me I can show you,” she finished, snapping at him. The man raised his eyebrows, before letting out a laugh. “Very well.”
“Oh, Caaaaaaaaaaain~” The giant grunted, stopping only momentarily in his path, his eyes unfocused and dazed, as if he’d just been sleeping. “Meet the crewbie!”
After the Captain’s and Cas’ long tussle, first with swords, then with words (as Fort had found out, Cas refused to negotiate with him. He set the terms and that was that) over her contract, the redheaded doctor had taken to showing her around the ship. Her wounds had still not entirely healed, and she walked awkwardly under the bandages and the borrowed, too-loose dress. She would have to buy her own once she’d gotten her first payment.
Cas had long since tuned the woman’s chattering out, but curiosity snapped her out of the daze at this. Aleta had brought her to the pilot—Cas raised her eyes, wondering how he could be sleeping on the job—and was intent, over-enthusiastically so, on introducing the two of them. It left the elf just a little worried.
The scruffy man trained his eyes up her, disinterested, until they reached her head. They flicked to each side of her, noticing the ears, then he grunted again.
“Hells, ‘Leta, where’re you supposed to keep a sex slave? We ain’t got any closets.” Cas’ mouth dropped open in shock, and the giant noticed this, chuckling. “You're mighty short. Saves your knees the trouble when giving head, don’t it,” he added before continuing in his path.
Cas stared after him, openmouthed and speechless. “He—!” she started, then shut her mouth with a snap, blood rushing to her cheeks. Behind her, the doctor had doubled over and was laughing so hard tears were streaming from her eyes. A few of the other crewmembers were chuckling as well. The elf could feel her ears turning pink with embarrassment, and a moment later had curled her small hands into fists and stormed below deck, already beginning to plan her revenge.
As the two spoke, slowly the sun dipped to the horizon and brilliant yellow-orange light flooded the room, lighting Aleta’s too-eager face. Cas looked up, feeling the Ardent slowly lift from dock and rise into the air. That meant Fort was back. She pushed herself up from the bed, nervous suddenly. She probably looked a mess, with her hair tangled and her dress scattered with crumbs. Quickly she brushed her dress clean and darted out the door, leaving Aleta in the room alone.
Cas hurried through the halls and up the stairs, brushing her hands through her hair the entire way. She’d half-risen above deck, then spotted her reflection in a piece of the ship’s metal. Panicking, she retreated quickly below deck and spent another minute trying to untangle her hair. Finally, somewhat content, she lifted her skirts and hurried once again up the steps. It took her a bit to spot Fort, but finally she spotted his brilliant red hair as it caught the sunlight. She swallowed hard, never having done this before. Slowly Cas approached him, biting her bottom lip. She took a slow breath, trying to keep it quiet and unnoticeable, then let it out just as slowly.
She looked away and crossed her arms, attempting the best image of nonchalance as she could. It helped calm her nerves a little. “I apologize,” she said in a restrained voice.
Port ma’Deu, Eighth Hour of the Tenth Day of Spring
A few months later…
As the sun dips low behind the Kerrian mountains, only the familiar silhouette of the ma’Deu watchtower can be seen. As the Ardent slowly begins its descent and nears the port town, figures can be seen in the tower. It is quite obviously Old Sam and his many children: his shadow stands tall above the many excited ones below him, while another still, woman’s silhouette stands to the side. Likely his eldest daughter, Au-born Tassa. Old Sam signals to the people far below him, and faintly the crew can hear something being shouted. Suddenly in the darkness of the town, a great many lights come to life. Music can be heard playing.
When they arrive, they discover that it is Tassa’s eighteenth birthday. Having spotted the Ardent, she requested they hold the celebration until they arrive. And now as they enter the tiny port town, they find that Old Sam has really spoiled her. The entire town is joining in the party, with drinking, dancing, and music. They are surprised to find a retired crewmate or two now married and with children. Another, they learn, has passed away. They need to hire the guide who will lead them deep into the Kerrian wilderness, but the night beckons and Sam insists they join the celebration.
The Fortune’s Friend has been resting its weary engines nearby. The townspeople remember that Rudain stopped in town and that he’s asked a little about Fort, but he doesn’t seem like any trouble and they haven’t thought anything of it. What they do not know is that he and his ship have been waiting since their arrival a day or two ago—they hit a terrible storm, pirates, and a Tyrisian blockade—for the Ardent to arrive. Rudain intends to say "hello" to Fort's crew.
There is another group lurking in the town. The people of ma’Deu know that a few well-dressed, pleasant-seeming Kerrian men from the north have been staying, asking about Fort’s Innate. They’re scholars, they say, and interested in meeting her. They and the very short hooded woman with them with them will approach Belo at their first opportunity.
Days became weeks. Weeks accumulated and became months. Eventually, strength returned to her mangled arm and life returned to its usually, unremarkable state. She played her part and upheld her end of the contract, engaging in conversation when compelled, but taking little joy from the forced small talk of the bustling crew. No love for Cas blossomed during that time and Belo didn't expect it too. In fact, her racism seemed to be strengthening with each passing day. The creature was just so lust-driven that it irked the Innate. The sight of the narrow-eared girl stirred the contents of her stomach until a gag threatened to escape in the hallway as the two passed each other. But Belo made no aggressive advances. It simply was not in her nature. When attack, defend. That was the rule she had to abide by and it did her well... usually.
Every now and then, an exception slipped through. It didn't ease her conscience and usually left her wallowing in regret. Instead, she continued with her typical pranks. She couldn't help the smile that crept across her lips when she passed Cas' door just past dawn, letting the screams of disgust echo in her ears like a pleasant melody. The sound satisfied far more than any blow she could deliver.
Belo bottled the resentment she felt towards Cain and enacted no vengeance. Instead, she clipped her words of greeting and responded with blanks stares rather than witty repartee. She wasn't sure what to think of their unconscious encounter and she still hadn't been able to properly throttle Fergus for standing by while he committed the deed. She had a truce the the uncouth pilot and actually found him to be decent company when he wasn't busy show-boating or upturning the hull in death-defying displays of piloting. The poor Ardent was not invincible and would break under the proper tension if Cain pushed her to it.
