#his Son! is here and condemning him!! oh the agony!!! and then through the conversation having his eyes opened and seeing his real pain

[masterfuldoodler]

I went so insane drawing this. I was having the best time ever, I had to pause so often to freak out at my own art xD and then there is the pain. My friends knew everytime I sat down to draw the end (the last five pages) I plagued them dsbknfh

I even made a playlist for specifically this.

The End of All

I've been brainstorming the final confrontation of the keepers. Tehvlar has finished recreating his body into fully chaos and is mostly dead at this point. It starts as Rhyin and Tehvlar's reunion and spirals out of control.

[mastrechef]

I got this weird idea in my head and it kept pestering me until I did something about it, so I picked away at it while on vacation. It started out as something else until I adapted it for FFXV, but anyway, here’s some random snippets of stuff where all the dialogue is composed of spliced together song lyrics. I tried to keep the lyrics intact and recognizable, but I did occasionally omit words to make things fit better. Features an Ardynson!Nyx but not related to my other Ardynson stuff.

His breath rasped in his throat like a death rattle. It wasn’t long now. He was old and withered, his bones grown brittle, and his mind slow. Death would claim him soon. Sitting alone in the dark, he could do nothing but wait.

Something moved in the corner of his eye, but in his weak state he was slow to respond. He finally managed to crane his neck to look. Nothing. Just shadows. With a wheezy sigh, he settled his head back to stare at the ceiling once more.

Burning gold eyes met his own.

His breath stuttered to a halt as he realized just who was looming over him.

Ardyn Lucis Caelum said, “Fondest greetings to you, dear brother, it’s been a while. Where should we begin? You and I, we were once inseparable. Oh, how quickly life can turn around.”

Somnus could only mutter silent denials to himself. Hallucination or ghost or whatever it may be, this was not his brother. He’s been dead and buried for decades.

“Why so silent? Did you think that I had left you for good?” The thing wearing his brother’s face leaned closer, those eyes fever-bright even as something dark lurked behind them.

“You’re just a memory,” Somnus said with a feeble shake of his head.

“Here I stand, left for dead,” the Ardyn look-alike sighed dramatically. His--it’s-- expression, which was exaggeratedly jovial until now, turned somber. “You turned this lie to truth. Will you own up or deny it?”

“The dead can’t speak,” insisted Somnus. “And there’s nothing left to say anyway.”

It continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “You could never know what it’s like. My soul’s been withered and wisped away. It messes with your sanity by twisting all your thoughts away.”

The words ignited something in him, and Somnus forgot to dismiss the ghost. Filled with a long-forgotten strength, he spat, “You used to have a soul, but it died. You forgot all the things that are human.”

Ardyn shook a finger at him in a chiding gesture. “Shame on you. You don’t care what you’ve done, just keep on thinking it’s my fault.” A hand flashed out to grip his chin like a vice. “I am what you made me. I remain condemned and I will ever linger on the edge.”

Somnus hissed. “All that you are is the end of a nightmare. You challenged the gods and lost. Past the point of no return, lost in the darkness--”

The hand on his chin squeezed until his jaw creaked in protest. “Are you done? I think I’ve had enough of you rambling on and on.”

Demonic eyes bored into Somnus with increased intensity. “I want to know,” said Ardyn. “You got your glory. Was it worth the cost of breaking a family in two? Do your demons ever let you go?”

Somnus glared back with as much ferocity as he could muster. “You were only in my way.”

The look of false pity he received infuriated him. How dare this soulless creature mock him so? He had been burdened with a great purpose and had only done what needed to be done. The scourge-infected had needed to be wiped out, so he had done it. All to protect his future kingdom.

As though he could hear these thoughts, Ardyn shook his head and said, “Through your need to feel you're right, you're the savior of nothing.”

“I am a righteous man--”

“You’ve taken away everything,” interrupted Ardyn, strangely calm, like the eye of a storm. “I give you sweet revenge. I return this nightmare: a life for a life.”

“What can you do?” Somnus scoffed.

“Your number is up. Sorry, not sorry,” Ardyn said in feigned apology. His lips pulled back abruptly in a snarl. “Take all your deeds and rot in hell.”

The last thing Somnus saw was his brother’s starscourge gold eyes bleeding black.

more under the cut

Nyx understood at an early age that his dad was broken, so he did his best to keep things lighthearted and cheerful whenever his dad was able to visit. If he could keep his dad’s thoughts in the here and now, that meant less time spent dwelling on awful curses and past betrayals. He would let his dad take the first step if he wanted to talk.

The tale came in bits and pieces over the years, but always lacking a great bit of detail. It was a rare day when Ardyn actually spoke of the true impact of the betrayal, of the 2000 years spent wandering, undying.

So it came as a surprise when Ardyn brought it up suddenly one morning as they were watching the sunrise over Galahd.

“There is not much left of me,” he said, apropos of nothing.

Nyx turned to him questioningly, his concern all but radiating out of him.

 “Nothing is real but pain now. Emptiness is filling me to the point of agony.” In spite of his dark words, Ardyn turned to smile at his son. “Whenever I am with you, you deliver me from the pain in my life. I can gain control because you’re mine.”

There was nothing that made Nyx happier than the knowledge that he was able to help his dad just by being around and being himself. Still, he felt compelled to ask, “Will this curse ever be broken?”

“I wonder… All my life I dream of the day it’s taken away.” Ardyn’s face twisted into that look of melancholy despair that Nyx hated. “Death would be an ample compensation, but heaven doesn’t want me.”

As much as he didn’t want to even consider the thought of his dad dying, he knew there was no one who deserved the chance to rest more than Ardyn. Privately, Nyx made a promise to himself. “I will fight this war for you,” he swore. Because he would do anything for his father. Anything at all to stop him from looking so worn down and hopeless.

Galahd fell and Nyx found himself joining the Kingsglaive in Insomnia. He also made a name for himself with his reckless heroics and his need to save as many as he could. However, it wasn’t until he was stuck on Citadel duty, close enough to feel the magic of the Crystal humming in his bones, that he considered it. It being a monumentally stupid idea, but one that was worth the potential payoff.

So one late night, when there weren’t many others around to take much notice of him, Nyx stood before the Crystal with the intent to have a chat with the Draconian. Nyx took a deep breath and steeled his nerves.

Before Nyx had the chance to speak a single word, a sword slammed into the floor between him and the Crystal, and in short order Bahamut materialized beside it. The Astrals voice echoes eerily as he spoke. “You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent.”

Well, that simplified things for Nyx. If Bahamut knew that much, then surely he was aware of just who his father was. Although, if he had known from the beginning, it was a little strange that he hadn’t done anything about it like Nyx and Ardyn had considered.

Nyx shoved the thought to the side as it wasn’t important right now. “Undo these chains,” he said simply. Bahamut would get his meaning.

The Draconian’s gaze on him felt like a physical weight. It was honestly a bit terrifying to be at the center of Bahamut’s attention, not that Nyx would admit to it. He had come here for one purpose and one alone; he wasn’t about to back down because of nerves.

