Thursday, May 1, 2014

Day Six-Eighty-Nine: The worst kind of protagonist

I chatted with a Non today.

Dragomir's not doing so well. The wound on the back of his head is beginning to fester the teensiest bit, and our onboard healer doesn't seem capable of mending the thing. He's still very much unconscious. Libby demands immediate progress; I've assured her that bargaining is underway; she tells me that I'll be the next one in a coma if I don't hurry up. Lovely lady.

I had a spot of bother getting the damned platypus to speak to me. He was deathly quiet during our visit to scenic Fareach the other day, and ever since then he's been dodging me with expert precision. I'm honestly surprised that he's so expertly evasive - s'almost as though he knows I want something.

Unfortunately for him, he's still a klutz. So when I finally did track the moron down in his cabin, he tripped over a wrench trying to escape. I was on him in an instant, dagger jabbed into his side.

"Hail, little blackie." I flicked his bill. He trembled. "Ye've evaded me long enough. We need to have a word. I trust we can do it proper, without resorting te bladeplay?"

Plato's eyes went wide. He nodded, and I allowed him to shimmy over to his bed. I remained firmly between the duck and the door, kicking the latter closed.

"Drop the facade." Back crunching, I seated myself on the floor. I tried not to let the pain show. "I wanna see what ye are. What ye really are."

Plato gaped, attempting to feign innocence of my meaning. It was a poor show.

I grinned. "I've been researchin'. Dragomir's diary told me a loooot about you, schoolboy. C'mon, reveal yer oily hide."

Plato hesitated a moment longer. Then, letting out a little breath, he turned a slimy, shiny black. Two green eyes peered out of the goop at me.

"So it's true. Ye even smell different now." I tapped the dagger against my teeth. "That fucking weasel. He let one of you bastards wander 'long with us all this time. I should hang ye from the sail 'n let the vultures peck out those lovely emeralds stuck in yer skull. Sound fun?"

Plato blatted a negative. His tail slapped the bed as he slid up against the wall.

"Or maybe I should take a more personal route." My legs popped a little too loudly as I stood, a wicked idea forming. "Maybe I should use m'blade te do the deed. Could sell your bits at a market after I cut ye up. Surely Non guts are worth a fortune for rarity alone. I could convince some floppy millionaire that yer ground-up penis makes a wonderful aphrodisiac."

More quacks. Plato covered his head, curling into a ball. I'd expected him to call for help; it was disappointing not to have an excuse to clamp his bill shut.

Slinking in close, I purred in what I thought was his ear. "Or I could lock ye up and torture ye. Find a nook of this dump where no one would e'er find ye. And then I'd cut - "

I jabbed my dagger into Plato's bed. He flinched away.

" - and cut - "

Another jab, right beside Plato's head. I could smell his tears.

" - and cut. Sound fun?"

I dragged the dagger around Plato's body, tracing a thin line in the bed. He shook so hard that I nearly sliced his skin a few times.

"But today's your lucky day." I pulled the dagger from the bed, flicking bits of fabric off of the edge. "I need ye for something else. It'll earn ye your life back. I won't even rat on ye if you agree to help me out. 'n as far as I've read, you're quite qualified for something of this calibre."

Plato said nothing, but when I mentioned 'earning his life back' he peered at me through his arms with one glowing eye.

"I seem to recall ye performed a bit of surgery a while back." I smiled so widely that my cheeks hurt. "Think ye can cut out a ghost?"

Gods bless Goblinoster,

Grylock the Twisted

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