All 15.2 - Pull Yourselves Together

"...Well, I'm going to go ask him about it."
"Nooo," Lucca drew out the word, scolding "You can't just do that!"
"Well, I'm going to, so you can come if you like," Victor replied, standing up and moving towards the hallway. Shaking his head, Lucca followed after. The ship wasn't particularly large, so it look less than a minute for the pair to leave the mess hall where they had been sitting and reach the bunk room where Pierce had been staying nearly continuously since boarding. It had been about four days since the attack in Arlington and the beginning of their journey in the strange underwater boat. Pierce had confined himself mostly to the bunk room, and hadn't particularly spoken to anyone for days. Victor had tried on several occasions to coax him out of his mood, but had been met with detachment and, oddly, a sort of pervasive nervousness and twitchiness that Pierce had never shown before. Originally writing it off as the backlash of the attack and seperation from his family, Victor had given the man his space and hoped he would come around; days later, his patience had run thin. He sat down on the bed across from the other man and regarded him quietly for a few seconds before starting, "...Alright. We are going to discuss this now, because this has really gone on long enough. You've been lying there for days. What is, exactly, your problem?"
Pierce blinked a bit and came out of his reverie to look at him. "What do you think my problem is??" he asked, his voice tinged with panic. "My family is gone, I'm trapped on a boat that's moving underwater, going gods-know-where, with a bunch of people who I don't know, some of whom are murderers, away from my home that's being attacked by supernatural monsters that even other monsters don't recognize!!" 
Lucca's voice muttered in his head unbidden, Is he talking about me? That's a tad rude. With the slightest twitch of his expression, Lucca mentally told Harlequin to stuff it.
Victor, for his part, was unimpressed. "Yes, we understand that. We also understand that everyone here has lost family, friends, homes, possessions, hopes, dreams and everything else. It's a matter of getting it back, and that's certainly not going to happen by laying there and moping. You've had a few days, now it's time to move forward." His mouth twitched as he added, "We have more than enough broken man in the doctor to suffice on this ship."
"What am I even supposed to do?" the man asked angrily, desperately. "I don't know anything about this, I can't fight monsters, I can't run around the world, I'm not an adventurer! I'm not an adventurer." He repeated the last phrase, more quietly, his tone odd.
"Neither are the wizards, Bastion and...Magdha? I believe that's her name. Neither is Carrot, or Cress, or the doctor, or even Mr. Komatsu. Cheko wouldn't call herself an adventurer, I doubt Mrs. Komatsu would either. Nearly everyone here is handling this poorly, and even fewer would say that they are equipped to handle whatever this even is." He gave a snort of laughter, "I think the only person on this boat who might make that claim is my son, and I'm sure we'd all doubt his judgement on that. Regardless," he continued, "despite only a few of us considering ourselves adventurers, and none of us certain of what we're doing, we are all, excluding the children, the most powerful people who were in Arlington. Not wealthy, not well-connected. Powerful." He drummed his fingers and asked, "What makes you powerful, Pierce?"
"Nothing! I'm not...I'm not anything! Nothing like the rest of you," he replied. His tone wasn't angry, but rather carried fear and uncertainty. Victor drummed his fingers and waited for more.
"Come on, dude. The harlequin picked you outta everyone in Arlington. He's been pretty spot on with the rest of us, and you expect us to believe he was wrong in your case? Really?" Lucca asked, a bit chiding. Pierce didn't reply, but his eyes dropped to the floor. "...What about the door, right? The underwater one? You figured out how to open it, yeah?"
"...It...wasn't that complicated..." he muttered.
"But it means you know something about magic, right?"
Pierce didn't reply immediately. Victor broke the silence. "We are all steeped deeply in secrets here. Bastion was right before: there's no sense in hiding them, if we're going to work together. Frankly, between my nature and the doctor's criminal record, I doubt you could even rank as off-putting, no matter what troubles you. If you're a caster of some nature, it's better that we know so we best know how you can help...because I don't honestly think that you don't want to help." Pierce was still quiet. "...You think you can't? That you are, for some reason, fundamentally weaker?"
"...I'm not an adventurer..." he mumbled, burying his face in his hands. 
They sat quietly for a moment or two before Victor continued, "...I can't leave this be. The Komatsus are already consumed with their emotions, they've broken the doctor, and almost everyone here is too upset or self-absorbed to even stand near anyone else, myself included. You aren't an adventurer. I don't know why you're so fixated on that point, but that's legitimate. But even if you aren't an adventurer, you have skills. You're intelligent, you're learned, you're a linguist. There's an array of devices that are somehow used for navigating this ship, but they're in a language none of us know and neither Bastion nor Carrot can figure it out properly. Help them learn the system. You're good with people. Cress feels useless, Cheko can't handle the negativity everyone is showing, Cohen has had his identity destroyed, Magdha doesn't interact with anyone, Caitlyn is a hermit, and Bastion spends all of her time in the command room trying to keep a brave face. I don't know what has you so afraid; I don't know why it's so important that you aren't an adventurer. But we don't need an adventurer. We need Percival Webber, and the abilities we know he has." Pierce just sat silently, his head in his hands. Victor gave him another moment, and when he didn't reply, he stood up. "Come, Lucca," he said bluntly as he went to leave.
As they moved towards the door, Pierce called from behind, "I'm not very good." They paused and turned back; Pierce had sat up straighter, but he was still looking at the ground. "At casting, that is. It was never really a secret, but I never mentioned it to anyone either. It was a good card to have up my sleeve, not having anyone know. Mila knew...knows...Mila knows can can do some magic...and I make wands sometimes, as a hobby. It's innate; I'm no wizard or anything like that, but I don't know very many spells. The ones I do know, I suppose they could be useful. Made investigating things easier, over the years, at any rate." He sighed, "...I can look at the writing, but I make no promises."
"We'll certainly be no worse off for you trying," Victor replied.
"'Atta guy!" Lucca chimed in, adding, "You're welcome to borrow my fancy language helmet for it, if you want. Might up your chances." He shrugged, then paused, "You say you're not very good at casting...but what do you know? What are you workin' with? And this Mila, whoever they are...can they be any help to us now? I mean, I'm assuming you mentioned them for a reason..."
Victor gave an odd sidelong grin and muttered over to Lucca, "Mila's his wife." Pierce's look became uncomfortable. Victor turned his gaze back towards Pierce, still grinning obnoxiously, and said, "I'm sorry. He thought you were referring to your eidolon." The other man's look turned from discomfort to disbelief. Thoroughly stunned, he could do nothing more than blink. After a few beats, Victor added, "I'm sorry; we're just nosy," his tone meaningful. "What was the phrase...'we aren't hurting anything by knowing'?"
Pierce just looked stricken before slowly a grin creeped into his features, and he laughed. He laughed and laughed, the sound of someone who had reached the limit of stress and was done with it. "You've been waiting," he said eventually, trying to catch his breath. "How long has that been, five years?"
"I think it was six, actually," Victor replied, smiling. "And now we're even."
He giggled, trying to stop. "I deserved that. I did deserve that." He looked at the pair of them, "How long did you know?"
"Oh, for about twenty minutes, maybe. I haven't been very patient as of late."
Pierce composed himself. His expression became somewhat distant as he explained, "Yes, I'm a summoner. Etherial, though you knew that by now. I only know about..." he paused, counting, "twenty spells, in all. And I can call creatures, but I haven't done that in...a very, very long time. I'm sure I still can though, for all the help an etherial moose will be." 
Lucca made a snorting noise, prompting Victor's attention. He waved him away, muttering, "Don't worry about it."
Victor made a shrugging expression with his eyes before turning back to Pierce. "Twenty spells and the possibility of a moose are still more tools than none. Don't shortchange what you can do, we have no idea what things we're going to have to do to save Mila, the girls and the rest of the country." Pierce made a somber look, but nodded. "...If it isn't prying too deep, might I ask what your eidolon is capable of?"
"That is too deep," he replied quickly, but then added more quietly, "...I don't...not now. I can't now."
Victor nodded, "Then if you could look at the terminals...?" 
Shaking off his faraway look, Pierce stood up. "...Yeah, I'll do that. Give me a few minutes. I want to shower." He made a sidelong grin, "I haven't spent this long in a bed since I broke my leg. We are going to land this thing eventually, right?"
"We're supposed to reach wherever its headed by tomorrow."
"Good. Any idea where it is?"
"Not on Mirilarin, but that's all we know."
"Well, hopefully it's inhabited by humans, or close enough. I want to get some more clothes, if I'm not getting home right away." He took a coin out of his pocket and flipped it, "I never thought I'd be glad that Asanon never got around to switching from precious metals to paper. Hopefully gold is as good wherever we're going as it is at home. How many people here can cast Tongues?"
"With the amount of casters on this boat, there ought to be at least a couple people who can. I wanna say Cheko might be able to, maybe? Can you?" Lucca offered, adding with a shrug, "At the very least, I know her and I can cast Comprehend and Share Language, in a pinch."
