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Chapter 192: Fight or Flight
🕑 Added 2025-01-27 14:24:59 +0000 UTCFirst Day 12:18, Carriage Three, Diner
The diner was made up of a row of larger four-person tables on the train’s left side, and smaller two-person tables on the other, with small benches perched tightly between them to leave room to sit. The front-facing half of the diner was occupied by long tables holding a buffet of food, as well as the teleporter mirror right at the end.
About a dozen more people had found their way to the diner at that time. Theora may have gotten distracted listening to Omi and Treeka talk about knitting for a few minutes, causing her to be slightly late. Dema, Bell and Rita were sitting on a central four-seat table, with Rita’s cloud hanging darkly over them. The ticket inspector Raquina who had welcomed them on the train sat together with the bartender Ulber and an older man. Then there was... a young woman who looked like an orca who sat at a table together with a lifesized animated puppet. Theora didn’t have the chance to take in much more before Dema was already waving her over.
And so they sat down amidst the gentle noise of people talking and laughing. Rita seemed tired, tapping her fingers against her cane while leaning more against the window than the bench backrest. Theora was about to offer help when a shiver ran down her spine. An incredible presence had suddenly appeared from far, far ahead. Way ahead of the train, like a massive iceberg they were on collision course with.
The door to the diner slid open.
A number of crows entered the room first. They flapped around, finding perches and nipping at the banquet.
Then, a figure entered.
A wide, indigo cloak billowed ever so slowly like curtains in a soft breeze. Dozens of crows circled the arrival, somehow getting smaller in size the closer they got to the figure herself.
She was tall, humanoid, her skin coated in minuscule blue feathers. Her movements appeared slow — like she was submerged in thick liquid. Her feet arrived at the ground slower than gravity would have pulled them, as if she consciously held back. As she approached, the far presence Theora felt rapidly advanced as well. But the woman’s expression and demeanour didn’t align with the impression she gave off; she was poised but easygoing, laid-back, graceful. Nothing about her had the appearance of restraint — so why was she so slow?
“That right there,” Rita said in a low, subdued whisper, “is Fentanyle. She is by far the strongest entity on the train.”
“Wait, really?” Dema asked in disbelief, accidentally knocking over a glass of water on the table. Fentanyle sluggishly turned her gaze to her. A thunderclap resounded through the carriage.
Theora blinked at the sudden, ear-rending noise, and everyone fell silent.
“She moved too fast,” Rita whispered, as though in explanation.
Moved to fast? Theora frowned, trying to parse these words. Did Rita mean Fentanyle had pierced the sound barrier? With that slow turning of her head? Theora couldn’t help the urge she had — an urge awakened by meeting Gonell, and then reinvigorated by young Bell.
“I want to spar with her,” Theora accidentally let slip.
It took for a moment for everyone to regain their composure. Theora heard an old man grumble something about being more careful on the train. Other murmurs followed and the noise levels quickly flowed back to normal. Dema proceeded to beg Theora to go fetch food for her; it was adorable. Dema didn’t have to beg Theora for anything and kept doing it anyway. Meanwhile, Bell agreed to also fetch food for Rita, and so she accompanied Theora to the front of the carriage.
It took a moment for Theora to figure out what kind of plate Dema might like. She settled for a combination of strawberries and some soy-based lasagna; not something she’d eat herself, but Dema would complain about the dish being ‘boring’ if it was anything less than that. Theora also found a chili pepper on the banquet that looked deceptively strawberry-like, so she hid that one in the heap as an impostor for extra spice.
Upon their return, Theora found a crow sitting on her seat. She gently looked at it until it flew away. Dema had roped Rita into some kind of discussion Theora didn’t find the leisure to try and untangle. Instead, she let her gaze wander around the diner as she picked away at her own food — a simple plate of sandwiches, because she wanted to see how the bread here differed from the one she liked to make herself.
It was through this absentminded activity that Theora coincidentally found herself staring at Fentanyle, who was trying to get to the grapes in the banquet, but… an orca was in her way.
Well, not really an orca, it was an orca in the same way that Bell was a jellyfish or that Omi was a moth — still mostly humanoid looking, but with an assortment of uncommon traits. The young woman had a mix of black and white skin, even more pronounced than Dema’s, the contrast making it a bit difficult to parse her face between her confident and toothy smile and white rings around her eyes. Her arms gradually turned from a bright white at her shoulders to a tar black at her fingers — she had them folded in front of her chest while her thick tail wagged beneath the buffet table behind her. The girl was wearing nothing but a sports bra and athletic shorts.
She and Fentanyle stared each other down, and now that Theora had seen the interaction, she no longer felt like looking away. When the orca girl started speaking, Theora focused on her voice among the noise of the diner.
“What?” the orca girl asked, standoffish.
“Log,” Fentanyle said in the distant voice of a thousand caws. “You’re in the way.”
