I know nothing, save one thing. In the dark mire overwhelming our bedroom, within the warmth and comfort of this bed, within the safety of our home. A revelation that will invite a tsunami of misery, a thunderstrike of madness. Little do I know the sheer insanity of the future that will befall me, and it starts with this one thing that I do know.
I know that King Crabdric is pinching me.
"What?" I whine. It's only the first time a giant crab has awoken me from my eternal slumber at one in the morning, but it's known that me and Furina like to sleep and to stop us from doing so may result in murder.
I feel around for the blue woman that sleeps in my bed and eats my food, sometimes known as my lover, but I feel nothing, hear nothing. There's a Furina-shaped imprint in the bed next to me, forged over several months. I'm colder already.
"Furina?"
She's gone. It's not that it's inconceivable that she couldn't sleep and went off to do something else, but some combination of lifelong trauma and need for physical affection leads her to lock me in a vice grip when we sleep. I'd notice if she got out of bed. Although, did she come to bed...?
Damn it, Furina has been out of my life for twelve seconds, and I'm depressed and alone.
Her pyjamas are still lying on the back of the chair. She never came to bed at all tonight. Last I remember, she was about to boil some late-night macaroni, and I already foresaw the pain that testing it would bring. No offence to the woman I love. I went to bed without saying anything.
"Furina?" I call towards the door, and listen to the silence pervading our house. She is not in the living room, nor did she accidentally set the house on fire and leave me to burn. She has completely vanished and a gentle swirl of despair hovers over my heart. I'd be more comfortable knowing the building was on fire but she was at my side and I'm not codependent.
Crabdric is raising his claws in a mysterious pattern, he bends his legs up and down and his shell rattles. Light foam bubbles from his mouth. These actions mean nothing to me.
"I don't understand your cryptic dances, strange creature." I pick at the crust in my eyes, and take a deep breath. "Will you lead me to the blue woman who sleeps in my bed and eats my food? I only feel whole when she's in my arms."
He's waddling towards the door clapping his pincers, the universal gesture of 'follow me, mortal.'
Crabdric was only leading me outside. I do not find the yin to my yang. I find something stranger.
The crabs are banging on the walls of Fontaine.
Shadow creeps over the squads of crustaceans, faint silhouettes only illuminated in the moonlight. As they approach in marching formation, the eyes of the wary guards standing ready upon the walls reflect their countless forms. Lanterns swinging in the gentle breeze shed light upon them. The trees stand in paralysis. The blades of grass freeze. Even the ocean is still, for everything in this land dares not interrupt the oncoming crustaceans. Citizens cower from on high, for all they can do watch the crabs approach in marching formation and beat upon the walls. Listen closely, and you can hear the frustration in their echoing strikes upon brick and mortar.
This is no mere cast of crabs doing crab things. No mere murder of crabs. No mere pride of crabs. This is a protest. The scariest plural of crabs.
One of them is holding a sign that reads 'Free our queen!' How this crab wrote that sign betrays human reason. Now that I've identified this protest for what it is, I can almost picture, in my mind, how replacing them with humans wouldn't change their movements. The militaristic marching back and forth. The clapping of pincers are the chants.
We're looking at this from on top of the wall, and, frankly, this could be my problem, but I don't want it to be.
"This is too weird. Crabdric, we're meeting my information broker."
I start to depart, but Crabdric does not immediately move. He looks down upon his people. Claws drooping. I cannot see his face, not his eyes, but I sense something stirring in his ganglion clusters. An emotion. His massive shell rattles as he turns away, beady eyes set on the floor.
I don't know why this protest of crabs happened, I don't know why it has Crabdric looking so forlorn. But I have realised in this moment that I'm missing Furina, and he's missing Crabaletta. As our eyes meet, we're both united in that feeling. We want to check on our better halves. I know it's been three minutes, but it's been a long three minutes.
But, we're traversing the streets, and people are talking. Looking at me. Looking at Crabdric. They aren't being secretive with their voices, and they echo around us.
"Do you think it's true?"
"If Furina's water construct or that giant beast can lead the crabs, do you think Aether supports her?"