He looked thoughtful for a moment, "...Comprehend won't let anyone else understand you, and Share...Share is reversed Tongues, isn't it? Good for showing a tourist around, not being one. I can cast Tongues; Caitlyn might be able to, being a bard. Language magic tends to be their strong suit. The wizards might as well, it's a common spell. Worst case, some of us cast it and we all buddy up at shore with a translator and find a place to exchange currency. Well, the best worst case; the actual worst case is we dock in the wilderness. Or a warzone. Or a monster nest. On the other hand, maybe we'll be terribly lucky and everyone trades in gold and speaks the same language. Who knows? This is too much." He flipped the coin again. "Tooooo much," he drew out the first word. "I'll go to the command room in a bit."
"Thank you," Victor said simply, then turned to leave.
With a laugh, Lucca made to follow him, "Take it easy, boss; wherever we land, I'm sure we'll handle it...crazy stuff is sorta our job, remember? If you wanna borrow the helmet, come find me before you head up to the control room, kay?"
Pierce grinned, "If I'd known the job requirements were going to get this high, I would have paid more for employee training. And insurance." He pocketed the coin again, "I'll pick up the helmet on my way." 
The pair left Mr. Webber to his own devices as they walked down the hall. "That's good. He seems to be in a more functional state at least." Victor talked very factually as he walked, his voice low enough that Lucca could hear it, but was elsewise drowned out by the clatter of their footsteps on the metal floor. There was a peculiar tone in his voice: a calculating resolve. "I don't know what his problem with his eidolon is, but it strikes me as something that will resolve itself when it has to. That's a problem I've read, with split-souls: sometimes they're very complimentary, two identical halves. Sometimes, they're very different. I'll suspect the latter, unless I'm given more context. Regardless, that's one more. Bastion is already functional, as are Cheko and Carrot. Ryuji seems no worse than he ever was, when presented with flux; he shouldn't be an issue. Caitlyn and Magdha are of no concern, as there is little to be gained from speaking to them. This leaves Cress, and the doctor. You will continue to deal with Cress; make him useful. Just because the harlequin didn't mean to take him doesn't mean he isn't as valuable as the rest of us, and I won't have him moping when he could be helping. Meanwhile, I will see what is left of the doctor to put back together."
"Good good. Harlequin is a nitwit; Cress'll be plenty useful. Don't worry about him, I'm already thoroughly on it. I'll have him good to go in no time." His expression took on a stony cast as he continued with a shake of his head, "Good luck with the doctor, man. That's a fucking mess and a half right there."
"Well," he said, turning to grin imperiously at Lucca, "It's good that I'm skilled at working with disagreable, identity-confused people." Before the druid could respond to the jab, Victor turned serious and said, "You have my deepest thanks and respect for being reliable through this. If not for your reason, and Bastion's, Raist knows if we even would have made it this far, before half of us killed the other and the survivors collapsed from self-absorption."
Lucca's belligerant retort died on his lips, replaced with an odd, crooked smile. He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, "Don't even mention it, dude, just doin' what I do." Falling silent for a few beats, he added, "I'm glad you're here...we'd be about four times as screwed as we are, without you." He looked like he had more to say, but seemed to think better of it.
"Oh, I hardly think you'd be in that much more trouble. I'm just putting people back on track...or in line, as it were. At any rate, thank you for your help with Pierce. That would have taken much longer if I didn't have that knowledge in advance. Good luck with Cress, though I doubt you'll need it." With that, he slid down the ladder that led to the lower floor.
"Yeah, no problem, dude, glad it came in handy. And you keep that luck, chances are you'll need it more than I do!" The druid called after him with a chuckle before heading off down the hallway in search of a certain elf.
Victor walked into the living room and sat down in one of the chairs. There were several in the room: a couch, two armchairs, and a booth set into the wall with a table for drinks and games. The couch was already occupied, but the elder man didn’t respond to Victor’s entrance other than to flick his gaze towards him once to identify him as he walked in. It had been about 36 hours since the collar had been placed on Cohen; a glance at his neck showed red marks where he had been clawing at the artifact to no avail. Now he just slouched back lethargically, apparently lacking the will to do anything else. Without speaking or even returning the momentary glance, Victor took out his violin, which had been rather active lately, and began to play. He played songs from memory, meandering through one song after another, filling the boat with music. If anyone had minded so far, no one had mentioned anything.
----
In a gap between pieces, Cohen asked, “Is there any particular reason you’re playing here?”
“This chair is infinitely more comfortable than the benches in the mess, and I’m sick of the bunk room,” he replied simply before carrying on.
----
“You’re the one who defended me, in the field, aren’t you?” Cohen asked, later. “I didn’t recognize your voice. I assumed you were the other man, the brown-haired one.”
“No, that’s Percival Webber,” he explained, pausing between songs again. “He was one of the abstainers. I would say that it should have been obvious, that I had a sword and he didn’t, but I suppose you didn’t have a lot of time with sight before the fight broke out.”
Cohen made a ‘hmn’ noise. “Yes. I only had time to recognize the four of you from before. I didn’t expect leniency on any of your parts.”
“I’m nothing if not pragmatic. You already proved yourself to be unwilling to murder, several times over, honestly. You’re obviously skilled; the government wanted you alive at all costs, you were so useful. Provided you weren’t recalcitrant, I assumed you would be rather helpful to the cause. At the time though, I just thought that starting off any collaboration with a murder wouldn’t exactly breed trust or teamwork, and that my son didn’t need to see an execution.”
Cohen made another ‘hmn’ noise. “I’m surprised that it was the two of you who weren’t supporting my deserved termination, you and the boy with clear blood.”
“I wouldn’t bring that up if you’d like to keep his tentative support; he’s a tad sensitive about it.”
“I would imagine…” he trailed off. “...Why did you keep my alchemy kit for years, and for that matter, why did you have it here?”
“Because who ever really cleans out a bag of holding, anyways?”
“Ahh.” Cohen went quiet again, and Victor resumed playing.
----
As Victor continued playing, Virgil wandered in. He looked at his dad playing before turning his attention towards the man sitting across the room, staring despondently into the air. The boy took a few steps towards him and regarded him for a few seconds before saying, “Hi.” Cohen didn’t reply immediately. Virgil repeated himself, calling Cohen’s attention; the doctor looked at him in vague confusion for a second. Now that he had eye contact, Virgil repeated himself one more time.
“...Hello,” Cohen ventured.
Virgil rolled his eyes in relief, “Tha’s good. The mean clown didn’t know how he’s supposta reply. I thought everyone knew how hello works.”
“...It’s been a very long time since anyone said hello to me,” Cohen replied, sounding tired.
“Well, tha’s just rude. You should always say hello. Or hi. Or hey. They all start with h,” he said definitively. “Are you feeling better? You don’t look as sick as before. We’re you sick?”
The doctor just looked at him blankly for a few seconds. “...I suppose I was. I need to take pills or I get very tired.”
“Tha’s not good. Did’ja take your medicine?”
“Yes.”
“Tha’s good.” Virgil considered him for a few seconds, then turned and ran out of the room. Cohen looked over to Victor, who was still playing, but had become quieter to accommodate the conversation. “...You’re not worried I’m going to irreparably damage your son?” he asked, a hint of his sardonic tone showing for the first time in a while.
“I don’t think you were ever violent, your rather invasive accessory is apparently keeping you from doing needless harm, and I’m sitting right here. I doubt you could possibly do anything worse than anyone else on this ship, particularly some I could name.”
“Your trust is both singular and unexpected.”
“Well, then I’d be careful with it.”
Virgil came running back into the room holding something in his hand. He stopped in front of Cohen and held it out: it was an orange. Cohen took the proffered fruit as Virgil explained, “Lucca always makes me eat lots of oranges if he thinks I’m gonna get sick, ‘cause he says they’re full of vitamins and are super healthy, so you should probably eat lots of ‘em ‘till you feel better.”
The doctor looked from the orange to Virgil and back. “Do...you know who I am?” he asked, his confusion apparent.
Virgil considered this, and replied, “Umm...no. Dad said that Mrs. Komatsu was really mad at you so she cast a spell that made you blind for a bit, and then you got sick, so you haven’t really left here since we started the adventure. Oh, and Shintaro’s not supposed to go anywhere near you, so we haveta play in the other rooms.”
“You know who he is,” Victor said, a vague smile playing around his mouth as he continued playing. “He’s the doctor from the Underdark, where we found Carrot and fought the robots and the monsters.”
Cohen closed his eyes as he sighed quietly, but when he opened then he was caught off-guard by the sight of a rather excited young boy very close to his face. “Really??” he asked. “You’re that doctor?? ‘An you were in the cave-city, an’ you were talking through the walls, an’ you set out the robots and then captured everyone, an’ they had to escape an’ then they tricked you an’ you made the way out an’ then they arrested you an’ it was super scary an’ awesome?!”
The doctor obviously didn’t know what to do with this level of misplaced excitement. “...It was hardly...’awesome’,” he ventured.
“But you’re that guy??”
