I would have considered the look on Dick’s face comical if it hadn't also been quite insulting.
His expression was giving putrefaction vibes, like something had crawled into his mouth and took a big shit before it died and decomposed. It wasn’t my first attempt at mixing a drink perfectly customized to one of my crewmates’ personality, but I had thought it was my best one, yet.
How does that damn AI make it look so easy?
During our recent misadventures on Kalo-Mahoi, we met an AI bartender named AL. I didn’t know what type of magical wizardry mixed with technological genius created AL, but his ability to assess complete strangers and create the perfect drink for them was a skill I desperately wanted to master.
I glanced again at Dick who was swallowing rapidly as if holding back vomit. Apparently, I needed more practice.
Deciding to milk the situation for maximum entertainment rather than take it personally, I feigned a hurt look.
“How is it?” I asked, injecting just the right amount of pseudo fragility into my tone.
“It’s uhhh...an interesting combination, Skye,” Dick said, his gaze purposefully avoiding mine as he lied.
“You hate it,” I accused in a hurt tone.
“No!...I didn’t say that,” he rushed to counter.
“If you didn’t hate it, you’d finish it,” I said pointedly, nodding toward the half-empty shot glass sitting on the bar in front of him.
The look of utter horror he gave the remaining liquid in the glass nearly had me bursting with laughter.
“Miss Skye,” AL said, projecting himself from the tiny but powerful storage device Vomero had picked up at The Hub in New Horizon City. “I find this concoction you’ve brewed an offense to my programming.”
“It was a first attempt,” I assured.
I had been at it for an hour. So far, I'd probably scarred Dick for life, inspired Cash to revamp his internal poison intervention system, and completely confused Vomero.
“How did you manage to mix four perfectly delicious ingredients in such a disgusting way?” Vomero asked in mock awe.
Vomero had surprised everyone by revealing he had downloaded a complete copy of AL from the Alchemy bar before our fake departure of New Horizon City. Cash and I immediately began making plans for recreating a full replica of the bionic bar at Alchemy.
Among the many wonders we fugitives had discovered about the Ancient ship during our commute toward Rodan was its ability to morph its interior layout to suit our needs. It required the direct intervention of a full-blooded Ancient, however. Neither Dick nor the AI Tria could perform these changes. That meant we had to rely entirely on Light to make interior alterations.
While he was usually very accommodating, his attention span was characteristic of a typical toddler. On top of that, he sometimes had trouble understanding exactly what it was we were asking him to do. He could handle simple requests like “build a counter top with storage in this corner” but more complex requests often ended in hilarious disaster.
Such had been the case with Ryuuk’s bathroom when he asked Light to “make me a bathroom perfectly catered to Avian biology.” He had been imagining a custom preening station for his feathers and a lavatory and bidet to accommodate his wingspan. The result had been some strange arrangement featuring a tub shaped like a birdbath and a toilet that looked suspiciously like a tree branch hanging over a disposal chute.
The little tyke had promptly run off in pursuit of a snack and naptime, missing Ryuuk’s tirade about “speciest stereotypes.” I suspected the Avian secretly came to enjoy it, however, since he never bothered to have Light try to change it back, not that he’d dare admit it.
So, while Cash and I managed to get the young Ancient to fabricate a makeshift bar in the back of the common room, building a bionic version sophisticated enough to house an AI bartender was a little beyond his scope for the time being.
“Oh suck it up,” I defended against Vomero’s melodrama. “In lieu of being able to remake Alchemy Bar on this ship, we’re all just going to have to suffer for the greater good while I practice.”
“Uh huh,” Dick said, picking up his glass and eyeing the liquid suspiciously. “How come you’re not taking a turn, then? For the greater good.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” I said with so much confidence even I believed it was true.
“Unfortunately, you’re running out of test subjects,” Cash pointed out. “I’m not signing up for another round of this sick and twisted experimentation.”
Vomero and Dick nodded their agreement.
Dick had taken to wearing some interesting jewelry lately. Namely, the Lycan tooth necklace he had bought from The Hub, and a leather-corded, lariat-style bracelet sporting an iridescent sparkly gem around his wrist. The gem seemed to glow slightly for a moment as it morphed into pure light and transformed.
