(On the Hunt) Chapter 16

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 16

What Happens on Dradin…

There was good news, and then there was bad news.

Good news: the rest of the trip to Dradin went smoothly.

Bad news: using the secure subspace relay on Dradin required permission from the proprietor.

Good news: Argos Mansetti, proprietor, was in fact available for appointments with anyone willing to pay the surprisingly reasonable appointment fee.

Bad news: his schedule was quite full, and he wouldn't be available until tomorrow.

Good news: the spaceport's automated concierge system had not only been able to set up the meeting, it had been able to give them directions and a room reservation that evening for a bar a few miles from the spaceport.

Bad news: it was not even close to evening. Which meant Explorer Team 686 had a whole day on Planet Vegas to get themselves into trouble… and they generally didn't have much difficulty doing that anyway.

Jace was sitting on the Bolt's boarding ramp, watching the activity around the ship and wondering when he'd accidentally taken some psychotropics. This place was insane. It was like Prox's biggest Carnaval, Halloween on the Garrison, the actual Las Vegas, and Disney World had gotten together in some crazy orgy and ended up with the grandbaby from neon hell.

And that was just the spaceport. He wasn't quite sure whether he dared go beyond that or not. His tolerance for crazy had gone way up since this assignment started, but this was… a whole fucking lot of crazy.

"Doc." He heard the footsteps behind him, but didn't look up. "No Sven?"

"Hey, boss. Careful, it's a jungle out there." He snorted. "Viking gave me the slip. Here I complimented his math and nursed him back to health and hardly even made fun of him, and he runs off with Lance and the Chief because he thinks I'm gonna try to drag him to some glitzy strip club."

Keith arched an eyebrow. "Are you saying you wouldn't have?"

"Oh I totally would've, you fucking kidding me?" He glanced up, smirking. "Ought to haul you to one instead, you need to learn to have some fun."

"Hey! I'm fun." The medic just gave him a look. "Actually I was thinking of going to check out the big martial arts convention that's apparently going on."

"…Really?" That did sound like it could be entertaining. He turned around fully. "Both of you?"

"Both…?" Blinking, Keith turned, and jumped a little; Pidge was standing right beside him. Ninja, right. "Well, if he wants? I won't say no to a crewmate coming along."

Pidge had really just been coming out to have a look around, but this sounded as worthwhile as anything. "Sure."

"How about two crewmates?" Jace hopped up. There was safety in numbers, and maybe the convention would be slightly less insane than… well… everything else.

"The more the merrier?" Keith shrugged.

"Sure, let's go with that." He looked at the other two and shook his head slightly. "We're on Planet fucking Vegas and we're going to a martial arts convention, how fucking on-brand are we?"

"Very."

"Doesn't that just mean we're acting appropriately?"

Jace shot Pidge a look similar to the one he'd given Keith earlier. "Yep, and so did that. Lead on, boss. Assuming you know where this thing's at."

"Something like that." Keith glanced at his datapad, where he'd copied down some directions. "All right. This way."

By the time they got off the spaceport grounds, they'd already waved off half a dozen robotic taxis and nearly the same number of helpful guides. Dradin certainly was welcoming to guests. Nothing so far made it look like a smuggling haven… though really, if there were shady business going on around here, who could tell?

The planet really was on the very edge of No Man's Land, and not so far from Sixth Kingdom territory either; a number of Drules were walking the streets alongside dozens of Alliance and independent races. It took a little getting used to; Keith wasn't the only one who tensed reflexively as they passed the first few. But gradually they relaxed. By the time a couple of Drule children running down the street bowled him over, not even Pidge was on edge enough to pull his knife.

"You alright?" Jace offered a hand as the kids murmured something apologetic and ran off again.

"Yeah, fine." Accepting the help, Keith pulled himself to his feet and shook his head. There were a lot of kids on this street; the booths and kiosks around them were painted with cheerful cartoons, and the nearby rides looked geared towards younger guests. For some reason he hadn't expected Dradin to have a children's section… but why not? It seemed to have everything else. "This place is wild."

"That's a word," Jace snorted. They crossed through a gate, leaving the kids' zone and entering some kind of space-themed section. The pavement was jet black with tiny stars shining through, and starship roller coaster cars whooshed by them as they headed down the street. "Not sure it's the word I'd use, but it's definitely a word."

Keith checked the street sign—Interstellar Avenue, that seemed apt—then turned them down Supernova Boulevard. "What word would you use?" Immediately he winced. Probably don't want to know that…

"Louco como o caralho," he retorted. Pidge gave him a confused look; he shrugged and translated. "Crazy as fuck."

"…On brand," Keith murmured, and opted to focus on his directions for a bit.

It was twenty minutes later when they turned onto a street full of kiosks, and all stopped on some unspoken signal. Mostly because they had definitely turned onto this very same street five minutes before.

"Great. Now what?"

"I'm starting to think we should have just gone to the bar." Rubbing his forehead. Keith studied the directions again. "This place is crazy."

"You're halfway there," the medic said, frowning.

"Halfway to where?" They weren't anywhere near the bar, and if Jace knew where the convention was he should really help them find it…

Pidge was looking around at the kiosks, bewildered. They were mostly selling food. That seemed safe to assume by the fact that the patrons were eating their purchases; he'd never seen anything like any of this. One of the kiosks was literally on fire. Reassessing—slightly—just where humans really fit in on the scale of 'weird', he turned his focus back to his teammates just in time to catch the exchange. "I believe he meant halfway to 'crazy as fuck', sir."

"Ninja nailed it."

Keith blinked, then looked over at their excessively smug-looking medic. "You're a horrible influence."

"I was only helping him clarify?"

"I'm a fantastic influence." Smirk. "So are we lost or what?"

"…Might be," the boss admitted, sighing. "When I wrote the directions out, it didn't seem like they'd be so hard to follow."

"Commander can't read his own writing, got it."

Glare. "Mine's more legible than yours, I bet… Doctor."

Jace was too impressed by Keith actually sassing his profession to argue with that—he couldn't have done it in good conscience anyway. "Sure, but I can read mine."

"I can read it just fine." He looked at the datapad again, then turned back to where they'd come from. "It's figuring out where this Cacophony Street is, we should be close by now."

Glancing around his shoulder to have a look, Jace shook his head slightly. "Next time I'll tie the Viking down in the sick bay, we could use him."

"And then you'd be in a strip club?"

"Ideally."

Keith grimaced. "Poor Sven."

"Truth."

As they spoke, Pidge had found a large sign with a map on it and wandered over to have a look. The map itself was only marked in symbols; it offered a key for download in various major languages. He'd just finished cross-referencing the symbols to the names on his datapad when the other two walked up to him. "Any luck, Stoker?"

