Hail to the King (Part 3)

~PORT BLACKSAND~

Sam had never seen Star Wars before. The only reason he knew it existed was because the people he associated with often referenced it, usually in a dumb in-jokey way that he wasn't really parlay to. So therefore, he only knew about Mos Eisley being a thing because he had heard that one quote over and over, and had no real idea of what it looked like.

Port Blacksand, he reckoned, was close.

"There's a joke about scum and villainy somewhere," he muttered as he strolled down the grime-ridden streets. He wouldn't have been far-off in making that joke - the general look of the town, even from a distance, was a shifty, side-eyed one that kept an eye out for the cops as it filched someone's wallet, and up close it was no better. Gruff-voiced men and rasp-voiced women hollered out their wares from side corners and crannies, half the populace seemed to stare at the floor or cover their faces as they walked and the smell of damp and poorly-cooked food hang like a foul perfume over the place. The only mercy Sam could find was that nobody seemed inclined to look at him, and when they did they usually gave him a wide berth.

It might have had something to do with Walter trotting by his side, though. It would seem that having a Leowolf - that is, a canine now the size of a lion - next to you was a good way to carve out a decent personal space. A good metre or so of thin air around Sam had gone practically unmolested, and the former Destined Hero had the impression that this was more to do with the wolf than anything about himself. Mind you, brightly-coloured clothing was something of a target for stares in a place like this.

It hadn't felt like long before a nose pushed itself into his leg, and Walter gave a whining bark to indicate that Sam should look at something. He did, and found that they were now approaching a tavern, which looked so ashamed of it's shabby appearance it seemed to by trying to hide itself between all the other buildings on the street. A forlorn, knife-hacked and torch-burned sign swung above the door, and the blond-haired swordsman couldn't help but snort at the faded name etched into the wood "NOBODY INN". At least the place had a sense of humour.

"You thirsty, big guy?" he asked Walter, knowing his guess was not far off.

The wolf replied with a short yap and a mad wagging of the tail.

"Alright," chuckled Sam as he tousled the wolf's furry head. "We'll stop for a drink, and then maybe ask for directions."

The two promptly changed course, and their first obstacle came in the form of a man built like a diseased gorilla, who stepped between them and the comforting warmth of the tavern on the instant they crossed the threshold. His mere appearance turned nearly every head in the bar - it seemed people were accustomed to the routine scuffles that their bouncer got into.

"Fuck off," were his first words, growled out like an industrial meat grinder.

Sam groaned, already familiar with this kind of scenario. "Look," he tried, "I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want-"

"Fuck off, I said," repeated the bouncer, stepping forward. "We don't serve your lot here, with your poncy outfits and too many belts. And take your mutt with you, or else I'll-"

Sam didn't even have to say anything. If there was one thing he knew Walter hated more than anything, it was being called a mutt, mongrel or any sort of pejorative relating to his breeding. A blur of silver-grey shot up from his left, there was a thump and the bouncer collapsed to the floor, half-dazed and clutching his own forehead. And then, in case that wasn't hilarious enough, the Leowolf casually trotted over to the prone juggernaut and sat on him as though he were a cushion from his bed back home.

This set every table in the tavern at a roar at once. It must have been the funniest thing they'd seen all week.

"Thank you, thank you!" Sam laughed back and waved as he stepped into the building. "He does headstands, too!" Which probably wasn't true, but he could smell that half of them were already pissed out of their minds, so anything would prolong the hilarity. And as they lapped it up like monkeys at feeding time, he took the time to check the medallion from Victoria, just in case it had any clues as to-

Huh. It was blinking rather brightly. That meant somebody from the Forty-Four, that group of heroes Sam had needed to seek out to try and deal with the Magpies, was in this very building. But where...?

Sam looked up.

In the world of women, Sam tended to notice three kinds. There were women who didn't wear makeup, and there were women who wore too much makeup, and then there was the rare breed that managed to step down right in the middle. It often spoke of their character, and sometimes the lack thereof...

Not that it was easy to notice her perfectly applied makeup.

Sam had perused numerous books while on the ZF KOB ship, and more than once had read their version of 'fantasy' for a laugh and how often the writers substituted clear appeal to anything resembling practical reality. One that that had come up more than once was the 'chainmail bikini', the idea that women had to wear armor that might as well have been fetish wear and didn't offer any sort of protection. Sam had laughed it off...

It wasn't METAL, not wholly (it seemed, like Ash and Christine's clothing, to be a mix of metal, plastics, and leathers), but everything else about it matched. And it worked. By everything Sam could swear by, it worked. She had it, she rocked it, and by every single standard she ruled it. She even managed to pull off high-heeled boots, the woman eating a stick of celery coated in some red paste as Sam just stared.

Then Walter growled.

"Hbwuh?" Sam jolted out of his reviere at that, turning to stare in confusion at his growling companion.

"What's the matter, boy?" he asked. "Something wrong in here?" He had a sneaking suspicion of what it was, but he would be damned to the Hollow Fields and back if he couldn't at least be a little bit appreciative.

