Chapter 3 - still life display / One Five, Dot Glove Fit / –(by)catch of the day-
Possible translations:
1) 1 5, Dot Glove Fit
2) From life, not of it
3) Fun Dive, Not Love Sick
Six of Tanjiro's writer friends sat clustered around a single computer while a middle-aged man in bifocals brought up his most recent post. They were dressed in costumes today, and each brought something moon-themed to the party. A tray of pale, red and silver-sprinkled cinnamon rolls lay half-eaten on the table next to a plate of cold cuts. An untouched box of doughnuts had been pushed into a corner, out of sight. No one had a taste for them, it seemed.
"This explains why he wouldn't answer his phone, maybe," the bespeckled one said, scanning the newest document. The four painted eyes on his forehead and cheeks didn't blink. His nametag read 'Kokushibo'.
"All this heartache and all those details... our friend told me some of this before," a large, nervous young man mentioned. "But if this mystery is one part chronicle, and he misses his friends this much, why do you think he didn't mention us?" he sounded a little hurt, but he backpedaled a moment later, "Not that I really want him to…" 'Hantengu' was written in bold letters on his bare chest.
"Maybe he'll come to his senses," shrugged someone beautiful, but ambiguously dressed. "He wouldn't dare leave us out." The names 'Daki & Gyutarro' hung on wooden tiles at their waist, each to a mismatched side of their outfit.
The haughty one, whose nametag read 'Gyokko' in delicate script, was laid back. "If he has any sense at all he will. Daki's story is tragic, but the modern world would tear her apart, just for being turned when she was. Just like they should have learned to dismantle 'Gyokko's' art, every time its meaningless brutality appears. Those characters are almost unpublishable, I tell you." he criticized them-and himself-without remorse.
The diminutive fifth wore a conductor's hat at an irreverent angle, and her voice was lazy and sing-song. "He had plenty of words to spare for Kokushibou and me in the prologue," she chuckled. "Don't give up hope~," she danced around the word as though it didn't bother her. "That's what the slayer always says, at least."
The last one winced and ground his teeth, three horns on his head. His nametag was the most elaborate, with a fishnet pattern, a blue outline, and olive green hands woven between the limbs of a praying mantis, but no letters graced the empty space at all. "Could you be any more tasteless?" he growled. "At least all your characters have names, not just an endless deluge of the world's scum in their wake."
'Gyokko' scoffed. "Muzan's role was taken, are you not satisfied with your pieces of the puzzle? You have at least three, you know-more than any of us!"
The nameless one crossed his arms. "I could have picked Akaza," he grumbled.
"He's taken too," Enmu shrugged. "At least according to our dear Koku~"
Gyokko piled in. "And you don't exactly have... let's say, the temperament."
Kokushibou pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and cut them off before they could start fighting. "You know your roles," he growled. "Any time he mentions our demons, we split the work and solve our parts. And if you fall behind, you let me know."
"And what about the slayers?" asked Daki/Gyutarro. "Surely they're clues too. Why else would he spend so much time on them?"
Kokushibou folded his fingers in front of him. "For now, we focus on the monsters. His old friends must know more about the humans. Maybe they'll get back in contact with him-for real. It would save us a lot of work."
"And all of the non-canon stuff? Like the keys and vague references and math?" asked Enmu, blinking widely. "It sounds like he has it out for my demon especially. Do you think I should be concerned?"
"Can you blame him?" asked Hantengu. "Sometimes, you make my skin crawl."
"Aww, how kind of you~!" Enmu thanked him generously out of spite.
Daki/Gyutarro rolled their eyes at Enmu. "If we ever throw a Hashira party, you're playing Shinobu."
Kokushibou blinked slowly, cat-like. "We'll see."
The port town stank of fish and ozone when Tanjiro stepped off the bus. An eddy of pollution from a nearby factory hung low over the docks, leaving a yellow haze on the horizon, but at least the roads were whole.
He had a local specialty in mind for breakfast. A better way to introduce himself to the city he didn't know.
