Chapter Text
There was a faint buzzing hum in his ear. An incessant beating of a mosquito’s wings had taken up its unwarranted residence. “He’s waking up,” that familiar voice, she had sold him out to Ishmael for a few scraps of silver, hadn’t she…
When his violet eyes opened, Heathcliff saw that same monster he believed he had dreamt up. Ishmael stood across from him in her white dress partially stained by his blood. Her hands were a mix of black and a dark crimson as her fingers ended in sharp points. Claws that could rip through anything, claws that could rip through space and time to strike at the past. If there were any more of those devilish changes then they were hidden by her dress and the dim light. At her throat, as if to prevent her bloodlust from hitting its peak and to threaten her in place, was Ryoushuu’s Odachi.
But she didn’t hold it. No, that white haired demon standing beside her did. Faust was just like her, though the entirety of her arms were coated in that lattice of evil. Her chest as well. The only articles of clothing she wore were pants and glasses. Without anything to cover her torso, the entire mess was on full display for Heathcliff to look at. Churning, Heathcliff’s stomach grew unnerved not at the sight of two of these creatures that wanted his blood, but three of these creatures. For Outis was just the same as them both. Though this lattice covered her entire naked body, leaving everything covered in that sinful mesh.
“Faust believes you have had enough time to process our forms, Heathcliff.” A gulp filled with a paralyzing terror coursed through his body. “It seems that our ‘master’ has shown you our secret, and therefore we must do what we’ve done 38 times before.”
Each individual muscle in his body screamed in fright, “w-what are you…?”
“Bloodfiends,” Outis spoke, seemingly out of turn from the look she received from Faust. “And we all are to determine whether a nuisance like you deserves life or not.” It was clear by her disdain for him that he’d be buried by Ryoushuu today.
He needed something familiar, something he knew. Otherwise he’d never be grounded, he’d be floating forever. Drifting off towards space to lose his mind. “Did you harm Ryoushuu…?” Even in the throes of despair and fear, Heathcliff couldn’t help but ask about her. For she was nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be felt…yet he had just heard her.
“R.B.Y,” the back of her head knocked gently into his. With his hands behind his back and bound to this chair, Heathcliff felt tiny, cold fingers tickling his palms. “I’m sorry for not being able to protect you this time.”
“Protect me?” His wicked heart always beat with rage, and her words awoke it from dormancy. “You threw me right to them.” Ryoushuu bit her lip, unable to form a good argument against it.
“Faust must interject,” with the base of her wrist, she adjusted her glasses, pushing them up. “Outis would’ve interfered and either killed you like she did the last two before you, or capture you like Faust has done the rest. And Outis was much closer to you than Faust was.”
“Your sayin’ my life was saved by giving me an audience with the advocates of hell?” Faust nodded, causing Heathcliff to laugh out of insanity. This was all too rich.
“Either that or I would hunt you for life the moment you walked out those doors.” Outis watched with pleasure as Ryoushuu squirmed in her chair. “The same as I did to that whelp’s mother.” The black haired woman stared at the ceiling, to let her eyes go elsewhere would cause her tears to burst out.
The air went stale as the horrendous scent of blood rose through the air. “You did what…” Heathcliff’s legs were bound, but yet they rose slightly. “ You’re the reason why Ryoushuu is bound here?” The restraints digging into him, dragging him down, were nothing more than a hurdle to break through. “You’re the reason she doesn’t even want to leave?”
“She would be able to kill one of us, but then she’d be torn apart by whoever remains.” Boiling blood wouldn’t make for a good taste. “Ryoushuu stays out of fear, and her insolence concerning you will quickly get her killed. And you shall be the sole cause o-” Outis was forcefully shut up when Heathcliff rocketed forth, the top of his head slammed harshly into her chin.
The two toppled to the ground, Heathcliff atop as if mounting her like a bucking bronco as she tried to force him off. “I’ve caused everything?!” His forehead slammed down, “you’ve all caged Ryoushuu like she’s a damn butterfly!” A crimson gash had formed on his head and Outis’, “so buck up and take some f*cking responsibility for the blood on your hands!” Before his head could slam back down a clawed hand gripped his throat, its points digging into his neck.
“That same insolence will g-” the tip of the Odachi nearly pierced her eye as she rose.
“Faust requests that you both hold back your animosity for the other.” The pressure her pale eyes produced was more than the grip around his throat. “And Faust must remind you that this is a trial, not an execution, Outis.” As a result of antagonizing Heathcliff and Ryoushuu, Faust stabbed forth, searing a stinging cut into the Bloodfiend’s cheek.
“I should ki-”
“Outis.” For the first time Ishmael spoke up, sickened by what had broken out, “I will rip your legs off for your next infraction.”
“None of this would be happening if you could control your insatiable appetite,” Outis smeared the blood on her forehead with her fingers and waved it around. Those bloody orbs of Ishmael’s followed it like a swinging pendulum. This was nothing more than a taunt to prove she was superior in keeping her cravings down. “So I don’t want to hear anything o-” faster than a guillotine, Ishmael’s foot bore down. Such immense power had cracked the stone beneath while taking off Outis’ hand as Heathcliff was finally let go. As he fell back the man gasped for air.
“Do not forget. I am the one that made you the way you are after you begged me,” Ishmael’s eyes were filled with disgust. This being before her was no longer Outis, instead a filthy locust that did nothing but pillage her crops. “I can destroy you just as easily as I brought you into creation.” Oozing down from her fingertips was blood, and it collected on the floor in a puddle of goo. From there it spread, snaking out for both Outis and her severed bleeding hand. “However, that does not excuse my actions. You are entirely right, Outis, and for that I offer my humblest apologies.” Slotting between the bones and joints was Ishmael’s blood. It was like a network of ant tunnels that spread between the severed points of her wrist. And slowly they were dragged back together, causing his stomach to twist in knots. “I…am making you uneased, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” Heathcliff nodded with a face paler than hers, “this is f*ckin’ sick.” He’d seen decapitated corpses, the mutilated paste that once was a chest, even torn open jaws that had been stuffed with another’s scalp. But this repairing of Outis wasn’t sick because it was gory, but because this could’ve been done to him. Just as he was sure those points on his inner thigh were from the crude extraction of his blood, he was sure those stitches were made of her blood.
“And I agree…but it is a necessary evil,” Ishmael couldn’t stand the sight of such brutal destruction, but that was the unwanted power that came with her being a Bloodfiend. That and the cravings for delectable blood…“now, fate is cruel, you know this just as well as I.” The sigh she produced was filled with a dour sadness, “as with those before you, including Ryoushuu, I shall tell you my tale.”
“Screw your f*ckin’ tale,” Heathcliff spat. “You’ve filled me with so many damn lies that I won’t even accept the truth at this point.” The aching in his shoulder was another reason, “plus you’re a f*ckin’ weirdo who pounced on me.”
“I cannot deny these stabbing betrayals that must be present within your heart,” blood oozed from her fingers once again. The thick globs hit the ground and spread up before solidifying into a chair with no backing. “All I can say is that those conversations we’ve shared for the past two nights are mostly truthful.”
His teeth were bared as he looked at Ishmael, he couldn’t do anything else but trust her. “If I said I would listen to you if you let me talk to Ryoushuu alone, would you do it?”
Outis’ mouth opened up to speak, but like a muzzled mutt she shook her head and backed away. “I don’t see why not.” Ishmael turned her back on him, “Faust, would you kindly turn them to face one another?”
“Of course, Lady Ishmael,” taking a few steps forward, Faust put her hands on the back of Heathcliff’s chair and spun him around. And since Ishmael wouldn’t harm her for expediting the process, Outis did the same for Ryoushuu.
“When you’re done just shout,” raising her right hand, three fingers waved in front of her, beckoning those two to her side.
When they left, Heathcliff expected his voice to be the first thing he would hear. “You’re bleeding,” not Ryoushuu’s quiet voice filled with concern for him.
“So? I don’t care,” the restraints around his wrists must’ve been made of that same bloody mess around her ankles. “‘N why should you? You’re in the same mess as I am, so help me think of a way to get outta it.”
“N.P,” Ryoushuu shook her head, she barely tied her hair into a ponytail but tonight she did just that. And it shook much like a horse’s tail, swishing left and right in an effort to shake the tears from her red eyes.
“Of course there’s a point,” Heathcliff muttered, groaning as he struggled against his binds. “Who cares if Outis chases us, we’ll fight her off as much as we need to a-”
“Stop.” Ryoushuu’s voice was cold, as stagnant as the air surrounding them. “I don’t want you to die on my behalf.”
“Oh, but you’re fine with rottin’ away for some blood thirsty f*cks?” It took some time, but she nodded. And it brought her great shame since it wasn’t what Heathcliff expected of her. “Really?” He leaned back in his chair, “did they brainwash you or something?” To be as meek as a mouse was never something for Ryoushuu, but here she was, smaller than a speck of dust as she shook her head. “Then tell me why. Is it outta fear?” Those red eyes of hers stared at the ground, “do ya got some sick game goin’ on with them?” It would appear as if there was an invisible thread binding her lips together, for no answer came from that sewn grimace. “Oi, they only tied your arms and legs, not yer tongue.”
“It’s…out of obligation.”
“Well of course it’s outta obligation, we’re Butlers for f*ck’s sake,” Heathcliff retorted, being too dense to miss her obvious point.
“I mean,” her eyes flashed as they looked up at him. But rage didn’t stay in that crimson feast, only sorrow dined, eating those pupils as it remained alone. “Obligation to stop this from happening again.” She shuddered in her seat, ashamed that she had let Heathcliff down. Ashamed that he had to witness the monsters he worked for. Ashamed that he had experienced Ishmael’s boundless thirst for himself.
The chair slammed once, then twice more. Heathcliff had jumped towards her as evident by their knees now touching, “I can tell you’re blaming yourself for us bein’ down here.” Ryoushuu stared down at his chest, “don’t.” He nudged her leg to the side, “none of it’s your fault.”
“You say that,” only her eyes lifted as she looked up at Heathcliff, “but I could’ve said anything. I could've lied to you and said I was jealous and wanted you all to myself.” It was as if her griefs were manifesting into a quicksand that quickly swallowed her head whole as it moved further down. “BINDS.”
“Well that’s straight up a lie,” and the pain in his forehead was proof of it. “You saved my life for the second time today. Got too much to pay you back for now,” Heathcliff got her head to rise, a small victory went in his books.
Ryoushuu shook her head, “I could’ve easily stalled Outis and the others while you ran…” but that victory was short lived.
“Oi,” Heathcliff was going to do anything necessary to get her out of this funk. “Look me in my damn eyes and tell me that’s what I wan- no. Tell me that’s what you wanted. To die.”
Her head rose, the bridge between their eyes was rickety as the razor sharp wind tore off a plank from its ropy heights. “I should have let you run while you had the chance. I should have stayed back and fought them off for you.”
Heathcliff sighed, unable to pierce through this mood of hers, “‘at’s sweet n’ all, but you already know I wouldn’t listen to you.” Ryoushuu opened her mouth to call him stupid, but his speed was always unmatched. “It’s either I’m with you or nothing will happen, simple as.”
“Stubborn…” and as usual, she expected no less from Heathcliff. The man who cherished his friends and the person he loved no matter what. “Even if the world were to collapse, you’d be right by my side, wouldn’t you?”
“Fightin’ right to the end.” The click of her tongue made him frown, “what, don’t like that?”
“No, it’s sweet. Too sweet for my liking.” It left an odd taste in her mouth that betrayed that deadly exterior. But…she couldn’t say she hated or even disliked it.
“Whatever, there is a possibility they’ll let me live with the knowledge they’re Bloodfiends, right?” Obviously, otherwise he’d never have met Ryoushuu in the first place. “Then I go for that no matter the cost, then we run away together.” She shook her head, “what? Scared Outis’ll catch us?”
“No…” the apprehension in her answer was mired in fear. The swamp dragged, trapping her words under its brackish water.
“Then it’s because you love Ishmael?” But Heathcliff forced his arm through those lurking depths, pulling Ryoushuu right from them with his spot on guess. That slow nod of hers made him throw his head back with a sigh, “go on about why, yeah?”
Ryoushuu looked flabbergasted. She expected him to be mad or even annoyed, but he was willing to hear her reasoning with slight exhaustion? That was at least a little better. “Because she was the one that stopped Outis…and she became my…mother of sorts.” Even if she didn’t know what caused it, Ryoushuu could never forget the events of that day. She had vivid dreams of it rather often after all.
