by Kell Inkston
The Captain is certain she'll ask him for a dance as the waltzes fire up, but her hand is taken with surgical efficiency by Captain Morris, then some nobody overlord, then a king from whoknowswhere... it seems everyone wants a turn with the beautiful hostess, and he's left to his own devices. Perhaps it's an unspoken agreement among the guests to let him have his last hours in a way he'd enjoy, without disturbance. After all, this is truly her night, and his funeral.
He wiles away against one opponent and another until Asegai sits again. The machine's tall body and blank, slate-like features makes it look more like a metallic idol than any attempt at resembling a person.
"Hey there," Asegai says, taking a seat next to The Captain rather than across from the chess board this time.
"Good evening again, Mister Asegai," The Captain says, spinning the black king between his index finger and the chessboard.
"I haven't seen you move from this spot for three hours. You okay?"
"You're quite open to people you've just met, you know," The Captain says.
Asegai hums. "Is that a problem?"
The Captain scoffs. "Of course not. Just an observation."
"Very good. And I've observed that you're apparently going to be killed tonight?"
"And how do you figure that?"
"You understand I'm not a human, yes?"
"I do."
"I have an array of... well, just call them ears, I guess."
The Captain takes a sip of his wine, only the slightest, smallest sliver of liquid to make the glass last the night. "Microphones?"
The robot laughs. "You know more than you put on! Close, but not quite. It does the same thing as microphones, but we just call them something else."
"Fair enough."
"Anyway, I 'heard', or better yet 'picked up' people talking throughout the ballroom about all sorts of things. Being what I am I can parse meaning from multiple conversations at once, at it seems like people are saying that our gracious hostess is going to be doing something rather ungracious tonight. Apparently she's-"
"Possessed by an eldritch god that gives her immense powers, and she intends on killing my crew and imprisoning me forever," The Captain says, turning to look out the room-wide array of windows that look over the port's sunset- Only a reddening of the great expanse of dreary grey throughout the sky.
"... Something like that, yes. I'm surprised you know... So if you're still here then you must have a good reason to be sticking around."
The Captain glances over to the sentient machine. "Ahh, couldn't figure that out, could you?"
"Well I can't very well read minds. The hostess hasn't been very informative, and the others have been hinting at it, but I don't have enough to get a clear picture. I'm asking this for both curiosity and personal security purposes, you understand. If this were to somehow pose a threat to my team or myself I'd have to take precautions."
The Captain nods. "Just as any proper leader should do."
Asegai leans into the side of the table. "So, what's going on?"
"I'll keep the details under wraps, as we’re quite in public, but she expects I'm going for The Black Eye, the relic that supplies her powers. I will keep this as quick and clean as possible, but if any of you are endangered remember that it's for a great cause."
"Her defeat, a great cause? I was under the impression that she's considered a paragon in your society."
"And wrongly so."
"You, however... I've heard mixed opinions. They call you 'The Reaper', yes?"
The Captain nods.
"And admittedly, I'm not knowledgeable in the matters of human souls, but from what I've put together you're quite infamous in their acquisition and trade, yes?"
"That's right."
"So, excuse me for asking, but don't you think people would be uneasy around you? You seem to have a bit of a monopoly on it here, and I've heard it's unimaginably lucrative."
"It is."
"I noticed most of these people are... well, pardon my language, but a bit on the lower and baser on the moral gauge of humanity. I'm not connected to the internet here so I can't really learn much about them, but simply by my perception I deem them to be... well, mostly criminals, outlaws, smugglers and the sort."
"You're correct again." The Captain turns his head just a notch to assume eye contact. "You'd be a good data analyst. Are you looking for a crew, perchance?"
Asegai chuckles. "No. I appreciate the offer though. We're only here to learn. As light as the O.E.L. presence is here in this realm, we can't risk detection of any sort."
The Captain nods. "Fights tend to be fast when one side has FTL enabled ships and the others are on a tugboat."