This was a new characteristic we had discovered about our small Ancient companion. Vomero speculated it might be an inherited trait from being incubated in Dick’s shapeshifter body. The little one seemed to be able to transform itself into various inanimate objects. At first, it had just been the bracelet. But, each day, it learned new forms.
In the same way that my tattoos and Cash’s augments took time to master, it seemed like Light needed to grow into this ability. So far, though, it seemed the trait was limited to inanimate objects only, a dichotomy from Dick’s ability that Vomero found fascinating.
As the light hovered in the air and coalesced into the little Ancient’s true form, Light landed heavily on the bar stool next to Dick and reached for his glass. It downed the contents in one swig before any of them could intervene.
“Whoa! That’s a big no on the underage drinking,” Dick scolded and snatched the cup from Light’s hand.
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He peered curiously down at the little Ancient who was licking its lips contentedly. A small burp escaped its lips as it sighed with glee.
“I can see an issue with that in the future,” Dick said, sardonically. Vomero simply poked Light inquisitively in the cheek.
“Yeah, the kid’s well on its way to developing a terrible vomit drinking habit,” Vomero joked.
“That’s just hurtful,” I joked back.
“Before you ask, no you cannot use Light as a test subject for your concoctions,” Dick said, narrowed eyes meeting my innocent expression.
I sighed determinedly, unwilling to give up so easily. A sly look crossed my face as I glanced sideways at Ryuuk. The Avian man was sitting at a table close to the bar with his boots propped up on the table next to him. He had been quietly playing a solo card game on his data pad during all of the mixing and drinking.
As if sensing that he was suddenly the object of everyone’s attention, he looked up warily.
“Oh, heck naw!” Ryuuk said, voice rising to a near squawk. “Last time I drank anything Skye mixed for me, it ended up destroying a planet.”
“Thaat’s a little dramatic,” I said. “It was just a stomach ache.”
“No, he’s right,” Dick teased. “I was there, remember? You mixed him that ‘screwdriver’ and then he went off to puke. That was the last normal thing we did before all hell broke loose and we ended up crashed on Kalo-Mahoi.”
“Yea, but that isn’t the--” I tried to argue but was cut off.
“And if we hadn’t crashed on Kalo-Mahoi, we wouldn’t have gotten caught up with Owen and his lot,” Cash pointed out.
“Which eventually led us to flee to New Horizon City with the diadem,” Vomero added.
“And the crown thingy led to the whole planet being destroyed!” Ryuuk brought the recounting full circle. “Sort of.”
I glared at each of my companions in stern silence for a long minute. Finally, I had to concede the point with a sheepish nod of agreement.
“Fair enough, no more drinks for Ryuuk,” I said with a shrug, pouring ordinary shots of whiskey for the rest of the crew to wash away the bad aftertaste of my concoctions.
Ryuuk dropped his feet to the floor and stood up in a hurry.
“Now, hold on a second!” he objected. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t take a reglar’ ole’ drink tho!”
“Sorry, pal,” Cash said, snatching the whiskey bottle out of his reach. “Better safe than sorry.”
***
I stared silently at Dick, trying to intimidate him into backing down. He was undeterred.
“You heard me,” Dick reiterated. “I wield my Dragon Staff to inflict Charm on Skye.”
The five of us turned to look at Light questioningly. Sitting cross-legged in the center of our large holographic playing platform, the young Ancient paused for a moment as if considering his choices, then nodded vigorously as he threw his arms up in glee.
I groaned in frustration, rolling my eyes at Dick. He simply smirked lasciviously back at me as his little holographic figure on the table in front of me waggled a suspiciously phallic-shaped staff in my figure’s direction.
Dick has successfully placed the Charm effect on Skye.
Charm- this effect renders a player helplessly devoted to the player that cast the spell. The affected player will skip their next three turns until the spell wears off. During that time, the player who cast the spell may bend the affected player to their whim.
Immediately, tiny hearts began emanating from my character as she fell at his figure’s feet and pledged her undying love and devotion to him.
“That is ridiculously unfair!” Surprisingly, it was Vomero who protested first.
We were nearing the end of our two-week commute from Kalo-Mahoi to Rodan. In that time, the five of us, plus Light, were discovering all manner of things about each other. Unearthing the tabletop game had exposed Vomero's competitive nature, not to mention his borderline obsessive interest in game crafting.
