Nocturna League- Season One Box Set

by Kell Inkston

  “Huh, alright.” They step past a display of hydrangeas, dewed over by one of the complex steam-powered devices that Irefall likely had more than a small hand in designing. “So what’s your history,” she smirks, “Lewis?”

  The Captain scratches down to the side of his neck. “First things first, that isn’t my name.”

  Colette’s features sharpen. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then what is your name?”

  “My answer has not changed from the last time you’ve asked. It is something you have no business knowing.”

  Colette sighs. “Fine. So how about you and her?”

  “What about us?”

  “You know!” She eyes over to Irefall with a motion that the narrator would not be quite comfortable describing.

  “No, of course not!”

  “She’s pretty, I dunno, hot?”

  The Captain scoffs. “Oh, you think so, do you?”

  Colette notches back once she catches how her statement could have been taken. “Eh, no, not me, of course. I mean like, if I were a boy I’d probably look at her and be like, ‘Ey, nice!’” She fires out her hands in Irefall’s direction as if they were pistols.

  The Captain sighs. “Well if there’s any doubt in your mind, regardless of our relationship while she was jobbing for The Nocturna, I was already… how did you put it last time on this topic… oh yes, just a bunch of damn sand.”

  Colette hums awkwardly. “So she did work for the crew.” The Captain walks on silently in such an intentional manner, Colette is certain her suspicions are correct. “She did! Was she your old engineer? What the hell happened?… If you and her weren’t a thing, and she’s acting like this to you… did you,” Colette looks up to The Captain with a look of shocked disgust. “You ‘interrogated her’, didn’t you?”

  “I interrogated her like I did anyone else who needed interrogation, I found her weakness and exploited it so that she would comply.”

  Colette crosses her arms. “You grabbed her tits, didn’t ya’, Salt? You’re gross.”

  The Captain sighs, certain that this was where Colette was going with this. “No, I did not fondle her breasts, or anything of the manner.”

  She raises a brow. “Yeah?”

  The Captain nods with passionate certainty. “Yes!”

  “Tell that to that one girl you fondled during an interrogation.”

  “I-I’m telling you I was interrogating the boy with her and that by molesting her was the most effective way to get a reaction out of him and thus cause him compliance!”

  Colette’s face is unmoved in its smug suspicion. “Yeah. Perv.”

  The Captain cracks his knuckles. “And that’s enough out of you, young lady. We’ll stay on topic about Mayor Irefall, or else we’ll be quiet, won’t we?” He asks, leaning over her ever so slightly.

  Colette’s demeanor changes instantly. She clears her throat as they round the corner. “Uh, yeah, Salt. Whatever you say… So if you two weren’t an item at all, why do you call her pastries like you do me?”

  The Captain pulls down his glasses as if to insinuate something. “Are we an item, Miss Ketiere?”

  “Obviously not!”

  “Neither were we.”

  She shakes her head. “Then why?”

  “Because she was my old apprentice… She was a lot like you when she was your age… with one due exception.”

  Colette hums. They walk down the next row, The Captain appreciating the deep lilies and the snapping carnations as any upstanding captain would. “What sort of exception?”

  “She understands and puts into practice, perhaps better than anyone, the idea that a lady decides to commit more effort perfecting her appearances rather than intelligences- especially in that she must appear to be intelligent.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there are more stupid men than blind men in our world, my cookie, and stupid men love doing work for intelligent ladies,” The Captain says.

  Colette sneaks another peek over to Miss Irefall, playfully nudging Grancis as she points out each and every species in the garden to her. “Yeah, but I can command dumb folks too,” Colette says.

  The Captain scoffs. “Through methods other than the authority of command, I mean.”

  Colette squints an eye, not entirely sure if she’s picking up on The Captain’s subtlety.

  “I digress. She wanted to become great. So I made her great. I trained her to command and control like a master of mankind. You wouldn’t guess it from her wiles, but she’s quite calculating.”

  Colette kicks The Captain gently on her next step. “She did learn from the best, after all.”

  He straightens his cap. “She certainly did, but I am a poorer teacher than I am a captain.”

  She shrugs. “ So how’d it go with her?” She asks.

  The Captain nods thoughtfully. “It went well for the first couple years. She developed quickly into a great mind. Luisoix had her busy dealing with the non-primary ship systems for months. She only emerged to get food in the mess hall- the rest of her time was spent learning and asking about the ship’s secrets, the crew’s secrets, my secrets. She learned quickly, like you, just in a different direction. She studied engineering, speaking, coercion of all sorts.”