The two share a chuckle. At once, one recognizes the other as being an alright non-human, and vice-versa. "Can't question that," Asegai says good-humoredly "So then if everyone here is more or less against you, or at least would accept your passing, why did you come where the advantage is obviously so out of your favor?"
"The element of surprise," The Captain says with an exciting, planned-out tone.
Asegai draws back. "What do you have prepared? You can't physically or signally pass anything in-between the manor and the outside with those barriers in place."
"There are many listening ears here, sir. I can say nothing more of my intentions. I simply encourage you to watch, and remember who wins this night."
Asegai stares at The Captain through his L.D.A.s, invisible to the naked eye, for a long moment, and then nods. "Alright. I wish you the best of luck. I'm a fan of underdogs." Asegai takes to his feet and offers his hand. The Captain stares at the open, reflective hand, and stands as well for the shake.
"Thank you, sir. Have a wonderful evening."
"And you as well, Mister Reaper." Asegai steps off to join the other two robots play a game of charades with a few others.
Rather than sit back at the chess board, The Captain gains the desire to go get a new glass of wine. He takes up a glass served by a giant blue man-o-war butler, having incredible difficulty holding up the tray, but still managing with all its might.
"Thank you," The Captain says.
"These are thankful to be of service," the man-o-war says, tray lifting up just a tad now that another glass is off the silver platter.
He steps off to a pair of chairs turned straight at the windows with an elegant little coffee table wedged in between the seats. Very briefly, Luisoix, with a grinning Tidealane stepping across arm-in-arm, approach the back of The Captain. Luisoix taps the Captain, and The Captain nods as the two pass by over to the dance floor. Another minute passes and none other than Captain Morris comes forward with his own glass of wine. The two watch the sunset for a few minutes, and then they speak.
"So," Morris starts, "Do you feel ready?"
The Captain looks over. to him. "You don't think this will be my comeuppance?"
Morris laughs. "Are you being serious, Johannes?"
"It's best to give the benefit of the doubt, I always say," The Captain says, like always.
"True, but I'm sure just about everyone that you can control has tasted at least a grain of you by now. They've been vulnerable for hours. How did you pass it around?"
"Pass around what?" The Captain says with a hint of humor.
Morris lowers his head. "Your sand. Don't play dumb with me. I've seen you do it countless times." He looks back to the sunset. "Everything's on the ropes, the mission's an inch away from falling apart and the knife is against the necks of your crew, then miraculously, everything goes your way. The enemy loses all motor skills, like you've taken control of them. I've been your rival a long time, Captain, but I still know so little about you... By the way, nice getup."
"Thank you," The Captain says, looking over as the far side doors open to reveal a grand procession of plates, pots and dishes being brought in by a swarm of servants. The Captain spots the multitude of armed guards from just beyond the door, waiting to make their appearance. As expected, they're wear
ing gas-masks to keep them from inhaling The Captain's “sand”. "Apparently Miss Irefall had an old uniform of mine she bought from a museum. I'm a bit surprised she would go out of her way to do it considering we're supposed to be enemies, but I guess time does that to a person. You become strangely attached to the people dislike, simply because they've become, through the years, such an integral part of your world, your life, your... experience of everything, I suppose," The Captain says.
Morris nods as there's a round of tipsy applause for the food's entry. The servants spare no time in assembling the readied plates and name-places with practiced speed. "…I couldn't agree more, Captain. As motivated as I am to see your downfall by my hand, I can't help but feel sort of warm to you on a personal level."
"You'll get your shot at me again one day, Captain Morris, but for now let's simply savor the parting of an old friend."
Morris’s body fluctuates with a subtle vibration. "...I barely know her, she's nothing to me."
"Then simply tolerate my sentiments. Let me enjoy my last night with my young little apprentice before I set her out to sea." The Captain is motionless as Irefall takes up to the small podium over at the dance floor, and the music stops for just a moment.
"Alright, everyone, please take to your assigned seats!" Irefall calls over the crowds, who eagerly respond as the band resumes play.