The hum of refrigerators kept the air near the fish market warm, insulated from the morning chill. An endless cascade of silver scales sat in ice-packed displays around the front room, big and small and tiny. Seafoam and stale ice bit the air sweetly. Sweat and damp cardboard too.
-The flayed corpses of the day's catch hung in red brutality from the ceilings alongside hand-written prices. There was no art to it, just fat, painted letters and far too many numbers to think about.-
"Mine," Gyokko lept from his seat, noting the reference. "I'm sure I could put together some cheap art to brighten that place up too, if we find it."
Kokushibou's fingers flew over the keyboard, but far too many red pins lit up along the coast. "Too vague. Not enough information yet." And there was always the possibility that it wasn't a real location. Tanjiro's usual indicator was there, but it only read 1 5, 'from life'. That could mean anything was real, or anything wasn't.
At least he wasn't making that part difficult to translate, not yet.
"How do you draw real fish?" Gyokko asked as he nudged in.
Kokushibou's shoulders didn't budge. "First, look them up on your own computer." He sighed less than patiently. Hundreds of tabs littered his taskbar. He had too much to keep track of already.
"Fine, fine. If it will make you happy..."
Enmu snorted, still smiling. "I sincerely doubt it."
Tanjiro approached a sizzling food stall near the front and tried to ignore the rest of the market.
"Do you have any fresh seaweed?" he asked the stout woman at the counter when she whirled around to take his order, her high-beaded dreadlocks snapping across her shoulders.
She seemed rushed. "Just fish, fish, and more fish, like it says on the sign," she waved him away dismissively. "You'll want next door for clams and any of that rabbit stuff."
"Thanks," he bobbed his head and took up no more of her time.
Crustaceans and bivalves adorned the front of the smaller market next door like a scattering of river stones. Laid between the displays were waves of kelp and seaweed-some of them "new" and "on special".
An old man in a light blue jacket with white-bleached spots scattered along the edges stood behind the counter at the far back, combing a seaweed display with actual prices into stiff, organized lines. He had a red handkerchief tied around his neck and face.
Tanjiro approached him.
"A new customer," the old man's eyes smiled kindly. 'Sakonji' read his nametag. "It isn't every day. What can I get you?"
Tanjiro inspected the variety with awe. "Has aquaculture really come this far?"
Sakonji nodded proudly. "Farmed just up the coast, with the bivalves."
"To keep the water clean, I see..." Tanjiro remarked, wide-eyed.
The old man nodded. "It's not as adventurous as the big boats, but the better we do, so will they," his tone held the calm timbre of steady belief. "So! What'll it be? Stone or salad?"
Tanjiro chuckled. "Have you heard of miso?"
Sakonji nodded and reached for the fridge behind him. "I don't get many requests, but everything in my case makes a good one. I think I have... yes, just a little tofu in stock."
"As long as I won't be eating your lunch," Tanjiro winced.
"Nonsense!" the man barked. "I'll whip one up with kelp bladders, you'll like the way they pop. I'm thinking of selling them as 'plums' or 'bubbles', what do you think, young man?"
"Either way, there's a tea to match it."
"You're exactly right!" Sakonji guffawed.
Tanjiro smiled behind his green mask and remembered his old teacher-also a man deeply connected to the waterways. That the two of them shared the same name was a joyful coincidence.
Tanjiro pulled out his phone and asked, "Do you mind if I take a picture of your display? It's beautiful."
"Feel free, young man!" said Sakonji, and he crossed his arms proudly and stood by it.
"Tanjiro," he introduced himself as he took a picture, and then showed him. Sakonji asked for a copy, and Tanjiro obliged.
Sakonji's skill with a kitchen knife was mesmerizing, and it took seconds for him to process his materials. Soon, warm soup boiled on the stove. "I hope you don't mind a short wait."
Tanjiro shook his head. "It'll give me a little time to look around."
"15 minutes!" the man told him.
He set a timer on his phone and wandered closer to the docks.
