#MoP&D

[misadventures-phan-can]

Chapter 3 - Toothless

The long awaited and thrilling Chapter 3 is here!

Sorry it took a while...

As Tommy went about her day as described in the first chapter, other things were simultaneously underway across the city that would’ve very much pricked her intrigue. If she’d known, of course. As it stands, she did not, and instead had to deal with unpleasant customers and a teasing employer. We now return to our doggish Lieutenant at the start of his day, and the events that led him to Melder’s great capital.  

By Meldarian standards, it was the morning of a new Cycle when they reached Trader City. Cpt. Skewlls had explained that technically, this was not true. A Cycle was simply a means to divide time, he’d said as they leisurely flew through the planet’s atmosphere towards the capital; a means to divide a planetary day that lasted a Standard Galactic week and then some. When met with the surprised and, in some cases, horrified expressions of his crew the Dhuuma cackled, green eyes catching the light from the closest navigation console and shining like an animal’s. Yes, he’d continued, two-thirds of the week triplet suns shone something horrible down on the populace, and somewhere in the middle, it goes dark for roughly three Galactic days. Two extremes, with only some reprieve during the 12-some Galactic hours it took for the suns to set and rise once more. 

“You’re somewhat lucky, pup.” Sharp teeth glinted behind the Captain’s playful grin, making the short hairs of Lieutenant Famillion’s neck prick uncomfortably. He was never quite settled around the Captain, no matter how much he trusted and respected the man, especially when he bore that expression and used that tone. It usually meant he spoke of equivocations whilst holding some sort of cleaning tool behind his back, readying to spring chores upon his crew unexpectedly.

“What do you mean?" He asked, nervously eyeballing the closet, which held all of the maintenance equipment. Surely not, his Captain wouldn't be so cruel as to- "It means you have less time in the sun, no chance of becoming a hot dog.”

The Captain’s amused voice brought the Mimic’s attention back to him, but the Lieutenant didn't hold his gaze for very long. The rest of the crew’s giggles, most prominently Jaylin’s, died out steadily; Cpt. Skewlls’ wicked grin fading with them as they all turned back to their stations. The mood which they’d labored so hard to lift fell muted once more, just like all previous attempts. The shadowy Captain drifted over to his Lieutenant from the central station, silent like a ghostly mist creeping over the deck. Silent enough that Canis started when he felt a hand on his shoulder, head snapping around to see the Captain holding out a sponge and grinning a bit too toothily. The Lieutenant’s nose scrunched and his lip curled at the biting smell of vinegar-soap emanating from the sponge, and he looked up to meet Cpt. Skewlls gaze with wide eyes and furrowed brows. When his superior’s grin only widened with amusement, he understood- face falling into a grimace. 

“What, really? Now? I thought you were just joking!” 

“Of course not,” The Captain’s eyes glimmered a merry, mischievous green at Canis’ tone of sheer desperation. “Now, now, don’t worry. The rest of the Jester’s will be at it as well.” The others groaned, collectively slumping at their stations. Cpt. Skwells merely rolled his eyes. 

“Come on now. Chip-Chop.” He clapped. “We’ll be arriving shortly and I want this cabin shining so much that I can see my non-existent reflection in the breaker-boxes.” The Captain made sure to stand there and watch until they’d gotten up to gather supplies, then simply turned away and let them get on with their distraction. That’s what it was, and most realized it even as they happily settled down into the routine of cleaning. Joe stood at the closet and passed out the equipment- a broom to Ezio, a mop to Jaylin, and finally, the "dust-sticker stick" was handed to Canis- along with a bucket of vinegar-based product for the polishing sponge later. 

And clean they did, until the call to get back to their stations and initiate Ramp-Landing procedures came over the high speaker. Despite the distraction, the cabin remained muted. Canis went through the motions, calling out positions and checking conditions on the outside of the locomotive as if he were merely watching from afar as someone piloted his movements. He tried to satisfy his aching chest by recalling all the good times, all their accomplishments- and all the tough times that brought them ever-closer. It failed miserably and only made his heart hurt more, a bitter taste spoiling his tongue. The Lieutenant didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave his ridiculous crew and his questionable-but-kind Captain. He knew the others wanted him to stay too, they kept glancing his way and he could tell exactly what they felt about this separation, even as they made their last descent. 

"So… I guess this is it.” Once the jostling of a smooth, ramp-assisted landing ceased, and the elegant Casino Royale was parked in her bay, the crew sat in telling silence. The Mimic looked quickly away from his station’s screens, away from the shifting hot-red world outside that made his eyes water, and let his gaze sweep through the cabin to meet the eyes of his four other crewmates. He cracked a small grin, hesitant, biting his lip before he spoke again. “After you lot buy me a drink of course."

"We'll send you off with a nice swig o’ milk." Cpt. Skewlls smirked after another moment, teeth glinting as sharp as his eyes as he spoke. “After all, wouldn’t want our doggy officer getting poisoned with his last drink with the Jesters.”

"Ahah! Milk is as bad as alcohol for dogs, because, dogs! Again! Unlike Mimics! Again! Are lactose intolerant!" Canis huffed in mock annoyance, cheekily tutting as if disappointed in the Captain’s refusal to remember. “I am a Mimic, therefore, bring on the booze bitches.” He spread his arms wide, daring the Captain with a sheepish grin. 

In the meantime, the crew had moved towards the door. Ezio stood in the corner, already anticipating the eminent jaunt into the infamous Trader City. He followed the conversation with slight bewilderment, eyebrows hiking ever further up as, finally, he looked to Jaylin, then to Joe for an explanation. The Tobitoan saw Canis' smug-looking face, wondering if all of these facts were meant to confuse, or were indeed legitimate. To the short Commander standing at his left, he leaned over and stage-whispered behind a raised hand, “Have we been… feeding our Mimic poison? Is synth-milk really that bad for him??”

"I don’t think he’d lie?" Jaylin didn’t know any more than he did and seemed to be just as confused, watching their Captain smirk and advance on Canis curiously.

"But… the whole… synth-milk in a saucer thing! The yogurt treats! Dogs are mammals, aren’t they?? Mammals drink milk. From their ma’s. Right?" 

The other Tobitoan Lieutenant looked back at his counterpart, who met his gaze and winked in a comically forced manner. Joe merely shrugged. “The Lieutenant is not a Dog.”

Canis, who was most definitely not of the class Mammalia, curled his lips into a grin that showed far too much tooth to be all that innocent. “See, now the whole crew thinks I’m a common mutt!” He nudged their Captain, now standing to his right, with an elbow. “Except Joe of course, because Joe is the best person here.” At this point, they had all migrated from their stations into the antechamber of the engine, waiting for one of the Sub-Lieutenants in the wagons to give the ‘O.K.’ to open the airlock. 

"I've been a bird owner my whole life, really, my family owned a Rockroc. I wouldn’t be able to tell you much." Jaylin provided with a shrug, sending an apologetic grin to a still-befuddled Ezio. 

"You don’t say?" Lieutenant-Commander Joe perked up. He’d always wondered about those birds, it had been rumored that only a handful had ever been tamed, most notably the one that’d made its perch upon the shoulder of that one infamous space pirate. Hemlock? Herlock? Something like that, concluded Joseph, who came from a small moon of an even smaller solar system, the news of which, before he’d joined the SDF, had consisted solely of the occasional old, drunk spacemen’s yarn. 

"Yes," the Cpt. Skewlls interrupted sharply, fingers snapping once to set the wandering thoughts of his crew back to the task at hand. Jaylin and Ezio straightened up so quickly from their semi-conspirative hunches that their spines cracked, and Joe, well. Joe, who’d been paying attention no matter how distant and birdish his thoughts became, only set his expression into something altogether sterner with barely a twitch of his lips. 

“Yes, the milk thing is true. Moving on now,” The Captain glared momentarily at the youngest Lieutenant, blaming him in full for this quick, albeit appreciated, digression. 

“We’re heading to the nearest pub, which I believe is the Dustdog, off-duty, and we’re getting drunk. The Sub-Lieutenants and the deckhands will join us once they finish up with things here at Royale. Catch is, we only have 3 hours or so to do it, so tab is on me.” Half the ranking officers present were near-vibrating in anticipation. Then the Captain’s tone dropped suddenly, dangerously- the antechamber became visibly darker, and green sparks- tricks of the light, they didn’t really exist, or did they?- danced in the corners of the mortal crew’s perception. “However, if one of you show any, and I mean any sign of inebriation whatsoever when we check in with HQ, you will regret it.” The oppressive darkness disappeared as abruptly as it had come, and the ‘fearless’ ones took a breath of relief. Cpt. Skewlls merely grinned something akin to a shark and clapped his hands in delight. “Perfect!” 

The call to unlock the bulkhead rung loud above their heads, timed near-perfection with the Captain, as most things were on the Casino Royale. 

“Okay humans- and Mimic- Let’s go hit the bar at a planetary hour that would shock most and completely offend others!”

~

"I'll just start off slow, I think,” hummed Canis, voice smooth and languid, almost whimsical. The Dustdog, despite the local hour, bustled with the sight, smell and energy of a couple of dozen patrons. Most either with keen business interests on the planet or simply waiting out a stop-over on their way somewhere else. Some species the young Lieutenant could recognize, while some were completely foreign and drew his gaze, eyes blown wide and sparkling with unguarded curiosity. Scents rushed to clog his nostrils, the air sweet with sweat and a pungent fruity aroma, toned with earthy malts and fermented brews. Something rancid and bitter seemed to be emanating from a couple pitchers on the bar counter, probably some sort of local drink. Lights flashed, music played a bit too loudly, the rhythm buzzing in his ears like the low, throaty yowl of a Hellcat back home. Swallowing a lump that had risen in his throat, the Mimic tore his attention away from the patrons and back to the Jesters, looking to them as they gathered around the doorway. Eventually they all stood in the entrance with matching, stupidly large grins spreading across both Jaylin and Ezio’s faces. Joe, calm as ever, scoped the bar out with a few sharp-eyed glances and then turned to his crewmates.

"Starting slow is good advice, I say we all follow it. ‘Ey Jay? Ezio?" He teasingly nudged the shorter Commander and earned a finger-flick for his troubles. It never hurt to urge the youth to be responsible, no matter how futile the effort. 

Ezio, with a hearty slap on the back which nearly knocked the Mimic lieutenant off-balance, dismissed the very notion with a careless wave of the hand. "And where's the fun in that? Use that nose of yours.” He spoke straight to Canis. “Drinks are on the captain. We either all get plastered or we all wallow in a pitcher of sadness- there’s none of this designated driver bullsh-” He cut himself off when he glanced Joe’s expression. “Look, ok, the Captain can’t even get drunk, there is no reason we can’t do this-”

"Oh, my Telyris- Is that peanut butter?" Canis distractedly interrupted Ezio’s fumbling, saving the Tobitoan from an early grave and earning his endless gratitude. Paying him no attention, Canis pardoned himself with a mumbled word and zeroed in on the scent of the delightful treat he hadn’t had since leaving the SDF’s HQ. However, he did not expect the form in which he found his favorite snack; as he not-so-subtly passed around the table where four small shots of creamy, golden liquor had been served, he slowly realized that they were the source of the peanut butter. Eventually one of the occupants of the table realized he was there, and half-drunkenly told him what they were drinking, among other things. The lieutenant, now flushed deep blue at the ears, scurried off to track down his crewmates and order the first round of what would be quite a few, not dissuaded from his goal despite the minor hiccup. 

He caught sight of the Captain first, sat at the counter sipping something strong and clear. The Dhuuma’s sharp gaze swept across the room, watching the patrons with the languid intrigue of a cat perched on a window sill, viewing that morning’s selection of finches at the birdfeeder. He met his lieutenant’s eyes, nodded, and promptly turned back to observing the bar-goers. 

Much to Jaylin’s frustration, as for the first time that night she had to admit defeat and put down her hand. The luxury cards had shown a glorious green and black, bearing not a scratch or fold. Until a few weeks ago she’d merely use the cheapest cards money could buy, however Cpt. Skwells had decided that his favorite and only card-playing crew-member could not use such a drab set. She was, in fact, the only one in the whole of the SDF who had not yet given up on the absurd notion of, one day, defeating the Demon King of Black Jack himself. Jaylin’s determination brought a faint smile upon the Captain’s face, and he put his drink down to reshuffle the cards for another game. They were going to be there for a while, and the scene brought up tender memories of the Lieutenant’s first couple of weeks on the force. He’d learned his lesson on his second night with the Jesters, and soundly beaten he’d never tried his luck at poker ever again. Ezio would try once in a blue moon or when he was too drunk to know any better, in both instances resulting in solid losses that the rest would tease the poor Tobitoan with for weeks thereafter.

