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landfilloftrash · 2 months ago

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Blood in the Water (part 2 )

***

Warm…

. . .

. . . ..Warm?

Where warm go. Lost.

Reach. Find. Cold.

Cold?

Missing.

Problem.

With its mind returning quickly to a semi form of consciousness, the strong taste of heavy copper was in her mouth again while her head pounded.

Her dreams were always rather vivid, bright and detailed, lingering long into the days to come if it was truly striking— for better or worse; but this one was just fuzzy. Lingering as all of the things within its mind were, as the taste in her beak did now.

Memories turned to dreams tended to bring the taste to her tongue, but it always remembered the context. Its last one— the last one that struck a chord within her, she should clarify— had it almost gagging on the taste of it in her throat. The tea to settle its nerves had been just as much to wash out the pervasive memory of it in her gizzard. But that had been an odd one out; that didn’t happen often (it had actually never happened before, but it had been too busy as of late to truly file that away), and by the time she woke up, the prevalent taste turned into more of a phantom sense.

Which then raised the question;

Why could she still taste it?

Blinking to the waking world was always a tad difficult, but the sheets themselves seemed to be sticking to her. Honestly that could be the case if the material was right, and it forced itself to its claws to maneuver off the bed to find — what was she finding. It looked down to find– ah. Pepper. Pepper was gone. .. And the sheets were cold. The spike of anxiety she pushed forcefully down was going to help no one, and she leaned on the side of the bed to see Ulysses near the edge of it (on the floor. Where she had not last seen him.) pulling himself to his feet as well in exhausted confusion.

“Where’s Pepper?” were the first sleepy words out of the vampire’s mouth. “I felt them leave.. Tripped ‘ver me. Should’ve been back by now.”

Its heart began to make itself known.

“Why don’t we go find them,” she replied, easily sliding on a calm veneer as sleep began to vanish.

“Mmm,” Ulysses nodded, looking discomfited, standing with intent to search.

Promptly standing herself, they walked out of the captain’s cabin and gave her a very clear reason why liquid metal rested on her tongue.

That was blood. On the deck. The source was an arrow, struck through two unconscious forms.

Frankly, staring at the darkened wood, the crumpled bodies— winged and horned— and the cloaked, masked figures surrounding their forms turning their heads to gaze at itself and Ulysses, should have gotten her moving, but the only thing that resounded in its head was ‘Get out.’

Ulysses, thank God, had more of a head for what to do in that moment.

“Red Dragon!” he called, drawing his daggers even as he did so, and the ship responded; her riggings snaked and shot through the air with the speed of a loosed arrow.

The seconds ticked slow in its mind. She reached for magic to cast to help with the capture, but the figures— the symbol on the back of their cloaks catching her attention with sword, tree, and other minutia all ensconced in a triangle — threw down smoke, obscuring all of the bodies from view.

As it approached the smoke to see if either Ulysses or the ship was fruitful, the riggings pulled back to reveal an empty noose, and the creaks from the floorboard resembled an apology as Ulysses’ eyes peered up through the gloom with a frantic light.

Gone then.

“Shit,” she hissed, and raced to the top of the crow’s nest with a fierce flap of its wings, peering around the ship in an attempt to see where they had teleported off to— because while a teleportation circle could take them anywhere, a spell could only get them so far.

Her eyes alighted easily upon a ship turning into the fog that surrounded the isle, sliding out of view very rapidly, with its much smaller size.

“Itialuit,” she hissed even quieter, quickly rolling through her options. She could track them. The blood on the deck was fresh enough it lingered in its mouth— but maybe..

Enososin hopped off the crow’s nest as Ulysses sped back up from out of the interior of the ship, slitted eyes wild; “Soleil’s fine, everyone else is fine. It’s only—”

“Pepper,” she confirmed, the distress pitching her voice far too high and loud, “Only Pepper and—” someone horned. Someone horned and knew where to try and find them. “Casanova.”

Whoever they were, they had her friend and Lockwell’s son.

If she lost either of them, Lockwell was going to set someone on fire. So many ‘someone’s.

Ulysses was running a hand through curly hair in clear panic as he paced in an extremely short circle— and his eyes widened as he spun towards her again. “The cubes! Blood! The— The Blubes! Maybe he knows!! We could ask?!”

Ask wh—? Wait. That— maybe he could offer a hand? Or at least advise how to find them?

Rapidly, she patted Ulysses’ shoulder in mute agreement— that could work. That might work.

But before anything could come of their shared thought, she heard grumbling and the clunk of heels; its head swiveled towards the sound. Kallstrom. In any other situation it would be rather endearing to see the clearly exhausted Admiral stomp towards them. Glasses off, hair a mess— the remnants of sleep clinging valiantly.

“What in the bloody hell iz goin’ on?” he growled, tiredly eyeing the state of herself and Ulysses with slight distaste.

Well. Time to shatter that with too much honesty at one in the morning. “Pepper got stolen.”

His eyes immediately popped open– all sleepiness gone as his eyes suddenly blazed in the dark. “What?”

She could only give a rushed attempt at a smile that came out as a wide-eyed grimace instead; things to apologize for later.

Ulysses by this point was babbling something incoherent, and she could only respond to him in equal fervor to try and calm the frantic vampire down a tad as she hustled back into the cabin and pulled one of the cubes out of her cloak; they were put in specific pockets, and Davy Jones’ always felt rather antisocial anyways.

Again, again, again, again. Event after event with no reprieve.

She folded her legs beneath her and landed in a criss-cross as it felt itself connect to the cube.

The last thing from the ship she heard was Kallstrom cry out, “WHAT IS GOING O–” and then it was swallowed by the sound of the sea surrounding her.

The brief all encompassing silence of the sea deafening her was appreciated— the weight of it not fully resting on her, but an echo of it compressed her projected form.

And then she appeared once more, in this shipwreck, looking at the brightly pink haired man laying in a strung together hammock— many eyes locked onto her as soon as it gathered its wits.

“They took Cassanova,” she blurted, the first thing that came to mind that would reasonably catch his attention.

He looked over far more intently, pushing himself out of a lounge. “What?”

“A couple of cloaked figures— they took them. Out.” She pointed off in the instinctive direction of where the ship had been sailing.

“Cloaked— Did they have a marking? Were they bearing a symbol..?” he rumbled, his shock morphing into recognition and weariness. “A triangle, with a tree, wrapping a—?”

It began cutting her hands in the air— of course he would know exactly what she was talking about when she had just barely started to put the outer edges of the puzzle together— “Yes, yes. Them. They took Pepper and Cass, and we wanted to know how to track them.”

He shook his head. “Just wait.”

“J–” it paused. She had been calming herself down with structuring thoughts but that easily knocked every ounce of excess panic out of her system.

“‘Wait’. You want us to wait,” she echoed and eyed his relaxed (if not a tad stiff) posture— realizing it was borne of the easy confidence in knowing what was happening. “You’re sure about this. Why?”

“There’s no way to track them,” he grimaced with a vague little snarl on his lip, “I’ve tried. The only way to find them is to be invited or be— well. Invited in another fashion.” Kidnapping.

It refrained politely from hissing its displeasure of that entire concept, and instead focused on the fact that, apparently, this was an invitation. An unwelcome one, but an invitation nonetheless. Did they mean to strike both of them, or were they aiming for one, and got two birds with one arrow?

And that brought along another question.

“Why would they want Pepper?” it questioned, rubbing where its temples would be, “I can take a guess as to why they want Cass..”

“He’s my son,” he mumbled in agreement.