————
What her mother had experienced was terrifying, or at least that’s what the young Ryoushuu understood when she snatched her from their room in the manor. “It’s alright,” that voice was filled with shakiness, uncertainty of what would befall them with her sudden decision. “Everything will be alright…Ryoushuu,” as they traveled swiftly down the stairs, her mother pulled the girl away. The smile she wore was flimsy, unable to fight back against the unease within those red eyes of hers. “So come on, give your mommy a big ol’ smile, alright?” The girl wasn’t inclined to smiling, never had been up to that point. “Please? For your dear old mom?” She never expected to have to beg to see it before her end. For when they reached the bottom of the stairs, the Chief Butler was already standing in front of the exit. She had sensed someone looking into her room as she fed, but she never expected it to be her. The most adherent to the rules of the manor besides Faust and her was Akui Yoshihide. But here she was, violating the rule that every Butler must be within their rooms on the fifth floor after 00:30. But here were her and her innocent child, breaking that rule an entire two hours after the fact.
“I suspect that you know what I’m about to do?” Reaching behind her back, Outis reached for her knife.
“Yes,” Akui responded as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Bending down, she placed the groggy Ryoushuu on the floor, “all I ask is for you to spare her. She hasn’t seen…nor heard what I have.” The only reason she investigated what had happened in the first place was because she had heard Outis shout from below her.
“Your insubordination merits you no awards,” the blade in her hands glimmered against the lanterns.
“Miss Outis she is a but an innocent child. She has no idea of what you are.” She pulled Ryoushuu away as she backed away from Outis’ encroaching steps.
“I cannot, and will not, trust someone who broke the rules.” Her footsteps were as quiet as her voice, “you can make this better on both of us by submitting, Akui.”
“I will not,” her blade rang against its sheath as she held it out at Outis, “let my daughter die.” Every Butler was trained in combat, taught to dance between blades and clash with vigor. But Akui had two left feet and bones of jelly. She was a caregiver, a great one at that, not a fighter. But she’d run herself six feet into the ground if it meant her precious daughter would live on in her stead.
Outis sighed, tonight would be the second time she’d murder someone without Ishmael or Faust’s combined consent. “Very well,” she stood still, knowing that Akui had to go past her to leave, Outis figured this position would be the best to prevent their escape.
But that wasn’t the idea Akui had, not when her blade lazily clashed against the spine of Outis' weapon. “Ryoushuu, go outside and never stop running!” The one thing that girl always did was listen without a second thought to Akui. “Do not worry about me, honey,” Outis clearly had a target in mind when she didn’t give a crap about the blade entering her back. All of her attention was on Ryoushuu, who was darting right towards the door. “I’ll be right out with you,” Akui sped ahead, right between Ryoushuu and the blade aimed to cull her. It had entered her stomach, “just know that your mother will always love you.” And from there, with one swift stroke, it was forced upwards, carving through Akui’s flesh as if it were paper. In a shower of blood the woman was bisected, both parts of her slunked to either side as her body collapsed. Across from her stood the blood soaked child in the open doorway. Eyes were completely wide as Outis stared at her. She would be next if she didn’t start running.
“ Boo .” Outis’ harsh voice sparked a flame in Ryoushuu’s heart as she ran out into the rain. The slick grass inhibited her already slow pace. Her tiny legs couldn’t carry her fast at all, so slipping into the mud less than 30 steps away from the door would be her end. “A miserable little whelp like you,” Outis wasn’t far behind her, having slowly followed the girl because it wouldn’t be fun otherwise. “Shall meet a miserable little end.” Grabbing the hem of her pajamas, Outis lifted Ryoushuu as she tried to scramble away in the air. She was nothing more than a filthy co*ckroach attempting to get away.
“Outis,” a sinister voice spoke from behind them, “there could be no possibly good excuse for you to scare a child like this. Let alone Akui’s…” if not for the dampening rain, Ishmael would’ve smelled the blood from her distance. But no, she had to see it up close and personal, “you haven’t killed, miss Akui, have you, Outis?” Stifled rage warmed her up despite this atrociously sweet freezing rain that had long since soaked her downtrodden outfit.
“S-She had seen m-” blood sprayed from Outis as both of her arms were severed in the blink of an eye. Held in Ishmael’s arms was the messy Ryoushuu, the bloodied mud from her pajamas ruined Ishmael’s dark dress.
“We do not kill people without a trial,” Ishmael didn’t use her hands for this part. Instead she used the already present blood in the air to turn Outis into a pincushion. Dozens of spikes impaled her as she slowly slid down onto them, “and we do not murder children.” Ishmael walked past the gagging woman as she choked on her own blood. “I will call Faust to assist you,” she stopped in her tracks and looked at Outis. “But know this. I pray that you will bleed out for what you have done. You have betrayed me, Outis,” carrying Ryoushuu towards the Manor, Ishmael looked up at the balcony she had leapt off of. With her left hand cradling Ryoushuu, Ishmael held out her right arm. Blood pooled from her fingertips, forming steps that led up there. With each new one, the one prior was used to build it before they eventually got up.
With the blood snaking back into her body, Ishmael walked towards the door and entered her room. With her bed beside her foot, Ryoushuu was placed down upon it. How dirty she was did not matter to the redhead, not in the slightest. “I am sorry that all I can offer you are my sincere condolences, Ryoushuu.” Two blood laden arms enclosed around the hollowed girl, every emotion she once carried no longer existed. Just emptiness, just a hollow emptiness that instructed her to cry as Ishmael hugged her.
“I will do all that it takes to protect you, my dear Ryoushuu. No amount of loyalty can ever be worth your life’s weight,” with a sniffle, Ishmael stood up and walked to her dresser. Grabbing the phone atop it, she called Faust who picked up after two rings. “Outis is out on the front lawn. Stitch her back up and have her clean up the mess she made. Not a single drop of blood is to be found or else she’ll suffer worse consequences. Make sure the body is presentable and preserve it as well. When you’re both done there will be a meeting in the basem*nt, understand, Faust?” Whatever conversation parts were on the other end were unintelligible whisperings. “Very well, we shall meet you when we’re finished on our end.”
Hanging up, Ishmael fished in her dresser for two outfits before she looked back to Ryoushuu. She had stopped crying, the only tears that were on her face were already drying up, turning as stale as the air in the room. Not a single muscle had stirred, not even her diaphragm since the girl chose not to breathe. “Ryoushuu, you needn’t be scared of me. I could never hurt you.” Just looking at her petrified gaze reminded her of a distant memory that only one other soul shared with her. And just like with the boy, Ishmael could never bring a hand to harm this girl. “If you wish to keep your guard up that is fine, welcomed even,” Ishmael made sure her hand was clear of blood before cupping the girl’s cheek with a gentle touch. “But I must request that you take to your normal bodily functions. It is not good for you to hold your breath, nor is it good for you to bottle your emotions, Ryoushuu.”
But she only did one of those things, and that was breathe in and out normally. “That is a start,” Ishmael pursed her lips, “a good one. Now, what say you and I get cleaned up?” It wasn’t a question she’d get to pick the outcome of. No, Ryoushuu was forcibly lifted from the bed and held close to Ishmael’s beating chest. Each rise and fall of her bated breaths caused her head to respectively move away and closer to that hypnotic rhythm. It was slow but heavy, it was as if several liters of blood were pushed through her body with that one low pulse. And it was the most calming thing to Ryoushuu. For every night she did the same, listening to her mother’s fluttering heartbeat as it rose with nightmares and slowed with pleasant dreams. Even though Ishmael’s heartbeat was a one tone constant, Ryoushuu found some solace within it.
When they reached Ishmael’s bath she turned the water on and waited for cleansing steam to fill the room. Gently taking Ryoushuu’s hand in her open palm, she led it to the shower’s streaming water. “Is it too hot?” But the girl didn’t respond, words had failed her and that perfectly usable tongue she had. “Hmm…well, I suppose it’ll be up to me,” pulling away, Ishmael fiddled with the faucet until she got the temperature right. From there she stripped. Herself first and then Ryoushuu. Tossing the ruined clothing to the wayside, she carefully lifted the delicate girl into the tub and followed right after. The muck that ran down the drain disgusted even Ishmael herself. The blood had mixed with mud, leading to a nasty, almost black sludge that turned her stomach over. The brackish waters soon turned clear, and from there she lowered the stopper, allowing water to rapidly fill in the large basin.
When it got to a sufficient level, Ishmael turned the faucet off and submerged them both. With space to sprawl about, she let Ryoushuu have her own side. Rocket science didn’t need to be performed in order to figure out she was still frightened. “Heart…” her voice was quiet, sticky without use nor water since awaking. “May I listen to your heart, Lady Ishmael…?”
“If you desire it,” moving closer, Ishmael gently wrapped her arms around the girl and brought her close. Her ear rested against her chest, listening intently to that slow pulse, “then so shall it be, Ryoushuu.” How fragile and weak this girl was made her heart ache. Even without smiling she seemed to enjoy herself whenever Ishmael saw her. But this? This pile of flesh that clung desperately to her wasn’t the Ryoushuu that greeted her with a curt bow and a chipper ‘Lady Ishmael.’ This was just a husk…one that she wished could be filled with herself once more. To break like this was something they both shared…but would she have the strength to put herself back together?
Those thoughts were put on hold indefinitely as they exited the room and headed for the basem*nt. Since she allowed her to hear her heart, the only time Ryoushuu parted with it was when her hair was being washed as well as when she was dried. But in no time Ishmael found herself in that dreaded basem*nt. Their destination behind a code only she, Outis, and Faust knew. Punching it in, the two entered, filling the room with four. “Good morning Lady Ishmael,” behind her back and resting above her knife was Faust’s fist as she bowed. “Faust believes we are to determine Ryoushuu’s fate.”
“As much as I regret to say it,” sitting down with Ryoushuu, Ishmael took a seat in one of the chairs they used to bind people down to, “yes.”
“Then I mu-” Outis’ voice was irritating to hear. Same with looking at her.
“Your opinion is invalid, Outis,” like a spider web, blood spooled from her fingertips and stitched the woman’s mouth shut.
“Lady Ishmael, Faust believes you are acting ever so irrationally.” Thunderous eyes mattered naught to one whose only emotion was satisfaction from pride in herself. “Even if w-”
“Outis’ opinion in this matter is worthless, Faust,” Ishmael interrupted her as well. “For that is her punishment for breaking the golden rule. And indoors nonetheless!”
“Yes…Faust agrees. What Outis did was nothing short of complete idiocy,” the white haired woman mulled it over for a moment. “Very well, Faust shall quit on the topic of Outis’ opinion. However, Faust must ask, what is the fate you propose for Ryoushuu?”
Ishmael’s right hand gripped the pants she wore, her fingers nearly tore through the fabric. “If absolutely necessary, I want to erase her memories of her mother and place her in Dieci Associ-”
“No!” She shouted, clutching tight to Ishmael’s shirt as she burrowed her head into the woman’s chest. “I want to stay!”
“Faust does not wish to share our secret with a child, Lady Ishmael.” The tongue of a child was a fickle thing. One minute they could be talking happily about bright rainbows and beautiful clouds and the next they could be talking about the domestic abuse that happens in their home every night. That same dopey grin on their face always meant they never understood the severity of their words. “It is illogical to trust a child.”
Placing her hands over Ryoushuu’s ears, she angled the child’s head down as she growled at Faust. “If you so much as suggest to kill her then I will end you both right now.”
“Faust does not wish to harm this child, Lady Ishmael, it had never been a logical option in the first place. All Faust is saying is that trusting a child with this secret is illogical.”
Ishmael sighed, “do you understand how heartbroken she’ll be when she realizes her mother ‘abandoned’ her if we erased her memories?”
“Faust does not see the issue in that,” someone so disconnected from their emotions would never understand sympathy.
“It’s the only option you’ll agree with, isn’t it?” Faust nodded, making Ishmael glare at her, “very well.” Lifting her hands, Ishmael attempted to speak, but Ryoushuu beat her right to the punch.
“I can keep a secret,” Ishmael did suppose that simple hands wouldn’t block out everything. “Like how mother killed daddy and buried him in the garden after I was born.” Outis’ eyes widened, only they knew about it after Faust had unearthed the skeleton.