Joe was the only one who ever came close to beating the Captain, though he rarely played- much to the later’s deep, continuous chagrin. 

Shaking off the creeping melancholy, the Mimic quickly searched for Joe and Ezio, knowing both would probably be together and saving a seat for him. Once he spotted them Canis quickly put in his order with the bartender, changing his mind from shots to an individual tumbler; seeing as everyone already seemed to have their drinks. That accomplished, he made his way over to the duo. 

Joe, and with him Ezio, had taken a quieter seat at the end of the booze-stained counter and altogether not too far from Jaylin and the Captain. Canis perched on the stool to Joe’s right, watching curiously as the bartender approached the small group. With a quick glance around, he realized both his companions had yet to order and a smirking grin pulled at his lips. 

“So Joe, wha’cha gonna get? Milk? Water?” The Mimic snickered, Ezio’s eyebrow curving up in what seemed like surprise. The Tobitoan seemed about to correct his younger colleague, but the bartender interrupted him, flatly asking for their order whilst simultaneously placing Canis’ drink on the sticky countertop in front of him. He took a sip of it, savoring the creamy, artificially flavored peanut-buttery delicacy as he watched and waited for Joe’s reply with mischievously twinkling eyes. 

“I would like an Argyenian Basilisk Spritz, please an’ thank ya’ ma’am.” Canis sputtered, half his drink spat back into the tumbler as he turned to stare at Joe in wide-eyed shock. “Wh-what??” Ezio snickered, in turn ordering himself a local Meldarian brandy he’d never heard of out of pure curiosity. The bartender left without sparing them a second look, and Canis was left reeling. 

"No! Seriously? Joe? What in Tyr’s nation-??”

Joe smirked, shrugging in a sort of smug nonchalance that had the Mimic even more confused and looking to Ezio for answers. He merely laughed, shaking his head in amusement and eyes glowing warm with mirth.

“That’s right, we never brought you to a bar before- My man here, Joe-” He clapped his partner on the shoulder, grinning, “-can hold his liquor like no one’s business. He doesn’t look it cuz he gives everyone the impression of a man who dines with his grandma every Sunday.” Joe’s harrumph at that had Ezio backpedaling, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Look, not that that’s a bad thing Marge is the nicest woman I know-” the Tobitoan turned back to Canis, “point is, don’t judge a book by its cover eh? Joe may look like the goodiest two shoes you ever did meet but he did some crazy sh-”

“That’s enough o’ that there now,” Joe warned, but he had a look in his warm brown eyes that had Ezio rolling his eyes and sighing. “Fineee. One day Joe, one day…” Pondering over what that could mean with a bemused half-smile, Canis turned to check in on the other two just in time to catch them making their way over. In lieu of greeting, Captain Skwells jutted his chin at the tumbler in front of the lieutenant. “What do you got there Lieutenant Famillion?” The tips of Canis’ ears warmed, and he just knew they were flushed blue in embarrassment. 

“It’s a Reeses Meeses.” He muttered, much to everyone’s delight. They shared a laugh, Ezio cackling as he answered, “Peanut butter eh? That’s a start of a bad joke right there, ya know. Dog goes to a bar, followed by a cat and a Dhumma-” he jutted a thumb at the Captain mischievously, “Dog orders peanut butter, cat gets milk and the Dhumma orders a can of gasoline-” 

Canis interrupted him before the Captain could, blowing the dark-haired Tobitoan a raspberry. “I’m not a dog! Again! Can’t relate.”

“You’re canine-like, and you have this weird fixation on peanut butter- that’s enough for me.”

A firm cough disrupted the argument before it could start in earnest, the Lieutenant biting his tongue to hold back his rebuke and glaring at Ezio’s smug grin before all attention was directed to the Captain. Simultaneously, the bartender arrived with Joe and Ezio’s drinks, darting away just as quick to serve a group of rowdy patrons who had just come in. 

The corners of Cpt. Skwells’ eyes crinkled as a pleased grin spread across his face, and with an approving nod at the new refreshments took up his own glass and held it in front of him. The rest of the seated crew took the cue and grabbed their own, waiting anxiously for whatever their beloved Captain was about to say. 

“Well, while I would have liked to be able to get properly plastered with you all- not that these words will ever be repeated, mind you, in a professional setting-” he met each of their eyes carefully, and as that bright, swirling green gaze passed over him, the young Lieutenant felt the small hairs at the back of his neck prick up warily, on instinct.. “-It is to my great displeasure that I am forced to announce this round- our first- must also be our last. We do not have as much time as initially thought, so let this speech be brief.” The Captain’s attention turned solely to the Mimic, grin shortening into his everyday smirk. “It was a pleasure to work with you, Ltn. Canis  Lycaon Latran Lupis Famillion. You worked hard and played hard, fit right in with this band o’ misfits. Your first few years were hilarious, best entertainment I’ve had since Joe and Ezio began to crush on each other.” 

Both parties sputtered, but the dhuuma’s teasing grin was enough for them to keep their complaints unspoken. The Captain continued without acknowledging them, his expression schooling into something more solemn, smirk tightening into something more mature. Canis’ back straightened, and he stood taller. He was now being addressed by The Captain. Not Cpt. Skwells, not even Ethan- but one of the most respected and infamous captains of the SDF. 

“You are, and forever will be, a valued member of Jester Platoon. Call on us and we will be there, I will be there. You will always have a place with us, Lieutenant.” 

The young mimic’s eyes stung, but he could not discern whether it was due to the pungent odors in the air or the assurances given to him by his Captain. He did not want to know which it was, either. He only managed a nod back, unable to speak. 

From the sidelines, there came a snort and suddenly Jaylin barreled her way forward to fasten herself around the Lieutenant. 

“Group Hug!” She proclaimed, quickly being followed by all the crew with the exception of the Captain. They remained like that a moment, Canis holding on to his friends, cheeks mysteriously wet as the others pulled away to reclaim their glasses. Cpt. Skwells waited for them to be ready before lifting his own tumbler with a sharp grin. “To Lieutenant Canis! May we many more successful missions together, and may he finally find his beloved peanut butter!”

~

Somehow, one round turned into three before the Captain, the only one still and forever sober, wrangled his crew towards the docks. Canis had followed them, the good-byes had been long and tearful until finally, all that was left for him to wave at was the dark-red smudge of the Casino Royal ascending through the atmosphere. 

Not that he would remember much, as he stumbled off to find shade during the hottest time of the Meldarian day. As it was, Canis found an alley to crash in and nap- mind fuzzy and body heavy from alcohol, until his thoughts were clear enough to explore and find his bearings. Propped against some building’s wall, the mimic felt his eyelids droop, his last wistful thoughts wondering about the crew that he had just left behind...

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 (You are here)

Chapter 4 (Coming)

[misadventures-phan-can]

Master Index

Hello~ Hello~ We aren’t dead! In fact, to prepare for new material to be posted over this summer, I (Agrimony) have decided to introduce this index to make it easier for all to keep track of the fic. 

Tags The fic itself can be found under #chasing phantoms and #MoP&D. The chapter will also be specified in the tags, like for example #chapter 1, and etc. Oneshots are much the same, but instead of a chapter tag they can be found under #oneshot. Original art, character designs, etc can be found as #MoP&D and #concept art. In any case, the master tag of this blog is #MoP&D. This post will be tagged as #Master Index.

Chapters Prologue 1 - The Cloak 2 - The Dagger 3 - Toothless

Oneshots Alone Complicated Acronyms

These are in no chronological order whatsoever, and while events in them may be mentioned in the actual fic, their canon value is somewhat ambiguous. However, they are used to explain events, character backgrounds, details in the plot- in the fic that didn’t fit in the narrative of a chapter, that was cut-out but we still felt was important, etc. Such is the case with Complicated Acronyms, for example. In any case, you don’t have to read them, but they are fun. 

This list will be updated constantly, so expect it to show up quite a lot. Thank you for your patience, and happy reading!

(all credits for the gif to the original creator/poster) 

[misadventures-phan-can]

Hello, to those of you curious about. “Oh how could that old bat tell the difference between Canis and a regular human.” Here is a really nice, even dare I say, realistic, drawing of him featuring the differences between ‘regular’ humans. Another short is in the works and it’s a Lycan Mimic Wikipedia page. That’s a solo so you can see my un-editted, unfiltered writing style.

I drew this on my phone using Ibis Paint X.

Art by @canisfamillion

[misadventures-phan-can]

Hey, remember that weapon mentioned wayyyy back in chapter 1? 

This is it! Rey’s lovely Odiyan P-T1. It’s important enough to deserve concept art (meaning, le me was bored). That lovely blue blade at the front isn’t actually there normally, but more on that later in the story. 

Art by @agrimonyfargo

[misadventures-phan-can]

Chapter 2 - The Dagger

A little disclaimer: The works used as chapter headers have thus far been either screenshots from tv shows, or original artwork by awesome peeps. I don’t know/couldn’t find the sources for them, but they aren’t ours. They belong to their creators. That being said they are epic, so there is that. 

Canis gazed out the window of his compartment, out at Linus, his home planet. He glanced over the crowd for any sense of familiarity where- he knew- he would not find one. There were many people, young and old, some giving their departing

beloved blessings of safe travels, others just arriving and a few waiting for the next train to dock.  He was looking over the crowd for the faces that he could not find, would not find. Although he took no joy in looking for them, he sought them out... Even though he knew he would find nothing. The Mimic couldn’t stop himself from wondering… what would life have been like if  he had family, friends like that? Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings… all wishing him good luck and good traveling. Telling him to keep in touch, that they loved him.  But no. He had- He suf- No. Canis was not going to think of that now. He hated to admit it. Sometimes the mind wanders, is all.

No one outside on the pier caught his trained eye. The Mimic turned away and scuffed in bitter boredom. Even though he would never say it- he was anxious. What awaited him in the far corners of space? He was alone, left on the end of his longest leash yet. Never before had he been given so much freedom. It came with a catch of course- Canis had learned early on everything came with a catch- but it made him giddy. It scared him. It lifted his spirits and the burden on his shoulders with sheer and utter relief.

He was finally leaving. So close to a new life and a new beginning. 

And yet so far. He tried not to think about it.

The Mimic had just about given up on a quick, on-time departure when a woman’s voice- just a tad synthetic, either a Machineman or computer generated- rang out over the station’s intercoms. “Attention please, passengers taking the Galaxy Express 999 departing at 1:45 Linus-Standard are asked to make their way to Pier 23, this is the last boarding call. I repeat, passengers of the 999 bound for Tobito are asked to please go to Pier 23. Last call.” A minute or so later, the train shuddered. Steam twisted up from below the engine. A low whistle sounded, announcing the Express’ eminent departure. Nervous excitement made the Mimic’s dual hearts thud in a rapid, alternating rhythm.

They were pulling out of the station! Safety precautions and the conductor’s announcements about arrival times flew right over his head and instead, he riffled through his backpack to check over his gear and supplies once more.

Snacks, yes. Two gallons of water? Indeed. Wallet, comm, Space Defense Force cadet ID and recruitment papers? Yes.. Ticket… His eyes widened in alarm. Canis flipped through his Tobito travel guide, searching in vain for his ticket. Where could it be?! The Mimic groaned and leaned back to hit his head on the backrest of his bench. Damnit. There was no way he was going to let Canis live this down. He went to ruffle his hair with a hand, only to realize he was holding the ticket.

Ah. The male let out a shaky breath, chuckling.

In his slight panic, Canis had forgotten all about the departure- only to be rudely reminded when the whole car lurched forward, steadily gaining speed until the train started ascending the steep take-off ramp. He had been sitting back to the engine, and was quickly pitched head-first at the bench in front of his own, landing in a mess of limbs and pinned to spot as the locomotive sped into the sky. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity and with another great lurch- they were airborne. A long, low whistle followed the feat. Canis sprung to the window and shoved his face against the glass, watching as the city shrunk from tiny to minuscule- as the island state became nothing but a speck. With a sensation he could not describe, he watched his planet become nothing but a blur of dazzling lavender oceans and bright green jungles. He plopped into his seat, eyes wide, stupid grin plastered on his face.

