#OC_shadow

[shads-shipposts]

I love how 2025 decided to welcome me by smacking me with the first case of the flu I've ever had. But that ain't gonna stop me (even if it's annoying the piss outta me).

We're back with Allan and co, who are also gifted a headache in the form of Shadow. This will be the last "slow" chapter for a few, as things get very chaotic very quick in chapter 3.

Thanks again for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated. Also, woe to me for forgetting, but a big thanks to @showtimeatfreddys for being the beta reader for this fic. Y'all can thank them for act 1 going from 10 to 20 chapters, as they pointed out problem areas and plot holes so I could fix them before posting <3

Beginning: Here Previous: Here Next: Here Ao3 Version: Here

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Allan groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

He already had enough to deal with that morning, then the boss just had to come by and talk to him as if he were a child. Telling him things he already knew and warning him about the consequences for failure... which he also already knew.

How stupid did he really think Allan to be?

Did he really believe that Allan managed to gain control of the ship and crew by being an idiot?

He knew that damn FBI agent was trouble, and he knew not to give him any reason to come snooping aboard the ship. As for the warnings about keeping an eye on his crew lest one get cold feet, nearly all were too loyal to Allan to betray him and those who weren't as steadfast knew what fate awaited them if they stepped out of line and tried to play hero.

Tom slipped back inside the dayroom, sympathy knitting his brow. "You alright?"

"Don't know who that peacock thinks I am," Allan grumbled.

"What'd he say?"

"Oh, the usual." Allan leaned back on the couch, letting his head rest against the wall as he closed his eyes. "Keep an eye out for the agent, keep an eye on the crew, and don't forget I'm owned body and soul and should I think about double crossin' him he'll see to it I spend the rest of my miserable days rottin' in a cell."

Tom groaned. "Ugh, I really hate that man."

Allan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I really hope he finds that wretched model ship he's goin' on about so we can get the hell out of here tonight."

"What's a model ship got to do with treasure anyway?"

"He thinks it will have a scroll, just like his does, and he can match them together."

"If he's wrong?"

"Either way, we're gettin' paid. One just has a bigger payday at the end." Allan shook his head. "For once, I'd like whoever takes over this rust-bucket to be normal. Is that too much to ask?"

"Might be."

Allan looked at the door as a new voice sounded. John Bailey stood just outside, a weird look on his face.

Allan groaned. "What is it now, Johnny?"

"May want to come see this," Johnny said, gesturing down the hall with a thumb. "We have a visitor. An American."

"Fuck me," Allan snapped, rolling his eyes. "That agent's back?"

"Not... exactly."

Allan exchanged a glance with Tom, curiosity creeping over the anger. "Interpol?"

"I honestly have no idea. He's a pretty lousy undercover agent if so."

Interest piqued, Allan pushed himself to his feet and settled his cap back on his head. "Show me."

The moment he stepped into the doorway of the lower gangplank, the hair caught Allan's eye. A dark reddish-purple, falling just to the top of broad shoulders on an otherwise fairly small frame. At least, small compared to the men moving around on the docks. He, or she, looked so out of place it was almost hilarious, sitting cross legged atop a crate scribbling furiously in a sketchbook.

"That's 'im," Johnny said. "Told 'im to sit there to sketch."

"He's certainly focused on it," Allan replied, keeping his eyes on the kid. He could see them, but they couldn't easily see him unless they looked hard. Considering how fervently they focused on sketching, he doubted they even knew they were being watched.

The odd sight of someone sketching wasn't exactly concerning, but the fact they frequently looked at the Karaboudjan was.

Surely, they couldn't be a reporter or journalist. Even from this distance, Allan wouldn't put them over twenty. Maybe over eighteen. Softer features didn't exactly help discern their age, or even their gender.

Then again, that ginger nuisance Allan and his men ran across near Egypt also didn't look like a journalist but had caused a world of hurt for Allan's operations. Looks could be incredibly deceiving.

"He say why he was around?"

"Apparently likes cargo ships and wanted to sketch one."

"That's it?"

"I came to get you soon as I could, so didn't really chat too long."

Allan grunted in acknowledgment, studying the kid's face as they looked up to get another reference of the ship. Just androgynous enough to fool someone at a first glance, Allan found himself leaning towards a woman. Late teens, not super exposed to hard labor outdoors judging by the lighter skin. But no stranger to physical activity, as while her arms weren't overly muscular they still had a definition to them found not through time in the gym but through a physically demanding sport. Coupled with her brazen trip to the docks by herself, signaling self assurance in her ability to defend herself, Allan would wager she had some form of martial arts under her belt.

Someone not to overestimate...

Wait.

Allan squinted, risking a step closer.

He couldn't be sure from this distance, but the kid almost looked... familiar? The features, the build, the length of the hair...

Maybe...

No.

Surely not.

His dream that morning was making him paranoid, that was all. It was embarrassing really, that a simple nightmare had him so rattled he saw Scarlett's face everywhere now.

Yet his eyes remained trained on the kid.

Now that he'd realized the similarities, Allan felt like he stared at Scarlett's doppelgänger minus the less than human attributes.

Whoever this kid was, he couldn't let her walk away without a few... harmless questions.

It was because of her clear fascination and focus on the ship, nothing more. He just needed... needed to keep an eye out. The FBI and Interpol could have spies everywhere.

It was purely business.

It wasn't personal.

It wasn't dire.

It wasn't Scarlett.

"Good work, Johnny," Allan murmured. "I'll handle it. As you were."

Johnny dipped his head to Allan and headed back inside, only to be replaced by another member of Allan's crew.

Brawny with broad shoulders and a long torso, Neil Irwin wiped some sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Mornin', boss."

Allan didn't look away from the American. "Mornin'."

"See somethin'?"

Allan dipped his head towards the kid. "We got a watcher."

"Yeah, she's been there since I started unloadin'."

Allan glanced at him. "Talk to 'er?"

Neil shook his head. "Didn't see a need to. She's outta the way, and is mindin' 'er business. Ain't botherin' no one."

Allan turned his attention back to the kid. "Right."

"Should I have?" Neil asked.

"Not sure yet," Allan replied slowly.

And he hated that he wasn't. Uncertainty could put you at risk to be blindsided, and blindsides were a death sentence in Allan's line of work. Especially right now.

"Nice hair, though," Neil commented with a small laugh. "Reminds me of my sister, she always liked dyein' 'er hair fancy colors."

Tom tilted his head as he watched her scribble. "Purple, though? Bit anachronistic, don't ya think?"

Neil glanced at Tom and elbowed him with a sly grin. "Didn't think you could manage big words like that, Tommy."

Tom glared at him, clearly fighting down a smile of his own. "Piss off," he growled, shoving Neil.

"Stow it," Allan snapped as the pair started going for headlocks and rib shots.

"What's wrong?" Tom asked, smacking Neil's hat off in one last blow.

Tom, you well-meaning but unobservant idiot.

"Look at 'er face."

Tom gave him an odd look, but peered across the docks. "Is there... somethin' I'm lookin' for?"

Fuck's sake.

"She doesn't remind you of Scarlett?"

Tom's eyes widened. "Oh... shit, yeah. I see it now," he murmured.

"Wait," Neil exclaimed. "Scarlett was real?!"

Allan smacked his arm. "Keep your voice down!"

Neil winced. "Sorry. Just... I thought she was just a drunken ramblin'."

"How'd you hear of her?"

Neil rubbed the back of his neck. "Er, Harry. Got pissed one night and went on and on about this alien sheila with a bloody tail of all things."

"Oh, she had more than a tail," Allan muttered, not at all surprised that Harry Hobbs was the one to tell Neil.

Allan only allowed him to drink on the ship, away from outsiders, because it was a very risky gamble what would come out of his mouth. Could be professions of love to the crew, could be a challenge to the mermaid figurehead in the card room, or it could be details about his rather adventurous port endeavors that no one wanted to hear.

"He mentioned shapeshiftin' and ice powers, too, but I didn't believe 'im since he's said crazier things." Neil shook his head in disbelief. "But you're sayin' she's real? Not some drunken hallucination Harry saw?"

"Either she was real, or the entire ship had mass psychosis."

Neil looked over at the kid again. "Damn... aliens are real," he rasped, then looked up. "She come from space? How the hell she end up on the ship?"

Allan wished he knew the answer to the first question. At one time, he felt like he did. He was fairly certain Alphians weren't on Earth through technological means, what little information he could recall about their history pointing to migration through magical portals.

But at least he could answer the second.

"We were taken over by a group of mercs, who first employed our help to hunt down one of their fugitives. Turns out they didn't play fair, and ordered us to stop at a small-town pier in the middle of nowhere near the coast of Virginia in the states. More and more mercs joined them, and it really looked like they planned to off us."

"Sounds bleak."

"It was. Then Scarlett showed up. She had two allies with 'er, but one joined the mercs and the other was killed by 'em to try and threaten Scarlett. She didn't take kindly to it, and came to me to ask permission to kill the merc who killed her friend."

"An alien with supernatural powers asked permission?"

"She feared me, apparently." Allan then snorted. "Not enough to not knock me out and go after the merc when I said no."

"What happened after that?"

"That's just it," Allan grumbled. "Everything goes fuzzy after that. Only one man has any more memory of Scarlett after me."

"Who?"