“How did you know that?”
“Mommy told me in her sleep.”
“Did you ever ask her about it?” Ryoushuu shook her head to Ishmael’s second question for her. “Well, Faust,” using solidified blood this time, she created tiny plugs that didn’t leave any smearing behind before sliding them into Ryoushuu’s ears. “I believe that Ryoushuu would never give up our secret.”
“Faust is uncertain…” Was the girl crafty enough to lie about that? She could’ve just found the bones and said what she did was the whole truth. The three only knew half of the story, so it was practically a miracle for her to know the other half. “Faust proposed that if we are to outfit everything she wears with a transmitter and have all of us listen in to every word.” That wasn’t a hard ask, “then Faust will agree to letting her know our secret, Lady Ishmael.” Her whispers couldn’t be heard by Ryoushuu at all.
“Very well, she’ll be at my side for every moment until the clothing is finished. May I close out this trial?” With a nod from Faust, Ishmael pulled the plugs out. “We have come to a conclusion, Ryoushuu,” she looked much like a begging puppy with those red eyes of hers. Extending her right hand a pinky was held out, “if you can promise me that not a single word of what occurred tonight will be spoken, then you will be allowed to remain.”
Ryoushuu hesitated to grab at the pinky, “w-what about mommy?”
“It is with a heavy heart that I must insist you take reality and force it away. I ask you too much, and now I ask you out of my pure selfishness to say that your mother abandoned you.” Constricted pupils stared back at Ishmael, they both knew just how much Akui loved Ryoushuu. So to ask her to create this grave of a lie to prove her loyalty was seemingly too much for the child.
“O-Okay…” her hand didn’t waver as she reached to connect their pinkies together. The tiny finger barely covered up Ishmael’s fingertip as it wrapped around. “I-I promise to do as you’ve told me, Lady Ishmael.”
Squeezing her finger, Ishmael nodded, “then may I welcome you into the embrace of the Bloodfiends. For us three will protect you as you will come to protect us.” With her arms wrapped around the child, Ishmael was the only one to take Ryoushuu into her embrace.
And from there the pact was held. Not a single word of what had happened that night had been spoken. Nor had she ever spoken the truth of what happened to her mother. And in turn she began to form a bond with Ishmael unlike anyone else had to that point. The constant doting and care that she gave Ryoushuu was in turn transformed into love and kindness that Ryoushuu gave her and only her. Small acts had reignited the humanity in Ishmael’s heart, something she had long since forgotten. From how warm Ryoushuu was when she hugged her to sleep. To how Ryoushuu would try her hardest to stay brave in the face of a wound Outis inflicted during their training sessions. She never wanted to worry Ishmael, and in turn she never wanted to hurt Ryoushuu.
————
“And that continued for years…until today.” Ryoushuu had never been able to share her life’s story with another, so it felt amazing to get such a weight off her chest. “If it turns out you aren’t allowed to live, then E.W.B.B. I.M.”
“Even Ishmael?” An answer was given through the silent stare. For as much as she didn’t want to do it, she’d take revenge on Heathcliff’s behalf if it came to it. “You don’t have to ruin everything because of your relationship with me, Ryoushuu.”
“You should already know that DIE with me,” Ryoushuu smirked when a bead of sweat ran down the side of Heathcliff’s face, his blatant unease brought her a sense of ease. “Besides, I want to see where this goes…” her eyes looked to the side, “I’ve N.F.L.T.B.” A heat rose into her face but she weakly coughed any nerves away, “and I want to experience it with you, Heathcliff. O.Y.”
“You said that I’m too sweet but did you hear what you just said?” Heathcliff’s smile was akin to a monkey’s, as wide as his face and entirely goofy. “Didn't know you could act like that,” his snickering was brought to an end when Ryoushuu slammed her knee into the side of his leg. “Oh come on, can't you have some fun in the face of fear?”
“D.C.M.S.” Her cheeks were distended as she pouted.
“Fine,” Heathcliff leaned back, his face pointed at the ceiling. His grin hadn’t disappeared, “cute, lovely, huggable, beautiful, absolutely astounding, and fair beyond all.” Each new word made the blush on Ryoushuu’s face grow fiercer, “just wanted to get ‘at all out there if worst comes to worst.”
To take compliments like this wasn’t in her nature, “G.T.K.Y.A.T.” Which led to her sad*stic self taking over. It was a defense mechanism that had no reason to be used at this moment.
But Heathcliff teased back worse, loving this side of her the most. “Oh, you’re gonna kill me with kindness? How sweet of you,” if there was anything he wanted more than now, it was the sound of shattering glass as Ryoushuu hung her head in defeat.
“Enough…please?” Ryoushuu asked, needing to compose herself or else her voice would’ve suddenly changed pitch. She was beyond embarrassed from this little interaction, so much that it had broken her brain, shattered her SANGRIA.
“Aww,” Heathcliff whined, wanting to tease her more than ever now, “alright alright, I’ll quit. Doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about that stuff,” it was fun overthrowing her bloodthirst with peppered comments born from love. “So, mind if I call them in?”
Ryoushuu whimpered a little, never before had she been so flustered, “I.Y.W.”
“Oi! I’m done, so come tell me yer damn story!”
“Yes,” Ishmael’s voice came through the door. Even if it were muffled, it was in a higher pitch than normal, “we’ll be with you in a moment.”
Ten seconds passed before they entered, Ishmael being the last made some sense since she could still be hungering for Heathcliff’s blood. “Hey…Ishmael,” Ryoushuu looked at her face, studying it carefully. From the red, swollen eyes, to the bright red tip of her nose, Ryoushuu examined it all, especially as she tried her hardest to evade her gaze. “Have you been crying?”
“I needed to be distracted from Heathcliff’s scent,” she took a seat in the chair made of solidified blood. “So these two have been distracting me with pain. It ha-”
“You’re a liar,” Ryoushuu interrupted, a blush on her face as she realized what Ishmael had done, “Y.W.E.”
“Really?” Heathcliff asked, “I woulda figured this room was mostly soundproof for…obvious reasons.”
“What did Ryoushuu say, whelp?”
“She’s accusing you of eavesdropping,” peering over his shoulder, Heathcliff hardly saw Ishmael’s expression. “But you three would never do that, right?” While the other two could keep a poker face, Ishmael couldn’t even keep a straight face.
“I…admit to eavesdropping,” Ishmael confessed, letting her wavering voice echo from her heaving chest. “But only I did…” something that personal had no place being known by the other two. “I never knew you could tease my ‘daughter’ like that, Heathcliff.” Ryoushuu blushed as Ishmael did the same as Heathcliff. Teasing her seemed to be the favored passtime of everyone that loved her.
“J.G.O.W.Y.S.” Ryoushuu grumbled, angry that Ishmael had caught every last word of praise she held for her. But that praise was for the past version of her, the Ishmael of today didn’t deserve any of Ryoushuu’s scant kindness for lying to her face.
“No idea what she said,” Ishmael let blood shoot from her fingertips and turned Heathcliff’s chair around with it. “Mind translating?”
“Uh…yeah,” Heathcliff blushed that another soul had picked up on his utterances of boundless love. “Tell your story,” Ishmael frowned at the three missing words, “it’s the shorthand, lass, no need to say the whole thing.” Ryoushuu kneed the back of his chair, “oh come on, the rest of that was just telling her to hurry up.”
“No, G.O.W.I is different from hurrying up.”
“It hardly is,” Heathcliff sighed after his chair was hit a second time. “Fine, I’ll translate it all the way because the lass is AID in your eyes.” Before Ishmael could question why Ryoushuu let out a tiny giggle, Heathcliff took her attention away with the full translation of her SANGRIA. “Just get on with your story.”
“That…really wasn’t necessary, Ryoushuu.”
“I.K,” if he could shoot her a glare, then he’d do it. If that wouldn’t break his neck, “but it’s more fun that way.”
“Well,” Ishmael clapped her hands together, “we shall decide upon your fate after the story. Is that alright with you, Heathcliff?”
“Are…aren’t ya doin’ things in the opposite order?” Heathcliff asked, a bit confused as to how she made decisions.
“How do you suppose?”
“Well, theoretically, let’s say you decide to put my head on the chopping block. Why would you tell a dying man a long story?”
“Maybe I like sharing my story with whoever can hear it,” Ishmael was ancient, so of course she’d like to talk like an old woman. “Or maybe I’d like to tell you about it, Heathcliff.” She smirked while leaning in, but the Odachi stopped her advance. “I wasn’t going to feast, Faust…” but the Odachi didn’t leave, it was a promise she was going to hold herself to since Ryoushuu asked her to do it. “Anyways,” pinching the blade she dragged it away from under her jaw, “my tragic tale began 439 years ago. Two centuries before I met either of these two that stand beside me.”
“We were a crew of fifty seven men under the ever-tightening clutch of our manic Captain: Ahab was her name.” Ishmael’s voice was quiet, “and I was no more than a lowly deckhand. To scoop out oil from the entrails of dead whales, or to fight off the invading forces of Mermaids, I was to do anything and everything I was ordered to. And for a year I sailed valiantly under her name, under the ever-present flag of the Pequod. Our goal was to slay the Pallid Whale, a monster that has risen to be one of the great calamities of the Sea in our recent times.” Her breath hitched as she took a deep inhale, “and it was on that journey that I met my beloved…and it was the same journey where she grew to detest me.”
⛪️~~~~~~~~🪶
“Have you heard the stories of the tribe that sail this ineffable sea, Ishmael?” A man with short black hair whispered from beside her as they looked off to the colony of ships that had taken residence in front of them. First Mate Yi Sang: the one man who could both argue with Ahab yet succumb to her inane will in the same breath.
“Other than the fact Captain Ahab has been searching for these people,” the crew aboard the Pequod had been instructed to guard it in case things went awry with negotiations. “No. I have no idea who these people are, Yi Sang.” Her voice was barely audible over the gentle sea breeze. The day was beautiful, perfect conditions for both sailing through the seas and enjoying them at the same time. A bright sun, some fluffy white clouds, and a dull breeze would give anyone more than enough of a reason to love today.
“Hmm,” the man hummed in response, shifting his weight to make the hefty harpoon attached to his back feel comfortable once more. “The Kokovoko are a nomadic tribe that call this sea their home. Few records exist of them since nobody outside the most seasoned veterans of the sea know of them.” Yi Sang being one of them, “all that we know has been passed down from the stories of drunkards and maniacs.” In just two words he had perfectly encapsulated each member of the crew they treated as family. “Each story, however, treats the men and women of this tribe as excellent huntsmen of the Whales that inhabit these incorrigible waves. And the claims that we have picked up on have portrayed them as phenomenal trackers, hence why Captain is trying to convince one of them to join us in our hunt.”
“Ah…” Ishmael grew curious, “how do you know so much about them, Yi Sang?”
“Because we dropped her off before we returned to the land,” Yi Sang’s smile was bright as he watched his Captain slowly walk across the bridges that crossed the gap between every ship. In the distance, a hulking titan of a woman walked beside her. Wrapped around her arms were bulky ropes that clung tight to her wrists. Her skin was marked with thousands of scars, telling a tale of countless scraps that she had been in. The black tattoos must’ve been the same, a marking of each and every whale she had felled. The braids her hair had been tied into were the same as her ropes, and at their ends were golden bands to bind them together. “Do not let her appearance mislead you, Queequeg has a heart of gold and is the most capable hunter I have ever met.”
“How can you say that you’ve heard claims about them, while also having sailed with a member of this tribe?” Ishmael was astounded by his flippant statements. But he was Yi Sang: a man who could never make his mind up.
“The air of mystery is a gentle fog that settles within the lungs, strangling the life out of those who behold the delicate wings of curiosity in their palms.” Yi Sang’s tongue was always filled with beautiful poetry around her. For Ishmael was one of the few souls aboard this ship to love each vivid thought he brought to mind. “It is the ambrosia of life. Whether it brings a comforting warmth or a chilling dread, the air of mystery is what hooks every soul.”
“Bravo,” using her right hand only, Ishmael clapped by repeatedly slapping her fingers into her palm. “Beautiful as ever, Yi Sang.”
“Thank you, my dear friend,” Yi Sang’s pale complexion took on a brighter shade as warmth entered his chilled heart. “There is also another aspect of their tribe that has piqued my insatiable interests.” There was more to tell about them? “Queequeg has mentioned that there are devils who roam this sea.”