“...Yes…”
“Wooooooah!!” Virgil cut him off. He dropped into a sitting position on the floor and scooted forward. “How’d you live with monsters for so long? Could you control ‘em, or did’ja hide, or did’ja have to fight ‘em all the time? How’d you get out of jail? Did you meet any of the Riptides? Did you know the red lady? Did anyone else find you before Dad? Did you know Gardening Mark? Did Waiter have another name? Did Stompy? Were they your friends? They live with Shintaro now. Carrot said that you talked to her, did you miss her? What did the president want you to do for him?” Virgil unleashed a torrent of questions that only served to knock Cohen further off-guard.
“There were a lot of details in my story that were sorely missing, apparently,” Victor mentioned when his son stopped to take a breath and stare up at the doctor expectantly.
Cohen looked at the boy for a few seconds, then rubbed his eyes. “I’m in no mood for talking now.”
Virgil looked very disappointed, but Victor said, “He’s still not feeling well, Virgil.”
“Oh...yeah,” Virgil said, seeming to have forgotten this fact. He stood up and bowed a little, “I’m sorry. You should rest and feel better, ‘cause adventuring when you’re sick isn’t fun, an’ you gotta save everybody from the monsters.” He got a pleading look in his eyes, “...Can you tell me later, when you’re feeling better?”
Cohen looked at him, then replied wryly, “...I don’t think many other people are fighting for my time, so I suppose.”
Virgil smiled. “Feel better!” he said, then ran off out of the room.
Cohen sat back, the sound of Victor’s violin filling the otherwise quiet room. After a few minutes, Cohen said, “...If you’re feeling charitable, I wouldn’t mind having the ‘monsters’ explained.”
Victor stopped suddenly, a look of confusion crossing his face. “You don’t know?” he asked incredulously.
Cohen didn’t look up, “I was in my cell, working, like always. Suddenly, I was in a field. The only reason I had my book with me, I assume, was because I happened to be holding a page of it, that got ripped out when the table under it disappeared.” He paused, wincing, the thought of his lost book obviously paining him. Sighing, he continued, “Before anyone explained what was going on, I was blind and being impaled. You know what happened since. Everyone’s been mentioning that the world needs saving from something extraplanar, but I never saw what it was.”
Victor took a breath and explained what he knew of the All: their shape, their telepathic message, the primal fear they caused, and how they seemed to drain life and colour and freeze the very wind in place. The doctor listened. When Victor finished, Cohen said, “So now we have to find the gods, to learn how to defeat these creatures before they consume everything?”
“That’s what we suppose. Are you willing to help?”
“I was always willing,” he replied, his tone sad. “Everything I’ve ever done with my entire life was to help humanity. Was to make humanity better. Was to help it rival the other planes! This was the entire point of everything! ...And it’s gone now.” The fervor that had begun to build in his voice died suddenly. “Everything is gone. My work is gone. My freedom is gone. My humanity is gone. My mind isn’t my own: I’m not reacting normally, I can feel it. I’m a thrall, nothing more. My life, spent entirely on my goal, has been wasted.” He scoffed, “Willingness never mattered. It will never matter again. But I will do what I’m still capable of doing, if I’m permitted that much.”
“I think if you save the world using the skills you developed, even if it’s not the way you intended, you didn’t waste much of anything.”
Cohen tilted his head forward a bit, “...Are you often told that you are distressingly level-headed?”
“It’s been mentioned once or twice.”
“I assume this is the counterpart to your son’s distressing lack of inhibition.”
“That has also been brought to my attention, yes. If he bothers you, just tell him to leave you be; he’ll occupy himself elsewhere.”
“And when he wanders back later so I can fill his head with graphic stories of my heinous work, you will honestly say that you have no problem with him being near me?” Cohen’s voice was sardonic again.
“Oh, do I have to threaten you? I’d hoped we were beyond that,” Victor matched his sarcasm.
“The depths of my derangement have led most to believe otherwise,” the doctor was smiling humourlessly now. “There aren’t enough threats or punishments in the universe to contain my concentrated villainy.”
“Well, you’re going to have a hard time with Virgil then. The boy loves stories, and what story-lover doesn’t enjoy a proper villain?” Victor matched his sarcasm.
“Should I tell him that you were the evil one then? That you broke in, and lied, and nearly killed me after I tried so hard not to permanently cripple you?”
“Certainly,” Victor replied, both men deep in their own facetious smugness. “I was rather underhanded. It was my idea, after all. Ryuji wanted you dead, and the other two had no good ideas, figured we should just go and attack you. We had to bring you back, you see, else the government would have thrown us out of the country, but damned if I didn’t want to get the bonus for catching the Riptides as well. I’m a terrible liar though, so Lucca presented it. To this day though, I have no idea why you believed us.”
“To this day, I don’t know either,” Cohen replied. “I woke up thinking that was probably the single most idiotic thing I’ve done in my entire life.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.”
“I diagnose it as temporary insanity brought about by isolation. I hadn’t had a proper conversation with anybody but Anna in years. Thugs coming to collect aren’t exactly the most eloquent, and are usually short on time. Which reminds me…” he stood up and went to a ventilation hatch on the wall. He lifted it up, the screws having already been removed, and knocked several times on the vent wall.
“Thugs being the Riptides, or the jailers?” Victor asked.
“There’s a difference? I hadn’t noticed.” A skittering sound came from the duct, and a moment later, an orange kobold popped her head out.
“Oh, hi, D-d-doctor,” she said. “N-n-need something?”
“Not right now, Anna,” he replied, then handed her the orange. “Here, I’m not hungry.”
She smiled joyously and ate the fruit in a few bites, rind and all. “T-t-thanks! I’m f-f-fixing the s-s-sensors that got damaged by the arm f-f-fish.”
“I hope you can, since you’re the only one who could,” he replied. She smiled and crawled back deeper into the ship again. Cohen returned to his spot. He rubbed his temples and sighed, “Everything is...wrong. I should be bitter. I should hate that woman, that woman and her zombie, for doing this, for taking everything away. But I can’t. I don’t. And the emotions that are left instead are poor substitutes for anger and resolve.” Victor just looked at him questioningly, until Cohen glanced up and said, “Sadness. Emptiness. Self-pity. I had no time for any of those things, and now they’re all that’s left.”
“That must be what it’s doing. Replacing bitterness with sadness, vengeance for pity, resolve for guilt. That must be how the magic turns an evil man good.”
“It’s entirely wrong. My mind is entirely wrong. Everything is wasted and wrong and destroyed.”
Victor raised his eyebrows, “That’s rather melodramatic.”
“I’m not going to live long enough to start from scratch, and I don’t have the free will to even make the decision to. I gave everything for the contents of that book, my research. I can’t get that back. My very humanity is warped and stolen, so I can’t even properly mourn its loss, and at any time that woman can dictate the slightest of my actions. I have less freedom than I ever did in jail. It’s...horrifying.”
“It is. It is honestly horrific, and I find it personally offensive on several levels. But, unfortunately, what’s done is done. Time to move forward.” Cohen just blinked at the bluntness of the statement. Victor continued, “If you have nothing, you might as well start something new. That’s what I did. It was probably easier on my part: I had no memories. But at least you don’t have to waste time wondering what was lost.”
“You’re an amnesiac now?”
“I have only about 8 years of memory, yes.”
“Dissociative or organic?” Victor raised an eyebrow. Cohen rolled his eyes and rephrased, “Were you unusually sad or hit in the head?”
“Ah. It’s a side-effect of being a bound summon, whichever that falls under.”
“Ohh, you’re the demon. Again, I wasn’t sure who was talking at the time. That would explain your disposition.”
“Would it? I would think a devil would be more likely to wreak vengeance upon you for your insolent trespass against him, not be...distressingly level-headed.”
“Unless you wanted something. Manipulative devils are something of a cliche, if stories are true.”
Victor made a conceding face and replied, “I would like to get everyone on this ship into a working order so that we can destroy the invaders and go home, if that counts. I want you in particular in a decent semblance of functionality since I think you have a unique skill set that the others can’t match, and as I mentioned, I took personal offense to how you were treated.” Victor shrugged, “None of those seem particularly manipulative. I think the worst you could extrapolate would be, ‘if I can get him to trust me, he’d be a great supporter since he doesn’t trust anyone else’, and even that’s pretty low-hanging fruit for some sort of master of manipulation.”
“I’ll admit, you are rather forward with your agenda.”
“I see no reason not to be. Is that something that seems devilish to you?”
Cohen snorted, “I wouldn’t know, I haven’t met a devil before.”
Victor grinned, “Neither have I. No,” he held up a finger to pause himself, “that’s not true. I’ve met an imp and several cross-breeds. The former was a loathsome, ill-bred creature I wish to never be associated with; the tieflings were aggressive, arrogant, and entitled. So, really no different from other nobles.”
Cohen made a wincing face, “Ugh, honestly? There are mixed heritage humans with devil blood running the government now?”
“Part of the Yeto administration; a whole family of them, apparently. I blame one devil in particular; hopefully it doesn’t catch on.”
“I’d hope not.”
