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highwaymanstories · 1 year

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Highwayman. Part One

Pearls Before Swine

It’s their honeymoon, I think. The couple stands, hand in hand in hand in hand, at the front of their luxury cruiser, staring off at the gleaming, distant stars of the cosmic Elsewhere. The cruiser’s a rental. At least, I hope it’s a rental. This sort of two-crew personal ship, with Ley capacity no less, cost about as much as a matched pair of human kidneys on the Githem gray market. But based on our quarry, they can afford it.

They were Perchlor in the FIS, which made them easy targets. Not too many four-armed humanoids in these parts, save the more insectoid chimeras. Bring a bottle of Itoan hooch to the customs guy who works nights out of the Githem North-Central travel depot, and ze’d give out a goddamn Com-Pop star’s hotel room number. Easy enough to get the travel path of Lucy and Reggie Proper. They were taking the scenic route to Vybes in the Appenzell Canton, heading to one of those coastal resorts by the planet’s South Pole. Fancy. Expensive. And they were bringing their wedding presents along with them.

From my perch inside the Nickel, I activate remote access and refocus the security camera on Lucy’s face. Handsome Perchlor, not our type — my type— but a strong jawline can make anyone look good. I’d been told Lucy Proper was the child of an old nightclub crooner and a picture star, and I could tell. Ve has on those wraparound shades that the Perchlor all wear, but had lowered them enough that ver top eye is visible. Vivid blue, blue that almost makes me think ve can see me when ve glances up at the camera.

But then Reggie takes Lucy’s hand in zirs. The couple turns, looks at each other. I can’t read their expressions behind those glasses, but that doesn’t make the thoughts behind that glance any less obvious. Hominids are so oozy.

But, they are distracted. So I tap a few keys on the retrofitted QWERTY and deactivate the shields on the cruiser. Neither lovebird notices the tiny blinking light on the console. So far, so good. I take another look at the real-time map simulation. The program takes a few minutes to process the information, but it’s running off a processor ripped from and old ‘167 Soviet gaming console, so I try not to be too harsh with it. As the CRT prints the model, I thank the old motherboard. It does good work, best it can at least. I relate to that.

I examine the render: a wireframe of the ship, with spots of density shaped out in dark colors. The cruiser’s light on security, shields deactivated, cargo kept in a compartment under the sleeping suite. That should be where we’ll find the target. Client told us it’s a pearl, gifted to the newlyweds as a present, but taken from them without rights. So, we’re getting it back for them. At a fair price, of course.

The sleeping suite’s a bit cluttered, but static on the render, with no security system, not even cameras. Probably smart to take the cameras out of the honeymoon suite. I trace the path from the airlock into the suite; it starts in the cockpit, where the locking couple had intertwined the fingers on both sets of hands and were pressing close together. Physical proximity indicates romantic relationship and emotional intimacy for nearly every sapient species in the Somewhere; it’s one of the few things they all have in common. Except the Gyo. I have — we have — they have, on the homeworld, no concept of intimacy, the same way fish don’t have a concept of water.

But a clean path, just a couple cameras. I do a visual check on the hallways, cycling through the cams. No turrets, no tripwires, not even a smoke alarm. Almost too easy. I start up a second scan, just in case the first missed something, but I think we’re good to go.

I run the tip of an arm over the QWERTY, settling on the J. I love the little bumps humans leave on the QWERTYs, to remind themselves where their fingers are supposed to go. I could have replaced the interface with a touchscreen, but the QWERTY is so tactile, so physical, so extant. It feels like I’m doing something when I press those keys.

The J is my favorite key, so I mapped my favorite control to it. I feel the nub under my arm and press down, activating comms.

“Path’s clear,” I say. “Lovebirds in the cockpit. I got eyes on everything except the suite. Get ‘em, cowboy.” Then I switch cameras back to the cockpit and watch the show.

Dime hisses as it hooks onto the airlock, pirate screws overriding the latches with a satisfying clunk. Reggie’s too lost in lust to notice, but Lucy looks over at the airlock, surprise plain on vir face. Ve can almost get out the words, “What was —“

Then the airlock opens, and you step inside, guns drawn. You grin, like a madman, like you always do, and tell them, “Reach for the sky, friendos.”

Wyatt Hobb, you are my favorite person. You say those words every single time. “Reach for the sky.” We are in space. The sky is everywhere. It’s stupid. Everything about you is stupid: your stupid hat and your stupid boots and your stupid long jacket and your stupid little face that folds into a perfect pout when I don’t laugh at your jokes and just — I have never met another person like you, and that thrills me like you cannot believe.

Reggie and Lucy freeze. Reggie looks about ready to vomit. The sight is almost comical; the two Perchlor must each be nearly seven feet tall, and here’s little five-foot-nothing you, and they’re piss-terrified. But these two have never been in a fight, probably never even thrown a punch. I can see that clean across their faces. They definitely have never had pair of Colt six-shooters pointed in their faces, not least because that gun hasn’t existed in a usable state for two, three hundred years now. And these aren’t antiques. These guns kill people.

But you don’t like to kill people. So you cock your head to one side and give them that little smirk, the same smirk you gave me two years ago, the first time we met. And you say the same thing to them you said to me, too.

“Now empty your pockets, nice and easy. Don’t want no one to get hurt. I certainly don’t, and I doubt you kind folks want that either. So no funny moves.”

Reggie glances at Lucy, looking for confirmation. Lucy’s steelier than vir spouse, I can see that on the monitor clear as day. But ve still nods and pulls a wallet out of vir jacket pocket. Reggie follows suit, and the two of them toss down wallets, keys, the little CommSlabs the Perchlor use for wireless communication. No weapons, of course. You give them an easy smile, tip the brim of your hat.

“Thank you kindly,” you say, and you sound like you mean it. I’ve never heard you lie. You say things that aren’t true, sure, say things that aren’t true all the time. But out of your mouth, they don’t feel like lies, just truths from another timeline. Like I all I would need is your perspective, and I’d get it, bones and all. You have a voice that begs people to see things your way. “Now,” you add, holstering one gun and pocketing the wallets and CommSlabs, “I’m just gonna ease on past you, get what I came here for. You don’t make any business for me, I’ll have no business with you. Sound amenable?” Reggie looks at Lucy again, and Lucy nods. “Y’all on your honeymoon?” you ask.

Lucy speaks up now. “Yes,” ve says, and damn, if you weren’t you, you’d probably fall in love with just that word out of vir mouth. Parents were a crooner and a picture star, no fucking kidding. “We don’t want any trouble,” Lucy adds, and I believe vir. “We’ll do what you say.”

That just makes you smile wider. “Got a feeling we’re gonna be real amigos, then. I trust y’all, which you should wear as a badge of honor. Now, I just want one thing from y’all, and then we can part ways, never the twain shall meet again. Sound clean?”

I can tell Lucy has no idea what you’re saying. I don’t either, usually. But ve just nods vir head.

“Neato.” You move past them, cool as cream, and into the hallway. I switch cameras, follow you through, and turn on comms again.

“Starfish to Cowboy, can you hear me?”

“Cowboy to Starfish, nearly home and clear. Now, where’s that pearl?”

“Should be in the sleeping suite. Render tells me there’s a cargo space loaded with goods under the floorboards. Those are probably the gifts, and if so, the pearl will be among them.”

You look up at the camera and grin and I just about melt. “Damn, Mai. You’re a goddamn treat. Don’t know how I did this before you.” I can feel my core flush, my arms twitch a little.

“You did it well, Wyatt. Now let’s finish this job and hit the Lines. Door on your left.”

Just as I say that, the second scan finishes, and the render prints out on my monitor.

Something’s wrong. I see it immediately. Inside the suite there’s an innocuous little lump, I thought it was piled blanket maybe. But it’s moved.

I jam my arm back onto the J.

“Wyatt, stop, something’s wrong.”

But it’s too late. You opened the door already. Still you touch your ear, activate your comm.

“What —“

Then a tiny, fluffy ball of rage flies out of the room and knocks you to the floor.

It can’t be more than thirty pounds and two feet long, but this little monster digs its claws into your chest and you scream like your soul’s been ripped out by the devil himself. The gun drops from your hand, clattering on the floor.

The creature is dark gray, four-legged, with tiny, pointed ears and a long, thin snout with tiny razor teeth. Its claws don’t look sharp, but they’re long and ragged and carve a gash across your arm as you lift your hands to protect your face.

“Shit.” I hit the J. “Wyatt, what’s happening? What is this?”

“Fucking dog!”

I have no idea that what means. Judging by the tone in your voice, though, you don’t like it. And it doesn’t seem like you’re making any progress at removing it from your limbs. I grab my nullSuit, slipping my arms into the nine sleeves and closing the zipper around my core. The helmet fogs up around my eye before I turn on the systems manager, which floods the suit with oxygen and clears the glass.

Before I jet off the Nickel, I glance at the security feed again. You’ve managed to stand up, though this… dog… is latched around one of your ankles now. You’re shaking your leg, trying to fling it loose, and I’m momentarily reminded of the “square-dance” you showed me that night we found a half-full bottle of Soviet Kentucky Whiskey on a junker.

Then something glints around the dog’s neck. I bring my arms back to the QWERTY, zoom in the camera, run and artificial enhancement filter.

It’s a collar, and a tag. There, engraved in cursive lettering, is a word, a name.

“Shit,” I say, again, and hurry to the back of the ship, pull myself through the zero-gravity and into the airlock. I double-check the seal, then jet out into the void.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do field work, but still, I get a little chill each time I head into the fray. My job is dangerous, you won’t let me forget that, but even so, my perch in the Nickel feels removed, shielded from the violence, and the elegance, of the work. On site, with the targets, it feels like I’m in the mud. Most of me hates it, wants to get back to the Nickel as quickly as possible. But there’s a little sliver of me, a tingle in one of my arms, that loves it.

And the journey across the gap between our ships is something else entirely. Out here, floating past the endless lengths of the Somewhere, the distant Elsewhere stars twinkling faintly, I truly feel alone. It’s the greatest feeling in the world.

I land on the Dime, a little jet pod hooked on the cruiser’s airlock like a tick. I pop the access hatch, wriggle inside, shut it behind me. Instantly, the raiding ship pressurizes. I hurry through the airlock and into the cruiser.

Reggie and Lucy still haven’t moved. But then they see me scramble onto their ship and I can see Reggie flinch. It still bothers me. It shouldn’t. But, even though the Gyo have been around longer than almost any other spacefaring sapients, I guess it’s hardwired in the hominids to recoil at the sight of a four-foot-tall, nine-armed starfish. Evolutionary design. Doesn’t make it sting any less. But that’s something I love about you, I guess. You didn’t even flinch the first time you robbed me.

At least they don’t try to stop me as I roll into the hallway. You’re on the ground again, dog latched onto your arm, biting through the coat. You look up and see me, and the relief on your face almost knocks me flat.

“Mai!” You say. “Thank heaven. Get this feller off me ‘fore he rips off my goddamn hand!”