“Give your soul to me for eternity,” Bahamut finally said.

“Is this the way it’s gotta be?” Nyx scoffed. Even if he was scared out of his wits, he wasn’t about to put up with Bahamut’s bullshit. He was willing to do anything, give up anything, for his father, but Ardyn would kill him if all Nyx did was land himself in the same boat.

“Not a hero unless you die.”

Nyx didn’t agree with that statement at all. Still, the Astral hadn’t smited him yet, so he’d push his luck to see if he could wrangle an actual deal out of this mess. “I am just a man, but my voice will be heard today. I fight to make a stand. If you wanna play it like a game, come on let's play.”

“Ignorant fool, lost within a world beyond your control,” Bahamut’s voice boomed. The Astral hefted his sword and pointed it straight at Nyx.

Agony coursed through him, as though his blood had turned to liquid fire, pulsing in time with his thundering heartbeat. Nyx crashed to his knees as the pain consumed him. Disjointed images flashed through his mind.

Nyx could barely focus as the Astral spoke once more. “You are forever changed. Fate will guide you to the end and there will be no hope. All will fade before your eyes.”

“I won’t let you win,” said Nyx, eyes gleaming in determination despite the pain. “I will not bow, I will not break. As the light begins to fade, when all hope begins to shatter, know that I won’t be afraid.”

Ardyn was definitely going to kill him for this, but it was worth it. Nyx knew what he had to do now. He could save them both.

...

So the first snippet is obviously Ardyn visiting Somnus on his deathbed. While not the full 2000 years until the main story timeline, Ardyn has still been cursed and undying long enough to be a little unhinged. Plus, the anger and betrayal is still pretty fresh, so that all influenced my portrayal of him. I didn’t initially plan this, but at the end Ardyn curses Somnus and I got this feeling that having the kings of Lucis bound to the Ring of the Lucii/the Crystal after their death was Ardyn’s fault.

Not really satisfied with the conversation with Bahamut, but by that point I was just done and sick of trying to find suitable lyrics. What I was trying to go for was Bahamut gives Nyx some impossible task and a curse of his own, and if he’s able to break it he can then break Ardyn’s.

...

Other snippets I wanted to write / song lyrics I wanted to use but then got too lazy:

Ardyn’s reaction and subsequent confrontation with Bahamut-  Everyday that passes by I develop a new way to hate you. You may think you’re god, but I know you’re a pretender. I see through you and all your lies. You are everything that I despise.

Nyx trying to talk his dad out of doing something ridiculous and Ardyn’s just like-  a little mayhem never hurt anyone

...

Songs used if anyone’s interested (listed in order of appearance, although some show up in multiple places in the snippets):

Masquerade/Why So Silent? - Phantom of the Opera, Who - Disturbed, My Sacrifice - Creed, Memory Motel - The Rolling Stones, Dance With the Devil - Breaking Benjamin, Harvester of Sorrow - Metallica, Tyrant - Disturbed, Chalk Outline - Three Days Grace, I’m Still Standing - Elton John, Withered - Atomship, Love Bites (So Do I) - Halestorm, Sorry Not Sorry - Gemini Syndrome, Shame on the Night - Dio, Sweating Bullets - Megadeth, The Pride - Five Finger Death Punch, Off With Her Head - Icon For Hire, Confrontation - Jekyll & Hyde, Planet Hell - Nightwish, Point of No Return - Phantom of the Opera, On Point - Gemini Syndrome, Strangers Like Me - Tarzan, Everybody Wants You - Billy Squier, Rainbow in the Dark - Dio, Just Like You - Three Days Grace, Savior of Nothing - Disturbed, Hellfire - Hunchback of Notre Dame, It’s Not Over - Daughtry, Here Comes Revenge - Metallica, New Sensation - INXS, Your Number is Up - Now and On Earth

One - Metallica, Fade to Black - Metallica, You’re Mine - Disturbed, Majesty - Now and On Earth, Mourning Star - Gemini Syndrome, All My Life - Foo Fighters, Torn in Two - Breaking Benjamin

The Devil in I - Slipknot, Close Your Eyes - Breaking Benjamin, The Kinslayer - Nightwish, Hero - Skillet, Crushcrushcrush - Paramore, The Mirror (Angel of Music) - Phantom of the Opera, Brave and the Bold - Disturbed, I.M. Sin - Five Finger Death Punch, I Will Not Bow - Breaking Benjamin, Writing’s On the Wall - Sam Smith

[nh935]

The Adventures of Solaire, Part VIII: Top Deck Shenanigans

The Incredible Yet Accurate Adventures of the Dread Pirate Captain Solaire Ravenheart Otherwise known as The Adventures of Solaire

Part VIII Top Deck Shenanigans

When one reviews the catalogue of bardic interests, both of their profused “muses” and of unoriginal tales bards find interesting enough to steal for their own under the guise of “archiving folklore,” one sees that the subject of mariner tales and sea shanties are very under-represented. Indeed, the attitude of most bards is that sailors are an unrefined and coarse people, and any poetic substance gleaned from them will be a diseased kind of substance, one more fit for scrawling on the walls of taverns than gracing the pages of a book.

I find this rather disappointing. During my time on the sea, both whilst I sailed under Solaire and then afterwards, I discovered that a great amount of maritime culture was beautiful in it’s own right: the sea shanties used to keep time were gorgeous examples of multi-part harmonies, their superstitions offered a fascinating and rarely-used doorway in the journey of unraveling the human mind, and many of their tales are far more poignant and far more funny than some of the so-called “master bardsmen” on land, and much less likely to come attached with pretentious conversations about the survival of self when cast into the storm of a constrictive society… or whatever the hell “Maestro’s Lament” was supposed to be about.

Take, for example, the popular sailor’s tale of “The Twice Captained Ship.” In it, two twin brothers, both sea captains, mistakenly board the same ship, believing it to be their own. As the first mate steers the vessel onwards, one captain comes up and tells him that they’re on the wrong barring, and to adjust, which the first mate, of course, does. Then, after that captain goes down below deck, the other approaches the first mate and yells at him for changing course and tells him to correct the barring before leaving. This back and forth continues for quite a bit, with the poor first mate unable to understand why the same captain keeps giving him contradicting orders, until, by chance, both brothers happen to come on deck at the same time, see each other, and immediately laugh in understanding and at the bizarre coincidence of the whole thing, at which point the off-course ship hits a rock and sinks, condemning everyone on board to a slow death by drowning.

Writing this now, I suppose it is possible that the reason sailor’s tales are often overlooked is that their gallows tone is… upsetting, to a more soil-based audience.

No matter. The point I am torturing out of this long, rambling introduction is that ignoring the tales of sailors is a bad idea, as we stand to lose the valuable information inside. The dangers of making two leaders work on the same task, for instance. Perhaps if Austin was a sailor as well, he would be more engaged in his struggle of authority versus Solaire and fought that fight harder in the beginning. Who knows? Maybe he would have abandoned the fight to begin with.

