Reunions and Reconstructions (1/2)

Threadbare woke, and for a moment, he didn't know where he was.

Then he felt cold, hard arms around him, and realized that he was snuggled up with Celia. So that was good.

And with that came more recent memories, trickling one by one into his mind, displacing the dream vision that had been there. He remembered the reunion with Celia and the others now, remembered Celia going to bed with him and asking Zuula for one of her dream visions for each of them. Remembered how happy Celia had been, talking to him and staring into his eyes from less than an inch away.

He was back with his little girl, and while all might not be right with the world just yet, it was definitely on a better track than it had been yesterday.

There were many things to check on, there was much to do, there was limited time for all of it... but Threadbare pushed aside all of those aside, and snuggled into Celia's arms, resting his ear on her face and simply letting himself BE for a while. He'd earned this, he thought. And so had she.

And after a time, her eyelids snapped open, her arm tightened around his chest, and she rolled her head side to side under his, examining the cabin before sitting up and placing him on the coverlet.

“Good morning,” he said, tipping his hat. “I hope your dream went well.”

“It was the usual Shaman thing,” said Celia, glancing toward the metal mirror on the wall and patting her hair into shape. “I was one with the land, and watching the tiny creatures live and die on it from the perspective of nature itself. You know how that one goes.”

“No surprises here, either,” Threadbare said, sitting next to her. “It was a lot less vivid than the vision Midian gave me.”

“Midian?”

“An elf woman. She should be around here somewhere. I think she's an Oracle. And maybe a little...” Threadbare looked around, making sure he wasn't about to accidentally insult her. “She may be a little mentally unstable,” he finished, once he was sure they were clear.

His brief scan around gave him more information. The ship wasn't moving; the engines were still. Also, there was a distinct lack of noise from the rest of the ship.

That was new. And a little concerning.

“Should we see what everyone else is doing?” Threadbare asked Celia.

“Yes— no. No, wait a minute, before we go out there,” Celia said. She slipped down, slipped her nightgown off, before rummaging in her pack and pulling out clothing and armor. She kept her head turned from him as she dressed, but in the mirror he could see her face shifting. He knew what this meant. She was looking for the right words, parsing them through her mind before they passed her lips.

So Threadbare waited, sitting on the bed and resting his paws on his legs. Golems were good at patience, and he knew that eventually his little girl would figure out what she needed to say here.

He wasn't disappointed.

“You've noticed it. You've tried to tell me about it,” Celia said, turning to him, glass eyes meeting his shoe button gaze. “There's something wrong with me. There has been for a while, but it's been getting bad lately.”

Threadbare curled his paws on his legs, kneading the fur. This was dangerous territory. But this was also the first time she'd admitted it without reservation.

“Yes,” he said, and the word hung in the air a long moment, before she sighed and nodded.

And oh, the relief when she did.

“This may not be entirely right, but Chase's friend, Thomasi, he thinks he knows what it might be. Something called PTSD.”

“I don't know what that is,” Threadbare said. “Does it show up on your status screen?”

“No. Because it's not a condition, it's an adaptation. My brain works differently, because I've been through terrible things. So I'm adapted to deal with terrible things. Which means that when I'm not dealing with terrible things, I have problems because the back of my mind is always expecting terrible things...” she looked away. “And it's not been terrible. It's been good, even if things haven't been perfect. It's been good with you, and I've been worrying you, and I'm so, so sorry about that—”

In a second Threadbare was off the bed and hugging her. She cried then, sobbing down onto his head, lifting him up so that he could properly hug her, squeezing him so hard that his stuffing shifted inside him. He held her until she quieted, then a little longer for good measure.

Eventually she patted the back of his head twice, as she had many a time before, and he let her go. She shifted him to one arm, walking him over to the bed and tossing him up gently. “Don't forget your hat and cane.”

“Technically it's a rod,” he said for what was probably the hundredth time. “But you're quite right.” He retrieved his accessories from where he'd stowed them. Then he turned to her, searching her with his eyes. “Celia. You don't have to be sorry about this, or anything. I'll help you however I can. We all will. You're not alone.”

“I know this now. Sometimes I'm going to forget it, though. You've been so very patient, please be patient a little longer. Because what I have has a name, I know that now. And if it has a name I can find a way to win. Now that I know what I'm fighting, I won't lose.” Her lips clinked upward into a smile. A weary one, but a smile nonetheless. “Now let's go out and see what trouble they've found without us.”

As it turned out, the trouble they'd found was dinner. For the first time the captain's cabin was open to Threadbare, and that was where their friends had migrated to. Anne, Thomasi, The Muscle Wizaard, and Cagna ate while the assorted golems and doll haunters that were Threadbare's friends and allies sat or stood around the large and luxuriously-appointed room.