I’m honored you think I can do that. But I’d like to keep all my limbs today, thank you, so I hurl myself into the sleeping suite to search for something to help. It’s a big, round, pink room, with a seven-sided bed I recognize as the symbol of love on Perchlorate. I find the spot in the floor where the cargo showed up on the render and pry the hatch up.

Goddamn decadent. The gifts in this compartment must be worth more collectively than I’ll make in my lifetime. Platinum necklaces. Massive, raw gemstones. Kitchen gadgetry that could run half of Mars’s computing needs.

And a small plastic cage, just the right size for the dog-creature.

I grab the cage and drag it back out into the hall. You’re on your stomach now, the murder-fluff trying to tear though the small of your back.

“Wyatt!” I say, “I found a cage.”

“Great,” you say, through gritted teeth. “Now grab the little shit, lock him up, and throw away the key.”

I set the cage down and open it. I look at the fuzzy little animal and say, “Dog, go into the cage.”

The dog does not go into the cage. It doesn’t seem to notice the cage is even there.

You stand up now, the dog scaling your leg, claws digging into your skin. I can see tears of pain welling in your eyes.

“Mai. Please. Just grab the dog, and put it in the cage.”

I creep forward, reach toward the dog. Then it turns, and snaps at me, and it looks in my eye and I look in its eyes and I know this miniature demon could rip through my nullSuit like tissue paper and would do so without a first thought, let alone a second. So I retreat back into the sleeping suite.

“Maiiiiiiiiiii.” Your voice whines after me, but I’m not abandoning you. I’m regrouping. I dig back into the cargo hold, searching for something to distract the dog. But I still barely know what a dog is, let alone what it might like. Maybe shiny things? I grab a few gemstones and fling them into the hallway. Nothing. So I grab everything: electronics, jewelry, statues, antique books, every last gift, and fling them at your flailing form.

But the dog doesn’t seem to care about anything except getting to your throat. And it’s getting close, and you’re getting tired, and the dog isn’t.

There’s one thing left. I lift the chunk of solid rubber out of the hold. It has an odd shape, a long cylinder with two lumps on either end. As I cradle it in my hand, the center compresses slightly, and it lets out a squeak.

The dog suddenly stops growling. I turn and see the dog staring at the chunk of rubber. I hold it up, and the dog’s eyes follow it. I squeeze it again, and suddenly the dog has its tongue sticking out, its tail wagging as it hops off of your arm and to the floor.

You collapse back against the wall, gasping, exhausted.

“Looks like you found its toy,” you say.

I slowly approach the dog, then squeak the toy again. Suddenly, the dog sprints at me, mouth wide, slobber dripping from its fangs.

I want to flee. I want to drop the toy and jet out into space. Instead, I stand my ground, and wait. And just as the dog is about to leap at me, I toss the toy into the cage, and the dog follows it inside.

I slam the door shut, close the latch. The dog doesn’t seem to notice as it curls up in the back, gnawing on the toy.

You stumble over next to me. “Thanks, Mai. Saved my hide there.” I try to act nonchalant, but inside I’m brimming with pride. You look around at the smashed and scattered presents. “Well,” you say, “there doesn’t seem to be a pearl here. Hope we don’t have to take off one of Reggie’s toes to get its location out of those two.” I laugh, and you give me a look. “What’s so funny?”

“Check the collar,” I say. You crouch down, peering into the cage.

There, glinting in a sliver of light, is the dog’s name written on the tag: “Pearl.”

You chuckle and step back, then put your hands on your stomach and let out a deep, guttural laugh. I love your laugh, so much. You don’t laugh like a Gyo, or like any sapient I’ve met, other humans included. You laugh like you want the whole entire Somewhere to know how pleased you are. It’s contagious, so I start laughing too, and now we’re laughing together, until a voice calls out from the cockpit.

“Can we move now?” asks Reggie.

You scoop up the cage and I follow you back into the cockpit. You grin at the loving couple, tip your hat.

“We’ll just get out of your hair,” you say, “and take this with us. Honestly, we’re doing y’all a favor. Congratulations on the matrimony, and here’s to a long and happy union.” You bow low, taking off your hat and sweeping the floor with it. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, and it drives me mad. But I stay quiet and follow back into the Dime. Reggie and Lucy stare at us as we leave, and I wonder how long they’ll stay together, now that they’ve met you. You tend to break hearts without even trying.

Back on the Nickel, we crash in the lounge. Pearl sits in its cage on the table, still gnawing at that bone. You stare at the dog, brow furrowed. “Funny,” you say, “Client could’ve made things a hell of a lot easier, they clarified what kinda pearl we was searching for. Still, if they had, I might not have taken the gig. Not really a dog person, always preferred cats.”

“I don’t think I’m a dog person either,” I say, and you laugh like you know a secret I’ll never understand.

“Guess not.” You stand and stretch. The hem of your shirt rises up, exposes a thin strip of skin along your midsection. I don’t know why, but I’m fascinated by this part of your body. Is it a human thing, or a Gyo thing? Maybe it’s just a Mai thing. I’d be happy if that’s the case. I like having my own things. You give me a look and a smile. “Ready to jet?”

“Sure.” I swing up onto my perch, rest my arms across the controls. I don’t know how anyone does this with just two hands. I turn off the gravity anchor and set the thrusters.

You take a seat in the cockpit and lower the light shields so you can see through the windows. No matter how many times we shift into the Ley Lines, you love to watch it happen. “We’ve got to see Ramos to get our pay, so mark out for Skelter. Ready?”

I punch in the coordinates, then open the protective case around the deactualizer and wrap an arm around the switch. “Ready.”

You lean back and grin. “Then hit it.” I pull the switch.

Outside the windows, we can see the stars of the Somewhere, mapped space. And beyond them, the stars of the Elsewhere, the rest of universe, home to the great mysteries of the cosmos. And then the lights double, as if layering a semi-transparent image of space over itself. Then space doubles again, and again, until the black between the stars is blotted out by light, until the deep dark void is gone and all that’s left is blinding white and we shift from reality to unreality, from physics to philosophy, from the universe into the Ley Lines. And we’re here, and we’re together, and we’re free.

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

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Pseudo Princess Pt.04

Officially Family

10/03/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 4,265

Warnings: Language?, a wee bit of angst, sexy blonde kings wearing floofy shirts

A/N: So, this chapter was actually intended to be joined with what will be the next chapter but I think having them separate will do better. There’s a lot to digest in this one, so I hope it reads well even though it’s a little on the shorter side (for me). Let me know what you like/love/had to think about whatever! As always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

It feels like a dream, sitting in the carriage as your new life looms closer and closer with every turn of the steel and wooden wheel.