She almost felt pity for the vessel that kept them safe high above the treacherous seas. Perhaps she'd even miss it when her contract finally terminated. Only a few months to go before payday. Then the cycle would begin again. She was growing accustomed to the system, but she took no pleasure in the interviewing process. Fort had been an unusually understanding employer when he reviewed her credentials. The odds of finding another captain with the same moral standards were laughable. Perhaps it was time to consider another line of work. Piracy, perhaps.
Their return to ma'Deu was not something she anticipated highly. Belo had no standing relationship with the retired crew and there was no homecoming to be had. Only a few salty miscreants of the shipyards dared call her friend. She hadn't given much thought to calling on Garis or Tuel. They weren't the sort who'd skulk home if you missed an appointment. Belo had no patience for the high maintenance acquaintances. Kerria may have been her motherland, but this port smelled of foreign air. Home was in the deep country and Turado wasn't exactly a frequent stop for local transit. She was fairly certain that most didn't even bother to include the townstead on their maps.
This was no pleasure cruise. She had business to attend to. That meant restocking her liquor cabinet. It was a matter of utmost importance and she simply couldn't stand for interruption. Followed by an incredibly subtle trip to the local library, where she would check out a few books with a forged library card and never return them, as was her own personal tradition. The months at sea had driven her deep into her own thoughts and she'd toyed too much with the idea of going back to school. Her salary might afford her a few semesters at a smaller university and she was more inclined to spend the rest of her life working in the belly of a locomotive than floating above the world as a living, breathing weapon of mass destruction.
"Out of the way, gutrot," she muttered as she shoved past Fergus, forcing herself through the hall with more force than she would have employed with anyone else. She still hadn't forgiven Fergus for his insubordination and frankly, she just didn't like the rat. He was a squirmy fellow with a loose tongue that annoyed her something fierce.
Irritability with the deckhand aside, she was having a relatively good day as she tromped down the gangway just as it was laid down. Belo slapped on her cap by the bill and buckled the wrists of her gloves, disguising the metal digits as she prepared to venture out into the sunlight. Instinct steered her feet towards the pub, but the memory of her last encounter with the proprietor slowed her steps. She stopped a few yards from the Ardent and slumped onto a munitions crate, situating her rucksack as she bit her lip, racking her brain for another inn that didn't have her face tacked to the back wall as a warning. Belo was running out of viable lodgings.
Fort crossed the deck, his silver-buckled boots clicking time against the soarwood decking, keeping tempo with the steady churn of his thoughts. Whatever, Rudain had in mind in Kerria, Fort was utterly against it coming to fruition. It did not matter what it might be. Knowing the man as he did, Fort doubted that it was conscionable. Hell, he doubted it was within the ken of a moral man’s breadth of scope. Rudain was only a hair away from being a monster from the faerie stories, all breath of shadow and fell calculation. A fucking monster.
Not fair. A man. A monster had no choice but to be a monster. Rudain bled. He’d bled plenty when they’d last had it out. A man. One who’d chosen to play the monster, and was all the more wicked for his ability to choose.
Fort called out his orders. “Make ready to sail. Wind’s surging westerly, I’d say we follow suit. Cain, get us—“ The words were hardly out of his mouth before the Aeronaut had the ship (half-composed of the quick-fix repairs of both the ship’s crew and the Badger’s boys) angling skyward. Fort let his lips peel into something that no doubt shared common lineage with a smile. His crew was unbridled, to be certain, and willful in a way which put mules very much to shame, but when push came to shove, they knew what was expected of them. And there were none better.
Fort turned over the port gunwale and dipped into a bow, raising an arm to give his farewell to the town which thought him a legend amid a crew of heroes. More than a few dancing bits of cloth met the wave gesture for gesture as hats and handkerchiefs were waved in return. Fort turned away ready to ensure that all was squared away. When he was half-way through his turn, he came…well, face to face is somewhat less than accurate. Navel to face with Cas.
She was still out of sorts. It did not take a genius or a master of the language of the body to spot the redness of her eyes or the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth. Still, she seemed to compose herself, taking great care to hide any sort of weakness as she drew her soft little breath and affected her air of nonchalance. “I apologize.” Sweet, simple, and to the point. That was Cas, through and through. Except for the first three things.
Fort offered his peculiar little wolf’s smile, a half-formed thing which pulled at the left corner of his mouth, exposing a single gently pointed canine as he turned away already heading for the cabin from which he would plan his little war against Rudain, his chuckle just shades above inaudible as it whispered from between his lips.
“Bygones.”
***
“It doesn’t have to go this way, Rudain.”
Fort bled from a wound in his left shoulder, a place where his opponent’s blade had been diverted from its lethal course, but only just. Another, a nettlesome wound which laced the outer edge of his right thigh, screamed in protest as he dressed up his form, ensuring the proper placement of his feet as he readied himself for his former captain’s next attack.
“Of course not, Carlyle. You could surrender.”
His voice might’ve been pleasant had he not bared a horseman’s saber already wet with Fort’s own blood. Instead, the gratified smirk was enough to set Fort’s teeth on edge. He lunged.
Steel clashed with steel as the fencers fought on, circling warily as they committed to the steps of a dance ages old; Men had been about the business of killing each other long before these two had ever drawn their first breath, and it was a step that came just as naturally as their first squalling cry. Circle, breathe, bleed. Thrust to parry to riposte to parry to lock to an aching moment of silence as defenses were probed.
They were alone in the midst of the burning village, the thatchwork and daub charring over, crusting like black blood over a stagnant wound ripe with decay. The fires were burning low already, much of the crew would be about gathering their spoils. Wine, women, and the glint of ill-gotten gold. A pirate’s dream. A scene of Bosch’s very own hellscape for a man with a scrap of soul left to flutter in his chest. Fort felt the whistle of steel flicker by the lobe of his left ear. Rudain had misjudged his thrust and bitten only air, leaving himself open.
Fort didn’t need any more invitation. His rapier sang like an indignant archangel. Rudain screamed like a devil doused with holy-water. And around them both the darkness closed in.
Throne…the shadows.