"We're here." He pointed on the map. "In between the Condor Coil Coaster, Palace of Grim Jokes, Jumbo Spire, Popcorn Potato Shack, and Enchanting Rapids of Death." While he was speaking, he indicated each of the attractions both on the map and in their surroundings, then paused. He looked slightly pained. "…None of those words mean anything in those orders."

"Jumbo Spire means something, but you don't usually talk about it in polite company."

Keith glared at Jace and seriously considered smacking him. Or perhaps pointing out he didn't constitute 'polite company', though that would probably backfire. Instead he turned his focus back to the ninja. "Enchanting Rapids of Death? Really?"

"That's what the map says, sir."

Sighing, Keith started to look between the symbols and Pidge's datapad, trying to sort out the street names. The ninja handed it over and looked up as the Jumbo Spire launched a train. Jace followed his gaze. It seemed to be some combination of launch coaster and drop tower… two things he could absolutely do without. "Crazy fuckers."

"It seems like a remarkably inefficient line-to-attraction ratio." Pidge had been counting; from launch to finish, the ride lasted exactly thirty-six seconds. He imagined it would feel even shorter in the moment. And the line was, well… very, very long.

Keith glanced up for a moment before going back to the map. "Yeah. It's very popular."

"There's way easier ways to induce vomiting," Jace snorted.

"You don't like roller coasters, Doc?"

"Fuck no. Like we don't get enough near-death experiences without strapping ourselves into some bullshit little train and getting slingshotted around? Especially with McClain piloting…"

Pidge gave him a mildly annoyed look. It got more annoyed when their commander had to cough back a laugh. "His piloting is perfectly serviceable." He didn't understand the human practice of downplaying others' skills. Not only did it cause unnecessary confusion, but he was pretty certain it ran afoul of those manners Flynn had lectured him on. But, whatever. He watched another train shoot up the vertical track and frowned. "It doesn't seem fun, though."

Keith nodded in understanding. "Depends on your definition of fun."

"How about not pulling five G's for no damn reason?" Jace suggested.

"That's fun… for pilots." The medic made a great show of rolling his eyes.

Having lost the thread again, Pidge looked back at the map, and blinked. There was a flyer nailed to one of the supports. He'd bypassed it initially, but… "Sir, I think I've found the problem."

"Yeah?" Turning and leaning over to read the flyer, Keith started frowning, and didn't stop.

DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES, Cacophony Street and the Wild Fair district are currently inaccessible. The Dojo Dradin Martial Arts Fest has been relocated to Silversand Bay.

Both of them looked from the map to Pidge's datapad, and back again. Jace came up and looked over the ninja's shoulder. "Good thing that's not literally the opposite direction from the spaceport…"

"Darn it." Right then, Keith finally found Cacophony Street. And unless his sense of direction was more warped by the chaos than he thought, they'd walked right by it, and even commented on it… because it had been barricaded, and they'd debated whether the closed street was some kind of attraction or actually just closed.

That answered that.

"Honestly also feels kind of on brand," Jace said with a shrug.

"Yeah. Never a dull moment." Shaking his head, Keith looked down the street. "Well, should we try to backtrack to the convention, or just… look around and see what we find?"

"No sense backtracking. The bar's on this side of the spaceport too."

"True."

Wandering the streets without a destination in mind quickly became overwhelming. There was either too much to take in, too much neon to see, too many people for a clear view, or all of the above. After a bit longer they all ducked beneath a small overhang and watched the people passing by, exchanging bemused looks.

"Crazy as fuck," Jace repeated quietly.

Maybe he was right. Looking around where they'd stopped, Keith caught sight of a large, looping steel track with what looked like a fairly short line. "Now there's something that looks to have decent…" What had Pidge called it? "…line-to-attraction ratio."

Jace looked around for a sign, found it, and read aloud. "The Brass Knuckle Supreme, known for its twelve inversions and the perfectly vertical 450-foot Demon's Drop…" He stopped and stepped back as if the sign itself were toxic. "Fuck that."

Grin. "I'm going."

"Have fun," Pidge said as flatly as he said most things.

"Don't die," Jace added, then reconsidered. "Don't puke, either, Viking won't ever let you live it down after all the grief you gave him…"

"I've yet to puke on a coaster, Doc. You two going to wait or go on?"

"Hmph." The medic rolled his eyes even more theatrically, somehow. "Much as I'd like to be here to make fun of you, we may as well keep moving. See you at the bar?"

"Alright. Be careful." With a nod, he headed off for the line.

"…Be careful?" Jace repeated in disbelief. "Us?" He looked at Pidge for support, getting only a noncommittal shrug for his trouble. "We're not the ones running off to ride the Pain Train or whatever the fuck it—oh hey!" As they turned he'd caught sight of something much more attractive. "Scrambler! C'mon, ninjerk, here's a real ride for you!"

Pidge came up beside him, looking at the Scrambler. He didn't look at all impressed. "…Have fun, Doctor."

Snort. "Shouldn't be surprised you fuckers have no standards. Fine, catch you later." He tossed a salute and ran off.

Now Pidge was officially more confused than ever. Shrugging again, he headed down the street in the general direction of the bar; it wouldn't hurt anything to be early. But he hadn't gone particularly far when he came across a large booth surrounded by people. They seemed to be throwing small plastic rings at bottles… and missing.

Why are they having so much trouble? Curious, he stopped to watch. Nobody had any technique to speak of—no surprise, they were probably all civilians—but they were certainly getting angry enough when they failed. A gangly Quasnot nearly ran him over as it gave up and departed in a huff.

…Why not? Maybe it'll be a challenge. Maybe it'll be… fun. Watching for a moment longer, Pidge stepped up to the vacated spot.

*****

Safety in numbers had brought two of the other kids together, with somewhat more success. Cam grinned over at Vince, who was being quiet as usual even in the face of Dradin all around them. That wouldn't last. Or maybe it would? He'd never gotten loud on Halloween. Either way, it seemed like it should be impossible not to have fun in this place.

"What is it you want to look at, exactly?" Vince asked. He knew Cam wanted to get to some shopping; may as well get started.

"Not real sure." He looked around and shook his head, there was no way to narrow anything down. "Anything strike you as interesting?"

Dradin was bright and busy and crowded. Vince looked around and it was almost too much shiny—a feeling he was starting to get used to. "Uh, everything."

"Ain’t that the truth," Cam chuckled. Looking around, he spotted something bright pink and felt drawn to it. "How about that? The… Flamin Gogh."

"The Flamin Gogh?" Vince groaned at the pun. "It’s shiny though, let’s look."

"What’s the worst it could be?" Cam asked as they walked inside.

Vince stared after him for a moment, wondering why anyone would ask that. Especially anyone on this team. But he followed him in, and his eyes went wide. "Oh my…" There were too many things, most of the bright pink and glittering or glowing.