Across from you, his Majesty is staring at you. Sussing out your lack of reaction to what happened last night.

~~~~~~~~~~

Happy has your arm, carefully leading you down further and further into the castle. Deeper than you’ve gone yet, and when he finally stops, you’re sure that you’re in a dungeon somewhere because there are no windows, only diffuse candlelight every few steps.

You can hear the subtle drip of water and the scurrying of tiny feet.

An echoing meow tells you that it’s probably just cats and their kittens inhabiting the deep parts of the castle.

“Why are we down here?” You ask, frightened that maybe his Majesty really is upset with you.

What if Happy lied? What if King Rogers was not happy with you and because you failed to entice him, King Tony is going to have you chained up in a cell?

“His Majesty’s other office is down here. Just at the end of the hall. I’m not supposed to go with you, so...” He hesitates in letting your arm go. “Can you make it there on your own? You’re not going to faint again, are you?”

You look down at your pretty white gown with its pink underlay and the way even down here in the dim it seems to shine like a pearl. The bottom layer is dirty now, both from your fall and from dragging it down along these dirty floors.

“No. I’m fine.” You think.

Happy lets you go. “Just straight ahead. Last door at the end of the hall. Don’t bother knocking. He’s expecting you.”

You watch as he turns away from you and with one final glance back to make sure you’re alright, he disappears up along the gray stone steps to the daylight above.

Fear will get you nowhere. So, you shove it aside and march straight for that door at the end.

You give yourself one moment of hesitation to take a deep breath and prepare yourself for what might be a trap but as the heavy door swings open, you find yourself facing a golden mask, devoid of humanoid features save for the glowing blue eyes of what you’re sure must be magic.

You take a deep breath, a scream working its way into your throat before the golden face shakes its head and then it speaks.

“Wait, wait, wait. Don’t scream.” His Majesty’s voice says. He throws one hand out towards you and you watch the slit of his metallic lips that do not move as he speaks.

Somehow, despite there being no real opening, his voice is amplified. The golden armor, which you now see is to accentuate the massive amounts of red that he’s wearing, extends down to his sternum, shoulders, and arms.

It’s there in his arms that the armor begins to weave with regular leather plate armor, deep red. In his hands shine two large orbs of light like that which comes out of his eyes. At the center of his chest is a glowing blue circle that you suddenly realize is the design you’d first noticed on his servants’ armor. The coachman and the footman.

The rest of his outfit is thick, sturdy red linen and cotton, black leather belts around his waist that match the darker shade of his leather pants. Golden boots rise high up to his knees where golden shin guards with red leather beneath complete the look.

He reaches up behind his head and with a small click, there’s a hiss and he pulls off the heavy metal mask and then pops it underneath his arm as if he were holding nothing more than a child’s ball.

“This probably won’t be the worst thing you’ll catch me doing.” He teases, then moves towards you.

You almost step back, but you remind yourself at whose invitation you’re in the castle and that this man is no longer just your king but your father.

“Please, say something.” He rolls his shoulders nervously, dark brow drawn together.

“You’re the Iron Knight.” You gasp, nearly breathless.

“It’s not really Iron. It’s a new metal. Lighter than iron. Titanium is what they called it where I found it. I added some nickel. Makes it easier to move in. Here, try it on.”

He holds the mask out to you, and you take a step back, this time simply refusing to wear the mask not fearful.

“No thank you.” You frown at him, wondering what he’s playing at offering to let you try it on.

“It won’t bite.” He chuckles but puts it down on a table which finally draws your eyes to the rest of the room.

In essence it is a massive dungeon. It’s tall and wide with a vaulted ceiling supported with thick stone pillars. There are also countless tables along two of the walls, some metal, some wood. So much gear is stacked on each table. Different shin guards and boots, shoulder guards, and wristlets. There are a few chest pieces like the one he’s wearing, works in progress.

He’d been standing right at the center of this collection of tables, a target dummy made of straw and burlap sacks at the far end of the dungeon room, singed at the head.

“I think I’ve finally got the aiming down.” He tells you, and you wander over behind him as he lifts his hand and aims it at the dummy. “Careful.”

His warning makes you step back, but he puts his hand out towards you to make sure you’re safe.

There’s a subtle buzz. A hiss, like fire but not exactly fire. It reminds you of the initial crackle and spark of a fire but it’s chaotic in its power. It buzzes louder and louder until there’s a loud fizzing sound as the blue light explodes from his palm.

It lights up the room but soars across to strike the dummy right in the center of its chest.

“Wow!” You nearly yell, the booming in your ears deafening still.

His Majesty turns towards you with a smirk, a cat’s grin as he peels off the gauntlet he’s wearing and with it the chest piece it’s attached to.

“Is it magic?” You ask him, hearing going back to normal.

“Science.” He counters, piling his armor up on the empty table where he’d placed his mask. “And a little bit of magic, yes.”

“What kind of science?” You wonder, knowing nothing about science, your curiosity is peaked.

“Chemistry. It took me a long time to figure out the right combination but a little copper sulfate, some special water, a few other ingredients and of course, the magic that gives my little light show a nice blue glow.” His Majesty says.

“And the magic?” You ask him, desperate to understand but already completely lost. Copper sulfate?

“It’s a root. Nothing I’ve ever seen before. Grown by one of the witches in the East woods. She taught me how to do it and how to use its properties.” He explains.

“You got instructions from a witch?” You wonder, shocked by this revelation more than knowing that he is the Iron Knight.

“They’re not all bad. Some of them just wanna be left alone. It’s her own creation. The root.” He places the last bit of his armor aside then massages his wrist.

“Does it hurt, your Maje-”

“Ah, ah.” He frowns at you, his bearded lips contorted into a small pout.

“Father.” You correct yourself. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m alright. And it’s Man, by the way.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Iron Man. Not Iron Knight. I don’t want people to think he’s of noble birth.” He explains.

“Oh.” You think. “But you are of noble birth.”

“Yes. But I want people to feel like anyone could be the Iron Man. They should all feel like they can take power back in their own kingdom whether it’s from an oppressive lord or a schoolyard bully. My people should be able to stand up for themselves.” He says passionately, moving to sit on a stool and roll up the white sleeves of his shirt.

“Anyway,” He begins, “Let’s forget about the Iron Man for now. Steve has written back about your portrait.”

Oh, man, there are those nerves again. You can feel the lightheadedness working its way back in.

“And wh-what did he say?” You lick your lips and move to stand closer.

Tony reaches into his vest pocket and unfolds a piece of paper before holding it out for you.

“Read it.” He tells you, and hesitantly you take it.

“I-I don’t know how to read just yet.” You admit, feeling shame once again.

“Sound it out. You know how to say your letters, right?”

Damn. Okay…time to give this a try. “First word is ‘I’.”

Easy enough.

“Good.” Father says.

“I ‘C-A-N’ with a t? Can’t?”

He nods.

“Wooo-wuu-wah-it?” You say the word a few times in your head. “Oh, ‘wait’?”

Another nod.

“I can’t wait…t-o..to. I can’t wait to ‘mee-eet her.’” You beam up at him, then look back down at the painfully short note. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Okay. You’re too slow. That was torture. Give it here.” He reaches for it and you hurry to hand it to him then move around behind him to look over his shoulder at the words.

“Tony, I can’t wait to meet her. She has nice eyes. Bring her tomorrow. We can marry the day after. Sincerely, His Royal Majesty…blah blah blah…you get the picture.” Father begins to fold up the letter, but you throw your hand over his shoulder gently, reaching for it.

“Can I keep it?” You smile at him, neck and ears burning.

“Sure, kid. Keep it.” He hands it over then gets up and moves to his tables of scraps and projects.

“Did he really say that I have nice eyes?” You unfold the piece of paper and look for the word eyes. How was that spelt again?

“Yes. He says that about every girl though, so don’t get your hopes up.” He says, dashing your dreams.

“Oh.” You sigh, moving to sit on the stool he’d been on.

“Don’t worry, kid. It just means that he isn’t sure what to think. He’ll have more of an idea when he sees you in person. I saw the picture and it doesn’t do you justice. You’ll knock his socks off.” He promises. “You’re my kid, remember?”

You nearly smile but you’re reminded that in two days’ time, you’ll be married.

“I want to make him happy, father.” You sigh, melancholy.

“You will. Just…don’t rush it. Get to know him.” He looks up at you and stares right back into your own sorrowful gaze.

He puts his tools down and moves to you, placing his hands on your arms.

“Look, I know what I’m asking of you. I didn’t even want to let Morgana do this because I want her to have what I have with her mother.”

“It’s okay.” You smile and give him a shrug.

“But it isn’t.” He frowns. “You deserve to marry for love to, Y/N. And I’m sorry for being selfish enough to ask you to do this for us, but-”

“I think I am.” You admit, sadness overtaking your chest to make it ache. “I’ve never met him. I know that he will not be what I’m expecting but Natasha has told me about him. About the person he was before Queen Margaret died and if I’d had to choose the qualities that I would want in a husband, he has almost all of them.”

“But he’s different now. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” You ask him, nearly laughing.

“No.” Father says, shaking his head, no laughing for him. “No. What I’m trying to say is don’t give yourself to him completely. Not for a while. Keep your guard up and don’t let him break you.”

“Is he really that altered?” You wonder, no more worried than you were before.

“He’s not the same Steve. If you have to love him, love him in secret. Don’t tell him. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t give him that power over you. Promise me that you’ll think about yourself first.”

You know that he means well but becoming King Rogers’s wife…it means dedicating your life to the crown. To your future people. To your husband. Maybe, just to appease him, you can give him a little lie?

“I promise. I won’t let myself fall in love with him completely.” You smile at him and he relaxes.

“Good. Now, about your dress…”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Father…” You begin, “You’ve been staring at me for half an hour.”

He looks at the Queen beside him, Pepper, mother to you now. She’s smiling at him knowingly. She shakes her head at him and then looks out the window.

“Sorry. I’m just…about what you saw last night-”

“I won’t say anything.” You promise him. “And anyway, nothing happened last night. I didn’t see anything, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I told you, you have nothing to worry about with this one.” Mother tells him.

“I didn’t think I did.” He replies with a gruff.

“He was up half the night, worried that he’d scared you.” Mother tells you.

“Pepper…” He grumbles.

“I know that this is all for show.” You start, smiling at them as they look away from their silent argument to you. “I know that it all kind of just happened and I was at the right place at the right time, but I appreciate your kindness. It’s been a long time since I’ve had parents and this past week has almost felt like I’ve had them back.

“I know it isn’t real but, you really do feel like my mother and father and I’m grateful. Thank you.”

For a moment, while you thank them, you let your mind think of them as they truly are. Your King and Queen.

They exchange a long look before they both reach out to take one of your hands. His Majesty the right, and the Queen the left.

“From the day that we took you in and until the day that you die, sweetheart, you will be our daughter. We’ve already added your name into our family register. You are now and forever officially a Stark. We can never repay what you have given not only us but your sister as well.

“When we find her, we’ll make sure she knows what you did for her.” Her Majesty says, eyes slightly misted.

“Kind of feels like we’re on the losing end having to lose a daughter we just found.” His Majesty says, and you nod with a smile, knowing exactly what he means.

“Once I learn how to write properly. I will write all the time.” You promise.

Her Majesty gives a small chuckle then the carriage jerks to a stop.

“We’re here, your Majesty.” Peter’s voice chimes in from the front of the carriage.

Time to meet your future husband.

~~~~~~~~~~

Father gives you a new dress. Beautiful silk sky blue fabric with white lace sewn in at the bust and wrists. The top of the sleeves are slightly puffed, and the skirt flows out, more lace along the bottom. It hugs your figure and Natasha ties your corset extra tight today, if only to accentuate your bosom.

“Maybe he’s a breasts man?” She shrugs.

Your neck burns.

She leave your hair down, as instructed by his Majesty, your father, long wavy curls left to flow down along your shoulders.

On your head she places a simple diamond tiara, small sapphires spread throughout the base to accentuate the blue of your dress.

All too soon you’re moving with hastened steps behind Natasha towards a room called the council chamber.

As you walk, you take the opportunity to look the castle over.

You’ve been in such a rush that you hadn’t really allowed yourself a proper look. You know that there are large round towers made of pink granite, the main structures of the castle are white marble. The roofs you can see a you pass yet another window—as they are numerous in this castle—are a dark blue slate. The colors go well together and make an aesthetically pleasing palette.

Inside the colors are darker, with deep chocolate oak wood walls and dark gray floors and ceilings. All the light fixtures however are in shades of silver and gold, bright colors to illuminate the darker tones of the interior.

There are also plenty of colorful carpets, pictures, and vases with flowers. Your future home is very warm in its décor and if it is any indication as to the style of the man you are about meet, you may not have anything to worry about after all.

You find Peter already waiting inside the room with Mother and Father also standing off to the side. Natasha shows you in, straight to the center of the room before a large high-backed chair embellished with golden etchings along the arm rests and back.

As Natasha fusses over your dress and hair, the rest of the room is absolutely silent. The nerves in the quiet are enough to drive you mad.

You wish someone would say something. Anything.

You’re already dying of nervousness. Why can’t they try and alleviate your mood?

Wringing your hands nervously, you turn to look at father who gives you an encouraging smile, mother also looking kindly.

Peter is chewing on his lip and Natasha moves to slap your hands away.

“Stop that.” She gasps.

“I’m nervous.” You admit, grieving silently.

“Me too.” She agrees.

“What?!” You gasp, quietly.

“What?” She shrugs. “I’m nervous for you.”

“I thought you said you knew him?”

“I did. Before his wife died.” She sighs. “He’s changed since then, and I don’t know what he’s really like anymore.”

It feels like you’re about to burst into tears when the large double doors behind the tall chair—which you now realize is a type of throne—open. Instead of the blonde you’ve been itching to finally see in person, your heart relaxes when a familiar long haired and blue-eyed knight enters the room.

He stops beside the throne and looks at father first, hand on his sword while the other is straight at his side.

“Your Majesties.” He bows politely, then turns to you. “Your Highness.”

The smile he gives you is one of encouragement and you appreciate it.

“His Royal Majesty, King Rogers, wonders if he and the Princess might be left to meet alone?” James meets Natasha’s eyes and you can see a quick silent communication between them before she’s reaching down for your hand.

“Listen, don’t speak until you’re spoken to. Smile if you think you should. Don’t mention the old Queen, and definitely don’t slip up about…well, you know. Keep conversation light. No swearing.” She’s rushing through these instructions and fussing with your hair and dress.

Your heart begins to panic.

“You’re leaving me?” You whine.

“Just for a few minutes.” She promises. “I’ll be right outside that door. Okay?”

“Nat…?” You swallow hard, wishing your nerves away. “What if he doesn’t-?”

“He just has to marry you.” She reminds you. “Nothing else matters. Once he’s married you, then you can worry about making him fall in love with you. Alright?”

“What if-?”

“It’s time.” She smiles. “Once step at a time. Good luck, your Highness.”

She pulls her hand out of your own firmly, and follows your mother, father, and Peter out of the room the way you’d first come in.

As the doors close, Natasha sends you one last smile before she’s out of sight.

“Nervous?” The deep familiar voice asks, and you turn to James with your breath held.

You nod. He’s wearing an outfit similar to when you met him two days ago, only today it’s dark blue instead of black.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I was there when he saw your portrait and-”

“Please don’t raise my expectations, Sir James.” You sigh. “I can’t stand it.”