“But, judging from your expression,” Yi Sang’s smile twitched a little, “they are scarier than the Mermaids and Whales that we kill, aren’t they?”
“From the picture she painted with her limited prose,” vivid streams of blood encircled a shapeless soul as countless bodies were at their feet. The form stood at the apex, soaked completely in their blood, “the weakest are capable of slaughtering an entire crew in just moments.” Yi Sang stared into the distance, “they are exiles of this tribe who are tough enough to survive a poison and come away stronger than before. Yet, this strength is a curse, one that renders anyone bearing it an enemy of the effervescent sun.” Queequeg couldn’t explain it to him that well so she carved it into a plank of wood he was using to train his crew mates. Those that break the capital rule of murder are to imbibe upon a liquid that transforms them into beasts, rendering them unconscious at the same time. Then, they are set to drift upon this sea on a simple piece of driftwood, destined to become ash within the sun. “Yet, even though I stated this as if I believed it, I know there are differences between reality and fiction.”
“Oh…” Ishmael did know of some powerful figures that existed upon the land, and she was sure some of them got so drunk they’d claim the sun to be their foe, “so like a vampire?”
“If you must reduce it to that, then yes,” Yi Sang morosely stated. As much as he had to lie about the standing of Queequeg’s story, he believed it absolutely. For when she regaled him with both carvings and her limited vocabulary, there was a terror in her muddied golden eyes unlike anything he had witnessed from the indomitable hunter. If his greatest companion had believed these tales, then so too should he. “Now, do not shake her hand, it is seen as a great disrespect amongst her people. So be sure to bow.” This was Yi Sang’s one and only warning as Queequeg boarded their ship. And then he passed his harpoon to her.
“Great friend, Yi Sang!” With a booming voice, the sun kissed woman walked forward with her arms open wide.
“Great friend, Queequeg!” Yi Sang replied with that same booming tone as he walked towards her. The two embraced in a hug that enveloped his tinier frame before he was lifted into the air. His bones crunched and cracked from the bear hug, she was set to turn him into powder with how severe her joyous hug was. “How have you been?” He muttered through pained breaths.
“Hunts good,” her broad forearms loosened before placing the man down, “more tattoos.” Her smile was bright and wide as she turned to reveal the numerous markings on the nape of her neck that traveled down her vest.
“Oh, so you’ve killed five more whales? Well done, my dear friend,” Yi Sang could never imagine a kill count above 20, but Queequeg had now rocketed past 70 with these extra markings.
“Many thanks,” Queequeg slapped him harshly upon the back, her harpoon head accidentally nicking his flesh as he stumbled forward. She was always too rough, but that’s the way Yi Sang liked it. Because it was her language of love, a language unique to everyone and everything. And he never wanted to trample that language, not as his had been trampled before. “New crewmen?”
“Yes. These fresh souls are one of the things we brought back,” Queequeg knew the reason for their departure, which was to attain enough supplies to slaughter the whale properly. “Ishmael, say hello to Queequeg.” To put her on the spot, how mean, Yi Sang.
Her short hair bobbed into her face as she bowed, “it is great to meet a friend of Yi Sang.”
If she had been warned properly, then she would’ve known this was a gesture of love for the tribesmen of Kokovoko. “Yi Sang told this?” Queequeg asked, her point getting across despite her lack of words.
“Yes,” she rose up with her eyebrow knit, “is there an issue?”
Queequeg laughed mightily, “an act of love. Made before the act of bedding one another.” Ishmael’s face went bright red, her ears coated in that same shade.
“Yi Sang, you f*ck!” Reeling back, Ishmael catapulted his spear forward as the man drank in Queequeg’s hearty laugh. She trusted him not to be marred from his own weapon, and that trust was well placed. He had side stepped it and caught it in two fluid motions.
“Haha, I like her,” Queequeg smiled as her left hand crashed down onto her shoulder. “Ishmael, hair of sunset. Be sure to look if I fall,” like all hunters of the Kokovoko, it was a ritual to look towards the sunset before death. For the key to attaining heaven was to copy the foes they hunted on a common basis. Not that Ishmael even understood, she had thought it was some weird comment about her slipping on the deck and then looking at Ishmael. How could her short hair ever trip anyone? Let alone why she would trip anyone with a harpoon attached to their arm.
As forceful and friendly as she was, Ishmael…could only feel that it was a front. Fake. Just as fake as Yi Sang’s smile whenever his past was brought up. But she couldn’t blame them, not when they fought against such twisted horrors of the deep that could turn men into monstrous freaks. “Come, much to be done,” already, less than a minute into being here, and Queequeg was ordering Ishmael around. She was sure going to be fun to be around.
————
It was supposed to be a simple collection of oil for their lanterns. A simple collection for the fuel of the Captain’s harpoon. Yet the frayed rope Yi Sang had warned her about had snapped, sending her right into the dead Whale’s dark gullet. “Ishmael,” he shouted, his voice producing a cacophonous roar upon the Whale’s dead innards. “I’ll be right back with help!” Wading through the disgusting oil, Ishmael stayed upright. The sickening sticky feeling that permeated every inch of her made her want to vomit. Surely swimming in a pool of her own vomit would be less disgusting than the oil of the Whale. If the bite of a whale could turn anyone into a mermaid, then what would drowning do? Erase her from existence? Could something so mundane even have the power to do that?
After this endeavor she’d never volunteer to collect oil again, that job would remain with Pip since he was the smallest and lightest. The only reason she even took this job was because he was sick with a fever and she was the lightest right after him.
Even if it had been a few minutes, the time spent within this muck felt like an eternity. Was anyone even coming to rescue her? Had Yi Sang forgotten about her because of the oil’s reality altering capabilities? Or had he just lied, let her drown in this oil because he hated her for some reason…? She hated her thoughts, hated being alone with them. Maybe she should just drown them, sink them within the depths of the oil along with herself.
That was what she was about to do, called by the siren’s song that was this brackish oil. But a sudden burst of light had stolen her attention. And then it hit her in the head. A rope, thick and knotted tight, Queequeg’s rope. “Hold tight and yank!” She called, her rough tongue that was filled with sandpaper was the softest thing Ishmael could feel right now.
Listening to her crew mate, Ishmael tugged on the rope and was quickly hoisted from her oily grave. She had never wished to be blinded by the sun more than now, its harsh glow burning her retinas felt as gentle as a sweet summer’s kiss. And that harsh wind never felt more pleasant, she could gasp for hours on this chokingly frigid wind and love each individual breath.
A few hands gripped her oily arms, hoisting her out of the Whale and throwing her onto the deck before their grips could falter. “Are you alright, Ishmael?” Yi Sang asked, already at her side as he began to untie the smock she wore. It was his duty to check if the Whale had taken another one of his comrades from beyond the grave.
“Ishmael,” Queequeg got to her level, brushing a lock of hair that had stuck to her cheek out of the way, “in th-?”
Oily arms wrapped around her back as she desperately dug into Queequeg, “I was terrified.” Her shuddering voice hurt the hunter’s heart, making it ache with a resonating pain. “So…utterly…scared,” tears mixed with the oil she smeared into Queequeg’s muscular chest. “Scared of losing myself,” this one sided embrace could only feel so warm, “scared of drowning myself.” Slowly, Queequeg’s hefty arm wrapped around her, the indentations of burning rope had been flayed into her hands. “But then I heard you,” Ishmael’s fingers dug into the merciless Harpooner. If she brought them away, they were sure to come away with flesh and blood, “your voice has never sounded more lovely, Queequeg.”
The Harpooner was taken aback by the compliment, such things were reserved for lovers in her tribe. “Was afraid,” Queequeg responded, “to lose Ishmael. Yi Sang too,” her head gestured up and to the right, beckoning the man into their shared embrace.
“Yes…” Yi Sang’s voice was quiet as he entered the oily hug, “I offer unto you my pathetic apologies. I wish that you did not have to suffer within that oil for as long as you had.” For this ordeal, the man could only blame himself for what had happened.
Those thoughts she endured within its belly made no sense to her now. How could a man who held so much love for life in his heart ever hate her? And for that betrayal Ishmael sobbed harder into Queequeg’s chest, hating herself for the thoughts she couldn’t control. This self scorn was endless and would continue to be until the end of time. “Thank you,” she wished her arm could wrap around Yi Sang as well, but it was impossible unless the oil that coated her could make an arm sprout from her spine. “Thank you both for saving me…”
“You do same,” if ever it were to happen to Queequeg, she was sure Ishmael would help her without a second thought. Just as she did when Yi Sang came running below deck, shouting for anyone to help pull Ishmael out. She was the only one out of those cowards to rise, “I know you.” It wasn’t hard for Queequeg to break free of Ishmael’s strong hug. But she didn’t fully destroy it, instead she gave herself enough space to place a hand on her chest. “Kind heart, beats of love.” A compliment meant for a lover was met with an equal force from Queequeg. An eye for an eye as her tribe had taught her. And as Ishmael’s heart beat fast, she had taken an eye after she had lost her own.
The trio stayed like that, remaining in that hug for three minutes. But the wretched stench of oil could only be bearable for so long. “It would be a wise idea to clean up now, lest the dregs of oil remain long enough to erase all that is good.” Yi Sang stood up, with the other two following in tandem. “Let me tend to the laundry, for it is my fault and therefore my problem.”
Ishmael wiped the tears from her eyes with a sodden wrist, “no it isn’t…I should’ve listened to you when you said the rope was bad. Please, Yi Sang,” Ishmael’s eyes looked into those dark beads of ruminating sorrow. “I’ll take care of it…”
With a heavy exhale, Yi Sang nodded, “very well…I shall leave my garments outside of the bathroom.” After coming to an agreement, the three traveled below deck and headed into their respective bathrooms.
“You first,” Queequeg muttered, knowing that the showers were meant for one person at a time.
“You’re soaked in oil as well because of my hug,” Ishmael took her finger and struck it like a match against Queequeg’s vested chest. It came back dripping with oil, “and I don’t want to lose you, so you’re taking one with me whether you like it or not.”
“But…indecent.”
“What? We’re both women,” Ishmael reached for the back of the rope that ran around her stomach, “so…who cares?” She groaned a little as she struggled to find the end of the knot, but there seemed to be none. This was frustrating, especially since Ishmael thought she was racing against a fast racing clock.
With a sigh, Queequeg grabbed her wrist and slowly dragged her hand to her hip. “Pull up,” taking hold of the rope, Ishmael did everything she was told. “Then left and out.” Like clockwork the ropes around her hips fell alongside the band around her stomach. “There. Teach later,” Queequeg slammed a fist into her chest, “Desperate’s Knot strong. Desperate’s Knot unbreakable.”
Grabbing hold of the zipper, Ishmael dragged it down allowing Queequeg to shed the vest soaked with oil. Then came her shirt, exposing the intricate markings that had been carefully poked into her skin. Ishmael dragged her fingers gently across the one most prominent, the one right above her sternum. “This is…” it was a bird with wings wreathed in flame, a tattoo given to those who killed a whale that took one of their own, “beautiful, Queequeg.”
“Unfair,” with a frown, Queequeg began to do the same, unbuttoning Ishmael’s sodden clothing. And before long it was shed as well tossed to the ground as both women stood with their torsos barren. However, Ishmael had fully been stripped. Nothing obscured their nude forms. No walls, no barriers…just as lovers should have as dictated by the Kokovoko. “Clean…water, clean us,” Queequeg was getting too far into her own head with these thoughts of hers. Ishmael didn’t understand her customs as well as she did.
“Yeah,” Ishmael nodded while stepping towards the shower, “that’s the point.” Picking up the bucket, she began to fill it with a faucet that pumped sea water into the ship. Behind her, Queequeg began to untie her boots and then came her pants. Now they were both unclothed, she joined her in the shower, “shut your eyes.” Lifting the bucket far overhead, Ishmael dumped it onto Queequeg. Handing the bucket to her, she did the same to Ishmael. There were benches in the showers, and they both sat down beside each other.
Reaching over her, Ishmael grabbed one of the thoroughly used rags that had been through countless cycles of cleansing and dumped it into the bucket. “Do you mind explaining your tattoos to me?”