"As you say it, best of luck," Morris says with a nod and a quick pat on the shoulder before stepping off to find his seat.
The Captain stares a moment more out the window as the sun peeks over the horizon, the makings of rain begin to drizzle across their dreary, crime-ridden, evil little port. He gets up, and takes his seat, far, far across all the way to the very end, staring across over fifty guests to see Mayor Irefall at the other side.
Boris, Cooking Minion and Jim are all present as Jacqui steps forward.
"For tonight's dinner we have an array of dishes of nine courses." His smirk is incredulous as he revels in the long "Oooh!" from the seated guests. "Yes, yes," he continues, "But in the nature of good fun, we've decided to divide them up based on the chefs who cooked them. Tonight we have offerings from myself, Jacqui Al'hammoux, high honor graduate of the Am'Krasass school of culinary prowess, chairman and rater of multiple chef-skill progression boards, owner and manager of the five-star "Jacq'3" Executive Grill, four-time winner of the 'Chef of the Realms' competition, winner of seventy-two prestigious chefmastery awards, author of 'How to Cook with Tru-'"
"Pardon me, dearest chef of mine?" Irefall says.
Jacqui clears his throat. "Say no more, madam. Next is the... infamously well known Lobster Seasort, known as the 'Tyrant Butcher of the Waves' , currently cooking for the captain known as 'The Reaper'... a cook with a charming personality and a... unique sense of taste, Boris!"
Boris waves his claws high. "IT IS OF THE HONOR TO BE OF THE SERVING OF YOU ALL."
Jacqui sighs. "Yes... Thank you, Boris. Next is the traveling chef, who goes by 'Cooking Minion'. He has a keen eye for style, and is the self-proclaimed personal cook of," Jacqui turns over to Cooking Minion with a bland expression. "What was it?"
Cooking Minion scoffs with a wide grin. "High Overlord Chaos!"
In an instant, multitudes of the seated guests loose gasps, make outbursts, jolt, or any other tell of discomfort; one even leaves the party outright. They weren't certain, but this confirms the suspicious-looking chef's identity to them. Greed and Lust act especially perturbed, their gazes gliding along the windows of the ballroom with anticipation.
Jacqui looks at the guests with a squinted eye, as if their expressions are somehow unwarranted.
"Are you sure that's safe?" says one guest.
"Is... Is he here too?" says another.
"We're risking our lives for a night out?" says one more.
Cooking Minion sighs with a smirk as Jacqui laughs sheepishly. "I-I assure you, ladies and gentlemen. This 'High Overlord' person is nowhere to be found. There's absolutely no risk to you by being here!..." He leans over to Cooking Minion. "Right?"
Cooking Minion scoffs. "Well, him and I are sort of… connected; like in a mental sort of way. So he won't run over here so long as I don't get hurt. There's no way that would happen so obviously there’s nothing for them to be freaking out about."
The Captain has exceptionally good hearing for being a bandaged-up pile of sand.
Jacqui nods. "Well keep it that way, this night is important." He stands at full height to address the guests. "Anyway. Please enjoy the food to your heart's content, don't shy away from seconds, and be sure to be one hundred percent critical of the food you eat. This is a matter of honor between chefs, you see, so be as judgmental as you can so long as it keeps with the atmosphere. Use the provided commentary cards to your side to cast your votes."
Cooking Minion scoffs. "But wouldn't the atmosphere be like, dire? I mean Irefall is going to try to murder that-" Cooking Minion received a swift kick from Jacqui's black, dainty boot.
"Dig in!" Jacqui exclaims.
With energy, the guests dig in as the music changes tune. All the while, The Captain prepares himself for vicious, instantaneous movement as he watches Irefall very, very closely. She's not even looking at him yet. She must be so sure of her victory.
All those with mouths or some manner of consuming things gets to work, those unable, like Captain Livingstone and the machines, simply sit about politely and make conversation with each other.
The Captain is ready for it to go down. It will be quick and risky, but he certainly has enough of the calculations under his hand to pull out the win.
