Time: A Long Time Ago During Shax's Teenage Years
Place: In Hell, Palace of Princess Ashtaroth "Ver?" Shax kicked his boot heels against the rock ledge where he'd perched. His squad of troll guards stood out of earshot, watchful, wary. Maybe riding out here to the Cliffs of Lunacy hadn't been the best idea but it wasn't as if the cliff bats would dare bother a Prince of Hell. Besides, the view was fabulous. Verin, lying on his back with his eyes squeezed shut, grunted a non-committal response. "What do you think it's like? The human world?" "Don't care. Humans are assholes." Shax chewed on a bit of candied manticore heart from the supply in his belt pouch. "I bet it's interesting. They have towns and markets and wars. Greed and lust and vanity in these weird combinations. They have sunlight. And oceans." "We have oceans." "Of water, not lava." "Oh." Shax belatedly offered a candy to Verin. "Want one?" "Gross. No. Don't know how you eat those fucking things. Too sweet." Verin's horns were finally coming in, fully curved black rams horns that would be devastating in a fight. Shax envied him a little but the horns had grown faster than Verin, imposing a heavy burden on his still-slender adolescent neck. Gave him nasty headaches sometimes. Shax flexed his shoulders fretfully, trying for the thousandth time to see if wings were coming in. Mum had wings. He should get wings. Being an almost-grown demon was irritating. "One of my cousins told me the humans do festivals." Verin snorted. "What in all fucking pits is that?" "Seems to be something like an orgy. Sometimes. But with music and dancing and offerings where they give things to beings they think are gods." "That's stupid. Why would they do that?" Shax nodded. "I suppose it's a little odd. But it's all part of worship. If the humans worship you, they want to please you. Sitri says they even offer themselves." He chewed on a thumb claw, unable to let go of the idea now that it had taken root. "I want to go, Ver. I want to see the humans. Not souls, but living, flesh and bone humans." "You're gonna get us in fucking trouble again, aren't you?" "Come on, Ver. It was completely worth it to sneak into Uncle Asmo's last orgy. Even if we couldn't sit down for a week." Verin grumbled something about strips taken out of his ass but they had enjoyed themselves until Mum caught them. It wasn't that she objected to her little princeling buried under a pile of attentive imps but she had expressly forbidden him to attend orgies until his formal presentation at court. She would not be disobeyed. As to the matter of traveling topside, she hadn't said not to. It was just generally understood that immature demons didn't. Restless anger had become his companion more and more. They were nearly grown and still treated like hatchlings. "Oh, shit." Verin covered his face with both hands, smoke curling between his fingers. "We're doing this, aren't we?" "Yes." The fever had Shax now. It had to be done. "Tonight." "Fuck." Later that night, or rather bugfuck early the next morning when Hell parties had ended in stupor and occasional slaughter and the workday had yet to begin, two teenage demons climbed down the side of one of the high towers of Princess Ashtaroth's palace. The one used a rope and the other used his claws to descend the mirror-sheen obsidian. The stone wasn't quite as glass-perfect by the time they reached the bottom. "That left more of a mark than I thought it would." Shax cringed. "Yeah, well, too late now, genius," Verin growled. "Your idea to go together so it'd be faster." They only took Shax's own nightmare, riding double, in a hushed and hurried escape from the stable before the gremlin grooms could wake and ask questions. They galloped to the Cave of Expedition where all points in the human world linked to Hell in some mysterious, arcane way. The narrow mouth opened into a vast cavern where the ceiling vanished into blackness. Shining, shifting surfaces with constantly changing jagged edges, too strange and unsettling to be called windows, stood in a rough circle at the center of the cavern. Verin touched a surface gingerly with a single forefinger. When his digit didn't sink through, he knocked on it with his knuckles. "What the fuck, Shaxy? How do we get through?" "Ah, my dear Verin, one needs a key." Shax grinned as he pulled a shard of black crystal from his pack. "And not every demon has one." "Um…" The color drained from Verin's face. "Did you steal that from your mom?" "Pfff. Of course not. Do you think I'm stupid?" Shax glared when Verin opened his mouth to answer. "Shush. No. I took it from her secretary." "Don't know if that's a shit ton better," Verin muttered. "We just need to find a fun spot to go through." Shax began searching the surfaces, fascinated by the sheer variety of humans and their activities. "Oooh, they're fighting in this one. Ow. No. That looks painful. A night scene. That's what we want. All the fun things happen at night up there, don't they?" "Don't look at me. Nobody tells me shit." Which wasn't precisely true. Higher-level demons tended to talk around Verin since he was 'just a minion.' They'd learned some juicy stuff that way. Shax rounded the curve and came upon an intriguing scene—young humans, naked or mostly so, danced around an enormous bonfire. They wore garlands of leaves and flowers twined in their hair and they swayed as they leapt and turned, chanting wildly. "This one. Definitely this one." Shax reached out a hand. "Come on, Ver. Hang on tight." Verin clutched his arm with both hands, claws digging in. With a deep breath, Shax stepped forward with the crystal in his free hand, letting the black shard touch the portal surface first. There was a moment's resistance, then the portal spat them out with unseemly force so that they tumbled in a heap onto a broad moonlit meadow. They had landed downslope from the bonfire, outside the circle of light, so Shax rolled off Verin and stayed flat in the grass to observe. The humans had food and wine piled up on a wooden, flower-strewn dais. It all looked so festive and inviting…and lithe naked humans… Shax stood slowly, even though Verin hissed and cussed at him to get down. "They'll fucking see you!" "That's the idea." Shax left his pack on the hillside and after a moment's thought, his shirt and his boots as well. Then he walked boldly into the firelight. The nearest humans gasped, their drums and pipes petering to a ragged halt as the dancers spotted him, mouths open, eyes wide. The frozen tableau only lasted a moment until one young man flung his head back and let out a crazed bellow. This seemed to be some kind of signal. The humans rushed toward him. "Pan! Pan has come!" "A young god! Pan come to us as a young god!" "Pan has heard us!" "He's brought a satyr too!" This came from the gleeful group of celebrants dragging Verin up the hill. Humans fell to their knees in the grass before Shax, they leapt and danced around him in joyous celebration, laughing and whooping. "Shax! They're…touching me!" Verin called out in panic as the humans pulled him down to the grass. Shax laughed and pulled a young man close for a teasing kiss. "Relax, Ver. This is worship. You're fine." "Oh. Huh." Verin had ended up with his horned head in a lovely young man's lap while another fed him some small round