Log? Wasn’t that one of Omi’s girlfriends?
Log raised her eyebrows. “Am I? I didn’t notice. What can I get for you?” Her voice sounded sarcastic.
“What you can get for me,” Fentanyle’s choir of crows sung, “is out of the way.”
Raquina was about to breeze past them, but upon seeing them interact, took as much of a berth as the narrow dining carriage allowed. By now, the interaction between those two had caught the attention of more passengers; Rita, among others, was attentively watching as well.
Log gave a playful shrug. “I wanted to talk to you for a little, though. Since I never get the chance. You’re almost always in the Lavish.”
Fentanyle calmly waved the palm of her hand to gesture for Log to continue. “Say your piece and leave,” she offered. The crows in the room were moving around a little less now — alert, but not agitated.
Then, Log leaned forward, close to Fentanyle’s ear, and whispered. The voice was too low for Theora to hear outright, and she didn’t want to overhear things that weren’t her business. She decided to make no attempt to decipher it — which she came close to regretting just a moment later, when every single crow in the diner stilled.
Seeing the crows motionless drew attention. Chatter died down, and people looked up to witness the altercation.
“What?” Log asked tauntingly, after leaning back from Fentanyle’s ear, voice low but no longer whispering. “Was that not enough? I can go on. Oh, but I might not, actually. Some secrets need to be worked for.”
A dangerous amount of anger was flaring up in Fentanyle. Her presence was about to lash out, still barely restrained by her mind. Then Theora found Fentanyle’s gaze, giving her an empty look. A fight here wouldn’t be ideal, would it? A few crows fluttered, their flaps dying down after a second or two. Fentanyle broke eye contact, the anger ebbed off.
Log narrowed her eyes, and had them dart over to Theora’s table for a quick moment. Then she made a fist, looking back at Fentanyle. “Mark my words, owl,” Log said. “She’ll be ours soon.”
“We’ve been over this, ungrateful fish. I’m made of crows.”
“Orca’s aren’t fucking fish!”
“WHAT THE HELL!” Dema suddenly shouted out, gasping. She took in some deep breaths, sweat beading on her forehead. Eventually she managed to catch herself, finding all eyes in the room on her. She took another breath. “That strawberry is super spicy, gosh! Where did you find it, Bun Bun? It’s amazing!”
“It’s a chili pepper,” Theora whispered proudly.
Demma giggled, and then looked back to Log and Fen. “Sorry! Sorry! Don’t mind me, you can continue if you wanna. Were you two gonna fight or something?”
But the dangerous atmosphere had vanished. “Just leave her alone,” Fentanyle told Log coldly and left the diner.
“Damn… that didn’t work,” Log muttered under her breath and turned to leave through the other side.
“And here I thought Bell was gonna have to pull out the big shields,” Dema said, scratching the side of her head. “That woman seemed furious.”
“I don’t think I could have done much there,” Bell admitted. Her tendrils were tense and taught in their braid, she looked like she was missing some colour from her face. Then she glanced over at Theora. “Thank you. I know I shouldn’t be panicking like this with you around, it’s just… I don’t have [Appraise] and…”
“Maybe we can steal a peek at her sheet!” Dema suggested with a hint of mischief. “That’s just like an appraisal, right?”
“Oh, you’re right,” Bell murmured a bit in thought and it actually caused her tentacles to loosen slightly. “We probably shouldn’t, but I forgot those existed. Maybe we can figure that out if things like this keep happening…”
“Not gonna, I think,” Dema said. “Keep happening, I mean. Omi said Fen’s her caretaker right? And that they’ve been on the train for a while. So I assume Fen knows how to handle herself without blowing everything up all the time.”
“That’s a good point.” Bell took a deep breath. “Alright. Fine. I just worry because…”
“Because you’ll blame yourself if something happens,” Theora murmured. “Don’t. You’re still a child and both Dema and I will be there, always.”
Bell let out a bit of a sigh of relief, and nodded.
The rest of the day went by both slowly and cosily; they retired into their rooms to unpack and relax. Treeka decided to take turns between rooms to rest in, her choice falling on Dema’s and Theora’s room for the first night, so Bell would be alone in hers right next to it.
After unpacking, Dema joined Theora on the bed to cuddle, and they put Treeka right next to them so Dema could wrap an arm around her pot as well.
Hours later, a good measure away from the diner and other distractions on the train, under the starlight falling in from the window, Theora lay in bed with Dema, gazing up into the sky, waiting for sleep to find her. Their room was now all set, her companions dozing around her.
Things were different now. Treeka was safe. Dema was safe. Bell was safe. Everyone was safe. Theora was doing well enough now to make sure of that. There were no cracks. Even an hour later, almost asleep, the fog of drowsiness surrounding her, that thought still comforted her like another blanket.
She could keep everyone safe.