"Ye Archons, look at that giant crab. It has evil in its eyes. I see it."
"And look at those crabs, could Furina incite them to violence so she can rule Fontaine?"
"She could have an army of crabs at her disposal. Her ambition might be limitless."
"Damn those crabs. We can't let them band together like this."
What the hell am I listening to? Under their myriad gazes, something dark and cold bores through my chest. Like I'm being judged for something I didn't do. Like they're judging Furina when she isn't here. Like they're judging Crabdric just for his existence. Every single sentence I just heard came from a stupid person, and unfortunately, stupid people can't be convinced that they're stupid. I'm keeping Crabdric close before someone tries to drag him off to a tinned crab food processing plant.
Here we are, the Steambird, the beating heart of journalistic integrity. Even at this time, the lights burn eternal, for Fontaine never sleeps.
Except for Charlotte, snoozing away as she basks in the moonlight and stars. As the city braces itself before the rioting crabs, she's splaying out on a small table with a typewriter and several sheets of paper arranged in a mess. Her hand is resting next to a half-eaten pan au chocolat and an article titled 'Will glass coffins be successful? Remains to be seen.' Though I have to assume that's an old article being pushed aside in favour of hot breaking news, seeing as there's a half-finished draft in the typewriter titled 'The secret to the power of crabs? It may be vitamin sea.'
Let's be real. Crab activity on this magnitude is absolutely breaking news, and nobody gets to decide when news breaks. The crab riots may have pushed Charlotte into a very long night, and I certainly relate to the feeling of being ungracefully stirred from slumber. But then again, she has eyes and ears all over Fontaine, and could know where Furina vanished. But maybe Furina was just having a nightmare and went out to the ocean to clear her head…
"I smell you, Aether." Charlotte grumbles against the table. "You have the scent of someone who needs an investigative journalist. It's radiating off of you."
Charlotte stirs. Drool runs out of the corner of her mouth, and she's readjusting her wonky monocle. There's a red tinge to her eyes, and seeing her pupils reflect my gaze makes a drop of guilt shoot through me. My overreaction to Furina heading out on a midnight stroll wasn't worth waking her up.
"I think it can wait, just, keep sleeping." I give a thumbs-up and I'm just about to leave with a hand on Crabdric's shell. He's staring at the stars.
"No, no, I'm awake, I got two hours of sleep after being awake for twenty-seven and I'm raring to go, and, and…" Charlotte's voice rises in glee, excitement, realisation. Her pupils blast wide open. All exhaustion is gone and she points a mighty finger of recognition at my companion. "And, oh nelly, that's the king of crabs! It's him!"
Crabdric rakes his claws on the ground. The acknowledgement of lesser mortals does not stir him further. In that case, as I take in Charlotte's shock and awe, I'll do the honours.
"Crabdric, meet Charlotte, Charlotte, Crabdric." I parse my hand between them.
"Oh." Charlotte bounces out of the chair, leaving it rattling on the ground, "It's an honour, your majesty. Your people are doing a great job of peaceful protesting."
Charlotte puts out a hand. Crabdric does not reciprocate. Now, I don't think Charlotte feels insulted or anything, but she is trying to use human social norms on a crab, and only one species knows how to shake hands. It's the species that actually has hands. So, in her infinite wisdom, or because of sleep deprivation, she reaches out for one of his pincers in an attempt to shake it.
Crabdric only knows how to use his pincers for pinching. That's exactly what he does, right across the palm of her small hands. I suspect it's painful. Charlotte does an exemplary job of not showing it, other than an almost inaudible squeak. I may have to lead this conversation.
"Charlotte, you know a lot of comings and goings in Fontaine."
Charlotte rubs her hand and suppresses a tear of pain, through her smile. A red mark bruises her palm.
"Why, of course I do. And I know what you need. Come hither to learn why the crabs are rioting?"
"Not really, I don't actually care about everyone being afraid of a few decapod crustaceans."
Charlotte blinks, and restarts like a wind-up toy's string slinking back into position.
"Ah, come hither to learn Furina's whereabouts?"