fruit. A third had shoved Verin's kilt up and was licking at eager demon cock. "Oh…fuck yeah." The young humans surrounded Shax, touching him, stroking him. One lovely with golden hair brought him a goblet. Another brought him a bowl of little…somethings. Shax took one delicately in his claws. Hard. Teardrop shaped. Oh. It was delicious. Nuts, he decided. He had heard of those. "Which do you choose, oh, Pan?" A youngster with beautiful black ringlets knelt before him, one hand on his thigh. "Which of your virgins would you prefer tonight?" Shax's wits scattered and lay in little ecstatic balls around his feet as the youngster reached up under his kilt and did wicked, wicked things. "Mmmm…I do like you. You're not really virgins, though, are you?" The youngsters laughed in delight. "No, my lord Pan. It's a ceremonial title. What fun would actual virgins be?" Shax relaxed back in the arms of his supplicants, stroking and kissing languidly as he pleased but letting them do the work. And, oh, it was glorious, all those hands and mouths and cocks everywhere. He thought he would shatter with pleasure. Everything was going-- "Shax, you fucking little pile of goblin shit!" Uh-oh. A frighteningly strong, clawed hand reached into the dogpile of humans and yanked Shax out. "Ah. Um. Hello, Sitri." Shax swallowed hard as he blinked up at his cousin's face. His purple with rage face topped with the sharp goat horns. "Nice evening for a stroll, isn't it?" "What the fuck do you think you're doing with those humans?" "I wasn't really doing much of anything. They were doing the, ah, doing." Sitri breathed out a short gout of fire and turned his back on the worshippers. "Those are my worshippers, you little git. And you're poaching." "Maybe you should arrive to your orgies on time then, Si." The blow Sitri gave him was so hard, Shax tumbled all the way back down the hill. He lay there dazed until Sitri came stomping down with Verin under one arm. He scooped Shax up with the other and tossed them, rather rudely Shax thought, back through the portal into the Cave of Expedition. "Fucking pits, Shax," Verin muttered. "Why the fucking fuck do I listen to you?" It was three days later, with their scurrilous deeds discovered and their rather nasty punishments over, that the adolescent demons were back in Shax's room. Verin was missing an ear. Shax was temporarily devoid of thumbs. But they were mostly whole, the missing parts would grow back, and hadn't been fed to Leviathan or anything. Yes, Mum had been furious, mostly about the damage to her lovely tower. "It could've been worse." Shax picked at his dragon stew. Such a bother eating without thumbs. "Shut up." Verin snarled from where he curled in a ball on the bed. "Ver, come on. It was wonderful until Sitri came." A steam-laden sigh drifted through the bed curtains. "I guess. Yeah." "When we're grown and I have my own palace, we'll go to the human world whenever we want. Wherever we want. Worshippers are nice but I'm sure there are a million amazing things to do there. We'll have so much fun." "Maybe." Verin grunted, shifting around on the bed. "For right now? I'm gonna be lying on my one fucking ear so I can't hear you anymore."
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Time: a few months after the end of Shax's War
Place: Thinis, planet Elistrus It had taken a bit to cotton to the signage of Corny's new world. Verin had been mighty patient, all things considered, but he'd been knocked back a couple of times by the things Corny had asked. Frustrating for both of them. Corny was getting it, though. He knew what kinds of things meant a saloon, or rather a bar now. His own instincts from back home did the rest in scouting out a place where he might could be comfortable. Nowhere too highbrow. Nowhere too rough and tumble like Verin liked. Nowhere too wild like Cap'n Shax liked. Just somewhere seedy and quiet where he could have a drink and ruminate a spell. This being Elistrus, the seedy never got quite as bad as on Amnesia, say, but he found himself a dimly lit bar that was a mix of characters and nobody paid him any mind when he wandered in. It wasn't that he was hiding from his shipmates, exactly. He'd adjusted pretty well to this strange new life. But there were days when he looked at his new home—a metal box that hurtled at unsafe speeds through an airless, frigid nothing—and his new family—not another human among them—and he came over dizzy and weird. Dislocation syndrome, Mac said. He didn't know anything about that. He just knew he needed a little time away. With a quick glance around the room, Corny headed for the chrome and dark something material bar and slid onto an empty stool between an hombre who looked human enough and a person in a hood and robe. There was a beak sticking out of the front of the hood, but he wasn't judging. Corny nodded to the demon on his right, who ignored him, and to the human on his left, who turned out to be in no wise human. The boy had tusks. Oh, well. Corny tapped in his whiskey order on the little light panel on the bar top and paid for it using the handy wristwatch-that-was-not-a-wristwatch the captain had given him. He had his own bank account—devil only knew how—and he had pay that magically appeared in it every month. Maybe not magic exactly. Captain Shax did that too but Corny didn't want to know the how's and why's of it all. The whiskey came by way of a robotic arm from behind the bar, which was handy when you really didn't want conversation. There were still flesh and blood bartenders in his new world, Corny had been relieved to find. Tonight, this was just fine. Tusk Boy leaned over the bar to talk around him to Beak. "Kak? He look likely?" For his part, Beak turned to stare at Corny if saying that a bird's skull with empty eye sockets could stare, of course. Gave Corny the willies, especially when Kak stared longer than was strictly polite. "Help you with somethin', mister?" Corny drawled without looking up from his whiskey. Kak opened his beak and let out a strange clattering sound like a raven's laugh scraped across bones. "Canz he helpz us, Tsidigor? Canz he?" "Now see here, boys." Corny put his whiskey down with a solid thump on the bar. "I live with demons, so I ain't afeared of 'em. Whatever game you're fixin' to play here, don't deal me in." "Game?" Tsidigor smiled and it wasn't a friendly, come-in-and-have-some-tea kind of smile. "No game, human. Though your new owners might have plenty of fun planned for you soon." Corny hadn’t let himself be distracted in one direction or the other, so he was ready when Kak slipped a pair of cuffs out of his robe. Hand on the butt of his pistol, one of the brace of plasma pistols Verin had given him, Corny spun to his left, shoved Tsidigore off his bar stool, and jumped to where he could face the pair of them as he drew his weapon. Out of reach, of course. He didn't know exactly what was going on, but he knew he sure as hell didn't want to be part of it now. "Hands where I can see 'em, the pair of you. Got a lot of nerve, tryin' to shanghai a stranger and not a lick of sense betwixt and between you for pickin' on an armed man." Disturbingly, Kak laughed again. "Thinkz a little toy gun stopz us. Stupid human." Things were fixing to get ugly mighty quick until a clip-clop of hooves ran up