“I think you’re mistaken,” Paracelsus gripped the bed just above where he stashed his weapon. Silver’s hand fell on top of his, and panic shot through his system - panic that she might be on to him, “I don’t currently have a ‘home’, per se.”

“Don’t be obtuse-” She flicked him on the head, which hurt more than it probably should’ve, “Your new home.”

“That’s…” Fucking insane, “Very generous.”

“I pride myself on my generosity.” Her teeth, Paracelsus realized, were very sharp for a hybrid of a prey animal, “I’ve afforded you some privacy. I know sailormen get awkward around new women, at first.”

She finally let go of his hand, but the appendage falling back to her hip, where she stashed her own weapon, cowed him into forgoing a potential attack. Instead, he followed her as she led him on a tour of his new home. It was similarly dilapidated as the bedroom, with clear leaks and drafts coming in from multiple sources.

He very quickly came to the conclusion that she was just as crazy as he’d anticipated. She described the place with an almost worshipful manic, despite the fact (that she’d let slip) that she’d never lived here. She also went to great pains to illustrate how their new domestic life would be. At one point, her hand paused as it hovered over an old, dull knife, before resuming its sweeping ministrations.

“I know it’s a fixer-upper, but I know we can turn this into a real home.” She brought her fist in an arc in front of her stomach in a show of enthusiasm.

“Forgive me, Silver,” She glared at his response, “Lorane. Forgive me, Lorane, but I’m not quite ready to settle down, yet.”

“But you haven’t even tried it.” She implicitly threatened, “And right now, outside’s the last place you want to be. The fighting’s gotten really bloody now.”

“The fighting?”

“I’m not too well-versed in the politics here,” She shrugged, “But it seems like the militarism on both sides has come to a head.”

He looked at the door. The beginnings of a plan were formulating in his mind - If he could just get outside, he thought he could slip away and blend into the crowd. The only issue was actually getting there. It didn’t help that, despite the house’s ramshackle accommodations, there were no mice he could shout “Help! It’s me!” to, and based on Silver’s words, Lonceré probably wasn’t currently listening.

“Whatever you made smells delicious.” He changed the topic, hoping to avoid her ire.

“Thank you, Paracelsus.” She walked over to the oven, and on the opposite side of the room from the door, “Salmon pie, a Silver family recipe.”

“It’s delicious.” He offered genuinely. It was savory and buttery, she was clearly a good cook if nothing else.

“Thank you, love. The salmon here is a bit off, but it’ll do.”

Love? The alchemist thought, though he maintained his pleasant smile as he ate. One hand always remained on her weapon, always, which made cutting the pie a task for her forced partner.

“If I might ask, Lorane,” He said between hopefully-unpoisoned bites, “Whence did this affection for me come?”

“Patience, love.” She repeated the nickname with more confidence this time, “Dinner first, then we can talk more, yeah?”

—

“What the fuck is going on?!” Serpacinno ducked, along with Tariq, into a side alley. Bricks and stone were being thrown, bullets were flying and swords were being drawn. Whatever negative peace was afforded while neither side could stand to gain an advantage had only put the city in a pressure cooker which was now about to explode.

“Things have gotten really bad.” Tariq intelligently commented.

“It’s almost unbelievable,” She replied, “I thought this place was - behind you!”

Tariq ducked, and a bit of hair off the top was taken before he retaliated by punching the assailant on the chin, knocking him out cold. “Thanks.” He said, though it felt awkward.

“Of course.” She replied, equally awkward in the way she dusted her hands. Where are you, Paracelsus?

As she looked around for an escape route, she crouched down when she saw one of the mice carrying something. It was a small scrap of paper, and whoever wrote on it had horrible handwriting. The only information given was the name Paracelsus, and then an address, and a time.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“You think it’s a trick?” Tariq asked over her shoulder.

“I don’t see who would be trying to trick us.” She said, “But it couldn’t hurt to be cautious.”

—

Luckily the nighttime offered some reprieve from the fighting. The citizens were too busy cleaning the bodies from the morning to continue the conflict, and a tentative peace was established. Tariq and Serpacinno found themselves hiding around a corner, crouched and viewing the address they were given.

Shockingly, the first to show up was Xenepol, his wife seemingly absent as he tapped his foot impatiently. Sally joined him soon after, throwing her arms outward before she slapped him on the back, much to his dismay. Then came the… The, the - well Serpacinno couldn’t remember their name, but they had rabbit ears.

“Who’re all these people?” Another figure, one Tariq and Serpacinno knew as Ms. Taylor joined the group.

“Seems we’re not the only ones looking for the Captain.” Tariq said.

They heard the click of a hammer behind them, and they whipped their heads around to see Lonceré, though they were ignorant to his identity, standing behind the gun. “Your names.”

“How’re you gonna shoot us both?” Serpacinno asked, her hand moving to her sword, “Only got one gun.”

Tariq looked between the two of them, unsure if he should spring into action or not. He certainly didn’t want to be the one to get shot, but he also couldn’t accept the possibility of Serpacinno getting shot either.

“And it would alert everyone else.” He offered, “Everyone will hear you shoot.”