“Regardless, it’s rather certain that a devil is what I am, but I’m physically mortal until I die, so that’s that. I remember nothing, I had nothing, and there was nothing to do but move forward. At least you still have a goal to move towards. They still haven’t, and can’t, take that from you.”
Cohen sat back, closing his eyes. “...I suppose that is true, at that.” He sighed, “I’m going to need more equipment, if I’m going to use more than a fraction of my skills. Even alchemy has a hard time with making something from nothing. Not to mention my formulas are gone; I’ll need to find arcane equivalents to work from.”
“Hopefully wherever we’re going has resources.”
“Hopefully I’ll be able to walk away from this room long enough to acquire them without being assaulted.”
“You do seem to have a problem with that, don’t you?”
“I have one of those faces, apparently.” Both men grinned. Victor began to put away his violin. Cohen leaned forward. “...I think that’s the first actual conversation I’ve had in about a decade.”
“Really? Then we’ll have to do this again sooner.”
“Heh, I…”
“Hey!” Cohen was cut off by an angry voice. Virgil stomped into the room, glaring with a cold fury that was rather unsettling coming from a child. He made his way over to Cohen, arms crossed. The doctor blinked a few times, taken aback, as Virgil said, “Carrot said you gave her an orange.” His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t come out; you’ve been in here with Dad.” He unfurled his arms and held out another citrus. “Now you’re gonna eat this one, an’ I’m gonna watch you this time.”
Cohen raised an eyebrow at this. “You have an unsettling child,” he mentioned to Victor, though he didn’t break eye contact with the boy’s serious stare.
“Don’t you talk to him! Eat your orange,” Virgil dictated.
“Just eat the orange, Doctor,” he said, standing up. “It’s easier.” With that, he began to walk to the hallway, leaving Virgil to his self-appointed duty of supervisor of fruit consumption.
“You can call me Cohen. Or Malcolm. No one’s used that one in a very, very long time.”
“Whatever suits you.”
“Less talk! More orange!”
----------
"Well, great, now where do we go?" Cress asked his druidic companion. They had plans, big plans, the kind that covered the floors and walls with papers and pencils and cardboard and scissors. Art was serious business, especially the kind that went on the noses of ships, and this design had to be perfect. They had started in the storage bay, the largest open room on the ship, but had been wordlessly evicted when two men with swords, Victor and Ryuji, had entered and given them meaningful looks. The bunk room was out (not enough flat, hard surface), as was the mess (the kids were making a mess of it with Cheko). They were expelled from the command room by Bastion moments ago, who explained that, should an emergency arise, the command room floor shouldn't be covered with tripping hazards, to which they agreed. Arms laden with papers, they stood in the hall outside of command, wondering what their remaining options were. "The bathrooms are too small, and we can't use the bedrooms...but those are probably both tiny too," Cress thought aloud.
"What are you even talking about, dude? Bathrooms? Seriously?" With a shake of his head, Lucca started off down the hall, "We're going to the common room, duh." With a snort, he added under breath, "Prolly shoulda started there, really."
"Dude, are we even allowed in there? Isn't that where the old guy that everyone hates is?" Cress asked.
The druid shot him an almost scornful look, "Of course we're allowed in there, don't be a moron. We can go wherever the hell we want, let's be real here." With a roll of his eyes, he added, "Just 'cause some people can't handle their shit around him doesn't mean nobody's allowed in the room...it's fine, come on."
"I just don't want everyone flippin' their bloody shit again because we got near the guy, that's all," Cress shrugged, following behind Lucca without visible argument as they went towards the room. "That, and I've got no fuckin' clue what that old guy did, but the way everyone's carrying on, he must've like, killed a bunch of people and ate their corpses while fucking them, or something. Or he like, killed Mrs. K's mom or something, 's why it's all fuckin' personal."
"Relax, dude. Nobody is gonna flip their shit on us, or I'll flip it right back ten times as hard. I am so throughly done with that pile of horseshit, you don't even know." He fell slient for a moment before dropping his voice and adding, "If you really wanna know, I can fill you in on what he did later, kay? I'm not discussing it right now. Super basic version: he did some pretty messed up crap, was thrown in jail, got outta jail, we had to go arrest him. It was real messy, bad times were had by all. Shit's pretty fucked, but I'll be straight with you, if I'm still okay hanging in a room with him, you're fine, alright?"
"Dude, this was like, not even for a second my problem. Have you met my mom? I've watched her kill a guy for selling out a teammate. 'S your guys' problem, not mine. I just didn't wanna stir the shit while we're stuck in this sardine can, 'cause you can bet that I don't wanna be at the bottom of the fuckin' ocean when a bunch of wizards start fighting. 'Specially if Mr. E is gonna get all up in their faces about it; everyone's gonna start punchin' holes in the thing faster than the little lizard dude can patch 'em up."
"Carrot's a girl, don't be a dick," he sighed, and continued, "Anyway, no shit is gonna be stirred, trust me. It's fine."
"Wait, really? No one told me that. She didn't tell me that." The pair walked into the common room as Cress finished, "Man, I hope I didn't hurt her feelings or nothin'. How am I supposed to know that if no one tells me? It's not like lizards have boobs. And her pants look like dude-pants. This isn't my fault." He started to dump his armload of art supplies on the floor, still looking at Lucca with a bit of worry, "Should I apologize or something? Or just not mention it again?"
"Eeeeh, I dunno. You could? She's pretty chill...I don't imagine she'd be terribly upset, either way. " He paused and offered Cohen a brief greeting before dropping into a crouch and spreading the things he'd been carrying about the floor. The doctor, who had dispassionately watched them come in as he lay on the couch, acknowledged the greeting with a muted shift in expression, but nothing more before leaning back and staring at the ceiling again. To Cress, Lucca continued, "Just don't do it again, now that you know. You got the little fish I was workin' on? And is it just me, or does it smell like...fruity...in here?"
"Fuck off, it was a mistake. Wasn't calling her a dude on purpose," he said as he flipped through pages until he found the one he was looking for, passing it over to the druid. With that he paused and sniffed the air, "...Huh. Yeah...orange? Smells like orange?"
"Yeah, that's what I thought, too...weirdness." With a baffled shrug, he rifled through the pile of art supplies, and after locating a pencil turned his attention the sketch of a little round fish. The two carried out their project, covering the floor with sketches of fish and mythical whale-beasts, trying to design the image they would paint on the ship's nose. Cohen, for his part, lay quietly, ignoring them as they did the same for him. Time passed by unmarked, until eventually a clunking sound of small footsteps was heard just outside.
"There you are. I looked everywhere. 'Cept the ocopus lady's room," Virgil said, approaching Lucca. "Wha's another orange?" A short, barely audible groan came from the other side of the room. Virgil's gaze fell to the numerous designs covering the floor. He pointed to one, a particular fish, and said, "That one should be green."
"Mmmmmmh, lemme think...." he tapped his pencil against his lips for a few moments before offering, "Have we said yuzu, yet?" He frowned slightly when the boy confirmed that they had, in fact, already done that one, before offering, "Kay, then how's about rangpur? I know I haven't said that one." Glancing at the fish, he twisted his lips slightly, "I dunno, dude, they're all supposed to be black and red..."
Virgil cocked his head at this, squinted his eyes, then after a few seconds, nodded, "Black 'n red are good too. Rangpur, rangpur, rangpur..." he started chanting the name as he ran out of the room.
"Uuuugh, you're the one," Cohen's voice intoned from the couch.
Chuckling to himself as he watched Virgil scamper off, the druid froze at doctor's question. After a few beats, he asked warily "...the one what?"
"Give him a minute..." he replied. Cress and Lucca exchanged a look, and the three waited in an uneasy silence until the sound of Virgil's footsteps returned. He came in once more, this time ignoring Lucca and going to where the doctor lay, his hand over his eyes.
"This one's a rangpur."
"Child...I can't eat this many oranges. You have to stop." Virgil glared at him again, holding the orange out vehemently. Cohen looked at him earnestly, "I honestly can't eat this much fruit. And it's not the kind of sickness that oranges would help."
"Oranges help all sorts of sick," Virgil replied, putting his nose up as he refuted Cohen's claim.
"It doesn't help this one." Virgil did not falter. "I am a doctor. I know which illnesses respond to vitamin deficiency. Trust me."
"Nope. You're an evil doctor. Eat the orange."
Cohen just sat and blinked at him for a few seconds in silence. "...You have seamlessly constructed a microcosm of my entire life. Thank you," he said flatly.
"You're welcome," Virgil said in all seriousness.
Rolling his eyes, Cohen took the orange, sighing as he ate it. Virgil watched with all of the firm detachment of a guard as Cohen ate a section, quickly wincing at the taste. Managing to swallow, he turned back to Virgil, "Child, I can't eat this, this is a lemon."
"Nuh uh! It's a rangpur an' it's an orange."
"I just ate a piece, and it is certainly a lemon."
"Nuh uh! Lemons are yellow."
"I can't eat it, it's a lemon."
"It's an orange."
Cohen turned to Lucca, "Please, for the love of mercy, tell the boy that this is functionally a lemon."