***
Fortinbras Carlyle awoke with a start, jolted from the mists of Morpheus by some half-remembered phantasm. Something ominous and formless. It danced at the edges of his perception, even as his eyes opened, dispelling the dream. They swept through the room, probing the corners and identifying the room as his own. He'd fallen asleep in his chair again.
The heavy black leather which often served as his bed had once made the peculiar squeaking sound particular to well-cured leather. Now, however, many hours had rendered the leather silent save for the rasp of cloth against its surface. Such a rasp whickered through the room as the captain gained his feet, peering through the bay window at the back of the cabin as he ran a hand over his jaw and the stubble that was already mounting a counter-attack to the indignity of its loss to his straight-razor the morning before. Port ma’Deu. He knew that skyline anywhere.
An unbidden smile creased Fort’s features as he walked toward the window, dressed in little save his favorite black leather breeches and an open tunic the color of orphan’s tears and cornflowers at midnight. He reached out and braced a hand upon the plated-glass and soaked it in.
Nosedive had never felt so very much like home as this place. Fort stepped back, lacing his tunic and reaching for the black and silver studded leather jupon which he’d laid out for the day before surrendering to the wiles of the women who sang sweet lullabies to the exhausted. The rustle of the well-cured Tyrisian leather against the Bursian silk played counterpoint to the jangle of tack as he reached for his sword-belt and fastened it low about his hips. The bolter, cleaned and polished before he'd ever considered sleep, lay on his desk.
Dressed and armed, Fortinbras Carlyle stepped from his cabin into the early evening glare with a genuine smile playing at the corners of his lips, making him, for the moment, seem almost like a Throne’s-honest human being.
Trials and tribulations, the crew of the Ardent had in spades. But it was the simple things that kept them going. And Port ma’Deu, a place where even the most hard-bitten sky-dog could feel like he was home, was one of them.
Fort’s acceptance of her apology had been an unexpected occurence, but then again, so had the reaction which called for it in the first place. Still, Cas was not entirely comfortable in the months to come and maintained an apologetic air as she watched her step around him. Crew shootings sharply declined after that, but steadily rose to their normal amount as her patience wore thin and her confidence grew to a more acceptable level. Nevertheless there was little Cas did not do in her attempts to make up for the incident, a behavior which any suicidal person might have referred to as groveling. The crew, luckily, was not suicidal and any further incidents were avoided.
One thing, however, continued to bother Cas, even as she descended the gangplank as politely as possible after having been shooed off by the ship’s repairmen. Shooed, of course, referring to a rather nasty quarrel which had very nearly ended in one of the engineer’s kissing his ass goodbye. The elf grinned at a thought, pleased with the small step in regaining her dignity (even if only she cared or noticed). But then her mind returned to the words uttered by her Captain so many months ago:
“Ain’t sly, Playfair. Just prefer blondes.”
Even now, the memory was making her seethe with something indescribable. Blondes. What, like Belo? she thought with a rather unladylike snort that earned her a disturbed look from one of the villagers. Still, if he did prefer blondes, the least she could do was make his view all the more pleasing. And perhaps in the process get him to notice her just for the once—not that it was her intention to, she assured herself, it would simply be a harmless side effect. One which she would simply bear if she had to.
Nodding to herself at this apparently perfectly reasonable train of thought, Cas continued on her path towards her first destination: a bakery. She hadn’t been to ma’Deu quite as many times as she’d been to Fort Rock, and had yet to pick just which bakery had the finest treats. Neither had the bakers quite gotten used to her half-sugarysweet, half-demanding demeanor. Ah, and now they would be treated to all of that while she was in a rush. So it was that the owners of this as-of-yet undiscovered shop were a little more than surprised to see the little gun-toting elf tug for a full thirty seconds on their door, huff her way in, and spend another thirty seconds poring with the greatest concentration over their display.
The elf looked up, eyes narrowed, and pressed one thin finger to the glass. “That one.” After a moment she added: “Do you know any wigmakers in town?”
The owners, having spent the entire time eyeing her, suddenly remembered their duty to be polite, and quickly shuffled the desired treat from its case after a few nervous questions about quantity and gift-wrapping. After a few moments of chin-tapping, the location of said wigmaker was revealed. Cas then—not entirely realizing she was doing it—used her revolver in a very pointed remark about how she was going to leave her purchase here and come back for it, and it better not be disturbed when she came back. Ignoring the nervous reminder that the shop closed in five minutes, she pushed the door open and exited to the street.
There was only one wigmaker in town, she’d been told, and she headed directly towards his shop. She paused at the window, frowning at the displays. Two blonde wigs, both the dullest of yellows. Her lip curled. No, no, this simply wouldn’t do. She needed something far better.
Frustrated, she began to look around. She was surrounded by almost exclusively Kerrians. What were the chances she could find a blonde girl—with well-kept, and long hair—at this hour? This was awful. She felt incredibly annoyed at herself for not doing this in Fort Rock while she’d had the chance, but no, damn her, she’d been too busy bawling her eyes out—
Ah!
Cas blinked, hardly believing her eyes. Bless the gods! A little interracial girl. Dark of skin, light of hair, just like Belo. Her hand flew to her breast, and she sighed happily. Maybe she really hadn’t sinned so badly if they were being this kind to her. The girl was even without parents, lost as could be. A wicked, toothy grin possessed her, which she quickly suppressed so as not to scare the little girl.
Slowly the elf approached her, glad for once at her small height. The girl seemed unsure of what to make of the little woman reaching out to pet her pretty blonde hair, but Cas quickly reassured her with a soft cooing.
“Such pretty hair you have there.”
The girl blushed, looking down. For a moment Cas considered just scalping the girl and getting it over with, but no, that would defeat the purpose. Fort would be so mad. And she almost certain the wigmaker wouldn’t approve, either. So, the hard way then.
She held down a sigh and kept her face as gentle as she could. “You’ve lost your parents?” The girl nodded eagerly. Cas gave her best pout and patted the girl’s hair. “Oh, no, no, that’s too bad. I could help you, if you’d like.” The girl looked up, her eyes brightening.
“You see, I’ve got me a problem, and I simply can’t do anything until it’s taken care of. Once it’s done, I could give you some coin, and a cookie, and tell you where your parents are—it’s where all parents go when they’ve lost their children, you see.”
The girl nodded quickly, understanding. Cas grinned wide.