“Yes, that’s why,” she gave a nod, and then gesticulated back more emphatically, “But why Pepper?” “I don’t know anything about the moth,” he shrugged, shaking his head with a grimace pulling his mouth, “except that they’re a moth. So I can’t exactly elucidate you as to why.”

“So what about the moth?” He pressed, “Is there anything you can tell me about them?”

“Ahm,” she squinted in thought. What would be relevant to— whatever the hell these people classified as; a cult? “They’re a bloodhunter– a rogue, as well as a noble.”

His head tilted sharply at that. “What House?”

Her brain whirred through conversations these past few weeks. Had they ever mentioned what their House was? Obviously it was the moth one, but …

Her brain stumbled as it remembered a very small, and familiar mothkin, on the Red Dragon in place of their bombastic bloodhunter, wearing noble regalia, with far too quiet a countenance.

Ah.

God. That was right.

She had been told by Pepper themself, a very very long time ago. It would hedge a metaphorical bet that the mothkin hadn’t figured that out yet, and she did not see a need to bring it up. Maybe one day, they could laugh together about it, but… Gods, she couldn’t even remember what they had told her… It pushed hard at the memory of the sea and of pilfered oranges shared.

The image of a flower, fuzzy in the memory of time came to mind, as did their Sentiero heritage. “..Flores?”

“Ah,” he drawled, “That’ll do it.”

“That’ll—” it stopped before she continued and pinched between her eyes. It was a very human move, but she’d found it was genuinely a good way to reassemble her thoughts. “Do you wish to elaborate on that?”

“I will, but first– what bloodhunter sect are they a part of?” He prompted.

“Mmm— The Order of the Profane Soul?” If she remembered how Pepper’s blood magic worked, from the pieces she’d seen, at the very least. Celestials aligned in blood; they shared a theme. But where was this going?

“A particular God they worship?”

“The Dawn Goddess– Eos?” It asked, as if he wouldn’t know Her. Good lord it was out of sorts.

“Oh you’re not getting them back.”

Hm.

She politely refrained from asking him to smash her head in with her father’s hammer.

It was not going to be asking that, because it was not a helpful thought nor question to have nor ask when— even told there was nothing to be done— her mind was in a time crunch; it would get her nowhere. It inhaled briefly in fortification as she peered at him intently. “Why.”

He dismissed her question with a little wave. “Not willingly at least. You’ll get them back in the morning.”

“I’ll get them back in the morning?” it echoed. She was starting to feel like the magic mouth spell. Shaking its head briefly it tried to assemble more than a monosyllabic question; “Will they be alright? They– They were shot. I cannot imagine that they will be kind to them.”

“They will be alive,” he assured, “Whether or not you’ll get them back in the same state is an altogether different question.”

There was. Such a dissonance in her mind, as she tried to connect the calm and assured tone to something stating her friend– and the man who was speaking’s son— might be tortured or otherwise altered, and she was supposed to be alright with it. Or perhaps not “alright” was the right word, but accepting of it, and simply bearing the roll as given.

Honestly, she should have immediately cast the spell for locating a creature the moment they had vanished from her sight, instead of alerting someone who she thought might have more information, or could possibly lend a hand; they could have learned on the go.

But that would have meant leaving one of their number behind, on this island with its cursed ways, and she wouldn’t have done that before this venture– but especially not after a day like this one.

Instead, it assumed she let her eyes fly around for the moments she processed and digested the new information; turning it over carefully within her mind as she accepted the new facts of another event today while avoiding gripping something probably important to the man and crushing it.

There was a disgruntled sigh and his tone of voice turned pointed. “Stop panicking, girl.”

“I’m not,” she parried sharply. And she wasn’t. There was nothing but that squirming, writhing sensation of anxiety— the type that would worm its way handily into her bones and rest there, all the while turning its intestines into a gordian knot. But not panic.

It instead had started staring at Davy Jones, sitting in his hammock and felt a tendril of distaste lash out from within the wyrms turning her insides to a furnace. Sitting there, and not worried about his own son. Not visibly or in tone, at the very least; the mind was always a different story. She normally would not fault someone for that, but the fact of the matter was this was his child. No matter if he was to be returned alive, the fact of the matter was that they had been stolen, along with her friend and crewmate, and he sat there placidly. Not sharing in her worry.

She violently held her tongue from what she thought of that, but she could not hide her expression as her pupils had turned to slits.

The expression of her feelings drew a frustrated scowl from the other as he asked— “What do you want from me?”

She crinkled her eyes in the facsimile of a human smile. “Nothing, I suppose.”

It snapped the connection with a bit more umph than necessary and opened her eyes as the blood cube in her hands’ open connection offered another chance of explaining.

‘Later.’ It deemed, sliding the blood cube into a pocket of her pants, and looked at its crew, or more accurately those awake at present moment. That of which consisted of Ulysses pacing a hole into the wood of the deck, the ship creaking something in his general area, and catching the tail end of Soleil talking to Kallstrom, explaining the situation to focused eyes— which upon seeing her starting to stand, widened considerably.

“Ah!” he crowed out, “You’re alive!”

“Just about,” she creaked out, smoothing the displeased ruffling of her feathers with a hand.

“Thought you had died,” he wryly mused as Ulysses sped over to her with frantic eyes.

“So what do we do!? Do we go fetch Abaddon? Do we just go?!”

“The verdict is, ‘to wait until morning’,” she clicked out, definitively.

The look on his face suggested that she had instead asked him to smash her head in with the hammer. “What??”

“There is apparently ‘nothing we can do’,” she explained, valiantly keeping its own frustration to the absolute minimum she could wrangle, “so we must wait it out. They’ll be alive. Whether they’ll be in the same state or not, that is not guaranteed.”

“That…” he looked about in a vague horror, “is definitely reassuring.”

“Quite,” she grimaced politely.

The silence in the moments that followed was only slightly broken by a quiet, displeased grunt from Kallstrom.

Morning. What did that entail? Five hours? Two? What counted as morning, and when should she fetch Abaddon so they can go find Pepper— ‘advice’ be damned?

The blood was already drying, to boot, if she wanted to get much of any lifeline from it. So it was either now, or listen to Davy Jones.

It inhaled deeply but quietly, and released gently.

Waiting. It meant waiting.

“In the meantime,” she started, watching three sets of eyes snap towards her, “I feel as though I should perhaps make some coffee.”

Kallstrom raised an eyebrow at her and gestured to the stars. “At this hour?”

“Of all people,” it said, tilting its head amicably, “I didn’t think you’d be one to complain about it.”

“Oh, far from it,” he snorted, following her and the other two into the galley, “I’m surprised at you. Owlin you may be, you seem to prefer the daytime schedule.”

“Diurnal, if you want to get into specifics about my ‘type’,” she grimaced at the phrase, “Day and night don’t matter to me in that way.”

“So you could flip it?”

“If I needed to, or seriously pressed, yes?” A sneaking suspicion slid through her feathers as to— “Why?”

“No reason,” he hummed.

She gently blinked. Why did her brain immediately turn towards possible implementation of psychological torture methods?

Probably because it was somewhere along that line for him, she thought fondly.

As she slid from one distraction to another, it gently tuned out the others' discussions as white noise, and fixated firmly on the process of making coffee. It was always a task and a half on her brain that recoiled at the taste of it.

The coffee beans themselves aren’t too big of an issue; the smell not too overpowering if she kept her neck tilted at a slight angle, and then grinding them in the mortar and pestle in a cupboard she’d retrieved. Grinding it down and down and down until it was nothing more than fine dust was her goal to achieve, and once it was done, she put it into a large-ish copper pot. Fetching some fresh water, and sugar for this particular method, she poured it in and set it on the stove to start the boil. Normally she’d just set a firebolt to the little area she needed, and set her kettle down happily while keeping an eye on the water’s actual temperature, but she was always extra careful when it came to this particular beverage. A watched pot never boils, but with the rate at which she zoned out with ‘the everything’, it boiled faster than she liked.