The druid had been watching the exchange with an expression equal parts amusement and pity, trying to restrain a snicker. "Virgil, what are you doing? Is this what you've been up to all day?" He laughed, "If that's the case, I think Dr. Cohen has probably had plenty of citrus. Maybe you should leave him be?...and he's totally right, rangpur's aren't really for eating....they're pretty intense."
"He's sick an' needs to eat oranges to get better," Virgil said, crossing his arms and looking at Lucca, his look of imperiousness reminiscent of his father's. "An' he's bigger than me, an' he's really old, so he's gotta eat lotsa oranges." He frowned a bit, "But he said he didn't wanna eat the same oranges, so I had to find different ones."
"That's very considerate of you, dude, I'm sure he appreciates it. But I think he's had enough at this point," Lucca did his best to level an earnest look at the boy, pursing his lips for a moment to to stifle a giggle, "...especially if you brought him a pomelo like I said earlier. That equals, like, ten oranges. He'll get better for sure now. " He gave a firm nod.
Virgil considered this with grave seriousness for a long moment. "...Yeah. For today," he conceded ominously. "I'ma go back to the kitchen. We're making pudding!" he said, his excitement suddenly restored. Without any time wasted for a reply, he dashed off again, leaving a quiet void.
"...I welcome the cold embrace of death," Cohen muttered, breaking the silence.
"...Dude...they're just citrus. Take it easy," Lucca shot him a decidedly off-put look, adding, "Sorry about that though? I didn't realize he was actually making someone eat all of that...I thought he was..." he paused and frowned slightly, "...I don't know what I thought, actually." He shrugged and guestured to the rangpur, "If you toss that one over, though, I'll make it disappear."
"It's not the citrus. It's the fact I'm opting to eat it," he said flatly. He tossed the fruit lightly without sitting up, displaying a surprising amount of aim considering that he wasn't even looking at his target.
The druid offered only a disconcerted look by way of response, having caught wind of the underlying issue and found himself at a loss. Catching the little orange, he fell to eating it as he busied himself once more with his art, seemingly unbothered by its sourness. Cress opted to remain silent through this exchange, not really sure what to say to add to the conversation. When Lucca returned to drawing, he did as well, and it wasn't long before the two were working excitedly again, bantering, congratulating and criticizing each other, appearing to have almost forgotten the doctor's presence. He seemed unfazed by this and lay quietly, staring at the ceiling, occasionally mouthing words to himself.
"So, you do have like, paint, right?"
"...The hell would I have paint for? We were headed to a beer tent, remember? That's not exactly something I pack paint for, generally," he replied with a snort, not looking up from the piece he was working on: the massive head of a sea monster with pointed ears and a mouthful of fangs.
"Uh, how are we going to do this without paint?"
Lucca stopped drawing and sat silently for a long moment before slowly looking over at the elf, "I guess we're gonna have to get some, aren't we?" He chewed at his lower lip, thinking. With a scowl, he sat back and continued "...fuckin' hell! We're gonna need really good paint too, so it doesn't come off in the ocean. Back home, they make special paint for the canoes, cause the salt water will get under normal paint and fuck it up...we need something like that."
"Dude, we don't even know where we're going. There might not even be people, let alone people with paint, and then good paint." He sat back, looking deflated. "Man, this sucks."
"Make sure there's copper in it."
"Huh?" Cress stopped, and both young men turned to look at Cohen. He was still staring at the ceiling.
"Copper. It prevents shellfish from growing on the hull," he said simply. "I don't know if there's something already on the metal, maybe it's already protected. But it can't hurt."
Lucca stared at the man thoughtfully for a long moment, "You could make us some good paint, couldn't you? I mean, isn't that your thing? You make things, using science and shit, right? Chemist and all? And you clearly seem to know something about this...so you could probably do it, yeah?"
Cohen blinked hard a few times before turning to look at him with a touch of incredulity. "I'm a biochemist. That has very, very little to do with paint."
"But dude, you know how to make it, right?" Cress pressed the issue.
"This is so far outside my realm of..."
"I just asked if you knew how," Cress interrupted, holding up his hands. "Do you, Mr. Fancy Doctor Biowhatever, know how paint is made?"
"I..." Cohen started to say something, then flopped back. "...Yes..."
"Siiiiiiick," Cress said, making a celebratory fist. "So, you could, if you wanted, make us paint?"
Rolling his eyes, he made a vague gesture into the air, "Yes, I will make paint with my unlimited supply of raw materials. Wooo," he made a very sarcastic sound and expression as he waved his hand about. "Look at that, I used my invisible supplies to make invisible paint. Don't use it all in one place."
"Oh shut up, it's not like we need it now or anything. I mean, there's no way in hell we're painting jack shit until we drydock this sucker for repairs. At which point, we should presumeably be able to find something to make paint with; it can't be that hard. I mean, fuck, I could make dye with what we have on the boat!" Leaving this point, he turned to Cress, "Bad. Ass. See? Not even a problem."
"Nice!" The pair high-fived.
"Dye is not the same as paint..." Cohen said wearily.
"Nope! Hence why we're not painting the boat with it...but it's a similar idea. I bet if you thought long enough, you could make paint outta stuff lying around here. Maybe not good paint, but still. Just gotta get creative." As he spoke, the druid picked up his pencil once more and returned to sketching the strange shapes and formlines that made up the monster's face.
"Creative," he said as a flat statement.
"Yeah, creative." Cress backed up his friend. "You've got like, a whole kitchen of stuff. There's a pot that makes whatever food you think of! That's all chemistry is, right? All medicines and dyes and shit are all just plant stuff. So yeah, get creative."
"That's...not even..." he sat up. "Do either of you have any idea of how things are made?"
"Yeah. People like you get creative," Cress replied, hand still sketching.
"..." he sat in silence for a moment before rolling his eyes, "Well, it's not like I have absolutely anything else to do, so fine, let's be creative." He stressed his words pointedly before standing up and leaving the room.
Cress watched him leave, "...Dude, is he allowed to leave?"
"Of course he's allowed to leave, nitwit! Why the hell wouldn't he be? Boat's as much his place as it is ours," he replied impaitently with a roll of his eyes, "Only reason he had to stay in here was 'cause he was blind and all."
Cress shrugged and the two carried about their work. A few minutes later, there was a tromping sound as the two kids scuttled down the hall holding bowls, followed closely by Cheko, marshalling them.
Some time passed; the two carried on their work, chatting irreverently the whole while. Suddenly, there was a skidding sound; an object slid across the floor, scattering their supplies and stopping shy of Lucca's arm. The two whipped up their gazes from their drawings to look at it: it was a pie.
"And that would be the results of creativity with kitchen supplies," Cohen's voice said sardonically. "If you want paint, I need chemistry supplies. Which are different." He sat back down on the couch again.
There was a moment of silence as the young men inspected the pastry.
"Man! That is the ugliest friggen pie I have ever seen in my life." Lucca proclaimed, then paused to take a deep whiff, "And yet it smells fantastic!" He looked to Cohen, "I don't imagine you thought to bring any utensils, to go with your offering?"
As Cohen lay back, he produced two forks mysteriously from his sleeve, then tossed them over, sending them clattering on the papers.
"Siiick!"
Grabbing the forks, Lucca tossed one to Cress and they proceeded to clear away some of their artwork before beginning to attack the pie in the way that only hungry boys can. It was a blueberry pie, actually rather tasty for its appearance. It didn't stand long against the assault, and the two were quickly back to their work, shoving aside the dirty pie plate and forks.
"That was a pretty decent pie," Cress declared, picking up his pencil again. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Oh! Geeze, I totally forgot." He started patting down his pants, then produced from his pocket a pen. He got up and passed it over to Cohen. "Sorry, I totally swiped your pen. I found it in the grass, but then you all buggered off, so I shoved it in my pocket and forgot about it."
Cohen took it and looked it over thoughtfully. "Well, I certainly didn't expect to see it again. Thank you." He twirled it about his hand.
"No prob," Cress replied, returning to the floor.
"Dude."
"What?"
"You're mouth's like...still blue." It was almost an hour after the pie had been laid waste to.
Lucca looked closer at Cress. "...So's yours...and it's on your hand."
Cress looked at the fingers which he had used to wipe up some of the pie filling. He hadn't paid the stain mind at the time, but now rubbed it vigourously on his pants. The purply-blue colour was still there. No amount of spit or friction seemed to be wiping it away.
The druid watched him do this, a scowl slowly creeping across his face. Throwing up his hands, he growled indignantly, "For the love of fuck! Bratty old bastard! A dye-pie? Really!? 'Cause thats what this is, isn't it?"
"I thought you wanted dye," he said sarcastically. "Apparently the mordant doesn't impact the taste, which is...well, I wouldn't go so far as to say it's useful knowledge, but interesting anyways."
"Dick!" Cress swore, but a grin played about his blue lips.
"I'm sorry, I can't hear you over my minor victory," Cohen replied, also grinning. "I'm 'good', but I don't necessarily have to be nice. Small things." He was still twirling the pen about neurotically, with apparently nothing else to do.
