Currents of Change

Seraphina woke to pain and dancing lights. Her first coherent thought was fire - but these motes moved wrong, drifting like embers caught in an impossible breeze. Tiny points of red-gold light swirled through her blurred vision like fire sparks.

She blinked, training and asserting herself even through the fog of unconsciousness. Assess. Analyze. Survive. The Wavechaser's deck pressed against her cheek, salt-rough wood carrying the ship's familiar vibration. The pain in her temple throbbed with each pulse of her heart, but when her fingers found the wound, they met only tacky blood and a cut far shallower than the impact had suggested. Strange - she distinctly remembered the crack of wood against bone, the way her vision had gone sideways...

Another blink and the mysterious lights vanished like morning mist in sunlight. Perhaps they'd never been there at all. Blood loss and head wounds could do strange things to the mind. She filed the observation away, focusing instead on the quiet shape crumpled nearby.

"Thristle?" The word came out rough. She tried to sit up, practice keeping her movements controlled despite the way the world insisted on tilting. Her charge lay still - too still for someone who usually moved like a stout on a sugar rush. "Thristle!"

The alchemist stirred, expression caught between pain and something darker. Those green eyes found Seraphina's face, reading something there that made them sharpen with worry. "Sera? You're..." A pause, barely noticeable. "You're still hurt..."

You sound surprised, Seraphina thought but didn't say. Instead, she pressed her fingers to the wound again, finding it even smaller than her first assessment. Either Hawthorne's men were worse at head-striking than they'd seemed, or... But there were more urgent matters. Like the hollow silence below decks where Vesper's familiar movements should be.

"They've taken him," Thristle whispered, voice cracking. A tremor ran through her small frame - exhaustion, Seraphina thought until she saw how pale she had become. "They've taken our friend."

Empty silence answered from below decks where Vesper's familiar ripples should be. The Wavechaver sat awkwardly, listing like it couldn't decide which way to fall.

Seraphina forced herself upright, ignoring how the deck insisted on tilting beneath her. Her hand moved automatically for her rifle before Thristle's quiet voice stopped her.

"They took it from our cabin. while..." Another barely noticeable pause, "We were unconscious."

Something in Thristle's tone made Seraphina look sharper, despite her pounding head. The girl's voice carried an odd weight like someone choosing their words too carefully. But before she could question it, Thristle was already moving on.

"The crew's gone too. Longboat's missing." Thristle stumbled to the rail, her movements jerky like a puppet with tangled strings. Whatever Hawthorne had slipped them still lingered, making the world swim at odd angles. Thristle found the hidden compartment where she'd stashed her case of mixtures hours before. Sometimes paranoia paid off. "They'll want to be away before dawn. Transfer him somewhere more... permanent."

The word hung between them like frost. Seraphina caught something in Thristle's voice - an edge she'd never heard before, sharp as broken glass. Her charge's hands moved to her case of mixtures without conscious thought, fingers dancing over carefully labeled compartments.

"Thristle." Something in Seraphina's tone made her look up. The maid - no, the guard, the protector, whatever she really was - studied her with eyes that saw too much. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I..." The question caught her off guard. Made the carefully constructed walls in her mind crack just a little. "I've seen what happens in places with lights like that. Places that study things they don't understand." Her voice dropped. "Places that think understanding comes from taking things apart."

Seraphina's hand found her shoulder, warm despite everything. "You've seen, or you've..."

"Does it matter?" Thristle tried for a smile but felt it come out wrong. "What matters is I know how to stop them. Just need to get close enough."

Seraphina studied her charge in the faint light. The girl's usual nervous energy had crystallized into something dangerous - all sharp edges and cold purpose, like watching a street cat turn predator.

"You're not going alone."

"Course not." Thristle's grin turned feral, a flash of sharp teeth in the darkness. "Need someone to row while I make things explode, don't I?"

Through the pre-dawn gloom, they spotted movement in the shallows - a boat laboring against the tide, its hull riding dangerously low. Even at this distance, they could see how it struggled under a massive burden. Behind it, a trail of faintly luminescent water marked its path like a wound in the dark sea.

"They can barely move him," she whispered, watching another massive swell nearly capsize their quarry. "Even with whatever contraption they're using."

Seraphina's eyes narrowed as she tracked their path. "It seems they're taking some channel route. Deeper water, but..."

"Longer," Thristle finished. Her fingers found her crossbow, checking mechanisms with practiced care. "If we cut across the shallows-"

"Too risky in the dark."

Another sound carried across the water - not quite a roar, more like the angry gurgle of a blocked drain, if that drain was the size of a house and deeply offended by its containment. Through the darkness, she caught glimpses of Vesper's massive form thrashing against whatever held him, each movement forcing Hawthorne's boat to halt or risk capsizing.