"Me," Tom said. "I saw 'er leave the ship and went after 'er, but one of the mercs found me." He ran his fingers over the jagged scar on his cheek. "Almost did me in, but Scarlett saved me. She got 'urt in the process, though. Tried gettin' 'er back to the ship, but... it all goes fuzzy for me too."

"Let me... get this straight," Neil said slowly. "The ship was taken over by mercs, you had the luck of comin' across a supernatural alien who initially helped but turned against you, then the memory of 'er just... ends. No leads, nothin'?"

"She didn't betray us!" Tom protested. "She just... went against Allan's orders. She was pretty bent on revenge for her friend's death."

"But you haven't been able to track 'er down since then?"

"I haven't been able to track down information on her damn species, let alone Scarlett herself," Allan grumbled.

"She kinda just vanished without a trace," Tom added. "We're still not exactly sure what all happened those few days she was 'round 'ere."

"And you think the sketcher is her?"

Allan shook his head. "Not a chance. Scarlett had some... unmistakable traits. But this kid looks very similar otherwise."

"No offense, boss," Neil said slowly. "But is that the only reason you're so fixated on this kid? A similar appearance?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot," Allan growled.

"I'm not," Neil said, unshaken by the anger in Allan's tone. "But it still sounds like some fever dream."

"I'm not the only one who remembers 'er, Neil."

"It's strange, I won't lie," Neil said. "And I'm certainly not sayin' it didn't happen." He looked towards the kid again. "But I draw the line at goin' after people who are mindin' their business."

He had a point, Allan had to admit. While Allan didn't look down on collateral damage for the same reason Neil did, he still didn't care for it. Collateral damage could get the wrong people involved, people who otherwise would have been content to look the other way until they were personally affected.

This kid, whoever she was, most likely wasn't any sort of undercover rat. Undercover agents sought to blend in, lay low, and stay on the outskirts. The big guns would be brazen and demand to inspect the ship, bringing a large force with them. She was... somewhere in the middle. Not challenging anyone, but not hiding either.

She clearly didn't know anything of the illegal dealings carried out on the ship.

Getting this kid involved could horribly backfire on Allan and his men, and the last thing they needed at the moment was more heat.

Maybe it was better to just leave her be. He should be focusing on the current job, not living in the past chasing ghosts.

Making a scene would only land him in hot water with more entities than he cared to take on at once.

"Oh, almost forgot," Johnny said, joining them again. "Got a name from 'im."

"Her," Tom corrected.

"Her?" Johnny echoed. "You sure?"

"No," Allan said before Tom could reply. "What was the name?"

"Shadow."

Allan's heart damn near stopped, his eyes flying wide as he looked at Tom.

No way. There was absolutely no way this was just a coincidence.

The dream, the Alphian on the docks, the kid's appearance, her interest in the Karaboudjan, her fucking name even...

This kid had a connection to Scarlett. Allan wouldn't even entertain the idea she did not any more.

The only question was how.

"What?" Neil said. "Why's that matter?"

"Shadow... was the name Scarlett first used," Tom croaked. "When she was tryin' to conceal 'er identity."

"That does it," Allan said. "I'm havin' a talk with that kid."

Tom looked at him, somewhat alarmed. "What if she bolts?" He gestured to the both of them. "We're not exactly the most friendly lookin'. Al, we can't risk that."

"Good point," Allan muttered, then turned to Neil. "Go try and talk to 'er."

Neil wasn't exactly any less physically imposing than Allan or Tom, but him alone may not be as threatening.

Neil looked less than thrilled with the order. "Just talkin', right?"

"Not gettin' cold feet, are you?" Allan asked, tone low.

Neil stood his ground. "No. I know what I signed up for, though, and one of the rules was no women or kids."

Allan knew damn well what the rules were; he implemented them himself.

"Bloody hell, we're not hurtin' 'er," Allan retorted. "All I need you to do is keep 'er distracted so we can get close. If she likes cargo ships like she said, she shouldn't mind talkin' to a man who works on one. No threats, just talk to 'er."

"And if she runs?"

It pained Allan, but he said, "Let 'er. Do not make a scene."

"Not... gonna do anythin' to 'er, right boss?" Neil asked, a new hardness to his tone.

"No, she's not in any danger. How many times do I need to say that?" Allan demanded, straining to keep his volume low so he didn't alert Shadow. "I just have questions for 'er."

Neil still didn't seem convinced.

"Just go," Allan ordered.

Neil hesitated, then headed for Shadow.

As Neil left, Allan turned to Tom. "Alert the boys. Get 'em to block the exits, but discreetly. Wait for my word, this could be nothin'."

"Thought we weren't makin' a scene?"

"That's why we block the kid's escape. Once she's surrounded, I can control the situation better."

"What if she notices and runs before they can close in?"

"If there's a gap, let 'er through. But once the circle closes, don't let 'er out.

Tom nodded and left to carry out the order.

Allan turned back to watch the kid, eyes narrowed.

Nothing personal.

I need answers.

And you're not goin' anywhere until I get them.

[shadowthestoryteller]

Shadow @ Wrecker

[shadowthestoryteller]

I SHALL FOREVER TREASURE

A piece of @shadowthestoryteller ‘s oc and Sniper hanging out!!

As much as I struggle drawing sniper, this was definitely worth it, I hope you like it!!

[shads-sketchies]

Someone order a low quality visualization of this chapter of Commander, Meet the Cat?

-Sept 9, '22

[shadowscrackcomicemporium]

I keep forgetting to post crack comics here so they shall be on this account only from now on

[twitchstoleyourbagel]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHAAADDOOOWWWWWWWW!!!!! @shadows-fan-space I LOVE YAAAAA

[shadow-stalker99]

Shadow: This is exactly what happened

Wrecking-Ball-99: That’s the Sarge!

[shads-shipposts]

Anachronism Placeholder Cover+Act I Titles

BEHOLD THE COVER!

Or, at least a placeholder lol. Decided to place emphasis on the car because I find the "truck-kun" trope hilarious. It's not now Shadow ends up in the Tintin movie, but it IS how she ends up on the ship.

I also finally got all the titles done for chapters 1-20 ✨

What a Way To Start the Day

All Around Me Are Familiar faces

Dreamers' Dare

Run and Gun

Friends and Folly

Quest of Questions

Curiosity Killed the Cat

Cat and... Dog?

Press K to Change Teams

Lore Drops and Rabies

A Deep Cut

No More Evading the Confrontation

Existential Crisis Encore

Bumpy Ride

Spawning Season

Pedal to the Metal

Special Delivery

NOW We're Getting Somewhere

Grand Reveals

Drown It Out

Get hype for next week!

[shads-shipposts]

This chapter is perhaps the oldest, or was one of the first I ever drafted. It may have even been a chapter that was initially drafting back in late 2019/early 2020, although it didn't flow exactly like this. But the "flee the scene and fight your way out" essence of it has been around for a hot minute lol. Banter and fight scenes are my absolute favorites to write, and this definitely has lots of both. This is actually a shortened chapter, with part of it shifted to Ch 5 because it was pushing 5000 words. 

I loved writing all the sailors in this, but Tom is probably a fav. I love the guy, but initially I found myself making him a bit too harmless/passive so I've gone back through my drafts and tried to give him a bit of an edge. Mackenzie Crook's voice and the general way he portrayed Tom in the movie made him seem like a puppy quite often, but Tom still is a very skilled and very dangerous criminal (and grown adult with stubble for days) who can kill/has killed if the situation called for it. He's Allan's right hand man after all, so he's seen and done some shady stuff. He's still gonna be a close friend of Shadow, but there will be times when Shadow gets the reality check of exactly the sort of men she's running with. 

Enjoy this monster of a chapter! As always, make sure to reblog/like/comment if you enjoyed! 

Beginning: Here Previous: Here Next: Here Ao3 Version: Here Masterlist: Here

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“Catch that kid! Alive!”

Well ain’t this dandy? All I wanted to do was sketch the ship, now I’m in a run and gun chase scene! This is what I get for being curious!

At least this was just a dream, so I couldn’t really get hurt.

Though now was as good a time as any for my subconscious to shift scenes, placing me far from here.

Any minute now.

Any minute the docks would warp and shift and I would be elsewhere. Maybe pursued, maybe not.

Perhaps it’d be a forest, or a beach, or outer space, or some liminal hellscape found only in the most remote of fever dreams.

And yet the tall warehouses and clusters of crates remained.

And yet the distant yells of foremen and longshoremen remained.

And yet the salty musk of the sea remained.

And yet the cobblestone streets and their many puddles remained.

Any minute, subconscious! Now would be a great time to go fuzzy!

And yet…

I remained.

Footsteps came quick behind me, and close.

If my dream didn’t shift me soon, I’d be in trouble.

Blackbelt or not, running was not my forte. My fighting style was quick and brutal, so I never had to worry about stamina. Fights were only supposed to last a few seconds, otherwise they were brawls.

I was not trained for that. Not extensively, at least.

Already I could feel the acid in my muscles, the strain in my throat, and the throbbing of my teeth.

Hellfire and damnnation, please let it not be Allan closing in behind me!

He had questions, and to be fair I had a hell of a lot of my own, but I didn’t think he’d be keen on sitting down and having a calm chat about them.

I risked a glance behind me.

Not Allan, or any other sailor I recognized from canon material, but the young Boston guy. No older than me, or taller, but probably faster.