Lucca shook his head with a disbelieving snort-chuckle, muttering, "Ridiculous. Fuckin' ridiculous. Science pie, I don't even." He turned to say something to the doctor, then paused and quirked an eyebrow, "...Have you been doing that this whole time?"
"What?"
"The pen."
Cohen looked at what he was doing. "...I suppose. I haven't much else to occupy my time. I've already counted every rivet, screw, crack and edge in this entire room several times, in between reciting as many memorized lists as I can possibly remember." He made a disdainful face, "I don't think I've been this unproductive since I was younger than you."
"Wow. That's a really fuckin' long time. Take a break, man. Retire," Cress offered. The doctor rolled his eyes again, the pen still dancing about his hand.
"...You want a book, dude? I've got lots..." the druid tentatively volunteered, "I could bring you one? Or a bunch? I dunno what you'd wanna read, but anything has to be better than counting shit on the walls..."
Cohen flicked the pen upwards and caught it deftly. "I will gladly read anything you happen to produce. I would read a book about the alphabet at this point. I would read a menu. That is how desperate I am."
"Cool. Gimme a minute, then." He nodded, standing up and stretching before heading off in search of Victor's bag of holding. It wasnt long before he returned bearing an inordinately large armload of books, which he proceeded to dump in an unceremonious heap next to the couch. "There. Should give you something to do for a bit; I have more, too."
Cohen blinked in mild shock at the offering, "...Well, that's certainly more than I was expecting." He sat up and leaned over, his eyes flicking over the covers. He picked up a couple, "An introductory guide to scrimshaw...a history of roof architecture...a period romance...a penny dreadful about Yurians...an instructional photography manual...a Yeto cookbook...a book in Elven about the concept of colour...and an encyclopedia of psychoactive plants. This is..." he shuffled some of the books around, "...an ecclectic collection." He sat back, considering them. "Do you mind if I put them on the shelves over there? It will keep them from flying about."
"Sure, go for it," Lucca replied, returning to his spot.
"...Can I have a sheet of paper?" Cress handed him a blank piece, and with a "Thank you," he began to scribble down something, going through the books. He alternated between scribbling notes and walking to the nearby cabinets, which had been starkly empty. The boys paid him no mind, and eventually the books were all squared away. With that done, the doctor retired back to the couch with a book in hand.
A little later, Lucca asked, "So, how much room is left in there anyways?" getting up and opening the cupboard, " 'Cause like I said, I've got more." Lucca skimmed his eyes over his books, which had been neatly arranged in rows. Something vaguely familiar caught his attention, noticable only due to his many long hours in the library. "...Dude, is this the decimal system?"
"Yes," Cohen replied, not looking up.
"...I don't even..." he paused, staring at the books once more, "...why? I mean, its cool and all...but why?"
"Why not?"
He simply offered a silent shake of his head in response, still looking at the books. "There's room for more. I'm gonna get more." Turning on his heel, he left the room. He returned in short order with another bunch of books and dropped them before the doctor, a process that was repeated twice more before he declared, "I think thats enough, for now."
"Did you rob a library?" he asked fascisiously, putting down the book he was reading about the nature of perception, chosen because it would fall earliest in his sorting system. Taking the pen and paper back up again, he proceded to sort the new entries into the system.
"Not strictly speaking, no," the druid replied almost slyly, flashing an impish grin. Folding his arms across his chest he watched inquisitively as the older man organized the books. The doctor worked quickly and certainly, assigning books identifiers from their titles, their dust jackets or their first few pages, jotting down their names and numbers on the paper, stacking them in order for shelving. It was the swift motion of someone who had practice and skill. He paid the druid no mind as he worked, absorbed in his task.
"Books should be in order," he mentioned, after a fashion. "If a book is in the wrong place, it will be overlooked. That's why. I can't stand them to be scattered about."
"Hmm...fair enough. I suppose that makes sense."
"...You shouldn't take books from libraries," he added simply. "They're missed."
At this, Lucca blinked in suprise and a small, thoughtful frown coloured his expression. Offering no further response, he watched quietly for a few moments longer before nodding to himself and rejoining Cress amongst the sketches on the floor.
The books had all been sorted away, and the two young men had begun to finalize their project. Cohen continued to read his book, occasionally making a comment on the content; after the first few random statements, Lucca and Cress learned that he wasn't speaking to them so much as the universe.
The sound of footsteps heralded someone's approach: Virgil entered the room again, arms spread out wide, twirling in lazy circles as he approached. He flopped over onto Lucca's shoulders and asked, "Whatcha doin'? Everyone else is napping, 'cept Mr. Webber and Mrs. Levine. But they're busy. An' Auntie Cheko is cleanin' the kitchen, even though it's not even messy anymore."
"Eeeh, not too much really. Just makin' the lines nicer on the big one, then Cress'll cut it out and it'll be all done." Leaning his head against Virgil's, he reached up and ruffled his hair, "Whatcha think? Does it look cool enough for our boat?"
The young boy looked at the stencil with deep scrutiny, looking at it from several angles, before finally nodding his head definitively. With that, he stuck his hands in his pockets; his eyes lit up, as though he remembered something important. He walked over to the doctor and held out his hand again, holding yet another fruit.
Cohen sighed deeply, "I thought we were done with this." He glanced over and gave the boy a tired, baleful look. "And that is most certainly a lemon."
"Nuh uh."
"Yes it is."
"Nuh uh!"
"It is definitively a lemon. I'm not eating a lemon."
"Is not!" the boy declared vehemently, still holding it out. "It's not a lemon, an' you gotta eat it." His expression was an interesting, moving mix of gravity and emotionality.
"That is a lemon, and I don't. Ask them. Is that not a lemon?" Cohen appealed to the two others. Virgil turned around to face them, away from the doctor; he held out the fruit, which looked very much indeed like a lemon, but that was less striking than the very meaningful look the boy had on his face.
Cress looked up from his work, glanced at Virgil and then to the fruit before shrugging with a bit of a grin and replying, "I don't know, man. Looks kinda like a yellowy orange to me, what do you think?" Cress turned to Lucca.
Shooting the boy a mock-stern look, Lucca held out his hand and asked to see the fruit. He took his time, making quite a show of inspecting it closely with a most serious expression, before declaring firmly, "Nah man, it's totes a funny shaped yuzu. Don't even try to argue, doctor; I know my citrus," and tossing it back to the child with a subtle wink.
Virgil, with all due seriousness, turned back to the doctor. "See? You gotta eat it," he pleaded.
With a growl and frown leveled at the older two boys, Cohen took the citrus and stood up. "Hey, where are you goin'?" Virgil demanded. The doctor didn't reply, but went to the wall and lifted up a grate. He knocked on the vent wall, and in a few short moments, a skittering noise heralded the appearance of Carrot.
"Hey! Hi Carrot! How'd you get in there?" Virgil asked.
"Anna, is this a lemon?" the doctor asked, holding up the fruit. She sniffed it, then without warning leaned forwards and bit into it. Her eyes went buggy and she made some sputtering, gagging noises as she spat it out.
"Bleeeeh! That's a-a-awful!!" she declared.
"You weren't supposed to eat it," the doctor said before turning to the boy, "because it's a lemon."
Virgil made a resolute face for a second, before dissolving into a grin. "Ya, I know. I just wanted to see if you'd eat it." He turned to the kobold and said, "I'm sorry, Carrot. You weren't supposed to eat it." She made another 'bleah' noise before muttering something about getting a drink and crawling away. The boy turned back to the doctor, "So, you aren't that easy to trick. Tha's good. I'll haveta try harder."
"...You are a tiny monster."
Virgil giggled at the name before spinning around a few more times and flopping into a chair. He looked at the two men on the floor, cocked his head and asked, "...Why are your mouths blue?"
"Because we're sea monsters! Grraah!" Lucca pulled a silly face, baring his teeth and sticking out his tongue. Laughing, he added, "Nah, but actually, Dr. Cohen is a flapjack-face and was playing tricks on us earlier. I think he likes that game almost as much as you! I wonder..." He trailed off, tapping one finger against his lips with an exaggerated mischevious expression.
"What?!" Virgil asked, leaning forward excitedly. The doctor returned to his spot, saying nothing, though raising an eyebrow at the odd choice of expletive used to describe him.
"Oooh I dunno if I should say...should I?" He teased, chuckling when the boy insisted, "Ah, alright, fine! Dr. Cohen is pretty good at tricks; he got both Cress and me, so you know he's gotta be good, right? But I wonder...which of you is better." He finished with a meaningful look, then turned to his friend, "Who do you think would win in a competition, Cress? Virgil or that old dude?"
"Hmmm..." Cress smiled and made a mock thoughtful expression. "I don't know...it's pretty close. The little bro is creative, but the old guy's got more experience. And equipment. I'd give you two to one on the kid."
"Does that mean you think I'll win?" Virgil asked.
"Honestly? This is what I'm reduced to now?" Cohen complained quietly.
"Means I think the old guy might have you beat, little bro," Cress shrugged. "You'll have to prove me wrong."