“Bucky, your Highness, if you please. And if that is your wish…I will show his Majesty in now.” He offers, and gestures to the doors he’d marched in through.

You nod and watch as he leaves the room again.

For sixty long seconds you stand alone at the center of this large room where chairs line the walls. You consider making a run for it because anything is better than this waiting and then suddenly, he’s there.

Behind the chair, he walks in, wide steps made by long legs. A narrow waist hidden underneath a form fitting aqua blue vest, silver trimmings embroidered along both sides of his wide chest and collar. Underneath the vest is a plain white blouse cinched at the wrists with a small ruffle around the base of his hand where it then puffs out slightly. He looks cool, as if the fabric were flowing with a relaxing breeze.

His lower body looks powerful, muscled and thick covered in dark gray trousers, but your eyes linger there for only a moment because you’re already searching for the kindly blonde face you’ve been staring at for days in the portrait you have.

What you find instead is long blonde hair, not as long as Bucky’s but long enough to flow in waves along the sides of his face, parted along the middle. The clean-shaven face from the portrait is covered in a thick neatly trimmed beard. It all comes together to make a manly visage. He might tear solid logs in two if he tried, he looks that strong.

He’s older than he’d been in the portrait you have and there’s a sadness in his storm blue eyes that is there instead of the blue sparkle of curiosity you’ve come to expect.

He walks with his hands behind his back and stops a few feet in front of you, staring at you just as you’re staring at him. Appraising you.

He’s just as beautiful as he is in his portrait but still a little different.

Suddenly, you remember yourself and you quickly curtsy, averting your gaze down to his black boots.

Neither of you speaks as you bow and the endless minute that you just endured spreads into a few endless more.

The silence is deafening and when your legs finally begin to ache, you shut your eyes to force yourself to remain in position.

“Stand up, your Highness.” He says, his voice is deep and even. Full of authority and impatience. A little colder than you expected. “I trust your trip went well?”

Slowly you stand up, finally tearing your eyes away from his feet to look back into those storm blue eyes. They’re not sad anymore, rather, they look slightly annoyed. Angry? No. Irritated.

“It was a very good trip, your Majesty. Thank you for asking.” You reply, a little too quiet because you haven’t been breathing.

More silence. He stares at you. Relentless. No smiles. No hint as to what he might be thinking. Only a scowl, thick eyebrows drawn in at the center, eyes brooding and sad. Like he wants to say something but won’t.

Finally…

“Why are you doing this?” He suddenly asks, taking a step towards you.

“Your Majesty?”

“This marriage. This whole thing, why? You could have anyone. You’re a princess.”

“I…” How do you answer that honestly? Natasha did say you’d have to lie on your feet. You hadn’t expected for it to be this soon. “I want to-to make my father happy.”

“Mm.” King Rogers says, understanding this reason but also unsatisfied. “Any other reasons?”

And as you stare at his handsome face, you know that what you’re about to say is most definitely not a lie, so you’ll tell him. At least there are some things you’ll be able to be true about.

“When I saw your portrait…” You begin, wondering if this is giving away too much. No…it’s good for him to know where you stand, right?

“My portrait? What portrait?” He asks, taking a step towards you but not moving forward.

You hurry to grab the compact from your dress pocket and unhook the clasp to show him.

He moves in closer, the heat of his body overtaking you and momentarily dulling your mind.

“When I saw it…I decided that I…I wanted to make you happy.” You admit and look up to find him staring at you, brow furrowed even deeper.

His stern expression makes your hope waver. What does it mean? That intense glower?

“That’ll never happen.” He tells you, his voice hard, defensive.

“Your Majesty?” You ask, slightly confused.

When he speaks, his voice is intimate, quiet, and sure. He says it right beside you, close enough that his whisper is as loud as a shout and it hits you just as hard. The pleasantness of his voice making your skin pimple while the harsh truth in it fills you with dread.

“You will never make me happy. Never.” He promises, then moves away from you back towards the doors behind his throne. “We’ll get married in the morning. Tell Tony I accept his offer.”

As he vanishes from view, taking his beautiful brooding face with him, he leaves behind the tiny shreds of your hope, completely eviscerated by his cool declaration that you—specifically you—will never make him happy. Never.

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duhragonball · 6 years

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (77/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[8 April 234 Before Age. Planet Pflaume.]

Most inhabited worlds in the galaxy were composed of iron and nickel, surrounded by a rocky crust and an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere. Sometimes certain moons fitting this description could be found orbiting much larger planets known as “gas giants” for their composition of mostly hydrogen and helium.

Pflaume was an example of what some astronomers called an “ice giant”. The term “ice” was somewhat misleading, as astronomers used it as a catch-all term for a multitude of volatile chemical compounds such as ammonia and methane, as well as water. While the ice giants contained a substantial amount of hydrogen and helium, the bulk of their mass was made of these “ice” compounds, with a core of solid “ices” and rock deep within. Ice giants were generally smaller than gas giants, but both types were uninhabitable to most known forms of life, due to the lack of a breathable atmosphere and a solid surface upon which to stand.

Nevertheless, there were still humanoids who took up residence on some ice giant planets, using the same technologies found on starships. The habitat on Pflaume was typical of this design. It was essentially a spacecraft that maintained a continuous flight within Pflaume’s turbulent atmosphere. Those who lived inside the vessel were protected from the freezing temperatures and intense winds outside, and an artificial gravity system simulated the conditions of a terrestrial planet.

Drang Dedruhn cared very little about these details as her transport completed the final leg of its flight to the Pflaume system. She admired the vivid purple color of the planet as the ship approached, but she had no interest in the chemistry of its atmosphere or the semantics of its astronomical classification, or the engineering feats that held its single city aloft. Her sole concern was the invitation she had received to visit this place, the motives behind it, and the opportunities it might present.

For nearly three years, Drang’s homeworld of Shafulb had been part of an interstellar alliance created and enforced by a Saiyan named Luffa. Drang was the supreme leader of one of the Federation’s founding member-worlds, Shafulb, and while the Federation had been a profitable venture for her planet, she privately chafed at the loss of independence. She knew she wasn’t alone in this sentiment. Other planetary leaders had jockeyed for position within the Federation, only to find that they could only get so far before they had to back down to Luffa’s authority. Luffa was an invincible warrior, and so any path to power that involved opposing her was doomed to failure. And so Drang had watched and waited for an opportunity to present itself.

When her retinue deboarded the transport, her host was there at the spaceport to meet her. He was six feet in height, with a lean, athletic frame. His thick black hair was meticulously styled in a fashion resembling businessmen and politicians around the galaxy, which matched the blue suit and tie he wore. When she stepped off the ramp, he knelt before her in a greeting that was clearly intended to resemble the customs of her homeworld.

“Your Holiness,” he said reverently.

Impressed and flattered by his gesture, she returned the greeting by extending her hand and allowing him to kiss it. As he did, he glanced up at her with dark, penetrating eyes that seemed to exude deep respect and reassurance all at once.

“You honor us,” she said as he rose to his feet.

“Welcome to Pflaume, Drang Dedruhn,” he said. “On behalf of my people, I greet you, High Priestess of the Shalfulb.”

“And I you,” Drang replied. “Rehval, King of the Saiyans.”

********

“May I ask you a personal question?” Drang asked as the Saiyan waiter filled her goblet.

“Please do,” the king replied.

“Do you spell it ‘R-E-H-V-A-L’, or ‘R-E-V-A-H-L’?”

Rehval began to laugh even as she finished the question. “Both forms are quite acceptable,” he said, shaking his head with amusement. “As well as a few others, but those two are the more popular variants. I understand that some journalists get into heaated arguments over the matter.”

“I only ask because I understood that Saiyans take their names very seriously,” Drang explained. “I didn’t want to risk offending you.”

“That’s very kind of you, Your Holiness,” he said. “And your understanding is correct. Many Saiyans take great offense if one misconstrues their given name. But I’d like to do away with that custom. To my way of thinking, the true honor is that the wider universe knows my name, and what it represents, regardless of how it’s spelled or pronounced. My hope is that my subjects will embrace the same attitude, and so I lead by example.”

“That’s a very interesting point of view, Your Majesty.”

“Please, call me Rehval, Your Holiness. I cherish my title, but I also enjoy setting it aside now and then, especially for social visits like this one.”

Drang blinked with surprise as the waiter filled Rehval’s goblet. Everything in the dining room was picture perfect. The table was set with silverware for each course, and arranged in the proper order for formal meals like this one. Rehval took his napkin and carefully laid it on his lap before sampling his goblet. Even the waiter was supremely professional. Despite his unkempt Saiyan hair, his cummerbund and black waistcoat were so crisp and clean that they seemed brand new. When he returned to serve the first course, he carried the silver tray in one hand with a professional flourish Drang had never imagined possible.

"Is something wrong, Your Holiness? You seem... unsettled."

"Er, no, of course not," she said with a nervous laugh. "To be honest, you're not at all what I expected, Rehval."

"Oh?"

"Well, the Saiyans I've encountered have all been so wild and uncouth," Drang said. "They do what they please, when they please, because they always know they're the strongest beings in the room."

He said nothing, but smiled pleasantly as he speared a portion of salad with his fork.

"I mean no offense, of course," she quickly added. "The same can be said for mercenaries and soldiers of any number of other species, but I've never known Saiyans to be anything else."

"Naturally," Rehval said. "We are a martial culture, after all. Each Saiyan is a warrior by default, though many of us do pursue other professions. My grandmother is a mathematician, for example."

Drang couldn't conceal her surprise at this. "I never would have imagined--"

"Most people are surprised to hear that," he said. "Honestly, I couldn't even begin to describe the work she does. Something involving prime numbers and 'dimensional fields', whatever those are. Between you and me, I think she enjoys doing work that bewilders most people. It's not so different from the mercenaries you've met, I'd imagine. She attacks equations and proofs with the same relish as a warrior on the battlefield. And she's quite a talented fighter as well."

"Forgive me, Rehval," she said. "I had no idea your species was so sophisticated."

"Not at all," Rehval said. "There are, of course, many on Planet Saiya who resemble the popular image of my people. But we also have poets, scholars, and artisans as well. Not as many as Shafulb, I admit, but we're very proud of what we have."

"It's too bad the rest of the galaxy doesn't know," Drang said.

"I quite agree," Rehval replied. "Which is why I've devoted my reign to diplomacy. Statecraft is something of a dirty word among Saiyan kings, but we've been an isolated world for too long. The galactic community only knows our species from contact with expatriates--usually mercenaries, as you say. I'm determined to change that, which is why I've reached out to leaders like yourself."

"Is that why you invited me here?" Drang asked. "To improve the public perception of your world?"

"If that was all I wished to accomplish," Rehval said, "then I would have invited some other Federation head of state. Ryba Booth, or Tik-Tak, or the Archduke of Penticede V. Any of them would have been sufficient for a mere diplomatic summit. I reached out to you, Your Holiness, because I've been an admirer of yours for some time."