Cam brightened at the sight of flamingos everywhere. Everything was amazing, and he was about to say as much to Vince when he got a great idea. "You think we should get a few for Daniel, since he couldn’t come with us?"

"Doesn't he hate birds? Or is it just you whistling like them he hates?"

"He does, well both… just a couple?" He grinned and hoped Vince would go with him on it, it would be fun.

Vince laughed, thinking about Daniel’s temper. "It’s your funeral, not mine."

"It seems to be an… unnatural phobia. Aren’t friends supposed to help their friends get over their phobias?"

Frown. "Unnatural is kind of the point with phobias, they don’t make sense." Vince was looking around, thinking this might be a good place to get his Gran Diva a present. She liked tacky things, and she already had some flamingos in her yard.

His companion wandered off a bit, having spotted an adorable flamingo stuffed toy, a lot like a classic stuffed bear. He came back holding it up almost plaintively. "How is this scary?"

Vince looked up from a figurine he'd found of a flamingo with wild purple hair. Which was odd, but he knew his grandmother would love it. He looked at the stuffed toy and grinned. "Well, I think it’s cute, but I’m not Daniel."

"It is cute," Cam insisted, because that was the point.

Shrug. "You wanna buy him the bird teddy, go for it…" As long as Daniel didn't blame him.

"They aren’t scary! Granted they can be annoying, but they aren’t scary."

"…But don’t say I didn’t try to warn you he might try to kill you."

"I won't." Nodding, he grinned as he spotted a big blow up flamingo, it was almost too tempting to resist. "We could totally have fun with this, putting it in random places on the ship."

Vince followed Cam’s gaze and cringed. "Why?"

"I’ve always heard stories that crews play pranks on each other all the time." It had always seemed a little odd to him at the Academy, truthfully, but now that he was aboard a ship with a team he completely understood. "Can you imagine? Have this guy sitting at the galley table with a bowl of cereal? Next day, hanging out in the showers?"

Okay, that did sound pretty funny. And at least one of their crewmates would surely be game. "Hunk would be up for it, I bet."

"Maybe we could even hide it in the decontamination shower in sick bay."

"Do you have a death wish? Jace will not be amused."

Cam frowned. "Second thought, you're right. Doc would kill it, if not me."

"Yep, punctured flamingo."

"Doc does like pointy things."

"Sure does."

Helpfully, right next to the inflatables was a stack of patch kits with bright pink medical symbols. "I’m gonna give him one of these kits, just to see his reaction, I think. He’ll probably stab me extra but…" He shrugged, happy with his plans. It would be worth it.

Vince stared at him. For such a dutiful soldier, he was kind of nuts. "Well, what’s a little risk of bodily harm?" he asked sarcastically.

When even Vince started getting snarky, that was enough to give Cam pause. "I’m not being an asshole, am I?"

"Well yeah, a bit," the engineer answered honestly.

"I don’t mean to be…" He looked at the stuffed flamingo and sighed. "To heck with it. I'm buying it and if he doesn’t like it, I’m keeping it."

"It is pretty cute."

"It is… how can anyone say no to this cute face?" Cam held up the toy, with a cute pout of his own that almost matched it.

Vince laughed again, but felt compelled to try to talk him out of it one more time. "Just don't forget, I warned you he might try to strangle you."

"We’re an Explorer Team, right? That implies risk."

"Yeah—why do I hear Lance swearing as he says that in my head? I guess it's true, I just like to try to curb risk when possible."

Cam laughed. "Cause that is what he does… I swear if we had a credit chip for each time he and Doc cussed, we’d retire in a week."

"Be billionaires," Vince snorted in agreement.

They made it to a register without further incident, paying for their flamingos and continuing to debate the profits from their crewmates' cursing. "We could buy a planet."

"This one seems shiny."

"Very shiny. So where to next?"

"Well, I got something for one grandma, still should look for the moms, Granny Bea, Granny Mel… Maybe we could find a place with a lot of shoes? Granny Bea loves shoes."

That made Cam look at Vince oddly. How many grandmothers does he have? But he was all for more shopping. "Yeah, we could do that. I’ll keep an eye out for something that Gran would like too. She’s kinda… kitch, you know?"

"No doubt we’ll find something kitch."

"In this place? Yeah."

*****

"…woulda come myself, but it was my first year of the Academy and some of my profs didn't think the biggest crush car derby in the galaxy was a good enough reason to skip classes, can you imagine? But Pops came in fifth, not bad!"

Hunk and Daniel were heading down a crowded main drag, with Hunk clearing the way for them pretty much just by existing. The fact that he was gesturing wildly as he told his war stories didn't hurt, though. Daniel was listening with rapt attention. "That's awesome! Well, not the not being able to go part. But him coming in fifth is pretty cool!"

"Totally." Grin. "Woulda medaled if I'd been here to keep the crew runnin' right, but there's always another time…" He paused in an intersection and looked around. It turned out the track from the galactic crush car finals Dradin had hosted had been converted to a bumper car circuit. No way was he missing that.

Neither was Daniel, though he'd lost track of where they were going a long time ago. "You know where we're at, right?"

"Totally. We're on Dradin." He looked up at a sign and frowned slightly. "On Besta Fiesta Boulevard."

Daniel nodded; good enough for him. "Where do we go from here?"

"I think this way." Taking one of the turns put them on a street dotted with model crush cars every couple hundred feet. Seemed like a decent hint. "Second car to the right, straight on 'til morning?"

"Huh?"

"…Nothin', little dude." Chuckling, he led the way down the road for a few more minutes. Soon enough they came within sight of a large, spiraling roller coaster track that looped halfway beneath the pavement. Hunk's eyes lit up. "Oh hey! I recognize that!"

"Oh yeah?" It looked impressive, though it wasn't a crush car track.

"That is the Corkscrew Blitz. They talked it up a lot on the broadcasts. C'mon, wait'll you see this." Giving Daniel's shoulder a light tug, Hunk ran for the loops.

Well, what the heck? Daniel ran after him. They passed between the high fences protecting the coaster track, finding a railing overlooking a road that went straight through the corkscrew. Almost the moment they arrived, about four dozen bumper cars came zooming down the pavement.

"Wow…" Daniel's eyes widened. This really was awesome.

A few stragglers came through a moment later; a brightly-painted bumper dragster slammed into two of the cars ahead of it, sending them skidding around and bouncing off the railing like pinballs. Hunk looked at Daniel, who was grinning wider and wider every moment. "Looks pretty much like real crush cars, but without the repair bills."

"It looks like fun! Where do we get on?"

"Pretty sure this was around the start…" He knew perfectly well this was around the start, he'd memorized the track layout at the time, but he wasn't here to show off his ability to read a map. "So I think if we just start walkin'," he pointed in the direction the cars had come from, "we oughta get to the start pretty quick!"

"Well come on!" Daniel took off in that direction at full speed.