She poured itself a cup and then looked back up at the table. Kallstrom was already making a break for the pot, and she only moved one of the cups closer to him.

“Want some?” She offered to Sol, who gave a nod.

“Sure, I could go for one. Already up, as it were.”

It huffed an amused sound and then tilted its head towards Ulysses in question.

His face scrunched up in distaste at the silent question. “No thanks. I.. don’t like coffee.”

“Ah,” she chuckled before taking a sip with her next mumble, “a man after my own heart.”

Coffee… was horrible. She understood alcohol dependency better than she understood this particular brand of caffeine addiction the rich and middle class tended to have. The taste was bitter like a loved one’s disappointment and did not smell much better than that— making her quite nauseous in all honesty. Adding milk and sugar or any mix of things did nothing for the taste, less bitter, sure, but making it taste worse more often than not, and that was a feat and a half. But damn was it good for making every bone feel like it was trying to escape her flesh.

“Wait, you—” Ulysses’ brain seemed to break for a moment before shaking it quickly and going back on the attack. “Wait, hold on, you don’t like coffee?”

“Nope,” she clicked, grimacing at the extreme bitterness that fluffed her feathers out, “Not at all.”

“More for me then?” Kallstrom pressed.

“If that’s what you would like, then please,” she gestured gently towards the pot, “by all means.”

He eyed her suspiciously, and then promptly took the rest of the pot with an even squintier look. If he kept that up his prescription was going to need to be upped. Regardless, the admiral made his way back to his corner where he drank his horrid caffeine. It did not look to see if he added anything to it, she was sick to her gizzard as it was.

Meanwhile, Ulysses squinted up at her, watching her feathers flare with clear disbelief. “If you don’t like coffee, why are you drinking it??”

“Tea is soothing,” it hummed, closing her eyes as she sipped some more, “I wish to be tense.”

There was a quiet and tired chuckle from Soleil as she drank her own cup, tail flicking.

Now began the waiting game.

***

It was close to two hours and 12 minutes before something actually happened. Soleil was wearing her pjs by this point— well that was a slight fib; she’d been wearing her pajamas since the cleric had emerged from the Blood Cube, and she was now simply sleepily resting by Eno, its robe draped over her. Kallstrom had returned to bed quite a while back, deeming them fine enough to deal with Pepper’s return, whatever state that may be. Ulysses had been pacing a hole into the deck of their poor lady for about an hour, his steps on the wood clicking in time to the headache that clung fiercely to her skull. Then about ten minutes after the hour mark, the ship had responded by creaking warningly under the vampire’s feet; so Ulysses was leaning on the wall connected to the captain’s cabin as the deafening thunderclap sounded.

Snapping to attention and getting to her feet was such a blur, the blood had absolutely left her head at its speed. She didn’t even have a moment to process who had appeared before two lumps were tossed in her general direction.

Not even a moment of hesitation passed by as she lunged and caught something warm and soft from being tossed unceremoniously, and quite possibly harmfully, onto the ship’s deck. Pulling whatever it was further into her arms had her balk as she peered down.

Looking down in horror at the fact she was holding both Pepper and Casanova, unconscious, bruised, bleeding, and one of Cass’ horns being completely broken.

“I ‘ave had it!” crowed the intruder, “Vith you two ignorant, damnable fools! Ve offer you greatness, glory, a chance to be a book in the library instead of an insignificant scrap of paper, and you ignore it like the blind idiots you are! If you vant to die vith those unworthy, zose that will end in anonymity, zat is none of our business anymore!! You insignificant whELPS—”

As it listened continuously to this man, daring to insult its friend like he had any authority in judging their worth, she felt an inhuman explosion of fury burst from her as she held softly beating hearts. As if he had personally gotten to know their smile or their laugh, the softness of their hands and words, or how they strove to do good despite everything that has happened to them.

Get out. Get out get out get out get out get out get out get out get out get out get out

GET. OUT.

Pulling together what was left in her energy to rapidly tie the bones of a banishment spell in the space of her hand, tossing it violently fast at the masked man for daring to presume his command on the deck of the ship.

The energy of a counterspell was flung back in lightning fast riposte. It was clearly a reflexive movement of sensing magic being aimed at him, but it nonetheless snapped his attention from monologuing his displeasure at his own invasion all the same.

Attention that momentarily rested silently, but heavily upon them.

Quite suddenly though, the magic in the air began coiling threateningly fast, as if a coral reef snake pulled itself to attention— clearly, the intruder did not take kindly at the attempted banishment.

The magic lashed forwards as all three spellcasters took advantage of the thick tension— but Enososin herself was the fastest on the draw.

Looping her palm into the air like she was wrapping yarn for crocheting she pulled from the churning pool— as it did, it felt the sharp spikes in its hand as Guiding Bolt was thrown into the sudden frantic swirl of energies ready to burst open.

The streak of light hurtled forward, swinging around to slam straight into the man’s chest— shattering into sharp spikes of light, leaving little holes in the man’s flowing robes.

As the invader reeled, from light and damage, it made a quick symbol of faith in the air and cobbled up a small magic symbol of defense near Sol, causing her to shine briefly from the magic settling in before disappearing into a thin translucent shimmer.

The opponent shook his head vigorously and wind whipped as it solidified into something sickly; large snakes were sent in the group’s direction, and while she dodged, Ulysses ducked, Soleil got caught straight on by a multitude of snakes— patterns signifying poison as their fangs sunk into her flesh.

There was a brief moment of Soleil’s eyes flashing in recognition and attempted to pull them off before their could sink their fangs into her, before any venom could take, her teeth gritted— quickly trading off instead trying to steady herself and work through the poison, but it was already too late as it watched the sea elf’s muscles visibly lock up in paralysis.

The man was not done with his assault however, as he now looked specifically towards it, glint in the glass of his masked eye, and made a beckoning gesture with his hand.

There was a violent pull against her body, pulling her to move forwards. Oh. This part was familiar. She gripped both Pepper and Cass in her arms protectively as she resisted as much as it could, twisting her muscles with the blood flow, only moving ten feet or so, but that was still far too much give in her eyes— she let out a displeased screech towards the masked man that shook the boards beneath her claws.

The glint in the glass grew sharper, as if in delight and the accented voice once more echoed from the confines of his mask. “YOU. You are strong.”

“Come here girl,” he continued, the smile underneath the mask loud and clear as he hissed venom into his tone. “I vant a piece of your BEAK.”

She finally looked at their attacker properly, from boot tip to hat brim; the dark tones of his dressings blended well with the bright accents on his chest, trailing on his robe and arms. The key detail, however, was that this man was dressed as a doctor of death as a beaked mask’s eyes shining bright in the low light of the stars stared back at her.

It shifted its eyes to slits. “You don’t impress me.”

“Vhy vould I need to impress a speck of dust?”

As if that were an ‘insult’ it could take to heart; this world was her home. Of course she’d be dust in the wind one day. “At least I am of the Earth; you smell of something ripped from the void.”

He laughed heartily. A missing piece she did not have. “You have no idea.”

“Nor do I wish to learn,” it hissed.

“Vhat happened to mercy?” The Doctor mocked, the false concern dripping like venom as a sneer made its way to the front. “To saving every soul?”

How dare he. How dare he? As if the bodies in her hands, precious, bloodied, and unconscious, were not its highest priority. To try and do whatever guilt-trip he was trying to pull, to try and say that because she had no wish to have him anywhere near her, that she would not save who she could? As if getting the one who had harmed them so plentifully away was not among her top concerns. She was not in a state to think of anything but her desire to protect right now, as he threatened something so dear.