So long, Linus. He couldn’t really say he would miss it all that much.

~.~.~.~

Canis gazed at his ticket, fond memories of the years following his first departure floating around his mind. Sure, the golden piece of cardstock was a tad more wrinkled, there were a few small rips here and there, but it was still as magnificent as the day he got it.

Galaxy Express 999 - ticket #374 - Issued 17.03.3043 Std-G Joplin Station - Pier 23 - 1:30 Linus-Std Time Passenger: Canis L.L.L Familion Direct recruit - Cadet Class  Destination: SDF HQ, Tobito, Green Tea S-S, qd.234, Nautilus Galaxy  ETA: 19.03.3043 Std-G

A small grin formed on Canis’ face. They had named a galaxy after an alien cousin of his.  Nautilus… Running his fingers over the creases absentmindedly, his gaze wandered to the monitors at his station. They were connected to various surveillance cameras outside the train, as a safety precaution. Nothing was out there, not today. Only vast expenses of nebulous black and white sprinkles of stars. No planets to be seen for a while yet. He was leaving home once more…. And this time, there was no joy or exuberance. Only an iron weight in his heart, a sense of dread and loneliness that overcame him.

He was betraying them.

He would be alone, again.

Canis was on a different train this time. Surrounded by his SDF team, a group of people he had learned to love and trust- whom he had fought beside and bled with- but he was leaving them. They understood, but Canis knew the announcement of his imminent departure had ruffled them, and immediately after having told them he had left the room. The Mimic hadn’t been to bare their crestfallen gazes.  

He was young yet- he supposed one day he would be free to do as he pleased. Canis was certain that- one day- he would see his Jester Platoon once more. He knew that if he ever did come back, they would welcome back their Rookie with open arms… Jaylin would pummel him before hugging him and never letting go, Ezio would grab him and noogie the life out of him, Joseph would hold off to the side and shake his hand, welcoming him back to the crew. And finally, his Captain would smirk devilishly, eyes glinting and make him clean out the bathroom with his own toothbrush. Caringly, of course.

Canis almost burst out in tears right then and there.

Instead he checked his comm, searching for a message from his- so called- master, terrified of what was to come. He was so tired. The Mimic would be without his team, his Jesters. Canis L.L.L. Famillion, for the first time in 4 years, would be alone. He didn’t want to go. He couldn't leave, not now, not yet… He shouldn’t go. But what would happen to them if he stayed? Memories of that one horrible battle- the Jester’s (and by extension the whole SDF’s) trial by fire- floated to the surface. Screams, canon fire, the iron tang of blood… too much blood in the stale train air. The smell burned his nose even now, years later.

What would happen to them….? Canis body shook slightly. Would they be alright? Would they get wounded or hurt? Or what if someone got killed? What if he killed them? Used them as an example for his unruly mongrel.

Canis bit his tongue, the heels of his SDF-standard boots tapped anxiously against the floor, lost in thoughts that chased themselves around his head. A hand clamped around his shoulder, startling him so badly that he morphed a quarter of a way back to his true form before realizing what had happened. The Mimic- shifted back to his human skin- swiveled to the side, eyes still wide and frown meeting the concerned face of Joseph, seated at his own station to Canis’ left. The slightly older man’s eyebrows were furrowed, lips quirked in a half smile. He was relaxed but attentive, blue eyes showing worry.

"Canis b'y. Why the long face?"

Another chimed up, Ezio, whose station was across from Joe’s, turned around to look at Canis. "Yeh man. You've been real deflated lately."

The Mimic sighed, looking back and forth between his two teammates. To the right of Ezio, Jaylin- the girl and mother hen of the group- turned around to hear what he would say. She looked even more concerned than Joe. The urge to cry resurfaced, he wanted to chuckle their worries away and deflect like he usually did. The later he did.

At the head of the engine- even if he hadn’t moved- Canis knew their Captain had started listening in. "What are you going on about, I'm fine! It's just the view is distracting me..." That was terribly unconvincing, but he tried nonetheless to beam one of his full-toothed grins at his family. It didn’t reach his eyes.

His crewmates looked at him with varying degrees of deadpan. They knew him too well, far too well, and they knew he was full of bull shit. “It’s this weird set of orders, isn’t it?” Jaylin huffed, crossing her arms and squaring her shoulders. “Who does your dad think he is? Sending you off on this damn diplomatic shit, alone.” Canis winced. He had hoped they wouldn’t be too irked by it all, but obviously he was wrong.

“What's down on Heavy Melder anyway?” Ezio complains, arms going up to rest behind his head as a cushion. “Last I heard it was a shitty desert planet where people would rather slit your throat and steal your crap then look at you! Talk about some ‘diplomatic mission’. Plus we’re dropping you off in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

Joe didn’t say anything, but he was nodding in agreement. Canis whined, shoulders sagging.

“Come on guys… don’t make this harder. Du-Dad’s the president of Linus. I’m his son in the SDF… If He wants me to meet Him here, without you guys...” He looked down, picking at the belt buckle on his uniform.

“Atspish.” Growled the figure in the shadows of the front of the engine. Two glowing green eyes and a snarling scowl of sharp, white teeth- the only things visible to the others in the relatively lighter side of the engine- marked where their captain stood now. The man himself stepped out of the shadows a moment later, annoyed like the rest of them, if not more-so.   “Do you know how full o’ shite tha’ is?” Captain Ethan A. Skwells ground out, smooth baritone ringing clearly in the air. Puzzling over his accent was useless, but it always made the young lieutenant curious. Canis picked wondering about it again over meeting the Captain’s piercing dual-shaded gaze.

“Well, yeh, duh…” The Captain’s eyes narrowed at Canis, who sent him a lazy- if forced to resemble so- grin. The Mimic turned back to his station, tapping a few commands and changing the monitors around to show the other side of the train. Just to occupy his hands- they couldn’t say anything he was obligated to do it every half hour.

“Look guys… it’s only temporary! I’ll be back to Jester Platoon, to Casino Royale! I doubt this she-bitch of an engine could run without me…” The Mimic said after a moment, wishing he could believe himself. The humor was forced and fell flat.

“You better be back.” Jaylin huffed, sending Ethan A Look. Joe slapped Canis on the shoulder a few times before turning back to his own station, Ezio getting a quick hiss from Cpt. Skwells when he caught the other man trying to swig from a bottle of wine. The bottle was confiscated, and the Captain slunk back to the command center bathed in shadows. Canis caught sight of Ezio grabbing a flask from inside his jacket and sighed, shaking his head with a small, sad smile.

Damn, he would miss these idiots…

~.~.~.~

Normally a Galaxy Railway train needed a ramp, tracks and a dock to land safely. They weren’t designed for anything else, because landing without such equipment to act as guides could prove disastrous. Especially when an engine decreased power from space-travel (sometimes even FTL travel) to atmosphere-appropriate, coming into the ramp. The speeds between both were incredible, and most GR trains needed a little extra help with it.

Not an SDF train. They were designed and purpose built to endure much, much more than a standard civilian space train. Not only could they navigate space without the help of the “space tracks”, they could also land wherever and whenever needed, as necessary without the help of a ramp. It took skill and a very good team to pull off correctly, and most platoons usually had a ramp and dock anyway.. So, the rough-it-out air-to-ground approach was good to know and practice often, but only needed every so often. Because usually, the destination of a platoon had a ramp, or dock at least.

Not Heavy Melder. Or at least, not this side of the planet. There was only one ramp on the whole, sand-swathed rock. It was in Trader City, the so-called capitol and as it’s namesake suggested- intergalactic trade center. But they weren’t headed that way just yet, they were headed to a small, probably isolated town in the middle of no where: Dust Devil Canyon. 

The moment the orange-splotched-with-black planet showed up on the navigation screen, Canis stomach sunk. Everyone was tired after the three day trip across a galaxy and half another, and one would think seeing the destination of such a long journey would be relieving. It wasn’t. Not at all. For one, the planet looked like a despondent jack o’ lantern for fuck’s sake!

And, for another, the temperature rose in the engine just looking at the oval thing. It continued to rise as Casino Royale broke through the black, ominous clouds and started her descent. For a mostly meant-to-be aquatic, high-water content being such as a Mimic, this did not bode well. He already felt dried out, and they hadn’t even opened the doors yet. Hell, even the Captain- a smoke-based heat-loving Dhuuma- seemed to be grimacing at the indecently high temperature readings. If only because his team would suffer.

The Jester’s went through the motions, many times rehearsed and smooth like well-fitting cogs. The Captain called the shots, Jaylin and Ezio took care of the actual piloting. Joseph took care of finding a clear, mostly empty space large enough for their train, outside of their destination but not too far. Canis called the altitude and angle of decent, taking care to read the instruments at his post and extrapolate the correct way to take them down safely. The familiarity- the serious but calm and content manner the team went about conducting their engine- was bitter-sweet. To the Mimic, this was his home. This was routine, comforting. As far as he was concerned, for the moment, this is where he belonged. Except this wasn’t really his home. This wasn’t really where he belonged. A difference They made sure he never forgot that.

Anticipation- an initial jolt that made all four stomachs in the engine (Captain aside)- and then a little bit of bumpy road as the rest of the train came down and they parked completely, making sure all brakes were engaged and secure. Everyone got up, stretched.

Cpt. Skwells was the first one to key in the airlock access codes and engage the door-opening mechanism in the Locker car, behind the engine. He didn’t need to crack bones and massage cramps out of sore muscles, after all. Instead, he had made his way, quickly, past everyone to the half empty car the team and other crew used as an armory and gear locker, to make himself useful.

The moment the door was open, Canis shuddered. A blast of hot, dry air assaulted them- Joseph started sweating almost immediately, due to coming from a much cooler planet. Jaylin and Ezio, originally from the same hot and humid climate, were fairly well off. Canis felt like he was evaporating. Once the wind blew in, there was no relief. It stayed hot and dry.

The team gathered in the Locker car, surrounding the open door and careful to avoid the square of sunlight streaming in. Outside, not too far away was the town. Above the town, casting the buildings in shadows that did not extend to the train, was a massive rock formation that stretched into the sky and hid one of the lesser suns completely. Apart from that, there was nothing. In every direction- sand blown rock formations the appetizing colour of burnt skin or deep, rich clay and sand. Sand everywhere. Sand extending for miles. All the same, monotone orange-yellow. In the distance, heat waves rose off the sand, warping the black clouds in the horizon and making them flitter back and forth.

The Jesters had yet to take a step down the ramp between them and the ground. They all tittered on the edge.

“Ok Folks.” The Captain broke the apprehensive silence. “This isn’t too bad, a mild day on my home planet.” All the while ignoring Joseph’s muttered “Mild. Eh. Yeh right” he turned away from the dust bowl view, and instead went over to his locker (naturally a tad bigger than the others) and extracted from within a backpack. He brought it over to a mini cooler they had had installed, and from that gathered an armful of water containers. Cpt. Skwells none-too-graciously plopped them inside the backpack- saving two- and handed the bag to Ezio.

He also ignored the man’s prompt whining about it, and instead gave Canis the two other water containers.

“You. Drink them before we leave.” Then the Captain promptly walked along the car, presumably to go check up on the rest of the crew, disappearing into the next wagon.

Canis twittered nervously. “You guys… don’t have to come you know. I have to go there alone, anyway.” Jaylin swatted his shoulder for such an outlandish idea. Then she grabbed one of the water containers in his hands and opened it for him, all but shoving it at his mouth to get him to drink. “Nonsense,” she harrumphed as she did so, “We know you gotta do whatever you gotta do alone, but there is no way in hell we aren’t at least going as far as the town center.” She checked the town, hands free now that Canis had taken the container from her to take a swig, and huffed. “If it even has a town center- damn this place is a dump.”

Joe frowned, in the middle of collecting wide-brimmed hats and sunglasses for everyone, since Ezio had been put on water duty. “Hey. No hatin’ on small towns.” He huffed, taking a moment to poke Jaylin’s shoulder. She turned to him with a small grin. “Of course, Joe. You know it.” In response, the tallest man of the team plopped a hat lopsidedly on the shortest and handed her a bottle of sunblock. “Cream up. Fair skin and blond hair crisp up like skewered Bahva in the sun.” Jaylin blew him a raspberry and snatched the bottle. “Like I wouldn’t know that, growing up on Tobito like I did.” “Considering you Jay, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Ezio butted in, poking her other side and laughing when she sent him a glare. “I can’t count how many times you’ve gotten burned over the years, especially when we were kids.”