Most of the faces he passed by were chiseled and gruff, but some few smiled in his direction, so he smiled back and waved meekly, trying not to get in the way. A few asked if they could help him, and he asked questions back-mostly about what was biting, or if they knew anyone who might hire a land-legged writer who was used to calmer waters than the open sea. Some laughed with him, but the fishing trade was more about luck and knowing your fish than standing out in the lineup, they said.
"If your catch doesn't speak for you, there's no use in flowery language," was the advice he received. "The faster it sells, and the less it costs to deliver, the more people we feed," he heard from a bald, sympathetic captain.
Tanjiro nodded. It made sense.
He told him how to apply if he had the strength for a physical job, though competition could be fierce, and Tanjiro thanked him and mentioned that he'd keep it in mind. He offered his number in case the friendly captain ever changed his mind, and the bald, seal-like man called that 'cute'.
Tanjiro smiled awkwardly, his phone's alarm giving him the perfect excuse to retreat. He hoped no one took it the wrong way.
"It's like reading a travel blog so far. Do you think we'll see any action?" complained the nameless one, bored. "Three chapters in, and not a drop of blood..."
"Not all conflict is bloody," Gyokko reminded him pointedly. "Self/(D)ar(K) (T)houghts in chapter one, retreating from the coward in chapter two..."
"And no demonic voice at all yet, this chapter," Hantengu pointed out. "It's been all bland emotions; he isn't upset."
"Give it time," Enmu snickered. "He's bound to run into trouble. It's like it's impossible for our cinnamon roll to escape it, living like he does."
"It's his own fault," chuffed Daki/Gyutarro. "If he really didn't want it, he wouldn't go looking."
"Daki," warned Kokushibou.
"What?" they scoffed unapologetically.
After a moment, Hantengu spoke up. "Trouble still finds me, doesn't it?"
Breakfast was chunky and satisfying. "I'll have to make your stall a frequent stop while I'm here," Tanjiro told Sakonji. "I could eat this every day."
"Perhaps I'll put it on the menu," the old man considered.
"Please!" Tanjiro encouraged him. "What do I owe you?"
"Nothing for my little kitchen's first customer," the man grinned.
"I couldn't possibly do that..." Tanjiro shook his head.
So Sakonji did some quick math and told him the price. It came out more affordable than breakfast from the front stall.
Tanjiro mentioned that he should advertise that up front, but Sakonji didn't want to rent the space, and Tanjiro didn't push him. They said their goodbyes, and Tanjiro wandered up the coast.
The small fishing port didn't ramble on long before it met a secluded sea ramp at the end of a road with a high parking lot overlooking the ocean from a nearby hill. Rough stones and a pile of concrete barriers blocked his path forward along the shore, but before he could ascend the ramp toward the higher street, a man in sunglasses, shorts, and a dyed bowl cut waved from a small boat off the dock.
"Ferry rides to skerry islands," the hand-painted placard at the back of his boat read, along with a list of weekend times. Ghosts and ragged chiffon fluttered at the edges of the board.
Tanjiro approached the boat. He had nothing better to do.
"Emily's her name," the man said by way of greeting, reaching out to shake Tanjiro's hand.
Tanjiro waved and declined, and the man wiped his hand on his shirt, trying to look natural.
"I haven't seen you before. Mostly I get the same old tourists, and sometimes groups. Those islets are haunted, you know," he offered with a grin.
"Really?" Tanjiro bobbed his head.
The captain's dramatic voice lilted as he told the story of lost lovers and missing travelers and a hungry shipwreck that ate the souls of the damned-and those who wouldn't be missed.
"I set up a bar there on my night visits, but it's not a place to go to drown your sorrows. Don't lose your footing on the rocks," he warned.
"I'll have to keep that in mind," Tanjiro rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "You wouldn't be looking for a writer to help with your business, would you?" he asked.
"The name's Emmet, Emmet N. Mubound, and no. I like the obscurity and the spooky vibe. If it became a tourist destination too many people would trample the islands and I'm sure I'd get shut down," he shrugged. "They say people do really go missing out there, though."