The racetrack wound through several other attractions, and at one point even passed across a main street. There were crossing gates. More model crush cars pointed the way, and soon enough they came across a huge pavilion, declaring itself the Dradin Galactic Racetrack in bold neon letters.

The line didn't look too long, and they took up a spot at the end wearing matching grins. "This is gonna be awesome."

"Totally."

"I used to race the other kids in my neighborhood on dirt bikes." Daniel leaned over the railing to watch as a new wave of cars left the station, shooting off into the distance with a roar. "Nothing close to crush cars though."

"Yeah, definitely don't wanna crash on those." Hunk winked. "But you got some pretty good practice on Khoru, yeah?"

Daniel laughed. "Yeah… rolling through a desert wasn't exactly covered at the Academy."

"Little dude, nothin' we do was covered at the Academy."

It only took a few minutes to reach the front of the line. An attendant was waiting there, some sort of canine alien with a businesslike expression. It held two small digital pads out to them with one hand and held the other even with Daniel's neck; he stepped back slightly, startled, but the attendant didn't seem to even notice. "You must be this tall and sign this waiver to ride," it announced in a clipped accent.

Ohh. Smirking, Daniel accepted the waiver and signed off on it. "Good thing we didn't bring Pidge."

"True that." Chuckling, Hunk glanced over the waiver; eight languages of legal mumbo-jumbo he was certain he didn't really care about. Though the fact that it existed amused him. "You get a lot of use for these?" he asked as he signed and handed it back.

"We haven't had a serious injury in weeks," the attendant answered with a dismissive wave. "Just ensure you actually fasten your restraints, as detailed in paragraph 4."

"Yeah, Hunk. It's been a couple weeks, we'll be fine!"

"I was just curious!" They both laughed as they approached the pavilion proper, and he leaned over to whisper in the kid's ear. "Exactly like crush cars without the repair bills." Daniel laughed even harder.

Another attendant, this one a humanoid with shocking magenta skin, opened a gate for them. "Enjoy your race, sirs." Before either of them could snicker at being called sirs, the gate swung open and pushed everything else from their minds.

"Oh, dude…"

The lot had everything. There were rows and rows of bumper cars in nearly every form imaginable—from old Earth classic cars to Drule fighters, Vex-Cha freight hoppers to fuzzy animals. Tucked away in a corner was one that was definitely a roasted turkey with a glaring face painted on its front. Hunk was sorely tempted by that one, but opted instead for some sort of alien tricycle-racecar with giant chrome fins. Best for everyone on the track if they knew he was coming.

Daniel was torn between a gleaming purple racecar and a huge fluffy panda. As he wandered the aisles trying to make a decision, he spotted a sleek purple alien racing panda with a wicked smirk on its face; with a matching smirk he hopped aboard.

"We on the same side, little dude?" Hunk pulled up in his race-trike and grinned. "Or are we playin' King of the Bolt?"

Hmm. A good question. On one hand, Hunk was a professional… sort of. On the other, like hell Daniel was going to let that intimidate him. Maybe it would depend on the others filing into the lot. "Let's crush everyone else first, then we'll see."

"Works for me." The big guy revved his engine—it made much more noise then was remotely necessary for its horsepower, but that was part of the fun—and grinned broadly. "Vroom vroom! Eat my dust and feel your doom!"

Exchanging nods, they both floored it, shooting out onto the track in the midst of several other cars. "Woohoo!"

"Let's rock it!"

Immediately they were jostling for position with the others; a Vex-Cha bomber bumped Daniel from behind, sending him spinning into a wall. He recovered control and narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? It. Is. On."

At the same time, a sporty little… triceratops-looking thing?… breezed by Hunk, the Drule driving it giving him a mocking wave as she passed. He glared. "Oh it's so on. Switch 'em up, little dude!" He wrenched around and slammed into the bomber that had hit Daniel, sending it spinning away backwards down the track.

"Nice!" Laughing, Daniel gunned it, coming up behind the triceratops and ramming its side, making it plow into a carousel sled and leaving it—and Hunk—in the dust.

Oh, he wasn't going to get away with that. Punching his racer as fast as it would go, Hunk threaded the needle between two cars, leaving them to crash into each other as they tried to cut him off. King of the Bolt it was, then.

This was gonna be epic.

*****

The bar was called the Dizzy Blanket—something had probably been lost in translation there. It was tucked in between a casino and a laser tag park, and had the trio of worn-out explorers not been looking for it they might easily have missed it entirely. Which wasn't all bad. It was actually relatively quiet inside.

After spending the afternoon in the heart of Dradin's gaming district, even Lance could appreciate a little quiet.

The back room Keith had reserved for them was small and cozy, and empty. Apparently they were the first to arrive. Dropping into a booth, Flynn shook his head in bemusement. "We tried to play a game of throwing sharp objects… against a Viking. What were we thinking?"

Lance scooted in next to him, smirking. "I almost had him, speak for yourself."

"'Almost'. And I murdered you at ski-ball or whatever it was."

"I had a defective ball!"

Sitting across from them, Sven silently thanked the entire Norse pantheon that Jace hadn't been here to hear that. "Why is it that when people lose, it's never their fault? It's the equipment."

"Because maintenance is always the first thing to go," Flynn muttered. "Clearly." He probably wasn't even being sarcastic, but Lance punched his arm anyway.

"Yeah, yeah. I didn't say I had defective darts."

"And you were very close, Lance." Sven smiled. "We'll have a rematch sometime."

"Fuck yeah we will. Okay, let's see what we've got." He grabbed the beer menu and blinked; it was extensive. Extensive, as in, written in even more languages than the rest of Dradin's signage. He flipped through until he found the part he could actually read, which was still two large pages in small print. Closing his eyes, he dropped a finger in the menu, then checked out where he'd landed. "Okay, what do you all think of a beer called the Awesome Assassin?"

Flynn slowly raised an eyebrow. "I think we should make Pidge try it."

"It's not made of ninjas," Lance snorted. "I think."

"Well I'm certainly not touching it if it is." Shrug. "We should let Holgersson pick, he got us here in one piece." And they'd given him a hard enough time while he was doing so—he surely at least deserved a beer for the trouble.

"True, we do owe him one." Lance handed over the menu as a very attractive Hydran waiter appeared with glasses of ice water. Accepting his glass, the pilot looked the man up and down appreciatively. "Thank you."

Sven was quickly getting overwhelmed by the beer menu. "I never took Lance's class, I don't know which of these is any good…" Right about then his eyes fell on something called Snake Wine, and he handed the menu back with a flinch. It was too soon.

"I'm not even sure what any of these are," Lance admitted, pointing blindly again. "We could go with… Mabel and Yarddog?"

"That even sounds disgusting." Flynn took a long sip of his water. "If they're going to have a menu like this they really ought to do samplers."