All I hear is my lover's name and I black out for a second. I'm right against Charlotte. I don't remember moving my legs. Her face is only slightly unnerved by whatever anxiety I might be wearing, and to my side, Crabdric is gently tugging my hand between his pincer. I feel nothing.
"Tell me everything." My voice cracks and my eyes are bulging. "I've been without Furina for six minutes, and life is becoming painful."
"Hoo, longer than that," Charlotte takes a cautionary step back and almost pushes me away, but looks no less affable, "she was kidnapped three hours ago."
"Kidnapped!?" I sputter. Hollow dullness spreads through my veins as the single word rocks me, then fear. "Three hours!? Are the kidnappers okay? Are they still alive?"
"They're probably okay. They were experts, masters of their craft." Charlotte raises her eyebrows and leans in like we're in a secret meeting
"How'd they do it? And do they bleed!?"
C'mon, think, Furina was right there at home, she must have left at some point. Maybe she had to run out for something, we're short on seasoning, we're short on fish food. Or maybe she just stepped outside and had a mental breakdown after wasting yet another batch of macaroni…
"They knocked on the front door of your home, and she opened it. Were you not home?"
Oh.
"I was, you know, preoccupied. I was doing hero stuff, you know me." I was in bed next to this behemoth of a crustacean, but I don't want this on the front page. I'm crossing my arms, I hope I look hero-like.
"Well, apparently," Charlotte flops her hand over her table, and grabs her pastry, she continues to talk through a small chomp, "she sensed something was wrong, and threw the pot of macaroni she was holding right at the kidnappers. But, like, the water wasn't boiled, for some reason."
I'm pinching the bridge of my nose. My eyes squeeze shut. Who the hell needs a vision when you shards of macaroni, am I right? But, I'm curious. How did Charlotte find out something that specific? This feels like something one would learn by hiding in a bush outside the front of our home with a pair of binoculars, which I wouldn't put past her.
"How do you know this?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Eh, I saw them taking Furina out of the city," she waves her hand left and right like recounting the steps, "then the crabs started going crazy, so I asked a few questions-"
"You saw a kidnapping and didn't think to stop them!?"
"Wait, wait, in my defence." She shoves the pan au chocolat in my mouth before I suffer a breakdown. It's cold, but her eyes are warm and sympathetic. "The three of them are friends and there's clearly some kind of storyline going on between them. Besides, what do you take me for? Let me just casually throw my camera at a champion duellist and the leader of Spina di Rosula while they're picking pieces of cold pasta out of their hair."
"Oh." It takes a moment to swallow the pastry, and it gives me the time to respond with the seriousness this revelation deserves. "You did not just say who I think you said."
"Clorinde and Navia, of all people. Can you believe that?"
I'd rather have a brain aneurism than accept this reality. Just hearing those two names, and the world goes dark. Not because this indicates some breakdown in our friendships, but because it means this story just got complicated in ways that shall bring disaster and despair. I feel my heart pulling open and releasing a torrent of anxiety that threatens to tear through my skin.
"Sacre Dieu, not Clorinde and Navia, Furina's gonna start comparing our relationships!" I crumple to my knees in front of the fallen plastic chair. Crabdric puts a claw on my shoulder. It is the only sensation I feel in this dark world. "Did they take her to Poisson? We need to get there immediately, before she starts telling Clorinde to be more expressive with her lover. It'll lead to Clorinde criticising our co-dependency, and I'm not co-dependent, I swear!"
Through my squeaky anxiety, Charlotte raises a finger and smiles. Off to the side, another journalist appears from the shadows and holds up a notepad and pencil like a pair of sacred armaments, and thrusts them into her hands. The other journalist melds into darkness once more. Now, armed and dangerous, Charlotte whirls on her heels, gazing up at Crabdric as though he were a mountain to conquer.
"To Poisson we shall go, and all in good time. But first, I must have an interview with the fabled king." The notepad and pencil spin in her hands like they were attached with magnets. "I won't lie, the vertically challenged such as myself might find one of your stature intimidating, but journalistic integrity will let me interview you without bias, even as your subjects hammer the walls of this fine city."