"How many people do you take per trip?" Tanjiro asked, unperturbed.
"Usually just a few, sometimes just me. It's a good fishing spot-do you fish?"
"I used to, a little. Not on the open ocean though."
"Rod and tackle rentals are free with the trip if you want to try."
"That'll be alright. How long do you stay? Would it make a quiet spot to write?"
"Late, almost midnight on my last stop. Those are the ghost tours. Bring a friend~" Emmet cackled.
"I'll have to think about it," Tanjiro offered nervously.
"Aaand mine," Enmu giggled. "Do you suppose that's a real name? Could I be so lucky? Being new and all, do you think he's going easy on me?"
"No," said Kokushibou. "Perhaps you're unfamiliar with the rules," and he brought up a document that read like the terms of service. "No real locations. No real names. No named product placement, advertisement, or direct references. And no personal details," he read off impassively.
"Then how are we supposed to do this?"
"It's a puzzle. We figure it out," growled the nameless one.
"For now we just make note of the details, and that's all," Kokushibou told her calmly.
"First one to translate the title wins!" Hantengu announced.
"You really are a bunch of dorks," drawled Gyutarro fondly.
The nameless one snickered rudely. Daki hit him with her fan.
Tanjiro wandered back toward the bus station to spend his day gathering what he could about the place.
There was a park nearby and the entrance had a large community board. Most of the paper was plastered to the corkboard from a recent rainstorm, likely the previous afternoon, and some of it was still legible.
Music lessons in the park, palm readings, amateur classes, some missing pets, and a few odd job postings dotted the surface, but he thought maybe he should let people get to know him a little better before showing up to watch someone's kids or pets. There would be a rummage sale next Tuesday, but he didn't really need anything yet. Any advertisements for Emmet's ghost tours were missing from the board.
That was how Zenitsu found Tanjirou, scratching his hairless chin next to a map of the city and the community post when Zenitsu slid off the late bus.
"You." he seethed. His eyes were daggers.
Tanjiro didn't hear him.
Zenitsu paced and muttered and pulled his hair in front of the bus before charging in Tanjiro's direction. "Thank you for the chat and the trail mix too you stupid bastard, now EXPLAIN why you didn't wake me up for my bus!"
Tanjiro blinked and turned around as Zenitsu's shrill voice crescendoed out of nowhere. Dumbfounded, he closed his eyes as the man's indignation and awful sour morning breath washed over him. "H-hi again," he said finally, waving his fingers. "I tried when mine came in. I didn't know which one was yours."
"A likely excuse!"
Tanjiro grimaced. 'And a true one.'
-Not like it will matter to that one-
'Take a rest, you.'
-You barely know each other. Are you really going to let him treat you like that?-
When Tanjiro looked distracted and didn't respond right away, Zenitsu huffed. "Now I've missed my interview, my friend flaked so I've got nowhere to sleep, and you're standing there without a care in the world!"
-If he only knew.- the voice left an impression of savage, slitted eyes rolling.
'I said hush. We don't have it that bad.'
Tanjiro wasn't sure what possessed him, but he found himself offering, "I found a cheap place for the night and I have a camp pad with me, but I was thinking about going on a ghost tour until late. You're..." he smiled nervously, "welcome to tag along?"
"Will there be food?"
Tanjiro sighed.
"I'm seriously broke here."
-Then get a JOB you freeloader!-
'No. He sounds like he's really in trouble. And our plans fall through all the time. Thus the camp pad.'
Then Tanjiro's eyes lit up and he smacked a fist into his open palm. "We could go fishing!" he said.
"Did you seriously just tell me to go fish." Zenitsu stared at him deadpan.
"No, but I did just meet someone who might have time to teach us!" Tanjiro grinned.
"Lucky me~" Zenitsu drawled.
-Isn't he just?-
Tanjiro clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, it'll be fun."
