A/N: Wow, the engagement upon the first chapter was… unexpected! I mismanaged my layout, so this story will have 16 chapters and not 15 (the next chapter might be short). Just in case, be warned that I'm taking HUGE liberties regarding the character's ages. Also, end of the semester is coming so I'll need time to prepare for the exams and slow down the writing for a while. You can follow me on twitter ( BobLeRigoleur_ ) where I'll keep you people up to date.
Chapter 2: Like Superdog
"Dear passengers of the Concordia, I… Oh wait, is it on?"
Panther glanced at the white monkey scrambling with the radio, before bringing his gaze back on the hostages. They used to swagger amongst common folks with their pristine uniforms and fancy hats, as if their duty as cruise spaceship operators raised them to the rank of demigods. Now, they kept their knees and their eyes on the silk carpet, as submissive as a law firm's unpaid interns. Panther stared, his face stern, his paw on his blaster, urging them to forego all attempts to play hero. Overhead crystal chandeliers shed their warm light in the spacious cockpit, whilst the black cat's colleague tried to communicate with the civilians.
"Okay, I think it should work." The primate brought the radio back to his mouth. "Dear passengers of the Concordia, I wish you a merry Thursday! Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Andrew, and I am your new captain. My hobbies include skiing, watching films in slow-mo to spot continuity errors, and hijacking civilian cruise spaceships. As for my talents, I can juggle, whistle Corneria's anthem with my left nostril, and I excel at hijacking civilian cruise spaceships!"
A lenient nostalgia twinged the feline as he observed the primate grinning and gesticulating, full of vim and vigour. He missed the excitement. Andrew reminded him of himself, back when he too used to appreciate those kinds of jobs. Easy, lucrative, and fun when properly executed—anything a pirate can dream of.
"Your cruising has been temporarily interrupted," the monkey went on. "We're currently trying to reach the company to solve the issue. I have no doubt the continuation of your trip is of great importance to them, so an arrangement should be possible. In the meantime, please remain calm and follow the safety directives!"
He slid the radio aside, then bent his elbow and stretched his fingers, in accordance with his strange habit of punctuating sentences with gestures understood by him only. "Have you seen this, Panther? Hey, Panther!"
The black cat raised his head. "Hmm?"
"Have you seen this? Have you seen the size of that ship? Look!" He waved his hands around, marvelled at their catch's dimensions and luxury—every stair, light, wall, doorknob oozed opulence to the point of obnoxiousness. The passion burning in the primate's heart wasn't foreign to Panther, but it had left his long ago.
Andrew continued, "And the best part: even if they manage to contact Corneria, since we're in the boonies, it'd take those cunts days before getting their asses over here! Don't you love how everything just…" His voice trailed off as he spread his fingers and intertwined them by bringing his hands together. Panther could ask for those gestures' exact meaning, but the monkey would only reiterate them as if they were self-evident.
"Yeah, cool," he replied, his tone unsettlingly flat. Another issue occupied Panther's mind. It'd been two weeks since they left Sargasso, two weeks away from…
Relax, Panther. Krystal's taking care of him. No reason to get in a lather, he told himself. Yet worries continuously poked back, as relentless as mosquitoes during a Fortunan summer. Was he fed enough? Had he stolen something again? Had he stopped climbing on the ceiling? Did he elude Pigma and Leon? Did he avoid the lower decks? Had he...
A pat on his shoulder brought him back to the real world. Andrew had left his mirth at the other end of the cockpit and looked at him in concern. "What's the problem, mate?"
"Problem with what?"
"You! You keep quiet, barely talk, leave me all the sport…" He paced in front of the hostages, drawing rough circles with his hands—which could signify anything. "Gallivanting in space with you used to be so much fun! Before…"
He killed the sentence upon the feline's penetrating glare. Right. The forbidden can of worms.
Panther noticed an old racoon trembling behind Andrew, waiting for his turn to speak like a schoolboy in need of his parents' signature. His tight and over-awarded uniform, a relic of his bygone years of glory, struggled to contain the beer belly the gods offered him in exchange for his youthful vitality. Panther motioned at him, whereupon Andrew spun and his eyes reclaimed their sheen.
"Ex-captain! I hope you're back with some good news!" His fingers wiggled in the air.
"Y-Yes mister Oik… Oik—"
"Please, ex-captain, we're friends, aren't we? Just call me Andrew! C'mere, hug time!"
The racoon's ears flattened and his mouth narrowly stifled a shout when the primate looped an arm around his shoulders, and pressed their bodies while patting his back as though they fought on Macbeth together. His panicked gaze fell on Panther and begged for assistance, to which the feline remained stone-faced.
Andrew broke the hug. "So, the news?"
"W-Well first I… I b-brought… This…" With a shaking paw, he raised a traditional captain hat.
The white monkey grew a wide beam. "You haven't forgotten! How thoughtful of you!" He snatched the white headwear, lavishly adorned with silver patterns, and clamped it above his ears. "Panther, your thoughts?"
"Magnificent."
"Daaaamn right!" His wrists collided twice. The hat clenched on his head, he faced back the captain. "And?"
The racoon handed him a comm-device. "The ch-chairman… He's… He's on the l-line…"
"Man, my girl must be cheating on me, there's no way I'm that lucky!" He seized the device and the sweating racoon's shoulder, and steered him towards the other hostages. "Now go back with your classmates, and if you behave, uncle Panther's gonna give everyone a treat!"