"He's fighting them," she breathed, "Making them stop to maintain control."

They worked in practiced silence, lowering their remaining boat into water that looked thick as oil. Salt spray carried the sharp tang of ozone, mixing with the metallic scent of machinery drifting from the other vessel. Their smaller boat sliced through the water, each stroke bringing them closer to the sounds of Vesper's defiance.

"Right then." Thristle raised her crossbow, that sharp smile returning. "Let's show them why you don't steal an alchemist's friend." Thristle checked her crossbow, trying to ignore how her hands shook.

"At least tell me these bolts won't sink us?"

"Probably not?" Thristle winced at Seraphina's look. "Small explosions! Usually. Unless they hit something volatile. Or unless the mixture's gone more unstable than I thought. Or unless-"

"Stop helping, and stay low," Seraphina whispered, each stroke of the oars calculated to minimize splash. "The fog will help, but sound carries over water."

Shouts erupted from the other boat. Orders barked in Hawthorne's perfect voice, suddenly not so perfect. "Oh no," Thristle breathed, recognizing the metallic click of machinery. "They've got some kind of-" The night lit up as something crackled through the water. Electricity arced between metal poles, drawing an agonized gurgle from Vesper that made Thristle's teeth ache. His surface colors flickered visible even at this distance - violent swirls of red and purple that painted the fog like bruises.

Every few minutes, the slime's struggles would force Hawthorne's men to pause, giving them precious time to close the distance. Thristle could see more details now - a massive brass and iron contraption they'd rigged around Vesper's bulk, its surfaces gleaming wetly in the false dawn.

"That's Northern work," she whispered, recognizing the distinctive designs. They're using pressure differentials to —" She caught herself starting to babble and switched to practical matters.

"Distance?" Seraphina's question came between measured strokes, her eyes constantly scanning for patrol boats.

"Hundred yards? Maybe less." Thristle reached for her case, fingers dancing over carefully labeled compartments. "Just... need to get closer. Need a clear shot at the mechanism before-"

A sharp crack split the air. Electricity arced between metal poles surrounding Vesper's form, drawing an agonized gurgle that made Thristle's hands shake on her crossbow.

"They're trying to force him into some kind of containment," she hissed, recognizing the technique from old notes she wished she could forget. "Using the current to disrupt his surface tension, making him more manageable." Her accent slipped toward something posh and academic as she fell into familiar patterns. "The ionic excitation in his semi-fluid matrix will-"

"Less theory," Seraphina cut in, though her voice held no real rebuke. "More shooting."

Thristle raised her crossbow, trying to steady her hands. They were closer now - close enough to see individual figures moving around the device, close enough to hear Hawthorne's voice carrying across the water as he directed his men with that perfect, terrible smile.

"Careful with the voltage," he called, his tone carrying that horrible scientific hunger. "We need it intact for study. The facilities are particularly interested in-"

"It was not designed for it, but…" Thristle raised her crossbow, that manic grin returning. "Let's see how their fancy machine handles a bit of this." The bolt flew high. The explosion bloomed like an extremely enthusiastic flower, scattering metallic threads that drifted down with all the delicate grace of a bureaucrat's paperwork in a windstorm, covering Hawthorn's boat. Vesper's mass surged, his ripples transformed into violent waves as current arced through the strands and its gelatinous body.

"This might've been poorly thought out," Thristle muttered as a massive wave crashed over them, nearly swamping their small boat. Through the spray, she could see Hawthorne's men scrambling to maintain control of their electrical device, now sparking wildly as the conductive threads created chaotic paths for the current. Inside the containment rig, Vesper's mass churned with colors she'd never seen before - deep purples bordering on black, shot through with angry crimson that pulsed like heartbeats.

"Vesper!" Thristle called out, then yelped as electricity arced from a nearby thread to her crossbow. "It's us! We're here to-" The rest was lost as the slime reared up like a tidal wave made of fury and stolen lightning, its bear skull core crackling with accumulated charge. Through its translucent body, she could see all its carefully maintained treasures lighting up like stars - metal fragments and arrowheads becoming impromptu conductors.

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A massive pseudopod slammed down near their boat, sending them spinning in its wake. But Thristle noticed something through her terror - the tendril had curved slightly, ensuring it missed them. Even in pain and rage, Vesper was fighting to maintain control.

"He knows us," she breathed, watching the slime's colors shift between furious red and familiar blue. "The electricity's driving him mad but he's still in there!"

"Wonderful," Seraphina growled, keeping them upright as another wave hit. "Now perhaps we could focus on surviving long enough to appreciate that fact?"