“No hard feelin’, doll!” he called. “Boss wants you back, so I’m takin’ ya back!”

Anger lent me a second wind, and I pushed ahead with renewed determination.

“Call me that again and I’ll drop your ass!” I retorted

“That fire won’t do you any favors with the boss!”

“And your smooth talk won’t do you any favors with me!”

Spotting a brick wall maybe eight feet high, I changed course and headed straight for it. Hopefully this young fella couldn’t vault walls like I could.

Let’s see if all that self taught parkour pays off!

Jumping at the wall, right foot first, the treads of my boot caught the rough brick and I propelled myself over the obstacle. I landed in a puddle, sending oily water everywhere, but at least I was gone from the bad side of the wall.

“Oh what the hell?!”

Ha! Lost him!

“Nick! Where’d she go?”

“She vaulted the wall!”

Well, that was no good. That sounded like Neil, and he could probably toss Nick over to my side.

Time to make like my name and vanish!

Spying an open door, I darted inside a warehouse and scrambled up behind some crates. I was careful to not put myself into a corner, however, because I knew my harsh breathing would give myself away. I could control it decently well, but even still.

Subconscious! Where’s that shift!?

My reprieve was horrifically short lived.

Voices, inside the warehouse.

Subconscious!

“Those footprints led in here.”

Damn puddle.

“Be careful, fellas. She’s feisty!” came Nick’s laugh.

Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

“Anyone would be annoyed to deal with you,” another sailor snorted, voice far softer than any of the other men and carrying a hint of a French accent. “Remember, boss wants her alive. Preferably unharmed, but use whatever force needed to get her down.”

Oh, better bring the heat cause I ain’t going down easy.

Noise came from my right, and I turned in anticipation as I waited for the sailor to show himself. He sure was making a lot of noise, and I thought I even heard a crate tumble down to the floor.

The reason for all the excess noise soon revealed itself.

“Gotcha!” Nick laughed from behind, arms wrapping around my middle. He hauled me up and towards himself, but that gave me an idea.

Throwing all my weight back into him, he yelped and we both tumbled backwards, heels over head, down the tall stack of crates. Something that should have hurt like the dickens, but didn’t.

All hail dream immunity!

At least I knew for sure this was a dream, even if things were incredibly vivid.

Fine! If my dream won’t let me leave, then I won’t be stuck here with these guys.

They’ll be stuck here with me.

Down we went, Nick having a much worse time than me judging by the yelps. It was a long way to the cobblestone floor, the sailor who made all the noise rushing to beat us to the bottom where another sailor waited.

From what little glimpses I got, I thought the man at the bottom was the sailor I’d locked eyes with while talking to Neil.

Big guy, burly with broad features, and wearing a signature black scarf covered in red floral designs.

But I couldn’t really be sure, tumbling backwards Loony-Tunes style as I was.

What was sure, though, was I didn’t plan to fight three guys.

Take out as many as you can as fast as you can.

As we neared the bottom, I kicked off the pile of crates and launched us both into the legs into crate-climber-sailor as he darted below us to grab me.

He went down, him and Nick ending up tangled in a pile of sore limbs, leaving me free to spring free and get ready to square up with the remaining sailor.

Though I honestly wished he would have been the one Nick currently struggled to detangle himself from. I’d faced off some big guys in karate, but this fella was on another level.

Leverage. I’d have to use leverage.

In a way that did not anger this big guy for further down the road.

Or just duck and dodge. He’s big, but big guys are often slow.

“Little girl has skill,” he remarked in a thick Russian accent, giving me a smile that was surprisingly more good-natured than sinister. “But sadly will not make safe.”

“Get ‘er, Ollie!”

Ollie, huh? Show me what you got.

Diving into a shoulder roll, I sprang up and immediately changed direction and dove into another one just as his arms closed over the spot I just was. I darted out the door, immediately slamming into another sailor and taking us into the street.

I could not catch a break!

A car horn sounded, but before I could react, the sailor I ran into snatched the back of my waistband and rolled us out of the way to the other side of the street. I kicked off with my legs, aiding him the best I could.

Neither of us were gonna be able to fight if we both got flattened by multiple tons of steel.

A truce between enemies born from survival. Top tier trope.

Angry yelling followed from the driver as we tumbled to a stop, the sailor on his back and me sprawled across his stomach. We watched him drive off before finally looking at each other.

I found myself locking eyes with none other than Neil, and we stared at each other silently for a few moments before I tried bolting away. A strong arm locked around my midsection and hauled me back into an alley, but Neil tripped over his own feet when I threw my weight back and we fell again. He wasn’t about to give up, though, and I found myself locked in a grappling match that was not going my way.

Why couldn’t the other black belts have just ignored the awkwardness and taught me grappling?! I don’t know dick about this!

But I did know one thing. A move that, while not orthodox, was extremely successful due to the sheer audacity and insanity one had to possess to attempt it.

As an arm came down and tried to loop around my neck, I bared my teeth and sank them into his bare arm.

It tasted like sweat, dirt, sea-water, and engine grease.

Not that I knew what the last tasted like.

“Youch!” Neil yelped, quickly releasing his hold on me.

Diving away, I sprang up but stopped in horror as I stared down a dead-end alley. Spinning around into a right fighting-stance, guard up and front leg ready to strike, I cursed myself for not checking the direction before I jumped.

Look before you leap.

Neil knelt on the ground, blocking my way out as he nursed his wounded arm. I hadn’t bitten too hard, more concerned with just getting free via surprise, so all he had to worry about was spit and a minor bruise.

Aren’t dreams supposed to grant immunity for all parties? And that’s the second time my attacks actually had weight to them. Then again, since I’m aware I’m dreaming, I’ve probably shifted to lucid dreaming.

Inspecting the bite mark, Neil then looked up at me with an expression halfway between amusement and shock. “You just bite me, Shortie?”

“Well pardon me for wantin’ to escape!”

He snorted in amusement, a partial smile on his face. “Apology accepted, but ‘fraid that’s all the mercy I can offer.”

As if on cue, more sailors joined him at the entrance to the alley. A guy I was pretty sure was Hobbs from the movie, Tom, Ollie, Nick, the unnamed sailor Nick fell on that I swear I’d seen in one of the games, and…

“Shit,” I hissed, locking eyes with Allan.

Did no one go after Trevor? Or did that jackass peace out like an Enderman again?

“What’s the rush?” Allan asked. “It’s rude to not say goodbye, kid.”

That easy-going and nonthreatening smile don’t fool me, Al. Tom’s the Golden Retriever, not you. You’re a German Shepherd with anger management issues or some shit.

“Oh, ya know.” I shrugged, trying to get some wind back in my lungs. “Places to go and people to not see.”

“You’ll be free to go to those places as soon as you answer some questions from the people you don’t want to see.” Allan turned to his men, jerking a thumb towards the street. “Keep watch, this won’t take long.”

Nick and the unnamed sailor stood on either side of the entrance, looking the opposite directions as they presumably kept a look out for any passersby. The others moved into the alley, pushing me further back.

“You goin’ to play nice or not, kid?” Tom asked. “It don’t have to turn ugly for ya.”

I scoffed. “I ain’t never played nice a day in my life and I sure as shit ain’t gonna start now.”

“Even trapped as you are, you still want to put up a fight?” Allan’s eyes scanned me from head to toe, an amused yet somewhat irritated smile on his face. Like he wanted to be mad but also found my theatrics amusing. “Commendable.”

Well at least he ain’t ordered me skinned alive yet.

“Nah, mate. I ain’t trapped with you, you’re trapped with me.”

Hobbs snorted, looking me up and down. “What’re we all standin’ around for? Let’s just shake the truth out of ‘er.”

“Not sure you want to do that,” Allan said to Hobbs, eyes lingering on my stance where I stood on the balls of my feet before traveling to my hands which were loose and ready near my waist.

Oh he knows.

Hobbs laughed. “Why not?”

Allan didn’t take his eyes off me. “What do you think, kid?”

I shrugged. “He’s welcome to try.”

Realization and caution flooded the faces of Neil and Tom, while Ollie stayed pretty straight faced aside from a subtle, knowing smile.

Hobbs had no such discernment. “She’s not so tough, watch!”

He came forward, reaching for my arm. I waited until he got just close enough, subtly shifting my weight to my left leg, before letting my right leg fly.

It caught him in the chest, knocking him off his feet and back towards the group.

“Nice strike,” Ollie said, arms crossed and stance relaxed as Neil erupted into laughter.

“Don’t encourage her!” Hobbs spat, slowly staggering to his feet.

“When someone says you’re welcome to try,” Neil wheezed. “That isn’t a bloody invitation, it’s a warnin’!”

“Shut up!”

“Looks like we got a martial artist on our hands, boys,” Allan remarked, looking me up and down. “No wonder she felt so safe takin’ a stroll down the docks.”

Not my brightest idea, but even in a dream I can gather Worldbuilding inspiration.

“Sad to say, kid, all that fancy dojo-learnin’ won’t do you much good here on the street,” Tom said.

“It’s served me well so far.”

“Look,” Allan chuckled, spreading his hands in a nonthreatening manner as he offered me a disarming and charismatic smile. “Maybe we all got off on the wrong foot.”

Of course he’d switch to charming and agreeable now, he had me cornered. Ol’ good cop bad cop, except Allan Thompson played both roles. Good trick, scare someone out of their wits then act all friendly so they would be more likely to cooperate and “make it easier for everyone”.