Oh well. All we can do is watch from the shores of hindsight and wait for the ship to sink. At least it will be entertaining when it does happen, regardless of the amount of twins.

***

“WHUMP!”

Weiss grimaced as the mermaid thumped against the glass enclosure once again. He was hoping that the creature would have calmed down by now, or at least protested its capture in a manner that was less potentially damaging. Weiss had never seen a mermaid, but based on the creature’s swollen limb and darkened skin, he assumed that she had already broken her arm trying this tactic. It didn’t matter much in the end, he supposed.

He just hated to sell damaged cargo.

As he stared at the glass, a thin man in a deep blue suit stepped next to him. “This is marvellous, Weiss. Truly marvelous!” he marveled. “I mean, a true Triton! How did you even find it?”

Weiss smiled and gave a little shrug. “I hafe my vays.”

“Well, however you did it, I’m stunned.” The other man turned to Weiss. “So, how much to keep her?”

Weiss’ eyes went wide and he took a step back. “But sir, slafery is illegal! I vould nefer be infolfed in such an immoral business!”

The silence hung in the air for a minute. Then both men burst out laughing.

“One million gold,” Weiss finally managed to gasp, wiping tears out of his eyes.

The other man grabbed his hand and shook hard. “You have a deal, sir. I’ll have Jamesy contact Winthrop and transfer the money over.”

Weiss nodded and watched the man walk away, then he motioned Winthrop over. “The crev member who first contacted zis creature… Kallovs, vas it?”

“Yes sir,” Winthrop said. “I’ve already put him in the interrogation room.”

“Good, good. I vant to queshtion him all day. If he can find one, he can find more. So no interruptions, no matter vhat.”

“Weiss! Weiss!” Austin’s tinny voice yelled through the brass intercom system.

“Damn ze day I applied my mind to ze field of acoushtics,” Weiss growled. He grabbed the pipe and screamed “VHAT?!”

“We’ve got a top decker going ape shit. We need some help pacifying him.”

“Zat’s vhy I hafe you, you lifink mountain! Figure it out. I’m busy.”

“But sir…”

“Are you unable to do your job?” Weiss asked, his voice taking on a sharp and dangerous edge. “Because if you are, I can alvays collect your collateral…”

“No sir!” Austin immediately spoke back. “We can do this. I’ll… I’ll find a way.”

“Good! Don’t bozer me any more today.” Weiss shook his head and stormed off. “Come Vinthrop! I need to blow off some shteam wis Kallovs!”

Winthrop hurried to match pace with his employer. “Very good, sir.”

***

“So what did Mr. Wiess say?” Tomo asked, crouching under a gaming table.

“He said to figure it out,” Austin grumbled, slinking away from the brass intercom and joining Tomo. “Don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

“We could always ask Solaire…” Tomo said.

“There is no way in all the Nine Hells I would ever ask that back-stabbing, two-faced, little silver spoon…”

“HEAR ME AND TREMBLE!” a voice boomed behind them. The statement was then punctuated by the sound of an explosion.

Tomo looked to Austin.

“Fine, get Solaire,” Austin mumbled.

***

And where would Solaire be at this moment? Why, walking the bottom deck of the ship, stern to bow, with one foot flush in front of the other like a tightrope walker... obviously.

The action wasn’t as insane as it seemed. Solaire’s spying of Winthrop notebook had alerted him to the fact that there was a more complete archive of the ship’s going-ons somewhere on board. This would be the record that told him where River was. Problem was, he had nowhere to find it.

However, not all was lost. Solaire knew two things about the codex, as he had been calling it. One, the codex contained a massive amount of notes, and therefore had to be stored in at least a small room, and two, it contained information on Weiss’ criminal activities, information that could potentially ruin the small Eiswhen man. So where would one store a massive amount of hidden objects?

To the son of a noble family, the answer was obvious: a secret room.

Which is where the weird walking came in. The best way to find a secret room was to compare the length of the building, or ship, in this case, against the length of each room in the ship added together. If the ship length didn’t match the length of the rooms combined together, then a secret room had been added in somewhere, causing the discrepancy, and from there, you could narrow down its location.

But the only measure he had on him was his own foot. So walking from one end of the ship to the other it was. It had taken him all day and his legs were beginning to cramp, but he was close now. Just a few more, he thought. 13,856… 13,857… Almost…

“Solaire!” Tomo shouted as he rounded the corner and came out of nowhere. Solaire jumped, withdrew his pistol, and then panicked.

“Thirteen thousand, thirteen and six, or was it twelve… Damn you!” Solaire shouted, pointing a finger at Tomo. “Damn you in the name of every created world!”

“We need you on the top deck,” Tomo remarked, ignoring the man’s outburst.

“Fuck off. I have something important I need to redo, thanks to you.” He walked over to the other wall, placed his heel against the surface, and began the walk again.

“This is not a request,” Tomo stated.

“Wonderful,” Solaire huffed, taking some more wobbly steps, “I still don’t care.”

“You will come.”

“No, I wonAAGH!” Solaire sunk to his knees as the all-too familiar feeling of electric pain and ozone smell hit him. He glanced backwards, murder in his eyes, to see Tomo holding a slave plate controller, identical to Weiss’.

“You seem to be confused about the nature of the hierarchy of authority here,” Tomo began with an even tone. “It’s possible that my friendliness with you has confused you, so allow me to clarify: you are not in charge here. You follow orders given to you from both Austin and I, just as we follow orders from Weiss in turn. Any actions that upset that chain of command will not be tolerated by any party. Is that understood?”

Solaire narrowed his eyes. “No, it’s not. I think I need another lesson.”

“Granted,” Tomo replied. He watched expresionlessly as Solaire writed around in agony, yelling and twisting, holding the button down for almost two minutes of torture. “Is the lesson clear now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Solaire gasped, feeling the skin around the plate in his neck begin to burn. “As a crystal.”

“I’m glad. Be at the top deck within five minutes,” Tomo finished, leaving Solaire on the ground and running up the stairs.

***

“Skyler! Willaby!”

Solaire’s two companions jumped as their names were called, both engrossed in a game of dice with the other crewmen.

“What is it now?” Willaby wined, looking up to see the white-clothed figure of Solaire stomp his way down the hallway that served as their makeshift casino.

“Top deck,” Solaire clarified. “We’re needed.”

“By who?” Skyler demanded.

“By me. Let’s go.” Solaire strode past the two men, stopped as he realized he was not being followed, and turned to face them.

“Well?” he asked.

“We’re not going,” Skyler said.

“What?”

“You heard him, we’re not going!” Willaby scrambled to his feet and stood inches away from Solaire, staring directly into the man’s eyes for a full minute.

Solaire’s eyes met his, face refusing to change.

Willaby’s gaze hit the floor. “We’ll be there shortly.”

“Now!” Solaire moved and began his march back down the passage, now followed by a scrambling Willaby.