“That’s not fair, I didn’t know any better then…” She pouted, all the while applying the greasy cream with distaste.

When everyone was set, and Canis was covered in a thick layer of cream on every exposed inch of skin and wearing a hat, they all once more turned to the outside world. “Ok guys. Let’s go.” Jaylin pointed to the town and marched out the door, followed by Ezio and Canis, Joe bringing up the rear and activating the closing sequence on the bulkhead The triple suns blasted them, and even with their gear, Joseph felt like they would be turned into crisps within the hour. The breeze- in no way refreshing- blew sand around their feet, the small bits of rock and crystal glinting in the sun. Canis had never experienced sheer dryness to this level before. It hurt to breathe. The sand that blew into his face was hot, possibly burning his sensitive skin to some degree. Everything was just so dry. The Mimic thought a moment, then grabbed his handkerchief and one of the water containers. He poured some water on the- thankfully- white and pale blue fabric, taking care to avoid spilling any, and then tied it around his nose and mouth. It helped, to some degree. 

He could barely catch a scent though, and in any case he doubted there was much to smell. Luckily, Canis was very convincing when he pretended to be fine. It would come in handy later, because the moment he showed he was heavily affected, one or all of his platoon would probably drag him back to the train. Then they would send a letter back to Linus. A long letter of complaint to the "President", and their outrage about the “mission” as a whole. He hoped that wouldn’t happen, but one could never be certain with the Jesters.

Already, Jaylin was glancing in his direction every 10 seconds or so, obviously very unhappy. Ezio had thrown himself into a rant about having to wear black uniforms on such a hot planet, if only to break the quietness of the town and ease his nerves. The team was used to it, and let him ramble because they knew it helped. As for Joe, he was stoically making sure everyone stayed together, sweating profusely and trying to act like he was ignoring it. He didn't complain though- he never did.

"How are you feeling Canis?" Jaylin spoke up, as they finally crossed into the town border and the subsequent shade thereof. The relief was immediate, for everyone. Canis checked his comm, trying to memorize the details of the specific house he destined for.  “I’ve been better,” he admitted after a moment, “But I’m good.” The for now dangled on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want Jay to fly into an angry spiel about all the reasons they shouldn’t be here.

Meanwhile, he was trying to understand the directions to his target. There was an address code but he didn't exactly work like that. He worked off instinct and scent better than he did the variety of symbols humans loved using. He wasn't fond of step by step directions, math or street names to the point where he walked right passed his turn. The one note he figured he could use, a turn left at pink house, was proving to be difficult to locate. As he looked around, the others took a moment to survey the town. Canis hadn’t been able to tell them what he was looking for, so instead they watched for danger. Or strangers. Same thing really when most people they could see were sending dirty looks their way, or trying to subtly hide guns and prying eyes behind daily tasks such as: lounging suspiciously on patios and hanging laundry.

“Sheesh, what’s their problem?” Jaylin growled, crossing her arms as she caught an older man quickly look away the moment her gaze met his.

Joe shrugged. “It’s a small town, Jay. They ain’t used to strangers.” 

“That’s no excuse to be so prickly…” Ezio muttered, but fell quiet when he spotted a group of women, of various ages, all grouped up together on the patio of a rather large white house. They were shamelessly watching them, glaring at them. He internally shrugged, if they were here, they might as well learn something right? Who better to ask but probably nice local ladies? He started walking across the street, checking both sides as if there would be any type of vehicle out and about. Joe and Jaylin noticed he was leaving, and followed him. One because he thought he should probably keep an eye on Ezio, the other because she thought this would be entertaining. Canis looked up and blinked. “Hey! Hey guys wait up!” he called,  trotting after them simply because they were going somewhere and he didn’t want to be alone.

As Ezio approached with his platoon trailing behind, he raised a hand a called a greeting. Very politely, he might add. The response he got belonged on a frigid planet like Pluto, if anything. They didn’t say a word and glared at him. He beamed back a smile, unfazed. Beside him, the rest of the Jesters gathered. “Um, hello! We are SDF Jester Platoon, and we just wanted to ask a few-” Ezio was rudely interrupted by the oldest looking crone he had ever seen- ah. He meant, the most respectable elderly lady of the patio- snorting in clear distaste.

“It ain’t from any respectable planet is it?” She was looking down her nose, not only at the group as a whole, but specifically at their resident Mimic. The whole team was immediately and viciously taken aback. First, it took a moment for them to process what she had said, and who she was talking about. It took all of Jaylin’s professionalism to remain still, let alone mask her outrage. Canis was in a sort-of state of shock. Never had he encountered this kind of treatment. He had always lived in progressive, well-developed places, where a variety of life forms interacted on the daily. Never had he been considered less, never had he ever lived in shame or hidden what he was. That was how she had spotted him so quickly- he had all his species traits on proud display.

The Mimic in human shape’s mouth was a bit wider than his companions’, his face a tad longer. When he opened his mouth one could see sharp fangs. His eyes were a beautiful soft lavender-blue, probably repulsive to the crone- not to mention the way he stood. Canis’ legs had a joint too many to be human, and it showed in his somewhat loping gait and slumped-over stance. Two indents around his collar bone area and shoulders showed where his extra set of limbs had stowed themselves away. One couldn’t see his pointed ears or dual-toned hair because the hat, but two black, fleshy whiskers just barely poked out from under the rim.

The poor lieutenant pressed his lips together awkwardly, shooting a glance at his companions. Canis still didn’t know what to think, even if he was insulted and hurt. Angry even. He finally decided to clear his throat and talk to the lady. “Ma’am both me and my companions here are on a mission straight from the SDF Headquarters on Tobito-” The elderly lady continued on speaking to Ezio as thought the Mimic hadn’t said a thing. “They let aliens in on working wit’ the SDF now do they? Hah. No wonder they’re ‘aving so much trouble.”

Ezio shuffled uncomfortably, but it didn’t show on his face. Jaylin’s fists were clenched. Joe had moved beside her and Canis.

“Now you hold on a second-” Canis growls showing a flash of sharp teeth, the hat jumping a bit on his head in response to the movement the pointed ears underneath. “Alien or not, I and the rest of my species have been labeled as sapient under Standard Intergalactic Law and helpful to defense organisations, like militaries, and as Working Individuals due to their skill sets… and as a member of the SDF I would expect a respectable elderly citizen such as yourself to-” “It sure makes a lot of noise.” The crone crowed, grimacing.

“How dare you!” Jaylin spoke up, not quite shouting but getting there. “My teammate has done nothing to you, nor your people or your town. He has saved lives along with us, and along with every other species that works in the SDF! He deserves respect, because it’s his ass that makes sure this shithole planet remains safe from hostile attacks!”

The younger ladies behind the crone gasped, but the crone herself laughed- a terrible sound. “A great lot of good tha’s done then! You said it yourself, girly, this planet is a dust bowl, and you ain’t done nothing for it. You can say what you like about species and cooperation between them-” Here she looked to the side, with an exclamation of Bah!  “But it ain’t ever helped us none, and it ain’t ever will. And Hostile attacks you say? Girl, look around you. This is Heavy Melder. The SDF ain’t ever held no power here, just like tha’ Coalition didn’t do nothin’ either. Now get off my property before I call tha’ proper authorities! Or better yet, I jus’ shoot you myself!”

Jaylin was one word away from body checking the lady. Joe was prepared to hold her back if she did, Ezio was winking at some of the younger ladies, just to insult them and see the looks of disgust on their faces.

“Geit! Geit! Petunia, call sherif McMayer!” A younger lady rushed inside to obey the crone. “I want you group o’ Baff’ns gone!”

"What the bloody hell is a Baff'n..." Canis whispered, so only Joseph could hear. “Is she calling us buffoons… but in like, broken English?” The taller only shrugged. His best guess was a local animal or something the like.

When the old crone opened her mouth again, probably to escalate the situation further, a very smooth and a very recognisable voice rang out behind the platoon, and the ladies on the patio were taken aback because they hadn’t seen this newcomer arrive.

“I am terribly sorry, Ma’am.” Cpt. Skewlls never bowed to anyone, but today he inclined his head just the slightest bit to show some measure of respect to the crone. He was the most posed of the group, he radiated confidence and respectability, command held with an iron hand and elegance. To those that knew him better, he radiated bullshit and hot fury held back by the thinnest of thin skins. The crone looked down at him too, but if it irked him he didn’t show it in the slightest. Only when she sniffed in some form of compromised acceptance did he continue speaking. “My crew seem to have gotten themselves lost. I am afraid this is all one terrible misunderstanding.” The sudden sharpening of his tone was meant as a jab to the team, and they knew it. He kept a completely jolly- if a little sheepish- act on the outside, but on the inside there would be a lecture in the near future. 

But still, with the Captain’s arrival on scene came instant relief. Canis had bowed his head and arched his back slightly, more so than normal. A show of respect for his superior and comrade, his black overcoat shited at the seams where the uniform was held together by his belt. The Mimic was happy to see him. Good thing the ol’ hag couldn’t see his short, bald tail wagging under his clothes, hidden. Jaylin was still flushed red with anger, but knew she couldn’t do anything while Ethan was watching, Ezio fumbled with his hands behind his back, watching the proceedings with a curious gaze. Joe was Joe, calm and still prepared to hold the feisty Lady of Jesters back if need be. The only hint of deeper emotion behind the facade was the glint of his eyes, the fire of anger.

“You the leader of this band of rascals?” In response to the crone, Cpt. Skewlls pulled out a small, black, leather wallet, and held it up to the lady. She eyed it skeptically, gingerly taking it and bending the cover backwards, revealing a beautiful, glimmering badge inside that matched the patches sewn on the breast of each of the crew’s uniforms. It was a simple badge, as most were. Cut to resemble a sheriff's badge, outer edge a dark pine green, while the inside was a lighter lime shade. Embossed in the middle was an obsidian black, upside-down four-pointed crown. The whole thing, made of metal and enamel, was extremely well polished, not a single scratch marred the surface. Inside the covered of the wallet was an official license and registration numbers for both the engine and the platoon. Above it, gold lettering spelling out JESTER PLATOON proudly. The crone folded the wallet once more and grudgingly handed it back.

“What’s your business here?” She demanded, stil with a nasty scowl on her face. The Captain smiled pleasantly. “We are simply passing through, doing a study to aid the University of Tobito, in their quest to assess the tolerance and overall open-mindedness of certain species towards others. It really is an interesting study. So far, results have shown that Melder is a piss-poor planet in terms of human kindness and acceptance. I’m sad to say the money slotted to aid the small communities of the planet have been put elsewhere, because they have been deemed so abysmal that no amount of social or financial aid could improve the situation.” Throughout his happy little speech of bullshit, the Captain maintained a cheerful, upbeat grin on his face. A grin that sharpened into something far more menacing than an angry Mimic. “Congratulations, Ma’am. Melder is the only planet to receive a score of perfect zero on all grading rubric requirements, such as basic human decency and hell, looky here. Even basic humanness in general. It seems no one here has evolved from the times of the neanderthals, which is truly a most interesting and surprising find, considering the rest of the frontier worlds have at least made some headway. I shall have to report this in the study, thought I wouldn’t expect much from it. Compared to the Dust Dogs and the Baff’n, the humans of small-town Melder have failed miserably. You should be proud of yourselves, truly. Now, we have to get back to studying the amazing cooperation and love bonding together the common Dungsty Beetle. Such interesting creatures, those. They work together with other insects to survive in such a harsh environment as the Grand South-Eastern Desert, and even when there are no discernible benefits, like in times of drought or famine, they help others. Such pure human kindness that. Ah yes. Anyhow, good day ladies!”

And with that he turned and walked away, heading down Mainstreet and expecting his crew to follow, as they always did. As they did now- leaving a gaggle of shocked and slowly flushing angry-red ladies in the dust behind them.

But all along, during the Captain’s beautiful and well thought out bullshit-lie-insult, there was a soft noise in the background, a sweet sing-song that caused the Mimics ears to prick up. He reckoned nobody except Ethan could hear it, but Ethan was preoccupied, leaving just him. It sounded like a bird, a small pet bird that was probably too fat to fly or had its wings clipped anyway. Although the chirps were rather quiet and beautiful in the beginning, they of its song quickly turned into shrill shrieks that everyone could hear by the end of the Captain’s speech. As a parting jab at the old crone, Canis made a show of walking a few steps and then turning around.

