Original Ao3 chapter summary:

OKAY, yes I KNOW what I said about taking a break. And I am! But I was almost done with this one so I thought I'd just go ahead and finish it. Break time starts now, for real!
This one's set after chapter 29!

The first thing he felt when he woke up was an intense, unrelenting pounding in his temples.

This wasn't entirely unusual for Ren these days. The lingering aftereffects of an Echo vision weren't always kind on the ol' noggin. Nor the stomach, which also seemed to be lurching in a second independent protest against him.

But this. This was different.

The sunlight against his half-closed eyes– which were swiftly fully-closed again– beat down like an overly enthusiastic heat lamp. His head spun in circles, a sensation he could feel even with his eyelids screwed shut. His mouth tasted terrible, and his tongue felt coated in cotton.

He braced himself as he tentatively listened outside his window. The birds sounded like a booming and terribly untuned orchestra. And he could swear someone somewhere must be doing more construction work in the Toll, because good gods he could feel pounding vibrations through every part of his body.

He groaned and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. Watched spots of color burst in dazzling patterns in the dark until he kind of felt like throwing up.

Reluctantly forcing his eyes open again, Ren tentatively rolled over — and screamed.

There was a head in the bed next to him. A big, placid, completely greyscale head with a luxuriously curled beard, staring at him flatly.

His legs thrashed as he fell to the floor, his blankets collapsing on top of him.

After a few seconds of smothering softness, there came a very loud knock at his door. Or maybe it was at a normal volume. His ears weren't exactly relaying accurate feedback right now.

He gurgled something incomprehensible in response, muffled under blankets and the thickness of his own tongue. Heard the creak of the door opening like a shrill alarm.

There was a familiar disapproving cluck. Ren struggled to disentangle himself from his blanket prison as he peered out at his visitor, his hair an almost unsalvageable tangle.

Y'shtola's hands were on her hips as she regarded him with something between admonishment and amusement.

"And how are we feeling this morning?"

"Bad." Was all Ren could say as he drew the thick quilt over himself.

Y'shtola hummed with vague entertainment, her head leaning against the doorframe as she watched the lumpy shape of him sulk in pillow purgatory for a good few minutes.

And then the fluffy top of Ren's head poked tentatively out from beneath the quilt. Y'shtola continued to watch as he reached out a hand, grabbing at the mattress and hauling himself onto his knees. He awkwardly fumbled for the maybe-a-head left behind on the bed, weakly dragging it back down to the floor with him with a heavy thud.

He glared at it as he and it both lay on the ground. Tapped a finger against its broad nose. Without the fog of half-sleep, he could now see that the 'head' was metal — a slightly rusted helm, carved into the shape of a man's stern face. The edges were fringed with tarnished gold and the brow was ornamented with the image of a snarling lion.

Ren fought back a fresh wave of nausea as his own head throbbed.

"How…" He croaked. Winced against his dry throat, swallowing hard before trying again, "How did this get here?"

Y'shtola's tail flicked as she crossed her arms.

"Do cast your mind back. I'm sure you will recall after some quiet reflection." She said, wry amusement in her tone.

And Ren took the heavy helmet into his hands, staring deeply into its empty silver eyes as if they might provide him with answers. He pressed his forehead to it's and squeezed his own eyes tightly shut, trying to remember past the swirl of nauseating fog…

"I really shouldn't be surprised." Slafyrsyn laughed, slapping a giant hand again at his back— at least Joker was braced for it this time. "That in just over a week since I last saw you, you've already gone and slain another god! You really are something, aren't you, lad?"

Joker hummed in a vague way, boots tightly hooked against the legs of the stool he was perched upon. The large Roegadyn man had already almost knocked him out of his chair from his casual exuberance and they hadn't even started drinking yet.

Slafyrsyn was out of his uniform, now dressed casually in an open silk shirt, three-quarter pants and sandals. A pair of thin-framed spectacles replaced his usual goggles, disarming his broad silhouette with a bookish flavor— a tactic Joker knew well. In fact, it kind of made him miss his own glasses, even if they had only been for aesthetics. He wondered if the same was true of Slafyrsyn's.

The two were seated at the Drowning Wench in Limsa Lominsa, the evening having recently crept in and signaling the end of another restful day of being forced to do nothing at all after the conclusion of his fight with Ramuh. Minfilia, taking notice of the streaks of blood from Joker's spontaneous Odin-induced nosebleed upon his return to the Rising Stones, had once again insisted upon it. And Joker didn't have it in him to argue with her. He'd capitulated, spending most of the next couple of days practicing his Eorzean script (he could write 'cat' now!) and playing catch-up on all of his recent goings on in his journal. It wouldn't do to leave the Thieves without an update, even if they had no way of receiving his messages to home. A shame his newfound Postmoogle prowess failed him with inter-world deliveries.

He'd been originally intending to retire to his bed uncharacteristically early (having resumed his old bad habit of staying up far too late with no Morgana to dictate his bedtime) when night had fallen. At least until Limsa Lominsa's Grand Marshal Slafyrsyn, somehow catching wind of Joker's forced downtime, had jumped on the opportunity to invite him out for that promised offer of a night of drunken revelry back on the Whorleater.