“But what about… ah hell!” Skyler threw down the dice in disgust. “Don’t you two go away now, you hear me? I’m coming back to this hot streak in just a second.” Then he too left and ran down the hall to catch up with his two compatriots.

One crewmember raised his eyebrow at the other. The second merely shrugged and pocketed the gold coins left behind.

***

“Took you long enough,” Austin groaned, bracing up against a large wooden table as the sound “FOOMFOOMFOOMFOOMFOOM!” rattled away on the other side.

Tomo stood with his back to the barrier and peeked around it. “I suppose my task did take exactly as long as it needed to.”

“I really hate you sometimes,” Austin muttered. A loud BOOM! sounded and he threw more of his weight against the table. “Where the hell is Solaire?”

“He should be here soon. I let him know in no uncertain terms that his presence was required here.”

“And how do you know that snake didn’t just hide as soon as you left?”

“Alright, alright,” Solaire shouted, ascending the stairs. “I’m here to fix all your problems, as usual. Now where’s the fire you can’t put out?

A high PING! cracked through the air and Solaire’s hat flew off of his head, landing near his feet with the unmistakable shape of a bullet hole in the fabric. Solaire looked at it, then back up to the deck.

Standing in front of him was an intimidating mixture of man and machinery. Seated in the center was a balding, slightly pot-bellied man in an amber suit. However, he was not the intimidating part. The intimidating part came from the skeletal brass form surrounding him. Extending from his arms and legs, holding him inside the mechanism with straps, were long limbs of sturdy metal, connected together with interlocking tubes that hissed with steam as they moved. Two more of these limbs jutted from his shoulders, independent from the human frame, giving the man the appearance of a strange gold insect.

At the ends of these appendages were different weaponized extensions. The legs ended in heavy clamp feet, each looking as strong as the hand of a gorilla, if not more so. The left arm ended in a long straight blade with a sharp edge. A long rifle-like firearm was mounted to the left shoulder arm, appearing to lock in on targets of its own volition, and a large cannon was mounted in the right shoulder, still emitting smoke.

But the piece-de-resistance was the weapon seated in the right arm. The main body of it was a large gun, resembling a scaled up hunting rifle: a long body and long barrel, opening easily the size of a man’s fist, with a wide stock that presumably stored a powerful firing mechanism. However, halfway up the gun, where the ammunition would be normally loaded, there was a large revolver barrel instead. To make the mechanism even stranger, this revolver barrel was attached to a set of two hoops that made a wide circle around the gun and spaced every two feet or so was another revolver barrel, and the whole circle was connected to a motorized chain. The exact mechanics of the design were lost on Solaire, but he knew what the machine was built to do:

Kill.

“Ah,” Solaire spoke. “I suppose you didn’t take too kindly to the whole ‘please vacate the premises, sir.’”

In response, the man raised the gun. The barrel rotated away as the entire hoop moved, placing another barrel into the chamber with a soft click.

Solaire dove for Austin’s improvised table-shield, moving right out of the way a half-second before the space he was standing at began to explode into tiny pieces under the “FOOMFOOMFOOMFOOM!”ing barrage of the gun.

“Glad to see you finally decided to grace us with your presence,” Austin shouted as he braced against the table once more.

“And a similar thanks to you for the warning. That could of…” Solaire stopped. “Wait a minute.”

A shape clad in green tweed appeared in the doorway Solaire had just entered from, and Solaire could see the man’s eyes suddenly track and notice the shape.

“HEY!” Solaire bellowed, waving frantically. The man’s attention was diverted for a crucial half-second, causing the arm to swing towards the disturbance as the barrel clicked into place. Solaire ducked behind the barrier and the firearm began to fire again, unloading it’s chamber across the room as the recoil seized the motion of the gun and forced it to continue to swing wide.

Skyler jumped to the side and landed into a roll, sword and gun at the ready. Willaby, meanwhile, belly-flopped to the side, hands covering his head, thus bringing both men behind the shelter.

“Mind warning us?” Skyler shouted in outrage.

“I would if someone else had passed it along!” Solaire responded.

“Why the blazes did you bring those two?” Austin asked. “We just asked for you!”

Solaire pointed a finger at Austin. “A captain is no captain without reliable, competent…” he trailed off as he noticed that Willaby was now noticeably more white and soft than he had been a second ago.

“Are you… covered in feathers?” Solaire asked.

“Er… yes,” Willaby admitted.

“So is that just… a thing now?” he continued.

“Looks like.”

“...Right.”

“GUEST,” a mechanical voice spoke from behind the upturned table, “YOU ARE TO BE TERMINATED. WE APPOLOGIZE FOR…”

A loud KA-BOOM interrupted the speech, followed by the sounds of metal arm blades on metal arm blades.

“So how much did this guy lose?” Solaire asked.

“Close to 150,000 gold in net total,” Tomo answered.

Skyler gave a whistle. “How the hell do you lose that much in one night?”

“I believe the poor judgement he exhibited would be to blame.”

“Stop fucking gossiping and figure a way to stop him!” Austin yelled.

Solaire ventured a peek around the table, pistol in hand. The man was currently engaged with several of the construct guards, arm blade through the center of one. As two more attempted to flank around his backside, one was destroyed as the rifle arm whirled around and put a bullet right through its brass head. The other was taken out as the man whirled around and pointed the large gun at the automaton, firing the barrel with another resounding set of “FOOMFOOMFOOMFOOM” until the entire chamber of eight bullets were spent.

“Twelve barrels of eight bullets a peice…” Solaire muttered to himself.

“That machinery is powered by Elysium stored in the large container strapped to his backside,” Tomo declared. “If we could destroy that container, the exoskeleton would become depowered.”

“...making him just a regular guy,” Skyler finished.

Solaire shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

Everyone turned and stared at him.

“I don’t know about you,” Solaire continued, “but I have never seen that kind of thing before. Means he built it himself. Smart guy like that knows his own machine’s weak points and is going to be covering them the entire time.”

“So what do we do?” Willaby asked.

Solaire leaned back to look his companions in the eye. “The biggest threat from that thing is that blaze-weird gun. Everything else there is useless at short-range; that blade’s too long, as is the rifle. And no way is he going to risk blowing himself up with that cannon.”

“So we take out the gun!” Willaby exclaimed, shouting with enough enthusiasm to spit feathers.

“You wanna study that thing while it’s firing at you? No, we exploit the weakness we know. The design it has seems to make it impossible to stop firing until that entire chamber of bullets is spent. And that man is no steely-eyed aimer. We duck, weave, and exhaust the chambers.” Solaire looked to Tomo. “How many times has that thing fired?”

“Unknown,” the samurai replied. “I left during the battle to find you.”

Solaire glanced at Austin.

Austin extended his fingers and counted off one, two, three, and then shook his head and backtracked to two.

Solaire rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. There’s twelve chambers there and he’s fired at least four times. My guess is six with how trigger happy he is.”