“I think that banshee of yours is hungry but if you could point us in the direction of a pink house we would be much obliged.” He grinned smugly, watching as the crone bolted to go check on her precious bird, many of the ladies on the patio following her into the house. One remained outside however, and pointed with a small smile in the direction of the only pink house in Dust Devil Canyon. “Not all of us are like her, I’m sorry.” She called, before ducking into the house as well.

Canis’ eyes glowed and he grinned sincerely, clearly extremely happy one of the ladies showed kindness.. “T-Thank you!” he called back, watching her vanish into the house.

The Mimic turned on his toes and loped back to his team, who were waiting just down the road out of sight. “I now officially know where I’m going!” he says with a pleasant beam looking down at his comm for the next set of directions.

“I guess this is ciao for now,” Ezio joked, holding up the bag of water containers and snacks. “You should take this with you, just in case- OW! Jay what was that for!” Jaylin crossed her arms, no evidence that she had ever punched the man in the shoulder remaining. “You dumbass! He’s gonna meet us after his mission and then we’re gonna drop him off in Trader City!” No one mentioned the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, she wouldn’t have appreciated it. Ezio raised his hands in surrender, and Joseph beside him just rolled his eyes.

Canis’ sudden downcast expression didn’t change, and instead he looked at his companions anxiously, taking the bag and slinging it over his shoulders. In an attempt to calm his nerves and reassure everyone, he did what he does best- joked and played it off. “Bitch you still owe me drinks from all them times I bet your ass at cards!” he says with a lopsided smile, this time mostly forced, but genuine in it’s intention. Ezio froze. “Not true! I paid those debts off!” “Nope.” “Yeh.” “Nuh-nah.” “Totally!” “Na-”

“Children.” Their Captain hissed at them, standing in front of the group with his arms crossed. “Not only does Ltn. Canis have a mission to attend to, but I have to figure out what to do with you lot after that wonderful show of professionalism.” “Aww but boss-” “No Jaylin. Now, you are all to stay in town until the Lieutenant is done, and then return to Royale together. Clear?” “You could start by treating us all… me… just me… to drinks after that ordeal.” Canis mumbled, pouting. “What was that, second lieutenant?” Cpt. Skewlls asked innocently. “Clear, sir.” Ethan nodded in satisfaction, and turned to walk away. Canis blew him a raspberry, despite everything Jaylin and Ezio giggled, while Joe just sighed. The group dispersed, the Mimic left on his own.

Fates, he was going to miss these idiots.

~.~.~.~

Canis kept his gaze low against the breeze that kicked up the sand around his feet, hesitantly making his way in the direction of the pink house. He turned around a corner and started walking down a small side road, almost immediately spotting his quarry. An eyebrow quirked, wondering how he had missed it the first time, he continued on.

About halfway there though, the Mimic’s eyes caught on a small, shiny gold-ish shape staring up at him from the sand with beady black eyes. It was a Dungsty beetle, with a polished carapass. Dungsty beetles lead a mostly subterranean existence, living off the dung of bigger animals and scavenging from carcasses of desert casualties, if available. If they were anything like the Linus-native species thats is. The Mimic was only guessing.

And yet, Canis figured the tiny creature seemed content. It seemed to hold itself with a mighty lot of determination for a bug, and if anything that Cpt. Skewlls had said about them was true, then it was probably on a mission looking for food or protection for it’s colony and or offspring. He grinned at the beetle, who clicked its mighty pinchers before scuttling off in the opposite direction. Oh well, he too had a mission to see to.

Past the pink house now, and indeed to the left, there was a sign. Canis checked his comm once more, and double checked if this was the target. The comm said Arthur’s Odd-job Mechanics, and he was relieved that the beaten down, rusty sign that had clearly- or maybe not at all- seen better days.

Past the sign was a front lot filled with a variety of vehicles, most wrecks that had been scavenged for valuable or usable parts eons ago and now lay like rusty skeletons, half buried in the sand. Bits and bobs were scattered around, but it didn’t seem disorganized or messy. Everything was neatly sorted into piles, as far as Canis could see. As he walked closer, a two-part building arose behind the lot and with it fell a solemn atmosphere. The Mimic went into stealth mode, keeping his footsteps silent and his mind clear, breathing in deeply to catch a scent. Pungent motor oil and fuel, burnt rubber. He could still only catch the strongest of smells, and these made his nose prick uncomfortably. Before getting any closer to the house and garage beside it, he took out another water container and drank half of it, drenching his handkerchief again. Canis hadn’t noticed how dry he had gotten, even if he was still slathered in a thick layer of sunblock. He looked back at the open garage from where a faint and buzzing, hesitant strand of music could be heard, and the occasional metal clang of tools resounded.

The Mimic approached, on high alert. Some piece of machinery or another took up the majority of the garage’s entrance, leaving just a little space for a person to pass by on the side. He slipped by unheard and unseen by the man working, bent over the guts of the machine, every so often reaching up to grab a tool from a ledge beside the hatch, but never looking back.

Canis observed his target, contemplating the best way to go about his business. Someway, somehow, Arthur Fahey the mechanic had to die today. The music changed to something jolly, a man singing in an upbeat fashion.

The Mimic moved, the wind picked up outside and a half hour later he rejoined his crew without saying a word. The suns shone strong, Canis felt uneasy. Together, they all walked back to Casino Royale, and soon left the small, dusty town far behind them on their way towards Trader city.  

No one asked what had happened, apprehensive silence reigned.

All too soon, the capital came into view and they were using the ramp, pulling into the station.

This was it.

Next: Chapter 3 - TBC

Previous: Chapter 1 - The Cloak

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And some possibly inaccurate character art! (Of Phantom, 1/2 the protag team) Drawn by @canisfamillion

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Some more species and crappy art skills ;3 Drawn by @canisfamillion

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Another new species to sink your teeth into…. Later, much later. Mmmm turtle soup… Drawn by @canisfamillion

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Canis L.L.L. Famillion, SDF extraordinaire, Mimic and 1/2 the protag team!  Drawn by @canisfamillion

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Quick Character study to help hold you guys over~  Drawn by @canisfamillion

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Complicated Acronyms

Canis lay on a mountain-like pile of blankets and sheets strewn about the floor in disarray, snoring. A tame growl escaped his lips at every exhale, tongue flicking his nose several times before lolling out from the corner of his maw. His partner, in the meantime, lay comfortably wrapped in a thick quilt, resembling a burrito, on her bed. She was a picture of innocent and restful sleep.

The morning came and went, the duo dreaming it all away, until a call on the high speaker across the ship jolted them awake. What was the message? They couldn’t say, but they were fully conscious by the time it was finished. Phantom groaned, unwrapping herself from her blanket-burrito and stretching out across the bed with a yawn. She lay there a few moments, recollecting her thoughts and gathering the will to get out of bed. “Mutt. You ‘wake bro?”

Canis looked at the high speaker, expression neutral, razor-sharp-teeth-filled jaws going wide- almost to the point of unhinging. He yawned and chuffed in reply before resting his head once more, ready to go back to sleep.

“Imf donwatan-gommfo.” He grumbled, eyes closed.

Phantom sighed looking over at him.

“I’m not even going to pretend to know what you said, but, yo- hey it's time to go.”

He barely replied, one could’ve said he didn't hear a word of it, if only for a flick of his feathered ears.

The girl’s eyes narrowed, and she hopped off the bed at the challenge. She readjusted her pajamas, and crossed her arms. “Come on Mutt. Time to get up. I’m sure we were expected on deck hours ago.” When Canis still did not answer, she took a hold of the biggest blanket in his pile and tugged with all her considerable might.  

Instead of going tumbling to the cold space-grade steel floor, the Mimic kept his feet on the ground and spun around to grab the fabric in his jaws, catching her off-guard and almost making her lose her hold on the blanket. Quite an agile little creature he was. The Mutt held the blanket with his jaws and latched onto it with both his residual- but useful- 3rd set of paws.

Tommy veered quickly and yanked back, the blanket which went taut between them.

So started a game of afternoon tug-o’war.

“Oh you wanna go? You wanna go Mutt?!” She taunted gleefully, pulling at the blanket and dragging it from side to side in a bid to loosen her companion’s grip. The Mimic growled, clamping down harder. She refused to give ground.

The “game” went on for quite a bit. Tommy would drag Canis to one side and he would shake out the fabric so harshly it nearly knocked her down- before launching himself in another direction at full speed. Both refused to release the blanket. Both tried to fend off each other's attempts to destabilize them the best they could, even as their “rope” started to unravel at the seams. The Mimic struggled, claws clicking along the floor and accidentally knocking his bag over, spilling its contents in the process.  Finally the pair both gave one last, vicious tug- the blanket promptly ripped in two, the stuffing inside exploding outward. Canis skidded across the floor along with his backpack, and Phantom hit the bed in a sprawled mess. Blanket guts floated around them, gently falling to the ground

Beads of sweat ran down Tommy’s face, Canis was panting heavily- both were grinning like idiots. They bursted out laughing- for they were truly a ridiculous sight to see.

“Yeah! That's what you get… I always did wonder what was in that bag… snacks…” Tommy muttered between breaths when she calmed down a bit, motioning to the packs of tiny bones, and eggshells, with the more commonplace treats of almonds, peanut butter, and water that had spilled out of Canis’ rucksack.

There was also a military-issue Galactic-Standard ID, and as Canis reached down to pick the small wallet-like identification up, something golden slipped out and flitted to the floor.  

“What's that?” Tommy perked, curiosity glittering in her slate grey eyes.  She hauled herself up and swept the item off the floor before Canis could retrieve it, looking over what she now realized was a ticket- to the Galaxy Express 999.

His ears swivelled towards her, the usual reaction when he focused in on one specific thing or another. The Mimic twisted his vocal cords slightly, too lazy to change appearance.

“Old memories… that’s the train ticket I used when I left Linus.” He motioned lazily with a paw, “I can remember almost everything… but sometimes having something like it helps. Galaxy Express 999, direct Linus to Tobito. I'm almost worried, some days, that I’ll forget.” He chuckled “I keep it with me… even if I don't know what it means exactly. They couldn't just make it simple…” He mutters reading off just some of the confusing letters. He was, of course, referencing the jumble of intergalactic-approved acronyms that the various powers of the universe used on official documents. Canis huffed, poking and sniffing at the ticket. Phantom chuckled.

“I can help with that… I learned most of ‘em by heart- you know, ‘cause I wanted to leave Melder asap.” The girl sat on the floor right next to the Mimic, atop some blankets, simultaneously picking a bit of stuffing out of her hair. “Ok so,” She pointed to the first line. Canis shuffled closer to see, head resting in the crook of her arm. Galaxy Express 999 - ticket #374 - Issued 17.03.3043 Std-G “It’s quite straightforward- train designation, followed by ticket number, and finally the Standard Galactic date it was issued. That’s what Std-G stands for. Standard Galactic… ‘Cause you know, every planet has different time, and dates, and all that stuff.” Canis chuckled. “Really? I hadn’t realized… I thought it meant something else.” Tommy scrunched up her nose in distaste. “You’re so nastyyyyyyy.” Her companion’s head tilted in the confused manner dog’s often displayed. “What?” She waved her hand. “Nevermind. Now this part-”

Joplin Station - Pier 23 - 1:30 Linus-Std Time Passenger: Canis L.L.L Familion Direct recruit - Cadet Class 

“This part’s all pretty uncomplicated. Station and dock, where the train is supposed to be, and local-standard time of departure.”The mutt poked Tommy’s hand. “I know that. It’s just all those…. those…” “Acronyms? Come on Cancan, they’re handy! Beats writing so much all the time.” She turned back to the ticket, eyes narrowing in focus.

“You were a direct recruit? To the SDF?” She had moved along, to the last two lines.

Destination: SDF HQ, Tobito, Green Tea S-S, qd.234, Nautilus Galaxy ETA: 19.03.3043 Std-G

“Oh that one I know! SDF is the Space Defense Force, military power behind the Galaxy Railways, GR, and there’s a mini group within the SDF called the SPG, Space Panzer Grenadiers!” Canis grinned, as much as one could with a canine muzzle. His lips curled resembling a vague, happy snarl.

