Song of the Seagulls

The Outsider part two

Dinner Interrupted

To my readers,

I'm back, had some plot ideas, if I hit writer's block again I'll be back to working on Feather Fall… I don't know if I'll actually complete this, but I'll try.

Kasan Soulblade

He thought he was being sneaky. A quick roll in the soot had turned his green hide into a black streaked green mess, and a quick look at himself told the obvious. He was hid so wonderfully! So, well hid, he slipped across the center of the room on his belly, little cloven feet scooting him forward, belly flat (ish) against the floor, long ears dragging. His hooves chinked, scratched and scared the stones about him. Not only that, his ears rustled as they scraped over grey stone, deafening him with their every motion.

And he bag slung over his shoulder blended in beautifully. It was a bright fuchsia thing that had been something else, he wasn't sure what, but it had been something else belonging to a so-and-so during a raid. Raid done, it had been taken, turned into something else, than changed again. In truth he held only the rags, stitched together with a loving hand posing no skill. His "bag" was soft, a bit sullied, but his, so he cherished the hand me down of the highest order and made it precious by association.

Loot, his loot, never mind he'd been too young to be on that raid, he could say he'd been there because he had loot to prove it.

He smiled, flashing broken fangs in a wide smile.

Though holey, and dirty, it was almost musical, his baggie. The way it thumped and thudded and squelched was almost pretty.

The green pig person was blissfully aware that not only was it loud, but it gave him away because it oozed. From the pores and seams and… really the whole of it, left a wide sodden drag mark wherever it went. And since WormEatter and his loot were hardly separate each place he went was marked in wet grey stripes.

But he was being sneaky, clever, not even Master could be this clever!

So he carried on, oblivious to how the girls in the cell stared at his coming, eyes wide, cringing with fear.

Never noticing that one wasn't cringing in fear, until their eyes met, and she smiled.

He could have gotten mad, might of. He was hiding and all, he shouldn't be seen, hiding people weren't seen unless they got caught and all… But her eyes were like the stuff between stars, and he smiled, liking that familiar darkness.

"Oy." She whispered it, and he had to wonder why.

He smiled wider, and the other things in the cage cringed back. Forgetting he was hiding WormEatter popped to his feet, waved at that soft salutation.

"Hi she!"

Then he remembered, snapped stubby hands over his snout, and cringed. But the big blue pigs, all stuck in the corners where they'd be nice and dry when the waters came, just kept snoring.

And, unlike boring, clinking Wolfoses, she didn't yell at him for bein'; loud, she smiled and scooted as close as the bars would allow her.

Not liking those bars, the small pea green pig flashed his fangs in a broken smile, paws loosed his snout as he pawed through his bag, and pulled out the first, shiny thing that caught his eye. Though a bit tarnished, and worn, it gleamed in the torchlight, and he held it over his head, waved it too and fro,

She giggled, the she he liked.

The others, those he didn't know, cringed back.

Ignoring them, ignoring big bad pigs, and whoops and lights from outside that were supposed to mean something important (what he couldn't recall) he padded up to the she's cage, key in hand, and got to opening.

XXX

"He's a screamer." Gonzo noted, watching the green top, barrel encased speck go over the wall.

Niko was whining for the spy glass, and for once Zuko was sharing, for a small fee at least.

"A Blue's all I got!" The small pirate groveled. "Pleeeease!"

"Fine." Ever laconic, Zuko took the payment and passed up the telescope at a reasonable discount.

Reasonable that was until you realized the rest of the crew had to pay a red rupee to use the 'scope during the Islandser's flight.

Tetra, who had her own out and watching, ignored the play between her crew and simply enjoyed the show… The boy was over the first wall and sailing merrily along (minus the screaming of course).

Insanely he was still screaming even as he flew, even when they warned him that they'd be cutting the rope, even when they'd been getting the catapult in position.

She wasn't even sure he'd heard her assurance that she'd done this before, lots of times.

She hadn't. Not really. But she'd tried a lie on for size anyway; anything to stop the boy's hysterical whimpering.

Nothing had worked, he had to be stuffed feet first into the barrel. Squealing and fighting, he'd nearly upset the barrel in his wild thrashing, so they hadn't been able to take a good bearing before the shot. She'd just cut the rope and cut herself free from obligation all at once.

Now she kicked back and enjoyed the reward.

Tetra was sorta sure he'd make it over the wall when she'd done the honors. And now there he went, proving her right, she smiled wide, giggled. It was nice to know she was right all the time. Because, right as rain, there he went, over the wall, over the giant bird's head, -the bird ducked, letting out a gap beaked scream of its own, her crew "oh"ed at that- and smashed head first into the stone wall underneath the giant ship near Forsaken's peak.

Opps.

Well, she'd just have to adjust the point of aim next time.

Still, she had to wonder, as the bird gapped at its unexpected visitor, as it's visitor was peeled off the wall by gravities steady hand, it the boy had stopped screaming somewhere along the way. She wondered if Link had realized that he might want to, you know, breathe at some point.

When the monster bird clapped its wing over its head, feathers all a rustle in a show of purely avian displeasure, Tetra had to give Link his dues.

For an Islander brat, he had a pair of good strong lungs.

Still this was funny in its own way.