In the back of the room, Stormanorm III prepared food over a small stove. But he froze when Threadbare entered, and his eyes were hot as he stared at the little teddy bear. It was anger, yes, but there was something else to it. And Threadbare had a feeling that this would need to be addressed quickly, before the pirate did something everyone would regret.

“Ah, the bear o' the hour!” shouted Anne, waving a mug of something alcoholic at him, and beckoning with her free hand. “Come in, come in! I was just tellin' 'em about how ye saved me bacon down in the hive. 'Twas a near moment wi' Karey, before ye leaped in and took the shot meant for me heart.”

A pot rattled on the stove, and Threadbare looked over to see Stormanorm's hand shaking on the pot's handle.

“I have a question about that,” Threadbare said. “Not that, but what happened afterward. After you killed Karey.”

No rattling this time. Stormanorm was completely still.

“What's ta question?” Anne said. “She came at the queen, and she missed. And I did what I had to do.”

Threadbare felt Celia grip his paw, fingers squeezing.

He knew why. That had been her father's mantra, even as he passed into madness. That he had to be a hard man, making hard choices, because it had to be done. That was supposed to excuse almost any evil he committed, because somehow it was for a greater good.

“It's done and we can't undo it,” Threadbare said. “But I was wondering if you'd like to speak with her again.”

Now it was Anne's turn to go still.

And to Threadbare's relief, Stormanorm put the pot down and turned halfway, studying him with one eye just visible over his veil.

“I killed her,” Anne said flatly. “So unless ye've got her haunting ye... ah wait. Is she in one o' yer little dolly friends?”

Anne put her mug down, leaned back in her chair just a bit, and Threadbare watched the handle of a pistol ride up as she got prepared to draw.

“No. She's in a soulstone. I made it for whoever lost the fight.”

“Ooooh,” breathed Madeline. “Now she gets the chawse. Doll or move ahn.”

“Ah. This be yer kingdom's thing, that's right,” said Anne, leaning forward again. “Necromancy fer second chances and all that. Just like ye, lady. Ah... pleasure ta make yer acquaintance, finally.” Anne tipped her hat to Celia.

“The feeling's not mutual,” Celia said, crossing her arms.

“Would you like to speak to her?” Threadbare repeated. “Or if not you, then someone else?”

His eyes found Stormanorm, and the rabbit man paused, turned to gaze down at him fully, eyes now uncertain.

“Aye, I think he would,” Anne said. “Yer relieved, boy. I'll finish the cooking meself.”

“No need!” said the Muscle Wizaard. “I'm a pretty good cook, let me give you a chance to try some of my world-famous antipasta...”

Threadbare patted Celia on the arm, then walked outside. And after a second he heard the door shut behind him as Stormanorm followed.

“Speak with Dead,”Threadbare intoned, pulling out the soulstone and placing it in the center of the deck.

Your Speak With Dead skill is now level 32!

The world faded, just slightly. Color ebbed, and the air grew chill. The sunlight grew pale and gaudy, and the Soulstone seemed to suck it in, growing even darker.

Until it pulsed with green light.

“Okay, before ye say anything, brother, this was still our best shot. I had to take it.”

“Karey, you damned fool,” Stormanorm III said, squatting down next to the crystal. “I told you this would happen.”

“I almost had her.”

“Do I need to kill the bear?” Stormanorm said, glancing over to Threadbare.

“Nay. I ain't sure I could have taken her even if me shot had been true. Still woulda been bladework after, and she had more fight in 'er than I figured. So don't be doin' a vengeance here, especially not wi' all his friends aboard ready to womp yer tail for treachery.”

“All right. Let's go through the list then,” Stormanorm said, glancing over at the cabin. “Do you need me to kill Mom?”

“Nay. And look, I know we discussed this, and we swore we'd tend to each other's unpaid debts and business afore passin' on, but I don't need that anymore. Anything untended I'll tend to meself. After I pay this here bear fellow to make me a new body.”

Stormanorm's eyes widened, and he glanced between them. “Ye can do that?”

“I can,” said Threadbare. “They really didn't brief you on me?”

“Ma told us ye were a big threat, and to leave ye to her if ye showed up during the kidnapping. Then we got to town, and Jean said ye were away on a mission so it wouldn't be a problem,” Karey confirmed. “But I been listenin' to the others talk, 'cause I got nothin' better ta do in here. Ye be the one who made their bodies. All o' them.”

“That's true,” Threadbare said, leaning on his rod, paw resting on the brass knob of the bear's head. “You want me to put you in a new body?”

“I do. I be prepared to bargain.”

Stormanorm sounded uncertain. “You know you'd still be undead, right? We were told about doll haunters. Jean was very thorough when she explained that. And you remember all those undead we fought before? The sunken ships, the hidden treasure caves, the corrupted islands? You remember how many dead bastards we carved our way through? You want to take the risk of becoming something like that?”