She snorted with amusement, and felt slightly guilty for having made such an unseemly noise. Drang was used to a certain informality. As the supreme religious authority on Shafulb, etiquette was literally whatever she defined it to be at a given moment. Beyond Shafulb, most beings deferred to her because of the political power at her command. Drang had a long reputation for picking the winning side, and for that reason, people wanted her to be on their side, and were happy to put up with her messy eating habits and raucous laughter. Indeed, much of Drang's coarse, worldly behavior in public was a deliberate statement that she was too important to ignore or dismiss. She flaunted her influence the way Saiyans flaunted their strength, and so she had found the Saiyans relateable in this respect.

But Rehval was different. She had come here half-expecting him to challenge her to a burping contest after sharing an undercooked dinosaur carcass. Instead, he was the perfect diplomat: polished and practiced and so gregarious that she could barely believe he was a Saiyan at all. Drang was completely thrown off her game, but she was almost too impressed with Rehval to care.

"It's true," Rehval said. "I've studied your career for some time, Your Holiness. The wars with Despye, Woshad, and Kopey prior to the Federation brought you all together. Your rise to the office of High Priestess. I've even read some of your writings, though I will admit that I have trouble understanding most of them."

"Flattery is fine," Rehval," she said, "but if you really have studied my career, you'd know that I never had much patience with yes-men."

"Another trait of yours that I respect," Rehval said. "But I apologize if my praise seemed manipulative or insincere. I’ve been told that I come across like a bit of a gladhander."

"Very well. You'll find me easier to get along with if you skip the blandishments and say what you mean."

"I see," Rehval said. "Then how should one go about complimenting you, Your Holiness?"

She was blindsided by this. "Don't be... You asked me here to discuss Luffa, Your Majesty."

"That is a topic I wish to discuss," Rehval admitted. "But the principal reason I invited you here was because I admire you and I believed I would enjoy your company. Perhaps I should have made that more clear. I’m sorry if I misled you."

The waiter brought a second tray, containing strips of meat glazed in a sweet-smelling sauce.

"Ah, I think you'll enjoy this," he said. "It's a classic dish here in Pflaume City."

He picked up a piece from the tray and stuffed it into his mouth. After swallowing, he kissed each of his fingertips to recover as much of the sauce as he could. Then he noticed Drang's confused expression and smiled meekly.

"I'll admit," he said. "I don't know which fork is considered appropriate for this particular course. But it's fun to use your fingers now and again, isn't it?"

Drang returned his smile and reached for the tray to scoop up a few meat strips for herself.

*******

"You're not returning with the retinue?"

Drang had retired for the evening in an apartment in Pflaume City. Originally, she hadn't planned to stay beyond dinner, which was now a source of great consternation to one of her archbishops.

"Oh, lighten up, Nozed," she said to the video display in her bedroom. "The Saiyan King and I have a great deal to discuss, and it'll take more than one evening. He's generously arranged for me to stay on Pflaume for a few more days, and he would have done the same for my entourage, but there’s no point in keeping them around. You'll need them back on Shafulb more than I will here."

The image of Archbishop Nozed Kaberz was very sharp, considering the distance from Shafulb to Pflaume. Drang could actually see his nostrils flare with exasperation.

“I don’t like this, Drang,” he said frankly. Nozed had been one of her closest advisers for decades, and was one of the few people in the universe on a first-name basis with her. In public, they were careful to use each other’s titles and honorifics with great respect, but in private they were old friends who kept no secrets from each other.

“Well, why not?” she asked. “It’s not as if he asked me to stay on Planet Saiya. Pflaume is neutral ground. Well, there isn’t any ground here, actually. The point is, if he wanted to betray me, this would be a lousy place to do it, dearie.”

“Still, the location was his choice, Drang,” Nozed said. “And he is a Saiyan. You know how those savages are. Treachery is in their nature.”

“Don’t say that in front of our dear Federatrix,” Drang teased. “As for Rehval, he’s different somehow. I can’t explain it, but I’m certain he can be of great use to us, Nozed.”

“We’re in bed with one Saiyan already,” he said. “We don’t need a second meddling in our affairs. Unless he intends to remove the first...?”

“He’s barely mentioned Luffa since I arrived,” Drang said. “I don’t know what he wants with her, if anything. He seems more interested in cultivating good relations with Shafulb.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Nozed said. “Shafulb is part of the Federation, thanks entirely to one of his people. It’s obvious that he wants to approach her through you. The only question is whether he considers Luffa an ally or a threat.”

Drang nodded. She had been conflicted over how she would handle this matter from the moment Rehval had invited her to Pflaume. Luffa was no ordinary Saiyan, but a Super Saiyan, far more powerful than Rehval or any of his subjects. Most likely, he viewed Luffa’s influence over the Federation as a direct challenge to his rule, but he was no more able to depose her than Drang was, or any other Federation leader. If Rehval wanted to eliminate Luffa as a political rival, it made sense for him to reach out to potential allies like Drang.

On the other hand, it was also possible that Rehval saw Luffa as an asset, one he coveted for his own nation. Luffa was a humiliation for the rulers of the Federation member worlds, but she was also the Federation’s greatest weapon. If Rehval could somehow convince Luffa to abandon them for Planet Saiya, it would tilt the balance of power in the galaxy, and not in a way that pleased Drang at all.

So the dilemma came down to whether Drang was better off with Luffa or without her. Ultimately, this depended upon what Rehval planned to do with her. And yet, he seemed to be completely uninterested in discussing the matter. It had to be a negotiating tactic. Why else would he have invited her out here? Unless...

No. The possibility was too ridiculous to speak aloud, even to Nozed.

“I need time to find out what this Saiyan is really up to,” Drang finally said. “I’m sure you can manage without me for a few more days.”

“As you wish.” Nozed still didn’t like it, but he saw no use in pressing the issue.

“I take it Luffa still hasn’t returned to Federation space?” Drang asked.

“At last report she was somewhere in the Ijern sector, at least a week away,” Nozed replied. “She’s staying just close enough to the borders to come back if there’s trouble, but far enough away not to get involved with day-to-day affairs.”

“As usual,” Drang said. “The poor girl was just never the same after the Shockmaster War. Fine. I’ll contact you when I’m ready to return. Drang out.”

She shut off the terminal and the image of Nozed vanished. Drang sighed and prepared for bed. Rehval had offered to take her on a tour of Pflaume City, which would hopefully giver her a chance to discover his true intentions.

His true intentions toward Luffa, of course. No, the alternative was too ridiculous to speak aloud...

*******

[9 April 234 Before Age. Planet Pflaume.]

Under most circumstances, a tour of a place like Pflaume City would have bored Drang to tears. The city was an engineering marvel, but one that only an engineer could truly appreciate. As long as the place stayed afloat in Pflaume’s ammonia-methane atmosphere, Drang didn’t care about the details, and most of the city’s residents appeared to hold the same opinion. The amenities in the city were pleasant--even luxurious--for such a remote location, but Drang had seen better elsewhere. Pflaume City had a large marina, for example, but there was nothing noteworthy about it besides the fact that it was here, floating on an island in the clouds.

And yet, Rehval managed to make the whole experience seem worthwhile. Pflaume was something of a second home to him, he had told her. He tried to visit whenever he could, and there was something infectious about his enthusiasm for the place. His favorite monument in the city would have meant nothing to her if she had encountered it alone, but listening to him profess his love for the sculptor’s technique was a refreshing experience.

“I hope I’m not trying your patience, Your Holiness,” Rehval said. “I’ve been told that I tend to ramble where Pflaume City is concerned, and I know you’re a busy woman.”

“Not at all, Rehval,” she said cheerfully. “Some of my best friends are ramblers, and it’s been too long since I had a chance to while away an afternoon.

She patted his arm, which was currently around her own. Drang couldn’t recall when that had happened, but she didn’t feel any pressing need to separate herself from him.

“I was wondering,” Rehval said. “The clothes you have on. Are they also holy raiments, like the vestments you wore yesterday?”

She looked down at the light blue dress she wore. “It’s purely secular,” she said. “Though technically, my office as high priestess automatically consecrates whatever clothing I wear.”

“That must be very convenient,” Rehval said.

“I suppose it would be, if I took advantage of it more often,” Drang said. “I usually wear the official vestments at all times. I’ve grown accustomed to them, and the long flowing robes compliment my figure.”

“Then you wore this just for today,” Rehval said. “I’m honored.”

“I only...” Drang found herself at a loss for words, which seemed to happen a lot with him. “It just seemed that since I was taking time away from my duties...”

“I prefer the way you look now, if I may say so,” Rehval said. “Though you look lovely in anything.”

She didn’t know how to respond to this. Drang and Rehval were both mammalian humanoids, but his species was of a simian descent, while hers was delpinoid. She hadn’t seen his furry tail since they had met---she assumed it was tucked away somewhere beneath his suit--but the hair on his olive-skinned scalp and the pointed nose on his mostly flat face were enough to distinguish him as an alien. The Shafulb had slick, lustrous skin, which was mostly jet black except for a white region extending from their chin down to their torso. They had no visible hair. Their ears were essentially holes on the sides of their heads, and they had blunt snouts instead of noses. Healthy Shafulbs were thicker than typical humanoids, due to the presence of a layer of blubber beneath their skin. Drang was fatter than most, which didn’t bother her at all, though she knew many alien males compared her unfavorably with women of their own species.

And yet, here was Rehval, the King of the Saiyans, practically telling her she was pretty, as if they were adolescents on a date! She had heard of Shafulb who dabbled with non-delphinoid species, but she never understood the attraction, and she never dreamed that any alien would ever express attraction towards her, sincerely or otherwise.

“I hope you’ve worked up an appetite,” Rehval said before she could question his motives. “I’ve saved the best for last.” He led her into a elevator and set it to take them to the city’s highest level.

“I thought you said all the best restaurants are on Level 12,” Drang said.

“They are,” Rehval replied. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels slightly whiled the elevator car ascended. “That’s why I... Well, I shouldn’t give it away.”

The suspense began to whet Drang’s interest, and when they reached the top level, she began to understand what he meant by “saving the best for last”. The first level was an observation deck that spanned the entire width of the city. Above them, the violet skies of Pflaume could be seen in all directions. There was no sound, but as the thick clouds streaked around them, it looked very much like they had stepped outside the protective hull of the city to stand fully exposed to the poisonous atmosphere outside.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Rehval asked. “It’s not much to look at during the night. The clouds are too thick for the stars to be visible, but I see enough of the stars whenever I’m on Planet Saiya. No, this is a a wonder you can only find here. Ah, and when the sun sets... well, we really should come by later for that. The days on Pflaume are thirteen hours long.”

Drang couldn’t stop looking at the sky. “How--?” was as far as she could express her confusion.

“We’re still inside the hull of the city,” he assured her. “The top level is covered by a dome made of the same materials, but there’s an elaborate sensor array covering the dome’s exterior. A fiber optic network inside the hull of the dome transmits that information to projection screens mounted on the interior surface, giving us a real-time view of the outside.”

“Incredible,” Drang said. Despite her holy office, Drang was rarely moved in a spiritual way, though the sight of Pflaume’s atmosphere roaring around her in all directions made her recall an ancient prayer. “Thy sea is so great, and my boat is so small...” she murmured to herself.