A good many minutes later, as the night had begun, Cas found herself looking nervously into an empty window, adjusting the silvery blonde wig. It was a rushed job, but Cas had been impatient and her revolver convincing. Luckily most of it had been cranked out by a fascinating looking little machine, which unfortunately didn’t have the best result in quality. Still, it was night, and the darkness would cover up the wig’s problems for the most part. Or so Cas hoped.
She was busy examining herself from every possible angle, tossing the child’s hair to and fro—she’d sent the now bald little girl off into the woods somewhere with a cookie and a coin, dear thing—when the lively sound of Kerrian music drifted to her ears. They perked up, and she lifted her head, turning. Gods, it sounded as if the whole town had joined the party. The streets were entirely empty, and those few she did see here and there were headed towards the music.
Fort, then, would be there. No doubt.
With one more quick glance in the makeshift mirror, Cas turned fully and hurried towards the music, eyes trained for Fort’s always-noticeable hair. Ah, there! Her heart sunk—no, Aleta’s.
The elf frowned, standing at the edge of the town’s center, trying her hardest not to reach up and cover her ears, which would likely ruin all the rearranging of the wig she’d done. She bit her lip, slowly turning her head and carefully glancing through the groups for any other glimpse of red. Finally, she spotted a tall redhead man at the other end of the festivities. She frowned and looked around, not wanting to approach from the front—oh no, that was too obvious. Too unlike her.
Content with the extra few minutes it took to skirt the edges of the party, Cas finally reached him and made no announcement of her presence as she stepped in next to him. She tugged Vega out just a little, and her blade as well, careful to make sure they were noticeable to anyone daring to approach her Captain. Finally, content with the view, she crossed her arms, stiffened her face into a scowl and took up her usual uninvited place at Fort’s side.
The Seven Whistlers was rather decent as far as public houses went in places such as Port ma’Deu. It certainly did not have the charm of an establishment like the Glitterwind in Cann or the exceptional service of the Silver Shift in Seboet, but for a rustic dive in the middle of a moldering cesspit shanty-town, it was far from unacceptable. In fact, the local ale hardly made the stranger wretch at all.
But then perhaps, he decided, it was not the brew or the town at all. All he could taste was his own bile and all he could see was the occasional flicker of his own revenge.
The stranger was not overly tall or well-muscled. Had he been standing, he might have risen to the respectable height of six feet, though only just. Nearly two hundred pounds, all told, an impressive weight which denoted some measure of wealth in a world where the next meal was not always assured. As it was, he sat at one of the tables near the fireplace at the back of the Seven Whistlers, his back to the publican and his lengthy bar. A lesser man might’ve hunched over his drink and ignored the others who shared the establishment because he might have something to hide, a nasty disposition, or a distrust of others. Captain Crispin Rudain ignored the swell of humanity simply because, as far as he was concerned, he was alone in the Seven Whistlers.
He was dressed in the finery of a gypsy prince, leather and silk of outlandish color and extraordinary quality layered about his fencer’s frame. From his high boots to his black doeskin breeches to the wide-brimmed hat trimmed with the pinions of the lyran guineafowl, he was immaculate in his dress. His stern, patrician features were no less faultless. His skin was a weatherworn and sun-kissed shade of burnished alabaster. The mane of black ringlets which hung to his shoulders was schooled back against the firm line of his neck, well away from the hewn planes and angles of his face. Beneath his prominent nose, a cavalier sort of mustache grew about his lips, twining with the carefully groomed goatee which framed his chin. On a man who was less regal in bearing, the hollowness of his cheeks might’ve been described as a peculiar gauntness, however, on a man like Rudain, it could only be described as a well-chiseled aspect. All in all, he cut an imposing figure.
Even the disc of black leather concealing the ruined mate of the jade eye which considered the doorway of the Seven Whistlers could not mar his princely bearing and the vaguely menacing cant of his body.
The Ardent would stop here, as they always did en route to the Kerrian wildlands. And here, Rudain would get his bearings upon the men and women that ran alongside the thrice-damned cur, Carlyle. Outside, the party raged on, a lurid flourish of light and sound, music and merriment. Outside men and women danced, drank good wine, smiled without worry for tomorrow. Inside, Crispin Rudain, dripped black bile into the depths of his ale, waiting for the play of fleeting whimsy to give way to the skirling dance of swords.
Not long now.
Fort picked his way through the familiar streets, passing by the old shopfronts and homesteads which had been standing since his first run into the Kerrian wilderness. The entire place, the sight, the smell, the sound of the band warming up in the central square, it was so awash in nostalgia that the captain could hardly keep his unguarded smile from splitting his face fair in twain.
Old Sam had always been able to throw one hell of a party. The first time Fort’d been contracted by Samroke ma’Deu to put the fear of gods into a handful of corsairs, they’d celebrated the victory and the continued security of Port ma’Deu by feasting, drinking, and dancing till dawn…or so Fort remembered it. One never really could be clear on the happenings at Sam’s shindigs after a certain point. Good wine flowed alongside streams of local ale and undiscovered continents of infectious music and comely lasses. Always a shame to see the night slip away.
As yet, the sun was just beginning to die, sinking low on the horizon as the band struck up a tune to set toes alight. Fort caught sight of Samroke chastising a scullery boy about the turning of the trussed form of a massive boar upon a spit. With an even-keeled pace he showed the boy how to turn the crank in a manner which conveyed that it was not the boy’s first lesson. No doubt the Au felt the eyes upon him and glanced upward, locking eyes with the captain. An easy smile broke over his features as his wave turned into a shrug followed by a thumb hooked toward the boy. Fort returned the smile as he wandered into the ring of light and music, leaving Old Sam to see to the preparations for another grand shindig.
Fort dipped a hand into the pocket of his breeches and settled his fingers around the slim length of a lho-stick, drawing it and a match from the darkened interior and into the lurid glow of the bonfire set into the ring of stones at the center of town. The black length of paper was nearly that of one of the Harlon’s bolts, though only half so wide. Fort settled the bit of slow-death between his lips, struck the match, and willed the seeds and leaves contained within to catch the spark already held taut in the air. The filler took the flame and the heady perfume of lho-seed, metholanth, and heavy Bursian tobacco filled his senses, bringing with it the gentle haze which had the sky-dog’s half-smile drawing a bit higher.