behind Corny and Heckle peeked around him from his unarmed side. "Corny? Um. Hi. Prince Shax said to come find you. He said he had a report of slavers in the city. Prince Shax said—" At the first mention of Shax, Kak and Tsidigore exchanged what could have been a funny double take under different circumstances. At the second, they hopped off their barstools right quick and edged around Corny to scuttle out the door. Heckle leaned out to watch them flee down the street in a manner not becoming…well, anyone. "What was that all about?" Corny put an arm around Heckle's shoulders and steered him out in the direction of the docks. "Never you mind, Heck. Don't have a hankerin' to explain it right now. Just accept my thanks and let's head home." "Oh. You're welcome." After a couple of minutes walking, Heckle said in a small voice, "Those were the slavers, weren't they?" Corny glanced down at him just to be sure Heckle wasn't too badly shook up. "Sharp eye you got. And the less we say about the matter, the better." His demons may have been ornery varmints sometimes but leastwise they weren't low-down bushwhackers. He just had to remember that not all demons were up to his high standards and that sometimes you had to drop a demon prince's name into a bad situation to come out with all your skin. Time: After Beside a Black Tarn
Place: Aboard the Brimstone, in transit Space station engineers initially bred spacer rats as diagnostic assistants. Even the best spider bots have difficulty navigating certain angles of duct and pipe, and rats, notorious for getting into everything, ended up being a better choice in certain situations. With head-mounted cameras, they could be trained to seek out sources of wiring and pipe leakage issues. Several modifications in the domestic rat became essential, though. Rats have poor eyesight, which was addressed with some avian gene splicing, resulting in the spacer rats keen and somewhat disturbing red eyes. Gecko DNA borrowing resulted in the suction-cupped feet and a bit of harvest mouse genetic borrowing in the prehensile tail, both of which allow the spacer rat to operate in zero-g with ease. Unfortunately, spacer rats are also notoriously curious and independent. It didn't take long for portions of their populations to escape their handlers and spread out to the spacer community at large… Mac tapped off the article's audio and leaned back on his bunk to think. The Brimstone wasn't a huge closed system like a space station but she did have spots that were harder to reach. Could Nicodemus be trained to carry a camera and check in tight spaces? And come back when asked? That was probably the trickiest part. Nic was something like a toddler in that regard and did what Nic wanted to do when he wanted to do it. Maybe if he knew there was an incentive for doing the job right? Mac scratched at the stubble on his chin. He'd never trained animals before. Corny would probably have a better idea of how to go about it and Ness would have to agree. Nic was definitely his rat and ran to the fallen angel whenever he was in trouble. He stood, stretched, and had just exited his cabin when an unholy shrieking rang out from the galley. "Get out! Get out! Get your dirty little feet out of my flour bin now! What in all holy feather boas are you doing in there!" Not something one heard every day aboard a space freighter. Mac hurried down the corridor and turned the corner into the galley to find exactly…nothing. The galley was empty. Ms. Ivana's screeching jumped from galley com only to all ship. "Ness Angelus! You come and get your filthy little disrespectful rat right now!" Mac leaned against the counter to wait. It didn't take long on such a small ship. Deck boots pounded on the plates as Ness, dressed only in his boxers, careened around the corner, wide-eyed and breathless. "Where is he? Ms. Ivana, what's happened?" "He's in my flour bin!" she wailed in repulsed distress. "He's…he's excavating in there!" "Oh, dear." Ness folded his wings to his back neatly but otherwise stood frozen, obviously not equipped to puzzle through the problem. "Above decks or below, Ms. Ivana?" Mac asked in the steadiest voice he could muster. Laughing right then seemed a poor choice. Ivana let out a miserable sniff and said in a much smaller voice, "Belowdecks. I feel so violated." "All right, sweetheart." Mac patted the com. "You just hold tight. We'll take care of this." He motioned for Ness to follow and strode down the corridor to the ladder leading to stores. Everything in storage was properly fastened and strapped down—Heckle saw to that. Nothing worse than loose articles once the ship hit the hard acceleration of Copernicus drive. Small things became missiles. Large things became wrecking balls. Ivana's supplies lay toward the inner wall of storage, a long line of specialized containers that her picking arms and feeder vaccum tubes used as needed. Empty carton? The feeder arms unlatched and retrieved a new container and refilled. The only time galley transport wasn't a closed system was during refilling, and that was a matter of two minutes at most. Nic had to have been watching. And waiting. Obviously uncomfortable and embarrassed, Ness put a hand on the release for the flour container. "In the feeder bin?" "Yes!" The AI voice trembled and Mac could have sworn he heard a muffled sob. "I'm so sorry about this, Ms. Ivana. Truly. I feel terrible." Ness fumbled with disengaging the feeder tube and Mac stepped into help, making short work of sealing the tube and disengaging the lid catches. As soon as he could open half the lid, Ness leaned over and whistled. "Nicodemus! You come out of there! You know you're not supposed to be in the food!" A rodent head immediately popped out of the flour, Nicodemus even whiter than usual. With a bit of a struggle, he fought free of the flour and climbed up onto Ness's hand. Rather sheepishly, Mac thought. He climbed up to Ness's shoulder, trailing flour and squeaking miserably. "I told you not to go in the food," Ness scolded softly. "What if he hears about it? What are we going to do then?" "Oh, he heard," Shax purred from the ladder. He stalked over, eyes narrowed on Nic. "Difficult not to hear with Ivana so upset. What was our agreement, rat? That you stay as long as you stay out of my food stores. Someone doesn't listen." Mac had the uncomfortable feeling that he was watching a deadly collision in slow motion. Shax was about to do something he would very much regret later. Ness was about to have his heart broken and his love shaken to the core. No, no. I can't stand here and let this happen. He put an arm around Shax's shoulder and turned him back toward the ladder. The demon prince resisted but Mac pretended he didn't notice. "Captain, perfect. I wanted to talk to you about Nic, an idea I wanted to run by you. I've been reading up on spacer rats in engineering roles and I think there's a way to harness Nic's excess energy…" Shax's interest diverted, he relaxed in Mac's grip and allowed himself to be led back up to the crew deck while Mac kept talking. He was going to have to do something nice for Ms. Ivana to smooth over having Nic scrabbling around her ducts but that would have to wait. Behind him, he could've sworn he heard Ness whisper to Nic, "Yes, I promise. We'll get him to like you. Just don't go food diving again." Time: During the ending of Shax's War