“You seem to be glossing over the fact that your entire plan is to get shot!” Skyler protested.

“No, get shot at,” Solaire clarified. “There’s a huge difference between the two.”

“Being?”

“He’s a soft noble who’s obviously compensating, not a battle-hardened fighter. All we really need to do is startle him and duck.”

“Hold on!” Austin interjected. “Why are you trying to call the shots?”

Solaire reeled back, as if he had just been asked if he was sure the sky was blue. “Because I’m the most qualified to.”

“No, you’re not,” Austin insisted. “I am. Tomo is. You take the orders.”

Tomo nodded, slowly raising the shock remote.

Solaire narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

Austin addressed the group at large. “Right! We’re going with Tomo’s plan, because it’s the plan that won’t get us killed. Split left on my mark, Tomo. I’m going right. We’re gonna flank him and rip out that Elysi-whatever. You three knuckleheads, stay here and keep him distracted. And three, two, mark!” Austin darted over one way while Tomo split to the other, leaving Solaire, Skyler, and Willaby crouched in the shadow of the overturned table.

Willaby started to round the corner, magic rod in hand, only to be yanked back by Solaire by the jacket as a resounding PING! managed to clip one of the floating white feathers and cause it to explode into fuzz.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Solaire hissed.

Willaby looked at Solaire with confusion. “Creating a distraction, like Austin said.”

“We’re not doing that. We’re sticking with my plan.”

Skyler gave Solaire a glare. “You’re not our boss.”

“No, but I am your captain. I said so in the mess hall.”

Solaire received blank stares back.

He sighed. “Look, I’m not going to be happy until I put a bullet in Weiss’ head. And to do that, I’m going to need help. Help from my crew. You can do things I can’t, and because of that, you are…” he grimaced a tiny bit, “valuable to me. I’m not going to do anything that may be too dangerous to your lives. I can’t, not until we’re off this ship.

“But if you think that Austin feels the same way about you, feel free to step around that barrier and be his distraction.”

Willaby and Skyler looked to each other, then back to Solaire.

“So what do we do?” Skyler asked.

“Well first things first, we save those idiots. Weiss would be unbearable. Willaby!” Solaire pointed to a large decorative column. “Think you can knock that over?”

“Should be able to.” The baker raised his arms and thrust forward with his rod like a sword, forming a large screaming blue missle to appear and slam into the side of the pillar. The large mass slowly tipped before falling over with a thunderous CRASH! landing right in front of Tomo mid-charge, forcing him to back up and scan the room around in bewilderment.

“Skyler, I need you to get over to that rope,” Solaire said. “When I give the signal, cut it. And not a second before.”

Skyler nodded and took off, jumping from one pile of debris to another to reach a long golden rope tied to the side of the room. As he did, the man in the machine noticed the man in leathers leaping from cover to cover, and raised his gun to meet him.

The barrel started with a FOOM and Skyler cut a hard stop behind his current cover, waiting for the barrage to be over before continuing on.

“Five,” Solaire mummered.

Seeing his opening, Austin hooked around to get behind the man before breaking into a full charge. Once he did, the mechanical man pivoted away, bringing the tank out of reach and swinging the barrel of the gun right at him.

“NOW!”

Skyler cut the rope in front of him and the line went slack, releasing its support from the crystal and gold chandelier hanging above the assailant’s head. Seeing it, he instinctively covered his head with his arms just in time for the firearm to engage, blowing all eight high caliber rounds through the roof of the cruise ship.

Austin paused, realizing his opportunity to go in for a closer melee but not to reach the fuel tank that he was so desperately trying to get to. As he hesitated, the attacker recovered, and so the giant man warily ducked around the corner instead.

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” the man yelled.

“Four. And don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Solaire turned back to Willaby, still crouched behind the table with him, and picked up a small metal contraption, tossing it at the baker. “I need you to make a spark.”

Willaby caught it and stared at the strange object in his hands. “A spark? Wh-”

“Just do it!” Solaire reached into his coat and withdrew his cutlass, hooking the end of the blade into the decapitated head of an unfortunate automaton.

“Damn these feathers. Okay. Spark. Electricity. Like first love…?” Willaby’s rant was stopped by a sudden sizzle and a blue crackle, which leapt into the metal object and spoke “GUEST, WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE STATE OF THIS UNIT.” At the same time, Solaire waved the construct head in the air.

The ruse worked. The man immediately whirled towards the source of the noise, aimed at the brass head, and fired, unloading yet another set of rounds into the object and causing it to explode into a shower of gears and shrapnel.

“Three.”

Tomo cautiously rounded the far end of the pillar, katana in hand. He shifted his pose, ready to rush, but the man immediately whirled around and saw the samurai, releasing another set of “FOOMFOOMFOOMFOOM” as Tomo moved backwards and placed himself behind the pillar, protecting him from the barrage.

“And two. This is going better than I thought.” Solaire moved to look at Skyler, who had just now caught back up with the other two men. “Skyler, these last two are on us. Think you do one on your own?”

“Born ready.” Skyler withdrew his other hook sword and ran into the open gripping both blades. The motion immediately drew the attention of the attacker in the center, who aimed the gun at the charging man in leather armor. Skyler gave a slight smile and hooked the swords onto a piece of debris on either side of him, heaving himself up and over the man in the metal skeleton as the rounds uselessly struck where he had just been.

“One. My turn.” Solaire put away his pistol and cutlass, ran over to the edge of the room lined from floor to ceiling with large window panes, and leapt onto the curtain there. As he hung on for dear life, the curtains moved and continued down the track they were set into, pushing Solaire along the wall like a fly attached to a speeding cart. The barrage-gun immediately began to track the clinging noble and fire away, blowing giant holes in the curtain a few inches away from Solaire with every shot.

Now at the end of the track, Solaire dismounted and rolled behind an overturned slot machine. “And zero. Lead the target next time, moron.”

Skyler, who had been swinging upon the ceiling with his swords up until this point, landed nearby and began to run towards the man’s backside.

Solaire saw the charge and yelled “STOP!”

Skyler only hesitated for a half-second before diving for a nearby upended card table, leaping into cover just as the long rifle twirled to face him and PING!ed what would have been a fatal shot had he not just moved out of the way.

“Those weapons are still a problem!” Skyler shouted.

“Obviously!” Solaire peeked out, then ducked back. “I’m going to take care of the rifle. When I call out a name and a weapon, move to neutralize it.”

Skyler nodded, and Solaire ran straight for the man. In response, the man aimed the gun, rotated the old barrel out, and clicked in a new one; a new one, Solaire realised with horror, he could just barely see had a full set of rounds.

He had staked his life on a miscount, and now there was no time to save himself. Even as time began to slow, all he could do was watch as the instrument of his doom readied with a soft click.

“HRGH!”

A sudden mass of brown and green appeared right between Solaire and the deadly firearm. It fired with a “FOOM”, breaking the card table into pieces like a child smashing a glass vase and giving Solaire the opening he needed to roll to the side and hide behind a sturdier roulette table. As the barrage continued, he traced the flight path of the furniture back to the spot it had came from: Austin, standing only five or so feet away.