Fort staked out a section of real-estate along the edge of the crowd, near the general store and the Seven Whistlers. Tables had been set out, but Fort had always preferred to stand, even when coaxing the subtle velvet haze from the depths of his lho-sticks. He stood at the edge of the ring of lurid glow and fiery music, watching as dancers were drawn to the center of the square to caper about the fire as though drawn through the air on invisible waves of music.
Had he been sharp, expecting trouble, Fort might’ve noticed his gunslinger sidle up beside him, standing like a hound of ill-fortune just to the right of his elbow. Of course, then again, with the blonde wig as camouflage, he may not have known the apparition which appeared from the smoke and firelight as his own Cas. As it was, he turned, the end of the lho-stick flaring like a cherry-coal as he invited the slow-death into his lungs and exhaled twin plumes of dragon’s breath through his nose. For a moment, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he squinted, taking in the features of his bullet-witch, the same features he had known since she’d been a half-dead wretch upon Aleta’s table.
One long-fingered hand reached up to take hold of the lho-stick lest it fall from his lips as his smile broadened. It was free of mockery, free of derision; rather it was shot through with the simple good humor of a man finding something utterly unexpected in his own back yard. The way she held herself, her weapons all but brandished and a scowl creasing her lovely features…something about it tickled at his sense of humor.
Fortinbras Carlyle leaned in toward the elf, his voice a conspiratorial whisper which brushed against her ear. “Smile, Cas. It’s a party.” He drew back, a chuckle escaping his lips as they parted to receive the lho-stick once more. Fort hooked his thumbs through his sword-belt and stood at ease, tension draining from him like rainwater over an arched rooftop. His shoulders crackled uncomfortably as he let the weight of the world drop for a moment.
When he turned back, there was a peculiar crinkle of amusement which carved crows-feet into the corners of his blue-gray eyes. “So, who’d you scalp, love?”
The weeks that followed up to their arrival at ma’Deu had been filled with mischief and debauchery. Mainly because when an exhausted Aleta had finally found time to crawl into bed she ended up pulling back the covers to find her sheets soaked in blood. It seemed that someone had found it amusing to place a pigs head beneath her blankets. The fact that it here was blood in the bed wasn’t the enraging part surprisingly. It was the fact that once again something was keeping her from a good night sleep in her own comfy bed that pissed her off. Well Aleta didn’t have to ponder over who the culprit might have been. And immediately she stomped off to project her rage onto that certain someone. And when she did find him, there was quite a deal of tantrum throwing. Cas wasn’t the only one that could pitch a fit. Wrenches and other potential projectiles were chucked at the scruffy aeronaut along with a slew of unpleasant threats. Yet throughout it all, all Cain did was joke about her sheets and how she must be on the rag. That of course did nothing but feed the ginger doctors fury… so the result was that the weeks that followed were filled with hijinks and the sounds of bickering. Cain’s ass was probably sore from the number of times he returned to his seat to find it covered in needles.
Everyone was probably relieved to see ma’Deu appear on the horizon.
Aleta had been napping when they arrived. Just trying to catch up on all the sleep that Cain’s idiocy had been depriving her of. However one green eye drifted open lazily as she felt the ship go quiet. It was dark outside, so her body just told her to go back to sleep. Although the hum of the engines had stopped, and she could no longer hear the rushing wind. That only meant one thing, either Cain fucked up and blew the engines doing something brainless, or they had reached ma’Deu. The odds were in favor of Cain fucking up. However a second look out her window and the sound of distant music told her otherwise. The blankets rustled lightly as she tried to convince her body to wake up. Unfortunately her limbs were stubborn and wanted to rest longer. But after a little bit of stretching the blood began to flow again. Aleta could slowly feel her strength returning as the veil of sleep was lifted.
The blankets were soon tossed aside as she finally got herself out of the bed. Although she could probably use some more sleep she couldn’t resist the lure of the music.
It sounded like there was a damn celebration going on out there! So there was no way she was going to waste the night living in her dreamland. Besides she deserved to have a little fun. Hell! She hadn’t even gotten the chance to even set foot off the ship when they were docked at Fort Rock. The ship could be repaired without her, most of the men injured in the sea beastie incident were making a complete recovery…so there was nothing to keep her aboard the Ardent. However, first thing first, she had to get dressed. Going out in her skivvies just wasn’t a good idea. Her legs were probably white enough to blind people. Clothes were strewn about the room, so she had to rifle around to find something that might be called clean. With a sniff her and a sniff there she deemed the clothes she picked up acceptable. Well at least they didn’t have blood splatters on them!
All dressed and ready Aleta moved to walk out of her room. The doorknob turned and she pushed…but nothing happened.
“What the?” she muttered as she once again tried to exit her room. And curiously, the same thing happened. Her door wouldn’t budge. The vein in her forehead seemed to be popping out more and more lately. “HEY!” Aleta yelled at the top of her lungs as she furiously began to kick her door. The commotion was bound to draw someone attention…right? Soon enough she heard splintering, so she didn’t let up on her barrage. She rammed the door one last time with her shoulder and it swung open. Aleta stumbled but managed to keep herself from landing face first on the floor. Success! She was Free!..Take that you stupid door!!
Finally released from her own room Aleta turned to see a long plank of wood laying splinter a few feet away from her. There were nails sticking out of it…
There was an irritated twitch of her green eye as she bent over to pick up one of the pieces. Someone had actually nailed a plank of wood over her door!? What the hell, how did she sleep through that? Maybe what the others said was true. They were always telling her that she could probably sleep through cannon fire. This seemed to be proof of that…Although not that the initial shock had worn off the anger took hold. There was only one person who would actually nail a plank of wood over her door. Aleta stomped back into her room, grabbed a hammer out of her toolbelt…then went rampaging into the hall. The first deckhand that she crossed was unlucky. He quickly found himself snatched by the shirt collar and face to face with a very angry red head brandishing a pretty large hammer. “Where is he” she seethed, holding the hammer threateningly in her hand. “H-He…He who?” he stuttered stupidly. Who else would Aleta be threatening with tools?