"Oh they might." Waving the cute waiter over again, Lance gave his most flirtatious smirk; Flynn was briefly seized by the urge to dump his water over his head, but shook it off. "Hello, hi… do you have beer sampler platters?"

The waiter completely ignored the smirk. To be fair, he probably got them a lot around here. "We do. You can get a sample of eight, twelve, or fifteen."

"We'll go with the fifteen…" Looking at the menu again, the thought of choosing fifteen of the beers seemed oddly even more daunting than picking out just one. "Surprise us."

"We're going to need more water," Flynn murmured; Sven nodded in agreement.

"We will." Lance grinned. "Some of them have gotta be good."

"Bet they'll taste like beer."

"You're a lost cause." Good thing he's pretty. Shaking his head, Lance looked away and focused on… well, elsewhere… until the server returned with the tray.

"Wow…" Sven stared at the sampler and wondered if this was a good idea after all. Even without being full sized glasses, fifteen beers was a lot of beer.

Lance was having no such second thoughts. "Amazing, thank you. So, what's your best burger?"

"The Bacon Decadence."

"Yeah, that and loads of fries, please." Watching the waiter leave, he turned his attention to the tray of beer. Each glass had a beer name etched into the base, filled in with metallic paint in various colors. Not only did they have beer samplers, it seemed they were a serious thing. "Hey, there's one called Safety Hops. Maybe that's good for the newbies… or the hopeless."

Flynn eyed the Safety Hops doubtfully as Lance pushed it towards him. "Isn't that a song?" He was certain he'd heard Hunk blasting something to that effect before.

"Close. It's the Safety Dance."

"Makes just as little sense." He sipped the beer and fought down an immediate wave of revulsion. Even he could tell it was hideous… schooling his expression, he looked back at Lance. "Guess what?"

"Tastes like beer?"

"Tastes like flowers." He shoved it back at him with a disgusted scowl.

"Flowers?" Lance repeated in disbelief, taking a sip himself. He nearly spat it out; it tasted like walking through the Academy gardens in the middle of spring. "Huh? This is some next level beer."

As the other two debated the Safety Hops, Sven was studying the other fourteen glasses. He was sure he didn't want to drink flowers. One glass kept catching his eye; the liquid seemed to shift between blue, pink, and purple at the slightest flicker of light. It was beautiful, but it couldn't possibly taste good… could it? "Why not?" he muttered to himself, picking it up and taking a tiny sip.

Getting beer in the Viking was rare enough that it immediately drew the others' attention; Lance leaned over to read the glass. "Okay, so that's called Null Virus. Is it good?"

'Good' wasn't the word Sven would have chosen, though it wasn't bad either. He wasn't sure what it was. Taking a longer drink, he offered the only thing he could really determine. "Tastes like unripe blueberries."

"Blueberries isn't bad." A glass labeled Napalm Satan in fiery orange letters caught Lance's eye. No way was he passing that up. Taking a much bigger drink than was probably wise, he was treated to the brief sensation of his entire throat turning into a magma flow. "Whoa! That one has a kick." He took a more cautious sip and grinned. "I like it."

Sven finished the Null Virus, and still didn't know if he actually liked it or not. Didn't matter now, he supposed. Continuing with picking his beers by appearance—it was as good a standard as any—he took one that was almost jet black. "Sexy Gorilla…?" Something was probably lost in translation there too, he hoped. He took a cautious sip and nearly gagged. "Oh! That's disgusting."

"Taste like gorilla?"

"I'm not sure?" He took another drink, as if that would help—it was still disgusting, anyway. "I've never eaten gorilla."

"That even sounds like a terrible idea," Flynn commented, picking out a nice normal-looking glass and giving it a try. "Now this one tastes like beer… Opal Snapper?" Nothing about the beer seemed to have anything to do with opals or snappers. "Did we even need the beer? We could've just sat here laughing at the menu."

"I like both!" Lance declared, taking another glass. "This new beauty is called Dilapidated Baby… got a bit of a peachy finish." As he snickered at Flynn's mildly distressed expression, his burger arrived; he took a huge bite and grinned. "Ooh, yum."

Shaking his head, Flynn snagged a few of Lance's fries and looked over at Sven. "Viking, pick something worth buying you a mug of."

Sven blinked. He'd finished the nasty gorilla beer, and his head was spinning already. Did he really need a mug of anything? He was saved by someone else walking into the room—Keith, he determined after taking a moment for his vision to stop swimming.

"Oh, boy." The commander stared at all the glasses, noting how many were already empty. "This is going to be a long night…"

"Boss, my dude! Try this one." Lance pushed a glass labeled Buffer the DragonFly at him.

"Um, Lance… I don't drink beer." He was certain they'd discussed this before. More than once.

Flynn snorted. "We had to, you have to."

"Everyone drinks at least one tonight!"

"Unless you want me to throw it right back up, I'm passing on the beer." Keith took a chair and nabbed someone's untouched water. Probably Lance's; he was definitely keeping himself otherwise hydrated, chugging the beer Keith had refused while rolling his eyes.

Pretty much all of Lance's stuff was getting stolen, really. Flynn took a couple more fries—they were actually pretty good, and he was still trying to get rid of the aftertaste of flowers. Lance scowled at him. "Hey, sticky fingers, get your own."

"I've had six!" the engineer protested. "You ordered, and I'm quoting, loads!" He took a few more just on principle, earning a shrug and a wink.

Shaking his head, Keith flagged down the waiter. He needed a rum and cola, and clearly they were all going to need more fries. Though that was almost immediately undermined by a familiar voice ringing through the doorway.

"…not sayin' you weren't badass, little dude, but I definitely ran at least three more of those amateurs off the road than you did! It's math!"

"And I'm not saying you didn't bump into a lot more cars than me, what I'm saying is that I was way faster, therefore I won the race!"

"I mean sure, but it's called bumper cars, yeah? Ain't called speedy cars…" A grinning Hunk and Daniel came striding into the room, both carrying sparkly plush trophies; Hunk's grin only widened as he saw the table. "Oh hey! We're havin' the fun party, huh?" He snagged a glass—Hootenanny Rain—and downed it, sputtering slightly. "Good stuff."

"Welcome to the party," Lance said with a matching grin. "You gotta try this bacon burger."

That was the first time Hunk looked past the beer sampler, and his smile abruptly gave way to a scandalized look. "That's all the food you've got? That's how you get hangovers, my dudes. Yo!" He waved the waiter over; he hadn't managed to escape the room with Keith's order yet anyway. "Can we get burgers for everyone, and another of those beer platters? Thanks, bro!"

As they both dropped into seats, Daniel picked out a beer as well. Lit Iguana? He shrugged, wasn't like he was going to be picky. Taking a long drink of the vivid green beer, he went back to the previous discussion. "It's still a race, so I still won!"

"Ain't about what you call the game, little bro. It's about how you keep the score!"