Austin nodded to Solaire. Solaire nodded back.

There was another soft click, followed by a hydraulic hiss, a lack of “FOOM”s, and swearing from the man inside. Confident now, Solaire moved back out, feinted left and continued right, letting the rifle uselessly PING! at the spot it had assumed he would be. He then hopped onto the sword arm just below the blade, scrambled onto the shoulders of the construct, withdrew two daggers and finally dug both of the short blades into the arm holding onto the rifle, leaning his weight into the improvised hand holds. The rifle attempted to turn and aim, but the unbalanced force the pale noble introduced caused it to swing around wildly, going nowhere near its desired targets.

“Skyler, cannon!”

Skyler charged out, hooked his sword into a hanging chandelier, and pulled, flinging himself upwards as the light fixture crashed to the ground. He landed next to Solaire on the construct’s shoulders and attached both blades by the hooks into the upper lip of the cannon. Thus connected, he leaned back and forced the large barrel to swing upwards, the cannon now unable to muster enough force to move itself back down.

The man inside growled and moved the large firearm backwards, readying to swing it as an improvised club.

“Austin, gun!”

Austin gave a battle roar and tackled the weapon, holding onto the mass and digging his heels in. Against the grunzen’s enhanced strength, the arm stood no chance, simply groaning in protest as the hydraulics attempted to haul it upwards.

The man’s attention now snapped to Austin. With a snarl, he lunged the blade arm back, ready to skewer the man.

“Tomo, sword!”

With a fluid motion, Tomo moved between Austin and the blade, holding his katana upwards at an angle. The blade smashed down right on the sword’s edge, sliding it just sideways enough for the weapon to miss its mark. Before it could draw back for another stab, Tomo quickly spun his sword upwards and down, locking it into the space that attach the arm to the blade. He then began to counter the limb’s movement with his own, shifting back when it moved forward, shifting left when it moved right, unbalancing each gesture and making the edged implement stay pointed down each time.

The face of the man seated inside turned a furious shade of red. “YOU… YOU… VIPERS! I’LL DESTROY YOU ALL!” He began to stumble around in circles, forcing everyone around to hold on tighter or risk losing control of the weapons they were locking down.

“Willaby, keep him still!”

The mass of fluffy feathers and green suit appeared from behind the sideways table, drawing himself up and attempting to appear intimidating. “And she broke up with me, me, because being a baker isn’t an ‘attractive career for a husband.’” He finished the statement with a long exhale, cold and sparkling light blue wind escaping from his mouth. It settled around the feet of the brass monstrosity and covered them in several inches of ice, thereby locking the legs in place.

The man struggled for a bit, jerking this way and that, attempting to free something, anything, but failing every time.

He looked up at Solaire. “You’re all devils, every last one of you! You hear me?”

Solaire shrugged. “So?”

“You’ll get yours. You’ll see.”

“And on behalf of Mr. Weiss’ casino, we apologize for the inconvenience.” Solaire let go of one dagger and brought his arm around to the mans head, releasing the single-shot spring flint-lock from inside his sleeve and firing it in the same motion, putting the shot right through his head and painting the inside of his wonderful, deadly contraption red with his own blood.

***

Two hours later, everyone had returned to their preferred activities: Tomo had gone back to his quarters to sharpen his katana and meditate, Willaby and Skyler were attempting to win back the gold they had already won, Austin had disappeared to parts unknown, and Solaire was back to the bottom deck of the ship, counting steps.

“13,860… 13,861… 13,862!” he finished, putting the toes of his shoes to the opposite end of the hull. Then he sighed and raised his head. “Please stop spying on me.”

The giant shape of Austin emerged from the shadows with a small, sheepish grin on his face. “Sorry. Didn’t want to interrupt… whatever that was.”

“Well, I appreciate that, at least.” Solaire crossed his arms. “So what is this? A dressing down? Disciplinary meeting? Punishment?”

Austin reached inside his coat pocket, pulled out a brown bottle, and handed it to Solaire.

“Is this… rum?” the noble asked. “I thought Weiss had a strict ‘no-alcohol’ policy with the crew.”

Austin’s grin went a little wider. “He does.”

Solaire uncapped the bottle and sniffed it.

Austin rolled his eyes, snatched the bottle back, took a long swing, then gave it back. “Not poisoned, see?”

Solaire nodded and took a large drink himself, wiping his mouth off with his sleeve.

“Look,” Austin began, “I wanted to see if we could patch things over. Think we got off on pretty hostile ground from the start.”

Solaire took another hearty swig. “There a reason we shouldn’t?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tomo has a slave plate. You don’t.”

Austin sighed. “My relationship with Weiss is a bit more… complicated than that. But I promise you, I hate him just as much as you do.”

“Mmm.”

The silence hung in the air for a second.

“I know you’re not the best at taking orders,” Austin began, “but I’m stuck as the commander of you three. If Weiss tells me to make you do something and you don’t, that’s my head on the line. I’m willing to back off on the battle orders. I’ve never pretended to be smart, and I think you’ve proven yourself to be pretty good at that stuff, but I need you to recognize me and Tomo as the boss. Just to make our lives easier, alright? Do that for me, and I promise you’re off this ship the second Weiss gets his fancy armor pieces.”

Solaire thought for a second, slowly rotating the bottle and making it slosh. “I suppose I can agree to a temporary truce. Just for convenience's sake.”

“Thanks,” he clasped a giant hand to the noble’s back and walked away.

As Solaire watched him leave, he extended his fingers into the shape of a mock gun and said “bang.”

Austin turned around, confused.

“Turned your back on me,” the noble explained. “Took you out.”

The confusion on Austin’s face lingered for a moment, then he broke into a smile. “You’re a funny man, Solaire,” he said with a chuckle as he rounded a corner and ascended the stairs.

Solaire smiled as he watched him go. Inside of his coat sleeve pocket, he could feel the spring-locked flintlock itch at his skin.

[readbookywooks]

'I Am Coming, Too!'