It did not care about learning what made this man like this, when they were much better things to be prioritizing, and it hissed with feathers stuck out like icicles in the night. He gestured grandly, as if exhibiting a performance for them all and chuckled darkly. “You are just like your Father.” “Good.”

Once more gathering the ever familiar divine energy, this time, she pulled something a lot stronger, and a lot more energy absorbing than a few sharp bolts; a Celestial made of Light and magicks, pulling from her wish to defend she summoned a creature to attack for her.

More bright light, like the sun decided to instead arise on the deck of their ship instead of peek over the horizon, formed in the air next to her before shifting like liquid and growing larger and larger— until a vaguely humanoid shape evolved into something bearing armor, burning with light within as the final dregs of the spell formed a wickedly curved metal bow in its hand, and the Summoned pulled back the glowing hot string as magic coalesced into arrows.

Ulysses in those moments stolen, using both herself and the Summoned as a distraction, had been making a wide circling move around the masts of the ship— and now promptly came within gunshot range and shot at the back of the Doctor’s head with his pistol, blasting a hole through cloth and flesh; swiftly disengaging as only a rogue could before the man could think to turn around and return the favor.

But instead of blood, or anything liquid, what flowed out of the now broken mask from the hole in the back of his head was a sickly gas, spilling threateningly the same hue as the accents upon his robe.

This man favored his poisons.

“What the heck is going on— my GOD!” cried an unfamiliar old man. Half expecting another intruder, it turned its head in apprehension, but upon turning its gaze it realized who the voice emitted from; Janglin, looking horrified.

The horror turned into rapid tugging of his instruments off their attachments and a startled stance, as the bard began to play a stumblingly rapid-paced tune; The air once again began to twist and hum with the new addition of a different spellcaster in the deck.

As Janglin gathered himself, Enososin pulled a little more magic from the air into a more stable flowing form–– placing her hand firmly onto Cass; his heart had started slowing as she held him, and that frightened her. Keeping them safe with her body had its downsides, and that was the jostling. The magic zoomed through her hand into his body as she felt that magic wrap inside his blood, keeping it pumping the heart steadily. Stabilized, no longer on the verge of death, she changed the tune of the magic ever so slightly to heal what had been damaged internally as well with a whispered word.

The Summoned, while she was healing, had been waiting for the moment to strike, moving ever so slightly on deceptively light feet, and taking the second that the Doctor was partially distracted by looking at Janglin and loosed two blazing arrows rapidly into the man’s chest— striking him clean through with some sickening sounding cracks as the arrows dispersed; leaving the wound open.

Soleil started to move once again, her eyes blazing with a quietly furious whisper of; “You motherfucker– oh I’m back.”

“Oh I’m back,” she repeated, with a quiet voracious glee in the undercurrent of her words. Soleil then pulled her weapon of choice from off her back— the trident seeming to exude the same glee its user contained, and a pulse of water magic from her trident came from the side of the ship and slammed the man as a wall of force into the railing of the ship.

Soleil looked triumphant for a brief moment before something seemed to cross her mind, eyes flicking at the Doctor and then to his feet; Sol looked down with an exhausted, but amused air as she whispered. “You could do something so funny right now.”

The ship creaked her sly agreement beneath their feet.

Ah. Yeah, that would be rather funny.

The Doctor, now rather damp and body language shifted towards annoyed about it, he turned towards Ulysses, who was right by the bow. Ulysses’ eyes widened in the moments that passed quickly and rapid recognition as the Doctor raised up an arm. He pointed at the vampire while his arm grew bright with magical light, and then brighter still; the metallic substance that decorated it emptied into his palm and then blasted through the air and shot Ulysses through the chest with the force of a cannon shot.

The desperation that flashed in the vampire’s eyes told the cleric all she needed to know on how much damage that had just dealt.

“I am SICK. And TIRED of zis useless jibber-jabber fight!” The Doctor hissed at the lot of them, gripping his fist and pulling it back like someone was challenging him to a bar fight instead, and adjusted his feet to brace for a blow.

“Give me somezhing good!” He howled, and looked at Ulysses with a twist of his masked face. “You look strong, boy. Give me a fight.”

Like a call and response, Ulysses took the man up on the challenge. There was a twist of magic that swirled sharply, jaggedly, as Ulysses rolled his shoulders and tapped one of them in a rhythm; another gleaming glow surrounded his entire arm, and seemed to center in his throat. The light grew glaring as Ulysses’ magic exploded out of his mouth and through the air in a blindingly lightning filled breath.

The lightning latched onto the Doctor with extreme prejudice as the dampness of his clothes did nothing to protect him from the current, ricocheting visibly through muscles, metal and flesh.

Ulysses winked at the Doctor, gave a little salute, and then dropped off the side of the boat with a small thump; clinging to the side then, as no splash sounded off.

Janglin snapped to attention as the magic swished around and he reached for one of his own spells and plucked an addition to his tune— and the sound of something shattering echoed like a small blast centered on the Doctor.

The plague Doctor growled in frustrated pain and ripped off the fabric and metal combination that once guarded his identity, but now hindered his sight more than helped. It revealed a man– humanoid for sure, but she couldn’t tell the race; the ears were still covered. But what truly drew the eye was the metallic replacements in his face that glimmered in the night, and was etched with runes that highlighted the manic blaze in the Doctor’s eyes.

“Now zis! Zis is interesting.”

Fantastic; he seems to get off on fighting. Or possibly just being electrocuted. Glad to be a contribution, sir, it thought sarcastically.

Pulling her thoughts from sarcasm, the seconds continued to tick by as she focused now on Pepper’s faint heartbeat. It was a familiar movement now, quickly stabilizing them and pulling the active pool of magic to her, gently infusing it into the moth’s skin and flesh as the healing spell was murmured underneath the chaos.

The Summoned avenger once more took its chance to fire a volley of arrows, striking him in the side— the momentum from the sheer might behind the arms that loosed the arrows, forced the Doctor to stumble and reveal his back to the archer, where another arrow crashed into with extreme power.

As that happened she adjusted both Cassanova and Pepper to one arm— watching Pepper instinctively clutch the tiefling to them— and picked up her hammer from the start of the fight. Preparation, just in case.

Soleil’s eyes narrowed as the push and pull of magic once more leaned in her favor, and the crackle in the air gave a brief warning of what the elven duo were joining forces to do. The blinding flash of lightning exploded in its vision once more as Soleil released a bolt that she sent out and shot through the Doctor. The spell should have trailed off the ship but seemed to have stopped at the man himself.

The Doctor had caught it.

She felt the collective recognition ricochet through the entire above deck crew as they all looked at his arm.

He chuckled menacingly, a grin stretching from ear to ear— in the sense that it was supposed to be interpreted as a grin; it was far more accurate to think of it as a hyena about to bite. “Did z’you think? I am not smart enough.. to develop my own prosthetic vith magical-catching capabilities!?”

“That seems like something incredibly stupid,” Soleil grumbled darkly. To which part, it had no clue, but Eno could only snort in shared exhausted amusement.

“Your bird friend.. Ze one you fought in ze Church, ja?” he questioned jauntily. Far too jauntily. “His prosthetic.. Iz my design.~”

If you dare hurt my friend, I’m going to shove you into the ocean and keep you there long after you stop moving.

Taking a deep breath, she gently pulled the barely leashed fury back to the side. Work with it, not against it, with it not against. She spread her wings a little lower, showing the patterns more threateningly instead of releasing a battle cry and slamming the Doctor into sentient planks. This man was doing everything in his capabilities to make sure she stayed pissed the hell off at him without even trying too hard, wasn’t he?