“Caaaaaain” she all but hissed, his name alone leaving a bad taste in her mouth. “Uh…uh…I think he already went into town…yeah, I’m pretty sure I saw him leave” the deckhand sputtered out quickly. Aleta just released him and frowned “Guess I’ll have to bash his skull in later” she mumbled to herself, earning her a strange look from the boy. She must have scared the wits out of him, waving the hammer around like a lunatic. So she quickly switched gears out a hand on his head and grinned “Thanks a bunch anyways, if you happen to see him before I do….tell him I’m lookin’ for him kay? Later” And with that said she walked away, probably leaving the boy more frightened then before. The smile she flashed hadn’t brought him much comfort; in fact it left him feeling more disturbed then when she had been waving the hammer in his face.
Well said tool was holster back in her belt as she strolled down the gangplank. Cain would just have to die later, because right now Aleta was going to try and forget him. The music was calling her, and she just wanted to enjoy herself tonight and join in on the festivities. And with her agenda for the night in mind, Aleta went on her merry way. And of course it didn’t take the red head long to find herself in the heart of the celebration. After some playful banter with old Sam she found Tassa and gave her a good slap on the back to go with her happy birthday wishes. The girl was eighteen, pretty much a woman. No wonder Sam had gone nuts with the whole shindig. Well Tassa quickly dragged Aleta to join in on the gun. And never being the sort to sit on the sidelines and watch Aleta didn't fight the girl. Before anyone knew it she was dancing around merrily with a drink in hand.
Solitude was refreshingly dull. For the last few months Rem had kept locked up in his room wasting time by reading over books he has already finished, creating and disarming bombs, and other pointless tasks that kept him from interaction. He would only to come out regularly during the occasion bite to eat. Meals were small and eaten in silence. It did not seem possible that he actually could loose more weight, but the proof was in the loose clothing. The one time moment of assistance in the infirmary had not seemed improve his social standings at all. At obscenely early hours of the day he would quickly bathe vanishing before anyone could detect his presence. On rare occasions some crewmembers could swear they heard music coming from the scientist’s room as he played away on his- previously neglected- violin. But the melody would fade before any such rumors could be proven true. With all of this strange activity it was no surprise that he had once again become known the phantom passenger aboard the Ardent. Life was somewhat peaceful, but thoroughly dissatisfying.
The mystery of who had paid a group of hormonally driven male prostitutes to literally screw with him had still not been solved. It would have been easy to just complain to Captain Fort and tell him to drive the rat out of his or her hole, but there was no satisfaction in that. No, it was going to be much more gratifying seeing the person’s face once he got his revenge. He would see them suffer for ever placing him into such a compromising situation. Even with out the- torn up, burned, and otherwise destroyed- negligee discarded in the back of his room as a constant reminder it was a bit hard to simply forget the event. He would not be able to rest without some sort of conclusion to this unpleasant occurrence.
So far he had been able to create a rough map of where most of the crewmembers had been the day of the incident. It was no surprise that most were found at the local pubs. The unaccounted had been lowered to a handful of suspects, all of which were dining with him every time he sat down to eat. It was beyond frustrating to know that his culprit could be just across the table. He could not just come out and ask normally either. Any questions he would ask would bring up suspicions and rumors before they brought up answers. He had to rely on his own wit and subtly to solve this. Rem could feel this was becoming an obsession.
If only his teacher could only see him now… The man would probably be glad to see Rem actually putting in an effort for once. It was too easy to recall all the vain attempts his mentor put in to try to gain his student’s interest in anything sense there was little to no challenge in solving it. Now the scientist was finding more and more impossible puzzles by the day. Wherever his deceased teacher was, the old man was probably laughing his ass off. On the bright side all of his time alone with his notes on the Shift Particle had given him a newly lit spark to continue on. He had spent far too much money to be chased away by such a childish excuse for bullying. Once the prize was won he could leave. If he managed to track down his criminal in that given amount of time then that was a bonus. Either way he would see this through.
Currently the ship was docking in a small town called ma'Deu. Normally they would have spent a day or so and then been on their way, but the place was throwing some big party. Apparently one of the local girls was celebrating something… A birthday? An engagement? It really did not matter to him, but the crew was being treated as guests of honor or something along those lines. Rem shuddered every time he thought about having to actually be sociable. Parties were not his thing. Part of him wanted to barricade the door and not emerge until they left port once again, but he knew that if he continued to act like this his culprit would be getting just what he or she wanted. He was sure that seeing the scientist trembling at the though of leaving the sanctuary of the ship would be a sight for the crew. So in an act of pure spite he thought it was time that he finally broke his isolation.
There was also some news about hiring a couple more hands for the ship. Apparently they would need some locals guiding to lead them through the next chapter of this voyage. Rem was thoroughly apathetic to the change. He had said long ago that as long as their goal is reached that he would fund whatever Fort and his crew needed. Sometimes he regretted these words, but once he found his prize all these regrets would fly away.
Getting ready felt surprisingly easy. As he slipped on his upper-class Tyrisian attire he could actually feel himself becoming a bit excited. Perhaps he had been craving more social interaction than he had originally thought. Once the suit was on he was happy to see that the coat, along with everything else, still fit. The outfit had been made years ago, but had luckily avoided looking aged- besides a slight bit of dust on the sleeves. He finished the outfit off by fishing out an old top hat he had stored in one of the corners of his room. It looked brand new solely due to the fact that it had pretty much never left its box. The hat had been one of the last things that his teacher had ever given to him. When he had received the hat he had been less than enthusiastic- he remembered telling his teacher that the gift was in vain seeing as he never went to any social functions- but now it joined in the ranks of one of his precious belongings. After checking to make sure everything was in place he headed off.
As the scientist disembarked from the ship he could hear the music blaring. His immediate reaction was to swiftly turn back pretending like this had never happened, but he kept to his course. He would have fun even if it killed him.
The ma’Deu citizens knew how to throw a party, Rem would give them that much credit. After a small greeting with the man known as Old Sam and his daughter, Tessa he wandered off to take in the sights. There were decorations everywhere. The masses were busy dancing, drinking, and participating in other such merriments. It was hard not to get swept up in the events. As he walked through the crowds he was handed not one, but two drinks. For a brief second he considered testing the taste, but common sense prevented him. Enough bad experiences left a sour feeling in his stomach just by inhaling a whiff of the concoctions. He wanted to enjoy himself tonight not drink himself sick.