The old racoon headed to the rest of his crew, shame tarnishing his already lacklustre eyes. The crew he should command. Authority, hierarchy, rules… Those principles were nothing but words, for all were equally worthless before the felons. Yet, the captain eyed towards Andrew's blaster, resting unguarded on a table a stone throw away. If he hurried, he could…
His breathing halted and his eyes widened. He could claim it. Turn the tables. Capture the hijackers! Save the day! Come back as a hero! Get a promotion! Make the news! Appear on television! Become famous!
A hiss.
The captain looked at Panther. Panther shook his head. The captain knelt.
"Good morning mister I-will-forget-your-name-by-the-end-of-this-conversation," the monkey said in the comm-device. "Before we discuss, I wanna say: despite the fact we just met, I know for certain we're gonna be the best buddies in Lylat! Now, about the ransom, we thought…"
The feline waved a paw to draw his attention. Andrew's hand covered the device. "Yes, Panther?"
"You can manage on your own? Errands to run."
The monkey frowned. "Errands?… Oh, got it. Yeah, just go. I'm sure the kids will behave."
Panther nodded, picked up his backpack, and made his way towards the passenger's deck, putting the agitation and haggling behind him. As his paw slid down the golden bannister and his feet bounced on the voluptuous crimson rug, not bothering to salute the anonymous grunts on his way, a myriad of memories fluttered within him. Memories of a reckless Panther who would have led the assault. Of a braggart Panther who would flaunt before all pairs of eyes. Of a rapacious Panther who would drive a hard bargain with the company.
Of a childish Panther who vanished years ago, along with a certain fox.
A grip on his sleeve stopped him in his tracks. He turned to face a timber wolf, heavily armed, and whose bags under the eyes betrayed the intense fatigue.
"Panther, we're not supposed to interact with the passengers." His tiredness rubbed off on his tone of voice.
"I'll be quick, it's a matter of minutes."
The wolf's clasp went more firm. "Doesn't change a thing. Leon specifically—"
"Sabre, please! It's not for me!"
Upon Panther's insistent eyes, Sabre sighed in resignation, looked away, and pondered. He released the sleeve and set himself in motion, the black cat on his heels. Sabre's unusual gait led Panther to infer the wolf engaged in a sneaky behaviour (at least tried to), and he couldn't refrain a smile, for despite his lack of effort, he was quieter than Sabre, by margin. A handy privilege of his as a feline.
When they arrived at a closed door, the wolf whispered, "Right now, they're calm. Make sure it stays so, and don't you dare to whip out your blaster," before flicking a switch.
Faint traces of sugary drinks and crisps caressed Panther's nose upon the door leaves' partition, making his whiskers quiver. He stepped inside and a cold exhaust waved through his fur. A handful of adventurous peeps met him, only to retract themselves in terror, as his gaze swept through the hundreds of passengers, ensuring his status and his grasp over them. A simple task: to stay still. And they happily complied. Beside the deodorant and the cheap food, another odour hung in the air. Heady. Addictive. Empowering.
Fear.
Panther grew a devious smile. Perhaps he hadn't completely let go of the job's fun, after all.
Most passengers raised no eyes or ears, out of fear of crossing a line Panther could draw and move as he pleased. They haven't seen him nor heard his steps, but they heard the door sliding. It was enough. They knew. They felt his presence, as threatening as a knife under the chin. Not a protest, not a throat's clearing, not a cough, not even a sniff stood out from the quiet backdrop.
Only a deafening silence.
Any politician can make a crowd cheer with vacuous words. Any comedian can make a crowd laugh with butt jokes. Any musician can make a crowd jolt in ecstasy by repeating the same four chords. But to compel hundreds of souls into absolute silence requires talent. Temper. Experience.
Panther moved between the ranks of seats, his light pads leaving the ambient quietness undisturbed. His sharp eyes snuffed out all residuals of pride and self-worth amongst the captives as the boldest of them shuddered at the ominous veil the pirate carried along with his backpack. Should he say 'jump', they would ask how high.
His look combed the civilians, searching for families. For children, especially. Five ranks on his left. A pair of huskies, with their two daughters. Aged between fourteen and sixteen. Too old. Ahead, an old tiger with a young boy. Probably his grandson. Aged somewhere around eleven. Still too old.
Eventually, he caught sight of a suitable target. A young raven boy sheltered in his father's wing. Aged around seven. Middle class. A tad old, but that'd do.
Panther kept his eyes riveted on the birds as he shrank the distance. Upon his approach, the father drew from an unknown source of courage and reciprocated a surprisingly daring glare, in spite of his trembling beak exposing his dread. The bravery of a father wasn't to be underestimated. Panther could speak from experience.
The raven retrieved his wallet from his pocket. "Just take this, you—"
A single swing of the feline's paw catapulted the wallet in the air before its landing a few metres away. The father was about to protest when Panther's piercing eyes shoved his unspoken words back into his throat, leaving him quivering and speechless.
Panther pointed at a bag resting between the boy's legs. "What's in it?"
The father replied, "It's just his—"
"I'm not talking to you."
The pirate redirected his attention to the child. He knelt down so he and the young raven were on the same level, and spoke with a soft tone clashing with his current role. "Kid, what's in your bag?"
"M… M-my… toothbrush… a hoodie…" The boy's voice trembled. Despite Panther's attempt to appear amiable, his gaze remained low. "And… comic books."
"Are they good?"
He raised a puzzled frown. "W… What?"
"The comic books. Are they good?"
The raven's eyes sought for his father's help to decode this unforeseen query. Unsatisfied by the mere shrug he got as sole response, he replied, "I… I haven't finished but… Yeah, I think."