“Uh huh.”

“All we need from you is some answers,” Allan continued, stance relaxing and arms now hanging loose by his sides. “And we can all be on our merry way.”

The way you shift from threatening to trustworthy is amazing, sir. Were you not out for blood, I’d study you like a prison psychologist.

“Mmmm, not buyin’ it,” I said.

Allan shrugged, but he almost looked… pleased that I didn’t fall for it. “Can’t fault a man for tryin’, can you?”

“Oh not at all. Good performance, convincin’ tone, award-winnin’ smile. Had it all. Only a few problems.”

His small, sly smile grew.“Enlighten me.”

“You encircled me at the docks, ordered your men to chase me and bring me back, are currently cornerin’ me in an alley, and!” I gestured up and down at him with both hands. “You’re built like a fuckin’ industrial refrigerator.”

That caught him offguard, his smile fading and replaced by a frown of confusion. “A… refrigerator.”

I motioned with my hands. “Rectangular and solid.”

Neither he nor his men looked entirely sure how to react to such a statement, though I hardly blamed them for that. Neil seemed to find it amusing though, choking back some laughter.

“Aside from… that,” Allan said slowly after a long pause. “What’s stoppin’ you from just answerin’ a few harmless questions?”

Are you challenging me, subconscious? Since when are introspective moments part of my dreams? We do chaos and non-stop action, none of this chatty stuff.

Call me colorblind because the amount of red flags I wasn't seeing about the reality of the situation was honestly laughable.

“Drop the act,” I said. “You and I both know that sweet talkin’ is empty and I ain’t so stupid as to be charmed by honeyed words. This information isn’t somethin’ I walk away after givin’.”

“And what information is that?”

Information I am not willing to revisit unless forced.

I may be the queen of cringe, but never ask a ruler what atrocities they committed to secure their throne.

I said nothing, readying myself for a fight.

His expression changed, the easy-going smile shifting to something not quite sinister but definitely not friendly. “We’re gettin’ those answers, kid. One way or another.” His tone darkened. “You want to play rough, we can play rough.”

He snapped his fingers.

Hobbs flanked his right with a blade, Neil his left with nothing but his bare hands. Tom stood back, waiting and watching the scene unfold with sharp eyes and a hand on his hip close to what I knew to be a firearm.

“Four corners, huh?” I asked, shifting into a ready stance with my weight on my toes. “A gun, a knife, and fists. All I need is a kicker.” My eyes shifted back to Allan. “You good at round-house kicks, mate?”

He didn’t say anything, still bearing that dangerous smile that sent shivers down my spine yet also brought a similar smile to my own face.

“Think this is a game?” Hobbs demanded.

I flashed a toothy grin his way. “Play ball, bitch.”

Allan sighed in mock remorse. “If you insist.”

Hobbs came first, blade aimed for my leg. A simple horse stance to horse stance paired with a wrist throw took care of him.

Neil was next, swinging wide with a sloppy haymaker that didn’t make much sense given he had to know that was one of the easiest things to block, but he’d already proved enigmatic in his methods so I didn’t spend time questioning him. I just stepped in, blocked the punch on the inside of his arm, and wrapped my hand around the back of his neck. By a stroke of luck, I threw him into Hobbs and they both went down.

But now I found myself facing Tom, or rather, not facing him.

He locked me in a strong bear hug from behind, but unlucky for him this was also one of the easiest attacks to break.

Drive my heel onto the top of his foot but pull it enough to not hurt too bad, punch out and step into a horse stance to break the hold, elbow to the gut to wind him, grab the arm.

Kneel.

Bend.

Flip.

Tom fell hard onto the cobblestones in front of me, arm trapped in an armbar, but as I drew back a fist to strike his ribs, I found myself unable to commit.

Blue eyes staring up at me in alarm did not help matters.

Instead, I threw his arm away and dove into a shoulder roll to escape before he could spring up and grab me.

But what was waiting for me was worse, and I sprang to my feet to find Allan’s pistol pointed straight at my chest. I knew how to disarm him, but I risked the trigger getting pulled and the bullet hitting one of the others. If I could just get him to shift slightly, then I only risked the wall getting hit.

Unless it ricocheted…

“Hey, what gives?” Hobbs groaned, cradling his wrist. “Why does Tom get let off easy?”

“Maybe because he didn’t try stabbin’ the kid!” Neil smacked him over the head. “What were you thinkin’, dickhead?!”

“I was just aimin’ for ‘er leg! I wouldn’t hit anythin’ vital!”

“You cut ‘er bloody arm!”

He did? I didn’t… feel anything?

“She doesn’t seem any worse for wear!”

I glanced down at my arm.

Shoot, sure enough there was a leaking gash about two inches long on the underside of my forearm.

Well, they did say getting cut was unavoidable even if you had plenty of skill and speed-

“Tom, get ‘er!”

Act!

I stepped in, both hands grabbing the top of Allan’s and forcing the gun down away from the rest of the men. For some reason, it didn’t go off. Snatching it from his grasp, I slammed my foot into his gut and drove him back. The force sent him off his feet, just like Hobbs, but before he recovered I had the gun ready and aimed at him as I put my back to one of the walls.

I’d never be able to pull the trigger, even with it just aimed at his foot, but I just hoped they wouldn’t know that.

Allan did notice, however, where I was aiming and where my finger was; resting along the barrel, far from the trigger. Still kneeling, his eyes traveled from the gun to me, slightly narrowed. Tom came up from the side, cautiously, but Allan stopped him with a hand.

“Why would you risk gettin’ shot to get the gun?” he asked, one hand over his stomach where I nailed him as his words came out somewhat breathlessly.

Guess even when pulling it, the kick winded him.

Yay for four years of equestrian prior to five years of karate.

He slowly stood, eyes trained on mine as he leaned against the wall opposite to me and took a breath. “Only to aim it somewhere that wouldn’t even stop your attacker?”

“Mind your business.”

He raised an eyebrow, carefully pushing himself off the wall. “Considerin’ I have my gun aimed at my foot, think it is my business.”

“I ain’t lookin’ for a murder charge.”

Dream or no dream.

Not that that is the whole reason.

“Did not stop you from trying to break neck in warehouse,” Ollie commented, still standing calm as could be near the front of the alley with Nick who watched me with wide eyes.

A shove from Ollie sent him back to his watchdog post.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that,” I mumbled.

Ollie tilted his head. “You are not desperate. Dedicated to escape, but not desperately seeking.”

“Didn’t realize I was bein’ chased by a buncha shrinks.”

“He’s right, though,” Allan said. “You’ve not once been lethal. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Sure was painful,” Hobbs grumbled, shaking his wrist.

Allan stepped closer, and I raised my gun to his arm.

He shook his head. “Again, not lethal.”

“Good trigger discipline,” Ollie commented.

Allan stepped closer again, hands still at his sides.

I still couldn’t bring myself to aim at his face. You never aimed a gun at something you didn’t intend to shoot. Aiming it anywhere near him was already breaking that rule.

Instead, I warned, “Back! Don’t test me, mate, I’ll pull this trigger.”

Lies. All of it lies.

I knew that… and so did Allan.

We were in the 2011 movie, but I was not dealing with movie!Allan. I was dealing with some variant of the one I originally wrote all those years ago; smarter, more cunning, and a lot sharper than anything the movie even hinted at. The charismatic side was new for me, but very unwelcome. I didn’t know how to even begin thwarting it, and he fucking knew that.

“Come on, then.” He opened his arms. “Pull the trigger, kid. Shoot me down.”

I looked into his eyes, reading the challenge there clear as day. The moment I pulled the trigger and hit any part of him, the others would pounce. They’d already tried attacking separately once before; they would not make the same mistake twice.

We were both within striking range, both able to absolutely ruin the other’s day. But still we stood unmoving, staring the other down. Locked in a battle of wits, a battle which neither party was going to give up easily. There was too much at stake to walk away.

Tom stepped into my field of view, slowly. “Hey, kid. Just drop the gun, yeah?” he tried, a hand reaching out. “Ya can’t hurt us. Not wit’ that.”

“Don’t mistake my inaction for inability,” I growled, not taking my eyes off Allan. “I know my way around a gun.”

“Ain’t that. Ya don’t wanna pull that trigger, trust me.”

Neil and Hobbs were cautiously approaching now too, staying back at a gesture from Allan. The first mate didn’t take his eyes from me, however.

They were way too calm considering I had a loaded gun. Or…

My eyes widened.

Did I?

Grabbing the slide, I aimed away from Allan, who just watched calmly, and I looked inside to find an empty chamber. Ejecting the clip, I found it to also be empty.

They weren’t scared of the gun because there was no reason to be scared of it. It was useless, unless I threw it at one of them. That wouldn’t do any good.

“You gotta be shittin’ me!” I whined, dropping the gun after reinserting the clip.

Allan reached out with his foot and slid the gun behind him, where Ollie picked it up. “Tough luck, kid.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled.

“Be best if ya just came with us,” Tom said, stepping forward only to stop when I shifted into a fighting stance and brought my guard up.

“Er, ain’t a good idea,” Neil said, shaking his head. “Can’t win a boxin’ match wit’ Tom, Shortie. He’s the second best on the ship, and he fights dirty.”

I caught that from the attack from behind earlier.