“Point,” Queequeg said, allowing Ishmael to gently prod her skin. The tattoo on her stomach was the first she asked about as she scrubbed the woman’s left arm clean. It was of a pair of sharp fangs, much like a shark’s maw. “Tattoo for saving friend, Mermaid nearly bit,” with her free arm she pulled her fingers as far back as possible and sank them into her bulky thigh like a pair of fangs. Next Ishmael pointed to the one on her right shoulder as she moved onto her back. This one was of a few waves with lightning crashing above them, the dots must’ve been rain. “Tattoo for protecting children. Wave nearly killed all.” Her finger went to a large block on the nape of her neck, “Whales killed,” and then to a tinier one beside it, “Mermaids.” There must’ve been a thousand of the latter on her body, but she had counted about thirty Whale kills on her back alone. And finally, the one that made her most curious was on her spine, outlining it perfectly. It was of a rope, and it was just that. “Strong bond. Unbreakable between the Kokovoko. Unbreakable between family.” Queequeg took a gentle breath as Ishmael scrubbed into her back, “Pequod family. Ishmael family. Never forget, always family.”
If Queequeg were to turn around, then they’d both see just how flushed the other’s face was. What she had said was simple, yet it was completely filled with love. Those four words were something she’d always cherish.
————
They had been boarded by a Whale, its hand gripping the side of the Pequod, intent on dragging it down into the briny depths. From holes in its hand popped out tethered black and electric blue colored Mermaids. “Crewmen! Do not let these maggots drag us down!” Ahab shouted over the rain that froze everyone’s bones. “They are but a short hurdle on our hunt for the Pallid Whale! So rise my men, rise and smite these pathetic men who weren’t strong enough to brave this sea!” Both her harpoon and prosthetic leg smashed against the ground, creating a loud crack that acted as a flint that sparked a fire in everyone’s hearts.
From there the members of the Pequod tore viciously into the Mermaids, injuring the Whale as they did. However, in turn so did the Mermaids tear into them. Their harpoons struck true against the Mermaids’ flesh, and so too did their fangs and claws carve them. But they weathered through it, just as they had weathered through worse fights. If Ishmael were to be tattooed, then she’d earn two today, each small mark totaled 10, and she had taken out 27 of them with her harpoon throughout the Pequod’s journey.
Just as suddenly as it had gripped the Pequod, the whale had just as suddenly let go, dropping back into the depths before turning towards the sunset through the rainy clouds. “Crewmen! Count your wounds and tend to them! We shall not let minor scrapes fester, turning into greater infection!” But Ishmael paid no attention to Ahab’s voice from above deck, she was already busy trying to fix a wound. One that didn’t belong to her and instead Queequeg. A large gash had rendered her left arm useless, the exposed muscle stung against the salty air.
“Bite down on your rope,” Ishmael instructed as she unwrapped the tight rope from around Queequeg’s arm. Sliding it up she made sure both ends would isolate the wound and cut off the flow. “Brace yourself,” with a forceful pull, Ishmael tightened the rope, causing her to groan in anguish, “I know, I know. It hurts like hellfire is searing your flesh,” that poetic tongue of Yi Sang’s had rubbed off on her, “but it is a necessary pain, otherwise you will bleed out, Queequeg.” She whimpered as Ishmael tied the ends together, making certain that the rope wouldn’t move. “This is going to feel horrible,” reaching into her smock, Ishmael pulled out two things, a hook and a spool of tight black wire. “But the wound won’t heal without it.” Her deft fingers wasted no time in threading the wire, “are you ready?”
With a confident nod, Queequeg allowed Ishmael to shove the hook through her skin. A muffled scream left her as she felt her raw flesh tighten and constrict while closing in on itself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ishmael continued to repeat, hoping her voice would get through to Queequeg in the midst of her heart rending agony.
Through bloodied conditions, Ishmael had sewn the wound shut. The practice she had done on the flesh of Mermaids had proved worthy. There was a major reason for why she’d done it, and it was after witnessing a fellow crew mate get his bitten leg chopped off. The quick thinking did spare him the death of turning into a mermaid, yes, but it did not spare him from nearly dying to blood loss. The cauterizing did, but that botched decision led to further infection that took his life. She figured that if great wounds could happen like that in a heartbeat, then it would be good to be able to close wounds like that. “There,” she’d have to slice the wire after the knot after she got back. “All better now,” rising, she looked at Queequeg who panted like a mutt through her rope. Her heavy breaths could paint a window with enough fog to make it turn opaque for eternity. It hurt to see her like this, “I’ll be right back, Queequeg.” Doing her familiar song and dance, Ishmael ran up the stairs and towards Ahab. By her feet at the helm was a crate of steamed clean cloth they used to wrap wounds.
“What are the casualties, Yi Sang?” Ahab asked callously as she wiped the filthy blood from the tip of her harpoon.
“Zero Captain,” he said with a salute and smile. His chipper tone betrayed the dead look in his eyes. The Captain allowed none of her men to die without her permission, so those who fell never truly died. And it was clear to Ishmael very early into their trip that every individual death made Yi Sang’s heart tear and ache until it had been reduced to the tiny seed in his chest. “However, there are seven wounded, including Queequeg, Captain!”
“Is her harpooning arm intact?” The question was posed to Yi Sang, but she quickly noticed the redhead running from down below. “Ishmael. Status on Queequeg.” She barked, ordering the girl to answer her like a lowly dog.
“Left arm bicep torn from the side,” her finger dragged from four inches below the shoulder down to two inches above the elbow joint. “I am tending to it as we speak.” Behind the Captain lightning struck, a bolt larger than anything Ishmael had ever seen.
“Then get to it!” Ahab shouted, her voice louder than the thunder as it rumbled the sea itself. With a simple nod, she snatched three pieces of cloth and hurried below deck with them.
“Queequeg! I’m back,” Ishmael stormed so fast down the stairs that she nearly slipped at the top of the rain slick steps. In reality, she slipped on the step right after, sliding down each one on her ass. When the bottom finally came, Ishmael had landed on her chest, “fuuuck.” The groan left her paralyzed for a single moment before the woman rose. To her right was Queequeg, she had fallen over and landed on her right arm. “Queequeg!” It seemed she had struggled to keep consciousness after Ishmael left. That strong front was for her and her alone, and now she got to see the vulnerability of this lonesome titan. However, her first thought needed to be to check her for life.
The rising and lowering chest? Check. The shallow, labored breaths? Check. The startlingly quick pulse…? Check. By all normal metrics Queequeg was alive, the only issue wrong here was the slight bleeding that still oozed from her wound. All that pain, though, had caught up, rendering her unconscious. “You did great, Queequeg,” brushing a lock of stray hair out from her face, Ishmael looked upon her agonized visage, frowning as she did. She suffered more than most of the crewmen but she never showed it. “The way you fought was phenomenal…and I thank you for saving me.”
If not for Ishmael’s ineptitude, Queequeg wouldn’t have had to step in and take that tearing slash that ruined her arm. Even if not for the obligation, Ishmael would’ve helped her friend without a second thought. Just as Queequeg would do for her. “Ishmael,” Yi Sang’s hand calloused shook her out of her self-enforced stupor. “You were the one who stitched her wound shut?”
“Ah, yes,” Ishmael took one of the three pieces of cloth and began to wipe the blood away with it. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”
Pulling a knife from his back pocket, Yi Sang sliced through the excess wire. “Other than this little tail, what you’ve done is astounding. Your ingenuity with this hook and fishing line along with these poor light conditions would surely make you one of the best surgeons in the city if you practiced.” Such ceaseless affirmation was wasted on her, especially from one as hollow as Yi Sang was. If anything, he deserved the endless praise and affirmation if that’s what it took for him to be confident enough to truly stand up to Ahab. “There are others with less drastic wounds,” Yi Sang collected the materials in his hands, “so may I ask if you could tend to them as well?”
“Are they further in the hold or above deck?” There was some tension in the air which led her to be apprehensive about the decision.
“I can see your worry and I promise that I will bring Queequeg straight to her bed. If it is the least I can do to assist, then I shall do so, my dear friend.” But Yi Sang was there, always there, whenever the tension was high. Slicing right through it with his prudent words that had the edge of a glowing red knife.
“If…if you can assist me afterwards, then that would be most appreciated,” wrapping the bandage tight around the wound, Ishmael watched as Queequeg winced. “Thank you, Yi Sang.”
“Very well,” Yi Sang moved beside her and delicately placed Queequeg’s good arm around his neck, “I shall join you above in a minute, Ishmael.” It had taken her all her might to even limp down the stairs with Queequeg in tow. Yet Yi Sang effortlessly lifted the heavy woman.
A man with the muscles of an ox and the tongue of a poet. The courage of a lion to protect those beneath him yet the meekness of a mouse to lead them further into the maws of hell. Yi Sang was a walking contradiction. One that Ishmael entrusted her entire being to. Besides Queequeg, he was the only other completely reliable soul upon this vessel headed for oblivion that had some sense left within their skull. “You never let anyone see your wounds let alone dress them, my friend. Ishmael is certainly someone special to you, isn’t she?”
It wasn’t until later that day, when night fell, that Ishmael visited Queequeg. The wounds of the crewmen had been more extensive than suggested. Along with the extra tasks Yi Sang said he needed no assistance with. However, to be the sole person responsible for sending these poor six souls off into the water was too much for anyone. No matter how much he seemed fine, Yi Sang cried for these six crew members Ishmael had never even bothered to talk to.
Those solitary tears were the last dregs of respect and love these men would ever receive, and it was all because of their manic quest to slay a Whale that there would be nothing more for them. Where did a soul rest when they were slaughtered on the sea? Did they stick with the ship they were with until their vengeance was taken? Or did they sink into the briny depths to have their souls consumed by Whales? A question Yi Sang had been mulling over since he joined the Pequod had still gone unanswered.
Gently, her knuckles wrapped on the door to her cabin, Ishmael announced herself, “Queequeg? Are you awake…?”
There were heavy footsteps that led to the door before it opened to reveal the hulking titan. “Ishmael…good night,” her right arm was no longer bound with rope that fastened her harpoon down. She hadn’t perturbed the rope on her left arm, “want in?”
“Huh,” Ishmael’s face gained a slight amount of color, “ah, no, I was just coming to see if you were alright.” Her face burned with embarrassment, “and to apologize.” Queequeg’s braids swayed as she shook her head, “why not?”
“Saved you because wanted to,” Queequeg stepped out into the lantern light. Out of the dark of her cabin, Ishmael saw the extra color in her face. A hand shot up to her forehead, measuring her normal temperature, “saved you,” Queequeg did the same, misunderstanding Ishmael’s gesture. “Because life bad without Ishmael. Because love Ishmael.”
“You-” she was flabbergasted, completely taken aback by the proclamation of love, “what?”
Taking Ishmael’s hand into her own, Queequeg placed it against her own chest. And then placed her own hand against Ishmael’s. Their beating hearts connected, allowing her to say what had been on her mind for months. “Queequeg loves Ishmael.”
“You…” her already rapid heartbeat rose, nearly breaking through her sternum, “ you love me ?” Queequeg nodded, “why me? I’m no-one special…” her calloused hand cupped Ishmael’s cheek with sincerity.
“Don’t doubt heart,” Queequeg’s words would guide her through life. Just as those same words guided their lips together. They were bound for life, their hearts set to intertwine until the end of eternity. For that was the pact Ishmael had happily accepted with every ounce of her heart.
————
“When the sun rises,” Ahab shouted with vigor on her tongue, “we shall finally slaughter that damned bastard! The Pallid Whale shall not know its demise until it is too late! It shall beg for mercy at the hands of our skilled Harpooners, but we shall give it none!” She didn’t turn to face Yi Sang, “First Mate, go procure the alcohol from my room. For tonight we shall party until dawn! Crewmen, hear my roar, for I give you the night to enjoy yourselves to the fullest!” They were right on the cusp of the Pallid Whale’s resting grounds, so to not perform the old sailor’s tradition of drinking until you dropped right before the end was completely bad luck. And what good Captain wouldn’t provide the booze for her loyal crewmates to drink?
Whiskey, bourbon, vodka, tequila, rum, even wine. Every liquor under the sun existed within the cart Yi Sang rolled out. But, to drink whatever they wanted immediately was not the plan, with the assistance of Pip they began to pour wine out into 37 glasses, one for each crewmember. And with the help of Ishmael, the trio began to pass the wine out. With glass in hand, Ishmael returned to Queequeg’s side…but for some reason she was sniffing the wine with peculiarity. “Never seen wine before?’ Ishmael asked, nudging her side with a smirk.