Panther took his own backpack, zipped it open, and extended a demanding paw. More confused than scared, the boy remained still, before his father seized the bag and yielded the demanded items with no fuss.
The feline pointed to a small device on the table. "And what's this?"
"It's Silent Dark Crisis Eve of Evil… It's… a video game."
"Is it good?"
None of them paid attention to the bewildered gawks encircling them and sharing the raven's perplexity.
"I guess," the boy replied without stuttering.
Panther grabbed the portable console, which joined the comic books at the bottom of the feline's backpack, stood up and tipped an invisible hat. "Bon voyage, gentlemen. Thank you for travelling with us," he said before carrying on his harvesting.
A few ranks ahead, a young toad girl, about the same age, had already locked her stare on him. No sooner had he made one step, she reached in her luggage for a thick book and waited, presenting the novel above her head.
Panther chuckled and snatched the offering. "Smart girl."
Away from the incessant hubbub, integral part of Sargasso's identity, in an ordinary storage room devoid of interest, a young vulpine sat, facing a generous opening to the wonders of the cosmos. This place full of boxes, whose content he knew not nor cared about, was his favourite spot on Sargasso, for the darkness made the stars easy to see. The icy floor wasn't comfortable, but at least Fox was alone, relishing the lull offered by the sky and the constellations. Panther had tried to teach him their names, but none of them stuck. For instance, the Dragon looked far more like a spoon, hence Fox had renamed it the Little Spoon, before remembering he'd already given this name to the Sea Serpent and thus opting for the Big Spoon instead.
At this time of the year, the Sock and the Frying Pan (officially the Ancestral Oak and the Hunter) were visible. Between them, a tiny blue dot, whose nature Fox was no stranger to, for it sometimes walked around to visit other constellations. A planet. A planet Fox stumbled on a lot in Panther's books.
Corneria.
Fox blew on the window and observed Corneria reappear through the dissipating fogging. He wondered about the inhabitants. The Cornerians. How did they live? How could they rely on the sun for their light, and not see the benefit of artificial lamps, like on Sargasso? How did they cope with the necessity to wait for their planet to rotate before they can enjoy some light? On Sargasso, the difference between illumination and darkness always lay a flick of a switch away.
Yet the longing to tread this alien ground seethed within him, if only for all those feelings and experiences foreign to Fox, although so familiar for the children living in Panther's books. Like wind. Sometimes, the air moved, and Cornerians called it wind. He'd tried to replicate the phenomenon by sprinting, in vain, for the wind runs faster than kits. Often, he daydreamed about those bags with wires other kids would throw into the wind. Kites. It sounded super fun. At least, the kids in Panther's books seemed to love it. Fox put a paw against the glass. He wanted to play with kites. He wanted to feel the wind.
Or those bizarre pillar-shaped structures spontaneously arising from the ground called trees. When Panther used to describe these, Fox thought he talked about actual pillars, akin to those Sargasso teemed with. No, trees were different. They were mysterious, unpredictable. Sometimes brittle, sometimes unshakeable. Sometimes smaller than a shoe, sometimes so high they seemed to carry the sky—whatever this sky was.
Fox's claws screeched against the cold metallic floor. Trees refused to grow on Sargasso. He'd tried. In the workshop, he'd made a few holes with a drilling machine and filled them with sunflower seeds (what was the name of the tree giving sunflower seeds? He should ask Panther about that). Despite the lack of result, he'd persevered and tried different combinations. One seed. Multiple seeds. With water. Without. And so on.
Until Pigma caught him.
Fox rubbed his jaw. Panther said it would heal, but it still hurt when he chewed or yawned.
Another question tormented him. So far he spared Panther the confrontation, lest the answer would turn out unpleasant, but the bottled up pressure was now too high to postpone it for the umpteenth time. Every other children—in the books at least—seemed to have two adults accompanying them, usually of the same species, sharing a bond often referred as love. Parents. Family. Where was Fox's? Was it on Corneria? Or elsewhere?
He clenched his paw. This time, he would know. This time, he would ask Panther.
Footsteps' echoes interrupted the stargazing. Both the vulpine and his hairs stood. Without Panther, invisibility was the mother of safety—especially with Pigma and Leon around. As was his wont, he immediately searched and identified all potential hideouts at his disposal, before jumping behind a wooden crate and slowing his breath.
"Fox?" a woman's voice called.
Did he hear correctly? Better safe than sorry. He lay still, let the call unanswered, and stretched his ears.
The voice repeated, "Fox? Are you there?"
He recognised her. Krystal! In no time flat, he sprang from the crates, his tail as nimble as his feet. The blue vixen barely had the time to spot the rushing furball bumping into her leg and capturing her with his arms.
She knelt down and scratched the orange fur atop the head, her fingers delving into the lighter coloured mohawk starting just above the eyebrows' level and coursing through his head up to his scruff. A gesture only she and Panther could perform without eliciting a not-so-menacing growl from the young vulpine. "Here's the cheeky rascal at!"
To Fox, Krystal was, to put it simply, cool (but not as cool as Panther, because he was the coolest. Of course). Aside from belonging to the same species, Krystal was the only one to enjoy the young vulpine's company during Panther's absences. Her thousands of stories about all the jobs she allegedly did and planets she allegedly visited held a special place in Fox's heart, regardless of their veracity.
Moreover, Fox found her blue fur funny, although he ignored the cause behind such a colour. Every time he asked, she offered a different explanation, just like when asked where she came from. So far, nobody knew, not even Leon.
Finally, Panther seemed to like her too, although in a strange way Fox couldn't put his finger on.