That was… solid logic, really, and the Lit Iguana was tasty. Why argue when they could party? "Alright, how about we both won?"

"It'll do!" Hunk chuckled and clapped his shoulder as the new food and drinks arrived.

Sven gave his plate, or at least the blur he assumed must be his plate, a skeptical look. He'd been keeping to himself and drinking more beer this whole time; he was way past being responsible tonight, may as well try to erase the memory of the nasty gorilla beer from his taste buds. He'd gone through Friday Violence and Compulsive Duck—he felt a little bit like a compulsive duck himself just now—and was currently sipping very slowly on something cloudy gray called Jeering Miasma. He was way beyond buzzed at this point, and food was about the last thing he wanted.

Across from him, Flynn didn't look much more convinced by the Bacon Decadence. He was poking it with a fork, trying to figure out if there was actually anything on the bun except for bacon. It seemed like surely there must be, but he might have to dissect it to find out. It didn't seem worth the effort; he resolved to ignore it and focus on his fries.

Lance reached for a beer from the new tray. "Hmm. Bang the Cyclone."

Keith coughed on his own drink. "Bang the what?"

"Cyclone."

"Sounds dangerous," Flynn observed.

Lance swirled and sipped it, then shrugged. It wasn't much, really. If he hadn't known better, he'd almost have said it tasted like beer.

It didn't take much effort, at all, to find the 686's room by this point. Jace had wandered into the Dizzy Blanket with some trepidation, and the state of the tables confirmed every bit of it. "What the fuck kind of trouble did you people get in that made all of this necessary?"

"Trouble? This is just party 101, dude."

"I'm a sweet innocent angel, Doc. Pull up a chair."

"Not that we didn't get in trouble."

"Speak for yourself, we signed a waiver."

"A waiver?"

"Yeah, it was awesome."

As the medic shook his head at them all, Sven looked up from the beer he was sipping. "I wonagame," he slurred, then blinked. This definitely should be his last drink…

Whatever Jace had about to say to the others completely vanished as he stared at Sven. "Holy fuck, you actually got him drunk," he muttered under his breath. Looking at the navigator's untouched plate, he pulled a chair up and glowered. "Viking, I will force feed you fries if I've gotta. Open the fuck up."

"I really hope that's not in your seduction technique," Lance mocked. But Sven was much too buzzed to protest; he obediently opened his mouth. "…Oh wait, can't be, it worked."

Jace stared for another moment; even he hadn't really expected that to work. But since it had, he stuck a fry in the Viking's mouth and shook his head in bemusement. "Didn't even have to pay him."

"Payme for wut?" Sven asked as he munched on the fry, and Lance snorted so hard beer went up his nose.

"Fuck."

Finishing up the Lit Iguana, Daniel started on drink number two. He didn't feel all that buzzed… really he didn't feel buzzed at all. But clearly he had to have been, because when he looked up a moment later, he saw Cam walking in the door… wearing a huge sombrero with flashing lights, carrying a large pink flamingo under one arm and a bag of shoes in the other hand. "The hell…?"

Vince came in right behind him, wearing a gigantic pair of glittery sunglasses and carrying a pair of tiger striped stiletto heels. Flynn stared at him blankly, then looked around the table. "Okay, which of these got us drunk just by sitting here? It's the only explanation."

Looking between the new arrivals and Sven, Jace surrendered to the inevitable. "Fuckers driving me to drink after all, fine…" He took the most normal-looking glass of beer left and checked the name. "Yolo Days? Sounds right for this crew."

Chuckling, Hunk took a second beer—Angry Slang, that seemed more than a little appropriate—and clinked glasses with him. "Cheers, bro!"

"Saúde." The medic downed the whole thing in one gulp.

Cam reached the table and tipped his giant sombrero at them. "Hey guys, how's the food?"

"Amazing, little dude. Killer hat!"

With a sigh of relief, Vince fell into a chair. His legs ached like crazy; this may have been just one entertainment district, but it was huge. He set the shoes on the table and shook his wrist out, getting a look from Lance.

"Uh, Vince… um? No judgment, but I never took you for tiger prints and heels."

Vince wasn't entirely sure if that was a joke or not, though it probably deserved an answer either way. He pushed the sunglasses up and made a face. "They're for Granny Bea."

"Your granny wears stilettos?"

"All the time."

"I'm impressed." Smirking, Lance handed him a beer called Wild Robots; it seemed like his kind of thing. "Drink up."

Oh. The younger engineer eyed the beer warily. "I've never had one."

"Perfect timing, then."

That wasn't how Vince would have described it, but he supposed he couldn't really say no. He looked at the beer—it looked a lot like hydraulic fluid—and exhaled slowly. "When in Dradin…"

"What happens on Dradin stays on Dradin, little bro!" Hunk clapped his shoulder with a grin, and the beer nearly ended up in his lap.

"Yeah," Jace muttered, "especially if you throw it up…" He was still trying to force Sven to eat. Getting anything substantial in him seemed to be right out, but at least he was nibbling grudgingly on some more fries. "Better than nothing, dumbass, you'll thank me in the morning."

In the meantime Cam had dropped into a seat between Keith and Daniel. The gunner most definitely was buzzed now—starting right in on beer number three, a vaguely metallic-tasting concoction called Hundo Trombone, had helped with that—and eyed him suspiciously. A moment later his suspicions were confirmed as Cam held the flamingo out to him. "Got you something, bud!"

Daniel stared at it in horror, then downed the rest of his drink. "Why?" He didn't touch the flamingo, of course, because what the fuck.

"Peace offering? It's cute! Made me think of you."

The Hundo Trombone was going right to Daniel's head. He blinked it back as the flamingo started to spin a little in front of him, turning to Cam and narrowing his eyes. "Is this your sick way of declaring war?"

"I tried to warn him," Vince muttered, sipping his beer.

"No! It was a gift! But if you don't want the cute little fella, I'll keep him…" Sulking, Cam nabbed a beer from the tray. "Jupiter Mint?" It was a swirling mix of red and orange and green, and he wasn't wholly certain he trusted it… maybe he should just order some vodka.

Daniel was still glaring at the flamingo as though it had personally offended him. As indeed it had. "Birds bring nothing but pain. It's not staying in our room."

"But…"

A second wave of burgers came for the new arrivals, calming things down a bit. Gradually the rest of the beer vanished, but they were still missing someone… Flynn kept glancing at his datapad between slow sips of Gunmetal Fire, which tasted like beer. Every so often he glanced at the clock on the wall, too, even though he had all of zero idea how to read whatever alien time format it was displaying. It was a reflex. So was being on edge when the ninja was out of his sight for too long.

"I wanna go home," Cam was singing softly, "I wanna go home… Lord, I just wanna go hooommmme…"

"One too many vodkas, Starr?" Keith asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm from the moon…" He giggled. "Fly me to the moon…"

"…That's a yes."