BUT Dmitri Fyodorovitch was speeding along the road. It was a little more than twenty versts to Mokroe, but Andrey's three horses galloped at such a pace that the distance might be covered in an hour and a quarter. The swift motion revived Mitya. The air was fresh and cool, there were big stars shining in the sky. It was the very night, and perhaps the very hour, in which Alyosha fell on the earth, and rapturously swore to love it for ever and ever. All was confusion, confusion in Mitya's soul, but although many things were goading his heart, at that moment his whole being was yearning for her, his queen, to whom he was flying to look on her for the last time. One thing I can say for certain; his heart did not waver for one instant. I shall perhaps not be believed when I say that this jealous lover felt not the slightest jealousy of this new rival, who seemed to have sprung out of the earth. If any other had appeared on the scene, he would have been jealous at once, and would-perhaps have stained his fierce hands with blood again. But as he flew through the night, he felt no envy, no hostility even, for the man who had been her first lover.... It is true he had not yet seen him. "Here there was no room for dispute: it was her right and his; this was her first love which, after five years, she had not forgotten; so she had loved him only for those five years, and I, how do I come in? What right have I? Step aside, Mitya, and make way! What am I now? Now everything is over apart from the officer even if he had not appeared, everything would be over..." These words would roughly have expressed his feelings, if he had been capable of reasoning. But he could not reason at that moment. His present plan of action had arisen without reasoning. At Fenya's first words, it had sprung from feeling, and been adopted in a flash, with all its consequences. And yet, in spite of his resolution, there was confusion in his soul, an agonising confusion: his resolution did not give him peace. There was so much behind that tortured him. And it seemed strange to him, at moments, to think that he had written his own sentence of death with pen and paper: "I punish myself," and the paper was lying there in his pocket, ready; the pistol was loaded; he had already resolved how, next morning, he would meet the first warm ray of "golden-haired Phoebus." And yet he could not be quit of the past, of all that he had left behind and that tortured him. He felt that miserably, and the thought of it sank into his heart with despair. There was one moment when he felt an impulse to stop Andrey, to jump out of the cart, to pull out his loaded pistol, and to make an end of everything without waiting for the dawn. But that moment flew by like a spark. The horses galloped on, "devouring space," and as he drew near his goal, again the thought of her, of her alone, took more and more complete possession of his soul, chasing away the fearful images that had been haunting it. Oh, how he longed to look upon her, if only for a moment, if only from a distance! "She's now with him," he thought, "now I shall see what she looks like with him, her first love, and that's all I want." Never had this woman, who was such a fateful influence in his life, aroused such love in his breast, such new and unknown feeling, surprising even to himself, a feeling tender to devoutness, to self-effacement before her! "I will efface myself!" he said, in a rush of almost hysterical ecstasy. They had been galloping nearly an hour. Mitya was silent, and though Andrey was, as a rule, a talkative peasant, he did not utter a word, either. He seemed afraid to talk, he only whipped up smartly his three lean, but mettlesome, bay horses. Suddenly Mitya cried out in horrible anxiety: "Andrey! What if they're asleep?" This thought fell upon him like a blow. It had not occurred to him before. "It may well be that they're gone to bed by now, Dmitri Fyodorovitch." Mitya frowned as though in pain. Yes, indeed... he was rushing there... with such feelings... while they were asleep... she was asleep, perhaps, there too.... An angry feeling surged up in his heart. "Drive on, Andrey! Whip them up! Look alive!" he cried, beside himself. "But maybe they're not in bed!" Andrey went on after a pause. "Timofey said they were a lot of them there-." "At the station?" "Not at the posting-station, but at Plastunov's, at the inn, where they let out horses, too." "I know. So you say there are a lot of them? How's that? Who are they?" cried Mitya, greatly dismayed at this unexpected news. "Well, Timofey was saying they're all gentlefolk. Two from our town -who they are I can't say - and there are two others, strangers, maybe more besides. I didn't ask particularly. They've set to playing cards, so Timofey said." "Cards?" "So, maybe they're not in bed if they're at cards. It's most likely not more than eleven." "Quicker, Andrey! Quicker!" Mitya cried again, nervously. "May I ask you something, sir?" said Andrey, after a pause. "Only I'm afraid of angering you, sir." "What is it?" "Why, Fenya threw herself at your feet just now, and begged you not to harm her mistress, and someone else, too... so you see, sir- It's I am taking you there... forgive me, sir, it's my conscience... maybe it's stupid of me to speak of it-." Mitya suddenly seized him by the shoulders from behind. "Are you a driver?" he asked frantically. "Yes sir." "Then you know that one has to make way. What would you say to a driver who wouldn't make way for anyone, but would just drive on and crush people? No, a driver mustn't run over people. One can't run over a man. One can't spoil people's lives. And if you have spoilt a life - punish yourself.... If only you've spoilt, if only you've ruined anyone's life - punish yourself and go away." These phrases burst from Mitya almost hysterically. Though Andrey was surprised at him, he kept up the conversation. "That's right, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, you're quite right, one mustn't crush or torment a man, or any kind of creature, for every creature is created by God. Take a horse, for instance, for some folks, even among us drivers, drive anyhow. Nothing will restrain them, they just force it along." "To hell?" Mitya interrupted, and went off into his abrupt, short laugh. "Andrey, simple soul," he seized him by the shoulders again, "tell me, will Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov go to hell, or not, what do you think?" "I don't know, darling, it depends on you, for you are... you see, sir, when the Son of God was nailed on the Cross and died, He went straight down to hell from the Cross, and set free all sinners that were in agony. And the devil groaned, because he thought that he would get no more sinners in hell. And God said to him, then, 'Don't groan, for you shall have all the mighty of the earth, the rulers, the chief judges, and the rich men, and shall be filled up as you have been in all the ages till I come again.' Those were His very words..." "A peasant legend! Capital! Whip up the left, Andrey!" "So you see, sir, who it is hell's for," said Andrey, whipping up the left horse, "but you're like a little child... that's how we look on you... and though you're hasty-tempered, sir, yet God will forgive you for your kind heart." "And you, do you forgive me, Andrey?" "What should I forgive you for, sir? You've never done me any harm." "No, for everyone, for everyone, you here alone, on the road, will you forgive me for everyone? Speak, simple peasant heart!" "Oh, sir! I feel afraid of driving you, your talk is so strange." But Mitya did not hear. He was frantically praying and muttering to himself. "Lord, receive me, with all my lawlessness, and do not condemn me. Let me pass by Thy judgment... do not condemn me, for I have condemned myself, do not condemn me, for I love Thee, O Lord. I am a wretch, but I love Thee. If Thou sendest me to hell, I shall love Thee there, and from there I shall cry out that I love Thee for ever and ever.... But let me love to the end.... Here and now for just five hours... till the first light of Thy day... for I love the queen of my soul... I love her and I cannot help loving her. Thou seest my whole heart... I shall gallop up, I shall fall before her and say, 'You are right to pass on and leave me. Farewell and forget your victim... never fret yourself about me!'" "Mokroe!" cried Andrey, pointing ahead with his whip. Through the pale darkness of the night loomed a solid black mass of buildings, flung down, as it were, in the vast plain. The village of Mokroe numbered two thousand inhabitants, but at