Emmet wasn't exactly busy, even if Zenitsu struggled to sound interested. A maybe-free meal was a maybe-free meal, and there was very little paperwork involved. Emmet insisted they didn't need permits, but while that fooled Zenitsu, Tanjiro knew better. He made sure they came prepared.
"You don't have to come along," Tanjiro told his new friend as Emmet started up the engine to take them on an extended trip for the day.
"Are you kidding? With a two-for-one special and we can eat what we catch?"
Tanjiro winced. Not everything, but he had a list of fair game in his pocket and a guide already downloaded on his phone in case even Emmet didn't know what wasn't. "I think our captain might be new to his business, and I won't drag you along if you don't want to go."
"Spooky vibe or not, it sounds like you're going to take this trip anyway, and I'm not letting you go alone. He could be a psycho."
Tanjiro checked over his life preserver and Zenitsu's before tossing one over to his new friend. He shrugged.
"So why are you doing this?"
It took the redhead a few moments to answer. "It's something to write about."
"Seriously. That's it. I didn't really mean it when I called your stories bland by the way. I just meant it needed more hotness and action for my tastes. You can add that stuff without living it."
"This is just part of what I do," Tanjiro shrugged.
"Hunt ghost stories."
He nodded.
"Even with creeps and weirdos at the helm."
"He'll hear you, Zen."
"You only call me that when I'm in trouble, mom."
Tanjiro snorted.
Zenitsu laughed, high and thready. "I'm going to regret this."
"Maybe in the morning," Tanjiro admitted.
"Not my type," Zenitsu stuck his tongue out.
"So back out. Don't go. Save yourself." Tanjiro rolled his eyes, smiling.
"A grown man's gotta eat something!"
Tanjiro smacked himself in the forehead and grimaced.
Zenitsu laughed and laughed. Tanjiro shook his head.
What a pair they made.
It turned out that Emmet didn't know all that much about fishing.
"Red flag," Zenitsu's eyebrows shot up as he whispered to Tanjiro while their captain struggled to untangle the line from a long-neglected pole.
"Let me handle that," Tanjiro offered. After a short while, his practiced hands had everything in working order. He didn't know exactly the right way to set everything up, but he found a heavier line than he was used to in the tackle box and switched out for that.
Nothing took their bait while they were still on the approach toward the rocky, low-wooded islands just off shore. Emmet brought them to a sheltered side and docked against a fallen tree, throwing rope over a stubborn, storm-shorn branch sticking up from the wood. Getting to the island was a balancing act, but no one fell in.
Emmet set up a small, rickety, bamboo travel bar strung with garland and ghost-themed faerie lights for the three of them and pulled out chairs and two coolers-one for their catch and one for the bar. Only the water was inexpensive, but Tanjiro's bottle was full. By some small favor, a water bottle was the one piece of travel gear Zenitsu actually remembered to bring with him.
Most of the day was uneventful. Tanjiro had extra sunscreen, and they did their own without complaint. The three men fished, and their captain drank a little-probably to encourage them to join in was Zenitsu's guess. They skipped lunch, but grilled dinner on the beach.
"All for me? Why aren't you having any?" Zenitsu asked Tanjiro when he pulled a dry meal out of his backpack instead.
"Vegetarian," Tanjiro said.
"You're not going to make me join the club, are you?"
He sighed patiently. After a long moment, he told his new friend, "I'm trying to go vegan. It's not an easy transition."
"Why would you do that to yourself?"
"Health reasons," Tanjiro said neutrally.
"Ah. What's wrong with you?"
-I could ask the same- a dark voice grumbled sluggishly, quieter after a long day in the sun.
Tanjiro rolled one shoulder and cracked his neck. He didn't answer.
Sensing he asked the wrong question, Zenitsu backpedaled. "I mean, if you want to talk about it."
It took a moment for Tanjiro to respond. "Not... right now," his half-smile asked for patience. For once, Zenitsu gave it to him.
