Through A Field of Ice
[Continuous Series, 12 Days of Christmas 2014]
Eridan narrowed his eyes, glaring across the deck into the misty sea. As they drifted, mountainous glaciers peeked in and out of the fog, but his target remained hidden. The glaciers would always expand around the 12th Bilunar Perigee's Eve, but the fog was quite a bit rarer. Though he couldn't expect anything else from an opponent with "Aaaaaaaall the luck!".
"Captain Dualscar, starboard bow!" Eridan rushed to the side, the fog just thin enough to see her spindly vessel creeping through the water between glaciers.
"Follow her," he demanded. "We're going to flank her." His crewmen solemnly set about their duties, loading the broadsides and letting the sails unfurl, the Dualscar emblazoned upon them, violet on black. He had to grab the rail with one hand as they lurched forward, the other tightly clutching Ahab's Crosshairs to his side. This time she wouldn't get away.
"Sir?" a crewman called warily. "They've… stopped. I think they spotted us." Eridan took a spyglass, scanning the ship's deck until he found Vriska, back turned to huim. Slowly, she reached up to remove the caps from her horns.
"Imposter-!" he cried, spinning to see Vriska pulling her sword from Eridan's teal-blooded navigator with a yawn.
"Parlay," she said, tone bored, cleaning her blade on the outfit of a nearby, horrified crewman.
"Par-?! No! This trickery cannot go unpunished-!"
"Oh shut up, fish breath," she sighed. "It's in the rulebook. Besides, I'm not here to break your toys or play pirates. Okay, so I killed one crewman, whatever."
"Wwhat DO you wwant, then?"
"I'm here to talk business," she grinned, tapping her sharpened nails against a long cylinder. "Sensitive info, you understand. Can we speak in private?"
"Fine," he hissed. "Hayrld, put the body in cold storage." The cobalt-blooded troll paled but hesitantly nodded as the two captains stepped into Eridan's room, locking the door.
"So, a map," he started, raising an eyebrow.
"You know how Dualscar and Mindfang were in hate, right?" she asked as she began to unroll the map.
"Yes?"
"This map leads to a place called the 'Cape of Hate'," she said, tracing her nails along the dotted line. "Legend has it, it takes two kismeses of intense animosity to delve the depths of its caves."
"How?"
"Some kind of lock," she frowned, opening Mindfang's fabled journal. "Doesn't go into explicit detail, surprisingly. Just, 'The fruits of hate will open the gates'."
"Maybe they mean…" he grinned, coming up behind her and copping a feel. "Genetic material." She snorted, shoving him.
"Like you could even produce enough," she scoffed, flippant.
"You know I could!" There was a knock at the door and Eridan stormed over to it, peeking out. "Wwhat is it?" he demanded. Hayrld had a small gold-blood in large glasses.
"The FLARP manual," She stuttered. "Parlay can only be issued by an innocent party."
"So?" he asked, glancing back to Vriska who was already stripping out of her shirt.
"Well, she killed Luthar so… technically her parlay is invalid." Eridan frowned, looking back at a nude Vriska, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Wwait fivve minutes and sink her ship. No survvivvors." The two saluted and her turned to face her.
"I changed my mind," she grinned, laying out on the cleared-off map table. "Maybe you CAN provide what I need." Her bulge throbbed, glistening with her cobalt fluids. "Let's see." He swallowed hard, stripping off his own clothes and approaching her. Her fingers were quickly in his hair, yanking him toward her, lips and teeth gnashing as he grunted, gripping her hips.
She reached down, panting against his neck as she coaxed her bulge open, the tentacles reaching and struggling as Eridan's bulge slid inside, both groaning at the feeling. It stretched an throbbed, causing her to gasp and cry out.
The two clutched each other and writhed for a few minutes until the ship shuddered, a line of "Boom, boom, boom!" Vriska shoved him off, darting for her clothes.
"I called parlay!" she growled.
"Only an innocent can call parlay," he replied smugly.
"The Rite of Ruination splatbook says lowbloods aren't people, they're property," she spat, lacing up her corset and retrieving a glass vial from her skirts. "Honestly, Eridan, this petty show is beneath you. Guess I'll have to take the cape all by myself!"
"You can't!" he snapped. "You wwould need me!"
"Not really," she replied, scooping up some of their genetic material into the vial. "But hey, thanks for the idea. Genetic lock, who would've guessed?" She moved to the window and lept, Eridan rushing over to see her in a dingy, sailing toward – her ship. The real one.
"Fire!" she commanded gleefully.