Thristle's hands moved to her case, fingers dancing over carefully labeled compartments with desperate precision. "Right. Yes. Good point." Her accent slipped toward something posh and academic as she fell into familiar patterns. "If the electrical discharge is causing ionic excitation in his semi-fluid matrix, then a properly basic solution might-"

"Less theory, more action!"

"Right! Sorry!" Thristle grabbed a vial marked with three different warning symbols, which was probably excessive even by her standards. "Hope you can swim, because this is going to get very wet and probably explosive."

Seraphina's sigh somehow managed to convey volumes about her experience with Thristle's "probably explosive" solutions. Through the chaos, they could hear Hawthorne shouting orders, his perfect voice cracking with frustration as his careful plans dissolved into slime and sparks.

"Increase the voltage! We must maintain-" Whatever he "must" do was lost as Thristle's bolt whizzed past the contraption, striking the water with a dull thump. For a moment, nothing happened except a small ripple.

"Ah," Thristle managed, watching the ripples spread. "That wasn't supposed to-"

The sea erupted. A massive geyser shot skyward, carrying a mixture of steam, seawater, and what appeared to be very angry alchemical reactions. The blast wave hit their small boat like a giant's fist, nearly capsizing them. Through the chaos, she caught glimpses of Hawthorne's men scrambling to keep their vessel upright as waves battered their jury-rigged containment device.

"I meant to do that," Thristle announced, trying to wring seawater from her hair with as much dignity as possible. "Totally intentional. All part of the plan."

The mechanism erupted in a shower of very angry sparks and what might have been important pieces of expensive machinery having serious regrets about their life choices. Thristle's triumph lasted exactly two seconds before she realized they were now floating in a pool of electrified seawater with a very angry slime. "Ah. Perhaps I should have thought this through a bit more."

Vesper's massive form thrashed against its containment, electricity crackling through his trapped body as he fought the device's effects. Even through the metal framework, they could see his surface churning with competing patterns - rage and recognition warring for control.

"Hey," she said softly, reaching with an empty hand despite Seraphina's sharp intake of breath. "Remember me? Remember all that honey I gave you? Remember how you used to poke me just to be annoying?"

The slime's violent ripples paused. Something shifted in its crackling mass - the skull tilting just slightly, like a curious predator studying potential prey. Or perhaps, Thristle hoped desperately, like a friend trying to remember through a haze of pain.

"Remember who you are," Thristle's voice stayed gentle, even as her hands shook. "Remember me, you silly pudding. Remember how you kept stealing my socks just to watch me hop around looking for them."

Vesper's surface colors shifted, angry reds finally giving way to more familiar blues. The electricity dispersed in a final shower of sparks as the slime seemed to remember itself. A tendril reached out - carefully, so carefully - and prodded Thristle's cheek in that particular way that always made her yelp.

"Oh thank the gods," she breathed, then spluttered as Vesper promptly dumped a wave of cold seawater over her head. "Oi! What was that for?"

"Remarkable," Hawthorne's voice carried across the water, still studying Vesper with that horrible scientific hunger. "The level of control, the emotional responses... Simply remarkable. And with proper study-"

"Funny thing about research." Thristle grinned, smashing a vial against the corner device. The containment field shrieked and collapsed as Vesper surged free, immediately flowing toward Hawthorne's vessel with a single-minded purpose. Its surface blazed with delighted colors as electricity danced between the absorbed metals in its mass. "Sometimes the specimen decides to do its own experiments."

"I don't suppose we could discuss this like reasonable-" Hawthorne's perfect smile finally cracked as Vesper's momentum increased. "Oh darn"

What followed was a symphony of dissolving boat parts and terrified screaming. Vesper seemed to take particular joy in herding Hawthorne's men toward the shallows, occasionally prodding them with slightly electrified tendrils when they didn't swim fast enough.

"Should we..." Thristle raised her crossbow, then lowered it, watching Hawthorne's men thrash through the water. "I mean, they'll try again, won't they? In water like this, one bolt could-"

"Let them go," Seraphina replied, watching another piece of expensive equipment dissolve. "After tonight's display, they'll have trouble finding anyone willing to attempt another capture." Her eyes tracked the fleeing figures. "And the living tell better stories than the dead. There are few enough of us left."

The slime's surface rippled with what was definitely smugness now as it systematically reduced Hawthorne's vessel to its component parts. It seemed particularly interested in the electrical devices, carefully absorbing certain pieces while deliberately dissolving others.

On the beach, the small group of Hawthorne's men who'd been waiting with supplies took one more look at their approaching companions before making what was probably the wisest decision of their careers. Their footprints in the sand led distinctly away from the shore at what could only be described as a 'tactical retreat at maximum velocity.'