“Of course,” he continued with an ecstatic shout, “I can vield it much better!”

He moved his hand like he was holding something heavy, and turned the lightning bolt into the sky with a graceful but powerful toss upwards.

Soleil looked up at the lightning bolt cast into the sky with a weariness that only other spellcasters could truly understand. “I am fuckin’ too tired for this,” she hissed quietly. “Do I hear.. A chicken? I think I do. He’s going ‘bawk-bawk’ instead of cooking alive as he should.”

Her headache pulsed violently. Why?

“You vere entertaining;” the Doctor continued, clapping hands muffled by the glove he wore, and interrupting her wanderings of thought as he turned his face towards where Ulysses still probably clung to the sides, “let me guess zough. You are going to launch me into ze sea, boy? Going to attempt to vhirlpool me vith your ship, little vampire?”

He shook his head with a smirk and turned his eyes back upon the small group of them, raising his voice to be heard by all of them, should their hearing have been lost in the few minutes they had fought for some inexplicable reason.

“I am going to offer you an accord, meine kleinen Freunde..!” he announced. “You can have your stupid moth and ve can end zis here!”

“Or,” he emphasized with no small amount of glee, “continue fighting me! You might have a chance at killing me, after all…~”

“Vhat say you?”

He opened his arms with each option presented, gums slipping into his hyena grin.

“Glory or mercy?”

Enososin gazed upon the doctor, using every spare scrap of medicinal knowledge it had to determine what in God’s creation this man’s game was. Luckily, an absurd amount of injuries in your younger years led into a pretty steady hand on what exactly the damage dealt was.

All in all, the Doctor was rough. Clothes ripped and torn and doused in water, crackling with leftover electricity, and bleeding from multiple places that could not be helpful for cognitive functions. But the casual way he held himself, ready for an encore, told of a firm grip upon his health— it was that or a bluff, but there was not even an ounce of strain she could sense from voice nor posture; he was nowhere near being done, and they had far too rough a day to be able to keep up with their limited amount of spells.

Unless she started going in close for the combat, with deadly intention.

“Get off our damn ship,” she rumbled.

The doctor looked towards her and laughed, tilting his head as he peered at the bodies in her grip. “Godspeed, litl’bug! I hope you have fun back in Kingston~”

Eno blinked a few times in response to the jolly little warning— because that was absolutely what that tone was. What had that been for…?

Had something happened to their parents?

“Oh, and if z’you reconsider!” He took Casanova’s horn out of his pocket and threw it at her feet, clattering loudly on the wooden planks. “Vell. Seek ze Secrets.”

An echoing thunderclap; the portal reappeared. He stepped into it. Gone.

There was a moment of tension, even after he left. The air thick with apprehension of a falsehood, before a break settled the area. Like too much heat in pottery with hairline fractures; it broke gently. The cleric let out an exhausted and frustrated sigh at the tension’s dissipation. Rude was not even covering the very least of her grievances with the man who presumed to come onto their ship, and it was not about to spare the brain power to list them out right now.

Readjusting the unconscious cargo in her arms to no longer be at an awkward angle for her arm (comfortable for them, not so for her twinging muscles) it realized it could actually take the moment to actually set them down. Gently propping up Cassanova and Pepper on one of the ship’s walls, she pulled the medkit from it being attached to her hip.

“Ok,” she breathed, “Let’s fix you two up.”

As she started pursuing physical injuries, prodding gently for open wounds, disinfecting and wrapping where she could, Janglin had rushed over and sat next to her, fiddling a gentle tune as he played a healing aura for everyone on the topdeck.

Soleil had sat on the floor next to it as the two avians began working. Only a few moments later, it heard some clomping and the sound of a winded vampiric wood elf sitting down next to Sol.

Small stitches and bruises were patched, a dislocation or two were righted (with no wake up from Casanova, which was in actuality far more worrying than the injury itself), and everything that could be physically fixed, had been attended to with as much that could be provided. Only a brief time later they were as healed as they could without resting, where time and sleep would deal with emotional or psychological damage.

She mentioned as much to the small grouping of her still barely awake crewmates.

“Well,” Ulysses mumbled, “now I get to have my last hour of trance. At, like— 3 in the morning.”

A small puff of laughter from herself and a hum of amused agreement from Soleil at the comment. There was a moment of inactivity as all of them seemed to mentally fortify themselves to move once more— Eno especially took a deep breath; Pulling both unconscious victims up into her arms again, she made her way back into the Captain’s quarters— followed by a couple of disgruntled sounds of Soleil and Ulysses pulling each other up and trotting after her— placing them both in the bed as gingerly as she could. “Pepper’s safe?” Soleil questioned finally, eyeing their sleeping form with concern heavy in her expression if not in voice or stance.

“Aside from any further attempts to snatch them from under our noses again,” it replied, making a brief check behind her at the closed door, “yes. They’re safe.”

As her head was turned behind her though, the both of them met each other’s eyes, and looked at each other in shared spellcasting exhaustion. It was a toss to the wind, but the cleric decided it was worth it to give the attempt a try. “Want to stay?”

“I’m going to go back to bed,” Soleil replied, shaking her head after the fact with the mere notion of another idea popping into her head. “Or just slam coffee– I don’t know.” “Nope, go to sleep,” it chided in amusement, churring a small noise of fondness at the exhausted tilt of the woman’s shoulders at the concession, “Go. Bed.”

Enososin would rather the woman sleep in her own bed, comfortable and safe— weapons within reach and a shout or explosion away from summoning them, than try to sleep, possibly stay awake, and more than likely paranoid within the group.

This crew had more than a few suspicious and paranoid folk, and the best way to ease that, was simply to let them have that safety to fall back on. “My bones hurt.”

“Rest in the Captain’s cabin– with us,” Ulysses chimed in after Soleil’s partial non-sequitur, “I would rather us not be separated. In case… Y’know.” “Y’know, if they kidnap— another person tonight? I think! I deserve to– t’just —” she made a violently flippant gesture with both of her hands. Point received, if not articulated. “I don’t know, do they play poker or something?”

“Judging by how Cass is missing a horn; uhm. No,” Ulysses declared, the horror in his voice being overlaid by the heavy sarcasm, “they do not play poker.” “That’s just an average night at my old family house,” Soleil waved off with a dismissive shake, “it’s fine. They’ve probably got poker.”

Oh. It politely refrained from blinking in surprise. That was a small cannon shell, wasn’t it?

Ulysses apparently agreed, but far more vocally as the trailing horror won over the sarcastic defense. “That is a.. Concerning..?!”

Soleil was having none of it, however, as she leaned forward and sleepily pressed a finger against Ulysses’ lips. “Shshh.”

As much as she was now curious herself, and more than a bit concerned in the case of the family possibly looking for their gorgeously talented lunar sorceress, Eno agreed with the falling over woman; time to be quiet for a while. “Alright, Sol, it is time for bed. C’mon.”

There was the quietest murmur of “I don’t know.” She wished it knew what Soleil was specifically referring to, as she’d love to lend a hand, but for now, it was simply going to be filed away for hypothetical later talks.

It murmured gently once more. “Get in.” Soleil looked at her with exhaustion and gave a brief nod. Crawling in near Pepper, but not close enough to interfere with Pepper’s unconscious death grip on Cass, Sol hit the cushioning press of the mattress– and Enososin could pretty much see the light turn off in Soleil’s head. Absolutely conked out upon touchdown.

Meanwhile, Ulysses once more got on the floor.

“Aaaand no you don’t,” it mumbled, reaching for Ulysses’ hand to gently tug him upwards.