A week ago, he had discovered a simulation function built into the ship’s systems that seemed to operate like a game. While we had no idea how the original Ancient version should be played, Vomero was quickly able to retrofit it into a holotable simulation game, the rules of which we seemed to be making up as we went. This was the second day in a row we had spent the majority of the day sitting around the holotable in the common room, engrossed in the game.
The one caveat was that only Light could effectively manipulate the system in real time. What took him a moment of thought would take Vomero hours of coding to accomplish. This effectively made the young one our “Game Manager”, and all decisions about whether our endeavors succeeded or failed rested on his shoulders. As anticipated, this led to some blatant favoritism in how the game was progressing.
“What?” Dick defended, sheepishly raising his hands in surrender. “It’s not my fault that the GM found my actions to be both reasonable and achievable.”
“Aint we ‘sposed to be workin’ together to defeat the evil Bornog or somethin’?” Ryuuk asked, pointedly. “How is charmin’ the pants off Skye gonna accomplish that?”
“Trust me, it’s part of a larger plan I’m cooking up,” Dick said, unconvincingly.
“Putting me under a love spell by waving a round an overtly penis-shaped magic staff is part of your larger plan to defeat the Bornog? Or is it part of your plan to annoy the shit out of me?” I challenged.
“I’m a versatile guy,” Dick defended. “I can do both.”
“What’s the point of playing, if you’re just going to manipulate the GM into letting you do stupid and ridiculous things!?” Vomero argued.
“Umm...to have fun?” Dick said in a haughty tone, as if it should be obvious. “Don’t be bitter because the GM sees greatness where you cannot.”
“I definitely cannot,” Cash added, mimicking Dick’s tone. “But at least since Skye is currently occupied fondling your...Dragon Staff...that means it’s my turn.”
“Are you kidding me?!” I groaned in earnest this time, seeing that my character was indeed stroking and nuzzling the staff he held in his hands as if it was a beloved pet. “That sucks.”
“Careful...” Dick teased. “Sucking could easily be part of the equation.”
I shot him a glare and stuck out my tongue.
Cash touched his finger on the table where his figure was standing and drug it to a place near the Bornog we were supposed to be fighting.
“I attack the Balnop—”
“Bornog,” Vomero interjected to correct.
“Stop doing that!” Cash growled. “It’s annoying.”
“No, what’s annoying is how you purposefully mispronounce things just to piss me off.”
Cash let a satisfied smile slip out, effectively admitting to doing just that.
“Anyway, I attack the CornDog—” snickers emerged around the table as Vomero sent a crude hand gesture in Cash’s direction, “with Carla.”
Carla was the name he gave his long-range plasma rifle. It wasn’t uncommon for hitmen to name their prized weapons of choice, but the rest of us still found it oddly named for a buff and gruff guy like Cash.
“You did 50 damage marks,” Vomero narrated, reading the holographic numbers emanating from the place where Cash’s shot landed on the Bornog.
“50 damage! Nice!” Cash said.
“Out of 10,000,” Vomero added, smugly.
“What!? There’s no way Carla’s big move only did 50 damage,” he burst out. “Kid! Fix it! It should have at least did a couple thousand.”
“Now, who’s trying to manipulate the GM?” Dick prodded.
“Oh, shut it, Dick. Yesterday, this kid let you climb an entire mountain using just your abs,” Cash argued.
“My arms were full of loot,” Dick pointed out.
“An armful of loot you just so happened to find under a random rock,” I added.
Next, it was Vomero’s turn. He searched the crates and boxes littered all around the edges of the game board. As he opened one, a purple cloud erupted from it and covered Vomero’s figure in purple goo.
Vomero has been afflicted with Blindness and Slowness. Your vision has been impaired. Your character cannot move for its next three turns.
The system readout appeared on the holographic message board projected in front of each player.
“God’s dammit!” Vomero shouted and slung himself back in his seat with a huff. “I can’t even open a chest without getting a debuff, but dear ol’ dad here can climb a mountain with his abs?!”
“I’m not its dad,” Dick said, a mantra he had taken to repeating the more frequently we referred to Light as his child. “Besides, they’re magnificent abs.”
Like most of us, he was dressed casually, sitting shirtless in a loose pair of sweat pants. At his words, my eyes took an involuntary swoop down at his abs before I managed to wrestle them back up to his face. A knowing grin met my gaze. Not one to be uselessly petty, I conceded with a shrug.
“They are nice abs.”