Place: Aboard the Brimstone, in dock on Amnesia Leopold climbed onto the chair in what was now his cabin. Why he had been given his own cabin was unclear, though his demon father assured him it was appropriate. The bunk remained folded into the wall since he had no desire to use it. He would have to work on a corner nest at some point. In the meantime, he had a small desk and comm console, complete with lightpad and holo screen. Wriggling himself into a semi-comfortable position, he began to type. Several questions still Many concerning language How do I know speech? How do I form words? Why am I able to type? Am I a figment? The AI says no. Says I have bio readings, and physical mass. This could all be part of the elaborate dream of which I'm a piece. All quite puzzling. However, if he was a figment and this was a complicated hallucination, he still had to live in it. Comforting that he could keep a journal. The act made him feel more…real. Leopold plopped back onto the floor and scurried out into the already-familiar corridors. The interconnected corridors were less complex than in the big ship, so he knew them all by heart. The people living here were more challenging to untangle. There had been three angels but there would soon be only two, since two of the regular angels would be sent home that day. Papa Ness was a "fallen" angel, and Leopold was beginning to understand what that truly meant. Not that he agreed with it. The rest of the crew, barring a single human, was made up of different sorts of "demons," which seemed a catchall phrase to him. He skittered outside the sick bay and managed the turn without too much sliding. Only three patients still occupied the beds since Papa Ness had moved to the cabin he shared with Papa Shax to complete his convalescence. Quieter there, apparently. Leopold stopped to sniff outside the big demon's cabin. Demon. Human. Strong pheromones. Ah. They had engaged in that thing paired beings did called sex. And sometimes more than pairs of beings. It all seemed messy and overly energetic for the reported outcome. Some beings did it as a means of physical procreation, though he understood Corny and Verin most likely would not produce young from it. When he passed the kitchen where the imp, Heckle, sat talking quietly with Mac, he scented similar pheromones, though they weren't engaged in any of the types of activities he had seen on the vids showing sex. Odd. Whatever Mac was doing, he had managed to focus the imp's attention, which was good. Heckle no longer caused chaos in the kitchen. Maybe that would be part of Mac's job. Imp distraction. When Leopold reached the hold, he plunked down on the landing to watch the goings on down below where Papa Shax was in the process of tossing an unpleasant looking human off his ship. Leopold hoped the angels would be safe with the angry human. They had been through too much. As he sat there with his short hind legs swinging, something about the four people standing in the hold glaring at each other. They were crew. The ship where Leopold had been born had been much larger and crew had meant many things, with many different jobs. Still – it meant that each person had a place here, did something the rest depended on. Crew. He stared down at his stumpy limbs and small paws. What could he possibly do that would be useful? Clean dust out of air ducts? No. This ship had little bots to do that. What then? "If you live onboard, you apply to the captain. His ship—he will know." He would ask Papa Shax when he returned. Simple as that. Then he wouldn't be a figment at all. He would be crew. The boys are taking a break this week because the holidays are tough on all of us. They hope you're staying safe and not wearing yourselves out.
Captain Shax wishes you all the best and hopes that next year will bring bright and beautiful things. Time: 1758, Christmas Eve
Location: Yorkshire countryside, England "I always said they weren't stars, you know." Shax stared at the sharp winter sky from the balcony, watching Earth's seventy-five year visitor. "Knew what weren't, bonehead?" Verin grunted from the room behind him where he was manhandling an oak chest from under the four-poster. Ridiculous bed, that. It was bigger even than Shax's bed in his palace and so high off the floor that the absurd dowager it belonged to required a set of stairs to reach it. While Shax could have crawled under the bed quite easily to pick the lock, there were dust bunnies under there the size of ponies. Probably feral dust bunnies on top of that. "The comets, Ver." Shax pointed to the bright, long-tailed visitor among the normal stars. "This is the one Mr. Halley said would come back. And here it is. Finally, the human scientists are saying it's not a star." "Yeah? Why the fuck do I care, Shaxy? Are you opening the damn chest or not?" Shax ambled back inside. No need to rush this job. The dowager had taken nearly her entire household to visit with her son at the family estate for Christmas, a holiday Shax resented so much that he always planned a major bit of thievery for the occasion. People with horns were no longer welcome at human midwinter celebrations in Europe and most of the Americas. Really, it was almost too much to bear. The only person left at the dowager's house was an old housekeeper who was far too deaf to hear them. Shax had the padlock off in under twenty seconds, a matter of pride these days since Verin had acquired a pocket watch with a second hand and took far too much pleasure in timing him. "Handkerchief, scarves, oooh, scarlet bloomers, how naughty," Shax muttered as he dug through the chest. "Why we even here?" Verin prowled the room, pocketing a trinket here and there that caught his fancy. "All the fucking quality ladies take their jewelry boxes with them on visits, yeah?" "Well, yes, that's often the case. But I have it from a lovely young footman that her ladyship keeps the jewelry up here that she no longer finds appropriate for her age. Which, incidentally, she hasn't given to her daughter-in-law because they hate each other. Servants' gossip is so invaluable." "Was he good?" "Hmm?" Shax was so deep in the chest now he feared he might have to climb in. "Was who good?" "The footman. Good screw?" "Oh, not bad. You know how it is with young humans. All enthusiasm. No patience. Still satisfying. Well, well, what have we here…" Shax emerged from the pool of silk and satin to take his find—a carved rosewood box—to the window where the light was better. The little box was no better a guardian than the massive oak chest and gave up its secrets with a soft sigh. "Delicious, delicious, so many pretties. Do you think Mum would like some new pearls?" Shax held up the long string of pink pearls for Verin to see. Verin shrugged. "Don't know what her scariness likes. Why don't you just take the whole fucking box?" "How crass." Shax wrinkled his nose. "I don't steal just any old thing." He did take the pearls in their velvet pouch, certain that Mummy would like them. A blue diamond tiara and a lovely necklace of braided gold joined the pearls in his bag. Amethysts weren't generally his favorite, but these were an unusually deep purple and in a gorgeous gold-knot setting, so he took the choker as