"Youse singings are bad," Daniel slurred, giving him a bleary-eyed glare. Cam waved the flamingo at him.

Jace looked at the kid, considered an intervention, then decided he was too busy with the Viking. Sven was leaning back in the booth with his eyes closed. Really he was probably in about the best shape here… for now… the medic dipped a napkin in some ice water, pressed it to his forehead, and sighed. "He's probably never gonna drink again now, you assholes."

"Sure he will." Hunk was eating Flynn's burger. "Ain't gonna remember this at all."

"Point."

Picking up the last beer, Lance raised it triumphantly and cleared his throat for attention. "Last one! And the winner is…" He read the name and snerked. "Softcore Pond!" Several of the others couldn't help snickering as he downed it.

"So many bad decisions…"

"These are great decisions, what are you talking about?"

Flynn glanced at his datapad again. "Where is he?" he muttered. He'd really have liked to be able to sit back and laugh at his drunk teammates without worrying.

"Ninja can take care of himself, Flynn."

"It's not him I'm worried about," the engineer protested. "It's whoever he's getting stabby with."

"That's fair."

Vince was facing the door and nibbling the last of his fries, very glad he'd restrained himself to the one beer. Though a moment later he found himself questioning if even that had been too much.

A giant pile of stuffed animals walked into the room.

"What the fuck?!"

"Oh no… wows… itsa monser."

"Damn."

"I feel drunk for the first time in my life."

"Standing by what I asked about intoxication by proximity…" Flynn paused, catching sight of two hands poking out of the pile. Two hands in black gloves with a slight iridescent sheen, pretty much exactly like a Baltan stealth suit.

At the same time, a giant… fluffy turtle?… started to waver on the front of the pile. Hunk was closest; he reflexively reached out and grabbed it before it could fall. As he pulled it away, Pidge's face poked out of the hole.

"Aaahhhh!"

"Ninja monser."

"Kid, you should not drink… but you're not wrong, exactly."

Pidge sought Keith out, looking as businesslike as ever. "Sorry I'm late, sir."

"Really, ninja?" Lance demanded. "That's what you're leading with?"

"…Yes? I'm late?"

"You're a walking stuffed toy factory!"

"You can put those down, Pidge, we have the room…"

At Flynn's invitation Pidge immediately dumped the pile on the nearest empty table, more relieved than he cared to admit to offload them. Keith finally recovered enough to address his apology. "Um… you're forgiven, Stoker. Have fun?"

"I did, sir." He looked chagrined. "You might get a report, though."

"…What did you do." Flynn sounded resigned.

"I don't know." He shrugged helplessly. "The goal of the ring toss game is to land the rings on the bottles, kir sa tye? I just did what the rules said to do and they told me I had to leave."

Several of the team burst into laughter; Keith just blinked. "Oh dear. You cleaned them out?"

"They didn't seem unorganized."

"Dude, he means you won most of their prizes, right?"

"Oh!" Pidge nodded. "They ran out. But I still had rings left." He looked back at the pile in what looked like some distress. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with them."

Jace eyed the pile too. There were all kinds of alien critters represented, but they were all large and fluffy. "Can I borrow a couple? Gonna need something soft for the Viking to fall on when we leave."

"Whys 'Ven gonna fall?" Daniel asked blankly.

"…Let fallen angel over there borrow one too."

"He has one," Cam objected, patting the flamingo; Daniel gave him another unfocused glare.

"Whys are you s'mean to me?"

"He's gonna need something bigger than that flamingo," Lance pointed out. "Hand over a unicorn." He was pretty sure he'd seen a couple of large rainbow ones in the pile.

Pidge was looking at the flamingo, though. "I think I got one of those too." He pulled out a gigantic pink eagle and pushed it in Daniel's general direction.

Flynn nearly spit out his beer; Hunk practically choked on his bacon burger. Cam's eyes lit up. "Oh! It's adorable!"

"Ohmgods." Daniel was not quite scared sober—he was way past that—but he was sure as hell scared. Scrambling back to try to get away from the huge pink bird, he fell off his chair with a thud. A moment later he sighed, relieved. He couldn't see any birds from down here.

"…I think you were supposed to fall on the stuffed animal?" Pidge set it back down, looking confused.

"It's not real, kid." Lance shook his head, laughing, and bent down to have a look under the table. "You good? Need help up?"

"M'happy here."

Shrugging, Lance handed him some fries. Sometimes you really just had to roll with it.

*****

Since she'd returned to the tunnels lugging the rock deer behind her, Larmina had hardly been able to get outside on her own. The militia was convinced she was lucky. So she hadn't been back to the forest, hadn't seen any banewolves, and certainly hadn't tracked down any more deer.

She certainly wasn't actually lucky, either.

It was a much less triumphant band of hunters trudging back to the caves today, all three silent and shellshocked. Larmina wasn't sure if she was dragging Hanso and Allendar, or they were dragging her. Perhaps it was somewhere in between. Every few steps one of them would glance over their shoulders, making sure they weren't being followed, though surely they'd have heard it if they were.

All that was following them was in their own heads. Even blinking brought it back. There had been so many bodies. The Drules were supposed to be finished with that kind of barbarity, they were supposed to be content to threaten the people and plunder their resources…

Reaching the main cave, she immediately caught sight of Allura, who just as immediately started hurrying over to them. That was the last thing Larmina needed—the militia didn't know about her bloodline, and she'd much prefer to keep it that way.

Next to her, she felt the other two flinch. "We… have to tell Her Highness, don't we?"

"We have to report to the Captain first. Chain of command."

"But—"

A twinge of responsibility shot through Larmina as they muttered to each other. They were right, they had to report. And while she knew Allura wasn't nearly so intimidating as they might think… maybe it would go better if she heard it from someone she knew.

"Go on and report to your Captain," she said quietly, pulling away from the other two. "I'll tell Aun—uh, I'll tell the Princess what we found."

Both of them stared at her. "You sure?"

"Let us do it, we signed on for dealing with… this stuff…" Not even Allendar seemed to believe what he was saying. The militia had certainly not been formed with the thought of fending off alien conquest and occupation. They hadn't been trained for the horrors of war any more than Larmina herself had. "…It should be our job," he finished lamely.

Not so long ago, she might have said yes. She might have stepped back and run from the responsibility. Now she shook her head slowly. "It's okay. I should be able to do something other than argue about our roli numbers."

That part, at least, wasn't a lie.

With one last pair of concerned looks, they started off to the makeshift militia post, and not a moment too soon. Allura was within earshot. "Larmina, are you okay?"

She almost laughed at that. "Auntie…" Glancing around, she saw a few eyes darting in their direction. Nobody close, but the princess' movements always drew attention. "…um, is there somewhere we can talk that's quiet?"