"I dunno man, Virgil is a pretty hardcore bro, you know how he rolls...I think he's got the chops to kick his butt, easy. What do you think?" Lucca aimed his question at the boy with a grin, then got a serious look, "But!" he held up a finger, "You can only play this sorta game if the other person wants to too, right? So you'll have to ask Dr. Cohen first, before you go getting excited."
Virgil, eyes shimmering, nodded his head at Lucca, sprang up and ran over to the doctor, making a pleading face and clasping his hands together towards the older man. Cohen regarded him flatly for a moment before rolling his eyes. "Fiiiiine, alright then." With a maniacal giggle, Virgil ran out of the room. Cohen sighed and stood up. He put his hand on the shoulders of the two men, leaned over and looked between them, saying, "Expect a return for this," a sarcastic smile on his face. With that, he turned and left the room as well.
They exchanged deeply unsettled looks as they watched the man leave. After a few moments, Lucca shrugged, "Well...at least neither of them are bored anymore?"
"...I guess, dude," Cress shrugged, and the two continued about their business.
Cohen followed the sounds of giggling to the mess; a cursory glance revealed the boy sitting under a table in the otherwise empty room. Cohen sat at the bench with Virgil inches from his feet. As he sat down, he stifled his giggles and became serious. "You're not supposta watch," he hissed out from under the table.
"Why not?" he replied, looking forward as though he was talking to himself
" 'Cause I can't trick you if you know it's coming. It's no fun."
"Why would you be tricking me?"
" 'Cause we're seeing which one of us is better?"
"Well, if that's the case, then who's judging who wins?" Cohen asked conversationally.
"Huh...I guess Lucca an' Cress?"
"If they're judging, shouldn't they be the ones getting tricked? Otherwise, how would they know which trick is better?"
"Hmmm...yeah, you're right. We'd just say each of us is better, an' they wouldnt really know."
"Exactly. If it's not the judges being tricked, than they can't really make a good judgement."
"Yeah...Lucca said that people shouldn't play unless they say it's ok though."
Cohen raised an eyebrow. "They aren't playing? They invented the game, surely they're playing." Cohen made a knowing look, "They know that the game is going on, and they know they have to judge, so they must be playing."
"Hmmm, yeah, that makes sense. You still shouldn't watch though."
Cohen sat silently for a moment, looking placid, before continuing, "What's better, a good trick, or a competition?"
"Why?"
"I just wondering. Because we could compete; I'm sure you'll win, I don't think I can match your imagination...or boundless capactiy for annoyance. Or..." he drew out his word.
Virgil snuck upwards, his narrowed eyes edging over the tabletop. "Or what?"
"Or, we could do all sorts of things together."
Virgil considered this offer warily. "...Like what?"
Cohen shrugged, "I don't know. I have a terrible time thinking of ideas. That's why you'd certainly win. But I can make all sorts of things. Things that change colour, things that bang. Nothing particularly magical, I don't have the right tools now. But still. If we worked together, I'm sure we could make a trick that would be far, far better than anything either of us could do alone." Virgil thought about this, consternation on his face. "Mainly because, what makes a trick good?"
"What?"
"You said it yourself earlier," he said with a grin, "The person can't see it coming. The judges expect us to be working against each other, not together. They certainly won't expect something from the both of us. Which would make it all the better."
Virgil raised an eyebrow, then came out from under the table to sit across from the doctor. He made a very formal face, folding his hands on the table. "...Know what's better than a competiton OR a trick?"
"What?"
"Both." Cohen made a questioning face at this statement as Virgil explained, "If you say I'm the better tricker, than you can work for me an' we can do the best tricks. Then I win, and we have more fun."
Cohen considered this, with a look of serious consternation. "...I can accept these terms. But the word is 'trickster'."
"So I win."
"You win."
Virgil grinned evilly, "Hee hee! So! You should come down to the secret base to plan then." Virgil snuck back under the table. Cohen looked under to see Virgil. He gestured for him to join. "Come on!"
The doctor 'hmm'ed and sat back up. "Give me a moment, would you?"
"What for?"
"This isn't the most secret of bases. Let me see if I can find a better one. We can't have the judges walking in on us."
"There isn't anywhere else, really. The boat's kinda small," Virgil said with some dismay.
Leaning over again, "As an evil doctor, I think I'd be the best at finding a secret lair, wouldn't you say?"
Virgil blinked, then grinned, "Hee hee hee. Yeah. Ok."
"Then give me a moment." Cohen left the mess.
The doctor entered the common room to see the boys still there. He walked over to where his alchemy kit lay and picked it up, putting it over his shoulder.
"How's it going?" Cress asked as the doctor went to leave again.
"Swimmingly," he replied without turning back.
Wandering into the storage room, empty save for the petrified Shinobi, the doctor found another ventilation hatch. Tapping on it once more, Carrot came out.
"I'm very sorry about the lemon, Anna."
"It's ok. I should-d-dn't have eaten it without a-a-asking."
"Tell me, how safe is it in there?"
"In he-e-re?" she looked back. "S-s-safe as long as you d-d-don't yank things hard. Everything is r-r-really neat! It was put together r-r-really nice. Guards and insul-l-lation and everything!"
"Excellent. Would you mind terribly some company?"
Carrot smiled, "Sure!" Her smile faded, "Hmm. But I don't think you'd f-f-fit."
"Don't worry about that."
Cohen walked down the hall, just as Victor was doing the same. As they met, Victor gave a small smile, "Glad to see you moving about, doctor."
"Hardly my own idea," he replied dryly. "Do you mind terribly me taking your son into the ventilation shafts to see Anna and plot terrible deeds against our common foe, the pair of teenagers who are asking to be pranked?"
Victor blinked at this. "Well. That...escalated quickly. Are the vents safe?"
"As long as he doesn't decide to start yanking on cables, apparently."
Victor waved him by, "It can't be too bad, if someone's living in there. Just tell him not to touch anything, and he'll be good. And don't permanently scar anyone. Virgil knows the rules."
"Can either of you cast reduce person?"
Bastion and Pierce both looked up from what they were doing, looking a tad surprised to see the doctor standing there.
"Uhm. Yes, I can. Why?" Pierce offered.
"Because Anna would like company in the vents."
"Anna?...Oh, Carrot. Sure? Why not, I guess. Don't...break anything?" Pierce said, unsure.
"I'll try my best."
Virgil sat at the bench, kicking his heels, waiting for his accomplice to return. A tapping sound caught his attention; he got up and followed it to a vent in the wall. He could see movement coming from behind it, so he took the screen off. When he did, his face lit up with excitement and a grin. Cohen gestured for him to follow, and the two crawled into their secret lair, led by Carrot.
"It's been like...a while," Cress said to Lucca as they finished cleaning up their things. "Think they're cool?"
"Yeah, it kinda really has..." the druid frowned slightly, "I haven't heard anything weird...but that's kinda weird in and of itself...I should probably go check. You coming?"
"...Nah, I'm gonna finish cleaning up, then maybe take a nap? It's late...or I think it's late? I dunno, I haven't slept in a while."
"Fair enough, fair enough...but yeah, boat time is pretty weird. Anyway! Get some rest. I shall see you," he headed for the door, "Laters, bro." and with a vague salute stepped out into the hallway. He paused momentarily, considering where the pair may have gone, before meandering towards the mess.
Wandering into the mess, he found Caitlyn, Ryuji and Shintaro making food, but no sign of the pair he looked for. As he poked about from room to room, he found Victor looking out the main window in command, while Pierce was still poking away at the navigation controls. Bastion and Cheko were asleep, the door to Magdha's room was still closed, and the sounds from the occupied bathroom were probably Cress. There was no sign of the doctor or Virgil anywhere.
Frowning to himself, he circled the ship once more, querying when he poked his head into the command room, "Yo, guys, you seen Virgil or the doctor? They seem to have up and vanished pretty good...which like...how even, I don't know."
Pierce frowned, "Huh. I haven't seen Virgil for hours. The doctor came in here a while ago...but he hasn't been by here since. The spell shouldn't have lasted that long, but I haven't heard anything..."
Victor turned to look over his shoulder, cutting off the other man, "I've heard mention of the plotting of downfalls." He smirked, "I'd tread carefully."
"...Ah. Well then...thanks?" Lucca shot them a confused, quite unsettled look and left once more. He paused to think in the hallway for a moment, now intent on solving the mystery for it's own sake, then set off for the storage room, one of the few places he'd left unchecked. After a resonably thorough, but fruitless search he threw his hands up and was muttering to himself about 'ridiculous bullshit' when he noticed another door, separate from that which he'd entered through. He was pretty sure someone, probably Carrot, had said it lead to the engine room, and hence hadn't even considered looking behind it. Until now.
He walked over to the door. As he held out his hand to twist open the seal, a voice said from above him, "I wouldn't open that door, if I were you." Lucca whipped his head about, but saw no one. The skin on the back of his neck crawled; the doctor was talking out of the walls again.
"Oh? And why not?" he asked after a few beats, his eyes still shifting about the room as he spoke.
"Because I'm not done yet, and I don't need the little monster escaping."