"What are you doing up here alone?" She kept her radiant smile and friendly mood. Fox loved that about her. She never appeared angry or sad—one of the few areas where she outperformed Panther. Sometimes Panther flipped his wig, but Krystal? Never.
He pointed at the window. "Just looking at the stars. Panther says I'm allowed to!"
"I know. But you must tell me of your whereabouts, Fox! It's for your own safety."
"But I'm safe, Krystal! If someone comes, I can go on the pipes on the ceiling and nobody can follow me there!"
Her eyebrows furrowed. "Is that so?"
She held his muzzle and with her thumb, she touched upon the red crust on his cheek. Fox looked at his feet. He thought of scraping, but it'd just bleed anew and worry Panther even more. The wound's location required a mirror for him to see clearly, and he hoped it wasn't too visible. Obviously, yes.
"It was an accident, I just slipped." He looked right in her eyes. "Please don't tell Panther. I don't want to make him worried. Please. Just tell him I fell on the stairs."
"You were lucky you were in the workshop. Imagine if it happened in the main hall, or in the hangar. You could have…" A shadow darkened her eyes. She sighed and softened her tone. "Do you understand why Panther doesn't want you to climb up there?"
Fox's ears fell. His wish not to hurt Panther often collided against his own adventurous nature. "Sorry."
Krystal grabbed his chin and forced eye contact. "I don't want apologies. I want you to be careful. Here's a suggestion: I tell Panther nothing, and you promise to stop. Deal?"
"Deal!" People always said this on Sargasso. Deal here. Deal there. According to Panther, it was common knowledge that nothing was free on Sargasso. "By the way, you still don't know where he is?"
"Actually, that's why I was looking for you!" A smile revealed her teeth. It was probably good news! "Andrew contacted us. They're on their way home!"
A sharp gasp resonated in the room as a sudden bolt of energy shook Fox at his very core, making his ears perk up and his tail stir the air in an erratic dance. Panther was coming back! He was coming home! Krystal tried to grab Fox, but he dashed to the exit, leaving her grasping at the void.
Fox heard and ignored the vixen's berating. As light as a piece of confetti, he lurched upwards from a guardrail, swung on a hanging chain and hurled himself on a footbridge a whole story beneath, flying over a deadly abyss and aghast eyes. Despite the height, his experienced legs cushioned the landing without effort, allowing him to conserve his momentum and pushing his race ahead uninterrupted. With the elegance of a reed dancing in the wind, he swept between the adults on his way, raising cries of surprise and anger, before leaping again on a pipe.
He froze as he recalled the promise. Acting upon it moments after its making (and, a fortiori, moments before being reunited with Panther) would be the wisest of the courses. Besides, other paths, longer but less dangerous, led to the hangar. With a groan of frustration, he slid back down the pipe and scudded towards a vent on the floor.
For most, Sargasso was an ever-challenging labyrinth, actively attempting to mislead its occupants into its depths of darkness. But not for Fox. Every footbridge, vent, pipe and other accesses were indelibly printed on his mind, and no place on the station, no matter how inaccessible, lay out of his reach. He could navigate through her blindfolded—he already did it several times. As far as he knew, she was his only home, and she held no secret from him.
Left. Right. With tremendous ease, the vulpine navigated along the ventilation system spreading through the station like ants building their hill, slid on his back when the slope promised a copious amount of kinetic energy, and jumped on his feet upon springing from the floor. Passers-by grumbled, but Fox's agility rendered all would-be chases futile. The vulpine kept his momentum alive and bolted forwards, already aiming at the next conduct on the shortest path leading to the hangar. To Panther.
He had overestimated his speed. His shirt collar clenching around his neck cut his race to an end as the elastic fabric absorbed the velocity's abrupt termination. He briefly flailed before the firm grip jerked him backwards.
"Don't you ever dare…" Krystal's voice trailed off, worn out as she was with the chase. "Don't you ever dare to pull this on me again!"
Fox stamped his feet. "Krystal, please! I really need to see him!"
"He's not there yet, and he won't come faster even if you run." she said, panting between every word. Her voice was firm, but calm and diplomatic.
Damn. Krystal was smart (but not as smart as Panther, because he was the coolest and the smartest. Of course). Her paw released the cloth and clasped his wrist, whereupon Fox lifted the corners of his mouth and considered growling.
Imperturbable, she ignored his dissent. "We're going together, and I want you to behave!"
The young vulpine covered back his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Fiiiine."
Panther zipped down a portion of his flight suit to evacuate the heat. A familiar beep informed him of the safety of opening the Wolfen's cramped cockpit, before the levering of the plexiglass exchanged a bad odour for an equally bad one, Panther's sweat and breath giving up their seat to the engine oil and exhaust of the other spacecraft parked nearby. However, on this occasion, after four weeks in space, he welcomed with pleasure the din and the fluorescent lighting he used to distaste, for being reunited with Sargasso implied being reunited with…
He withdrew his backpack from between his legs and slung it over his shoulder, after which both his paws clasped the fuselage for balance and he tossed himself over the edge, driven by the stamina the strenuous mission failed to drain away, before his boots met the floor with a sharp thump. He ran towards the entrance. Something more important lay ahead and required his attention.
"Hey!" Sabre snapped from behind. "Your Wolfen! I hope you aren't thinking of clearing off without properly putting it in order!"
"I'll be back in five."
"Certainly not. I wasn't born yesterday, I know how the trick goes. Come here and clean up your stuff, like everyone else!"