“No– no–” he shied away from her claws and it let her hand drop back to its side, “let me be on the floor.”

It was too tired to argue. If the man wanted to sleep on the floor, so be it. “Then I am joining you on the floor,” she exhaled, laying down on the floor next to Ulysses.

“No, you are not..!” He protested, as if his words would pause her movements.

“Yes, I am~”

“Get on the bed..! No you—” she curled up with her arm as a pillow and listened to the vampire get even more exasperated, as she got more and more comfortable; “no! Eno!”

She opened an eye she hadn’t realized she’d closed. “What?”

Ulysses furiously pointed at the bed, his exasperation mingling with distress. “Get in the bed!”

“Nope,” she clicked the p, “You’re down here.”

He stared at her in pure exhausted exasperation. “Gods, you are frustrating.”

She squinted up her eyes in amusement. Welcome to the club, Ulysses, you’ll find her caretakers already here and having had the same emotion with her at least once. Somewhere, there were muffins as compensation.

“Get in bed,” he hissed, trying to get his point across to deaf ears without waking the crew already passed out, “you’ve wasted so much magic today!”

“Honk shoo mimimi,” she murmured for effect as she reclosed her eyes.

“I have slept in worse places, I assure you! This is comfortable for me!”

It was more than fine sleeping down here, and in fact could probably stretch out more than she could in a bed of any size.

“Honk shoo.”

There was a silence long enough as she laid there that she assumed Ulysses had given it up and simply accepted that she was down here with him, and she let herself begin to drift off.

“If I get in the bed,” he said, snapping her once more back to awakeness, with an added startled blinking awake as a bonus, “will you get in the bed?”

“Yes,” she replied. If he wanted to, that is.

Ulysses sighed huffily and got onto the foot of the bed, looking down at her, waiting for her to make good on her word.

Ah, and she was rather comfortable too. Ah well. She got up with a small exhale of effort, and crawled carefully into a small space not taken by the lovers or Sol’s starfish sprawl. Pretty much just doing her best not to take up too much of the bed. However, she was not ignorant to the tactic of someone coaxing another into a better state before going back into the sub-par condition themself.

So it laid down, with its wing stretched out and resting on Ulysses. The look of frustrated chagrin told her all she needed to know in her prediction, and that he knew if tried to leave again, she’d just go back with him.

“Ughhh… you are infuriating,” she heard as his words drifted. Exhaustion stealing him in equal measure as falling into his elvish trance.

If being infuriating keeps people safe, it thought, as she let itself drop into sleep, then I shall endeavor to be the most annoying owlin in the entire archipelago.

Prologue; One - Two - Three - Four

High Seas; It Begins - Something's Wrong - Blood in the Water pt. 1 - Blood in the Water pt. 2 (here!) - Crimson Runs Blue within Crépuscule (pt. 1) - Crimson Runs Blue within Crépuscule (pt. 2) - Fake Orchestra playing a Synthetic Symphony pt. 1 - FOpSS pt. 2 - Impacto pt. 1 - Ikanaide pt. 2

#my writings #Pirate Campaign #Enososin Folook #Pepper Kochavi #Cassanova Jones (NPC)#Ulysses (OC)#Desmond Kallstrom #Soleil (OC)#David L. Jones (Davy Jones)#Doc^2 (NPC)#I AM ONCE AGAIN IGNORING THE DREAD. here have 8.5k words while I ignore it not at all & actually dance the waltz with the dread in delight #anyways local bird woman being frustrated/struggling a lil bit with its anger issues because she's reaching the end of her rope today #this was absolutely meant to be posted SO much earlier. LIKE AN ACTUAL LITERAL MONTH AGO EARLIER.#so big apology to my dear friends who have been staring at me autistically for this. TIME TO WRITE THE LAST FEW SESSIONS NOW #happy hannukah and merry yuletide along with a hopeful new year #don't let the defeatism win #rea's trash

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rosietrace · 6 months ago

Text

『 “Off kilter” 』

| Lancelot Lucretius and Marina Baleen | 🛡️ + 🐚 |

✎ᝰ. synopsis : “The boys, the girls, they all like Carmen–” “She gives them butterflies, bats her cartoon eyes.”

✎ᝰ. content warnings : descriptions of murder, davis /hj, implied mafia business (?)

✎ᝰ. genre : alternative universe (noir/mafia au), romance, (poorly communicated) mutual pining

( ˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥) a/n : AUGHHHH THIS TOOK SO LONG TO COMPLETE BUT I'M SO GLAD IT IS 😭 this kinda lacks proper proof-reading so idk chat maybe it sucks balls but </33 Ellis pookie I rlly hope I did Marina justice here so I'm super sorry if she's ooc :'))

✎ᝰ. reblogs > likes

Lance watched Davis sneer at the hard pouring of the rain, an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed. Pure, potent, exasperation was hardly enough to describe how tired Lance was of his brother.

But alas, thought Lance, who drew out a sorry breath. It's better than nothing.

Their plans for the day, generally consisting of Davis spoiling himself rotten while Lance accompanied him with nothing tucked in his behind other than wallowing compliance, came to a screeching halt.

Due in part with the murder of Nyx Leech, beloved songstress of the Monstro Lounge— a restaurant seemingly drawing the attention of individuals from all across the criminal underworld.

Davis harrumphed, walking to the wooden coat rack and draping his coat over his shoulders. “You think going to the lounge is still a good idea?” questioned Davis.

Lance's eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn't it be?” They were supposed to be investigating a murder, entertainment was hardly a priority.

Or, at least, it was for Lance. Davis sent his baby brother a faux pout. “Oh, boo hoo… I've been itching for another try at the serpentine casino..”

With a roll of his eyes, Lance followed, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. “If that's the case, then you're not a detective, you're a slot machine.”

“And you'd slit your own throat for six bits plus tax.”

Davis scoffed. “You overestimate how high my confidence is.”

“I reckon your confidence is on a pedestal, readying itself to be renamed arrogance.”

“I’d hardly call it arrogance when one acknowledges their talents.”

“And it's hardly confidence when all you do is boast about your talents,” Lance shot back, opening the door and gesturing for his brother to leave first.

Grumbling whatever chattering complaints he wanted to say below his breath, Davis strode out of the office. Lance lingered at the doorway, however, contemplating.

Right now, they were low on any actual evidence— and even worse, lower in leads to finding the true culprit.

As the nights grew colder, and the rain poured harder, all Lance could think of…

“Hey,” Davis called. He gave Lance a wrinkle-nosed look, and pointedly side-eyed him once he walked out of the office and locked the door shut.

“Anything on your mind, brother?” Davis questioned. Although Lance didn't want to notice it, Davis' sly little smile was hardly subtle.

Lance shook his head, a valiant effort on his part. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Positive.”

“Are you really, really, really—”

“Say really one more time, and I'll make sure you won't have a tongue in your mouth once we get home.”

Frustrated far beyond reason, Lance shoved past Davis, even when he didn't mean to; and all Davis had to respond to that?

A smirk. A hardly subtle, very amused, all-knowing smirk. Damn it.

“This should be fun.”

“Anything?”

Normally it would take a large bribe or two to be given entry into one of the restricted, ‘employees only’ areas of the Monstro Lounge; but with the circumstances that life had dealt for the notorious restaurant, Azul Ashengrotto had reluctantly allowed Davis and Lance to initiate a look-through of the crime scene. No bribes needed, free of charge.

A figure of chalk was drawn on the floor, positioned the same way Nyx had been found.

From how Davis looked, he looked like he wanted to hurl. It still reeked of a rotting corpse, and that fact didn't go unnoticed by Lance, either.