“Brother,” Karey's voice was resolute. “Here's the thing. None o' them sorry sacks of bones were me.”

Stormanorm stared at the pulsing crystal for a moment, before he barked laughter. “Ha! No. No I don't suppose they were, were they? If anyone could do this and still keep some semblance of brains in her skull, it'd be you. Bargain away, and if you can't cover it you can owe me.”

“If you provide the materials, I'll make you a body for free,” Threadbare said. “We were technically allies when the fight happened. I feel as though I should take care of you here.”

“And what materials be ye talking about?” Karey asked. “Reagents, like the ones you used to make the fox?”

“Reagents and crystals. But the type required varies, and generally the better you have, the more powerful a golem shell I can craft...”

It took a little time to explain the various options, and figure out what was available. Fortunately, given the wide range of crafting jobs that his friends had, there wasn't much they couldn't cover. Well, not his Mercury Golem option. They just didn't have the raw materials for that, or a safe place to prepare it. Threadbare really didn't want to poison the groundwater. It seemed like a nice patch of woods, and he didn't want to turn it into a toxic wasteland.

After they'd come to terms, Threadbare followed them down into the ship as they retrieved treasure from various caches that Harey Karey and Stormanorm had secreted throughout the vessel.

While they were doing that, Threadbare couldn't help but notice that the ship was thoroughly empty of crew. “Where did everyone go?”

“Out into the woods. Mam sent them foraging, since we were grounded until you two woke up.”

“Yes, why are we grounded?” Threadbare asked.

“Two reasons. One is so we can figure out what you want us to do. The other is that the engines started misfiring, and well, the only people who could fix them were sleeping.”

Finally, down in the cargo hold, Stormanorm shifted aside a crate and drew out a small pouch. Opening it shone a faint green light on the ceiling above, as the contents glittered and shifted. “There we go. You only need one dose, right?”

“Just one,” Threadbare confirmed. “But I'll need clay to make the shell, and a kiln to fire it. That's going to take a little time.”

“No ye won't,” said Karey. “Stormy, go get Mobbers.”

“Mobbers?”

“You'll see. Actually let's all go. You can do this anywhere, right?”

“I can,” said Threadbare, hesitating. “Who is Mobbers?”

Mobbers, as it turned out, was an ancient doll that had been repainted to look like a rabbit beastkin. Its ball joints were worn down with play, its porcelain was stained and cracked, and its hair was wispy and worn. Two little cloth rabbit ears that had clearly been converted socks at one point hung from where they'd been sewn on her little tricorn hat, and a pair of derringers were grasped in her porcelain fingers. One leg was a pegleg, and she had an eyepatch over one empty socket.

“Ma got that in a raid somewhere, seven years ago,” Karey said. “Then she had the crew make some fixes to make her a little more piratey.”

“I see,” said Threadbare. “She is mostly porcelain, and that meets the requirements. But she is pretty damaged. If you like I can mend her, and it will restore her back to how she was before the alterations.”

“Nay!” said Karey. “I be a Pirate, even now. And a Pirate wi'out scars be no Pirate at all. Twould be disrespectful to Mobbers, too. When ye think about it, she's sacrificing everything fer me. I'll not cheapen that.”

“Very well,” said Threadbare, pulling out his sewing kit and tools. “Let me add a mouth mechanism so you can talk, and then I'll do the transfer.”

In a matter of minutes it was done. Next came the ritual. He dusted the reagent over the doll, Karey's soulstone was placed at the center of mass, and Threadbare solemnly chanted “Clay Golem. Golem Animus!”

Your Clay Golem skill is now level 14!

The green dust fizzled to nothing.

The crystal melted, flowing out to surround and invade Mobbers' form, disappearing into the porcelain and leaving a new sheen behind.

And Mobbers flexed her hands, dropping the derringers as her jaw moved, red-painted porcelain lips going up and down, up and down.

“It's not like breathing,” Threadbare advised. “There's a lump in your throat that moves, feel for it. Then pull on it to draw breath in, push breathe out to talk. It will take some practice, so don't get frustrated.”

So often he'd given this advice. And it always made him feel warm, when he watched one of his newly reborn friends finally get the hang of it. And they needed to. In this world, speech was everything. Without it, you were cut off from the power and utility of your skills, and the other various tricks that gave thinking creatures a leg up on survival.

And like so many before her, the first word that Karey managed to croak out after she worked out the mechanisms of her new tongue and palate was the same word that Threadbare himself had uttered when he could finally speak.

“Status.”

That was to be expected.

What wasn't to be expected was the squeak of alarm, the leaping to her feet, or the sudden impromptu dance that she burst into, running around in circles, peg leg rapping the hull with repeated TUNKing noises.