Andrew's head, still proudly wearing his trophy, peeked from behind his own spacecraft. "Sabre, you're serious?"
Cornered from both sides, the wolf's gaze bounced between the two. "What? Has Panther received a special permission? Why haven't I been informed then?"
The monkey let out a jaded sigh and pinched his nose bridge. "Could you… like…" His right hand twisted in the air. "Take that broomstick out of your arse?"
Panther grinned in victory at Sabre's glowering and growling that failed to assert his would-be authority. Upon Andrew's nod, Panther deemed leaving the scene risk-free. As he resumed his course, his backpack bouncing on his shoulders, he heard one more of the monkey's retorts.
"You know, Sabre, I'm surprised your tongue isn't brown from all the Leon's crack licking."
He giggled to himself and made a mental note to payback Andrew somehow one of these days. Buying him a drink or something, perhaps.
His senses on high alert, he scoured all around with his eyes and ears. Given the mission's duration and the magnitude of the loot, the hangar bustled with pirates stretching their legs, claiming back their own spacecraft, greeting their comrades, or simply milling about, interested in all the stories those kinds of missions brought with them. From there, it spiralled downwards. People inferred from the crowd an interesting event was taking place, and gathered along, thickening the crowd and attracting even more people, and so on.
Wanderers and bystanders were sparse enough for Panther to slither between them, but the hustle and bustle obstructed his senses. Krystal and he were to wait by the entrance. He narrowed his eyes. No sign of the foxes. Could he blame them? They must have sought for another vantage point, away from the agitation, and they'd be wise. Moreover, he was hard to keep in place.
Despite the sleep deprivation, Panther felt fresh as a daisy, the anticipation speeding up his heart. He envisioned that little furball chirping and wagging and flicking his adorably oversized ears, bouncing on his feet and firing an unstoppable torrent of words. These very thoughts alleviated the numbness weighing down his limbs, as though the recent labour was already a distant memory. He wanted to yell his name—the ambient commotion would cover the call, but it'd unleash a portion of the fiery verve turning each of his steps into a stride.
Where did they go? Where are they?
His eyes coursed along a frantic zigzag as he tried to guess their path. He turned. Strode a few steps. Stopped. Turned again. Looked back. Elevated himself on the tips of his toes to raise his gaze above the hectic mass. Doubled back. Cursed—the kit wasn't there, so he allowed himself to. Resumed his infuriating search.
A semi-circular sweeping at the edge of his peripheral vision caught his attention. He grew a hearty beam upon the sight of a blue vixen waving at him, and with her other hand holding…
The black cat heaved an audible sigh of relief and bliss as the view sent him on cloud nine. He hadn't seen Panther. Yet. He looked around, turning back to Krystal now and then to say words Panther was too distant to hear. So innocent, so young, so vigorous. Panther kept his stare on him, counting the seconds till the inevitable moment when…
Fox saw Panther.
A berserk spirit took possession of the vulpine's body, as he bounced almost his entire height, frantically battling to escape Krystal's grip, widening his eyes and agitating his maw. His glare burning with a gleam halfway between reproach and supplication ricocheted between Panther and Krystal whilst his bare feet skidded upon the floor, mimicking a running. Every time he turned to her, Panther saw him yelling—probably begging for his release—to which she knelt and snaked an arm around his chest to hold him. Despite the usage of both her arms, the struggle to contain the ball of energy was tangible.
Panther winked at Krystal, beckoning her to release the kit, knelt down and opened his arms.
As swift as a blaster shot, Fox sprung forwards, each stride desperate to grant him as much velocity as his juvenile constitution would allow. In his race, he bothered not to control his tongue, dangling and slapping on both his muzzle's sides, at odds with the self-control his gait displayed. Indeed, despite his speed and eagerness, he cleaved the clogging crowd with his usual nimbleness and celerity, dodging masterfully the legs crossing his path. Soon, only a dozen of metres separated the two, free of bystanders. Panther heard Fox's panting under the exertion, as the vulpine redoubled his efforts for the last stretch.
The impact almost toppled Panther on his back when Fox leaped forwards and grasped the feline's neck, rubbing and nudging his head under his chin. Fox's electric and empowering warmth brushed away the discomfort the firm embrace caused. Panther returned the gesture, nuzzling Fox's head as his arms looped around the kit in return, both their hearts beating in unison. He felt his small body shaking in a quick yet regular rhythm as his tail's furious wagging brought his whole spine along in its motion.
Panther patted Fox's back. "I missed you too, buddy!"
As an answer, Fox's grip strengthened as he buried his snout in the black fur in silence. Panther looked ahead and saw Krystal walking towards them. His arms pressed the kit against his chest to carry him up and prolong the hug, as he put a foot on the ground and slowly rose himself on his feet, so that Krystal was met with a standing up Panther. He feared the large and hearty smile stuck on his face made him appear silly, before noticing a similar expression on hers. They exchanged a knowing glance.
"Look at his tail!" Krystal narrowly prevented a laugh from butchering her words. "You could wipe the floor with that thing!"
Panther tittered as he patted the kit's back once more. The young vulpine's tail swishing the air, still as brisk, was too noisy for them to ignore. As a vixen, Krystal was the best suited to decode Fox's body language, but everyone in Lylat knew the significance of a wagging canine tail.
The black cat patted for the last time before bending the knee. "You let me go, buddy?"
Fox's claw grooved the black pelt on their tracks as he reluctantly released his grip and allowed them to face each other, revealing his wet eyes before Panther cupped both his cheeks. Fox grabbed Panther's shoulders to bring their forehead together, fur against fur, and they maintained the touch, eyelids closed, their respiration and heartbeat cooling down.