It was just that Lance did a better job at hiding his disgust, in contrast to… Davis being Davis.

“Anything so far?” Lance repeated his question and looked underneath the shelves that lined the room, waiting for Davis to reply whilst inspecting the area to the best of his ability.

“Nope.” Truly, Davis missed his true calling on the stage. With how nonchalant he sounded, Lance would've gone and assumed his brother wasn't taking the case as casually as he should.

But that's a lie. Lance thought, with every fiber of being all unanimously going to that agreement. He does care about this case.

Just not in the way he probably should.

“Found something,” Davis announced, getting to his feet and properly inspecting whatever was in his hand. “Could be something of interest.”

“Could be?” Lance repeated with a hint of skepticism. ‘Could be’s and ‘Maybe’s weren't what they were looking for.

Davis gave him a look, clicking his tongue. “Do you truly think so low of me, baby brother?”

Without even a moment's notice or a hint of hesitation on Davis' part, Lance's eyebrows shot up at the sight before him.

Some kind of seal. Not quite a brooch, but more akin to a cufflink, or a pin. It bore the symbol of two interconnected snakes wrapping around each other— their grasps at each other almost suffocating just by looking at it.

Lance couldn't help but wonder aloud, “What is it?”

Davis' smirk was horribly contagious. Far too proud for his own good as he indulged, “A seal.”

“Particularly to our matter of interest, baby brother of mine, one belonging to a subordinate working under the Eden’s Serpents.”

Not knowing who the Serpents were was the equivalent to living under a rock and not knowing the sky was blue— so of course Lance knew which group of the criminal underworld Davis was referring to.

“Is it a possible lead?”

“Could be.”

“We're not here for that could be bullshit.”

“Don't be such a debbie downer,” with a flick of his fingers, Lance felt a small flash of pain on his forehead. Courtesy of his older brother.

Barely another word in to snap back at Davis, in walked owner of the restaurant himself, Azul Ashengrotto; clad in all black, say for the silk blouse he wore beneath his black and silver coat and vest.

“Novellions,” Azul said in greeting, accenting it with a well-practiced polite shell of a smile.

Davis, ever the charmer, did the talking. “Mr. Ashengrotto.” They shook hands like merchants making a deal in the midst of the exchange.

“I presume progress remains slow as always?” The question sounded polite enough; but Lance didn't miss the way Azul veiled the condescension in his tone.

Davis' charm didn't falter, but his smile took a more sharp turn. “Surprise, surprise, today that isn't the case.”

Azul raised a brow. “Oh? There's progress after all?”

“Certainly. Truly, Mr. Ashengrotto, do you have such little faith in me and my brother?”

“Certainly not,” Azul waved a dismissive hand.

Lance folded his arms across his chest. “Have I not been informed, or have we been given some sort of time limit to how long we can stay here?” Azul had to have sauntered over to them himself, for a reason.

The chuckle that left the ever conspicuous business man's lips made a vein pop up on Lance's forehead.

“I am merely doing my job as the owner of this establishment.” Azul and Davis were silently at odds with each other; projecting humbleness in the way they said every little reply, no matter how miniscule.

“Care for a bit of relaxation, gentlemen? Surely, the act of investigating a murder can entail quite a bit of exhaustion.”

Lance's lips pursed. “That won't be necessa–”

“How generous!” Declared Davis, who not-so-subtly sent a glare directed at Lance once Azul gave them a hearty, performative laugh, and escorted them to the main dining area.

Lance had his qualms about Ashengrotto, and especially his staff, but he could at least admit to himself that he had little qualms about the restaurant Azul owned.

The Monstro Lounge was dimly lit, its only source of light were the bulletproof glass walls made to display all sorts of oceanic creatures for guests to marvel at while they ate— much of the decor made to resemble sea creatures, as well.

Looking up, Lance commented in as polite of a voice as he could manage, “Quite the chandelier.”

It was like Azul didn't even try to hide how perfunctory his responses were to him and Davis. “Thank you. It feels like almost a lifetime ago since I first opened this place… oh, how far we've come, indeed.”

And in that time, Lance couldn't help but think, your establishment is the number one meeting place for a private tussle between rival groups in the criminal underworld.

Hardly a positive evolution, but one nonetheless.

Azul sat the two brothers down in one of the tables closest to the stage. Whether that was deliberate on Azul’s part, it was hard to tell.

“I do hope you two stay for entertainment,” Azul said earnestly, but Lance knew better than to expect fully packaged honesty where Azul Ashengrotto was concerned.

He turned on his heel, that polite smile fading, and giving way for a smirk to grow.

“You'll see that Marina's quite the talent, indeed.”

Marina Baleen wanted to chuckle when she first saw the look on Lance's face once she strode on to the stage, dressed in sparkles, opera gloves, and a fur shawl.

But much to her dismay, that just wasn't an option. Sure, Marina was one of the potential suspects behind the recent murder of Nyx Leech, but that didn't equal to Azul wanting to put her talent to waste.

She was a spectacle, all eyes on her, like there was nothing more natural than the way her looks — and most especially her voice — captivated the audience like a siren guiding poor unfortunate sailors to a death they wouldn't foresee until it was all too late.

She tried keeping the act of the alluring, sultry songstress, she truly did. But it was just too hard to ignore how comical it was to see Lance's jaw go slack and see how his (quite frankly, rude) older brother closed it shut for him.

Quite cartoonish, that one, thought Marina. When he wants to be.

The stage was set, the lights were on and all were directed at her. Front, back, and everything in-between, Marina was what every aspiring singer wanted to be.

A star. A spectacle, made for the stage and only the stage. The industry was like that, y'know. You're either born with star power, or you aren't.

Marina was just lucky enough to have the looks to get where she was today.

When the song neared its end, the corners of Marina's mouth curled up into a tiny smirk. There was nothing wrong with messing with Lancelot Novellion a little, was there?

She strutted across the stage, heels clicking rhythmically until her steps came to a halt. And she stood directly over Lance and his brothers’ table.

Her hand went beneath his chin, lifting and tilting it at just the right angle so their eyes would meet.

With his parted lips and her thumb brushing against the lower half, Marina engaged with a fermata until her voice slowly faded in what she could only assume was the most natural way it could.

“I…” she could audibly hear the quiet, hard, swallow from Lance.

She was enjoying this far too much. With a cheshire cat grin and a wink, she pulled back from him, taking several steps back and awaiting for a standing ovation that never came.

That was fine. That was natural. Not everyone would want to give her some hurrahs, let alone throw roses at the stage in appreciation.

The silence is better than being thrown porridge, Marina amended. With how prolonged her little smile was, many working under Azul assumed she wasn't capable of doing anything other than smiling.

Azul gave her his praises, Jade following suit; Floyd was the only one not in attendance. Marina wasn't given the specifics, but she knew it had to do with Nyx's sudden murder.

Whatever tightnit, glued-to-the-hip bond the Leech siblings had, it wasn't Marina's prioritized concern. Her current topic warranting caution was trying not to make herself paint an even redder target on her back.

She wasn't the one who killed Nyx. She'd have known if she did, but Marina had no reason to.

Lance intercepted Marina on her way to her dressing room. To which Marina only reacted with a wry smile, brushing past him and not looking back; an obvious, but no less clever way of getting him to follow her.

“I'm not taking autographs right now,” she drawled, her head tilting to one side at a precarious angle once she and Lance made their way into her dressing room.

Lance huffed. He was so cute when he looked painfully constipated with irrigation. “I'm not here for an autograph.”

“I'm not accepting fan meetings.”

“I’m not here for that, either.”

“Then why,” Marina strode closer, her nose briefly brushing against Lance's, “are you here?”