They sat in silence until Emmet finished grilling and sat down for dinner with them. "I'll take you both past the skeleton of Bloody Jerry's vessel after dinner if you have the stomachs for it," he offered. "If we're lucky, we might see the ghosts of all the poor wretches that drowned there." Emmet's giggle was just shy of malicious.
"That's... just for show, right? It's got to be," Zenitsu asked nervously.
Emmet grinned widely and focused his attention on creeping Zenitsu out while Tanjiro watched him carefully.
He didn't know.
Bloody Jerry was a pirate, Emmet told them after the sun went down, while they were boating out to the haunted wreck.
He was a rather middling one at that, more of a smuggler really, but he had a crew-his daughter and the hapless fool who couldn't live without her. Together they used to search the nearby shores for the corpses of illegal bycatch, the rarer the better, and made a tidy living by selling the exotic meat to an underground restaurant on a barge that used to dock there. Gruesome stuff.
Zenitsu looked a little green about the gills when he heard it.
Back in those days, these islands were considered a dangerous place. Small boats and their occupants went missing all the time, but the place had already been scoured over thoroughly for treasure, Emmet assured them. Even the sunken vessel-which only contained the remnants of its victims. Plural. And more than three. And their captain didn't give diving lessons.
"You can look down, but keep your feet firmly in the vessel. There's an undertow here, on the oceanside. If you go down without a lifejacket, I might not be able to fish you back up."
Zenitsu had his tied on, but he kept loosening it near the neck.
"We should listen to him, powerful currents are no joke," Tanjiro tried to tell him.
"Fine mom," Zenitsu pulled on the tie a little and redid it. Emmet kept telling his story while they did.
Jerry and his daughter were murderers, Emmet explained. They dragged her poor husband down with them too, preying on travelers to the rocks for little more than what they had in their pockets. Emmet told them he was surprised to find travelers brave enough to come out here-the place still had an ill reputation, even to this day.
"They say their ghosts still haunt the wreck. So if you see the lights, take care not to follow them down."
"Spooky," breathed Tanjiro evenly, resting his head in his hand at the edge of the boat.
"I'll say," Zenitsu laughed, peering out into the water to try and see. "What's that!?" he started suddenly, pointing out over the water with a shaking finger.
Tanjiro moved over to see from behind him. "Just a reflection from the stern light," he pointed out the dull yellow beacon behind them. Its old bulb flickered sometimes between the waves.
"A-ah. Yes. I knew that," Zenitsu chuckled shakily.
"You'll know the ghost lights by their cold, pale tone. And the way they draw you in."
Even with Emmet's creepy narration, Tanjiro was already struggling to stay awake. It had been a long day-a series of them actually, and his drooping eyes wanted little more than to pass out against the metal rail.
Zenitsu, the ball of energy, was having no such trouble. His hand fluttered against Tanjiro's cheek again and again, asking "what's that?" "Do you think that's it?" "Do you think those are dolphins or sharks?"
Emmet slowed Emily to a crawl, and didn't bother to drop anchor. A wide smile spread over his face like the blade of a scythe, and his eyes narrowed into vicious slits behind Zenitsu.
Below in the water, a dozen ghostly lamps flickered, their pale blue light streaming toward the surface. "Get up Tanjiro. The stories are true, I really see them!"
Tanjiro mumbled groggily, but blinked slowly over the edge. Soon his eyes were wide as well. "Now that's a neat trick," he breathed.
"Trick trick? Nuh uh. I'm definitely seeing that. Let me get my phone..."
Both boys were distracted as Zenitsu struggled with his pockets.
"I'm afraid photography is off-limits here," Emmet said sweetly. "But if you'd like to get closer,"
The thick handle of a metal paddle swung down mercilessly for Zenitsu's neck. Zenitsu buckled and tumbled into the moonlit sea.
"I can only oblige!" Emmet's cackle roared into the night. Then he turned with an icepick and aimed for Tanjiro's neck, hoping to catch the civilian too shocked to move away in time.