well. The dragonfly brooch had to come, simply for the artistry of the piece. The emerald encrusted cross he left where it lay. When he'd finished, he closed up the box, placed it back in its spot, carefully replaced the layers upon layers of scarves and unmentionables, and relocked the chest. "There we are. Please put it back, Ver." "Put the fucking thing back yourself, your annoying highness." When they were small, Shax would have stamped his foot and been very cross. It was a near thing. There were times when Verin made him want to stamp his foot and have a tantrum. "Are you or are you not my retainer? We leave things as they were and no one will discover the theft for months. Possibly years." Steam curled from Verin's nostrils. "What do we care what the old bat figures out? We'll be home by then." "It's the artistry of the thing." Shax spread his hands in a most unregal entreaty. "Please, Ver. I'm just not strong enough. That's why we're a team. I do the fiddly, fussy things and you do the big, exciting things." "You mean the fucking drudge work." "Didn't I let you flatten those guards in London? Wasn't that fun?" Verin snorted but a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah. Fine. That was fun." Certainly, Shax could have shoved the chest under the bed himself, but that's what minions were for. Not that he ever used the word with Ver. It was one of those touchy points that could get Shax hurt. But Verin took the flattery this time, thank the pits, and put the chest back. Minion really wasn't the right word for Verin, in any case. Not anymore. Though they weren't lovers, no matter what his cousins whispered, and partners didn't seem proper either with the social divide between them. Shax nodded to the bright ball and tail of the comet. "What do you think it's like?" "What what's like?" "What it's like up there. Past the firmament. Out in the stars. What would it be like to see the comet out there? Do you think it's a glorious blazing eternal fire? Where does it go when it leaves our sky and goes on its three-quarter century voyage?" Verin stared at him for a long moment. "Your cousins are right, Shaxy. You're just a mica sliver this side of cracked. How would you get up there? Have someone shoot you out of a giant cannon? I mean, even people with wings can't do it." "Someday. The humans are building new things all the time now. Someday they'll manage." "They're not gonna take you with them, your lunatic highness." Verin climbed over the balcony railing for the drop down into the gardens. "C'mon, Shaxy. Stop with the crazy shit and let's go home." (Author's Note: Edmund Halley was the first person to figure out that the comet he spotted in 1682 was a returning comet, one that appeared every 75-76 years. He predicted that the comet would reappear in 1758. Though he didn't live to see it a second time, the comet, the one we now call Halley's Comet did reappear on Christmas Eve in 1758, just as he said it would.) Time: Edwardian Era
Location: London, Earth Steam curling from his nostrils, Verin stared at the crystal vial in his hand as if it might bite him. "Don't like it." "This is why we're starting here. In private." Shax hurried around the parlor closing curtains as he went. He'd dismissed the staff for the night and they both stood stark naked in their empty London house. Just me, Verin, and his anxieties. Hooray. "Chtork swears the stuff is something new and wonderful. And I know, I know. It's Chtork and as liable to turn us into kittens for the night as anything else. But if it's something ridiculous, we just stay home. Nothing bad will happen." "Chtork is a fucking moron who has it in for me, Shaxy." Verin heaved himself into one of the wing chairs by the fire. "Most of your mom's goblins don't like me. That one hates me." "Now, now. Mother's rather fond of her and she's done well for me in the past." "Sometimes. What about that wand that turned you into a fucking ottoman?" Shax waved a hand in dismissal. "Temporary bit of nonsense. Didn't last more than six hours. Come on, Ver, don't be a big spawn." Shax opened his crystal vial and raised it in salute. "Down the hatch!" Though Verin grumbled, he tossed back his potion only half a heartbeat behind Shax. Then they both lowered their vials and watched each other, waiting for the potential disaster to manifest. For a good two minutes, nothing happened until finally an uncomfortable warmth spread over Shax's skin. Dizzy, nauseous, he wanted to sit down, but he kept smiling, gaze glued to what was happening with Verin. "Holy pits, Shaxy…" Verin shuddered and buried his face in his hands. His huge curled ram's horns shrank and the scales on his clawed feet melted into skin. "Ver? Going to die on me?" The effect Shax experienced was unpleasant but not unbearable. Clearly, Verin's change was worse. "Dunno yet." Verin bent double over his knees. "Am I furniture yet?" "It's not immediately apparent, no." Shax titled his head to the side as he sank into the opposite wing chair. "You seem to have developed a very handsome pair of human feet and your horns are gone. Ver, look at me." Verin raised his head slowly and Shax's watchful gaze became a shocked stare. That wasn't Verin's familiar face any longer, with its black eyes and several-times-broken nose. A stranger stared back at him, one with clear blue eyes and even, aristocratic features. "Well, well," Shax said on a soft whistle. "You do clean up nicely some days." "You look weird," Verin said with a frown. "Weird how?" "You're a human red. Ginger, I guess or some shit. Your eyes are green. Just looks wrong." Shax grinned and leaped up to rush over to the mirror. Oh, yes. Yes! His human-auburn hair was glorious. They both looked properly human and clothes would only assist the illusion. With a good deal of coaxing and prodding, Shax chivvied Verin upstairs and got them dressed. A valet would've been preferable, but the servants were used to much less drastic charms that only hid the most obvious demonic attributes. Verin was dashing in a black waistcoat and deep blue coat, while Shax went for a bit of flash with a gold-embroidered on cream waistcoat and a forest green coat. A proper pair of young Edwardian rakes they made indeed. The hired coach was waiting on the street and they made their way to Lady Estelle's for her opening of the season party. They were, of course, fashionably late but not boorishly so. The partygoers were well into the alcohol when they arrived and Shax had no trouble at all with introductions and witty, amusing conversation. Verin stayed near his shoulder, mostly silent but that didn't seem to deter the young men and women at all. They did their best to drag him into conversation, obviously taken by the tall, dark and brooding stranger. Food, a bit. Drink, sparingly. This was the part where Shax sized up his prey. Who wore what and what was truly worth the risk, how much he could get away with quickly and where the best exits were. Perfection, every moment of the evening, until the young lord chatting up Shax raised an eyebrow at his hand. "I say, Shackleton. What the devil's happened there?" Disturbed, Shax glanced down to find a patch of green on the back of his hand. Scales. Bright green scales and they were spreading over his skin in a lazy fashion. "Goodness. I must have brushed