"Baderon!" Slafyrsyn raised a large green hand, waving across the counter and drawing the tavern's proprietor towards them, "I hear you've got my order?"

"Aye-aye, Marshal." Baderon flashed a grin, "Been keepin' it cool for ye and our local hero-cum-postal worker, don' ye worry."

And he ducked behind the counter. When he returned it was with a sizable crate hefted in his arms, stacked to the top with dark bottles. It rattled loudly as he plonked it down in front of them.

"A loaded batch of oak-aged Blackbelly whiskey, just like ye asked for." Baderon took a step back, dusting his hands.

Slafyrsyn's already broad grin widened further. He thanked him, reaching into the crate and taking hold of one of the topmost bottles, uncorking it easily with a large thumb.

"Here we are, Joker." He said, "Good and strong, like I promised you. And my treat."

Baderon pushed a pair of squat glass tumblers across the counter. Taking hold of one, Slafyrsyn tipped the bottle, pouring the whiskey over the ice inside. The color bloomed a rich, dark amber as it settled.

He slid it in Joker's direction.

"Help yourself, lad."

Joker kept his fingers upon the desk, hesitant. He had accepted the Storm Marshal's invitation both because it did genuinely sound like a good time, and because he wasn't really sure what else he was supposed to do with Minfilia all but barring him from anything more strenuous than a game of Triple Triad. But now that he was here, he was feeling a bit uncertain.

His experience with alcohol was still minimal. A few glasses of wine under his belt and a casual light ale every now and then, sure, but that wasn't saying much. In fact it practically made him a teetotaler by Lominsan standards. He'd never had the opportunity to indulge in drinking before being flung to Hydaelyn, given his age… Which was to say that all of this was actually technically still illegal by the standards of where he was from, but hey, who was around to narc?

Sensing his trepidation, Slafyrsyn flashed a reassuring smile before taking hold of his own drink. And Joker watched as he blithely tossed the glass back, downing its contents in one. The Roegadyn let out a satisfied puff of air, settling the empty tumbler back down on the counter with a rattle of ice.

Slafyrsyn turned back to Joker, raising his eyebrows.

"Alright, now you."

Joker hesitated, staring at the dark liquid. He took the glass in a hand, swishing it around a little. Watched the play of low lantern light upon the surface of the whiskey and ice cubes for a moment.

And then he mirrored the Roegadyn's gesture, swallowing it all in a single gulp.

He immediately regretted it. Joker couldn't taste any part of the drink for the sudden burning in his throat. He coughed, tears springing into his eyes.

He scrunched his face as Slafyrsyn let out a roaring laugh. Joker appreciated the slap at his back this time as it helped him dislodge the tickling prickle in the back of his windpipe.

"Ah, it's easy to forget how young you are, what with all your fantastical accomplishments. Baderon, get us some water over here, will ya?"

Fingers still tight on his tumbler, Joker huffed a little in a display of childish pique that only really served to strengthen the validity of Slafyrsyn's comment.

Okay, maybe he hadn't seen a full twenty summers yet, as they would say over here (Although technically he had, what with Summer occurring twice for him this year thanks to being abruptly dropped in the middle of Eorzean spring, but… well, technicalities). But age aside, he'd killed gods for gods' sake. Give him a little credit…

Eyes dangerously bright with a sparked competitiveness, Joker reached a hand around Slafyrsyn and grabbed hold of the bottle. He poured himself another drink, face set.

And Slafyrsyn let out a little sound of joy as he downed a second whiskey, this time braced for the burn. The delighted Marshal raised his own refilled glass in a cheer as Joker fought back another wince.

"There we go lad, that's how it's done!"

And the Roegadyn threw back his next drink as well. Grinning, he reached into the crate and procured a fresh bottle, the liquid sloshing a little as he shook it slightly in an unspoken offer.

They each had another round. This time Joker could actually taste the drink. Behind the burn, it was actually quite pleasantly smooth on his tongue, strongly oaky and with a gentle touch of sweetness that undercut the natural dry bitterness of the alcohol. Not bad!

Only… oh. Oh geez, he was already feeling a little dizzy. Just in a vague, tingly way, like his limbs were a bit further away from himself than they ordinarily would be. That was probably a sign that he was well and truly getting buzzed now. He frowned at the traces of lingering amber among the melting ice at the bottom of his glass almost accusingly.

"Y'know, this all reminds me…" Baderon said as he drifted their way again, a tall glass of water in hand that Joker pointedly ignored because he was being petty, "I actually got a bottle 'ere with yer name on it, Joker. Gift from a fella ye might recognise. Shamani Lohmani of Wineport. Sound familiar?"

Joker thought for a moment, brain kinda tingly. He'd been memorizing so many new names of late, it was hard to keep them all in his head even when he hadn't just downed three whiskeys.

He snapped his fingers as he suddenly remembered.

"Oh! The Lalafell from the Company of Heroes. The one who's a winemaker now. Might have put the moves on Y'shtola or maybe vice versa." He added with a nod.