To give them some semblance of intimacy, Krystal's gaze left them and swept the hangar. She noticed being a pirate didn't prevent one from having a heart, for Fox wasn't the only one with wet eyes in the area.
Fox broke the contact. "Can I come with you next time?! Please please please pl—"
"Hey hey, calm down Fox! I just arrived, give me a minute!" Panther gave his head a quick rub, his claws extended just enough to nag and tousle the mohawk. Fox feigned annoyance, squinting his eyes and smiling wryly. The feline was about to get up when he spotted the crust of dried blood on the vulpine's muzzle. His brows puckered and his grin vanished as the rapture in his gaze left room for worry.
His finger grazed against the wound. "What's this?"
"I fell down the stairs." Fox blurted the answer slightly too fast to be convincing.
Panther glanced up at Krystal, a single eyebrow raised. She waived her paw, inviting him to drop the subject.
"Well." He tapped his knees and brought himself up before removing the huskiness from his voice and speaking with a theatrically suave tone. "My dearest sweet rose, is the comportment of this young lad all that it seems? Such… Er… affection scarcely seems possible!"
Krystal smirked upon the now customary game and imitated his tone. "Indeed! This juvenile knows not the very essence of deceit, for his purity and rectitude surely thwart the employment of such a baleful sin!"
Damn, off the cuff! thought Panther, struck dumb with admiration. But I won't lose easily this time, my beautiful rose.
Fox threw at them an angry look. "Why are you talking like that? What are you saying?"
Panther carried on the joust, the kit's frustration swelling his amusement. "I'll have you know, dear lady, that no oration, no harangue can voice my gratefulness for the onus you deigned to remove temporarily from this panther's sore shoulders, just as no sonnet, no serenade can faithfully portray your…" His eyes veered off before lighting up. He snapped his fingers. "Pulchritude! No sonnet, no serenade can faithfully portray your supernal pulchritude." He punctuated with a courtly bow.
Krystal's chuckle hid how impactful Panther's compliment was on her heart. Before she could respond, Fox cut them off.
"I don't understand, stop talking like that! You always do this when she's around, why?"
"But Fox, I always talk… Oh crap." Panther cleared his throat and recovered the suaveness he momentarily lost. "Folly! Not a day passes where this panther's words aren't this well-crafted."
"Is it because you want to shoot Krystal?"
The black cat stared down in confusion. "Er… What?"
"The guys say that you talk to her like that because you're trying to bang her."
Krystal's hysterical burst of laughter blared through the vastness of the crammed hanger and up to five stories above as she struggled to stand, paws on her belly. Despite the highly contagious nature of her guffawing and his embarrassment skyrocketing up to the ceiling, Panther maintained a straight face, although with great difficulty.
"Hey!… No!… What did you… Ah, forget it. Come here, you clever boy." He knelt down, took his backpack off his shoulders and presented it to Fox. "You know what's in there?"
Fox's face glowed and his tail resumed its wagging. "Oh! More video games and comic books and stuff?! For me?!"
"Precisely! Now, take this," he handed the backpack, "and wait for me in our quarters, alright?"
"Yes Panther!" He made a few steps, before spinning around. "It's so cool you're back!"
Fox tried to hide the difficulty of carrying the heavy present as he toddled away, his fluffy tail swinging in tune with his perky gait. Panther stood up and looked at the kit as he merged in the crowd, his thoughts drifting into a sea of soothing emotions Sargasso usually warded off with vehemence. A haze cast itself on his senses, clouding his vision and hearing, his consciousness peacefully straying off this ruthless world.
He's alright… He's alright!
He was alright. Nothing else mattered.
The snap of Krystal's fingers drew him back to reality. "Hey, Panther!"
He squinted his eyes and roughly shook his head to cleanse his mind. "Hmm?"
"Are you okay?" After Fox's departure, Krystal had scrutinised Panther's heavy eyelids and flaccid whiskers, testimony of an intense fatigue. "You look like shit, and… it's not just the look." She rubbed her thumb and index before her snout.
Panther raised his left arm and approached his own muzzle. He sniffed a couple of times before promptly concealing his armpit as disgust twisted his face. "Yup, could definitely use one!" His expression went more serious as he scratched his muzzle's side, referring to Fox's wound. "The stairs? Is it true?"
A silence denied the question a proper answer. Krystal's grave look she failed to hide was a bad omen. He thought of inquiring further, but what kind of answer would satisfy? What answer would be anything more than a painful reminder of the mindless enterprise he undertook years ago? The culprit might have been that disgusting swine. To order Fox to keep quiet or else aligned with his way of handling things. Or another scumbag using his anonymity to relieve his resentment against pilots. Or Fox fell from one of his usual escapades. Or…
Panther's ears drooped. He knew she was to blame. Sargasso. She hated Fox, and as long as he breathed, her attempts to hurt him would never cease. Destiny and her acted hand-in-hand, bent on granting Fox the dark future he was entitled to, and Panther had been foolish enough to believe he could stand against them. Sargasso was almost hell in Lylat, what kind of fool would hope an upbringing in her bosom could not be miserable?
"It was a mistake." he murmured while rubbing his forehead, eyes closed. "Everything's a mistake. What was I thinking? I… I have no idea what I'm doing."
"Are you kidding?" Krystal pointed at Fox, on a walkway a few stories above. "Look at him!"