“Something different…” Queequeg had made her own wine in the past, a bitterly sweet scent was what she remembered from the batch. But this smelled weird…like metal?
“This wine is the lifeblood of our crew! The lifeblood of the Pequod is in your hands!” Ahab shouted, her voice cracking the harsh winds that absorbed every sound, “so drink my crew! Drink for the prosperity of us all! Drink so we may kill that bastard with renewed strength!” Raising the glass skyward, she waited until she saw 36 other glasses raised, even Pip’s as he stood beside the Captain, “to the death of the Pallid Whale!”
A cacophonous roar that could never match Ahab’s normal shouting left the crew, “to the death of the Pallid Whale!” Clinking their glasses together, Queequeg, Ishmael, and Yi Sang drank the wine all at once. Nobody realized they had sealed their fate from the moment that wine touched their lips. A hint of copper permeated everyone’s mouth, including Ahab’s. Even she had swallowed the poison she set upon her crew.
The first to fall were the men on their left. They fell to the ground with blood burbling out from the depths of their stomachs. “None of you shall perish, for we will all be reborn into something better than man himself could ever think of!” The trio standing beside one another knew it just as well as Ahab did. They were forced to drink that liquid that turned men into beasts of the night, “Bloodfiends!”
Clutching onto Ahab’s leg, Pip believed that being as close to her would save him from the fate that befell everyone else. But that wasn’t reality. Nobody could resist the Bloodfiend’s poisonous blood. Not even the indomitable Captain herself was invincible as blood spilled from her mouth. This was completely unlike the picture Pip had painted in his mind. The first to fall was the boy, the scratches at his throat evidence of his desire to claw the wine from it. Blood spilled from his eyes as his pupils lost their luster.
Ishmael’s knees felt weak as her stomach boiled with pain. It was as if millions of razor sharp needles were now transposed into her gut. With a hand pressed against her mouth, Ishmael tried her hardest to repress the metallic vomit rising through her throat. Nothing would ever be able to restrain it, not even melting their lips together. Her hands pressed hard against the ground as a stream of blood left her mouth.
“Ishmael…” Yi Sang fell to his knees next, “Queequeg…” blood had begun to stream from his eyes, mixing with his tears as they fell. And so too did he. Like a log cut down by a heartless lumberjack, Yi Sang fell forward, “I love you both…” A brilliant smile was on his face as his eyes glazed over, “for you are both ideal companions…”
“Glad to meet, Yi Sang.” A pool of blood collected around his face as Queequeg lowered herself, her left hand gently rubbed Ishmael’s back and her right hand ruffled Yi Sang’s hair, moving each thread like a feather. “Glad to meet, Ishmael…” Queequeg’s eyes were bloodshot as she suppressed the urge to regurgitate. But it was just as futile as resisting their Captain’s wishes, “glad to love…Ishmael…” but her words would not reach the redhead, she was already out cold, her heart slowing to a crawl as her body succumbed to the poison of the Bloodfiends. To think their lives would end because of their Captain’s insane will…though she supposed it would’ve happened sooner or later with her all-consuming ideas. “Rot for eternity, Ahab.” Queequeg muttered as blood spilled from the corners of her mouth, “burn for eternity…” the titan plummeted, her body no longer able to resist the poison, “Ahab.”
And finally, the woman who led 36 men to their graves. Their illustrious Captain with a tongue of gold and silver now had a tongue steeped in blood and ash. The souls of every fallen crew member would not let her get away with this mass slaughter she brought about. Ghastly hands filled with frost grabbed whatever they could of the Captain, dragging her further into the watery grave made specifically for her twisted soul. A burning pit of hellfire and sulfur, perfect for the Captain who led so many innocent and corrupt souls to their ends. And a fitting end for the Captain herself was to drown in her own blood. The same blood that had ordered so many gallons to be spilled from her subordinates. The Pequod had been so lively just minutes ago and now it had been reduced to a lifeless husk without a single living soul aboard. All 58 members of the Pequod had been quelled before they even had the fight of a lifetime against that Pallid bastard.
—-----
With a sudden inhale, a sharp one that tasted of sour blood, Ishmael awoke. Her eyes bloodshot as she turned onto her side. Heavy coughs filled with residual blood that she had not been given the chance to vomit up left her. Her lungs had drowned, coated in that metallic taste that made her sick to her stomach. With bleary eyes, she breathed in heavily, staring up at the night sky on her back. The air reeked of iron as she noted the moon’s position so she stopped breathing. But no matter how long she held her breath, she never needed another. They had started festivities when the moon was barely in the sky, and now it was just a quarter away from the horizon on the opposite end. “Queequeg?” Her voice hung in the silent air, the only alive sound within miles. She got no response. “Yi Sang?” With a little more force, her voice would attract any Whale with how loud it echoed. She got no response. “P-Pip…?” She wanted what she just witnessed to be no more than a dream, one that had been induced by heavy amounts of alcohol, but these corpses around her, these cold lifeless bodies told a different story. She got no response.
Ishmael was alone. Nobody but her had survived the poison. Doomed to wander the night. Alone …until eternity came to an end.
Ishmael sat up, looking at the corpses of her beloved companions. It had been a year with them, but she loved them as if she’d known them for entire life. And they were dead. All because of some insane idea that a bunch of Bloodfiends would be invaluable assets to fight the Pallid Whale with. f*ck Ahab. That f*cking bitch caused this. Caused her to be alone in the middle of the sea, the only friends she had ever truly made were now corpses that couldn’t enjoy the sun with her. Couldn’t enjoy booze with her. Couldn’t enjoy the breaths of life they always shared after battle. And all because of that bitch lying dead at the helm.
Death wasn’t good enough for her though. Not for all the pain, all the agony that Ishmael and everyone else suffered. She deserved worse. And as the sole arbiter of everyone’s wills, she rose to her feet. The sticky blood under her boots felt no different in composition than that of a Mermaid’s, but to her it was as if trampling on the dead. So, as best she could, Ishmael avoided the pool of crimson fluid as best she could. With how much and how long it had been there, the deck would be permanently soaked in everyone’s blood. To think, that was the only other lasting thing this crew had accomplished. Staining both her heart in a red pain and the deck in a shade of crimson.
Rising to the helm, Ishmael had to look away from the crumpled bodies at it. Pip had died with his eyes open, his last moments were spent in torturous misery before the blood vessels in his eyes had burst, leading to red sclera. With an invisible reach, Ishmael moved her hand forward and shut his eyes. And then, grabbing his hands, she delicately pried them open before wrenching away from the wretched woman he clung to like a mother. Gently, she crossed his arms over the other and set him down to the side, “rest easy, Pip…you never deserved to be on this ship to hell.”
With her sights off of Pip, Ishmael looked at the dead Ahab. In her open maw there was a pool of blood, her tongue drowning in it as if her last attempts at life were to shout, “how could you do this?” Ishmael stood over the woman and crouched down, “how could you lead your men to their unknowing deaths?” They had all signed on to kill Whales, not to have a chance to become Bloodfiends. “You’re a rotten piece of sh*t,” with a fist tightened to the point blood was drawn from her palm, Ishmael punched Ahab’s jaw, breaking it with a loud crack. “That deserved to be swallowed by a damn Whale,” the side of her fist slammed into her face, fracturing her cheekbone. “You were a Captain of a crew of brave men that gave their entirety to you!” Like rain, Ishmael’s fists slammed repeatedly into her face, “yet you couldn’t f*cking accept that! You NEEDED us to be better!” Ishmael’s bones began to chip with the ferocity behind each punch, “well how the f*ck is this for the better?!” Pulling her entire body back, Ishmael rocketed forward, sending her fist right through Ahab’s face and breaking through the floor as a result.
Ishmael laughed. Ishmael cackled. Ishmael howled! She had mutilated the Captain that had condemned them all to death. Elation should’ve been what she felt, but all she got was this soul crushing emptiness. This crippling loneliness… “I f*cking hate you,” her laughter was hollow as tears dripped from her eyes, “you took Yi Sang away…” her hands attempted to cover her eyes, but the fingers on her hands were hanging on by broken sinews. “And you tore Queequeg away from me…” there was no-one to comfort her, no-one to wipe these sticky tears away but her.
But she couldn’t be sucked away by this despair, not when she had a duty that could only be performed by her. So Ishmael stood, one final time. She would not rest until these people were inside, so that she may create coffins for each one of them. Ishmael wasn’t well versed in what would happen to these corpses if they were to be soaked in sunlight. Would they turn to ash? Or were the dead lucky to remain human? Whatever the case was, she wouldn’t chance them being reduced to nothing. Not until she gave them all a proper burial at sea.
Beginning with Pip, she carried his limp body to the bottom of the hold, laying him peacefully within the bunk he slept in. Next came Yi Sang, his expression had never been more twisted with fear and regret. But he had never seemed more peaceful than now, he was truly at rest. Whatever things had been haunting him from his past mattered no more, for they were laid to rest just as he was. The only one to know what drove him out to sea was himself…and she couldn’t converse with the dead. Then Queequeg, her body no longer felt heavy to Ishmael, but that newfound strength wasn’t something to feel joy over. She had expected to lay her beloved in the grave decades from now, when they both had reached the end of their lives. But here she was, carrying Queequeg to her bunk…the bunk they had shared for months now. No matter how cramped it was, they both had never had greater sleep within each other’s embrace. Maybe she’d have one last night… day of sleep beside her beloved before she cast her coffin out to sea.
By the time the sun rose, Ishmael had brought everyone below deck. Every window that peered outside had been covered with the darkest cloth she could find. The only access to the sun that she had were the stairs that she stood in front of. If what was said was true, and she was a Bloodfiend, then her fingers should feel pain in the light. If it came to it, Ishmael had drawn a bucket of water to sink her hand in. So, with a final gulp, Ishmael forced her hand into the sun for a mere few moments. Sizzling flesh began to bubble from the intense burning of the sun, “f*ckin’ hell!” This was more intense than the pain that had been in her stomach earlier. When she shoved her hand into the bucket the water boiled near immediately. Her hand had been so hot from just a second of contact that the water boiled. “Stupid f*cking curse!” She threw the bucket toward the light, watching the wood get stained by the water that flew out. But regretted it right after, her momentary anger made her forget the other test she had to take. “Just…calm down, Ishmael. Channel that rage into doing productive things, yeah?” Less than a day into her isolation and she was already talking to herself…she needed to put a rush order on those coffins so she could end her life quicker.
To spend an eternity without her lover wasn’t something she wanted to experience…or maybe she should. Ishmael was the lifeblood of the Pequod, the only one to have survived the trial of becoming a Bloodfiend. She could spend her time honoring her fellow crew, maybe she’d even take the time to track everyone’s family down and inform them of the deceased. That…that was when she’d take her life. After every loose end had been tied down with a Desperate’s Knot. To set back off to sea to inform the Kokovoko of Queequeg’s demise would be the last thing on her agenda. Then and only then could she let the depths of this horrid sea take her.
As she drew more water for the bucket, Ishmael hummed a dreary tune, one that she’d caught Yi Sang humming once or twice. She had asked what the lyrics were, completely out of curiosity, but he had claimed that it was something that had no words. However, he proposed that if it were to have lyrics, then he’d imagine they’d be about a crow’s broken wings trying their hardest to carry the bird. A question that would go unanswered still remained with her: was it a metaphor for his life? Or was it simply as she was told, nothing more to read into? A sigh came to her, she would never get an answer so why endlessly mull over it? In fact, she’d pick one out for him. The former. Yi Sang had wings, but they were perfectly capable of flight, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to fly away from this ship that imprisoned him.
With a new pail of water, Ishmael turned on her foot and headed upstairs, the smell of sizzling flesh entered her nose. Could her stench have hung in the air for this long? There was smoke on this level, too much smoke for how long she had burnt herself. Had someone other than her survived?! With quick steps she turned the corner twice and there her heart stopped. “Q-Queequeg…?” Standing just before the sunlight, the woman shoved her right hand into the sunlight. A large fire had engulfed her arm, reducing it to nothing but bleached bones and melting flesh with dust trailing down from it.
“Ishmael…?” A hand grabbed her vest and pulled her out of the light, a bit too much force had sent her to the ground. With water dousing the fire, Ishmael embraced Queequeg once more. She never believed that this would ever happen again, but there she was, nuzzling her freezing cold cheek with her own.