After a few minutes of wandering he had, by some miracle, managed to find a seat amongst all the crazies. Surprisingly he felt somewhat happy being surrounded by a bunch of drunk strangers. It was an odd light feeling; it almost puzzled him. From the corner of his eyes he saw a flash of red. It only took a second to identify the color belonging to Aleta.
The doctor seemed to be enjoying herself as she danced around. She deserved a break. There were plenty of crew members that owed their life to the redhead. It was probably a nice change for her to be out and not have anybody to tend to in the morning. Out of all the suspects on Rem's list Aleta was the least likely to have wronged him. She had spent the entire time at Fort Rock inside so she could have not gone out to hire the prostitutes. Then again, she could have always sent a messenger. Just because it is unlikely does not mean it is impossible... But he honestly hoped that it had not been her. His respect for her only second to Captain Fort. Which was saying something coming from him.
Speaking of Fort, Rem wondered where the captain was off to. Wherever he was there was no doubt that the gun-toting elf... Sas...Cis...Kes? was not far behind. The brunette seemed to attach herself to him whenever possible. The development was interesting, but not that unexpected. Part of him wondered what, if anything, the captain would do about her. Anything was possible...
Yes, especially on a night like tonight, possibilities were endless. Rem recalled a lecture that he had taken on probability and determining future events using trajectories. Life was just a series of choices and if one mapped out all the paths that life could lead them down one could virtually control their destiny. In theory it sounded nice, but in reality this was just disillusioned thinking. There were far too many obstacles and 'roadblocks' that could easily disprove this theory in seconds. Still, even in this feeble thinking process one could understand that life was all about choosing the right paths, even if you were not sure where they would lead. As the music continued to blast and the people continued to party Rem could only hope that when this night was over he could say that he stayed on the right path... whatever that path might be.
Cas sighed, waving the slow approach of Fort’s little cloud of lho-smoke away. Thank the gods she was too short to be right in the middle of it. Still, it was annoying, and only deepened the characteristic scowl she wore.
She glanced up at him, frowning at his lopsided, unnatural grin. When he leaned down and whispered in her ear, she tried her hardest not to lean away and glare. She was not happy with him and his little habit.
She’d never quite had the opportunity to be standing next to him while he was doing it, and had otherwise never witnessed the drug’s effects but that was probably for the best. She’d heard enough about it’s relaxing, life-shortening properties to shake her head at it, but seeing Fort actually smoke the thing was a whole new level of ills. What her Captain was doing dulling himself when they were on the job (let alone ever), and tossing his life away, the elf couldn’t guess. But it bothered her deeply, and as he spoke and laughed, it only grated her nerves all the more. Had she been able to entertain the thought, she might have considered him stupid. But she could not, and was left to simply wonder.
“Didn’t scalp anybody, not with your rule on children,” she grudgingly answered.
Cas sighed, wondering how many years his habit would take off. One? Two? Ten? She’d never bothered to ask and now wished she had. What was he, thirty, forty? How long did humans last, anyway? She looked around at the Kerrian partygoers, spying so many grey heads and weak bodies among them. Sixty years? And how long had he had this habit, anyway? His entire adult life?
She bit her lip, looking down and feeling her heart sink at the thought. Hells.
Fort was still grinning and puffing the smoke through his nose. Her face tightened up, the scowl becoming something altogether uglier. He may as well have been slitting his wrists in her eyes. Finally the elf could bear it no longer. Without warning her small hand shot out and snatched the lho-stick from his lips. With a withering glare, she dropped it into the pavement below and ground it underneath her boot.
“How about you give living more than another decade a try?” she said, her teeth grit, partially in anger and partially in waiting for whatever anger he might aim her way.
Fortinbras Carlyle drew idly on the lho-stick, savoring the sickly sweet miasma as it brushed through his airway to cloy about his lungs. The creeping calm which flushed through his system as his apprehensions and misgivings about the direction of his life and those he shared it with began to supplant his characteristic indomitable resolve. By degrees, he would fail to be the stone bastion of indomitable courage and leadership. In its place, there would only be a man; for all of his fuck-ups and insecurities, every bit of noblesse, every scrap of courage and valor…just a man.
It was nice to set the world down. Even if it cut his life-expectancy by decades.
The dancers about the fire had slowed, their scintillating display of boisterous precision and fluttering skirts replaced by a more deliberate step. The music had grown slower, sweeter, as the band had given up on “The Firelight Stride” and moved on to a local tune which Fort could not place. The meter was approaching that of a waltz, slower and steadier than the previous rousing number, though it did not lack the characteristic Kerrian syncopation. Already, the dancers were pairing off and beginning their steady twirl about the crackling fire in the center square.
Fort closed his eyes and focused on the music, his smile implacable. Even when Cas implied that she was wearing the hair of a child, it did not fade. Instead, a soft whisper of a chuckle growled from low in the captain’s throat. That was his Cas. Always a hair’s-breadth from hell-on-earth.
Like a viper, Cas struck. Her slim fingers deftly plucked the lho-stick from where it smoldered between his lips. With a flick she sent it coursing to the ground where she ground it out beneath her heel as though it were a particularly vile insect.
“How about you give living for more than another decade a try?” Cas’ question came through grit teeth, and forced Fort’s eyes open once more. The music keened in the background as his features adopted a look of bewilderment. His eyebrows knit and his smile faded into a grim line. The words were the last he’d expected the elf to speak to him. The doctor perhaps, might’ve had his health in mind. Cain might’ve filched the smoldering lho-stick only to finish it himself. Ditto the Innate, though certainly not after Cain had touched it. But Cas? His avatar of clinical death?