“A, I’m taller than him,” I grumbled, gesturing at Hobbs and earning a venomous glare. “So I don’t know what this whole Shortie deal is about. B, I know I can’t beat him.” I looked between the men, heart pounding against my ribs. “But I sure as hell can make you wish you left me alone.”

Dismay crossed Tom’s face, but there was an element of challenge there too. And element of warning. “It don’t ‘ave to be like this. Won’t hurt ya if ya just cooperate.”

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I prepared to go down fighting. “We both know it does have to be like this. Unless you let me walk outta here.” I smiled humorlessly. “And that clearly ain’t happenin’.”

Something told me he would take it relatively easy on me, but even a light yet solid hit to the diaphragm from Tom would take me down. If I was bad at grappling, boxing was even worse.

And we already established I wouldn’t be able to hurt him.

“Seriously, kid,” Tom said again, his tone growing dark. “Don’t wanna do this.”

“Got that right, but I gotta, Tom.”

He sighed, bringing his own fists up. “Sorry ‘bout this,” he muttered, taking a step forward. “But ya asked for it. I’ll make it quick.”

I readied myself. “Right back at ya, mate.”

His eyes narrowed, but I did catch a hint of a smile.

At least I have his respect before he punches my lights out.

“We won’t ask again, kid,” Allan warned as the men all took a step toward me. “This has gone on long enough.” There was no smile on his face and no amused tolerance in his voice with his next command as the other sailors stepped into the alleyway with us. “Stand down.”

I shook my head. “No. Y’all square up.”

“Yoooo, Shadow!”

We all looked up, fight briefly paused, and rage filled me as I saw Trevor looking down at us from the roof.

“You miserable and worthless list of terms and conditions!” I hissed, drawing an amused snort from Neil. “Get your ass down here so I can at least fuck up your face ‘fore I’m torn to bits!”

He laughed. “What, after I was gonna offer you an escape?”

“Oh yeah?” I gestured angrily at the sailors. “Little late!”

“Not really! Got a little magic trick!”

“Now ain’t the time for games!”

“Not a game! Watch!” He threw a small sphere into the alley. “Abracadabra!”

It bounced off the opposite wall and landed at my feet, making the men jump back.

“Grenade!”

Shit!

[shads-shipposts]

Well

What was 10 chapters for "act one" of Anachronism is now 20

Y'all getting FED next year for Karaboudjan content

Come hungry for banter and angst because boy howdy will there be a LOT

[shads-shipposts]

Shadow: *playfully threatens to haunt Tom if she dies, dipping all of his socks in water right before he has to wear them*

Tom: Ugh, no thanks. I don't need trench foot again.

Allan: You had it one time

Tom: One time too many

Shadow: Wait... y'all fought in the trenches in WWI???

Tom: Aye.

Shadow: But that... you fought in WWI on the front lines as TEENAGERS?

Allan: Yeah. Was awful.

Shadow: .... Y'all fought in the literal trenches as teenagers and I can't even make a phone call. Fuck my life.

[shads-shipposts]

Shadow: Who the fuck-?

Tom: Language!

Shadow: … Whom the fuck?

Tom: No!

[shads-shipposts]

Allan: Any questions?

Shadow: Yeah. Why are you British?

Allan: ...

Allan: What?

Shadow: I mean the original comics were supposed to be from Belgium. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that place has a French flavor. The original comics were also in French. Why is nearly every damn person on this rust-bucket aggressively British?

Allan, two seconds away from the third existential crisis that night: I meant about the plan, Shadow, what the hell?

[shads-shipposts]

Will add links later, but can find a masterlist on my pinned post <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We all turned to stare at Allan, who leaned on a tree in a deep shadow with his arms crossed near the top of the gully. Had he not spoken, none of us would have noticed him.

What is with my lack of usual situational awareness and coordination? Ain't self inserts supposed to get those stats boosted, not suppressed?

Allan raised his hands with a shrug. "I mean, don't stop on my account. Want to see where this goes."

"Er, how long you been there, boss?" Neil asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Long enough to listen in on your chit chat, startin' around the time Tom pointed out Shadow there should've stayed away." He glanced at the boulder. "Though I am curious how the hell that happened."

"I slipped and fell, and may or may not have smacked my head into it," I replied.

For a moment, genuine surprise crossed Allan's face. His eyes shifted between us and the boulder multiple times before he shook his head in disbelief. "Your head did that?" he exclaimed, pointing at the boulder.

"Aye."

His brow furrowed. "Tom, did you check 'er for a concussion?" he demanded.

Is that genuine concern for my wellbeing, or are you just worried about losing your meal-ticket?

It's Allan Thompson, what do you think?

"Tried, boss!" Tom protested. "She wouldn't let me."

"You don't feel funny, kid?" Allan asked, carefully sliding down the bank to join us. "At all? No blurry vision or headaches?"

"No?" I shrugged. "You don't take fall damage in dreams anyway."

He glanced between me and the rock. "Uh huh. Ya know kid, I'm starting to believe your nonsense."

"Thank you?"

Allan grunted in response, then walked over and crouched in front of me about two feet away. Holding a finger up, he moved it back and forth. "Follow it."

"Would a 'please' kill ya?" I muttered, but tracked his finger without moving my head.

Back and forth.

Side to side.

Up and down.

Around in a circle.

Away from me.

Closer to me.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer...

I halfheartedly snapped my teeth at it, expecting him to move.

He didn't.

I stared at the finger halfway between my teeth, a bit perplexed, before looking up at him.

Allan held my gaze, glancing from his finger to me. His brows raised questioningly. "Well? Now what, kid?"

I started to quote Plankton's "I don't know, I didn't think I'd get this far", but the moment my tongue accidentally brushed his finger I spat it out.

"Bleh! You taste like gun oil and sweaty saddle leather."

"You know what that tastes like?" Allan asked, wiping his hand on his jeans. "What the hell, kid?"

"You taste like it smells."

"You know what sweaty leather smells like?"

"I was on my school equestrian team for four years in South Carolina. I rode in hundred degree heat during summer camp." I rolled my eyes. "Yes I know what it smells like."

"As for gun oil?"

I gave him a mildly exasperated look. "My parents are both from ye yonder backwoods of Eastern Kentucky. I got rednecks on both sides of my family. My dad was also prior military with a strong stance on the Second Amendment. So, yes, I know what gun oil smells like."

"Al, make sure she doesn't have a concussion!" Tom interrupted.

"What do you think I'm doin'?" Allan asked, shooting the man an annoyed look.

"How does this help?"

"I can hear if she's slurrin' 'er words."

"Oh." Tom hesitated. "Is she?"

Allan shook his head. "She's coherent, if not a little chaotic." He looked back at me. "Where are you?"

I frowned. "Marlinspike?"

"How'd you get 'ere?"

"Sat through a car ride that was more painful than the aftermath of my wisdom teeth removal thanks to that self-important fuckwit whose window I just broke."

"He's a very powerful man, kid," Allan reminded me. "Most men would be beside themselves if they were the target of his anger."

"Big whoop," I retorted, drawing a circle in the air with my finger. "First off, I ain't a man. Second, he's annoyin' and thinks the sun comes up just to 'ear 'im crow. I can forgive and tolerate a lot of shitty behavior, or even crimes, but bein' an arrogant prick is goin' too far."

Allan looked somewhat amused. "You'll excuse crimes but not being annoyin'?"

"If it's of the arrogance variety, aye. Can't stand people who think they're hot shit, but are lukewarm at best."

Neil snorted with laughter. "Got one hell of a mouth on ya."

"No kiddin'," Tom remarked.

"Certainly have a rather... odd set of morals," Allan commented. "Crimes get a pass, but annoyance is condemned to hell and back?"

"Surely you of all people ain't about to lecture me on morality," I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

Allan nodded thoughtfully, before his hand shot towards my ear. I blocked it quickly, giving him a "wtf" look.

A sly grin appeared. "Just checkin' your reflexes and coordination."

I narrowed my eyes and slowly reached forward, palm down, before flipping it around and striking the underside of his hat brim. I caught it quickly, not moving my eyes from his as I shoved it to his chest.

"That help?"

He took it from me and settled it back on his head. "Very much so."

Leaves and sticks crunching under boots caught our attention, and we looked up near the top of the gulley to see Hobbs appear over the ridge.

"There you assholes are!" he panted. "Didn't you 'ear me yellin' for you?"

"Heard ya," Neil laughed. "Didn't respond."

"Fuck off, Neil." Hobbs slid down to join us. His eyes then went to the large boulder, where they immediately flew wide. "The hell happened!?" he exclaimed, gesturing at the rock.

"Shortie hit her head."

Hobbs looked between me and the rock multiple times, jaw dropped and eyes terrified. "And she came out on top?" he squeaked.

"It's a dream man. Physical damage is turned off! But mental is still available if that tickles your fancy."

"Speakin' of... dreams. Keep sayin' that," Tom said. "What'd'ya mean?"

"I mean what I said. I'm dreamin'."

"Why'd'ya think that?"

Alright, subconscious. Enough.

I laughed nervously, wagging my finger at Tom. "You're startin' to freak me out, man."

"You're freaked out?" Neil exclaimed. "How do you think we feel?"

"You're figments of my imagination. Don't really think there's anything under..." I gestured up and down at him. "That."

"Ouch."

