by Kell Inkston
Boris takes a deep breath. “VERY WELL. THE CAPTAIN IS ONE OF MANY WEAKNESSES, I SHALL TELL YOU OF THE ONE I AM KNOWING OF THE BEST. TAKE A BANDAGE OF HIS, AND TIE IT IN A KNOT. ONCE HE IS OF THE EXERTING, HE WILL BE IN FOR THE SURPRISING.”
Colette hums. “What sort of surprise?”
“YOU ARE UNDERSTANDING THAT THE BANDAGES ARE OF THE CONTAINING FOR HIM?”
“Yeah.”
“AND SHOULD EVEN A SMALL SPIN OF THE BANDING BE OF THE FOUL, HE IS OF THE DANGER.”
“Yeah? So? He can just wrap himself back up like he usua-”
Boris reaches into his cloak and places a long roll of bandages upon the table.
Colette’s eyes spark in ambition and a large grin forms across her face as she handles them. “Boris, you sly shellfish.”
“THE CAPTAIN IS OF THE UNAWARES WHEN ASLEEP. I WAS OF THE TAKING OF THESE,” Boris says, his deep aquatic accent sounding strangely melodic to Colette for the very first time.
She nods, but there is a sudden wave of suspicion that washes her features. “So… If you were in his room and you swiped his bandages, why didn’t you just go ahead and tie a knot?”
Boris raises a claw. “ARE YOU OF THE THINKING I AM HAVING THE DEXTERITY FOR SUCH OF THE DOING?”
Colette nods. “A-ahh, right, and it would be bad if you woke him up and he found you out anyway….”
“SO, YOUNG MEAT, WILL YOU BE OF THE DOING?”
Colette strokes her chin in a very Captain-like way and comes to a nod. “I’m the one for the job.”
Boris gurgles in joy, producing a mess of foul-smelling bubbles that stream onto the table. The half-awake bartender cringes, and decides to just pour himself a drink.
“THIS IS OF THE PLEASING. HE IS UPON THE THIRD FLOOR IN THE FIRST ROOMING TO THE RIGHT FROM THE STEPINGS. YOU MUST BE OF THE SNEAK AND BE OF THE MELD TO THE SHADOWLIES. YOU MUST BE SIMPLY OF THE PULLING OF ONE OF HIS TIES, MAKE IT OF THE KNOTTING, AND BE ON THE WAY OF YOU. OF COURSE, I SHOULD NOT EVEN NEED BE OF THE TELLING WHAT COULD BE OF THE HAPPENING IF HE IS TO BE OF THE WAKING.”
Colette nods, hearing the Captain’s black-sand knuckles crack in her mind. “Y-yeah, definitely not.”
“I’D BE OF THE RECOMMENDING THAT YOU SNEAK IN THROUGH THE ROOF, THERE SHOULD BE JUST ONE OF THE GUARDINGSMAN POSTED. ALSO, THE CONSIDERING OF STEALING THEIR MIST GAUNTLET, ALONG WITH THE STOLEN KALAMEST GAUNTLET, MAY ALSO BE A PLAN OF THE GOOD.”
The spark in her eye ignites into a fire and then she takes up from her seat. “Alright. Let’s get this ball rolling,” She says, stuffing the bandages into her pocket and then cracking her knuckles ambitiously.
“I AM WISHING YOU OF THE LUCK… AND I AM OF THE THINKING YOU WILL BE A GREAT CAPTAIN.”
Colette leaves before she can respond, but the thought is charming to her— a great captain. As she walks through the pitch morning streets of the port, she does her best to keep herself focused, but in the back of her mind, she envisions the image of The Captain’s hat upon her head, and her word pushing forward The Nocturna’s crew in a massive charge against an unknown foe.
It takes only minutes of stepping through the lantern light until she reaches the Ganastere estate. She peeks behind the gate walls carefully, and spots two men armed with dress swords, the steel glinting carelessly in the red Ganastere light. She takes a single moment to check the bullets in her enchanted revolver, a present from The Captain, and she holsters it with confidence.
She goes past the gate, scales the wall with relative ease and lands on the other side. The Ganastere architecture is almost identical to that of the Kalamest estate, so it’s a familiar, swift ascent. The night’s taking its toll on her, however; she knows she won’t have much left in her so she’ll need to avoid conflict if at all possible. She finds a man on a stool enjoying a smoke. He’s leaned into himself with the tiredness of many years; to her, he looks like an easy mark. She prepares the extendable baton she received as being part of the landing party and taps the dude on the shoulder.