“I’m glad you like it,” Rehval said, taking her by the hand. “I know it’s difficult to look away, but there’s a lot to see on the deck as well. It’s mostly parkland here, but there’s some mansions on the other side of those hills in the east. Ah, and there’s Cairt with our lunch. Perfect timing.”

Cairt was a Saiyan who had prepared a picnic blanket and arranged various dishes upon it. Rehval led Drang by the hand to the site, and dismissed Cairt with a firm handshake. He then sat down and began describing the various delicacies to her.

She sat beside him, much closer than she had planned, and hung on his every word.

********

“This is all too much,” Drang said two hours later, after they had finished their meal. “I can’t remember having such a wonderful time.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Holiness,” Rehval said. “Your company has been an oasis in a desert of official duties and responsibilities.”

“Please,” she said. “Call me Drang.”

He nodded in appreciation of this gesture, and kissed her hand gently. “All right,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough for sharing your time with me, Drang.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the tip of her snout. She would have thought this experience would be stranger than it turned out to be. Impulsively, she returned the kiss.

It occurred to her that when she closed her eyes, his alien physiology didn’t matter all that much. He was here, he was warm and affectionate, and none of the Shafulb lovers from her heady youth had ever made her feel quite this way. They had been attractive, certainly, but they only loved her for her authority. To those men, she had been like a stone idol, to be revered and maintained. Rehval made her feel like a woman, perhaps for the first time in her long life.

And when she opened her eyes, it occurred to her that his alien physiology was much more attractive to her than it had been before...

********

The majestic Pflaumian sunset had come and gone some time ago. Rehval had taken Drang to a villa on the observation deck that belonged to a wealthy friend of his, who had a standing invitation for Rehval to make himself at home during his visits to Pflaume City. In the guest bedroom, Drang wrapped herself in a blanket from the bed and curled up on a canapé in front of the fireplace.

“Where did they get the wood?” Drang asked as she watched the flames dance upon the burning logs. “Don’t tell me there’s a forest on Pflaume City too.”

Rehval made a genial laugh as he opened a bottle of Camelian brandy and poured glasses for both of them. “There is an arboretum, as a matter of fact, but my friend had these shipped in from his home planet. He told me that they produced the best firewood in the universe, and he wanted nothing but the finest for his home away from home.”

Drang cackled softly. “The things people do with their money,” she said as she took one of the glasses from him. “Well, as long as I don’t have to foot the bill, I can’t complain.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Rehval said.

She wasn’t sure what to say. There weren’t enough words to properly express how she felt about him, and how he had made her feel. To think that she had found everything she had ever wanted in a Saiyan. A few days ago, she would have made an off-color joke about how making love to a Saiyan was a form of assisted suicide, but now...

Well, she knew better now, didn’t she? There was something intoxicating about trusting oneself to someone powerful enough to destroy an entire world. The only thing she feared from him now was that he would leave her.

“You’ve been very quiet, Drang,” Rehval said as he walked around her view of the fire to reach a chest on the other side of the room. “I suppose I miss that boisterous voice of yours.”

“I just... well, I don’t want to screw this up,” she said plainly. “All of this... and you... It’s more than I deserve. It’s so wonderful, and--”

“I feel the same way,” he said. “This has certainly gone well beyond a diplomatic visit, hasn’t it?”

Drang smiled. “Eventually, we’ll have to go back to our respective worlds, won’t we? We can see each other again, but it doesn’t feel like it’ll be enough.”

He opened one of the drawers in the chest and retrieved a small box. “Perhaps I can ease your fears,” he said. “I’d like you to have this.”

Drang looked at the box in his hands with wonder. “What is it?” she asked.

“A token of my esteem. The man who made it claimed that it was an amulet that protects the bond between lovers.”

He opened the lid, and Drang saw a golden band with a thin leather cord to fasten it. In the center of the band was a red jewel, which seemed to glow more intensely than it should have in the low lighting of the room.

“It’s beautiful,” Drang said, somewhat surprised by her own reaction. If any of this were happening to a character in a movie, Drang would have walked out of the theater and demanded a refund. There was a storage bin on Shafulb that contained a large collection of gaudy trinkets she had received from various envoys over the decades. She regarded such “tokens of esteem” as perfunctory gifts, worthy only of silent contempt.

But this one was different. It was a gift from Rehval, a symbol of his love. And more than that, it seemed like it was made for her, like it was calling out to her... Even so, she felt unworthy of what it stood for.

“I couldn’t,” she said awkwardly. “It’s too much...”

“At least let me see how it looks on you,” Rehval offered. He moved around behind her canapé and gently slipped the amulet under her chin. She yielded to his request, mostly because it allowed her to feel his touch once again.

“Bear with me,” he said with a frustrated chuckle. “I’ve never actually put this on anyone before. The fastener’s a little tricky... There we are.”

In that moment, when he linked the amulet around her neck, she felt something flow through her that was beyond her comprehension. She shuddered, nearly spilling her drink, and her breathing became shallow and rapid. She tingled all over, and when he walked around the canapé to face her, she looked up at him with a passion exponentially greater than what she had felt for him before.

“Breathtaking,” he said. “It really suits you, Drang. It’s entirely your choice, but it would mean a lot to me if you would keep it.”

Every word he said hit her like a drug. He was beautiful. His voice was beautiful. He was offering her a choice, but how could she refuse something that meant so much to him. A moment ago she had actually tried to decline his gift! Now, she couldn’t imagine living without it.

“I’ll never take it off,” Drang gasped. Even this seemed insufficient somehow. She wished there was some way to wear it even more than she already was, even if that made no sense.

“Very good,” he said. “I’m pleased to see you like it.”

Drang smiled blankly and tracked him with her eyes as he moved toward the chest to fetch his glass. “Rehval! Let me get that for you!” she offered.

“There’s no need,” he said as he raised the glass in his hand. “See? I’ve already got it.”

“Oh,” she said, cursing herself for being such a fool.

Dimly, she realized that something had happened to her, that she was no longer quite herself anymore, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. If the amulet was responsible, then there was nothing to be done, since he wanted her to keep it. If he liked her better this way, then so be it. Whatever made him happy. That was all that mattered.

He pulled up a chair from the corner of the room and sat down in front of the fireplace to look her in the eye.

“A toast,” he said, holding up his glass. “To our new relationship.”

She nodded with an adoring grin and they downed the brandy together. It tasted sweeter than anything she had ever known, because it was from him. He had given it to her. She would do anything for him, and it would never be enough to repay his love.

“Now,” he said with a frown. “I think this would be a good time for us to discuss Luffa.”

Drang couldn’t agree more.

NEXT: The Invitation

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #rehval #king of the saiyans #drang dedruhn #pflaume

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fernthefanciful · 7 years

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Short Story: the Enchanted Baker

Short and fun story written by me for the dialogue prompt: “Why is there a dragon in your fridge?” “It was hot.” Enjoy, let me know what you think!

“Er, Steve, why is there a dragon in your fridge? I shrugged and looked up from the tiny fondant flower I was trying to put onto the smallest chocolate cake I’d ever made. “It was hot.” I told Jake. “The detail is amazing, man. How did you get the scales so shiny?” He asked. “He’s not a – I wouldn’t do that -” I warned but was already too late. Jake yelped and staggered back a step, “Dude! That thing is alive!” The bunny-sized dragon chose that moment to climb out of the fridge and make its way over to Jake. “Well, yeah.” I told my friend, trying not to laugh as he backed away from my new pet. “Okay,” Jake invited, now pressed with his back against the kitchen bar, “care to elaborate?” “So, remember that weird dude that hired me a couple weeks ago? The guy claiming to be a mage?” I waited for his nod to continue, “well, turns out he’s legit. He tossed in this huge egg as a bonus, right? Claiming it would make more money for me in the end. Few days later, this little guy hatches.” Smaug had now climbed up Jake’s jeans with his tiny claws, dodging Jake’s flailing arms, and was rummaging through his pockets. Smaug made a sound of triumph and pulled out a shiny nickel. I gently laid down the tiny fondant flower and walked over to the small table by the couch. The little dragon ran over to me, nickel firmly in his beak and chirped happily up at me, showing off his prize. I patted him on the head as I pulled the tablecloth aside, revealing a pile of loose change and other shiny buttons and beads he had scrounged up from God-knows-where. Smaug ducked under the table and curled up on his hoard, making weird purring/chirping sounds while he chewed on the nickel. Jake was staring at him, and me, mouth hanging slightly open. “Yeah, I don’t know either, man. Smaug thinks I’m his mommy or something and keeps collecting things. I think there’s, like, twenty bucks in change here and it’s only been a week.” “You have a dragon as a pet? A freaking wizard gave you a dragon as a bonus?” Jake demanded. I picked the delicate flower back up and finally got it in its place. “Yeah, he was really happy about the cake. Said it gave everyone a boost.” I shrugged again, holding the three-tiered cake away from me to look at it properly. “Apparently I’m magic or something. Hey, does this look right to you?” I waved him over holding up the teeny wedding cake where he could see. “It’s freaking adorable,” Jake said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “why are you making doll-house cakes right now?” “For a client, two fairies are getting married -” “Dude, you can’t just say that!” I winced at his vehemence. “Right, sorry, two pixies are getting married and asked me to make their cake.” I carefully put the cake down with the other four cakes, each in a different flavour and with slightly different decorations. “The bride could be here any moment for a tasting. You can wait if you want, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t make an ass out of yourself while she’s here.” I tossed him a meaningful glare. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Right.” Jake stated, one eyebrow raised. “I promise I won’t embarrass you in front of the imaginary, small humanoids. Can we get back to how your magic now?” Just as he said it four pixies appeared out of nowhere. A puff of pinkish smoke that vaguely shimmered in the afternoon light and suddenly there were four pint-sized women standing on my dinner table. Jake took that moment to choke on his own spit and fled further into the kitchen. Daffodil, the bride-to-be, looked after him, then back to me. “He’ll be fine,” I assured her, “You’re looking lovely today, are you exited?” She smiled broadly while she made a small twirl through the air. I smiled at her. “Shall we begin with the lemon?” For the next few minutes the bride and her entourage tasted the mini cakes and tried to tell me, in a combination of gestures and speech that sounded like ringing bells, which flavours and decoration they wanted for the big day. It was going to me an ombre cake in purple with the tiniest fondant peonies, hydrangea flowers and golden berries on top. This was going to be fun. I sat back from my notepad and regarded my client. “So, you have around 120 guests, right?” She nodded, her blue hair bouncing with the movement. “Are they all your size or will there be guests bigger? Like myself?” Daffodil came over and took the pencil from me, the thing almost as big as herself. She regarded my notes for a moment and made a crude six on the paper. “Six bigger people.” I clarified. “Are they all my size or are they bigger?” She wrote a two and an arrow pointing up. “Two bigger.” I confirmed, mentally calculating how much sponge-cake I would need. “How big are we talking?” Then everything just – changed. I wasn’t sitting at my table any more but was standing in the middle of a forest. A huge creature hulking over me, its breath hot on my face. I was afraid to move, afraid to even breathe because one bite of this thing and I’d have lost a head. I blinked and everything was back to normal. Swallowing hard I looked at Daffodil, who was looking slightly guilty. “Okay -” I tried, my voice two octaves too high. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Okay, so a full sized cake each for them, and one ten inch round cake for the others to share. Or would you like cupcakes?” My client shook her head and pointed towards the pastel cake. “Alright, I’ll have it done in time for the ceremony. Full moon, right?” She nodded. That would give me six days, it would be tight, but it was doable. We said our goodbyes and the pixies disappeared again in a puff of smoke. Jake finally dared to venture out of the kitchen again. “Steve?” he started, “I’m not hallucinating, right? There really were tiny women on your table just now?” I made some final notes about the wedding cakes before putting my pencil down and turning towards him. “You’re not hallucinating,” I reassured him, “apparently Alaric, the mage, spread the word. Like I said, I’m magic.” I added a little jazz-hands for emphasis. “Yeah -” Jake trailed off, “and what does that mean, exactly?” “I have no idea,” I laughed, “when Daffodil came for her first appointment she requested that her wedding cake would ‘spread happiness and love’, whatever that means. I don’t now what I’m doing, man, but I guess I’m doing it right because she left a lot more – sparkly.” Jake opened his mouth to answer when there was a knock at my door. He quirked an eyebrow. “What is it? Witches? Dragons of the full-sized variety? You know what, I’ll get it.” “I think witches make their own sweets.” I joked as he walked over and pulled open the door. A man was standing there, dressed in full armour with an honest-to-God sword hanging from his belt. “You are Steven the Baker?” He asked Jake, who was looking towards the heavens with a ‘why-me’ expression on his face. “Actually, that would be me.” I told the stranger. “My Lord Baruchiel would like you to bake him something that would give him the strength to vanquish his enemies.” The stranger stated. “Uhm, okay?” I tried, “I can pencil him in next week.” He looked back towards the door, seemingly both nervous and annoyed. “His Lordship would prefer not to wait.” As he said this, a huge man stepped into my apartment, his giant white-and-grey wings folded behind his back. They were decorated with delicate golden chains, dappled with what I suspected were real diamonds, reflecting rainbows in the afternoon light. Jake looked over to me as if to say ‘dude, your life’. I looked back saying ‘dude, I know.’ Then I turned towards my new clients and uttered a phrase I’d never thought I’d say. “I’m sorry, sir,” I told the angel, “but the pixies were first.