“I never knew that... or that you were in the SDF at all! You never said anything.” Tommy booped him on the nose, as if in revenge for not telling her. He shrunk back. “It was a little while ago…” He whined, trailing off and letting the conversation drop for a moment or two. Tommy’s eyebrows rose but she didn’t comment, wondering if she had overstepped or… something.

“Anyhow, the whole ‘Destination’ part is confusing. What is a ‘Green Tea S-S’? Or a ‘qd.234’? And what’s an ‘ETA’??” Canis huffed, twisting till he was lying on his back and looking at the ticket upside down.

Phantom distractedly started scratching under his chin. “Well, you see, destinations are stated as such: port, town or city- but that’s optional- planet, solar system- that’s what the ‘S-S’ is, quadrant of the galaxy, and galaxy itself. So, by what’s written here you were heading to the SDF HQ, on the planet Tobito, in the Green Tea Solar-System, in quadrant 234 of the Nautilus Galaxy.” Tommy frowned, going over what she had said and trying to see if she had forgotten anything.

Canis chuckled under his breath, the sound coming out as something similar to a friendly dooking, tapping his paws against the floor. “It's so weird that they named a Galaxy after an octopus…. Hey that means there's a Galaxy named after me!”

“Oh! ‘ETA’. That’s easy. Estimated time of arrival… And dates go by day, month, year by the way. Just so you’ll know.” It took a moment for Tommy to realize what he had said. “You? What do you mean mutt?”

“We be related to Nautilus… ses?? Nautili?? Octopi! We are related to Octopus…. Es….” He trailed off, vouching instead to loll his tongue and look up at Tommy with wide, adorable puppy eyes. Phantom ignored it. What a cold person....

“I had to do a lot of papers growing up…. Education… blahhhhhh!”

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, no duh. You got into the direct recruits for the SDF! Education must’ve been a thing.”

“But I hateeeeeee reading and writing…” After all, mimic or not, animals were not designed to be able to communicate with symbols on a piece of bleached tree pulp.

“Oh stop whining mutt….” She sighed. “We should get ready now. Harlock’s gonna skin us alive enough as it is.”

~~Can Canis and Phantom please come to the deck? They are 5 hours late to the crew meeting, and the crew have been WAITING FOR LUNCH FUCKING-- Mii… what are you doing?- No. Noooo. Stop. Come on stop. No. Nn- DAMNIT.~~ The high speaker cut off with an ear-piercing shriek of microphone feedback.

“See, I told you. Now we’re in deep shit.” Phantom growled. Canis whined and ploppled back into the blankets with a groan.

[misadventures-phan-can]

Chasing Phantoms ~ Chapter 1 ~ The Cloak

The sky was its usual orange. The clouds, their usual black and gray. Far out into the desert surrounding the town, past the skyscraper-rock stacks looming above and the dried-out river running like a scar around it, a dust-storm raged. The winds were blowing away from the settlement, protecting it from the sand and debris. For now, at least.

In essence, it was just another day.

People were already up and about, rushing to get their to-do lists done before noon, where the three suns burned hottest and turned the planet’s surface into an oven. It was only early in the morning, Melder-Standard time, and already it was hot enough to char an egg into oblivion on the tin-roofs of the town.

Hot, dry, unwelcoming and merciless. That was Heavy Melder in only a few words. A desert planet that spun wickedly fast, where one day lasted a week and 30 minutes in Standard Galactic time. From space, Melder’s speed showed physically in the planet’s squat oval shape. Or so it was said. Most of its population were born there and would die there, lacking the opportunity or financial means to leave and prove it. The lucky ones got a job on a passing ship, to hopefully never return.

That was why she was here, taking up a boarding room above the only saloon in the only town big enough to be named capital of this dust-bowl planet. She watched from her window as the Frontier Town shook itself awake, Main Street slowly but surely filling up with people going to and fro. Today marked a month since her arrival, but she didn’t intend to celebrate. No, quite the opposite. She had hoped to be gone by now, gone and working somewhere on a ship in space. She wanted to be one of those lucky few to leave and never look back.

It was taking time. She knew it would take time, but this was taking its sweet time. Nothing was lining up. No big ships were bound for port for another month or so, and none of the smaller, local cargo runs wanted an extra hand. Especially not a female one. She was lucky she landed a spot at the local Gunsmith's, and that was only by sheer mule-headed determination. Patience was a virtue, and hers was running desperately thin. Deep seated wariness and frustration assured it.

Two years of travel, hardships and steep, brutal learning curves would not amount to a life in the Trader City. She did not leave her adopted home for that. She wanted more, so much more. Melder couldn’t offer it, but the ocean of space could.

The girl- on the edge of adulthood- plopped back down on her bed. Wasn’t the comfiest of beds, a thin mattress and rickety bed-frame assured that, but it was great compared to some of the places where she had previously slept. The blanket, or top sheet really, lay crumpled on the floor by the foot of the bed. She didn’t use it, preferring her beat up brown poncho if she needed cover. It was normally too hot for either anyway. The room was simple, clean- if a little knocked with age- and barely furnished. Other than the bed, there was a dresser, a chair and a small bedside table. The one window gave a view of the majority of the town, covered only by a yellowed off-white curtains.

It was her base of operations, had been ever since she got here.

If her troubles could be blamed solely on one thing, she would blame them on Mrs. Cartier. She remembered her first serious altercation with Dust Devil Canyon’s resident old gossiping crone like it was yesterday. It wasn’t that long ago, but it was the start of the events leading to her departure. She had been walking home, to Arthur’s Odd-job Mechanics, when Mrs. Cartier called out to her from her porch.

The then-12 year-old girl knew how the town’s people saw her. She was an outsider, a strange and freakish one at that. They tolerated her because Arthur Fahey- the man who took her in- was well respected. She tolerated them because Arthur told her too. Violence was never the key, Arty always said. She was starting to disagree.

“Come here girl and make yourself useful.” Above all house rules, Arthur had always told her to mind Mrs. Cartier. Do as she says, and don’t take her words to heart. Easier said than done.

The girl reluctantly back-tracked until she was facing the old woman’s porch, standing there in uncertainty. She didn’t like being this close to the Cartier house. “Come on then, runt. Come here and get this table out on the step. The weather is nice and I want to take advantage of it.”

The weather was nice. The clouds hid all but the strongest sun, and the heavy air promised some rare rain. It wasn’t as hot as it was normally, giving some relief to the people. The girl didn’t say anything, questioning why she had any obligation to help the old crone would just cause more trouble than it was worth. She carefully walked up the steps and followed Mrs. Cartier inside, glaring at the woman’s back when she wasn’t looking. The table was small and easily moved, but what made it hard was the nagging. “Watch out welp! That table is made of the finest glass available on this dust bowl.” The girl almost tripped over the woman’s carpet and the crone hissed, grabbing hold of her arm in a vice-grip. “I said to be careful girl. Bah. Can’t trust you. Can’t trust no outsider, ‘specially not the spawn of some space-cast whore.” The girl’s grip on the table tightened. She remained staring ahead, afraid that if she looked the crone in the eye she would snap.

It was about time to head to work. The rays of sunlight spilling into the room had barely shifted, the suns virtually in the same position as an hour ago. The girl stood and stretched her back, feeling her shoulders pop warily. Beside her, scattered on the bed sheet along with a tin of cleaning solution and a rag, were all the pieces that made up a single-action revolver. It was a special weapon, one custom made by her adoptive father and herself. It was a chameleon gun, able to switch between a super-charged plasma-cell and actual bullets, something that was rare in this age. Even if bullets were hard to come by, and the resources needed to make them were scarce, it was all worth it for the number of times they had saved her life. No one expected physical ammo anymore. Armor made for plasma-cell weapons is, usually, not thick enough or simply not meant to block something solid like a .45 caliber bit of lead.

The girl quickly collected her things, deftly putting the gun back together in clean, familiar movements. She reinserted the cartridges, having removed them when she was doing the routine maintenance. 7 shots in the cylinder, one plasma-cell in the middle and only six bullets. She left one chamber empty, as a precaution. Nobody liked getting shot in the foot, after-all. Then she grabbed her belt, a thick leather thing with two metal hoops in the main strap to support a second that hung lower on the left. It was ideal for weapons, and the holster for her revolver hung on the handy second strap. She tied another little band of leather around her thigh so the holster didn’t dangle and promptly stashed her gun, all in familiar well rehearsed strokes.

From the dresser she snatched an old, brown and worn-out wide-brimmed hat. She settled it atop auburn hair, kept out of her face in a braid. She double checked that she had everything, pulled on a pair of brown knee-high riding boots and grabbed an equally brown, well-worn poncho on her way out.

She almost vaulted down the steps, but resisted the urge when she caught the Owner giving her the evil eye from the behind the bar counter. He caught her ‘flippity-floppiting’ around the first time, and made it clear that if she did it again she would have to find herself another room somewhere else. Maker knows the Owner was a kindred-soul, but mess with his bar and you got the Eye. So, no fancy footwork. Instead, she took the stairs two at a time and breezed past the gray-whiskered man behind the counter with a quick exchange of ‘Good Mor’n-Be safe’.

She wasted no time speed-walking to the far right end of the Main Road, head bent forward to shield her face with her hat against the sun. There was no breeze today, only bone-dry dust. She avoided most folk on the way, ignoring their curious gazes or open hostility. Past Sir Gorg’s General Store, Jio’s Pawn shop, Ms. Beverly the Tailor’s and the town Jail on the other side, stood a squat but long building with a large porch and a roof that slanted in awkward angles. It had been, at some point, painted saffron yellow with white trims. Now the wood plank siding was faded, dull and lifeless. Beside the door, two guns crossed behind a target made up the sign, chipped lettering onto announcing it as: REV’S GUNSMITH. Without batting an eye she jumped the four steps to the porch, opened the door and closed it behind her in a flurry. No one was in the shop proper, Rev himself was probably in the backroom or in the half of the building that was his home. “Rev?!” She called out, voice echoing slightly. She waited a moment, but there was no response. Frowning, the girl took off her hat and slipped off the poncho, laying the former on top of that later on the counter. Walking around it, she peeked through the door frame beyond, the one that led to the backroom.

“Rev?! Ya here man?”

A shout, the heavy clashing and metallic clang of tools and parts, probably even a stool or two. The girl chuckled and walked past a two rows of rifles, shotguns and various parts of both. “How’s the floor Rev?” She asked cheekily, a smirk plastered on her face. A middle aged man, with grey-streaked black hair tied back in a bun and a white-speckled beard in a ducktail style, looked up from the floor with his arms crossed. He was not amused.

“Very comfortable, Tommy, thank you for ‘informing’ me of this wonderful new seat.” His voice was laced with sarcasm, face set in a deadpan. Rev hauled himself off and dusted off his ripped-kneed pants. Then he set to work cleaning up the mess he had made, while Tommy walked closer to see what he had been fiddling with before she startled him. She whistled.

“Damn Rev, this looks like quite the project.” And it was the truth, on the table lay a bizarre looking gun, or more appropriately, three parts of a gun. The first chunk resembled a butt of a rifle, made up of two bars held together at the end with the actual shoulder rest. The bars were connected on the other side to- what she guessed was- the rest of the stock that seemed to contain a chamber, the action, trigger and trigger guard. It was all sleek, sharp lines. In fact, beside this lay a rectangular piece of metal, a slant cut length-wise and the whole side sharpened. The blade- because that’s what it probably was- appeared to fit under the chamber.. The second chunk of the gun was a separate section, resembling a metal forestock. It was open on one side, revealing complex coils of wire and what looked like energy stabilizers. The other side was a dull edge, which Tommy assumed Rev would sharpen later. The final chunk, or piece really, was the actual barrel. It was unusually long, and one side was cut with a slant. All connected, Tommy thought it would measure about 4 feet long, minimum. It wasn’t painted yet, but she could just imagine… a bit of blue, some black highlines… parts left gunmetal gray. It would be a lethal beauty.

“It’s a new model I’ve been working on. A pet project.” Rev answered her, putting the fallen tools where they belonged. He stood straight again, rubbing the dirt off his hands on his pant legs and crossing his arms once more.

“It got a name yet?” The girl asked, eyes still on the gun as she simultaneously ran a hand down the stock, tracing the edges with a finger.

“Yes! In fact,” Rev moved beside her, reaching under the work table and opening the drawer hidden there. From it he removed the gun’s blueprints, handing them to his employee. Tommy took the wrinkled blue page almost reverently, while Rev pointed to the print’s name. “Odiyan. It’s an Odiyan P-T1.”