There's a few songs and performances to wow the crowd, and then the votes are tallied. The look on Jacqui's face is truly without price as he listens to the results—not only did Jacqui not win, but Cooking Minion won by an entire landslide. Anyone that had even a taste of the miniscule minion's cooking were entranced, instantly bewitched by the flavor, texture, and various other elements of his three courses, and they made these qualities quite clear on their comment cards.
And second place? Boris. Turns out Officer Martaine has a wonderful sense of taste, and while he obviously is inexperienced in the cooking, somehow miraculously his abilities seemed to increase tenfold after tasting Boris' “experimental” dishes, like he gained a masterful sense of flavor from suffering alone.
Of course, Cooking Minion then rubs it in Jacqui's face, who, as The Captain rather expected, cannot withstand the embarrassment in front of so many people, and dashes of to the kitchen to figure out how both of them did it. It's hard to blame the poor fox man, he was against a truly legendary chef, and also Boris, who had more than simply Martaine to help him out.
Cooking Minion is invited to the table along with Boris and Jim, and the compliments fly to the three, heralding them as creators of some of the finest food in all the Omniverse. Many sets of seconds are enjoyed, and all the while Miss Irefall's smile is growing more and more, curving like a snake across her radiantly smooth skin.
Finally, she places her empty wineglass on the table with a firm, impacting sound, just shy of breaking it. "Well, I suppose it's time for the evening's main event."
The Captain prepares himself as he remembers a rainy night just like this one.
The Captain Recruits Two Young Ladies into His Cold Service
Many years ago, The Captain reached into the sea, and grasped a single pair of hands out of the dozens waiting for a savior...
He knows time is short, people are already being pulled down. One second they're there, calling for help, and then, in a flash, they're lost to the depths forever. Around the trade ship's wreckage The Captain pulls up one pair of hands after another as he turns to his crew, pulling up others, flinging ropes, and rowing out to get more.
"The more we pull up, the more starved the monsters will be. Don't give them the satisfaction of a meal!" he shouts as he flings person after person onto his rescue boat with an inhuman, practically cartoonish strength.
; A minute passes, and the crew has saved about half of the total crew of the sinking ship, the others already condemned to horrible fates below.
The Captain stands at full height amidst the crying, screaming, and frantic thanks from various survivors. "Alright, that's all of them. Let's get back to the Noctu-"
"Help!" cries a weak, young voice. The Captain peers across the dark and the rain to see one more... no, two souls holding weakly onto the wrecked ship's mast. Too, he sees a single, terrible appendage reaching up from the depths to arrest them and pull the souls below.
"Cap' we can't get that one. By the time we do she'll be gone," Dunklestein says with a cold tone, peering across to the little girl holding on for dear life.
The Captain removes his hat and coat. "Hold these."
Dunks receives the flung garments but drops them to the boat floor immediately. "Captain, don't you dare risk yourself for some worthless landi-" He stops the second The Captain leaps into the black salty drink of The Eversea.
It's pitch black in the water, but like the beasts, The Captain can see. Stiffening his bandages, he swims with surprising ability right below the dangling feet of the young lady containing two souls. How she has two souls, The Captain does not know, but he sure as hell is going to find out. Just as the tentacle from below curls to grasp her ankle, The Captain reaches into himself to pull out one of his "tools of the trade".
Dunklestein, panicking with the other sailors, are stunned when a bright flash of light explodes from below, outlining The Captain, the girl, and a deliriously horrific tentacle. Amidst the roaring winds and rain, the crew and survivors can clearly hear the horrific roar of the tentacle's owner deep below, vibrating up to the surface with an immense screech. A few seconds later, The Captain plops a twelve year old girl wearing a white sundress into the rescue boat. He flings himself onto the board just as quickly and recollects his coat and cap. "Take us back, Dunklestein," he says just as the little girl latches onto The Captain tightly, her gaze wide and beyond recognition of anything other than the terror below, and the person who saved her from it.