This would be hero, chaser after birds, and serene sitter through tsunamis and waterspouts was scared of heights. She'd resented ever moment he'd sit in the mess hall, humming and hawing as the ship had rocked wildly under the… things… storm, looking up only once to ask "are we there yet?" All the while her crew, pirates almost since birth, had been reeling around like landlubbers, sea sick, and miserable.

As for her, she'd never gotten sea sick, dinner had just… disagreed with her that day, that's all.

All in all, obligation was met, duty done, they were free people again. Time to set sail. She snapped the order to Gonzo, her second mate, her people scrambled to obey, but there was no bite to her order. Only a restless longing. Above the sails shivered, the wind went on its merry way. Away. Turning their ship from the horror story that was Forsaken, Tetra hoped the kid would think to close his mouth before he landed in the water. But what was done was done, and it was time to move on.

The winds had changed, it was time to go. To begin that unexplainable chase that had driven her her whole life. The one she'd started as a little girl, that jealous rush. The one she continued now. Nothing would outrace her, not wind or wings, her ship was the fastest in the seas...

And she'd prove it, time and time again.

"Let's go!" Tetra cheered, her crew cheered with her, full sail, turn to starboard…

The wind would be their guild.

XXX

He'd nearly choked to death. An inglorious death befitting this inglorious world. Still, Din needed him for something for he'd managed not to die in shock. He'd fallen far, over these long years, adopting Hylian niceties about diet and eating utensils and other foolery. But, truth be told, he'd grown weary of raw, half scorched meat, eating with his hands, and the like. So, on a lark, coinciding with him finding an ancient Hylian table manners book during a raid some decades back, he'd strived to learn simple things. Like eating soup with spoons, fumbling about with forks. He'd never really mastered forks, used one fork for everything, but there'd been no one to care, so he hadn't cared either. It had been an amusing diversion to while the time for a little.

Until it grew stale, and boring.

But, though boring, he'd never quite dropped the practices. Most of them, yes, but he'd grown fond of forks and the like so he'd kept that part of his etiquette up.

Ironic that that's what had nearly done him in.

The fork he used for everything clattering to the ground, he hacked up the remains of his repast, dislodging the spoon he'd half eaten as well. It wasn't much of a loss, a rather watery chicken soup that was supposed to be a cream. While the meal had tasted a mite like betrayal, he'd ignoring that fact, musing over what went wrong with this batch. Thus had the Dark Lord, and King of Evil been occupied with the matter of... not his past… but his repast.

He hadn't gotten the instructions right, again. And after centuries of trying was half a mind to burn the bloody cook book and be done with it.

It was in the middle of those thoughts, he'd heard it. It sounded like divine wraith, like Farore's fury… save high pitched, pre-puberty, and fury didn't quite sound that feminine. He'd of shrugged it off, save that whatever it was was drawing near, and he was half in a final indulgence nip before he got up to investigate when the crash had caused him to start.

With the spoon half in his mouth.

He found out the hard way that asphyxiation was a hard death, nearly choked to death over his own foolery and after recovering staggered to the nearest window. He had walls, phantom walls made of magic that would burn away at the coming of dawn, and the window and route to it was also equally artificial. Still, after many hours hard work, and a busy day the day before so he'd wasted a little Power, and had intended to enjoy his food before getting back to work.

At the window, staggering a little, trying to catch his breath, he fussed with shutters and glass covered openings. The charred and warped locks gave way and he looked out -he adamantly refused to call them portholes, he was not a pirate, despite what this world called thieves, Din damn him if he ever started to talk like one- and looked down.

Just in time to see a speck of green surrounded by a mess of shattered wood be swallowed up by gloom.

A few moments later and there was a splash.

In truth, gravity probably solved the problem. What was done was done, the brat would drown and the sharks would have a bite and the Moblin's would complain.

But something nagged at him. That glimpse of green, the inkling of shape that might have been a boy. He swore. Tossed the spoon to the floor, the stupid thing that had nearly killed him, passed through floorboards that weren't and clinked and clattered against Forsaken's rocky base below.

There was no splash, no doubt it was broken beyond repair, he wouldn't wonder at the stupid utensil's fate.

The boy though, with that unlucky colored shirt (or all too lucky, it depended on one's view of things) however had offered no such assurances with his departure.

Thus, swearing and cursing all three the Goddesses he ripped open the door of his rooms, stepped out into the walk way, and started his descent under the light of the swollen, blind eye of Nayru, gnashin his teeth all the while. Teeth that were fast melting into that all too familiar beak. His skin itched, and he indulged in a scratch while he could and heard a familiar rustle of feathers and down being shuffled. Then, his arms stiffened and he had to endure the itch without recourse. His arms ached as the strength left him, melted into that damned, damning lightness that made flight possible. He continued to swear as Nayru's curse enfolded him, stealing everything that made him him and shunting his soul in a miserable, bird shaped, vessel.

Suffice to say, he wasn't pleased to have to take wing this late at night, but there was a small comfort in all this

If he found the boy, he'd kill him.

Limitations of this form aside he'd think of a way.

A nasty way.

So taking cheer at that little promise he leapt into the skies of his Forsaken, his own plumage a match for the black, lightless skies.