“Nice night out,” she says with a sharp tone. The turned man flinches and reaches for his knife just as Colette cocks her gun inside its holster, stopping him immediately. “No need for that, sir. I’m just a little pastry looking to find the local bakery, and you have the key. Hand it over,” she says, tapping the steel baton against him rhythmically. The man nods, calmly reaches into his boot, and pulls out a key. “Right, also where are you keeping the gauntlets?”
The man stutters, his gaze darting about. “I uh… I don’t know.”
She pushes the baton deeper into him. “Yeah, you do.”
“No, I really don’t! I swear! Only one of the Ganasteres would know!”
Colette hums suspiciously, and shrugs. “Fine. Sweet dreams,” she says. The last thing the guard remembers for the night is a length of steel being smashed into the back of his neck by the strength of an overworked eighteen year old. The guard goes down, and Colette unlocks the door to the fourth floor. She sneaks with light, fleet steps, ghosting through the hall in perfect silence. She goes down two floors and reaches a room with snoring coming from behind the door. The Captain doesn’t snore, so it must be a Ganastere. With practiced stealth she silently glides across the floor, just like all the times she had to sneak by Boris to eat every day the Captain said “You didn’t do the job right. No dinner for our lazy cupcake, Chef Boris.” A moment later, and she gently resets the hammer of her revolver to produce an obedience-creating *click*.
“Wh-who’s there?!” And old, male, frightened voice rings out.
“A ghost, dumbass. Where do you keep the gauntlets?” She says to him, resting a tight hand around his throat.
“P-please. They’re priceless! W-without the gauntlets we’ll be unable to-”
She pulls the trigger. *Click* “I’m pretty sure the next one has a bullet in it. Want to find out?”
“Oh, please! By your honor please don’t take our-”
“Mmm?”
The man is short for breath for a moment, but his gasps end in a long, drawing sigh. “In a room on the third floor… the one in the center. The lock on it is enchanted, though, you’ll need the password!”
“Which is?” she asks, smiling in the dark.
He sighs. “Uh, it’s lemonscratch.”
She tightens her grip. “You understand I’m going to knock you out after we talk, right?”
“Uh… Uh I guess?”
“So you won’t be able to call any guards.”
“Yeah… Okay?”
“So if the password’s wrong, I might just come on down and visit agai-”
“It’s Ganastere Pride! I’m sorry!”
Colette scoffs. “…Really? Ganastere Pride?” The old man in the dark mutters in terror, and Colette sighs. “Heh, cool. Goodnight,” she says, smacking the man right where The Captain trained her. He enters dreamland, and she travels next to the climax of the mission: The Captain himself.
She creeps into the room Boris told her of, no breathing coming from inside, just like The Captain. Though confidence has surged to this point, she stops at this moment. Her hairs stand upon her body and a sense of impending powerlessness overcomes her, like throwing oneself into the cold, black salt of the ocean night. The Captain is silent both when he’s awake, and asleep, so if he’s conscious, this could be the end of her. She just needs to tie the knot if she can. She enters the room and spots the Captain’s dignified lump, motionless in bed. She creeps forward, moth-like and gentle, though poised like a tiger. With each step she imagines an abrupt “Miss Ketiere, what could you be here for?” and that deep, stomach-churning sound of his knuckles cracking to in preparation for her. Colette is not deterred, however, and steals up to The Captain’s bed.
This is it.
Envisioning a bandaged hand to jut out from the covers and end her existence, Colette does the unthinkable and grasps one of the long, slightly adhesive bandages wrapped around his arm. With poise undisplayed by her till now, she ties a tiny knot into the notch
of his hand, a slight amount of his black sand slipping out. She pauses, just to see if he’d wake up, and then leaves the room.
It’s done.
Colette finishes by using the password to gain entry into the secret chamber and steals both gauntlets. Just for the hell of it, she tries one on. They’re awesome-looking pieces of occult metal, but once she slides the left one over her hand, she doesn’t feel a thing. She pops with off with a roll of the eyes: of course it wouldn’t be that easy. She doesn’t even spare to wonder that it’s not midnight.
One minute later she’s out on the roof, the deep night still encouraging sleep. With the gauntlets hidden in her coat, she makes her way back to the bar. It’s a quick, brisk trip back.