Reflexes he hadn't practiced in more than a decade kicked in and Tanjiro shoved himself back and out of the way. He tumbled to the deck and rolled over as Emmet came in swinging and grabbed the only thing at hand, a discarded fishing pole.
Tanjiro swung the butt for the sharp instrument in Emmet's hands and by sheer luck crushed his thumb and made him drop it, but the man still had a mighty steel paddle and the upper hand. He swung it down toward Tanjiro's head.
Tanjiro crunched up powerfully under the swing and slammed his forehead against Emmet's injured elbow, leaving the man gasping as his arm went numb. As he hopped away, Tanjiro fumbled for the reel and let out some line, then cast around Emmet's legs to tie him up. The ploy worked. The tackle hooked the rod and Tanjiro pulled. Emmet tripped backward and hit his head. His shoulders crumpled. He lay still.
"Zenitsu!" he shouted into the night as he scrambled toward the edge of the boat. It was too dark, he couldn't see, not through the bubbling in the water. Fear finally hit him, and the blue of the ghostly lights faded to gray-with no shock of yellow to be found beneath the boat. He started stripping his lifejacket off to dive in.
That's when Emmet stirred behind him. He reached backward for his paddle. The steel bent in his hands. It curved, groaning like the keel of the boat against the waves, with Tanjiro none the wiser.
"Hold on, I'm coming to-" the redhead didn't get to finish his sentence before Emmet's arms came crashing down behind his neck, pinning him to the edge of the boat. Tanjiro choked and struggled, but couldn't push himself up.
"Pieces of their victims keep turning up to this day," Emmet narrated as he cracked his own neck, still grinning. "It gives the locals such delicious nightmares, and who am I to deprive them? Jerry needs blood and flesh, sweet Tanjiro. Only the bodies of unsuspecting travelers will keep his soul alive!"
A steady hum built beneath the water, and with a crackle, something launched itself out in a blur of light and yellow. Static buzzed along the metal edge of the boat and oar, burning Tanjiro where it touched, but suddenly the weight was off him and Emmet staggered.
"Stay down," Zenitsu's voice, somehow more powerful, commanded him, and he swung his arms and empty air at the-...
What the...
Tanjiro blinked and blinked again. In his left eye, the scene before him was normal. Zenitsu's hands were empty, sure Emmet held a bent oar, but adrenaline could do some crazy things.
But in his right, Zenitsu wielded a blade made of lightning against a monster made of tentacles and searching eyes. Emmet was only a man from the torso up, except his arms. He watched four limbs slam into Zenitsu from one side and the man went flying. Tanjiro tilted his left eye. From that side, he didn't see what hit him at all.
Zenitsu splashed down again, and Emmet turned toward him. Something invisible wrapped around his neck and suddenly Tanjiro was choking, but as he grasped desperately with his right arm, he found nothing against his throat even as something slowly crushed it.
Then he dropped the lifejacket and came clawing in with his left. His fingers sank into the invisible mess and Emmet shrieked. Some kind of ichor ran in rivulets down his arm, soaking into his clothes. The back of Tanjiro's neck felt like it was on fire, and when that met the ichor, ghostly red flames bloomed and spread all along those monstrous appendages.
Soaked but stubborn, Zenitsu pulled himself back onto the boat with both arms. In his hands that brilliant blade ignited again, and he swung it for Emmet's neck without hesitation.
Something invisible rolled energetically across the deck and splashed beneath the waves. The monster shrieked like a flock of gulls before a storm, bubbled, and disintegrated before Tanjiro's eye. What made him look like a monster flew off in all directions, shrinking into nothing. Then Emmet collapsed against the captain's chair, unconscious-his head still firmly attached.
Tanjiro could only blink in astonishment, still gasping for breath.
Zenitsu flicked his 'sword' and flaming ichor flew off of it and into the water. It bubbled where it touched, even in Tanjiro's left eye.
Then he turned and leveled the blade at Tanjiro's neck.
"You're going to answer all of my questions, and do exactly as I say," Zenitsu ordered him seriously.
Yes, Tanjiro gulped. He supposed he was.