I raised my hands. "I'm just bein' honest! I'm not possessed, so there ain't multiple entities in my head. Unless you count my characters."

"Did you by chance hit your head when you fell outta bed this mornin'?" Hobbs asked.

"I mean, maybe. Trevor did startle me and I flew backward off the bed." I shook my head. "But that wouldn't matter, that happened in the dream!"

"How about," Allan began, voice authoritarian before Hobbs could offer a rebuttal. "We tackle this later? Boss is goin' to come out 'ere himself if we stall much longer." He turned to me. "Let's go, kid."

I groaned loudly. "Do we have to go back to that knockoff Rasputin?" I whined. "I've had less creepy encounters with seaweed caressing my leg in the ocean."

"What did you call 'im?" Neil asked.

"Knockoff Rasputin."

Neil snorted with laughter. "Bloody hell, that's the perfect insult."

"Why thank you."

"Enough, the pair of you," Allan said, climbing back up the steep slope. "We need to get her back to the boss, he's livid. You two can bond more over your hatred on the way back to the ship."

"Hold your horses, Allan," I protested, scrambling to catch up. Easily making the climb in two leaps, dirt catching beneath my nails as I dug them into the bank for traction, I followed close behind him. "I said nothin' about joinin'."

He didn't stop, but did glance down at me with a faint smirk. "And yet here you are, comin' along without even bein' dragged. And besides, you told the others you were stickin' around."

I opened my mouth to argue, only to close it without a sound as I didn't really have a solid counterpoint.

Well you got me there.

"Be that as it may," I said, speaking fast enough the words almost ran together. "Your assumptions ain't welcome."

He laughed, reminding me very much of the 90's cartoon. "Assumptions? It's fact, kid. Why, you brought yourself to this place just to meet little ol' us again."

"It's folly to assume anythin' about me. I'll do a 180 on your ass just to mess with your attempts to get a handle on me."

"Sounds like a challenge." He shrugged. "Been a while since someone gave me a good one of those."

I side-eyed him. "You're a weird man."

"Says the one who's played chase with us not once, but twice."

"And yet you haven't lectured me once on all that. No threats of how I better not do it again or shit. Ain't that your job as the gruff First Mate?"

"I'm more forgivin' than the man whose window you just broke. And I know better than to alienate someone who may prove useful later." He stepped in front of me, forcing me to stop. "But if you want to do things the difficult way for some asinine reason, I'd be happy to accommodate that. Unless of course you'd rather speed this up so you get more information for this ship of yours. The... Caroline?"

Damn, did this man know how to get under someone's skin and strike right at the heart of what they wanted.

Then again, I pretty much admitted to that earlier this morning.

"While causin' petty problems on purpose is a favorite past time of mine in low stakes situations," I began. "I am admittedly kinda eager to get on that ship. That is the only reason I ain't boltin' right now."

"Uh huh." Allan crossed his arms. "And Scarlett's got nothin' to do with it."

Well golly gee, thanks for the blindside.

I grimaced. "Ah, still on that then, are we?"

Allan tapped his foot. "Well?"

I shook my head, raising my hands. "Look, whatever connection you think I have with her, it's... not that."

"But you do have a connection."

"I mean. Yeah." Can't very well lie about that. "But it ain't a believable one."

"But this is a dream, is it not?" Allan asked innocently, resuming his walk to Marlinspike Hall. He turned and faced me, waking backward now. "What's the harm in tellin' someone who's just a figment of your subconscious?"

I scoffed. "Who are you, Freud? If so, put your paws up because I got words for you!"

"How do you know about Freud?" Allan asked.

"I took some psychology classes for my core college credits. Also, tree behind you."

Allan swerved around it, dropping back to walk alongside me. "You're in college?"

I sighed in annoyance. "How old d'ya think I am?"

"Twelve."

I stopped and slowly turned to glare at a smug Hobbs as the man stood to my right. Eyes narrowed, I stayed glaring at him for many moments before finally knocking his hat off with one fluid motion.

Hobbs twisted and caught it before heading for me again. "You little-"

Neil caught him around the middle, dirt coating his forearms from where he climbed up the bank. "You started it, mate," he chuckled, hauling him off his feet and dropping him on the other side

"How would we know?" Tom asked. "If this really was a dream? Could we all be dreamin'?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Wouldn't be the first time I dreamed of findin' Scarlett again, or even just a lead."

"Can we not talk about it?" I asked. "The dream thing. Because I have this thing where I can jolt myself awake when I realize I'm dreamin'."

"And you haven't tried that?" Allan asked, leading us back towards the motorpool.

"No."

"Then you do want to be here. You do want to get tangled up in this mess."

"I ain't ran screamin' yet, have I?"

"Did this mornin'."

"In my defense, both times were due to Trevor. And hey! I wasn't screamin'!"

"What about a few minutes ago?"

"Purely to piss off Sakharine, admittedly. I wasn't screamin' then either."

"While I can get behind that," Allan said, stopping just outside the bushes in view of the manor. "It's highly dangerous. What if we were the sort of men with no boundaries?"

"Soon as you mentioned Scarlett at the docks, I knew you weren't."

Now why'd you have to go and bring that infectious, rotting carcass of a topic up again?

"And how's that?"

"How about we get through with Sakharine first and get to a place where you can sit down? The reality of how I know of Scarlett is... not somethin' easy to stomach. Because if... this ain't a dream..." I paused, a deep frown digging into the corners of my mouth as I stared at the ground and shook my head slowly. "Everyone here is gonna be dealin' with a major existential crisis."

"But you will tell us?" Tom asked, hope spreading across his face. "You'll tell us what you know about Scarlett?"

I do want to stay in this dream, but hopefully I'm booted out before I have to open that can'o'worms.

"Hold on a minute 'ere," Hobbs said.

Allan looked over at him. "What, Harry?" he grumbled.

Wait, Harry Hobbs? That's his name? What a nerd.

"All that run around, both this mornin' and just now, and she was just goin' to join us the whole time? What was the whole point of all that fightin'?"

"Mutual asskickin' is how she shows affection."

I glanced at Allan, not exactly surprised he knew that particular wording. "Now where'd you hear that?"

Allan shrugged, though he looked to be fighting down a smug smile. "I have my ways."

"Cops on your payroll, huh?" I asked, although it was really more of a statement. "There to sweep anything unflatterin' under the rug?"

"I'm not the one who tried to 'sweep this under the rug' first," he shot back, using air quotes.

I tried to find a rebuttal, but couldn't. Instead I just crossed my arms slowly and looked him up and down. "Touché."

Seemingly pleased at winning the argument, if it could even be called that, Allan turned to Tom. "Shelve Scarlett for now, Tom. We need to get this talk with the boss over and done with so we can get back to the ship."

That kicked puppy look returned to Tom's face. "But Al..."

My heart twisted. Dream!Tom or not, Figment-of-My-Imagination!Tom or not... I couldn't bear to see him so sad.

"Tom, hey," I said softly, nudging his arm.

He looked down at me.

"I'll... fill ya in back on the ship, ok?" I offered. "It's... it's the least I can do."

"What'd'ya mean by that?"

"You'll... understand when I tell ya."

"Promise you'll tell me?"

I smiled softly, holding up a pinkie. "Pinkie promise."

His eyes lit up and he hooked his pinkie around mine. "Deal!"

"I told you lot she's soft on 'im!" Hobbs, or Harry, exclaimed.

"Way I see it," Neil snickered. "She's soft on 'im 'cause he's soft on 'er."

"Allan!"

We all turned at the furious screech to see Sakharine on the steps of Marlinspike.

"Get that bitch in here, now!"

He disappeared back inside.

"Really?" I muttered. "Bitch is the best he's got? At least be creative."

Tom rested a hand on my shoulder. "Don't let 'im get ya down," he urged. "You're not a bitch."

"Thanks, Tom. But I'm not offended. Just disappointed, bitch is such a basic insult. I've had worse from better."

Allan didn't find it amusing in the slightest, however, gaze hard as his eyes narrowed in silent anger. "Harry, Neil," he said, voice deadly calm as he kept his gaze on the manor. "Wait at the car. We'll go deal with the boss."

Yikes, Quiet!Angry Allan is far scarier than Explosive!Angry Allan.

Good thing this was a dream, otherwise I would have to hide behind Tom because I'd be terrified of that side of Allan. If this was real, I wouldn't be dealing with simple figments of my imagination that posed no threat.

I'd be dealing with an actual hardened criminal who had committed crimes so atrocious I'd have nightmares if I knew them all.

Because despite my love of the character, Allan Thompson from the comics and cartoon was a bad, bad man.

A punch in the jaw from mouthing off would be the least of my worries.

Allan caught me staring, and some of my misgivings must have shown on my face for his own face softened and he playfully ruffled my hair.

I hissed in exasperation, batting his hands away before I tried to smooth my hair back into place.

At least this Allan is more content to be a general menace than an asshole.

Hobbs, or Harry, nodded after a snort at my misery and headed for the vehicle, but Neil hung back.

"Not gonna let 'im do anythin' to 'er, right, boss?" he asked, glancing back at the old manor as it loomed above us in the dying light of the sunset as the clouds above were lit up gold and purple.

"Think the kid 'ere can handle 'erself," Allan remarked. He turned to me, giving me a scheming smile. "Won't you?"

I nodded, chest out and chin high. "If he lays a hand on me, I'll just handle it like a feral cat."