Panther did as told. He and Fox made eye contact, and the young vulpine dropped his bag and waved his paws in wide and swift movements, grinning from ear to ear. Panther and Krystal replicated the gesture, ignoring the onlookers watching them as though they escaped from an asylum.
"Look at him!" Krystal repeated. "Look at what you made of him in this shit-hole! The sheer fact that he's alive is already a bloody miracle!"
He shrugged, unconvinced. His mask vanished, liberated from Fox's attention. "Yeah..."
"No, not 'Yeah…', more like 'Yeah! I deserve a freaking medal!'. Nobody would've bet on this kid's survival. We're all wandering around Lylat, gathering every knick-knack we can get our paws on. But you gave him the one thing that cannot be stolen out there. You gave him a family." Her compassionate attitude and soft voice could appease the most frenzy of the madmen. "To us foxes, family matters!"
A faint smile of relief brushed away the dismay on Panther's face, as Krystal's words aimed at the deepest of his heart. Truth had its own trademark, and could cut through nefarious thoughts like lightning through the storm. Sargasso was hell in Lylat… But all things considered, it only made his accomplishment more impressive! Fox might not have had the best of the childhoods, but was alive and relatively well off. He bubbled with cheerfulness and mirth amid the intrinsic violent principles governing Sargasso. A lone light shunning the darkness away, defying Sargasso, defying its rules, defying destiny. And it was Panther's doing.
Panther gathered a lot of experience over the years, but experience is a lantern hung in the back. It only illuminates the already covered path. It highlights the stumbles and the failures, and outlines the overcome hardships. But without knowledge of the future, it remains shut regarding the incoming challenges. The road ahead would be long, tortuous, merciless, and darkness would await at every turn for its moment to strike. Fox would fall, cry, despair, as he did so many times thus far, but nothing would stop his journey, for Panther would safeguard the way, as stalwart as ever.
Sargasso didn't like Fox? Well, too bad for her.
"I guess… I guess you're right." His chest rose, filled with a newfound energy. He reciprocated Krystal's kind look and rested a paw on her shoulder. "But it's also thanks to you. Keeping tabs on him meant so much to me. I have no idea how to thank you."
"Not with words, that's for sure."
He released his grip and tensed up. "Wait, what do you mean?"
"Come on, Panther, don't tell me you forgot nothing is free on Sargasso!"
He frowned in disappointment. "Krystal, you can't do this to me! Leon already cut my pay by half, if you keep—"
"I'm not asking for money."
"Okay…" he said, sounding suspicious. "Then what?"
"Two things." She raised a thumb. "First, you don't celebrate with the rest of the crew tonight. I know it's the tradition, but I want to hear all about this mission from you, and you only, in private, somewhere calm."
Panther half smiled. He couldn't blame her reluctance to go through Andrew's interminable boasting. "So far I can afford it. And second?"
"And second," an index joined her thumb, "you have to take me out."
His jaw dropped before he snapped it back shut, but the stupefaction hadn't left his eyes. "Repeat that."
"It doesn't have to be today, or even this week. But you have to invite me on a date. And a good one, somewhere nice! That is my price." She paused, internally laughing at Panther's lack of reaction—and conspicuous bewilderment—before motioning at the spacecrafts. "Sabre must be waiting. You should go unless you want him to throw a wobbler," she dropped before turning and walking away.
"B… But…" Panther reviewed her words. "Krystal, wait! We're in the middle of nowhere, how do you want me to find some place nice?"
Without interrupting her walk, she turned back and winked at him. "You'll find a way!"
Panther watched her moving away, the ambient agitation soon taking their rights over his senses. He should return to his Wolfen, but before that, he spared a last glance at her, just before her disappearance from his sight.
She's right… He took a profound whiff and padded his way to the hangar. After all, I always have.
Sargasso invariably impressed by the assortment of incompatible atmospheres she somehow forced into cohabitation. One's eardrums might cry in pain from the blaring of spacecraft blasting off into the dark void, only to sigh in relief when climbing two decks upwards and arriving into a makeshift bar broadcasting some cheap old-fashioned jazz. One deck further, one might have to contend with one of the sparse (yet customary) gory fights between forgettable gangs. One deck further, silence enthroned once more, ruling over a handful of derelict observation decks shunned by jaded souls already too familiar with the night sky. But all those atmospheres had their own signatures one must learn to appreciate, or get inured to at the very least—assuming one was to dwell within.
The pilot deck's signature surprised by its ungraspable yet mesmerising nature. Not only the structure almost completely hushed external sounds—the primary reason behind most non-pilot's jealousy—but also a soft yet continuous echo waved to and fro, carrying along every footstep, word, squeaking and restituting these with a significant delay. Wanderers felt like actors inside an old film with the video and audio out of sync. Mere habit sufficed to handle the discomfort, but the echo abhorred ignoration. It would accompany all ears, murmuring tales that occurred barely a minute ago.
The ears this echo now escorted were those of a worn out feline, plodding away from finished labour and embracing his well-deserved time off. The sight of his quarters deadened the pain for the remaining distance, lightening his steps. But before sinking in his bedsheets, an ultimate task lay down the road.
He pushed the door open, gradually unveiling his home. Interior design mattered little to Panther and almost no modification took place in the past years, with one major exception: a handmade wood partition wall split the main room for Fox to have a private space of his own. It'd required some layout changes and significantly shrunk Panther's living ground, but privacy is a precious commodity on Sargasso, and he refused to deprive Fox of it.
Panther expected to see his harvest littered all over, as was Fox's wont whenever he returned from a fruitful mission. Times where the young vulpine wasn't bragging about his new toy, voicing his disappointment over a missing volume in a book series or begging Panther to play video games with him were rare. However, this time, the bag leaned against Panther's bed, unopened, its treasures still hidden underneath the zip.