up against something. Please forgive me." Shax gave the human a polite bow. "I fear I should quit your company momentarily to see to this." He grabbed Verin by the elbow, ostensibly on the way to the washroom and pulled him into a side corridor. "What? You making trouble already, bonehead?" "No, Ver. Worse. Show me your hands." The urgency in his voice must have gotten through since Verin held out his hands without protest. The scales had started on Verin's palms, but were obviously spreading like his. "Fucking fuckery," Verin muttered. "What's happening?" "It appears that we've received a two-step potion. I think it's best if we leave before the second step takes hold." Verin glanced up from their hands and his human face lost color. "A little late for that, genius. You've got face scales and your nose is shrinking." "Lovely." Shax took a quick survey of the immediate area. "All right. We can't go out the back. Servants coming and going everywhere. Everyone should be down here at the party, though. It's upstairs and out a window." "So move. I think I'm growing a fucking tail." "Oh, lovely." Shax took him by the sleeve and hustled through the house to the front hall. There were guests here and there but all too involved in intrigues, gossip and seductions of the moment to notice two transforming guests hurrying past. They reached the hall without mishap and hurried up the grand staircase. A huge gilt mirror sat at the top of the landing and nearly made Shax fall back down the stairs in shock. The figures hurrying toward the glass were no longer a handsome ginger lord and his equally handsome dark companion, but a pair of lizard men complete with bright green bony crests instead of hair. "Pit's sakes. That's not a good look for either of us." "Less looking, more going," Verin growled and pushed him past the mirror. Tearing fabric twisted Shax's head around and, yes, he was growing a flame-forsaken tail too. Not a good look at all. They ran now, searching for an open bedroom but when they found one, it was most unfortunately occupied. A lady's maid fussed with some lacy thing at the wardrobe. When she heard the door open, she turned and screamed. Quite loudly. Possibly the loudest scream Shax had heard outside of Hell. "Demons!" she shrieked. "Demons in her ladyship's bedroom!" Because of course she couldn't just faint. Shax tried to leave the bedroom only to find two more maids behind them in the hallway who dropped their linen burdens and joined the screaming. Boots were pounding up the stairs. There might be weapons involved and Shax so hated getting shot or stabbed. It was time for a quick decision. He caught Verin's now slit-pupiled golden gaze. "A little property damage?" "Oh, fuck yes. You let me go first, your short puny highness." There were days when it distressed Shax that Verin had grown up so much bigger than he had. In every way. This was not one of those days. Verin barreled through the room, claws bursting through the toes of his fancy boots, and smashed right through one of the bedroom windows with a satisfying crash. Shax rushed in his wake, his newly scaled feet hardly bothered by the shards of glass littering the carpet. Shouts of Demons! After them! This way! chased them for several blocks, but they were better adapted to climbing and hiding than humans. They took the safest way home along the rooftops. As they let themselves in through the back door of the townhouse, Shax began to laugh, which was a disturbing gurgling sound coming from his lizard throat. "What? What's so fucking funny?" Verin growled as he stomped inside through the kitchen. "Oh. I was just thinking." Shax thumped his tail against the floor. Tails were interesting. "That's the first time in two centuries that we've been thrown out of a party for being demons. And we didn't even look like us." "Ha. Hilarious. If we don't look like us by morning, I'm gonna rearrange your lizard face so it doesn't even look like you now." Verin grabbed him by the lapels and lifted him off his lizard feet. "No more fucking potions from that goblin." "Fine." "Good." Someday, they had to find a better way to blend in. For now, it was back to hats and hoods, and Verin not going to parties, which Shax couldn't feel bad about. He really hated them anyway. Time: Five months after Beside a Black Tarn
Location: Aboard the Brimstone "Hot stuff? You know the docking recert's come up?" Shax didn't look up from his delicate soldering job. Sometimes even the best electronics needed repair and he could save Mac from having to deal with the tiny, trivial things. "I know, dear." "We have a teensy sticky problem, you know." "No, we don't. The coils are recalibrated. They'll get top inspection grades. All the mechanics are in excellent shape since Mac got here." He managed to get through three small, meticulous connections before Ivana's voice came through the speaker by his head again, her voice icy and far too formal. "Captain. I need your attention for just a moment." "Yes, yes. I'm nearly done here." "Captain!" Shocked at the volume and tone, Shax smashed his head on the shelf above his desk and managed to burn his index finger with the soldering iron. If he sounded a little testier than was strictly diplomatic, he felt it was justified. "Yes?" "Captain, it's been several years since we've had recert. You've added crew." He sucked on his burned finger, not even in the mood to try to play for sympathy. "I'm quite aware of that, Ms. Ivana. It's not as if I'm hiding them. Well, except Julian. But he's not crew." "So you've added them all to the registry, have you?" "Of course I have…" Oh. Yes. "Fine. Not Heckle." "Uh-huh." How an AI managed to sound like she stood hipshot with her arms crossed was absolutely beyond Shax, but Ivana managed. "Honestly, what do you expect me to do, sweetheart? Heckle came to us as property. Unregistered, without ID, without a surname. I can't very well enter him officially. He can go off with Julian for a day or two while we do recert on Triton." The silence from the comm speaker was deafening. Finally, Ivana got out in a hissing whisper, "Captain, I can't believe you just said that. I really thought better of you." He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "And what in all hell's pits am I supposed to have done wrong now?" "Treating our Heckle like a…a thing. Like he doesn't matter." The subtle hum of the speaker shut off and Shax realized that, perhaps for the first time in their acquaintance, Ms. Ivana had effectively stomped off and slammed the door behind her. "Lovely." Heckle was most certainly not a thing and how could Ivana say that he treated the imp that way? Who had given him a job and the tools he needed to do it? Who had given him responsibility and a weapon of his own? Who had made him crew in the first place? And another thing-- "Oh. Troll shit." Shax let out an irritated growling sigh. Crew. Heckle was crew and as the captain, Shax should have thought to secure him at least a more or less legal identity by now. He just…it hadn't occurred to him. Because it had never been a problem. Because Heckle seemed content. Because, he hated to admit it to himself, Heckle was just an imp. Just an imp. Prince Shax of several centuries ago might have said that. Most of his relatives still would. But Heckle, who had come to