“Queequeg,” Ishmael stared into her muddied golden eyes for a moment before shooting in, peppering her face with kisses. “Queequeg, Queequeg, Queequeg!” That expression of pure bewilderment was priceless, for it made Ishmael know just how much love Queequeg held in her heart for her. Right…?
“You lived, Ishmael…?” Yet, there was none of that joy that Ishmael held, not even a remote speck of it.
“And so did you!” Ishmael happily shouted, now knowing that she’d have someone to share eternity with. “I was beginning to think I’d never be able to hold you again!” There was some caution in Queequeg, but she eventually reciprocated Ishmael’s hug.
“I too…” Queequeg restrained her tongue. There was no way she’d crush her lover’s joy, not now at least. “Looked to sunset, but no end. Only new beginning,” her left hand went to Ishmael’s blood soaked hair. Whatever bits weren’t matted down by the sticky fluid were soft to the touch, an experience she’d never be able to love any less. “With Ishmael.”
“A new beginning,” Ishmael longingly stared into her eyes as her hands began to mess with those lovely braids, “with Queequeg.” If only she had known what the Kokovoko thought of Bloodfiends…then maybe she’d understand why Queequeg had been so morose.
—-----
Over the span of ten days and nine nights, the two had built 34 coffins for 34 people each adorned with their own special decorations. If not for the journal Yi Sang kept about what everyone liked, then they wouldn’t have been able to adorn the lids of the coffins with crude paintings of their dreams. For Pip it had been rich lavish skylines and money…so they both focused on drawing gold coins on the lid, neither of them were artists so they couldn’t paint it to his liking. For a man named Jericho they drew a circus filled with lions and elephants for he wanted to be the ringmaster of one someday…but they just drew a tent. Neither knew what either of those animals looked like. They went down the list until they reached the end, painting each crew member’s dream until a mess of color assaulted their eyes whenever they went to the bottom floor. However, they never found Yi Sang’s dream with the text, his was secluded at the absolute last page of his journal. ‘I suppose if I were to have a dream, then it would be to see my face smiling back at me in a mirror. To be unmoored by earthly pains and free of all worry…truly, it is all I wish, for it is the ideal me.’ When Ishmael came across that page she cried with a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobbing. She knew just how much he suffered, but this was all he wanted from life? To see himself be happy?
If not for this last dream, they would’ve been done on the ninth night, however Ishmael needed the portrait of Yi Sang to be perfect. And it damn near was. Yi Sang smiled back at her as black feathered wings unfurled behind him. To think…this would be the last time she’d ever see his face…how cruel.
“Ready? Let them free?” Queequeg asked as they stood on the deck, the moonlight was dim but it illuminated the paint perfectly, allowing them to stand before all the beautiful work they’d done.
“Hmm…” Ishmael hummed, “let’s start with Jack, and end with Pip. Good plan or no?”
“Good…” Queequeg muttered as she stood beside the mechanism they used to lower skiffs. If only Ishmael knew of the 35th coffin, the one destined for them to crawl into when they were done.
It took them an hour to lower every coffin into the water, but they both never wanted it to end. To say goodbye to all of their friends like this wasn’t something they wanted to do. Queequeg shed a few tears but Ishmael was reduced to a sobbing mess that used her shoulder as a crutch. Not a word was spoken until Queequeg backed away from Ishmael. With a heavy sniffle, she looked to her lover, “what’s the plan, Queequeg…?”
“Plan simple,” a hand went behind her knees and the other behind her back as Ishmael was lifted into the air. “Ishmael my bride,” taking off for the stairs, the hefty woman carried her lighter wife down the stairs.
“Didn’t know you could decide it as easy as that,” Ishmael smirked as her arm went around Queequeg’s neck. “Well then would that make you my husband or wife, Queequeg?” She expected a smile to appear on the woman’s face, but she continued to hold her frown. “Do…you not like that?”
“No. Love it if case different,” Queequeg rounded the corner and stopped right before the coffin she had built for them both. “Betrothed share bed, betrothed share coffin.”
“But we’re not dead,” Ishmael looked into her dreadful gaze, fear taking her as she took her arm off of Queequeg. A genius wasn’t needed to interpret what she was about to do. “At least…at least explain why you’re going to kill me, Queequeg.” Ishmael pleaded, wanting one last thing from her wife before she took her life.
“Bloodfiends are demons…shouldn’t exist. Demons bring calamity, we bring calamity. We shouldn’t exist,” after a long blink, Queequeg’s eyes came back glistening with tears. “I don’t want to…but death for us. Sorry Ishmael.” Her tone was low as she began to lower Ishmael into the wooden coffin. With the harpoon beside it she would quickly pierce her lover’s heart before drifting out to sea with the lid off.
With a sniffle Ishmael nodded, “and I’m sorry too, Queequeg.” The red feathers on Yi Sang’s lid had been drawn on with her blood, something she found out she could manipulate while working on it. Throughout Queequeg’s speech there had been a line of snaking blood that sneaked behind her head. And in one simple slice it severed her spine’s connection to the rest of her body. If she hadn’t tested it on herself, then she would’ve had to murder Queequeg in order to fulfill her desires of informing everyone’s families of what happened to the Pequod. Thankfully this was the more peaceful option, especially since it took next to no effort for her to repair her severed spine.
A look of betrayal entered Queequeg’s face. How could her lover, the one she wanted to spend eternity with in the afterlife, stop her from living this cruel fate of feasting on blood? “But I have things to do,” standing up, Ishmael grabbed Queequeg and set her down in that coffin. “If…if ever someone dredges you up, then I want you to come for me. If I’m alive I shall be living in a manor called the Drowning Steppes and it shall be looking at the sea. Every night I shall look out into it, waiting for you my dear. Yet, for my treachery, I shall spend an eternity away from your love Queequeg…please,” her fist rose into the air, “do try your best to return to me.” And bore down, knocking her lover unconscious. Weighing down the coffin with their memories together, Ishmael watched, weeping as the wooden coffin sank into the murky depths of the ocean. She had lost her lover once more…and all because of her selfish desires to live. Truly, life was wasted on her. Truly… breath was wasted on her.
~~~~~~~~
“That is my story.” Ishmael spoke, her voice a tad hoarse from all she had said tonight. “Now, I must ask, what is your opinion of someone as wretched as me?”
Heathcliff leaned back and let out a long breath, “do you care what I say?”
“No. If it is filled with a vehement hatred for me, then I shall accept it without issue, Heathcliff.”
“Well I don’t think you’re wretched,” Heathcliff glared at her, the corner of his eyes pinched in fury, “you both are. Tryin’ to kill your lover out of twisted mercy? Buryin’ ‘er at the bottom o’ the sea? You twisted f*cks are perfect for each other,” the man had come to a conclusion that not even the genius Faust had ever thought of. “And don’t think your slick in doin’ that. You were tryin’ to get her to like the idea of bein’ a Bloodfiend by forcing her to be trapped thinkin’ of you until the end of time. Ya shoulda just told her what you really wanted instead of all that convoluted sh*te.”
“Yes…but I only realized that after a hundred years of introspection.” Ishmael hadn’t spent a day without regretting that rash decision of hers. “I wasn’t as emotionally mature as you apparently are, Heathcliff,” a backhanded compliment that he had no choice but to accept. “Maybe she would’ve listened to me, maybe she wouldn’t have, I shall never know unless she finds her way here. For only then will I ask her to wander this world with me until our end, that is my dream.”
“Then why all the Butlers?”
“I thought you already knew the answer to that. I wished for a family to love after I accomplished my goal,” Ishmael leaned in, “and it is that same family that I wish to welcome Queequeg into when the time comes.”
“Wishful thinkin’, is that all you can do, lass?”
“Still calling me lass…even despite knowing the substantial age gap you still won’t drop that word,” Ishmael groaned as she agreed with him. “If not hope, then do you suggest I carry despair with me until the end?” He opened his mouth in rebuttal but shut it right after, “figures, not able to yap about that are you? Now, with my life’s story over, may we deliver the verdict for Heathcliff?”
“We may, Lady Ishmael,” Outis said with a bow, “I believe he deserves death. I do not trust the tongue of a mutt that will do anything to survive.”
“S.Y.O,” Ryoushuu said with a voice filled with resent, “Heathcliff deserves life just as much as I do.”
“You should’ve died that day you miserable whelp.”
“Free me and we can have a repeat. Though I’ll SABBATH this time around.”
“I’d like to see you tr-” A hand of blood crawled down her throat, blocking Outis’ voice. And a lattice of it covered Ryoushuu’s mouth, blocking any sound.
“Shut the f*ck up you both.” With a deep breath, Ishmael looked at Faust after composing herself, “I believe that we all are too close to this.” Ryoushuu loved Heathcliff, Outis despised him with every fiber of her heart, and Ishmael could only see him for his deep loyalty and phenomenal blood. “So I wish for you to deliver this verdict, Faust.” Her blood red eyes went to Outis and then Ryoushuu, “with no interruptions from the peanut gallery may I add?” Pulling both the hand out and the lattice off, Outis nodded along with Ryoushuu.
“Faust must ask,” she stepped in front of Heathcliff and crouched until their eyes were level with one another, “will you do anything to stay with Ryoushuu?”
“Huh, why the f*ck…” this bastard was definitely eavesdropping with Ishmael earlier. She’d be a terribly tough opponent to play poker against, “if need be I’ll become a damn Bloodfiend for her.”
“Verily?” Standing straight up, Faust took her right hand and slit her left wrist, “imbibe upon Faust’s blood and you shall be free to live.” If he had taken anything away from Ishmael’s life, then he knew he was gambling on a chance that was way less than four percent.
“H.D.N.D.T.”
“Ryoushuu…you already know how dense my head is. I don’t understand consequences properly,” opening his mouth, Heathcliff quickly held it under the dripping blood. Yet not a single drop ever came. It had solidified the moment he moved.
“Faust’s decision is final,” the crimson spike retracted into her flesh as she stepped away, “he may live, Lady Ishmael.”
“You’re an asshole, Faust,” Heathcliff muttered, feeling a certain pair of red eyes staring into him.
“Forgive Faust, but it was quite amusing.” With a smirk she looked at Ryoushuu who’s eyes were burning a hole into the back of Heathcliff’s head.
The bloody wrappings dissolved, slithering back into Ishmael with a snap, “may I we-” Ishmael’s speech was interrupted by Ryoushuu.
“H.D.Y.N.K.Y.L.T! Y.S.B.I.D.H!” Each name she called him was followed with a punch to the back of his head.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Heathcliff didn’t move an inch other than the recoil from her ferocious onslaught, “come on, don’t you think it was sweet I was willin’ to chance that for ya?”
“F.N!” Ryoushuu didn’t care about the stunned gazes of the Bloodfiends, this abuse would be for all to witness if she could have it that way. For everyone needed to know just how stupid of a thing Heathcliff just tried to do, “L.W.Y.W.F.S.H!”
“Alright alright, I get it.” Heathcliff gently swatted her hands away.
“D.Y?” Her sarcastic tone made him laugh as she slowed down on the pummeling.
“Yeah,” Heathcliff rubbed the back of his head, “now can ya stop makin’ my brain stupid?” Reaching into her pocket, Ryoushuu pulled out a cigarette and began smoking, relieving the stress he had incurred upon her the only way she could. Or at least without the need for another. Her favored way was holding someone as she slept.
“Well…now that… that is over,” Ishmael was afraid that could go on for the entire night if they allowed Ryoushuu to do so. “I uh…welcome you into the embrace of the Bloodfiends. I can’t speak for Ryoushuu since she did…well you clearly know, but we three will care for you as you care for us.” Looking up at her daughter, Ishmael furrowed her brow in worry, “so…does the prospect of Heathcliff dying really scare you that much, Ryoushuu? Maybe you two should get ma-” the job of any parent was to embarrass their child, even if they were adopted.
“SINK,” Ryoushuu blushed, pounding her fist into Heathcliff’s head as well since she knew his mind went to her in a wedding dress. “WITH.”
“Nah, I’d love to see you in a g-” before he could finish his sentence, Ryoushuu delivered a Sleepy Smack to the base of his neck.
Catching him before he fell, Ishmael propped him onto his feet with bloody crutches. “Cold. You are quite the brutal child, Ryoushuu.”