"…" Crabdric makes no noise. But he's staring straight at her. Foaming.
"Monsieur Crabdric." Charlotte will now say the following without a trace of irony. "How do you respond to allegations that you and your betrothed are staging a coup to overthrow the human race with the power of your loyal servants?"
I get to my knees. And at this point I think I need to acknowledge that only serious sleep deprivation or lighting up a roll of grounded up Irminsul leaves could get someone to believe these allegations or think that crabs can respond to interview questions.
"Charlotte, no one thinks crabs are trying to overthrow humanity." I speak softly like talking to a child that has just scraped their knee.
"You've been away from the streets for too long, Aether. You're getting soft. Maybe crabs are the true apexes of the world and we've just been keeping the seats warm for them." No, Charlotte doesn't look a little deranged, why would a prospective reader think that? "I bet Crabdric really does understand human speech and hierarchy to an extent, he seems to understand that Furina is the master of Crabaletta."
"Wow, most paparazzi don't actually believe the conspiracy theories they write to scare the public." I shake my head as though I could shake the stupidity out of my brain. I can't. "I've had trepidations about crabs, but I'm also grounded in reality. Crabs are just crabs."
"Oh? Did you actually see the protests out there?" She presents the wall next to us like it was all that's saving us from the nightmare of a crab reign.
I can feel the forces of the phylum arthropoda out there. Their marches. Their frustrations. Is this why they began their protests? Their queen has gone missing? So much to consider. Is it because Furina was taken? Or because Furina is Crabaletta's creator? Are they angry on behalf of their king no longer standing side by side with his beloved? Can they function as a society without a monarchy at the top? Without rulers looking down from top of the bucket, are they doomed to succumb to base instincts and engage in the crab mentality for eons?
"Yeah, well, they're strangely coordinated for animals…" I mumble in my moment of weakness as I start becoming a conspiracy theorist. Damn it, I need to snap out of this.
"Do you know why Miss Stoicism and Miss Sunshine had to kidnap Furina?" She preys on my curiosity, eyes raising.
"Oh, oh Celestia, there's a bevy of comedic answers I can give, uh…" I ponder with a finger to my chin. "They were jealous of her al dente pasta, clearly."
"That, and also, Furina refused to give up the location of Crabdric, and she claims she sent Crabaletta off somewhere where nobody could find her. Curious, no?"
Boy, Charlotte really had plenty of time for a tête-à-tête with that trio, they really had a good old conversation about this, and thinking about this is popping the brain cells I usually reserve for thinking about my lover.
"They're crabs, who cares!?" Words shoot out of me like a string of insanity. "Do Clorinde and Navia actually think the crab regime will enslave humanity if a tiny water creature and a giant crustacean get married? Am I the only sane one here? They don't make wedding rings for pincers!"
"And yet, Furina's water construct, Crabaletta, is rumoured to be the consort for Crabdric here, a political manoeuvre that seems to be popular among the crab citizens." Charlotte leans in bright as a spark and completely enthralled. "If the two royal crabs were to be married, how would their denizens act? Who would be in control? Is the world ready for such power?"
And, like, my hand is on my face. She didn't hear a word I just said and I don't think she hears what's saying, and I don't think the fearful, conspiratorial people of Fontaine hear a thought in their own skulls. I refuse to indulge in this conspiracy that crabs will overthrow the world if Crabdric and Crabaletta get married, and Clorinde and Navia had to kidnap Furina to try and prevent that marriage from happening. Even if I grasp the edge of how people arrived at this conclusion, it'd be like grasping at an eldritch creature that endows me with madness. Smoking a roll of Irminsul leaves could only make them saner.
"This is rapidly becoming very stupid. It was already pretty stupid, but here we are. I hope it gets stupider, but there's no way that'll happen."
"Can I put that on the record?" She almost pierces the notepad with her pen. She turns it to my boy here. "Crabdric, how about you?"
Crabdric snatches and eats the notepad in one chomp. Maybe maliciously. Maybe instinctually. Charlotte is still smiling. Now I'm smiling, too.
'Crab' word count; 69