The investigator took one look to the side then focused his gaze on her. “I'm here on business, not to ask for your autograph or a kiss that'll make me refuse to take another shower ever again.”

“You sure about that, Lancie?”

Lance gave her an adorable wrinkle of his nose at the unexpected nickname. He tried covering up by (very unconvincingly) maintaining his business persona.

“Again, Miss Baleen, I'm not here for an autograph.”

The opportunity jumped at Marina as she replied with, “Then is a kiss still on the table?”

“And definitely not that.” Lance sucked in a breath. Marina couldn't tell if the redness of his ears were from being flustered or not, but either way, it looked cute to her.

“Shame…” Marina pouted, slipping off the shawl and tossing it on to the top back of her dressing room chair. “I would've enjoyed making you my personal canvas.”

Lance blinked. Marina counted up to thirteen times before he uttered, his tone gutted and hoarse with disbelief: “What?”

Marina shrugged that off as quickly as the offhand comment came. “Nevermind, that,” said Marina, who tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked back at Lance.

“So, detective, any progress?”

“About clearing your name? Not much.”

“Hmm.” She clucked her tongue. “Shame… am I too memorable to let off the hook?”

“If by memorable you mean conspicuous,” corrected Lance. “Your connections to the victim, as well as your alibi doesn't make you that much of an innocent victim turned suspect.”

“Me and Nyx were never that close, anyway, Lancie.”

“And you think that matters to the press?”

She released a groan. “I already told you what I know.” Her lips pressed together, frustration gleaming in her eyes as she stared back at him.

“What more do I need to do to prove I'm innocent?”

“... I know you're innocent.” Marina could've almost sworn that Lance's eyes flash with an uncharacteristic softness, if only for a moment. “But—”

“But?”

“The press don't believe you are. My brother too, but he isn't important in this conversation.”

“Such a strange way to say that about him,” Marina noted, motion always constant with her pretty head cocked to the side at an angle that bordered on the blurred line of acceptable and concerning. “Though, I can't say I disagree. Your brother is hardly the most agreeable.”

The corners of Lance's mouth ticked upwards, then lowered. “Then I am shocked to say we're in agreement on something for once. However—”

His hands went to her shoulders, the proximity of their bodies hardly registering to Lance as he pushed Marina back and lowered her down to her chair before she could say anything else.

“— I am not here to talk about things we may or may not agree on. I'm here because I was called to investigate with Davis, so I may as well make it worth my while?”

She smirked, leaning into the chair and crossing her legs. “Oh? Well, now you're making little ol’ me blush, Lancie.”

“Don't make an innuendo out of this…” Lance closed his eyes, keeping them that way with a pained twist to his lips.

With a relent, she decided to go along with it. She gestured to a chair from the corner of the room for Lance to sit on, and he did so in quick succession; ready to ask whatever questions he had unprepared for her.

“Where were you on the night of Nyx Leech’s murder?”

“After the duet Nyx and I shared, she told me she was in charge of closing up for the night and told me to leave early.”

“Interesting. Did she go into further elaboration?”

The fact you're acting like you don't already know the answer is cute, Lancie. “From my memory, I don't think so. Whatever she was up to, I merely minded my business and entered my dressing room.”

“And that's…?” Lance arched his brow, waiting for her to continue; anticipating what he already knew but still hoping for a new lead regardless.

Marina's bulletproof pleasantries wavered. “... That's when I heard the screaming.”

Liar or not, Marina was a fantastic actress. Had she not pursued singing, she would've been a household name among Hollywood's finest stars. And she knew that was why Lance kept up the skepticism in her alibi.

He felt something for her. She didn't know what it was, but whatever it was, he wouldn't let it get in the way of him doing his job.

Emotions are kept on the back burner most days, and when they aren't… Marina knew it'd be better for her to not know how Lance would act if he wasn't as patient as he was right now.

But now was not the time for that. She could only keep little Lancie, him and his golden eyes and adorable freckles, in her dressing room for so long. It would only be a matter of time before Davis barges in and drags his brother back to their office by his ankles.

She heaved a sigh. “I tried to ignore the screaming. I thought I just heard things. But then it came again, and it kept coming until it became unbearable and–”

“... And?” She was tense. It didn't take a genius to notice that.

Marina swallowed, hard, forcing down the feeling of bile trying to force its way out of her throat. “I… I opened the door to one of the employee-only sections of the lounge.”

“Nyx tried to crawl to me, tears ruining her mascara. But she could barely move. I ran to her, foolish enough to try and shake the life back into her and–”

“— that's when Azul found you.” Covered in the blood of a fellow performer. The look on Lance's face said it all.

“Yes.” The starlet kept her hands on her lap, her body so still she looked like she belonged in a painting rather than on the stage she stood on prior. “... Not exactly the best alibi, I know you're suspicious of me either way.”

Lance didn't deny that. “I am. However, I'm obligated to believe you until further evidence suggests that you're telling the truth or not.”

“You think I'm lying?”

“I did not say–”

“No, you're implying that I could be lying to you to get off your radar.”

“I've heard your alibi three times now, Miss Baleen. Once when I first interrogated you, second when I was listening in on your interview with my brother— and most recently, right now.”

Marina sputtered, eyebrows knitted together. “What– Just because you heard my alibi thrice now, you think there's cracks in what I'm trying to convey??”

“Ma'am, I'm doing my job.” Lance leaned back — or, at least tried to, he was sitting on a stool without anything supporting his back — as he continued, “your descriptions, while tragic and filled with emotion… don't give too much detail on what had actually happened that night.

“At most, you're one of the only members of the lounge who doesn't go into explicit detail in the same way everyone else has.”

Marina harrumphed. “Why should explicit details matter?”

“It gives investigators better insight and a clearer visual. I'd say it matters more than the monthly salary Mr. Ashengrotto has been more than generous in giving you, despite being a prime suspect.”

But they both knew why that was the case. It stank the atmosphere of the room, sensitizing Lance's senses in ways more than the type of perfume Marina was using.

Azul valued Marina for her talents. It's precisely why she's paid so well, and why she's such a favorite over all of his other patrons serving entertainment for the lounge.

Whether she was a suspect framed, innocent or not, business was business. And nothing could motivate Azul Ashengrotto more than cash.

It wasn't soon enough for Lance to stand, the abruptness nearly knocking over the dusted stool, its bottom still lined with cobwebs.

“Miss Baleen, I swear to you, I will find whoever it is that murdered your colleague and it will take an act of God to stop me from accomplishing that.”

His hands, so calloused but so wrongly delicate, caressed her face, tilting her chin up.

“I won't allow personal feelings get in the way of that. No matter what.”

Lance let go of Marina's face, the silence falling on deaf ears as his eyes found its way to the clock hanging over her mirror.

“... I should go.”

He'd been gracious enough to put the stool back where it'd once been, dusting off any remnants of web or dust and ready to make his way out of her dressing room as soon as—

“Wait–”

Marina's words cut off when Lance looked back at her, eyes seeming so devoid of any emotion left in his system, but filled with plight; like he was asking — begging — her for a reason to stay for longer than he should.

Sadly, her words had cut short. And she shook her head, smiling wryly and turning her attention to her reflection in the mirror. She heard Lance huff, and watched from the mirror as he left— her smile wiped clean.

Lance leaned his back against the door of her dressing room, his head on the ceiling. He cursed himself, disbelief painted harshly on his features.

“What the hell am I doing?...”

【 Taglist / Credits 】

↳ In order of OC appearances/mentions

Lancelot Novellion – Me 😈

Davis Novellion – Also Me 😈

Nyx Leech – Also (2) Me 😈

Marina Baleen – @starry-night-rose

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