them nearly dead, whose quick intelligence had allowed him to learn so much and had earned him a certain kind of independence, who had saved their lives not once but twice during the house disaster—Heckle was so much more than just an imp. Making him a legal entity wasn't a problem. It would cost, but a good forged identity was worth it. I could just pick a name. Heck won't mind if I do it. Shax closed up the housing on his surge meter, put the soldering iron away and chewed on his lower lip. That was the problem, wasn't it? Heckle still accepted anything his captain did because of centuries of conditioning. Taking advantage of that wasn't cricket at all. He hit the all-ship channel on his comm. "Heck? Can I see you in my quarters if you're not in the middle of something?" There was a three-second delay before Heckle's breathless voice came over the speaker. "Be right there, Captain!" A spare minute or so more passed before the muffled clomp-clomp-clomp of friction-socked hooves came down the corridor. The hooves stopped followed by the predictable knock. "Come in!" Shax called and looked down at his soot-flecked sweater. He probably should have changed to look more official. Heckle poked his cute little horned head in the cabin. "You wanted to see me, sir?" "Yes. Come in, my dear. Please. Have a seat." Hesitantly, Heckle trotted into the cabin and Shax realized he'd never been in the captain's quarters before. Damn it. Should've done this in the galley or some other non-threatening place. Heckle looked around for seating options and plunked down on the storage chest at the end of the bunk. "Relax, please. You haven't done anything wrong. I have something I need to discuss with you." Heckle nodded, twisting his tail in both hands. "You know that you have no legal identity, yes? You understand what that means?" "Yes, sir. I can't sign for shipments and if I'm out somewhere and security asks me for ID, I say I'm property 'cause I don't have any." "That's just the thing, my dear." Shax leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. "You're not property. You're crew. You're my crew. And we can't have you in legal limbo any longer." "Oh." The tail twisting grew worse and Heckle's voice trembled as he asked, "Are you…do I have to go, sir?" "What? No!" Shax drew in a deep breath and lowered his voice. "No, Heck. I mean to make you legal. To get you identification. But we have something we need to resolve before I can do that. You have no name." "I…but I've always had the same name, Captain." "No surname. No last name. I can't ask for an identity to be built around just Heckle. Cute as that would be." Heckle nodded and placed his tail in his lap. "What should my last name be, sir?" "I could give you one, certainly. I will if you truly want me to. But wouldn't you rather pick one for yourself?" Shax anticipated a nervous response, perhaps even an overwhelmed one. He was certain Heckle would need to go off and think about it. In perhaps the most shocking moment of the century, Heckle sat straighter and cleared his throat. "Well, I guess since you and Verin and Ness named yourselves for things that are you or part of you or something like that, maybe I should do that too." His brows drew together as he thought hard. "I think…maybe Heckle Numerus. Because I count things." Shax gave him his brightest smile and held out his hands. When Heckle took them with a more tentative smile, Shax pulled him up and gave him a quick hug. "Excellent, Mr. Numerus. I'll go and have that done." It was always hard to tell with scarlet imps, but Heckle might have been blushing as he whispered a quick thank you and scurried away. "There. Now I just need to get Ms. Ivana to speak to me again and all will be right with the world." Location: Aboard the Brimstone
Time: Shortly after Beside a Black Tarn While nudity appears to be the imp uniform de rigueur in the palaces of Hell, some sources indicate that favored imps are allowed tail ornaments. Several instances of bell jewelry and tail bangles are mentioned in Schneider's All Hell's Parties, and one mention of tail piercing appears in the descriptions of the entourage of Prince Vissago. Mac sipped his whiskey as he read to the end of the entry. There wasn't much more except to say that imps were numerous and short-lived, in relative demon terms. "Not being a lot of help, all you high-minded scholars," he muttered to his reader. Heckle was out at another party with the captain. Not that Mac was jealous. "Out with the captain" meant out on a job, which eventually meant cash for the upkeep of the ship. Early on, Mac had worried that Captain Shax was taking advantage, using Heckle as Fagan used the kids in Oliver Twist. He shouldn't have gotten his knickers twisted. Heckle knew what he was doing on these nights out, knew he was an accomplice to theft. He thought it was fun. But now that there were nights here and there when he knew Heckle wouldn't be onboard for a few hours, Mac had time for some clandestine research. Sure. He could've just asked the resident demons about imps, but demons were a lot like Australians in that regard. They liked to mess with you if you weren't a local and were likely to hand you a steaming pile of bullshit with a smile instead of real information. Just for fun. Problem was, even after the Big Reveal when the forces of both Heaven and Hell decided humans should know they were physical realities, imps were still something of a mystery. They rarely left Hell at all and if they did, it was as some high muckity-demon's property. None of the research ever mentioned an independent imp, for all the gods' sakes. He could always ask Heck questions, but he hated bringing up his years as a sex slave. It wasn't even that he had to know anything. "Just want to understand him better," Mac murmured as he started searching again. He'd turned off the voice assistant on his reader long ago because of his tendency to mutter at it. IMP: A Study in Scarlet turned out to be erotic fetish fiction. The Secret Life of Imps read like a handbook of lies demons had told some poor human researcher. The part where they could absorb iron to become magnetic kind of gave it away. Lesser Denizens: Trolls, Goblins and Imps looked better researched, though again imps only got a thin chapter. Two major sub-species of imp inhabit the precincts of Hell: the common or pit imp and the more sought-after and carefully bred palace imp. Pit imp physiology tends toward skeletally thin, with larger claws and teeth than the palace imp. Additionally, they generally lack wings and have been observed with solid earth tone and piebald coloring. The palace imp is a more refined creature and can be said to be more classically handsome by demon standards. Coloration ranges from dusky rose to brilliant scarlet and breeders prefer those with matching horn, hoof and wing coloration… "They're not prize piglets, you jerk," Mac growled at the writing. Though, yeah, the researcher probably got his information from higher level demons who did see imps that way. There was a section on proper care and housing, including hoof and horn care, a brief section on the reproductive cycle (nothing Mac didn't already know – yes, imps were hatched), and a section on dietary needs. Mac felt guilty reading such a racist piece that talked about