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Wet sand squeaked under Thristle's boots as she stumbled onto shore, her legs wobbling from more than just the rough landing. Whatever Hawthorne had drugged them with still lingered, making the beach tilt like a ship on high seas - which, she had to admit, was rather impressive for dry land.

"Found it," Seraphina announced, her voice carrying that particular warmth she reserved for her rifle. She emerged from behind a rocky outcrop, water streaming from her "maid's" uniform as she checked the weapon with practiced hands. "Idiots left it with their supplies when they ran."

"Slopppy of them." Thristle tried for casual, but her teeth were chattering too hard to pull it off. The night air bit through her soaked clothes, making her wish she had Vesper's apparent immunity to cold. The slime was happily exploring the shoreline, its surface still occasionally sparking as it worked out the last of the electricity.

"They were in a little bit of a hurry." Seraphina's eyes narrowed as she scanned the beach. "Running from the very large, very angry specimen they failed to contain." Vesper rippled at that, managing to look simultaneously proud and sheepish. It had collected several interesting bits of metal from the ruined electrical device, which now floated alongside its other treasures like a particularly lethal constellation. Every so often, a spark would jump between pieces, making the slime's surface dance with delighted patterns.

"Right ttthen," Thristle managed through chattering teeth, trying to force her mind to focus past the bone-deep cold and lingering effects of whatever Hawthorne had drugged them with. "Should ppprobably... do something. About pppursuit. Or whatever."

"On an unknown island? At night?" Seraphina's tone carried a careful warning. "You need rest."

"M'fine," Thristle muttered, though she had to grab a nearby rock to stay upright.

Vesper's surface churned with concerned patterns, the bear skull tilting to study Thristle's shivering form. A tendril poked her cheek - gentler than usual, almost worried.

"Just need to... catch my bbbreath..." She tried very hard to look dignified, which is rather difficult when you're dripping wet and swaying like a drunk at closing time. The world tilted sideways. Strong arms caught her before she could face-plant into the sand. Again.

"Stubborn fool," Seraphina's voice came from somewhere above, carrying that mix of exasperation and fondness that always made Thristle's stomach do odd flips. Or maybe that was just the drugs. "You can barely stand."

"Can," Thristle argued, then immediately proved herself wrong by stumbling. "Just... choosing not to. Tactical reasons."

A cool sensation wrapped around her shoulders as Vesper joined their little group, its surface rippling with concerned patterns. The slime's familiar weight settled against her back, offering support in its unique way.

"Ganging up on me now?" Thristle grumbled but didn't pull away from either of them. "Fine. Bbbut just... just for a moment…"

The slime's precise control over its dissolving ability meant it could carefully strip the water from their clothes and skin without damaging either. When it released them a moment later, they were completely dry - if somewhat staticky from residual electricity.

"That's a new trick," Thristle commented, trying to smooth down her now wildly floating hair.

"The Wavechaser's stuck until high tide," Seraphina noted, helping her charge settle against a relatively dry rock. "And our pursuit will go better if you're not falling over every three steps."

"Tactical resting," Thristle agreed, her eyes already heavy. "Very strategic. Probably."

She dozed fitfully, caught between waves of lingering drugged heaviness. Fragments of dreams mixed with reality - Hawthorne's perfect smile turning sharp and hungry, Vesper trapped and hurting, Seraphina falling with blood on her temple...

Something warm settled over her shoulders. She blinked awake to find Seraphina's coat draped around her, still carrying traces of the maid's body heat.

"You'll freeze," Thristle protested weakly.

"I'm not the one who weighs as much as a wet kitten," Seraphina replied, though Thristle noticed she'd moved closer to Vesper's bulk, taking advantage of the slime's immunity to cold. "Besides, you're no use to anyone if you catch death."

"Not a kitten," Thristle muttered, pulling the coat tighter. It smelled like gunpowder and tea - exactly what a warrior pretending to be a maid should smell like, she thought muzzily.

Vesper's surface rippled with its laughing pattern. A tendril poked her cheek, probably to prove how kitten-like she was being.

"Menace," she told it fondly, then frowned as she noticed something. "You're still sparking a bit. You alright?"

The slime's colors shifted - not quite the angry reds from before, but not its usual cheerful blues either. More like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

"We'll make them pay," Thristle promised, her voice hardening despite exhaustion. "Right proper alchemist's revenge, yeah? With explosions and everything."

"Sleep," Seraphina ordered, though her voice carried an edge of steel. "You must rest first."

Thristle wanted to argue, but her body had other ideas. She drifted off to the sound of waves and Vesper's quiet rippling, dreaming of revenge served with perfect smiles and unstable compounds.

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