Nodding, Allura led her back into the labyrinth of the private royal tunnels. She kept a close eye on her niece every step of the way. Larmina was shaking. She didn't seem to realize it, but it was clear in just a few moments of watching that she was trembling with each unsteady step. When they stopped she nearly collapsed against the wall; Allura offered a hand to steady her. "What is it?" she asked gently.

"Um…" Now that she'd insisted on making the report, words refused to come out. "We, um. We were hunting in the mountains. A ship was there, one of the big ugly ones—you know, as opposed to the little ugly ones and the medium ugly ones…" She made a face, she was just babbling now and she knew it, though Auntie only looked that much more worried. "It was over by Elauria. We saw it open fire…"

Allura paled, biting back a soft cry of pain. Elauria was one of many small villages dotting the mountains, so inconsequential the Drules had sent only a token force to keep them in line. That particular village was very near one of the furthest tunnel exits; a few of the villagers had been helping to smuggle critical medicines down to the shelters. "Are they…?"

Larmina squeezed her eyes shut and immediately regretted it; the burned-out buildings were there waiting for her. "They burned most of the village and rounded up most of the people. There are some survivors, the village isn't quite gone." Her tone had gone a bit numb—she had to get it out somehow. The village itself hadn't even been the worst of it.

Not that it wasn't bad enough. Why? Why them, why now? Allura blinked back a few tears, though it didn't stop more from falling. She had her suspicions. One slip from the silent resistance was all it would have taken… a pang of guilt stabbed through her, but she forced it aside as best she could. There wasn't time for guilt now. "Is there anything we can do to help the survivors?"

"I don't know. They wouldn't come back here with us, they were afraid of being tracked. We came the really, really long way through the foothills, just in case." She took a steadying breath. "Auntie, they're taking captives to…" What was the name? For the first time she wished she'd paid a little more attention to diplomacy lessons. "…Kronoth? They told the ones they left behind that's where all the prisoners were going."

"By the gods… they are?" That was the first Allura had heard of prisoners being taken from the planet, and it could really only mean one thing. "Our people…" Slaves. They're taking Arusians as slaves. The occupation had been bad enough. This was a whole new kick to the guts.

Larmina nodded, her voice going very quiet. "They didn't… they didn't really take all of them."

"No?" Why not all? For an instant, those words gave Allura a flicker of hope. Only an instant. Much darker possibilities provided themselves on the heels of that hope. She may not have heard of prisoners being removed to Korrinoth, but she'd certainly heard rumors of the occupying troops taking captives for comfort and pleasure… she tried to shake that thought away too. It doesn't matter. No matter what they were being taken for, they were her people. "We have to find a way to help them. All of them." Maybe if she said it with enough conviction, an idea would actually spring to mind.

Her niece's turquoise eyes raised slightly, then she shook her head. There was no help for the ones who hadn't been taken. "They told the survivors it wasn't a good example if nobody was left to tell about it. But then they… decided they didn't want all the ones they'd rounded up, I guess…" Even attempting to finish the report was making her feel sick again; her voice became a sort of ragged whisper-squeak. "…and that's what we saw the ship shooting…"

Another whole new weight slammed down in Allura's stomach as what Larmina was trying to tell her sank in. They… she felt tears trying to fight their way forward again, though they hadn't quite stopped to begin with. "Larmina…" The younger girl didn't seem to hear her. Carefully, she put a hand on her shoulder; she jumped, but didn't pull away. "We'll help the survivors," she promised. "We'll find a way to stop this from happening to any more of our people… somehow."

As if Larmina believed that for a second. Part of her wanted to flee the caves, to run back to the forest and track down the banewolves and stay where she didn't have to think about any of this anymore. But the other part of her knew better, and she collapsed against the princess, allowing one of Auntie's trademark hugs without even a little protest. All her energy was going into not crying, anyway. "We should… we should at least go back and… bury the bodies, or burn them, or something… shouldn't we?" Just leaving them out to rot felt wrong. That was what the Drules had done. One final mockery… they could at least fix that.

"We will. We'll take care of them. I promise." Allura wasn't about to let go. It hurt enough to hear about—she could hardly imagine having stumbled across it.

Maybe her niece's thoughts were tracking along the same lines, because after a moment she looked up fiercely. "No. We will. Me and the militia. You… you shouldn't have to see it, there's… we can't risk you going out there anyway. In case they are watching."

Allura hesitated. She didn't like that at all. She didn't want to send Larmina out to take risks in her place. But it was clear from the look in her eyes… she needed to do this, somehow. So she nodded. "Then be careful. I couldn't stand for something to happen to you as well."

"We will be. I promise." Looking up, Larmina attempted a smile. It was really the least convincing smile ever, but it was a smile nonetheless. "…Can I smack a Drule if we see one?"

Allura couldn't help but crack a hint of a smile as well. "Not yet. But we'll add this to the list of things you'll smack them for later." As they looked at each other, she felt tiny claws on her back, then a weight on her shoulder. Looking down she saw one of the mice had joined them, chirping and squeaking. "He's offering to lend an ear when you go back to Elauria," she translated as Larmina gave a questioning look.

A mouse? Why not? They'd helped her before, hadn't they? And it wasn't as if she was going to question the utility of wildlife around here. Luckily Elauria was a long way away from the forest and the banewolves… with a slightly more genuine smile, Larmina reached up and patted the mouse's nose. "I wouldn't say no to the help."

Squeaking happily, the mouse leapt over to her shoulder. Allura smiled and fed it a small ration cracker. "Do your best, Cheesy." It chittered its understanding.

Okay. We have a mouse on our side! We can do this. Larmina took a long, deep breath. "I should go talk to Captain Sarial then, I guess. We should… get it over with."

"I wish you the best of stealth and quickness." Allura squeezed her hands. "Stay safe."

Larmina hesitated for a moment. Just a moment. Then she gave her another squeeze back before pulling away. "You stay safe too. We've got this." She sounded far more confident than she was, but it had to start somewhere, didn't it?

Watching her go, Allura made a fairly futile attempt to wipe her tears away. They'd never entirely quit falling. Larmina's focus and determination seemed to have increased since her mother's passing… Queen Orla must be proud. A sad irony. Thinking of ghosts seemed to call them to her, and she felt the comforting presence of one of her ancestors as her own focus shifted to the issue at hand.

The Drules were taking slaves from Arus. A whole new escalation. The council, such as it was, needed to know… her father needed to know. Word had to get out to the other shelters, and the settlements. Elauria could have been targeted for aiding the Arusians in hiding… it could have just been targeted as a source of labor the Drules felt would serve them better elsewhere. Either way, something had to be done.

What?

…That was always the question. Closing her eyes, Allura started to go over what to tell the advisors about this new information. Something had to be done… something had to change. But with every new day, hope got just a little bit harder.

How much longer could they really hold on?