Lucca heard a rustling noise. "Mrrr, lemme go!" It was Virgil's voice, muffled and coming from further away.
"Stop squirming, I'm not..." the transmission cut out, but Lucca heard a vague thumping noise coming from inside the room.
The colour drained from his face, bringing with it a look of utter dread. Even before the transmission had ended, he sprang into action, grabbing the seal to open the door, with a menacing growl, "This had better be your idea of a joke, or so help me...!" The door swung open with little resistance. Inside, the room was a crowded, steamy mess of equipment and machines, making far more noise than Lucca would have guessed; there must be sound dampeners in the walls and door. There was no clear view of anything: it was a tangle of pipes and metal boxes. Amid the sounds of pumping and whirring, he heard a clatter, a muffled shout, and some footfalls. Lucca's gaze whipped about.
"No, get back here!' he heard the doctor's voice again, somewhere in the cluttered room.
"Leamme alone!" Virgil yelled, not far. There was some more scuffling noises.
"You can't escape down there!...Grrr..." There was a clumping sound, and the doctor's voice faded out.
Tearing around the crowded room, Lucca looked for where they were; there wasn't any other door, but there was no way they went out the door he had entered without him seeing. His eyes finally fell on a vent shaft in the wall, the cover hanging open. It wasn't very large, but even a full grown man could crawl through it without too much trouble. Lucca could hear the sounds of thumping, awkward movement coming from further in. Barely pausing to consider, he darted over and clambered in, his every sense acutely trained on the sounds. He squirmed through the tight tunnel as quickly as he could manage. Following the sounds, he navigated the maze-like tubes.
Suddenly, the stomping sounds became a clamour of struggle. He could hear voices, but not what they might be saying. A scream, Virgil's scream, rang down the duct. Redoubling his efforts, he shuffled forward faster, as the struggling sounds moved away. Something caught his eye, smeared along the vent shaft wall: it was blood.
He froze for a moment, eyes locked on the streak as his mind raced for a better, quicker course of action. Coming up blank, he let out a fierce growl through gritted teeth and pulled one of his knives. "Virgil!?" He called, charging forward once more, propelled by a potent mix of fear and rage.
Clambering wildly through the tunnel, he came swiftly to the end: a grate, hanging oddly to one side, having obviously been disturbed recently. There appeared to be some blood smeared along the edge, but Lucca was in no state to consider it as he yanked the cover away, wrenching it out of his path. Yelling out for Virgil again, he shoved his head out of the end of the duct, and what he saw gave him a second's pause. He was over the command room entrance, looking over the entire room. Standing across from him, looking up expectantly, were three people: Cohen, standing near a control panel, with Victor beside him, and Virgil nearby, appearing to hold a string. As Lucca blinked, trying to process this, Virgil grinned and let go of the string. A pie fell from above, hitting Lucca in the top of the head, sending bits of pastry and creamy filling scattered about. It appeared to be a cream pie; Lucca could smell the oranges in it.
"I still say that was more than necessary," Cohen said.
"I agree," Victor replied.
"Nuh uh! It was the whole point," Virgil retorted.
The druid stared around at them, the bewildered look on his face quickly darkening to one of reproachful anger. "Fuck the lot of you! What the actual fuck is wrong with you!?" He gave his head a hard shake, sending globs of goop flying and jumped down into the room. "That was a fucking bullshit excuse for a joke, assholes!" He slammed his knife back into his sheath, and flicked some of the slime off his face, glaring disgustedly at the two men.
Both of them, for their part, seemed reletively unphased. "Of course it was. Why do you think I'm standing over here? On the hopes that the tiny monster's father would stop you from gutting me," Cohen replied, rather flatly. "I've had quite enough impalement for this week," he added under his breath.
"We both told Virgil it wasn't a good sort of joke, but it seemed he was wanting for a harsher lesson," he said sternly, his gaze passing down towards the small child, who seemed confused and upset at Lucca's harsh reaction. "You didn't want to listen. That's what you get when you play mean jokes on people." Virgil looked between his stern father and the furious Lucca, with the uncomfortable look of a child who knew he had done wrong.
"I..." he stared around at them in fuming disbelief, utterly lost for words, "...I don't fucking even...!" He closed his eyes momentarily, grinding his teeth, before throwing up his hands and turning to leave, "Yeah, fuck this. That was bullshit. I'm out." Lucca turned and stormed out.
That was rather well-executed, for a larva. 3.5 stars, an unbidden voice in Lucca's head thought. Shut the fuck up. Nobody asked for your input, he shot back.
Virgil watched him leave, then looked up at his father, who merely looked down at him. "Go to your room. Apologize later." Virgil looked at the floor, nodded somberly, and walked away.
"Well, perhaps I'll be left alone for a while," Cohen muttered as he also made his way to the door. As he got there, he stopped and looked down at the kobold who had appeared and was rapidly consuming the fallen chunks of pie. "Anna, you really shouldn't eat that," he said, his voice holding a tinge of tiredness.
"B-b-but it's so good! And no-one else was eating it." She held up a fistful of orange meringue, "W-w-want any?"
"...No, thank you. Enjoy your pie," he said, walking out. Carrot shrugged, and continued eating the remains of the pastry. Victor turned back, and continued considering the ocean's depths in front of him.
Stalking down the length of the ship, Lucca ducked into one of the bathrooms, slamming the door behind him with enough force to send reverberations through a good part of the vessel.
Several hours passed before Lucca left the confines of the bathroom again, stalking directly back to his bunk without any hesitation. There weren't many other people in there that he could see, only Cress snoring contentedly on his upper bed. Flopping over onto the bed beneath him, he sighed into his pillow.
It was some time before he had the peculiar sensation of being watched. He lifted his head up to see Virgil standing bedside, his posture very straight and his gaze dropped low. He fiddled with his hands folded in front of him. Pursing his lips, he regarded the boy silently for a long moment before heaving a sigh and sitting up. "What's up, dude?", he asked his tone flat and weary.
He bowed his head lower, "I'm really, really sorry..." he said quietly. "I wanted to scare you, but I didn't think you'd get that scared..."
The druid's expression softened a bit at this, "...It's cool...I forgive you." He paused before adding, "Please, never do anything like that again though, kay? Tricks like that are pretty mean..."
"I'm sorry..." he repeated, still looking down. "I won't do it again. An' I'll listen when someone says it's mean."
"Hey hey, you don't need to keep apologizing, I already said I forgive you; you sound like your dad." He flashed a faint, crooked smile, and held out his arms to the boy, "It's alright; c'mere."
Virgil crawled onto the edge of the bed and hugged Lucca tightly. "...You smell tasty..." he mumbled from Lucca's shirt.
"I know right? Dunno why you guys made such a good pie to waste on my head." Lucca said with a bemused snort, hugging Virgil back extra tight and lightly resting his face atop his head. After a moment, he added quietly, "I'm glad it was just a bad joke, and you're alright..."
"Why wouldn't I be alright?" he asked, looking up at him. "Didn't you know we were playing tricks? We thought you knew...an' Dad almost told you too, I heard him. Like, I knew you'd be scared, but I thought you wouldn't get too scared, 'cause you kinda knew it was a trick."
"Yeah, but I never expected a trick like that...not at all, especially not with Dr. Cohen. I'm surprised he went along with it." He shrugged, adding with a chuckle, "Plus, I can be dumb, you know that. Anyway," he let go of the boy and ruffled his hair, "I need to get some rest, I haven't slept in....I dunno, but it's long."
"Kay." Virgil stood back up. He looked thoughtful for a second, then bowed his head again. "I'm sorry again," he added, then scuttled off to his own bed.
----
After a well-deserved nap, Lucca began to head out of the bunk room, just as Victor was heading in. When he saw the younger man, Victor stopped and bowed his head, "I apologize for earlier. I used you as a disciplinary example, and I shouldn't have. That wasn't fair to you."
The druid regarded him stonily for a long moment before suddenly shrugging, "Yeah, it was pretty balls. Don't worry about it though, it's done. Apology accepted."
"Thank you. I've been telling him for a while not to do things like that, but apparently I'm not a fun person to begin with, so he didn't believe me that it wasn't funny. He needed someone who normally reacts well to take it badly for once. Hopefully he learned a lesson and will think about his actions in the future." He took a few more steps in before adding, "Oh, and thank you for not assaulting the doctor. He rather rightly assumed he would be. Which Virgil also discounted."
"Hmm, fair enough...next time though, maybe save the crazy lessons for when people are a tad less keyed up, eh? There's enough tension on this boat already, without actively adding to it."
"I'll keep that in mind in the future. I just didn't want to waste the opportunity before he got too destructive," Victor shrugged.
Lucca glanced over his shoulder at the older man as he passed, then waved dismissively, "And yeah, no problem. Poor bastard has had more than enough punishment this past week, I figure."
"I'm certain we all appreciate your temperance." He yawned, "I need to sleep for a while. We should be coming to wherever our destination is in a few hours. If I haven't woken by the time we land, please get me." As he was about to turn away, he blinked and added, "...Does something smell like citrus?"
Category:Advent of the All