“Don’t sow those seeds in his head then,” grabbing Heathcliff the girl hoisted him over her shoulder, “Odachi, now.” Presenting it to her in its sheath, Ryoushuu snatched her weapon and carried it with her to the door. “Oh, and Ishmael,” no lady this time, for her tongue was filled with a frosty hatred, “do not feast on Heathcliff without consent next time. Or I will SYNC,” dragging the pommel of her blade against her throat got the message across. And with that she left, leaving the three Bloodfiends behind in the basem*nt. Today had been long, and yesterday even longer, but at least Heathcliff was safe…for the most part. He might have a concussion from what she did, but that was a price he paid for his stupidity.
“Faust must ask: do you really find Heathcliff’s bitter blood good enough to share our secret once again, Lady Ishmael?” Faust asked, able to smell it upon the air.
“I…” Ishmael stood up and turned to the door, “do not need to answer you, Faust.” Leaving behind the chair of blood, she exited the room, leaving behind two of her most trusted confidants. She had no idea why Heathcliff’s blood was something that had made her body go into heat. She’d tasted countless kinds of blood, including the gang of people that Ryoushuu had killed, but none had ever stood out so much to her. There was just something… special about him that only Ishmael could feel. But knowing how Ryoushuu would hate her if she feasted upon him, she would probably never get another chance to feed upon him. He was sure to refuse her if she ever even asked. And that was…fine with her…Right?
🚬~~~~~~~~⛪️
The gentle knocking on his door awoke Heathcliff from his Sleepy Smack induced rest. Unlike the wood shattering slams from Outis, or the frantic beats Ryoushuu introduced to him. Besides, that latter woman couldn’t produce them since she was sitting up beside him. She reminded him of a cat standing on all fours and arching its back to scare whatever is threatening it as she leaned over him. “Go away Ishmael.”
“Ryoushuu,” her voice was soft, “all I want to do is talk with you and Heathcliff both.” She stood outside of the door, her fists were balled as she gripped her dress with anxiousness bearing down from over her shoulder. “I…want to apologize for what I’ve done…to both of you. S-So may I please come in?”
“No,” Ryoushuu was upset that she broke the one thing she asked her not to do, and it was to not harm Heathcliff. But the holes in his collarbone were evident enough she didn’t care about her warning, “Heathcliff’s sleeping so go a-”
“Can you keep your fangs to yourself?” Heathcliff got slapped in the chest for his interjection, but he wasn’t going to let his existence be the reason a long standing relationship was ruined.
“I can promise that, yes,” despite his better judgment, and the woman currently trying to strangle him, Heathcliff trusted Ishmael for one final time. If she were to break his trust then that was it, no more second chances. He would never attempt to help her again.
“Then come in!” Heathcliff shouted through the pillow that was being used to smother his face. It seemed that no matter what Ryoushuu did she couldn’t stop the wheel of fate from turning.
“No,” drawing her Odachi from its home, Ryoushuu held it out like an extension of her arm. The tip of the blade cut into the tip of Ishmael’s nose, “leave. Now.”
“I…see,” Ishmael had never so much as been hurt by Ryoushuu so this tiny pain was fracturing, tearing into a bigger mess than she could ever contain. “Very well, Ryoushuu…” Absorbed into warding off Ishmael, Ryoushuu neglected to notice that Heathcliff had almost broken free of the pillow, “I shall l-”
“Are ya tryin’ to f*ckin’ suffocate me!?” Heathcliff took a few heavy breaths, “and what the hell is wrong with you?” His eyes were filled with a tantrum-like craze as he looked towards the redhead, “both of you are acting like gits!” Reaching up, Heathcliff grabbed the blade with his hand and clenched it hard, drawing his blood as he forced it away from Ishmael.
“I.Y.B.D?!” Ryoushuu shouted as she attempted to pry his fingers off of the Odachi.
“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” Heathcliff glowered at Ryoushuu, “but it knows one thing. And that leaving unsaid things will irreparably harm you both. Do not ruin what you have between you both because you’re too afraid to speak.” His grip strengthened as he pulled the Odachi down to his chest, “I will not let go until you both are done speaking.” Wrenching it from her grip, Heathcliff stood up, “either make up or don’t, that’s up to you two.” He walked past Ishmael, her eyes were pinched shut and her fists were clenched just enough to draw her darker blood. “But spit that damn poison out or it’ll eat at you until you’re nothing but corroded.” Grabbing the door, Heathcliff shut it behind him and rested with his back to the wall. The blade remained hugging his hand, set to keep that wound open just as he promised them.
Ryoushuu breathed slowly while Ishmael didn’t at all, the woman was still trying to calm herself from the hungering thirst for Heathcliff’s residual spilled blood. “Well? Go on, drink up,” Ryoushuu goaded her on, wanting the beast to stop being human. In her eyes Ishmael was already no longer human, a pathetic beast was all that greeted her. “You know you want to.”
“No.” Ishmael struggled to speak, her willpower quickly fading, “I will not.”
“Oh?” Standing up, Ryoushuu crossed over to the woman and whipped out Heathcliff’s knife, “do it or I SYNC.” A cold tone froze Ishmael’s blood, but not her tongue.
“I will not.” Ishmael’s eyes opened, revealing red pupils and black sclera. She needed his blood right now, “stab me if you wish, but I will never partake of his blood again.” She had been pressing the blade against her throat, but Ryoushuu lessened the strength behind it. “I wish not to develop a dependence on it…”
“Quit the B.S, you know you can’t help it.”
“But I have to try, Ryoushuu,” Ishmael smiled weakly at her daughter as sweat dripped from her forehead, “otherwise I can never repent for breaking your promise.”
“That’s what this is about…?” Ryoushuu asked, earning a shaky nod from Ishmael, “good. Repent for eternity.”
“I figured it would be foolish to ask for forgiveness,” Ishmael wasn’t upset in the slightest, “but I do so anyway because I love you, Ryoushuu.” Her hand was sliced as it attempted to cup her cheek, “is that your answer to my apology?”
Ryoushuu grumbled, “yes. Now get whatever you came here for done with.” With a somber nod, Ishmael opened the door. They both watched as Heathcliff pursed his lips and gripped the blade with more force than before. “We’re done so let go.”
“From what I heard, only Ishmael’s done, she got that monkey off her back. But you? No,” Heathcliff was stern, much like a father admonishing their child for doing something bad. “You’re too stubborn to tell her and I’m going to be too stubborn to let go until you’re done being childish.”
“BITCH?” Ryoushuu took a cautious step forward, “you’re the one who won’t stop hurting yourself because you want something so specific, and I’m the one that’s a child?”
“Glad you could get it,” Heathcliff was steaming with anger, “but I’m mad that you don’t get my point.”
“S.Y.P,” Ryoushuu kept her voice down but just a few words blew her fuse, “I’ve given everything I’ve had to Ishmael and she couldn’t keep one simple promise for me! She f*cking bit you because she couldn’t stop herself!”
“I know. And I’m willing to forgive,” Heathcliff raised his left leg and placed his boot against the side of his knee, “and it’s not for your sake, not anymore at least.” Pointing his left hand at Ishmael, Heathcliff posed a question to Ryoushuu, “do you not realize how hard it is for her to do this?” Ishmael may have been staring at Heathcliff, but it was as a person, not a simple meal for her. “My blood is ambrosia to her,” he used the Odachi as a crutch as he walked up to Ryoushuu, “just as art is ambrosia to you.”
A murderous flash appeared in Ryoushuu’s eyes, “do not go there. They ar-”
“So you’re telling me that you don’t crave the desire to create art? To the point where it consumes every last thought of yours? To the point where you’re obsessing over it?” Her avoidance was all the answer Heathcliff needed, “exactly. Now get back in that f*cking room and tell her what you need to.”
“I…think she already has, Heathcliff.” Ishmael’ sullen voice broke through the self cast gloom that Ryoushuu beset upon them, “you need not try anymore, for you’ve already done more than necessary.”
“Exactly. S.M.H,” the eyes were a window to the soul and Heathcliff could see right into them. Right into Ryoushuu’s scared soul.
“You know what?” Heathcliff sighed despairingly as he lifted the Odachi, “NO.” Pressing his back to the wall, the man pressed the blade to his throat, “either you stop hiding from your feelings or I’m out forever.”
“Y.W.D.”
“Try me .” Digging in, the blade tasted the nectar that now dripped from his neck. The delectable crimson fluid slowly petered down until it was obscured by his shirt.
“Heathcliff,” Ishmael nearly broke her own nose with how hard she pinched the bridge of it, “you’re really getting on my nerves like this.” Rising like a spike, Heathcliff’s blood that coated the blade connected to the ground before it was ripped towards her. “There. No more NO…whatever the f*ck that meant.” Grabbing the back of Ryoushuu’s sheath, Ishmael put the blade where it belonged, “I shall retire to my room n-” the arms that wrapped around her stomach stopped her from continuing to the stairs.
“You were the first to pick up my scattered heart, you were the one that bound it in that fragile glass case. So to have Heathcliff hold that same look in my mother’s eye when he ran to me and because of you …it incinerated my heart, reduced it to ash.” Ryoushuu’s voice was barely audible…“I give and give and give, but the first time I’ve ever asked you to promise me something, you couldn’t honor it.”
“I…” Ishmael was choking, such spiteful words strangling a throat that never required breath.
“Yet you try, and you try, and you try…you always try to make things right.” A glassy sorrow glazed over her pupils, “both of you. No matter how much I hate it, you both meddle where you’re not wanted…but terribly needed.” A fluttering blink sent a single drop splattering against the ground, “I.H.F.Y…T.S.W.I.”
“Well…” Ishmael couldn’t understand it at all, but no translation was needed with the given sentiment, “I suppose this verdict rests upon your shoulders, Heathcliff.” With a deep breath, Ishmael awaited his answer upon a bated heartbeat.
“Will you ever suck my blood again?”
Ishmael couldn’t hold her tongue back, her desires sliding right from its tip. “Only if you allow me to…”
“You aren’t lying?” Sunset locks shook about, “should I take that at face value?”
“If there’s more to your demands, then I suggest you speak them, Heathcliff.” Ishmael was willing to do anything to earn back Ryoushuu’s favor.
“Well, I have always wanted a manor for myself~”
“RIND.”
“Fine, and here I was trying to make fun,” Heathcliff smirked, “I already made up my mind downstairs, way before your story. But you holding your thirst back solidified it, Ishmael.” Tightening his bleeding fist, Heathcliff gave her an answer, “you may be a selfish bastard, but I’ve forgiven you, Ishmael.”
“Oh well that’s a good way to get that out,” she nodded her head absentmindedly as Ryoushuu snickered. “Really nice to be called selfish, Heathcliff. Now…may I return to my room? I fear that I may not be able to hold back much longer.”
“One more thing. Do ya mind stitchin’ my hand up?” Raising her right hand, blood shot from her fingertip and landed on his palm, his own blood began to knit the halves of the wound together. “Not gonna get over how creepy that is.”
“Well then don’t f*cking ask for help then, Heathcliff,” Ishmael tried to move forward, but Ryoushuu kept her rooted in place. “Do you wish to come with me…or are you going to act like a tree, Ryoushuu.”
“Do you m-”
“Not at all,” Heathcliff already knew what she wanted and that was to apologize to Ishmael alone. “I’ll be in the room, just slip in if yer gonna come back since I’ll be asleep.” He needed a loooong break after everything that had happened over the week and a half since Ishmael’s proposal to leave. Not that he ever could now…not that he ever would, either. “Goodnight you two,” this bloody mess on his floor…and the wall…that would be bad for the Butlers to see when morning came, wouldn’t it. “Oi, uh, should I clean this up?”
“Uh…as gross as this is going to sound, I’ve got it,” holding her hands out, tendrils of blood shot out to the several pools of fluid that had begun to go stale, oxidized by the open air. Like towels had been placed over water, her tendrils slowly absorbed the crimson mess right into her body. An elated smile was on her face until it all disappeared. “Is that everything?”
“You can’t seriously need more, ya freak.”
“N-No,” putting on a show of bravery, Ishmael walked quickly towards the stairs, “you’re the freak for thinking that.”
“Yeah whatever, I don’t care anymore,” before his door shut behind him, Heathcliff waved his hand, “goodnight ya bloody bastards.” Crashing face first into the bed the man ended his day the same way he’d started it, completely mind numbingly exhausted. If there was training in the morning then he would crumble right into dust as if the sun had burned him up.