#fiction #fiction friday #dragons #baking #and fairies oh my!#Guys I made a thing #first time posting like this #here goes nothing #marjolijnwrites #marjolijnmakes

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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[HR] Hades' Coin

My parents refused to go to my grandfather’s funeral.

I couldn’t believe the news. I was strangling my phone against my ear when Mom first said it. It left my mind a blank. I needed a moment just to process it.

“Why not?” I asked.

“You should know why. We haven’t spoken to that bastard since right after you were born.”

It was embarrassing to admit, but there was some truth to that. As far as I could remember, they never had any birthdays or holidays with him. Any time I saw him, it was always because my aunt Lillian drove me to the estate.

“Grand” was an understatement for his property. It was an isolated plot of land, miles away from any sign of civilization.

As soon as we’d turn onto his street, the smooth pavement turned to gravel. Aunt Lilian was a cautious driver and thought that if we didn’t move slowly enough, there’d be a flat tire. And if that happened? We’d be stuck until our AAA came.

Every time we crept down the street, I could hear the crunch of each shard of gravel. The tiny pieces of broken glass strewn about the road were just a rumor. But that was until my cousins and I took our walks together.

We were too scared to walk to the forests that surrounded the estate, so the gravel street was our only choice. It was a routine for us every time we met at Grandpa’s. It was peaceful at first. The only sounds were our voices and the few birds around us.

But one day, we stopped when our cousin Ronnie wasn’t keeping up with us. We knew he had a short enough attention span to be diagnosed with ADHD. And the fact that he was hyper-observant didn’t make a good combination.

It meant noticing he hadn’t kept up with us, to watch something crawling in the acres of lonesome grassland. Or worse, whatever dwelled in the trees at the edge of the forests.

The last time we took a walk down the gravel street was the easiest time we found him. Once we looked back, there he was, yards away from us. His pudgy body was bent over toward the gravel.

It took a few minutes to walk to him, but Ronnie acted as if he hadn’t noticed us.

I asked, “What is it?”

He adjusted his glasses and replied, “Look.”

All of us gave a closer look, and we saw a tiny, transparent, sharp sliver of glass. After that, we saw another. And another, until we noticed a tiny trail of it down the road itself.

From there, we moved onto the tall grass, and noticed an old Yuengling bottle top, covered in bits of mud. We went back to the gravel—it made avoiding any glass shards a lot easier.

As kids, we all saw this as a trail of sharpened fangs jutting from the earth, feeling for any fresh prey. We didn’t realize it was blatant neglect, just a reason to stay indoors.

It made me shiver to be in the car when Aunt Lillian drove us. With each crunch from the gravel, I pictured one of the shards stuck in one of the tires. Any second, we’d be stuck on the middle of the highway.

I couldn’t open my mouth until she stopped at my house. It had to have been the strangest thing in the world for a little girl to ask, “Can we look at the tires? Please?”

Aunt Lillian and Uncle Sean gave each other a bewildered look. Then Uncle Sean turned to me and asked, “The tires? How come?”

“The glass.”

“What do you mean ‘the glass’?”

I told them about the broken glass we found on the gravel and the tall grass. That was all it took for them to get out of the car and look for themselves. I must’ve given them a heart attack, but the car was fine.

“Jesus Christ,” Uncle Sean muttered under his breath. “Now his drinking’s a safety hazard.” Then he said to Aunt Lillian, “You think with all his money, your father would hire a maid, or at least someone to handle that yard of his.”

Lillian had to admit, “I know he has a drinking problem. But it’s only this bad because Mother passed away.” She told me, “I’m sorry, Honey. I’ll walk you up to your parents.”

But when I got out of the car, Uncle Sean said, “They divorced. She divorced him. I’m surprised he even noticed.”

She walked me up to the front door and gave a warm hello to them. I was staring at the ground, my uncle’s words echoing in my head.

As a child, I didn’t have a concept of drinking or divorce. But I didn’t ask my parents. There wouldn’t have been a good reaction. Even though one of us could’ve been hurt, I didn’t feel like it was my business to ask what those words meant, or why Grandma left him. But I think deep down, I feared family drama.

I remembered the conversation ending with Mother telling me, “If you don’t want to see your grandfather, you don’t have to.”

Her words made it sound like I had the choice, but the look in her eyes said otherwise. They were telling me that I wasn’t supposed to visit the estate. It was the one way for the cousins to see each other back then.

We were a big family, and unless the meet-up was at Grandpa’s, most of the aunts and uncles were too busy to keep in touch. And even then, they never said much to each other. There was always an air of reluctance about them. It was like they secretly disliked each other, but good manners stopped them from being honest about it.

I didn’t think I needed to tell Aunt Lilian and Uncle Sean about this, but all the cousins had a reason to stay outside. It was a relief for us. The broken glass littered around the yard was a hazard, but we still preferred that over being trapped indoors.

Avoiding the glass was easier than what waited in the house. After all, the yard had enough space to roam until Grandpap’s home looked like a beetle you could hold between your thumb and forefinger. So the glass couldn’t have been scattered throughout the entire estate. When we explored the outer parts of the property, there weren’t any more broken bottles that we saw.

Even when we played games and hid in the grass from each other, there wasn’t a bottle top in sight. That was something to be thankful for. After the encounter on the gravel road, it gave us more reason to stay outside.

But as the autumns waned, winters crept in. A blanket of snow would cover the estate, temperatures dropping to less than ten Fahrenheit. No matter how much we bundled up, we couldn’t stand the biting sting of the cold for long.

And when the freezing winds were too intense for us to handle, the sight of the trees made us run back inside as fast as we could. The way they looked, especially with the sheet of snow, gave cousins Ronnie and Marissa bad dreams.

Marissa was the youngest cousin, and the most imaginative. She was the one who had big dreams of being a world-famous painter one day. So it wasn’t surprising that her nightmares about the trees were the most vivid.

Even when we were trying to comfort her, we had the close the curtains so she couldn’t see out the window. Steven, the oldest of us, looked like his face turned white as the snow outside. The wind always howled during the winter nights, and it was louder when I peered out the window.

The dense forests around the property were bare all year ‘round. No matter how much it rained and shined, nothing ever grew on the branches. The bark was stained a deep grey, like a granite headstone. It was as if a horrible parasite drank every last drop of life from the trees. It felt like crocodile skin, with more wrinkles than an old man who chain smoked since childhood. The fact that they were still standing boggled our minds.

But from the way they were misshapen, their branches looked like they were reaching for the house. They each had a pair of separated trunks that joined together. They were legs fusing to create a pelvis.

In the winters, the snow was a thick, chalk-white skin over the trees. They looked humanoid, with enormous, stalk-like heads. Each of the trees would have anywhere from two to six stiff arms, always reaching toward the windows.

During the night, the sight of them was the worst. If one of us had our blinds open, the moon shone enough to show their outlines. It must have been some illusion, but the moonlight reflected off the trees to make their legs look like they were inching out of the ground.

But if we could ignore the trees and the cold, we wouldn’t have to endure the thin clouds of cigar smoke that riddled the whole estate. We wouldn’t have to think about the undercooked dinners. And we didn’t have to worry about Cousin Marissa sneezing to death from the layers of grime and dust.

None of that could’ve been enough for my parents to cut him off though. Even in a home filthy like my grandpap’s, my parents wouldn’t disown someone over a problem like that. It was a forty-room house, but a few maids could’ve solved the issue.

When I finally asked my parents about it, I should’ve seen the real answer coming. It was about the money.

“Because that old bastard wouldn’t spend a nickel on anyone but himself,” my mother told me. “Before we had you, your dad and I weren’t doing so great. We had just enough to make rent every month and didn’t have a whole lot to eat. We had to watch every dollar we spent. We tried asking him for help—and plenty of times at that. We were pretty much begging him after your dad got laid off. But you know what he said?”

“No,” I replied. “What?”

“He said, ‘I had to work for everything I had. You and your siblings are alike. You only call me when you want a hand-out.’ And then he hung up on us.”

I was silent. I had no idea what to say to that.

Mother broke the silence and said, “And that’s when your grandfather and I stopped talking. But lucky for us, your dad and I dug ourselves out of that hole. I know I shouldn’t say things like this, but he wasn’t there much. Sure, we grew up with a big house and everything, but that wasn’t the same thing as having a mom or a dad. The estate was pretty big and had all sorts of lavish things, but behind it all? It was an empty place. If It wasn’t for your aunts and uncles, we wouldn’t have had much of anything. We were really all we had back then.”