that hour all were asleep, and only here and there a few lights still twinkled. "Drive on, Andrey, I come!" Mitya exclaimed, feverishly. "They're not asleep," said Andrey again, pointing with his whip to the Plastunovs' inn, which was at the entrance to the village. The six windows, looking on the street, were all brightly lighted up. "They're not asleep," Mitya repeated joyously. "Quicker, Andrey! Gallop! Drive up with a dash! Set the bells ringing! Let all know that I have come. I'm coming! I'm coming, too!" Andrey lashed his exhausted team into a gallop, drove with a dash and pulled up his steaming, panting horses at the high flight of steps. Mitya jumped out of the cart just as the innkeeper, on his way to bed, peeped out from the steps curious to see who had arrived. "Trifon Borissovitch, is that you?" The innkeeper bent down, looked intently, ran down the steps, and rushed up to the guest with obsequious delight. "Dmitri Fyodorovitch, your honour! Do I see you again?" Trifon Borissovitch was a thick-set, healthy peasant, of middle height, with a rather fat face. His expression was severe and uncompromising, especially with the peasants of Mokroe, but he had the power of assuming the most obsequious countenance, when he had an inkling that it was to his interest. He dressed in Russian style, with a shirt buttoning down on one side, and a full-skirted coat. He had saved a good sum of money, but was for ever dreaming of improving his position. More than half the peasants were in his clutches, everyone in the neighbourhood was in debt to him. From the neighbouring landowners he bought and rented lands which were worked by the peasants, in payment of debts which they could never shake off. He was a widower, with four grown-up daughters. One of them was already a widow and lived in the inn with her two children, his grandchildren, and worked for him like a charwoman. Another of his daughters was married to a petty official, and in one of the rooms of the inn, on the wall could be seen, among the family photographs, a miniature photograph of this official in uniform and official epaulettes. The two younger daughters used to wear fashionable blue or green dresses, fitting tight at the back, and with trains a yard long, on Church holidays or when they went to pay visits. But next morning they would get up at dawn, as usual, sweep out the rooms with a birch-broom, empty the slops, and clean up after lodgers. In spite of the thousands of roubles he had saved, Trifon Borissovitch was very fond of emptying the pockets of a drunken guest, and remembering that not a month ago he had, in twenty-four hours, made two if not three hundred roubles out of Dmitri, when he had come on his escapade with Grushenka, he met him now with eager welcome, scenting his prey the moment Mitya drove up to the steps. "Dmitri Fyodorovitch, dear sir, we see you once more!" "Stay, Trifon Borissovitch," began Mitya, "first and foremost, where is she?" "Agrafena Alexandrovna?" The inn-keeper understood at once, looking sharply into Mitya's face. "She's here, too..." "With whom? With whom?" "Some strangers. One is an official gentleman, a Pole, to judge from his speech. He sent the horses for her from here; and there's another with him, a friend of his, or a fellow traveller, there's no telling. They're dressed like civilians." "Well, are they feasting? Have they money?" "Poor sort of a feast! Nothing to boast of, Dmitri Fyodorovitch." "Nothing to boast of? And who are the others?" "They're two gentlemen from the town.... They've come back from Tcherny, and are putting up here. One's quite a young gentleman, a relative of Mr. Miusov he must be, but I've forgotten his name... and I expect you know the other, too, a gentleman called Maximov. He's been on a pilgrimage, so he says, to the monastery in the town. He's travelling with this young relation of Mr. Miusov." "Is that all?" "Stay, listen, Trifon Borissovitch. Tell me the chief thing: What of her? How is she?" "Oh, she's only just come. She's sitting with them." "Is she cheerful? Is she laughing?" "No, I think she's not laughing much. She's sitting quite dull. She's combing the young gentleman's hair." "The Pole - the officer?" "He's not young, and he's not an officer, either. Not him, sir. It's the young gentleman that's Mr. Miusov's relation. I've forgotten his name." "Kalganov?" "That's it, Kalganov!" "All right. I'll see for myself. Are they playing cards?" "They have been playing, but they've left off. They've been drinking tea, the official gentleman asked for liqueurs." "Stay, Trifon Borissovitch, stay, my good soul, I'll see for myself. Now answer one more question: are the gypsies here?" "You can't have the gypsies now, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. The authorities have sent them away. But we've Jews that play the cymbals and the fiddle in the village, so one might send for them. They'd come." "Send for them. Certainly send for them!" cried Mitya. "And you can get the girls together as you did then, Marya especially, Stepanida, too, and Arina. Two hundred roubles for a chorus!" "Oh, for a sum like that I can get all the village together, though by now they're asleep. Are the peasants here worth such kindness, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, or the girls either? To spend a sum like that on such coarseness and rudeness! What's the good of giving a peasant a cigar to smoke, the stinking ruffian! And the girls are all lousy. Besides, I'll get my daughters up for nothing, let alone a sum like that. They've only just gone to bed, I'll give them a kick and set them singing for you. You gave the peasants champagne to drink the other day, e-ech!" For all his pretended compassion for Mitya, Trifon Borissovitch had hidden half a dozen bottles of champagne on that last occasion, and had picked up a hundred-rouble note under the table, and it had remained in his clutches. "Trifon Borissovitch, I sent more than one thousand flying last time I was here. Do you remember?" "You did send it flying. I may well remember. You must have left three thousand behind you." "Well, I've come to do the same again, do you see?" And he pulled out his roll of notes, and held them up before the innkeeper's nose. Now, listen and remember. In an hour's time the wine will arrive, savouries, pies, and sweets - bring them all up at once. That box Andrey has got is to be brought up at once, too. Open it, and hand champagne immediately. And the girls, we must have the girls, Marya especially." He turned to the cart and pulled out the box of pistols. "Here, Andrey, let's settle. Here's fifteen roubles for the drive, and fifty for vodka... for your readiness, for your love.... Remember Karamazov!" "I'm afraid, sir," Andrey. "Give me five roubles extra, but more I won't take. Trifon Borissovitch, bear witness. Forgive my foolish words..." "What are you afraid of?" asked Mitya, scanning him. "Well, go to the devil, if that's it?" he cried, flinging him five roubles. "Now, Trifon Borissovitch, take me up quietly and let me first get a look at them, so that they don't see me. Where are they? In the blue room?" Trifon Borissovitch looked apprehensively at Mitya, but at once obediently did his bidding. Leading him into the passage, he went himself into the first large room, adjoining that in which the visitors were sitting, and took the light away. Then he stealthily led Mitya in, and put him in a corner in the dark, whence he could freely watch the company without being seen. But Mitya did not look long, and, indeed, he could not see them; he saw her, his heart throbbed violently, and all was dark before his eyes. She was sitting sideways to the table in a low chair, and beside her, on the sofa, was the pretty youth, Kalganov. She was holding his hand and seemed to be laughing, while he, seeming vexed and not looking at her, was saying something in a loud voice to Maximov, who sat the other side of the table, facing Grushenka. Maximov was laughing violently at something. On the sofa sat he, and on a chair by the sofa there was another stranger. The one on the sofa was lolling backwards, smoking a pipe, and Mitya had an impression of a stoutish, broad-faced, short little man, who was apparently angry about something. His friend, the other stranger, struck Mitya as extraordinarily tall, but he could make out nothing more. He caught his breath. He could not bear it for a minute, he put the pistol-case on a chest, and with a throbbing heart he walked, feeling cold all over, straight into the blue room to face the company. "Aie!" shrieked Grushenka, the first to notice him.