"You'll bite 'im?" Neil asked with a laugh.

I nodded affirmatively, baring my teeth. "I'll bite 'im."

"Good on ya, mate," Neil chuckled, punching my arm before he turned to head for the back of the manor.

As he left, I faced Allan. "Alrighty, boss man." I bowed playfully, sweeping my arm to indicate the manor. "Lead the way."

"Right this way," Allan said, draping an arm over my shoulders and steering me towards the front.

I wasn't thrilled with the contact, but I let it slide. In the comics at least, Allan was a touchy bastard with friend and foe alike.

I still wished he'd stop getting in my personal space constantly.

"Oh, and kid."

I looked up as his voice lowered.

"You have my full permission to bite that snobby prick as hard as you want."

I matched his dark grin, though mine had more ferality to it as I bared my teeth. "Allan Thompson, you got yourself a deal." 

[shads-shipposts]

Shadow: *having a minor emotional breakdown over their lack of survival skills given they let the Karaboudjan crew hit them with a truck and put them on the ship via crate because they thought they were dreaming and damage was therefore turned off*

Neil, trying to enjoy his breakfast but also wanting to help Shadow feel better:

[shads-shipposts]

Another small fight scene before Trevor once again gives Shadow a migraine. He really enjoys being a plot device as it gives him free rein to be a menace, honestly. But at least I got to wrestle with Allan a bit, as mutual ass-kicking really is a bonding activity for me lol. Also, at this point (2019) I wasn't aware of my gender dysphoria so there are red flags all over the place, plus its the reason I'm still going by she/her while in later books I go by they/them. 

If Tintin and Sakharine seem a bit shallow, there's actually an in-universe explanation. Given this story technically takes place in my fic universe, where I didn't even think about Sakharine and Tintin yet or even Haddock, they are pretty "basic" as far as characterizations go. The sailors are really the only ones that get complexity. As someone from my story discord put it, the sailors are origami while the other "main" movie characters are cardboard cutouts. But the main characters (Ivan, Haddock, and Tintin) have plenty of fics focused on them, so its all good. 

Hope you enjoyed, and as always leave a comment/like if you did!

Beginning: Here Previous: Here Next: Here Ao3: Here Masterlist:  Here

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A hiss and explosion of smoke thankfully disproved Neil’s initial theory, but it still left us all with sore throats and watery eyes.

Not that it stopped one sailor.

A shoulder slammed into my stomach, driving me back into the wall. I brought my elbow down, hitting the tender spot between the shoulder blade and neck, but the man grabbed me as he fell and we both went down. Arms tightened around my middle, whoever it was trying to pin me to the ground.

Allan, judging by the feel of rolled up sleeves.

He brought his full weight down, nearly knocking the breath from me and almost causing my arms to buckle. The man was heavy!

I said refrigerator as a joke!

I didn’t expect him to actually be as heavy as one!

The hell you eat?!

A hand grabbed one elbow, yanking it back, and down I went. I rolled as I fell, teeth aimed for his shoulder. I missed the bulk of it, but managed to at least catch the cloth.

Tasted and smelled heavily like tobacco and what I assumed was some time of smokey yet sweet alcohol. Bourbon, maybe?

Writer brain off, Fighter brain on!

“Damn it, kid, quit bitin’!” came the raspy yell, but I couldn’t tell if it was anger or smoke that caused his tone.

“Nien!” I growled through a mouthful of shirt.

He rolled us both out of the alley onto the sidewalk, out of the smoke. I ended up on top as we came to a stop right by the curb, but before I could strike, a hand snatched my arm and wrenched me away from Allan.

“Time to go, Shadow!”

“Trevor?!” I demanded, trying to look behind me. “Get off-!”

“Let’s go, let’s go, no time for slow!” Trevor sang, yanking me to my feet before turning to Allan. The hair all along my body stood on end just before Trevor hit him square in the chest with a small blast of lightning.

It sent Allan back to the sidewalk, and damn near sent me into shock.

“Trevor, are you tryin’ to fuckin’ kill him?!” I screamed, frozen as Allan laid groaning on the ground.

“Relax, he’s fine!” Trevor yanked me down the road, away from the alley and the docks. “C’mon!”

I still hesitated, not wanting to wake up with a hollow pit in my stomach after Allan died due to Trevor’s shenanigans.

“Ok!” Trevor chirped. “Plan B!”

“What are you- Trevor!” I screamed as he scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder.

“Roll out!”

No amount of wriggling or punching the back of his thick skull did any good, but thankfully I could see Allan get up, albeit slowly, before Trevor turned a corner and I lost sight of him.

I couldn’t see where Trevor was going, but with his random corner turns I wondered if he even had an end destination in mind.

At one turn, I saw the edge of the marketplace from the movie and filed it away for later as Trevor continued on.

Gotta admit, his runnin’ form is very smooth. Unless he’s just glidin’ across things like a glitched character model?

I looked down.

Nope, he’s running.

Eventually, he unceremoniously dumped me onto the sidewalk then stood proudly with his hands on his hips as he flashed me a grin.

“Ta da!”

I immediately jumped to my feet and slammed him against the wall. “You could have killed Allan!”

“But I didn’t! It was just a little zap, people in Star Wars survive that all the time!”

“We ain’t in Star Wars!”

“Eh, technically we are since your fanfiction did overlap fandoms.”

“Cut the shit!” I spat, slamming him against the wall again.

“I thought you wanted to get away from ‘em!”

“Not if it involved shootin’ lightnin’ at Allan! Trevor, that kills people!”

“He’s fine! Not the first time he survived gettin’ struck by lightning anyway.”

Wait, Allan’s been hit by lightning before?

That wasn’t in my fanfiction.

Guess that’s dream liberties.

I’ll have to use that though, and research any lasting effects of bein’ struck by lightnin’ because there’s gotta be some.

“That doesn’t mean you can just zap him!”

“We had to keep this plot rollin’ somehow!”

“Trevor, I swear to fuck-!”

The door opened to the store beside me and it was then I noticed the writing on the door, thankfully in English: Police.

Piss.

I let go of Trevor as a man with light skin in his mid forties stuck his head out the door.

“Is… everythin’ alright?”

I groaned. “Yeah, just a minor argument.”

He looked even more concerned, bushy eyebrows furrowing as he stepped outside with me. “Argument with…?”

“Trev-” I turned and found myself alone. “Or.” I inhaled deeply, letting it out through gritted teeth. “Of course he’d split.”

Why can he phase in and out of scenes? I should be able to do the same, it’s my head!

“Was there someone else here, son?”

“Son?” I glanced at my chest. “I know I’m flat but c’mon.”

His brows shifted up, and I found myself reminded of the fisherman dad from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. “Oh, sorry, ma’am.”

I waved him off. “Eh, ain’t the first and won’t be the last. Besides, it’s deliberate. Attracts less trouble.”

“Speaking of trouble.”

Oh boy.

“Did you come from the docks, per chance?”

I stiffened. “Why?”

“Because I just received a report from a man that he nearly struck two dockworkers. One matched your…” His eyes drifted to my hair. “Description.”

I do like the color purple, but perhaps it gives me too strong of main character energy. At least I don’t have a tragic backstory. Just the typical emotional hangups that come from military parents who hail from the deep hills of Appalachia where mental illness like anxiety and ADD don’t exist and people would rather die than actually address their emotions.

“So the fucker can drag his fancy ass down ‘ere but can’t stop to say “sorry” when he almost runs someone over?” I scoffed. “What’s the world comin’ to?”

“What was a young lady such as yourself doin’ at the docks? It can be very dangerous there.”

“I was…”

Think think! Can’t get them in trouble, dream or not.

“Meetin’ some old friends.”

“Old friends?” he asked, frowning. “How does that lead to you being in the street?” He peered closer, brows shifting up again at the cut on the underside of my forearm. “And you’re cut?”

“Eh, we like to wrestle. Mutual asskickin’ is how I show affection.” I wiped my arm on my pants. “This is my bad, don’t worry about it.”

His frown shifted into a puzzled but amused smile. “Certainly unusual for a young lady, but not unheard of.”

Oh thank goodness this man ain’t sexist. Well, he kinda is, but for this time period I suppose he’s got a point.

“I take it you don’t want to file a report yourself, then?”

I quickly shook my head. “No no no, that isn’t necessary. It was just me and some old friends, that’s all.”

“Ah. In the future, I suggest keepin’ it at the docks. People get the wrong idea pretty easily, and I wouldn’t want a report filed if it doesn’t need to be.”

I’ll file that away for the next dream.

“I’ll keep it in mind. If that’s all, can I…?” I jerked my thumb down the street. “Go?”

He nodded. “As you were. I’ll take it off the books, miss…?”

“Call me Shadow.”

“Miss Shadow-“

“Just Shadow,” I corrected. “I don’t really like gendered terms, ya know?”

“Very well, Shadow. I’ll file it as resolved.”

I headed past him, back towards the marketplace. “Thanks!” I called over my shoulder before focusing forward again. As I walked away from the station, a frown dug into the corners of my mouth and my salt level rose.

First Trevor spooks me, then I smack poor Neil, then I had to leg it after making Allan all types of suspicious, then I got into a backalley brawl, and then I get stopped by a very persistent cop whom I have to lie to about the fight.

Reaching the edge of the marketplace and wading into the sea of people and knick-knacks, my irritation only grew.