Waiting for her, a great big Boris has just received his order of hot wings from the sleep-deprived bartender.
“Here,” the bartender says with a tone containing the coldness of hell.
“OH! I AM OF THE THANKING TO YOU, FOOD-MAN OF THE BAR.”
“Yeah,” is all he says before turning back and slumping into a corner of the back room, deciding to sleep until he hears Boris do something else that’s completely expected of Boris.
Colette steps forward with a smile and much fatter coat pockets. “Heya.”
Boris’ stalk-like, obsidian eyes spark with intrigue. “WERE YOU OF THE COMPLETING?”
Colette peeks one of the gauntlets out from a pocket, her grin measured, but enthusiastic. “Let’s just say Ol’Salt’s gonna’ have a start when I draw my gun.”
Boris nods. “THEN IT MUST BE OF THE BEING,” he says with a solemn, grave tone, which, for the ears of a non-seasort, would actually sound like laughing.
Colette is able to grab a wing before Boris slams his face into the table for the last time, finally splintering the rough wooden legs and sending it to the floor.
A groan of contempt can be heard in the back room, but he doesn’t even come out of the back room; his spirit broken under the weight of Boris’ unlimited wonderfulness.
She nods as she licks her fingers of the wing salted with the barman’s theoretical tears. “Right. I doubt he’ll even show up tomorrow. Once he figures out his bandages are gone and he’s got nothing else to do but fight me, I’ll bet he’d just go back to the ship.”
Boris stares woefully at the remaining wings splattered on the floor, and then looks up. “ARE YOU OF THE CERTAIN? THE CAPTAIN IS OF MANY THINGS, BUT CERTAINLY NOT BEING OF THE COWARD.”
Colette’s smile does not fade, though she knows it’s true. “Bah, you worry too much. With the gauntlets there’s nothing the Ganasteres can do. The Captain can fight plenty of people, but not a whole town.”
Boris looks away, gargling contemplatively. “I AM OF THE SUPPOSING. YOU SHOULD BE OF THE RESTING THIS NIGHT. THE FIGHTING WILL BE UPON US SOON.”
Colette nods and stretches, “Yeah, I’ll get some shut eye. I’ll have to think of a safe spot somewhere… around here,” she says as she looks around.
A foul foam spits from Boris’ mouth in something resembling the excitement one gets when they’re being helpful. “I AM OF THE KEEPING YOU SAFE. MY SHELL HAS THE SPACING FOR MYSELF AND ONE OF THE OTHER!” Boris says. At that, the front of his exoskeleton opens like a machine, revealing a horrific, unspeakable mess of organs, bile, and partially digested food, all spilling out festively like a bale of confetti. There’s enough space inside for a person about her size.
Colette stares blankly at Boris for a moment. “Uh, actually there’s a back room. I think I’ll just relax in there,” she says, watching Boris’ internal horrors dangling about and dripping with what could be any manner of unpleasant-smelling fluids.
Boris’ shell closes, and the bar suddenly smells much more like a bar, and less like the inside of a giant crustacean. “THAT IS OF THE SENSIBLE, I AM OF THE SUPPOSING. SLEEP WELL, COLETTE FOOD, FOR TOMORROW YOU WILL BE OF THE TESTING.”
Colette nods, walks away, and cringes at the concept of a situation in which she would have to take Boris up on his offer.
Back at the Ganastere Estate, laying back in his bed, The Captain smiles ever so slightly.
A Most Unpleasant Realization that most certainly will Affect the Matter at Hand
The two moons bend around whatever planet connected to The Eversea they’re on, and this land’s sun peek over the horizon. People wake up with a knowing fire in their hearts. They understand the importance today will hold.
Colette is poked awake by the bartender, “Hey, guy’s calling for you… I think.”
She wipes the sleep from her eyes with a full motion of the hand. “Got it, thanks,” she says, listening to Boris say: “COLETTE FOOD, COLETTE FOOD!” over and over in the bar.
“Yeah,” the bartender says, going back to his corner to curl up into a ball of misery. Colette exits the room and gives a prompt, half-hearted salute to Boris. “That time?”
Boris nods. “IT IS OF THE TIME OF THE SOON. YOU MUST BE OF THE READYING.”
Colette nods back, stretches, steals some pub food, and exits the bar. Around her, people are wary. Shifting glances inspect one another as Colette steps through the streets nearing noon. She strolls up to the Ganastere Estate and ducks into an alley. There’s already eight other people in it.