  “Yeah, I bet Luisoix could help with that.” The two share a chuckle, both finding humor in it for entirely different reasons.

  “So the day came when she was tested. The crew was at stake and it was up to her. She turned away, made her own crew using the tactics she committed herself to, and now she’s the richest person on the Eversea. A success story by most people’s books, especially the part where she bit the hands that fed her so she could crawl to the top of the rotting corpses left in the wake of destruction.”

  Colette glances up to the thin clouds. “So she left when you needed her most?”

  “Left would be a poor word for it. When it was all in her hands, she poured us out into the ocean. Yet she has the audacity to still hold something against me.”

  “Yeah? What does she have out for you?”

  “Me doing my job. Turns out that she got into a few, very lucrative, rather immoral trades that clashed with my personal line of work. As such simply by doing my job I would have to cut her off and foil her trades constantly.”

  Colette squints an eye. “The Nocturna’s a mercenary vessel, isn’t it?”

  Strange birds sing as a sea breeze blows overhead. “It certainly is.”

  “So I guess someone just hired you to screw her over, a competitor?”

  The Captain lowers his cap and looks away in a manner so distinct, Colette nearly sees it as weakness. “One might say that.”

  “So that’s why she sent the guard after you guys last time we were here.”

  “Correct. If it weren’t for that she’d simply take an interest for me in what she can take from me.”

  “Tricky.”

  “Yes, very mischievous.”

  “So you two are sort of like old, dear acquaintances that just step on each other’s feet from time to time.”

  The Captain nods. “We certainly do that and I tire of it. Our operation, if successful, will tilt her out from her seat of power and replace it with someone far more convenient to our future operations.”

  Colette looks over a bronze-colored rosebush. “Pretty savage, Cap.”

  “If one wishes to command others, they must be calculating and utterly cruel in their performance. Whatever one does, it must be done with absolute ferocity.”

  “Like you and drinking.”

  The Captain shrugs. “I think you catch my drift… Do you feel ready?”

  “For what?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  Colette smirks. “I know I’m ready.”

  The Captain does something quite uncaptainly, and nudges Colette with his elbow. “I look forward to your performance, pancake.”

  “Me too. Thanks for giving me the chance, Salt.”
>
  It’s a nice day out, so after hitting a jewelry store, a toy store, and another café for something “light” the group finally heads back. Of course The Captain carries all the bags, just because “a strong gentleman should be honored to do such a small thing for a trio of fine ladies such as ourselves”, as Miss Irefall put it.

  Boris meets the Irefall Manor Head Chef and he doesn’t like him.

  A little while before this our favorite Giant Lobster Boris steps out of the steam car with a very condensed Jim. Boris has never been to the manor before, so this is all very new and exciting for him. His usual stream of bubbles spews out in even greater number as he steps out and looks over the glory of Irefall Manor.

  Before Boris and the slowly-recovering Jim is a great castle of golden brick and brass metal, steady fumes of steam and smoke rising out from select, isolated pipes along the buttresses. Attached by giant gold-plated chains and as high as the manor’s five peak spires are five inflated dirigibles, bevies of men staring down with binoculars out and guns at the ready.

  “THIS IS OF THE HUGE!” Boris yells, shooting forth salty bubbles of half-digested food from his maw all over Jim, who was certain he was almost over being this close to Boris.

  “…Yeah, it’s neat alright,” Jim says, wiping the drool from the side of his face as the driver peeks his head out a moment.

  “Please make yourselves at home. As the guests of the mayor you may feel free to roam the grounds at your leisure and use any of the available amenities however you please.” the driver, some shelled, tentacled thing, says before getting back into the car and steaming off to the parking lot.

  “Th-…” Jim watches the driver zip off. “Thanks.” He sighs and turns to Boris. “So, I guess we can take a look around if you want.”

  Boris jolts in realization that there must be a kitchen inside the manor. “CAN WE BE OF THE LOOKING FOR THE KITCHEN?”

  “Uh, why?”

  “ALL KITCHENS ARE OF BORIS. I MUST BE OF THE KITCHEN TO BE OF THE COOKING!”

  Jim shrugs. “Alright, shoot. I’ll just look around I guess.”

  “BUT SHOULDN’T WE BE OF THE STAYING TOGETHER? BE OF THE COMING WITH ME TO THE KITCHEN!”