Walter looked at the woman, and then back at Sam. Specifically, at the 'frozen flame'. No doubt about it; it was indicating her. Walter chuffed and scratched behind his ears, before giving Sam a look that said 'I already know what you're going to do, I can smell it on you'.

Sam rolled his eyes. Ugh, canines.

"Dude, let me have this," he groaned. "If I'm going to be traipsing around this world looking for help against the Magpies, then I might as well make the most of it."

Walter made a noise that Sam swore was the dog equivilant of someone muttering under their breath, and then trotted towards the woman, who had been presented with a large sausage. Walter sat by the woman, who immediately took notice.

"...Hi big boy." She said, petting the dog. One hand was bare, the other covered in a black glove that had metal on the fingers. Metal that snapped up and formed into a blade that the woman brought down on the sausage with considerable force, cutting it in half and giving one half to Walter. Walter chewed contently and then padded back past Sam, heading and lying down in a corner, the woman snapping apart her hand knife as the tavern owner brought her some dripping bread as well.

...so, the medallion was aiming at her, huh? Well, only one way to find out.

"Hey," he began as he approached the table, trying to seem casual. "You one of the Forty-Four, right?"

"If you're from the government or the church kindly go crawl up your ass and die." The woman said. Her hair was red, an unusually bright and intense shade that didn't seem to be a dye. She'd wrapped her bread around the remains of the sausage and took a big bite.

...no, Sam, get a grip. Business, man, business!

"No, I'm not. Although I have used that line a few times myself. I'm a... a friend of Victoria. And I'm looking for some help."

Seeing as she wasn't telling him no, Sam decided he might as well take a seat. It was rock-hard, as was the standard for tavern seats, but it served.

"What's your name?"

"Sam."

"Never heard of you." Chomp. Sam suddenly found Walter by his side again, fetching the medallion from Sam's belt and tossing it on the table. THAT made the woman pause.

"Huh." The woman said, picking it up and looking from it. She also had a large mug of water, which she drank from before covering her mouth, emitting a quiet burp before she fished into the cloak she was wearing and brought out a matching medallion, albeit one with a different color and some added gems. "What do you know, you do know her."

The woman's demeanor changed like a switch, becoming more relaxed and open, the woman crossing a leg as she put away her own medallion, Walter padding off.

"That's a big one you have there. The dog." The woman said, and bit into her sausage sandwich, indicating with a gesture that Sam should continue.

Sam nodded. "Present from an... acquaintance. He's rather grown on me."

Then he leaned forward, resting both arms on the table.

"And here's the reason why you've never heard of me," he added, getting to the point. "I'm from another world, and some assholes from my world have invaded this one. Victoria's asked me to help get the gang back together so we can kick them out. Apparently, her brother's already gone, but I don't give much for his chances."

".....riggghhhht." The woman said. "Now say that again, with stuff that doesn't make it sound absolutely fucking INSANE."

Sam did. It took a while.

"Ah, Ash...you always did find the best ways to make my life interesting that didn't involve a bundle of clothers." The woman said, having finished a second meal of pork and what appeared to be some kind of cooked seaweed while Sam had spoken. The tavern keeper brought a small bowl of black sticks, the woman picking one up and lighting it on fire.

Literally. She picked it up and it lit on fire. From the smell, it seemed to be some variation on a marshmellow, as she bit off the flaming end. "So...Nicotine?"

"Sure, why not?" Sam didn't normally go for smoking, but he figured he might as well indulge now and again.

"No, your name, Goldilocks." The woman said, shaking her head with a bemused look. "I suppose you're distracted. Now why would that be?"

Sam blinked, then shook his head. Damn, she was right.

"Yeah, sorry. Not used to meeting somehone who makes a chain bikini work. And It's Nicodemus," he added, "although I didn't choose that name, it got foisted on me."

"I can relate. Chastity Faith, at your service. What that is varies. So, Sam..." Chastity said, biting off another stick. "Tell a girl why she should put her life and her ass in your hands."

Sam swore he saw Walter put a paw over his eyes, though with the shadows it was hard to tell. Then he permitted himself a smirk and several capital mental images.

"Firstly, because I'm apparently very good with my hands. Secondly, and more seriously," he added, "because if we don't do something, the Magpies are gonna tear your entire planet up for the sake of profit. And I don't think that's something you particularly want to see, because I've seen it already."

"Ehhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

A clattering noise. A key on the table.

Sam blinked. Holy shit, was that-? No, don't get your hopes up just yet. But still...

"Your room?" he ventured.

"Talk is cheap. I don't think you can afford me."

"Wanna bet?" Not his best line, but it was the best given the situation. And there was no mistaking his intentions, with a grin that could win a shark a tooth-whitener contract.

"I don't bet. I win."