all this under the heading of husbandry, but it was more information than in any of the other research he'd found. Imps are omnivorous by necessity. They can, and do, eat anything and gravitate toward sweets whenever possible. But keep firmly in mind that imps are obligate carnivores and require a certain percentage of meat in their diets… "Huh. I didn't know that." It explained why Heckle went on weird meat binges some days, though. He really needed to keep a better eye on that. Mac took his whiskey and his reader and left the galley to head to their cabin. Since he was sipping and reading as he walked, he smacked right into Verin as they both turned a corner. "Hey, sorry Ver. My fault." Verin snorted at him and was about to walk off when Mac caught his arm. "What the fuck, Big Mac?" "Quick question. You ever have this?" He turned the screen to show Verin the advertisement he'd pulled up. Verin eyed him suspiciously, steam rising from his nostrils. "Yeah. Why?" "Did you like it? Do all demons like it?" "Ha. His royal pain in the ass hates the stuff." Verin shrugged. "I like it sometimes. The little twerps, you know, all the damn goblins and imps and shit, they go fucking nuts for it." Mac patted Verin's shoulder absently as he let him go. "Thanks." When he got to his cabin, he closed the door. "Ms. Ivana? I'd like to order a couple of cases of something. My private account, not the ship's. Can we do that without it showing up in ship's inventory?" "Oh, honey, of course we can. You think Captain Cute Buns has his private liquor reserves listed where everyone can see?" "Perfect. I'd like to order two cases of Silas Orange's Candied Beef Jerky, please." Location: Venice, Italy
Time: 19th Century Earth It was snowing. It wasn't supposed to be fucking snowing. Come to sunny Venice, Shaxy had written to him. It's beautiful and warm. After a brutal autumn in Siberia scouting for gems in the Urals, Verin had been so ready for warm. And it was fucking snowing. Of course it was. Shax was inside the palace, playing the visiting nobleman, stuffing his face and drinking good wine while he schmoozed with the rich ladies and gentlemen in their nice warm velvets and furs. And Verin? He was out on the damn canal with the rowboat they'd use to slide away in once his snooty precious highness had what he wanted. Verin pulled his hood up farther to shield his nose from the swirling flakes. The heavy wool primarily hid his great curling horns, but he was grateful for it as more than camouflage now. This is troll shit. I'm so fucking tired of being cold. Demons from his neighborhood of Hell weren't designed for it. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around his shins, puffing steam into the little cave made by his cloak. Even the bats roosting under the bridge looked miserable. They should've been flying around hunting but they huddled together jostling for space and squeaking. C'mon, Shaxy, hurry up, steal the shit, and get out here. A splash of oars rounded the bend behind him accompanied by the sound of the drunken shouts and terrible singing of several plastered young Venetians. "Hey, old man! You can't block the steps from the palazzo like that! Move along and find a doorway!" He'd thought he was under the bridge far enough, hidden in the deep shadows by the steps. Maybe the steam had given him away. "Come on, you old fart! Maybe some whore'll take pity on you and take you in!" "Why doesn't he move? Is he dead?" "Nah. You can see the steam of his breath." "Poke him." "You poke him." Oh, for the love of hell's fucking pointy gates… They'd steered their boat too close from the sound of things. This could only end in tears. Theirs, of course. Verin let the oar poke him before he seized it with a snarl, lifting his head so the drunken morons would see his blazing eyes and the sparks snorting from his nostrils. Bad thing was he'd underestimated his own shock value. The five boys in the other boat shrieked and scrambled over each other to try to get away, even though they were in a fucking boat. The poker dropped his oar, lost his balance and tumbled into Verin's rowboat just as their boat capsized. The splash, the sudden weight on his starboard side and Verin's own shock tipped his rowboat far enough to dump him in the canal. The frigid water shocked the fight out of him and he came up spluttering, ignoring the human kids and their caterwauling as they tried to right their boat and haul each other out. Verin swam to the steps and climbed out. Because he wasn't an idiot. His boat was still upright and had both its oars, unlike some people. He huddled on the lowest step above the water 'cause now he was fucking wet and fucking freezing. The idiot drunk boys managed to get themselves together and paddle away with their remaining oar. Verin, shivering and swearing, took small comfort in the fact that at least two of them were crying. Stupid little rat-bastards. Maybe they'd learn something from it but he doubted it. The cathedral bells chimed the hour twice more before Shax finally showed up, swaggering down the steps like he owned the damn city. "Ver? Why aren't you in the boat?" "Don't wanna hear it, bonehead. Did you get what you wanted or not?" "I did. Oh, I did. We'd best retreat with all possible speed. The marchesa will be missing her emeralds soon enough." Shax stopped on the step above him, his boots polished, perfect and dry. "Why are you wet?" "Cause I went for a fucking swim in the freezing fucking water in fucking January in a snowstorm. Why do you think?" "A little flurry is hardly a snowstorm and if you're so cold, that wasn't a terribly good idea." The urge to toss his irritating highness in the canal, velvet brocade and all, was strong. Verin managed to grind his teeth and puff a huge cloud of smoke instead. "Get in the damn boat." Shax did and actually peered at him with concern as Verin made his stiff, shaking way to his seat. "You want me to row, Ver? You really don't look so good." "Yeah. Think you better. Don't think I can hold the oars." Verin curled in on himself as Shax got them moving down the canal. "You should've seen the other guys, though. So scared they'll be shitting bricks for days." "Good then." Shax patted Verin's knee and had to adjust his velvet hat over his own little horns. "So long as you had fun." "Promise me we're gonna stay in bed and eat like fire trolls. Any more damn fun might just kill me right now." "But there's a masquera—" "No." "But it's—" "No." Shax tilted his head in that way he did when he considered. "All right. Sleeping and gorging it is." He rowed for a few minutes in silence. Then, "Maybe we should go to America. It has warm spots." "Nah. Too far. Let's just go to Morocco." "Oh, yes. Good choice. Much better food than America." By the time they reached their rented townhouse, where the servants had left fires banked and food in the larder, where a soft down bed with thick blankets waited for him, he almost felt grateful for Shaxy helping him up the steps. Tossing the little twerp in the canal could wait another day. |
About The Brimstone Journals
Extra treats for our Brimstone readers, Brimstone Journals will post every Tuesday. Short scenes from characters' lives before, after or during the stories. About the Author
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