  A sigh from Jim, and then a nod. “Yeah, alright. Let’s find the kitchen.” Jim begrudgingly hops atop Boris and grabs him by the whiskers for support.

  Boris has no trouble navigating the cobblestone roads with his blade-sharp feet which propel him and Jim straight into the manor, past an arguing Luisoix and Tidealane, and through corridor after corridor at a speed that steam cars couldn’t hope to compete with. Jim feels a slight pain from his tattoo- it’s obvious that there’s a great deal of magic being used in this place. He keeps it to himself, as Boris would probably just ask how the magic tastes and if he can eat it or not. By the scent of food alone, Boris tracks his way through two dozen rooms all the way to the kitchen. The carpeted manor halls accommodated with sealed hardwood give way to clean white tiles and stainless steel.

  “THIS IS OF…” Boris wheezes as he surveys the glory of the ten stove tops, the harem of silverware and cookery, and the packed-to-the-edge enchanted refrigerators. “THIS IS OF THE INCREDIBLE! A KITCHEN EVEN BETTER THAN THE ONE OF THE MINING!”

  Jim hops off Boris. “Yeah, real impressive- except that it’s a kitchen.”

  Boris reaches into one of the ice boxes, recovers a recently slaughtered spike pike, and slaps it onto a counter for preparation. “A KITCHEN IS AMONG THE GREATEST CREATIONS OF THE SENTIENTINGS, JIM FLESH. IT IS OF THE GREATER THAN THE HOSPITALINGS AND THE FARMINGS. ALL OF THE LIFE IS HERE FOR THE EATING OF THE FOOD, THOSE WHO ARE MAKING OF THE FOOD ARE OF THE GREATEST OF THE LIVINGS.”

  Jim crosses his arms as he leans on the door frame of one of the kitchen’s many entryways. “Oh yeah?”

  “OH YEAH IS OF THE RIGHT, JIM FLESH. THERE IS NO MOMENT THAT IS MORE OF THE SWEET THAN WHEN THE FRIENDINGS AND FAMILINGS CAN SIT AND SHARE A WELL PREPARED FLESH MEAL TOGETHER!”

  “Of course, except for the moments in which the food is prepared,” comes a refined, aged, high voice from somewhere in the kitchen.

  Jim and Boris look at one another. Jim shrugs. “Wasn’t me.”

  The owner of the voice clears his throat, giving another sound for Jim and Boris to locate his direction by. The boy and lobster spot a pair of pointy orange-gold fox ears peeking up from one of the counters. On small, dainty feet steps out an orange haired, mustachioed man that looks as though he is squinting at all times. Also quite notable is the fact that he has a bushy fox tail and an aforementioned set of ears, but the author isn’t really into that kind of thing so it gets mentioned after the mustache. He fits well in his extra extra small head chef’s attire, and his poofy toque sits snugly between his tall animal ears. “Just who are you and why the hell are you in my palace of art?” He says with a deep frown and a tail raised in fury as he shifts his gaze between Boris and Jim.

  Jim shakes his head, raises his arms in defeat and steps back with a smirk.

  Boris spits up an half-digested sardine in a scoff. “IT IS OF THE PLEASURE TO BE OF THE MEETING YOU. I AM BORIS. I AM OF THE GREATEST CHEF WHO WAS EVER OF THE COOKING!”

  The three foot fox man raises a brow in a distinctly snobby fashion. “A pleasure to meet you as well, Boris. I am Jacqui Hulne, the greatest culinary mastermind in all The Omniverse.”

  Boris laughs - a sound deserving description only in the reader’s darkest nightmares. “YOU ARE THE FUNNY, LITTLE FOX FLESH MAN COOK. IT IS OF THE FUNNY BECAUSE IT IS I WHO IS OF THE GREATEST OF THE COOKING!”

  Jacqui smirks “Really now?”

  “IT IS OF THE UNDENIABLE TRUTH!”

  Boris can feel the smugness radiating off the small, middle-aged fox-person. “So I’m sure you could tell me exactly how much cumin one would use in preparing a simple dish like Arz Anzanastae, mmm?” Jacqui questions.

  Boris just stares at the fox. “IS THAT A FISH OF THE FOX?”

  Jacqui’s ears stiffen. “No, you dolt! It’s land shark! Any culinarian worth his salt would know that!”