“Hell’re you?” one of the cloaked men asks.
“Who want’s to kn-”
“Guys, I know this girl. Hi, Colette,” one of the other men says, leaning up from his place at the wall and gesturing toward her.
Colette smirks, seeing someone she recognizes from last night pull off his hood. “Itrim- So these are the Kalamests?”
She’s met with affirmations all around her.
“Excellent. They don’t stand a chance,” she says.
Itrim hums. “Not quite sure on that one, actually. Did you take care of your captain? Is he on our side?” He asks, a sea-breeze blowing past their alley.
Colette smirks. “I have him handled. He won’t join us, but he won’t be in our way.”
The Kalamests exchange nods and impressed looks about themselves. Itrim turns back to Colette. “Okay, Colette. Here’s the deal. There’s a magic barrier that prevents our entry.”
She squints an eye. “I could get in just fine.”
“I know, because you’re not a Kalamest,” Itrim says.
Colette shakes her head in confusion. “Wait, what? So I can go in, but Kalamests can’t? How will you help me during the fight?”
Itrim holds his hand up, as if to calm her. “We’ll need you to draw them out of their mansion. Only the mansion itself is protected by the barrier, so you raise a ruckus inside, and pull them out for us.”
Hearing his plan, she strokes her chin a moment, and slowly, a look of devious certainty beguiles her features. “You know, I have a better idea.”
Itrim raises a brow. “All ears, captain,” he says.
She retrieves from her pockets the Gauntlets of Mist, and a gasp blows over the entire group. “Oh, Vuru. Those can’t really be-”
She grins from ear to ear as the men gawk at her success. “They absolutely are.”
The group stares on in some form of absolute awe. That this girl completed in a single night, something that has taken them their lives up to this point. “I can’t…” Itrim has difficulty speaking the rest, instead he leans in and embraces Colette.
“Wh-what the hell, dude! I know it’s nice I got the gauntlets, but it’s not that nice!”
“It’s done! We’ve done it!” Itrim exclaims with a laugh as he takes up the gauntlets and shows it to the others. Cheering, hugging, and tears can be seen among the crowd, and Colette sighs.
“Great, you got both gauntlets, now can we go and kick their asses?”
Uneasy glances are exchanged in the crowd. “Eh, well, to be honest, Colette, we got what we need.”
Everyone listens to the breeze and Colette’s features curl in confusion. “…What?”
“Um, thought we’d have you steal the gauntlets for us while we distracted the
Ganasteres outside.”
She shakes her head dismissively as a few of the men chuckle at her animated display. “B-but what about the people? You know, the ones they kidnapped?”
Itrim tames his smile into a serious look. “We can’t really help you. We just wanted our birthright back.” There’s a row of snickers and nudges between the men, as if they’re in on some supreme joke— Colette has a terrible sense of humor.
“I can’t… I can’t believe you! I thought you cared about the people of your goddamn island! I thought that this is what this was really all about!”
Itrim nods. “We do, it’s just that this birthright is much more important. People come and go, but the gauntlets have lasted for generations.”
Colette slaps the middle of her face. “Really?”
“Really…. Sorry, Colette.”
She takes a deep breath. “Fine! I’ll do it myself! The Captain was right!” Colette turns to leave. “Fuckers,” she spits under her breath.
“Right about wh-… Oh, and there she goes,” Itrim says as she disappears down the alley in front of him. He turns to the others and shrugs. “Well, it’s finally time. This midnight will be one not a soul will forget,” he says, grinning with his Kalamest brothers.
Colette remembered the Captain’s words. “If something is broken, you are the only one who can fix it.” The phrase rings in her mind as she struts up to the Ganastere mansion, draws her revolver and shoots into the lock. With a deep breath she slams her entirety into the door, forcing it in a second. She spots a man adjacent to her frantically scrambling for a crossbow at the side of the room. “Freeze, bitch!” is all she needs to say before the man stops cold. With a decisive smack she pistol whips the door guard and sends him to the ground out cold. Several people gather around the inside foyer and guards pour in with weapons poised at the young lady.
“That’s far enough! One more step and we’ll shoot!” A front-most man says with a trained aim.
Colette laxly points the gun at the unconscious man at her feet. “Give me a reason,” she says, training her scope right at the man’s head.
Gasps are exchanged between the waitstaff, and the guards tense in fear.