“What's wrong?” Stormanorm said, moving toward her only to have her totter backwards, waving her hands.

“Is it the level three thing?” Threadbare asked, anxiously. “I'm afraid I can't make better soulstones than that, my skill just isn't high enough. Don't worry though, you'll earn them back in—”

“Eight!” Squeaked Karey, and Threadbare knew.

That dance wasn't a spasm of fear. It was pure excitement. And he made his lips curve in a smile, in that way that had taken him so long to practice.

“Don't worry about it,” he said, putting his paw on Stormanorm's leg. “She just found out that this body lets her have eight adventuring jobs.”

“What?” Stormanorm's voice wheezed out of him, as his eyes went wide. “Eight? That means... oh sweet sister. Oh sweet sister, you can DO it now!”

Karey leaped into his arms, and Stormanorm danced with her, leaving Threadbare thoroughly perplexed.

“I still feel as though I've missed something,” Threadbare said, rubbing at where his hat met his head.

“Come up to the Captain's Quarters with us,” Stormanorm said, slowing down, and putting his sister gently to the ground. “We're going to break the good news to Anne and let her tell you why this just changed the game for the line of Anne Bunny...”

Jobs were the cornerstone of every civilized, uncivilized, and downright savage society.

Jobs allowed those who took them on to harness abilities that were sometimes magical, sometimes mundane, but always useful.

And the trick with jobs, was that you could mix and match them to your heart's content, pulling from a wide assortment of skills to suit your lifestyle and ambitions.

But there was another trick with jobs. And that trick was known as unlocking. For when you combined skills from two or more jobs that worked well together, you could unlock an entirely new, secret, job. Or not so secret, as the case may be. Everyone back in the Carob Bun Isles knew that if you succesfully got paid to be a bandit on the high seas, then you would unlock the Pirate job.

This was known as a Tier II job. And Pirates were more of an open secret, really.

But there were pirates and there were PIRATES.

And the mightiest of Pirates in that patch of ocean had found that you could take matters further.

They had found that by combining their Pirate job, and certain other complimentary Tier II jobs, they could unlock mighty and powerful jobs that allowed them privileges, respect, and status above all other Pirates.

It was, in fact, a requirement to join the Council of Freebooters.

But...

...it was a requirement that no beastkin could ever hope to fulfill.

For Beastkin could only have six jobs. And all of the Tier III Pirate related jobs had required a seventh slot open for the final capstone.

Even guild shenanigans and swapping out jobs couldn't fix it; you couldn't maintain a Tier III job, unless you had both supporting Tier II jobs, and you couldn't have the advanced Pirate Tier II jobs without four basic Tier I jobs.

So to the Bunny pirates, the last surviving descendents of the infamous (and rather pulchritudous,) Dread Pirate Stormanorm, there had never been a way to climb the ranks to the Council of Freebooters. There had never been a path to the closest thing the Free Seas had to nobility. It was just another door barred to the beastkin, another thing that humans could lord over them.

Until now.

All this, Threadbare and the rest of his friends got from about ten assorted minutes of Anne whooping and celebrating by blowing holes in the ceiling, Stormanorm providing what exposition he could, and Karey happily and loudly, (once she had the hang of her voice,) plotting her path to power.

“You say Storm Caller be Shaman and Air Elementalist?” Zuula asked, once Karey had taken a break from monomaniacal laughter.

“Aye!” Karey squeaked. “And then Storm Caller and Pirate combine to make...”

“Hurricane King! Er, Queen in this case. Ye still be a lady, aye?”

“Aye!” Karey confirmed.

“Hurricane Queen! Me own daughter can be the Hurricane Queen!”

“Council's already got a Hurricane King, last time I checked,” Stormanorm cautioned.

“Bah,” Anne said. “Give me a few bribes, a bit o' luck, and five minutes and there'll be a vacancy. Or two, maybe...” she paused and gave Stormanorm a speculative look. “The King o' the Planks has been a bit full o' himself lately, and ye were thinkin' o' picking up Ruler, as soon as we found a good regicide opportunity...”

Stormanorm took a step back. “If you want your line ended without heirs, sure.”

Anne stopped, and shook her head. “Right, right. Been a long night. Bad idea. Enough dead lately.”

“Speaking of that...” Stormanorm glanced over to Threadbare. “Why isn't my sister mourning her lost life? Not that I'm complaining, but...”

“I'm just not feelin' mopey,” Karey said, shrugging and sitting down, clinking her calves on the wood of the desk.

“It's because she doesn't have any glans!” Fluffbear squeaked.

The cabin went quiet. The toys looked at her.

“What?” Fluffbear asked.

“I think you mean glands,” Celia said. “A glans is ah, a different part of a person.”