  Boris’ whiskers twitch. “BUT I WAS NOT OF THE KNOWING THAT, AND I AM BEING VERY WORTH OF THE SALT.”

  “Hmph! Well if you’re looking for work or apprenticeship I suppose I could use a new potato peeler.”

  “BUT FOX MAN MEAT, WHY WOULD I BE OF THE PEELING WHEN I AM OF THE OBVIOUSLY BETTER CHEF?”

  Jacqui’s tale shoots straight up. “W-what?!”

  “I AM BEING OF THE LOBSTER, AND YOU’RE BEING OF THE FOX. LOBSTERS ARE NATURALLY OF THE DELICIOUS, SO THE CONTEST IS NOT EVEN OF THE BEING.”

  “Wh-No! Idiot! Being some seasort abomination has literally nothing to do with anything! I could outcook you with my eyes closed! Hell, my assistant could beat you!”

  A salty gurgle spits out from Boris, gooing one of the cookware racks with a swirl of fish and mollusk. “I AM CERTAINLY OF THE DOUBTING OF THAT, FOX MEAT, AS YOU COULD NOT BE OF THE OUTCOOKING ME YOURSELF!”

  Jacqui scoffs violently as he turns to a cooking island and begins divvying out cookware between two different stove tops with effortless, precise tosses. “I consider that a challenge, Mister Boris. We’ll just see how hot that cooking of yours is!”

  Boris steps up to the other burner with a form of heroic awe, as if he’s about to slay a great villain. “THEN LET US BE OF THE COOKING. THE MAKER OF THE DISH OF THE TASTY SHALL BE OF THE ULTIMATE CHEF BEING!”

  Jacqui’s ears spring to violent attention. “Very well! We shall create any dish of our choosing and have The Lady sample it for herself! She will decide which of us is the best!”

  Boris slams his claws into the counter with a thud. “YOU ARE BEING OF THE ON! I SURE AM OF HOPING PERTALAINE FLESH LIKES HAIR OF THE FOXING IN THE EATINGS OF HER!”

  “My dishes are perfectly sanitary, you barbaric ignoramus.” He says this with an impetuous swish of the tail right before he turns to call into a conjoined room emitting a warm light. “Assistant artisan!”

  A slig
ht pause. “Uh… yeah?” A high, almost comical voice speaks out from the deep pantry. A mischievous, smart voice yet one that sends a quick chill down Jim’s spine - he has no idea why.

  “We have challengers! Get out here and defend my name!”

  There’s a pause, then a long sigh from the pantry as the sound of a book being closed violently reverberates outward. “Yeah, alright.” From out of the pantry comes an even shorter creature. It’s body is blacker than pitch with the exception of the glowing white innards, only displayed by the opening of the being’s round, cartoonish eyes and disproportionately-large set of jaws. From its head sprout two jaunty antennae, waving about with wanton carelessness. His expression is suave, confident, and very careless.

  Jim’s stomach drops - he’s played enough Omni-deck(TM) to spot a minion of “The Great High Overlord and Slayer of Billions” from a mile away. This one is wearing a tiny fitted butler garb, just right to form out his rounded out and silly shape of a body. If the implications of a Minion of the High Overlord being here weren’t so terrifying to Jim, he’d find this little guy ridiculously adorable.

  “Y-you’re-”

  “IT’S OF THE LOOKING LIKE YOU CAN’T BE OF THE AFFORDING OF A REAL COOK’S ASSISTANT- YOU WERE FORCED TO BE OF THE HIRING OF A… ANT.”

  The minion, no more than a meter high, raises its over-sized head to look over Boris with a look of instant contempt. “I look nothing like an ant- ya’ crawfish-lookin’ bitch.”

  “AN ANT THAT IS OF THE VERY FAT,” Boris adds.

  The minion’s antennae vibrate brashly. “Okay; time to cook. Let’s go Foxy.”

  Jacqui scoffs as he pulls up an extra stool for the minion. “Pay your master chef some respect, you neophyte!” He scribbles on a piece of paper with furious, loud pencil strokes before handing the note off to the minion. “Get us these ingredients- we start in five minutes!”

  The minuscule minion snaps up the list with a light absorbing hand and rushes off with alarming speed. In two minutes, all the ingredients are laid out before an impressed Boris and a smug Jacqui.

  “THAT WAS OF THE FAST,” Boris gurgles in a way that almost allows a hint of victory for Jacqui.