She even walked that way, though before Sam could follow Walter cut him off. The dog didn't look amused, and tried to tug him away. Okay, that was it. There was only so much denial a man could take. And when that man is Samuel Baker, who hasn't been able to... satisfy some of the baser needs in a while, well...

"Dude!" hissed the blonde, yanking his sleeve free and glaring at Walter. "What's your deal? Can't a guy indulge now and again? I've done this loads of times back where I came from - trust me, I know what I'm doing."

Walter got behind Sam and began trying to shove him towards the door. Considering Walter had more tricks then just 'push', Sam quickly figured he wasn't trying to get Sam to leave...at least entirely. He wanted him outside. So the blond rolled his eyes, but complied. When Walter wanted something, he found it was best to just go along with it. Things would get ugly otherwise. On the plus side, the bouncer seemed less inclined to harass him as he stepped out. A little sulky, maybe, but that wasn't the issue right now.

Outside, Walter retrieved a stick.

"SHE. NOT. CARE."

It was always a bit unsettling to watch the dog write in the dirt.

"...I know."

Sam sighed heavily. "Look, I'm not stupid, okay? I'm not expecting her to fall head-over-heels for me or anything, unlike half the mayor's daughters I know. Besides, I haven't been in a serious relationship since..."

He petered off for a moment, staring into the middle distance. For a moment, Walter got the impression of somebody who didn't just lose their innocence, they had it stolen by a playground bully and stamped to bits in front of them. It was a very haunted sort of look, the kind you normally only read about in war novels and cheap sci-fi comics.

Then, with a shake of the head, he was back to normal again.

"Besides," he added, with a shrug, "if it turns out rubbish, then whatever. At least we'll have made a start in rounding up the Forty-Four. The Magpies aren't just going to sit and wait for me to sort out my own feelings, you know."

"JUST. BE. CAREFUL," etched out Walter. "HEARTS. DUMB. SHE. SMART, HEART. HEART. MAYBE. STONE. MAYBE."

 Sam gave a sort of laugh at that. "Trust me, buddy, nobody knows that better than I do. But hey, since we're out here, might I ask you to stick by the door? I don't want to have to leap out of a window naked if armed thugs come storming in - it wouldn't be half as fun as it was under other circumstances."

"BE. CLOSE. JUST. CAREFUL."

"Sure thing."

And with that sorted out, Sam turned and headed back into the tavern...

-------

-------

"Sam? Sam?"

Something was slapping his face lightly

"Are you dead? That would be very inconvienent."

"Hwurblegfff?" said Sam.

"Wake up. Breakfast. Pay for the broken stuff. You know the drill."

Sam cracked his eyes open, and noticed two things. Firstly, that the room he was in was a complete mess. Things knocked over, or askew, and generally in a worse state than it had, presumably, been to begin with.

The second, as he sat up in bed, was that he was in naught but boxers. And Chastity was in very little else.

"...alright, will do," he drawled, still only half-awake.

"By the way," Chastity added as she watched him climb out of the ruined covers, "I think you had a bad reaction to the drink. You hallucinated and broke a bunch of stuff, and then passed out in your underwear."

"...if that's true," Sam slowly parsed out, "then why does my back hurt so much?" The blond made a point of leaning back and pushing both palms into the small of his back, grunting as his spine cricked satisfyingly.

"Well, that would probably be because you put your back into it. By the way, catch."

The Grandius spun through the air, point coming down with a thunk between Sam's still outstretched legs.

"Don't want to lose that. A man who knows how to handle a blade is hard to find." Chastity said. "Now then, if we're going to deal with a force in strength, there's a few of us we should definitely recruit..."

-------

"Hmmmm. She was there when you woke up?"

Sam, of course, hadn't told Christine anything beyond the most basic details. She'd puzzled the rest out on her own, and quickly.

"Yep," Sam nodded. "And she warned me I might end up here at some point. Although I was really hoping not to."

"Well, nicely done. I guess. Normally she leaves. Or if she wasn't much...impressed, she kicks you out." Christine said. "Have you asked her for training in fire manipulation? She trained Ash..." Christine's tone was a mask of careful neutrality.

"I may have done." Sam was also trying to keep his tone level.

"...just be ready for a possible swift ending. Chasity can be...mercurial." Christine said. "She's getting better at it, but...it's still there. She broke up one of our team's relationships lately...well, I suppose that's unfair. The guy involved in it did that, but she went along with it. Probably believed that if there was smoke, there was fire."

A geyser erupted in the background, spewing a foul looking gas.

"I suppose better here than wherever those people are..." Christine said, talking to herself that time.

A thought suddenly came to Sam at that moment. "So... what brings you here? Apart from this being your world, of course."

"An airship went down. No one sane wants to come here, so..." Christine said. "But I won't leave people behind."

"Yeah, well," Sam muttered, looking around, "just make sure you get them out quick. I'm pretty sure I had some kind of mad hallucination before I found you."

"It might have been a hallucination, yes..."

Christine had stopped, one hand on her weapon.

"But things here aren't always that kind."

Shadows were looming. And they cast weight.