And now I got fucking sensory overload!

“Some days it don’t pay to get outta bed,” I muttered through gritted teeth, trying to get through the crowded marketplace to Tintin before he and Sakharine split.

Because, maybe if I tempted Sakharine, he’d invite me to Marlinspike and I’d get to see the sailors again. For whatever reason, this dream hadn’t shifted yet and an inkling of hope had sparked in me that I still could get myself on that ship.

What the hell are we doing? We just escaped the sailors, why are we trying to worm our way back to them?

Because we didn’t willingly escape, Trevor dragged us away.

We were in the middle of fighting them!

Yes, and it’s the most fun I’ve had in a dream in forever.

What I’d say, I had no idea. Where they were, I had no idea. How I’d get a ticket to Marlinspike, I had no idea.

Why I was acting like a dumbass moth to flame, I had no idea.

But it’d been a long time since I had a dream this good of the boys. Perhaps most would be distraught at having to physically fight their favorite characters, but it wouldn’t be the first time my enjoyable dreams of characters involved throwing hands. Or wrestling. Or a good ol’ chase.

Mutual asskicking really was how I showed affection, and that was just the way the cookie crumbled when you grew up with mostly guy best friends.

Concern had started to gnaw at me, admittedly, the longer this dream continued in a linear fashion. Dreams… they didn’t flow this smoothly.

Ever.

Not for me at least.

By now I would either be on the ship, or the ship would have turned into a literal submarine like that one time, or Allan and co would have accepted me into their motley crew, or I’d be on some random ass adventure with Allan and Tom, or the bunch would have morphed into different characters entirely.

Or a convoluted mix of all of the above.

My dreams were just like that.

The alternative of course was I had literally, body and soul, been yeeted across realities and found myself in the actual middle of one of my earliest fanfiction timelines with the crew and was now stuck here.

Which just wasn’t possible.

Wasn’t probable.

Wasn’t comprehensible.

It’s inconceivable, and I’m pretty damn sure that word is used correctly in this case!

Luckily, I had a few saving graces that kept me grounded in the reality that it was just a very, very vivid dream.

The first of course was the utter lack of pain. Real life, even in other realities, had pain. Granted the movie had somewhat slapstick physics at times, but still. I should have felt something as I tumbled down those crates.

Trevor phasing in and out of existence like a glitchy Skyrim character on my old Xbox360 also banished any chance of this being my fanfiction. Because that was not something that happened in any sort of reality, and certainly not in Tintin’s canon or my alternate timelines.

Sure there were aliens, but this was… something else.

The third of course was the fact the sailors knew Scarlett. She was my creation through and through, and while I didn’t know exactly how they knew her, the fact they did at all convinced me this was a dream.

And so I calmed my nerves and focused on completing my task before I woke up, weaving through the markets and trying to play a demented game of geoguesser with the buildings and the near perfect memory I had of the movie.

Were it a VHS, I’d have worn it out with how much I watched it.

No questions asked.

VHS? Ugh, now I feel old too. I shouldn’t feel this old at 19.

Tell that to our sixty year old back pain.

We sit like a shrimp and sleep like one of those Family Guy fall animations. Of course we got back pain.

Finally, I spotted my target.

Good timing, too, for Tintin had the ship in hand and was squaring off against Sakharine.

I stopped a little ways away.

Am I really gonna throw myself at this Ruskie for the chance to grapple with the sailors again?

Tintin looked ready to march away, his grip tightening on the model ship.

Of course I am!

“Hey!” I called, cursing when my accent drew the attention of some market-goers.

Quitchyer gawkin’. What’s the matter, ain’t heard the result of Kentucky parents and a southern upbringing?

“Tintin, there you are!” I said, jogging up to him and Sakharine.

Tintin turned to face me, surprise in his blue eyes.

Why does everyone in this movie have blue eyes? Just like why the hell is everyone in this movie so aggressively British? Sakharine is supposed to be a Ruskie! Mister Ivan Ivanovic Sakharine, can’t get more Russian with that.

What do you have against Russians? Our first and only hardcore reader for years was Russian, she even sent you pictures of her snowy backyard.

Oh I got nothing against ‘em. I’m just an equal opportunity irritant. Like Looney Tunes. Everyone catching these verbal hands, I don’t discriminate.

“Shadow!” he exclaimed. “Where have you been?”

He knows us?

We had that info dump courtesy of Trevor this morning, of course he knows us.

Tintin looked me up and down as Snowy came close and circled me, sniffing at my leg.. “What happened?”

I looked down, frowning at the muddy hems of my pants, a ripped patch at the knee, my bloody forearm, and a streak of what must have been a mix of mud and oil up the side of my shirt.

“Hell, look like I’ve been to war,” I muttered. “No wonder the cop stopped me.”

Aside from me yelling at air.

“You were stopped by police?” Tintin asked. “What ever were you doing?”

“May or may not have run into some buds at the docks. And you know me!” I think. “It’s not a hello without a friendly bodyslam. We got a bit carried away and caused some issues for a driver that apparently tattled to the cops.” I shook my head. “But I’m fine!”

“Are you certain?”

“Aye, I’m good!” I gave him two thumbs up. “Fit as a fiddle!”

His brows furrowed. “What does that even mean?”

“Ya know, I ain’t sure.” I turned to Sakharine. “Sorry to interrupt.” Not. “But wanted to catch Tintin ‘fore he left.”

Sakharine looked me up and down, a noticeable twitch at the corners of his mouth like he wanted to frown distastefully but also wanted to save face. “You are quite brave, getting into scraps with dockworkers. Those types of men can be quite vulgar and dangerous to young ladies.”

Oh, you’re one of those aristocrats. Grand.

“Maybe ‘round ‘ere, but in the states we Tomboys are quite common,” I said with a shrug, then turned my attention to the model ship. “Oh, neat! Looks like the Unicorn from that old pirate tale.”

Both Tintin and Sakharine looked at me with more interest. Especially Sakharine.

“You know of this ship?” Tintin asked.

“Aye! Pirate and sailor nerd, remember?”

“I was just about to go to the library to research it. Could I borrow your notes instead?”

“Ah, sorry mate. It’s more of just passin’ stuff I know, ain’t got the main source.” I couldn’t help myself as Snowy yipped questioningly, and I knelt down to rub the little terrier’s ears. “The library’s a good start,” I said as Snowy leaned into my hand, his stubby tail wagging like mad.

Man you’re adorable and cute for a menace.

“Would you like to accompany me?” Tintin asked.

“Ah, actually think imma wander ‘round the market for a bit.”

“Are you certain?”

“Aye,” I said, watching Snowy scamped off in pursuit of something in the marketplace. I stood, smiling at Tintin. “I’ll catch up later!”

It didn’t take long after he left for Sakharine to clear his throat. “You said you knew of the Unicorn?”

I turned to him. “That I do. Bit of a tragedy, if not an interestin’ one. Pirates, fatal clashes, hidden treasures. Sounds like something out of an old comic book, don’t it?”

Should we really be teasing this man? He had a guy killed for getting too involved.

Yeah, but what’s the worst that could happen? We’re dreamin’. Gunfights, rabid monsters, apocalyptic fallouts. We’ve survived it all.

“You know of the treasure then?”

“Heard rumors, aye. Talk about fascinatin’! Reckoned there may be something at Marlinspike, it was the old estate of the Haddocks, but don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to rummage ‘round there.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What use would you have for such an archaic tale?”

“Writer stuff.”

His gaze sharpened. “You are a reporter?”

I shook my head. “I don’t like people nearly enough for that mess. Nah, I’m just a fiction writer. Pirates are my jam.” At his blank look, I added, “I have a few characters who are pirates. They’re just interestin’, and the sea? Man, what I wouldn’t give for a chance to get out there on the water.”

Take the bait. Take the bait. Take the bait. Take the bait.

The suspicion turned to a look of false friendliness. “Why, if it is Marlinspike you desire, might I offer a tour?”

I straightened up.

Fool, you fell victim to one of the classic blunders!

“You know the guy who owns it now?”

He smiled, but it was far from comforting. It was amiable, sure, but given I knew the intent behind it I wanted to scrub myself with a wire-brush and bleach. Or maybe even Drano.

Allan’s sly smile brought out a sly smile of my own, but Sakharine’s made me want to square up. After, of course, I fed the toilet like a mama bird.

“I myself do. Purchased it some time ago, my dear.”

It took everything in me to not grimace at the term.

Ew. No. Nah. Don’t like that. That shit will be dealt with as soon as I get to Marlinspike. You’re lucky I need you right now.

“Well, shoot! If you’re offerin’, I’ll take it!” I gestured behind me with a thumb. “Mind if I get a sketchbook and grab a bite to eat? I can meet you back ‘ere in about thirty minutes.”

Odd I feel hungry in a dream. Eh, it should pass.

“I myself have a matter to attend to, so perhaps three pm this evening would work better? It is about an hour’s drive.”

You’re gonna go get your boys to come along and yoink me, ain’t you? Fine by me. I could do with another tussle.

“See you back in a few,” I replied with a smile. “What’s your name, by the way?”

Wait, did he ever tell Tintin his name? Or did Tintin just know it? Because if so, plot hole???

“Mister Sakharine.”

“Well, Mister Sakharine.” I gave him a mock salute. “I’ll see you in a few.”