I was twenty-four when those two had their last chance to make amends. What she said lingered in my head the whole time. At any point, all it would’ve taken was for one of them to say, “I’m sorry.” But they were too busy building a wall of pride to keep themselves apart.

On the last opportunity to make peace, when he was on a hospital bed for leukemia, Ronnie, Marissa and I were the first to meet at the hospital. It was strange to see them grown up as an appraiser and an actress. Part of my mind would always picture them as kids, no matter how old we got.

After the three of us, a few of our aunts and uncles showed up with us. But not all the siblings came around. The entire time, I waited for them, looking at my wristwatch, talking with the other cousins, and watching over our grandpap.

At first, I didn’t know what to expect when I first heard the word “leukemia.” But on the hospital bed, he didn’t look much different than when he was slowly limping around the house.

His skin was pale as the snow that covered the walking forest on his estate. Lavender bags of fatigue hung under his yellowed eyes. They sagged like the skin on his arms and legs. There were still thin tufts of white and grey hair along the sides of his head. It was impossible to tell how long he really had left.

It always shook me to the core that someone who’d been there for as long as I could remember wouldn’t be around in the future. And it shook me just as much that my parents meant it when they said they’d never see him again. I didn’t think they did, but neither came to the last hospital visit, nor the funeral.

At first, I thought maybe my parents had their reasons. But that was when Grandma showed up. Despite their differences, she still came when she heard the news anyway. My grandpap’s voice was too weak to enunciate much, but it was the first time I saw him smile in years.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them both this happy to see each other. Grandma’s eyes welled up, and regret filled her voice. She squeezed his hand, and didn’t let go, even after he flatlined.

The funeral was the first time I’d seen all these old pictures of him as a young man. Some were in black and white. Others were sepia. The black and white ones were formal pictures, with him suited up and his hair combed back to perfection. They had a strange, airbrushed quality to them. It was a kind of je ne sais pas, but pictures like this had a hypnotizing feel to them.

The sepia pictures were the more interesting of the bunch though. They were the first time I’d ever been shown how he made his fortune. It was a collection of him at archaeological digs. A few were around the outskirts of Egypt, Greece, and several other places around the world. It turned out my interest in ancient civilizations didn’t come from nowhere.

The major difference though, was he managed to travel everywhere in his twenties and sell most of what he dug up. Aunt Lillian knew the museums those objects were in. They were out of the country, but I told her I’d go, provided the money was there.

The idea of an inheritance never occurred to me until the siblings first mentioned it to the rest of the cousins and me. It wasn’t long after the funeral when we were called in to meet the attorney about how the estate divided between us.

The siblings inherited the deed for the house. There was no question about it. What the cousins got—that’s what paralyzed us in confusion.

“’To my grandchildren,’” said the attorney, reading a hard copy of the will. “’I bestow my revolver, and…’” He adjusted his glasses as if he couldn’t read quite right. He hesitated, realizing it wasn’t a mistake, and said, “’Hades’ Coin.’”

He placed the gun on the table, as well as a small, black box. The name “Hades’ Coin” sounded familiar. It was a name that struck me, but I couldn’t remember where.

Ronnie and Marissa decided not to take either. I wasn’t a gun person myself but didn’t see the harm in taking the revolver home. Only when I checked it did I realize it was loaded. I couldn’t figure out why my grandfather would want us to have his gun—and loaded, but it was too late to get an answer for that.

I was more fascinated with the coin. Just from the look of it, there was no doubt it had a lot of years on it. After digging around online and in the local library, I finally remembered what exactly that object was.

The coin was an imperfect circle, with a depiction of the Greek god Hades, and writing in Greek characters. It was an object believed to bring extreme wealth to the owner. It made sense, because what a lot of people didn’t know was, Hades wasn’t just the god of death. He was also the god of wealth. Since money was metal, metal came from under the ground, and he was the king of the underworld, it only added up that Hades was the wealthiest of the gods.

I wasn’t exactly multilingual though, so the writing needed translation. At first, translating the characters into letters was a mistake. It only came out as nonsense. But as it turned out, the alphabet was also used as a numbers system, so I translated it the other way.

The second time around, the string of characters came out as “14-6-18.” Other coins like this didn’t have a date engraved in them like this, so it must’ve been one of a kind. The value of it had to have been astronomical.

But at the same time, I didn’t want to trade it for anything. Something about the coin made me feel as if I had to keep it. Going forward, it stayed on my person, no matter the circumstances. Going out with the object securely fastened on a necklace was essential as wearing clothes.

A few days into the new habit, I thought about the money leftover in the estate. None of the cousins had an answer about it. Neither did the siblings. The only choice I had was calling the attorney.

Once he picked up and I asked about the money, he gave me my answer. There was several million left in his bank account, and there were clear instructions for it in his will.

My grandfather had every cent he had in the bank withdrawn and buried with his casket after the funeral.

I was frozen in shock. I couldn’t believe it. That greedy son of a bitch held on to every penny, even after he croaked! What in the blue Hell were you going to do with millions of dollars when you were dead!?

That was when I remembered what my mother said. She was hiding a lot of resentment. It wasn’t in her words, but I heard it loud and clear in her tone. And I started to think there was a damn good reason for it.

Similar feelings crept into my skull and festered for weeks. I still couldn’t wrap my head around his money being buried with his rotting body. Why wouldn’t you pass it on to someone else? Over enough time, I gently let true feelings of hatred marinate and bubble inside.

It’s what gave me an idea. I’d visit the grave, but late enough to when the cemetery was completely empty.

I brought a flashlight, an empty backpack, and a spade shovel for the ride. Traffic was comfortably absent, but that was to be expected after three in the morning.

Coming to a slow stop, I got out of the car, and walked under the arches of the cemetery entrance. It took a little time, but I found his gravestone. There wasn’t even a second thought as I struck the cold, hard ground with the shovel.

I didn’t even think of the revolver back at home. All I thought of was doing with the money what that old bastard should’ve had the decency to do himself. It had to have been at least a half hour before I struck something solid.

Once the sound of wood hit my shovel, I cleared the rest of the dirt, and found a door. I didn’t remember the casket being made of flat wood. But the coffin could’ve been a high-quality wood that started decomposing by now.

But the door had a lock on it. It was a custom-made combination lock. Was it installed after the funeral service? Even when we saw the casket lowered, I never saw any kind of lock. It had to have been installed after the service.

It was a complete waste of time. What was I doing out in the middle of the night, trying to dig up a family grave? He must have thought of everything. It was all just to spite us.

But I remembered something. I looked at the coin that stayed around my neck and gazed at the three numbers. There was no way it’d work, but it was better than nothing.

I spun the dial. My hand moistened with cold sweat. With each revolution, I looked around. There wasn’t a watchman in sight. After the first three spins to the right, my heart rose to my throat. Two spins to the left. I heard my own heartbeat, pounding in my ears. One more rotation to the right. I had the dial on the last number perfectly.

I had to psyche myself up. It was time to try the lock. My fingers were trembling. A single, hard yank, and—

It popped open.

And I realized, he wanted one of us to come down here. He wanted one of the cousins to dig up his grave. But why? It wouldn’t matter once the door was opened.

I expected to find a body smothered in money. But when I lifted the door open, I couldn’t believe it. My heart stopped in my chest. It took a moment to grasp what I was seeing.

There wasn’t a body, or stacks of money. It was a staircase coated in mold and a foul stench I couldn’t identify. But I went down the creaky stairs with my shovel and flashlight anyway. The darkness of the hallway I was walking into felt like it was closing in on me. And as I reached the first fork in my path, there was a loud slam behind me.

I turned and didn’t see the little moonlight down the staircase anymore. I was closed in.

The corridor itself had to have been twelve feet tall and six feet wide. And the flashlight was enough to see what was straight ahead.

At the fork, I went left. There was no way to tell how stable the corridors were. I walked slowly, thinking it’d prevent the place from caving in.

Somewhere, there was a thump-thump-thump echoing all throughout. It was a distance away, so I still had time.

I continued further down the hallway, following the turns. They came sooner each time, leading to a dead end.

Going back and taking the right turn, it led to another fork. This time, it split into three different paths.

Another thump-thump. But it as much louder—just ahead of me. I needed a better sense of where the Hell I was going. Shining my flashlight down the left and middle paths, I didn’t see much. The middle looked like a dead end, though it was hard to tell for sure.

The real mistake was shining it down the right-hand path. I didn’t see what was at the end, but it wasn’t just emptiness. A shadow was against the wall. I couldn’t make out most of the shape. But it looked tall enough to barely fit in the corridor. It had a bulky figure and looked humanoid in its outline.

But I didn’t have long. The instant I shined my flashlight down its territory, I saw it turn and move. Louder, booming thumps galloped toward me.

I didn’t have any time to think. I sprinted down the left corridor and felt stronger and stronger vibrations in the floor. There was no way to outrun whatever was behind me.

I felt it inches behind me. Fatigue was settling in fast. My body was about to give out. It felt like my head was about to rupture from the boiling panic.

Clenching the shovel, I turned around and swung with all my strength.

I only caught a glimpse of what was behind me before striking it in the face. Its whole body dropped to the floor. The massive thud was enough to make the whole place tremble. After the body fell, there was a clang of metal.

It didn’t make any noise after that. I had to assume it was dead. Hitting it with the flashlight made me gasp. But the thing in front of me didn’t look like it was breathing.

No doubt—it was close to being tall as the corridor itself, with enormous muscles, covered in bulging veins. Its figure wasn’t human.

It resembled a gorilla more than a person. The arms were long enough to meet its feet while standing upright. Its body was perfectly bald, the complexion whiter than the moon itself.

The eyes were the size of baseballs, with no space between them. Its brow hung down over them like a Neanderthal, just below the gash from the shovel. There wasn’t really a nose—only a pair of long slits above its mouth.

But the jaw was what I stared at the most. It had three rows of small teeth, like those of a shark. A pair of canines sat in the front, jutting up enough to reach its cheekbones. Whatever this thing was, it was meant to tear through flesh and bone like a sheet of newspaper.

Right next to it was the head of the shovel. But that was fine. Even if the shovel was cheap and badly made, it did its job.

I stepped away and went further down the corridor. It snaked through a few turns, enough to make me think this was the wrong way—that running straight into the beast was the only path.

But at the end of it was a door. There wasn’t a lock on the outside, or anything to keep me out. There wasn’t even a knob. A little push, and I was in.

I found myself staring directly into another room. It had stacks or hundred-dollar bills, all surrounding the casket from the funeral.

And that’s when I realized, whatever that thing was, it’s why we were given the revolver in the first place. A stupid mistake, but it wasn’t worth worrying about now. Filling the backpack with what money would fit, I heard a sound. The hallways weren’t quiet for long.

There were more thuds from the monster as it got up and started walking again. But it wasn’t coming closer. It was moving further away.

I had to move slowly again. The less I provoked the thing, the better. But I was ready to bash it across the skull again, even if it gave me just a minute to run.

It didn’t come for me again like I expected. I found myself nearing the exit alone. But as I approached the staircase, the doorway back to the surface was wide open again.

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