Tommy looked up from the page and at him, brows furrowed in confusion. Rev grimaced, eyes narrowing. His expression resembled a pout. “Where did you get a name like that? You couldn’t of come up with it.”

“You’re faith in me is astounding. No, Tommy, I did not make the name up. Odiyan Proto-Type 1 is, well, the Odiyan part anyway, is from an old tale my grandfather used to tell me. Apparently, it’s a person whose soul could turn into an animal, but he needed an assistant or else he could stay stuck as the animal forever. Anyway, Pa used to scare me with stories where the man never came back to his body… He always said the moral was that no job is easy… The man was confusing.” Rev took the blueprint back and rolled it up carefully, tucking it in the hidden drawer once more. Tommy folded her hands behind her back for lack of a better place to put them.

“So, why name a rifle after a shapeshifter? Especially one that sounds rather risky,” Tommy asked, genuinely curious. “There must be a reason.”

Rev chuckled, the corners of his mouth tucked up in a mischievous smile. “That, Tommy, is for me to know and you to find out. And Odiyan isn’t a normal rifle.”

With one last smirk, Rev turned away and waltzed back to the front room.

“You can’t just say something like that and walk away!” Tommy cried, arms in the air in an over-dramatic disgruntlement. She followed him to the front room, hands on her hips and lower lip protruding in a childish pout. Once in the room, she leaned against the left wall beside shelves and hooks displaying various gun accessories.

“I can and I have. Now, at any moment Mr. McGee is gonna walk through that door and complain about his rifle,” Rev nodded toward the shop’s front door for emphasis. “Go get your bench ready. It’s what I pay you for.”

Tommy scrunched up her nose in clear distaste. “Do I have to boss? Do I really have to? Why can’t you deal with him? You know the old bastard will be back in here next week saying I ain’t done my job right. Again.” Ever since Mr. McGee paid a visit to the Gunsmiths, only to find a newly-hired girl instead of Rev at the counter, he would come periodically to get the ‘crappy job they did last time’ repaired. Nothing was ever wrong with the gun, but when told as such the man would throw a fit. Tommy- from then on- had decided to pretend to do maintenance.

Rev looked up, a warning to his voice. “Language Tommy. Mr. McGee may not be… completely up to date on… current social norms, but he asks for you specifically. Deep down…” Tommy’s eyebrows shot up, making Rev sigh. “Ok, deep, deep, deep down, he know’s you do your job well.”

“Or he’s a perv.”

“Tommy!”

“Tommy! You have to understand, people here at stuck in the past! They can’t help it, it’s what their parents’ taught them, what their parents’ parents’ were taught!”

“Then why do I have to bare the brunt for their twisted upbringing?!”

“Forgive them! They don’t know better, you can’t be angry with them over something they can’t change.”

“Ignorance is not an excuse! I will not pay because they deny, are too weak to change!”

“Tommy-”

“NO! I refuse to be silent and take their lies. I refuse to get thrown down and spat on. I refuse to be YOU!!”

“Girl, my gun better shoot straight or I’ll see to it that you don’t get payed.” The old Mr. McGee held up his ancient rifle, other hand curled around a crooked cane.

Tommy, arms crossed, shirt sleeves rolled up past the sleeves and hands covered in grease, nodded appeasingly. Her shoulders were tense, and she kept shifting her weight from foot to foot. Rev, stood beside her, recognized these tells for what they were. His employee’s patience was running dangerously low. “Good day now, Mr. McGee.” He called out, touching Tommy’s elbow and motioning to the shop.

“Go take a break. You need it.” He said, tone soft and quiet, smile empathetic.

Tommy scrunched up her nose and closed her eyes as she passed a hand down her face, letting out a long breath. “Yeah… yeah you’re right Rev. I’m going to go dismantle a shotgun or something…” After that, the Cycle went by slowly. Nobody else came in- and when it was apparent no one would- Rev let his employee leave early and went back to work on his project. Tommy took the opportunity to walk around town for a bit, making detours to the Spaceport and Shipyard. One was crowded, as usual. A few cargo ships were in at the moment, and a Galaxy Railways train had just arrived the Cycle prior. The girl had never seen one of the space trains up close before- never had the time- and as such made her way to the railway platforms to get a better look. She avoided the worst of the hustle and bustle, giving a wide-berth to any sketchy looking crewmen or unknown uniformed people. The closer she got to the vehicle, the more wary and suspicious looks she got from it’s passengers. Most of them were dressed in high-end fashions, and looked down their nose at the workers. She promptly ignored them and beelined for the massive engine’s current resting place. What kind of power, she wondered, did it take to move such a beast? The machine loomed over her as she examined it with hungry eyes. The engine resembled a rectangular prism with a little square knick cut out at the front where windows were placed for the cabin. It was painted a dark cherry red with gold detailing and a paler stripe of scarlet running along the bottom of its length. At the front, two large circular holes were cut deep into the frame, and a quick hop onto the railing on the side when no one was looking revealed that these were lights. Here, at the front, the scarlet flared up and down like a four pointed star. The rest of the cars behind the engine matched it in colour and further down she could just barely make out the name of the train, detailed in gold on the caboose. The Scarlet Queen She could just hop on right now and be gone from this planet, leave and never look back. One of the conductors was walking over now, and Tommy sighed. She didn’t have the means, not yet. She hopped off the railing, raised a hand to the conductor and started walking away, leaving the train behind to pass by the shipyard before she went back to her room. From busy port to dead silence, the shipyard was completely empty. Currently, there were four ships in for maintenance, the hull of a heavyweight fighter in the process of becoming scrap and two medium sized Bullhead cargos ready to leave and pass by the port for a new haul. Tommy ignored everything but the fighter, and made her way to the skeleton of a once proud ship. Most of its body had been picked over for salvage, frame exposed to the elements. She spared a few minutes poking around, curious about the ship, before deciding it was late. The vessel would still be here next Cycle, after all. And she was hungry.By the time she entered the Worst Bar in the Universe, the usual patrons were already installed comfortably and the conversation was booming. Somewhere in the background a radio played, but she couldn’t make out anything beyond the odd word or two. Her customary spot- a stool at the far end of the bar, near the stairs for the second floor- was vacant. The Owner was already waiting for her, and as she sat down presented her with a glass full of smooth amber liquid and a few ice cubes.Tommy thanked him, ordered some fried rice for her supper and with that done- sat back and watched the crowd. A few people were unfamiliar, and she assumed they were just particularly brave crewmen, or passengers of the train. Normally, travelers went to the other bar in town, The Loopy Dustdog. It was slightly bigger than the Owner’s establishment, but really the only thing that attracted temporary clients was its close proximity to the Port and Shipyard.   The Worst Bar in the Universe was the locals’ choice, and on the opposite end of Trader City. In her opinion, it was much more interesting- and reliable. The Owner may seem tough, but he was kind. And plus, rumor had it the Space Foxes were back in town. If they were anywhere in Trader City, it would be down at the Melder-shadiest bars of Melder-shady bars on the planet. Having had prior experience with this particular band of two-bit, trigger happy idiots, Phantom was going to stay far away from the Dustdog. The girl tucked into her meal, savoring it after a long, hot Cycle. After a few minutes, one specific conversation peaked her interest: a few men off somewhere to her right were debating the subject of a new Council member. News of any kind was valuable here, but news of the New Order? The power that had taken the reigns from the disgraced Gaia Coalition? That was worth its weight in Galactic-Standard coin. She kept eating, all the while eavesdropping on the men. “Ye, I heard the lad was a cargo capt’n, before the prawns of the Order called ‘im up.” One, a heavy-set bearded man with fists the size of hams stated matter-of-factly. “I heard he was chosen by the Cargo Unions to be their voice on the Council. Kid must be good if all three of ‘em agreed on it.” His companion added, a smaller, older man with gray thinning hair. “That’s a rarer sight than a Tribble riding a Hssiss…” The third at the table, taller than both his comrades sitting down, snorted.   “Yessir. But he’s young. Tha’s what I’m worried about- he’s young, and he’s dumb.” The first continued.   “Bah. Can’t be dumb if he’s on the Council now can he? He has to have somet’ing in that head o’ his.” The second retorted. “Smarts? Yeh, sure. But tha’ ain’t enough! Ye gotta have some experience… And young means no experience. I don’ wan’ no rookie runnin’ the Order, representing all us hard workin’ men.” The first bit back, adamant. “Give ‘em a chance, Jim. He might do us good. Some young blood ain’t a bad thing. He’s better than, say, ol’ Croc Shunk Connor.” The second replied, with a booming laugh. The first joined him. “That he is. Tir help us if tha’ old bastard ever got his hands on more power.” “Ay’ men tah’ that.” They clunked their mugs together, taking a good long gulp that had Tommy rolling her eyes. “You joke now, but do you honestly believe this man’s got no experience? I recognized his name, do you know why? Because he was- and listen good- this lad was the one who commanded the prized FTL class fleet. Back in the Gaia Coalition. Youngest one to ever do it.” The third broke in suddenly, silencing the other two. “Nah, Gerry, I don’t believe yer.” The first grumbled. He said something else, but the conversation got rowdy on the other end of the bar and Tommy couldn’t hear the words over the noise. When they finally calmed, she had missed a good chunk of what was said, including the Council member’s name. “An’ now, that’s why he’s a cargo captain, FTL lightweight, good crew, good ship an’ damn good skills. People trust him back in the Solar sector.” The third seemed to have just finished a monologue about this person, and it frustrated the girl to no end that she hadn’t heard it. Tommy gave up on the trio entirely when the subject changed to the latest, outrageous work hours their captain had set. With an irritated huff she stabbed at the rice with her spoon, angrily scooping it up and shoving it into her mouth. So close, she had been so damn close to getting some real information. Instead she got a bunch of disjointed facts and speculations. She glanced up and met the Owner’s eye, whose response was to raise one thick, gray eyebrow at her behavior. She scowled, taking a sip from her glass. “And what do you think, Owner?” They both knew exactly what she was referring to. The old man simply shrugged. “Anything’s better than the Gaia Coalition. I’m just hoping they won’t end up the same.” He said steadily, going back to polishing a glass he had in hand. Cheers to that, Tommy thought. Because wouldn’t that just be terrible. 

Next: Chapter 2 - The Dagger

Previous: Prologue

[misadventures-phan-can]

Chasing Phantoms ~ Prologue

It was not meant to be.

A Mother clutched her month-old daughter close. The ship shook, fire danced in the corner of her eye. Outside, a dark figure loomed. Another ship, the attacker, raining bolts down on its prey.

Oh the life they had planned. The love, happiness… The hard times and anger, sadness. All of it they were prepared to face together, forever. But not this. Never this.

The child she held in her arms cried, either from the jostling of her mother’s running, or the loud, terrifying sounds of battle that engulfed the ship whole. Soon, soon they could escape.

The woman felt terrible. Torn between the men and women of the crew that had helped her so much, the urge to stay and fight for them like they were for her… or her daughter, her Star, and the life she would surely have if she took an escape pod and ran.

The Captain knew what choice she would make, the crew knew. No one held it against her, even as she rushed away, no time spared for goodbyes. He only looked at her, stoic as always, nodding once. She smiled grimly, the first hit rocking their ship on its axis. She ran. The Captain turned and started barking battle orders. That was the last she ever saw of them, the valiant crew and their leader.

It was not meant to be.

It was hot as hell on this planet, the humidity in air stuck to the skin, only adding to the sweat that formed over faces and arms- for the humans anyway. Men and women alike wore sandals as they walked down solar-paneled sidewalks. Bicycles casually rolled past on the sidewalk separate from the pedestrian path. Every few feet the solar-panels displayed the image of a figure walking on the appropriate lane, and little bike signals on the bike path.

Leafy, flowering vines grew up telephone poles and hanging baskets dropped down within reaching distance, most full of small pitcher plants to help control the insect population. Although the wild variety​ smelled like rotting flesh, these small domestic ones smelled like overly ripe fruit. Edible plants and berry bushes hung down as well, such as ripe red strawberries, plump peaches, juicy oranges and many others, both from different planets and native to Linus.

Natural bridges went over highways for both human and fauna safety alike. Every block had a shaded solar charging port surrounded by benches, walkways that led to the beaches, bicycle racks and parking lots. The skyscrapers in the distance grew with greenery, bearing a strong resemblances to the massive forests surrounding most of the coastal capital.