But Fox stood out as the most unnerving finding, seated on the edge of the mattress, ears low, muzzle pointing downwards. Nothing like the vibrant furball who welcomed him a few hours ago. When his drab eyes met Panther, an aftershock of the black cat's dark thoughts filled his heart with worry.
"Fox?" Panther concealed his fatigue and concern as he joined Fox on the bed after closing the door. "What's wrong?"
The kit didn't react, as if some unnamed principle forbid him to speak his mind. Panther run a finger atop the amber-furred head and down the scruff of the neck. "You can tell me, Fox. It's alright."
The vulpine cast a brief glance at him. "C… Can I ask you a question?"
"What an idea, of course! What's bothering you?"
Panther forced a thin smile, but anxiety seethed inside him. Doesn't smell good. Not good at all, he thought.
Fox inhaled as though to speak, but no words came out. The corner of his lips plucked under the hesitation and his eyes fled Panther, preferring the floor or the wall ahead. Silence settled between them, which Panther dared not to break, lest he'd deter Fox.
At length, the young vulpine took a deep breath. "Where are my parents?"
Oooooh SHIT! A breath whistled between Panther's clenched teeth as it flew inwards.
"That's… Er… You see… Very good question!… The thing is…" The feline's eyes ransacked through the void as though to catch the correct answer in the air. "I… I don't know!"
A mix of confusion and incomprehension lingered in Fox's gaze. "You don't know? But… How did I…"
You should've prepared for this sooner, genius. Go on Panther, think of something, think of something, THINK!
"You see…" Panther stammered in spite of his efforts. He exaggerated his facial expressions to better his credibility, but he knew too well how bad of an actor he was. "We… We… Oh, I remember! We were… on a mission. That's right! And we found a spaceship that seemed abandoned. We went onboard, and it was empty, except for a baby, and it was you! All alone!"
He slid one of his knees on the bed to face Fox head-on. "You needed help and we couldn't let you die. And a few minutes later…" He clapped his paws and faked a victorious smile. "Welcome aboard, Fox!"
The vulpine stared the void as he processed. "But my parents?"
Panther shrugged and made a funny face before the grimaces' impropriety dawned upon him, given how strongly Fox must feel about the issue. To foxes, family mattered. He initially rejoiced over the offhand explanation, but a few tears on Fox's cheeks obliterated the feeling. His smile disappeared.
"So… My parents…" The lump in Fox's throat transpired through his breaking voice. "They… They abandoned me?"
"No! That's not what…"
But it was too late, the dam had broken. A scowl twisted Fox's face as he failed to contain welling up tears. Panther pulled him in a warm embrace, for Fox to weep and breath in broken sobs inside the muffling arms, soaking the sleeves. His comfort attempt failed to lessen the vulpine's infrequent spasms and hushed sobbing, reverberating through the hold and rubbing off on Panther, as though he could relieve Fox's sorrow by taking it upon himself—he wouldn't hesitate. The source of the kit's woe was a deficiency at odds with his very nature as an animal, too deeply rooted for a mere hug to wither it away.
"I don't think your parents abandoned you, Fox." Panther grabbed his shoulders and looked in the watery eyes the vulpine struggled to keep open. "I think they loved you, but wanted to protect you."
Fox sniffled. "I… I don't understand."
"Maybe it's like with that guy… Er… Was it Elastisheep? The one who came in Lylat in an escape pod after an invasion or something?" His thumb wiped off the amber cheeks.
"No, Elastisheep fell in a tank of toxic chemicals. You're thinking of Superdog."
"Right. Maybe you're like Superdog!"
Fox's eyes lit up behind the blur of tears. "Really? You think?"
"I'm pretty sure!"
"So I'll have superpowers?"
"Exactly! Wait, what? No! I meant…" His paws slid down the arms to take hold of Fox's. He spoke with a soothing tone. "I think your parents sent you away because they feared for you, and wanted to protect you. But I'm sure they'd love to see the amazing boy you became!"
As disgraceful as they were, Panther's stories eased Fox's sorrow. Tears stopped their flow as Fox wiped away the last of them. He mused, staring at nothing, his expression tending towards nostalgia as he kept his ears low. The feline sighed, partly ashamed by his fabrications, and partly relieved by the evaporation of Fox's distress. The ensuing silence allowed Panther to hear the vulpine's breathing reclaiming a regular rhythm, free of grief.
Panther observed Fox, the vulpine's eyes lost in the void. What thoughts are you dwelling on? What is going on inside your head? What pictures of the outside world has your mind weaved? Padded fingers stroke the ochre-furred head, realigning the mohawk. What kind of man will you become, Fox?
The young vulpine broke the silence. "I've never met them, but… I still miss them."
"I know." Fatigue got ahold of Panther, making him yawn loudly, quickly to be followed by Fox. The feline stood to stretch. "Getting late. Time to go to sleep, buddy."
Sharing his weariness, Fox breathed a tired sigh. "Okay." He jumped on the floor and plodded to his place, dragging his loose tail along. Upon reaching the wooden partition, he cast a last glimpse at the feline. "Good night Panther. It's really cool you're back." The sincerity of his grin outweighed his voice's monotony.
"Good night buddy."
Panther watched Fox shutting the partition and plopped into his bed, not bothering to remove his boots. The day will come where I'll have to pay for those lies, in this world or in the next, he thought before closing his eyelids. He never fell asleep as promptly as that night.