Seemed that the little elf had an interest in Fort living until he was old and gray. The frown curled upwards once more as the captain ran a hand through his hair, settling an errant tress displaced by a breath of wind. A small sigh brushed through his nose as he shook his head ruefully. “I might consider it…”
He turned back toward the firelight in time to see Tassa spin from the arms of a stocky, dark-haired youth, about the dance-floor and into the embrace of a tall fellow with ebon ringlets, shifting partners mid-dance. A smile to set the heavens alight was stamped upon her features. Fort chuckled in the depths of his throat, a growl and purr in equal measure. “Now then, Cas. Pull in your claws, hiss less loudly, take off that poor girl’s hair, and come and have a spin about the dance-floor with me.” Fort was already in motion as he finished his sentence, turning back to extend a long-fingered hand toward his gunner, a scoundrel’s smile tugging at his lips.
The night air was cold and crisp, a welcoming change from the stuffy confines of the clinic. The city was far from quiet this night; the sky echoed with sounds of raucous laughter and singing. The party was in full swing, and everyone seemed to have come out to celebrate. The music was infectious and aleta couldn’t help but move her body. She closed her eyes and let it just wash over her. Moving in time to the music, she raised and lowered her hips; while shaking them and moving her torso all around, moving her arms about, and occasionally dipping her head back or leaning forward. She imagined that she was one of the gypsy dancers she had seen numerous times; dressed in a long, flowing skirt made of a patchwork of fabrics, a short cropped top that showed off her midriff and tight sleeves that stopped at her elbows while around her waist was a scarf of colorful beads and coins that jangled when she moved, as did the anklet of silver bells on one leg. The girl certainly had an imagination. The excitable red head yelled and whooped with every spin, dancing to drum and whistle with wild abandon. Soon enough she had others yelling and whooping right along with her. Everything became lost in a sea of whirling skirts and nimble feet and she was drowning in the rich and sweet melody of the strings played by quick and talented fingers.
However the inspiring music eventually switched to a much more even and leisurely pulse. The doctors swift feet began to slow and soon enough her untamed movements were brought to a halt altogether. Her chest rose up and down quickly as she was finally able to catch her breath, and green eyes watched as everyone began to pair up. Tassa found herself in the arms of a handsome ruffian and looked as if she was having the time of her life. Aleta stood frozen in place for a moment before finally retreating to the sidelines. She had never been very good when it came to waltz’s and what-not. Despite her nimble stitching fingers, you would be surprised to find that the doctor was not quite as coordinated as she led people to believe. Her eyes wandered the edges of the dance floor looking for someone who might not judge her lack of grace. While she was looking she happened to find the only person round with hair as red as hers. Her heart leapt excitedly, however the feeling was quickly smothered. He was a lost cause, seeing as it looked as if he was asking someone for a dance already, some blonde - Wait? Did that blonde have pointed ears? Aleta had to squint, but sure enough the considerably shorter woman Fort was holding his hand out to was indeed Cas. Just....a blondified version. Thankfully the music was loud enough to drown out the sound of her muffled laughter. Although those standing around her did shoot her strange looks.
What the hell had possessed the elf to go out and find herself a blonde wig? Had Cas mentioned in their little conversation that Fort preferred blondes she might have understood better. Dancing might do the two of them good. Lord knows that Cas had been on her toes around the man since incident in Fort Rock. Although she was a considerable distance away Aleta still yelled out to them. “Dance with the man! Blondes are supposed to have more fun you know!” Aleta would probably get a dirty look from the small women later on, but oh well…..
“ What’s the matter Lee-Lee, Can’t find yourself a man to dance with” A voice suddenly called out, obviously to catch her attention. Her green eyes snapped away from Cas and Fort to find the source of the voice. And her gaze was met by an entire table of familiar grinning roguish faces. One of the men being Fenton Burke, an old engineer that had given up the sailor’s life to settle down in ma’deu with an old flame. And with him were a number of other people that Aleta tended to pal around with while in town. Her hand found its way to her hip as she walked over and stopped just next to the table. “What do I care of dancing with lads? “ she said, sticking her nose up ever so slightly. Who needs the waltz anyways. Fenton just bellowed “Probably can’t find a guy to put up with all the broken toes” oh, poking fun at her two left feet, how original. “Yea well at least my dance partners don’t have to hold their breath to get through a song, when was the last time you encountered soap?” Aleta fired right back.
There was a pause, then the entire table burst into laughter. “Someone get this lady a pint!” Fenton called out merrily as he quickly made room for the rambunctious red head. And by the time she got settled there was already mug slapped down in front of her. Man, talk about service. Soon tales of old times swirled around her. Like the number of times Fenton wound up in her clinic. He was what you would call clumbsy, and he was always hurting himself. It was pathetic really, it was smart that he retired while he was still in one piece. Anyways Aleta was having a grand old time. Things only got funnier when Fenton tried his hand at singing.
“One bottle down; fun only just begun, Two bottles down and I’m not done!, Three, I think. But many more to smother…. Fol…fffu….forgot. Open another!”
Before he was even finished the table was already snickering. And when he was finished, no one could hold it in any longer, and their laughter practically bellowed over the music. "I wouldn't call THAT a song," said Aleta said, when she could finally take a breath between her laughing. "More of an...un-musical shouting, really." Fenton’s glazed over eyes tried to focus as he turned to glare at her. “ What’cha talking ‘bout? Think you can do it better do ya? “ the challenge was issued. “Course I do!” and with that the challenge was accepted. The Doc coughed to clear her throat before actually getting up to stand on her seat. “Ale and beer and rum…We drink and sing and hum! So People, far and wide let’s drink and sing with pride! Drink drink drink, Our glasses, we shall clink! I hear the beer is good this year, so drink your beer and cheer! ” Aleta wasn’t exactly musical, but she was always willing to stretch the pipes for a drinking song.
When she had finished she grinned down at her little group. She seemed to get a better response then Fenton’s little diddy. Which he seemed to notice, because the man just crossed his arms in response. “Still think mine was better” he harrumphed. The only thing missing was a pout. Aleta just rolled her eyes and got off of her pedestal and sat back down. Another round was brought to the table and Fenton quickly perked back up. He always could bounce back from anything when there was beer involved. Aleta grabbed her mug by the handle and held it up to all the guys at the table. “Well fellas….the beer is good, the party’s great…so let’s get drunk and sleep in late” she cheerfully proclaimed, getting a rousing cheer from those around her. And after clinking their glasses together all of them tipped their mugs back and took mighty swills of amber tinted booze.
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