“That’s a risk I might just have to take -” The figure countered, checking if anyone else had approached him, “I’m giving you five seconds to tell me your names, and your ship’s name.”

“We aren’t sailors.” Serpacinno half-lied with a straight face.

“He has purple eyes, you don’t. Four seconds.”

“I’m Serpacinno, this is Tariq.” Lonceré’s face immediately sagged a bit, as though that was the response he was hoping for, “We sail on the Living Current.”

“I apologize for my actions,” Lonceré stashed his gun in his belt, “I thought that if I called everyone here, Paracelsus’ crew wouldn’t expose themselves so easily.”

“You know where he is?” Her tone betrayed her enthusiasm.

“Yes, but I’m not sure if I can get him by myself.” He looked over to the larger gathering again, seeing if any had stirred, “I thought there were three of you?”

“We haven’t seen Gareland since yesterday morning.” Tariq offered, his own tone betraying his worry.

“What about them?” Lonceré asked.

“I don’t know,” Serpacinno put her chin to her hand in thought, “I’d like to think we can trust Sally. But I don’t want the marine to see us.”

“The marines? Last I heard, they’d cleared out.” He remarked.

“I thought so as well.” She replied, wringing her hands, “We should move. Waiting around here won’t solve anything.”

“I agree,” He turned heel and started running, “Best to move quickly. I don’t know when the violence will start again.”

—

“So you were asking why I have feelings for you, Parace -” Silver began, quite proud of herself, And truth is, it’s quite contradictory. I know you despise me, but that excites me for some reason. I’m hopeless, aren’t I?”

“I don’t despise you,” Paracelsus replied, very much so despising her, “I’ll admit - I was apprehensive at first, but you’ve been an exemplary host.”

“But you still think of me as a ‘host’.” She pointed out.

“W-Well, as you said, sailors… We can have a hard time adjusting to more flirtatious, aggressive, women.” He clarified with a nod of the head, as though it was reinforcing his point, “And I’ve only had experience with men, sorry to say. Women are still something of a mystery to me, you see.”

She unbuttoned the top of her shirt. Her jacket was already discarded, having abandoned it under the obvious pretense of the balmy, muggy weather. To be fair, it was warm, and it was raining, but she couldn’t have been less subtle about it. Then, she replied, quite cleverly, “I’m quite the same - I’ve no experience with the unfairer sex.”

For just a second, her hand came off her hip, and Paracelsus lunged at her weapon. She caught on quickly, though, grabbing his wrist with her shockingly strong grip and wrenching it backward, making him wince in pain, “Naughty, naughty. I’ll forgive you this once, Paracelsus,” She gave a final tug which threatened to pull his shoulder out of its socket, “But never try that again. Do we understand each other?”

He forced himself to nod, and she finally released her grip, letting his arm fall limply to its side. Luckily, the captain had the good sense not to challenge her glare, and with a bit more good sense, started to undo the laces on his own garments.

“I’m sorry,” He said in the midst of his actions, “For lying. I do despise you.”

“I know, love.” She smiled softly to herself, “That’s why we’re so compatible - neither of us need to lie to each other.”

He still felt the distinct absence of his gift - his true lifelong partner, the one friend he could always rely on to save him, and fought back tears at the helplessness he felt. His whole life, well most of his life, he had been adept at running away. And now, when he needed it more than ever, it failed him.

“Come then, love.” With his shirt off and hers matching, she led him by the hand to her bedroom - a bit less run-down than his own, with a window that might prove useful, and a significantly more comfortable-looking bed.

“Wait - if you want my cooperation,” He dug his heels into the ground, “Where is Lonceré?”

“Who?” She tilted her head, “Oh! Your friend? Believe it or not, as a sign of goodwill, I patched him up and left him a safe place. Well, safer than by a horde of police, at least.”

“Well, thank you for that at least.” He let himself by laid down on the bed, but balked when his wrists were bound between the slats in the headboard, “Hey! What are you doing?”

“Sorry, but you have to understand, I have some particular interests you might have an objection to.” She was now committed to fully undressing herself, starting with her modest, simple brassier, “Now stop kicking, or I’ll tie your legs down, too.”

He hesitantly complied, though every cell in his body was telling him to do something to fight back. He found himself unable, though, as they were now both fully in the nude. His own body betrayed him, and now he was unable to stop the tears from falling.

“Don’t cry yet,” She unrolled a small cloth she kept on her nightstand, and a number of metal implements revealed themselves, “We’ve barely started.”

He started fully thrashing against the restraints when she decided on a crop, which she demonstrated by batting against the bed before she licked her lips, loving the sound of it. He winced and cried as she tried it on his feet first, beating the soles before moving up along his legs, drawing out his pained gasps and moans with each strike.

“You’ll regret this!” He shouted, trying to regain any amount of control, “I’m a marine! I’m here on a special mission and if you -”

She cut him off by squeezing his jaw, before slapping him across the face, “I know your game, Paracelsus. I may not know what you’re really doing here, but I know the type of scam you pull.” He tried shouting for help, but she cut him off again, “Shout as much as you want, you’re a foreigner in a poor part of town -

No one is coming to save you.”