The community, whether native or not, enjoyed this planet’s climate immensely… however the foreign General felt his sweat squelch in his thick military boots and under his formal uniform. The locals merely wore bikinis and shorts, with only the rare few daring to cover up with sundresses and tank tops. He had only been here for barely half a Standard Galactic Day, and already he hated it with determined vehemence.

The man stopped under some shade, both to catch his breath and check in with Head Quarters. Taking his communicator off the clip on his coat, he clicked it to the correct signal.

“General reporting, Sir come in, Sir.” The man states, pressing the receiver of the little device, all the while shaking sand out of the speakers despite it not having been exposed to the beaches at all.

“Oh hun, always so uptight and formal… you couldn’t just lay your head back and relax for the day could you…” An effeminate voice chimed through static from the other end. One could just imagine him in his Cat’s eye sunglasses, filing his nails. The General fought back a cringe of disgust.

“They didn’t know about the mineral… they don’t apparently use much mining resources… pride themselves on being green, having low impacts on the environment and all that… A biologist I found along the shore did not suitably help… he was more concerned with some species of cat beasts and a slug…”

“Ah yes….” The man on the other end of the line hummed. “I heard about those cuties. I think I may have seen one earlier today… maybe two if wolves in sheep’s clothing count. Very adorable little things, really. It makes me want one…” he hummed in a slight airy manner, with noticeable emphasis on the want.

“Sir, I do not think it a wise course of action…”

However within moments he was walking down the sidewalk to visit the flea markets, casting cold, grey eyes along colourful stalls that seemed to sell everything on this planet. From exotic fruit and meat, to equipment for ships, Earth antiques, and every species imaginable living on Linus, which seemed as good a candidate for ‘pet’ you could get, in as loose a sense of the word as possible.

He decided upon a particularly dedicated looking vendor, which was really just a collection of small play gates and cages full of animals. The first creature to greet him was a many-eyed reptilian-looking cat with 6 arms. It started growling- the man assumed- for it made a repeating, aggressive ticking sound combined with a series of rattling snarls. Eventually it turned to lay contentedly under a heat lamp. Then, he saw an odd looking snake whose eyes seemed to jut out like a chameleon’s and whose tail wrapped around a branch like it had a mind of its own. A certain scaly thing even vaguely resembled a dragon. But one species in particular caught his eye. If one had lived on Earth, in its golden age, one would compare it to a cute, chubby baby otter. To the people of Linus, they were Mimics. And, to the people who knew what they were capable of, limitless sources of potential.

The stern General was, however, hoping he wouldn’t have to go through with this tomfoolery.

Approaching the manager, or owner of sorts, he cleared his throat and presented his dilemma.  

“I need a pet for someone… a Service Dog like animal. Something smart. Something vicious.” He said, with a glint in his eye.

“Ah, is it perhaps for that special lady in your life? I mean, it all depends on what you want smart for exactly…” The manager replied, the local Linus lilt colouring his speech as he scrutinized his latest client.

The man grimaced, disgusted by the latest developments. He supposed one could call his Commander a ‘special lady’ alright… special with a helmet maybe.

“You pry too much…” He retorted, in a very smooth, very dangerous tone despite his apparent anger. “I came to ask questions, not to answer them…. I am here for a Mimic.”

The vendor- thought he seemed slightly dumbfounded- laughed heartily. “Pardon my manners, us mainlanders don’t mean to pry as much as we do. Should have just been straight forward- we got a whole litter. I hear even the SDF are starting to use these guys. I do warn ya, they aren’t pets. With ‘em little guys it’s like adopting a kid of your own…”

He motioned to a small group of Mimics, round chubby faces with antenna like whiskers. One seeming to be a small white female, another a large dapple grey, the third a grey with a black back and light underbelly. The fourth, and final one was a small black, and white male, standing just slightly taller than the female.

“That one right there, he’s a smart one I’ll tell ya.” He says pouring some milk into a saucer with a small amount of cat food. By the time the dishes were placed in their pen, the “alpha” Mimics were chittering and hollering loudly. Already they had started to mimic the noises of the animals surrounding them. The small black and white male remained silent as the two others pushed and shoved, snapping at one another for the food.

“Chester, come over here boy.” The puppy, though young, seemed to have a natural aptitude towards this sort of thing. He stood up his hind legs, prancing up and down as if he were a kangaroo jumping in delight before the dish was placed down in front him. Followed by another one for the other two Mimics.

While the two grey males fought over who would drink first, the black puppy stared at them. When the moment was right, he snuck his snout under their chests to stealthily pick dish up carefully in his mouth, all the while pushing the other with his flippers. Once his thievery accomplished, the small male sat by the passive white female, with whom he shared his prize. She pressed up against him, affectionate, but most certainly shy.

Then, suddenly, the black male looked up at the scowling General, their gaze locking. A galaxy of blue ocean waves and worlds of the multi-hued coral beneath seemed to scrutinize the man’s very person- for he had no more soul. They glowed with multitudes of deeper secrets, hidden thoughts he would never see. Perhaps it was intelligence. Or maybe not. Was it, perhaps, something more?

It didn’t take long before the Grey’s realized what had happened and approached. They bristled and snarled, copying all sorts of offended animal calls. The black male, Chester, simply looked at them before growling and making a noise that the man had heard before, upon approaching the stall. The Mimic pup got up on his hind legs and made a noise resembling the roar of one of Linus’ big cats, albeit softer and smaller, babyfied, almost. Now, before the Grey’s, stood an almost perfect replica of the reptilian, six armed cat who slept a few cages over. The male’s siblings retreated in a frenzy, fearfully whining high pitched screeches that made the General want to shoot them. But nevertheless. If his Commander had stated he wanted a pet, he would have his damn pet. And if it was to be, the General would make sure its usefulness would be maximized. He would make damn well sure. And if he was to be stuck with an overgrown, doggish copy-parrot, he would make sure it wasn’t a dumb overgrown, doggish copy-parrot. This would be it. 

The man spent the rest of the day carrying an unstable cardboard box, with holes punched in the top, under his arm. Heavily annoyed, very unamused. Little did he know, this was the beginning of 15 years of annoyance and un-amusement.

Next: Chapter 1 - The Cloak

[misadventures-phan-can]

Don’t mess with the Mutt. 

Art by @canisfamillion

[misadventures-phan-can]

Alone

“....Red?” Silence, not a sound to be heard even for those of sensitive hearing. So deep within the Arcadia was he that not even the usual groans and murmurs of machinery reached. It was dark, shadow’s crowding the edges of the hall where faint lighting could not reach. His ears went back. It was dead silent and dark… but not cold. Which, while helping to fight back the oppressive atmosphere around him, did little to soothe his nerves. What was Phantom thinking? Disappearing down here after their little… well he wouldn’t call it a fight, but maybe a spat? Yes. Their little spat. “Red!?” His own voice, garbled as it was in this form, echoed back to him eerily. You know she’s hasn’t been down here right? 

Canis jumped, still not used to the ship’s resident consciousness addressing him. “But she came this way!” No, she took a right about 150 meters back. Really, for a mutt I’d expect a better tracking aptitude. I bet you couldn’t find a steak if it were tied to a stick in front of you… The resident ghost snickered. “You’re lying! I can smell her.” I wouldn’t be surprised, she does come down here from time to time, and I’ve been told I mess with the senses somewhat… considering you’re constantly in me. Canis scrunched up his muzzle in disgust. “Ewwwww. Gross man.”

A haunting, barely-there, whisper-in-the-wind laugh echoed throughout the ship. Then, the pressure near the base of his neck- the one that showed up whenever the Arcadia’s consciousness was concentrated in a place nearby- disappeared. He was once again alone in the warm, dark bowels of the ship.

He huffed in frustration, shook out the remaining hibbie-jibbies and started forward once more. “Red?? Tommy!?” An hour passed, and still no sign of his companion in crime. He was fairly certain he had looked everywhere this floor could offer, even the darker storage rooms, artillery rooms, long since deserted rooms that just gave off a sense of wrong like no other. Canis was so done with this shit. His nerves were shot as it was, being surrounded 24/7 by people he wasn’t sure he could trust yet, his instincts going crazy whenever Tochiro so much as swept by. Harlock. ‘Nough said. And of course now, Phantom- his only companion, so far, even if she didn’t seem to share his opinion- with her new disappearing acts. This was the third time in as many days. But…. this was the only time he got himself lost, so far. He was fairly certain he had passed by here before, but he couldn’t smell his own scent anywhere. Tochiro had said he messed with the senses… hadn’t he?

“Phantom?!” It wasn’t his fault he sounded a bit panicked. Nope, just the echoing walls. His tail had lowered steadily over time, now it was tucked between his legs, and his ears were firmly pinned back. Taking a deep breath, the mutt turned around and tried to retrace his steps. A few minutes later, and he ended up in a completely different room, one he hadn’t found before.

“Well shit.” He growled, thought it sounded like more of a whine. Somehow, while he was looking for Tall, red-headed and angry, he had stumbled upon the massive forechamber and machinery for one of the Arcadia’s deadliest weapons. It was pitch black in the Blade’s chamber, various little technical lights danced along the cavernous room’s walls, but they didn’t do jack against the dark. Canis was lucky nobody was attacking, and that the blade was rarely used even then.

“....Phantom… you in here?” He called again, against all hope. Nobody was in here, or had been in here, for years. The air was so stale it almost hurt. He was alone, far from the rest of the crew, from the lived in part of the ship. Alone in the dark, at the very tip of the Arcadia. “....Fuckkk.”

He didn’t even try to hide that whine. He was indeed starting to lose it. He tried going back the way he came again, but walked straight into a wall instead. Where was the door? Why couldn’t he see it? “Tochiro?! I need help now buddy…. please.” He dissolved into a whining mess after that, when his calls went unanswered. No ghosts, no Harlocks. He changed direction and looped forward, only to hit another wall. He changed direction again, and repeated himself to the same results, over and over. He didn’t know how long he was at it, but at some point he had stopped and curled into a ball, shoulder sore and probably bleeding. He couldn’t tell, even if the coppery tang of blood wafted lazily in the air. Then, a miracle. “Mutt? That you?” Canis jerked up. “Phantom!?” “....That is my name.” The girl didn’t know what hit her, only that she found herself on the floor with a writhing mass of  mutt atop of her. “Red! OhmygawdRedIfollowyouagainjustdontleavemehere in the dark.” Canis alternated between slobbering all over her face and pushing his face into her shoulder. In his frenzy, he forgot all about Phil’s lessons of proper human behavior, what was accepted. He was just happy. So happy to not be alone anymore. Phantom signed, but she couldn’t find it in her to be annoyed. She let him do it for a moment, before rolling her shoulders and shoving him off. “Ok Mutt, that’s enou- Hey!” Canis stole one last slobbery lick. “Enough. Come on Mutt.” She turned, hand ghosting over his head in a smol affectionate move, before she started walking toward the exit. She had a flashlight in hand, he noticed now. He looked behind him, realising he had been hurling himself in the opposite direction all along. “You weren’t back for dinner so I asked Harlock if he had seen you. He zoned for a moment then told me to go check the core levels. What the hell have you been doing?” “Looking for you, Red.” “Me? That’s stupid. You’re stupid.” “Love you too.” Phantom was oddly quiet, before she cleared her throat. “Anyway, food’s getting cold Mutt, hurry up!” Canis didn’t care if, by the time they made it to the mess, his food was luke-warm at best. He didn’t care that his shoulder needed some looking after from the Doc (ok, well, maybe he did, just a little. It still hurt after all). He was happy. He wasn’t alone.

*~*~* Don’t forget your mission my darling~ *~*~* First ever post for MoP&D! Woot! Featuring OCs Phantom “Red” from Heavy Melder and Canis the shape-shifter from Linus.  We, that is to say a team of two co-authoring this and the fanfiction it plays companion too, have never posted fanfics on tumblr before. You could call this an experiment. We’ll be writing random bits and bobs to go with the main fic, as well as the fic itself. We might also post some fanart, some drawings, little drabbles... Honestly this blog is going to be a dumping ground for everything in our canon. If your curious, the main fic is called Chasing Phantoms. It’s in the middle of some pretty big rewrites, but the earliest (and cringiest) version is up both on wattpad and on fanfiction.net . Oh, and did I forget to mention this is all under the name of the amazing, small but brilliant Captain Harlock Fandom??  Hehe. Till next time!