Baderon nodded, crossing his arms, "Tha's our man! Told me to save a glass o' Lohmani Red fer ye if ye ever stopped by. His own label, as ye may have guessed."

And Baderon returned after a brief dip into the back, a green glass bottle in hand tied with a festive red ribbon, "Think 'e'd 'ave preferred ye split it with miss Rhul, but what he don' know won' hurt 'im. Should I crack it open now?"

Joker tapped at his chin in an unconscious and appropriately Y'shtola-ry fashion, "I have had wine a few times." He hummed, considering it, "It wasn't so bad. Alright."

And the two older men looked delighted as Joker accepted the drink that was poured into a tall wineglass. A rich and velvety red that he had to admit looked very tantalizing.

Thoroughly relaxed by his mild-to-moderate inebriation, Joker didn't hesitate this time, taking an eager sip. It wasn't as good as the very expensive-sounding variety Y'shtola had procured for the banquet at Costa del Sol— that stuff had fucking rocked. But it was the next best thing of what he'd tried so far, and overall his impression was highly positive. Guess Shamani Lohmani really did know what he was doing.

When he had finished off the last of it, Joker tapped idly at his emptied glass for a moment before shrugging and asking for another. It was a gift, after all. Would be rude otherwise. Totally. Baderon complied, smirking.

Slafyrsyn continued working his way through the crate of whiskey bottles while Joker took his time savoring the second glass of Lohmani Red. And then after that a third. He tipped the long stem of the wineglass in his fingers as a thought occurred to his increasingly hazy mind.

"Wine is made with grapes." Joker said suddenly, staring into the depths of the red that swirled in his latest refill.

Slafyrsyn nodded slowly, "That is true, aye." He said, uncertain of the point of that statement.

Joker frowned as he regarded the three-quaters consumed beverage with something like suspicion. That fact had seemed terribly important for just a moment, for some reason. He shrugged as he finished off the rest of it in a hearty gulp.

And then he set the glass down, pushing himself back a little with his hands on the counter. He rocked a bit in his seat as he observed the way the lantern lights in his vision refracted with dazzling streaks in a display of newfound astigmatism.

"I like wine." He suddenly quipped chipperly, voice slightly slurred and head tipped back, "Buuut I'm also getting kinda sick of it now. Maybe I should stop?"

"Naww," Said Slafyrsyn in response, waving a hand as his voice began to drawl a little, "You just need yourself a palate cleanser! Baderon, give us a menu!"

And the Marshal swept a triumphant hand as the barkeep handed them a paper with an exhaustive list of vices, including faded illustrations.

"Welcome to the wide world of alcoholic beverages, lad! Go ahead, broaden that palate!"

Joker squinted as he leaned in, his stool tipping a little. He slowly read through the letters on the menu, piecing together the names of various Eorzean drinks– something that was tricky enough already without a slightly spinning head. Joker frowned blearily at something listed as a… 'Mun-Tuy brew', maybe?

"Aren't those beans?" He asked, jabbing a finger at the list, "I saw them at th' market at Gridania once. They're beans, aren't they?"

Slafyrsyn snickered, "That they are! The old tree hugging bastards make it by fermenting 'em."

"Oh!" Joker clumsily raised the finger he'd been pointing into the air, "I wanna try the bean beer!"

"No you don't." The Roegadyn shook his head, mouth twisting, "Stuff reeks like an Opo-Opo's arsehole."

Joker let out a petulant puff of air, "You said I should broaden my palate! You said!"

Baredon shook his head as he fixed him an small serving in a tankard, setting it down next to his two other empty glasses and the still very full water that he also surreptitiously pushed closer.

…And okay, the smell of it did almost make Joker puke. But he held it down. And also his nose when he took the first sip. But the flavor itself actually wasn't too bad.

For the hell of it, he ordered himself another. He didn't miss Baderon substantially watering the second one down with the glass he still hadn't touched, but didn't have it in him to complain– it smelt a lot better this way.

The impact upon its alcohol content was still rather negligible, however. And as such, Joker was well and truly sauced. He flopped his hot head on the cool counter for a moment, peeking between his ever-lengthening mess of dark hair to study a comparatively more steady— but still undoubtedly intoxicated— Slafyrsyn as he peered at the clear sight of the moon beyond the tavern's window.

"…No fog." He murmured, gaze wistful and slightly… worried? "This time of year, even the perpetual mists of the southernmost Cieldalaes isles lift. The forgotten ones along the fringes. Won't be long before the daft fools seeking the legend of Mistbeard's golden coffer come knocking 'round there again."

It took Joker's well-clouded head a lengthy moment to dredge up where he had also heard that name before— oh yes. The legendary Pirate King from Limsa Lominsa's shadowy past who had absolutely vanished from history without a trace and definitely wasn't on his eighth whiskey of the night in a pub somewhere.

He tilted his head against the countertop, "Why? Has i' got treasure in it?" He asked, voice coming thickly. He could certainly understand the allure if that was the case. He had been known for swiping anything and everything of the remotest value from Palaces in Phantom Thief heists, to the point that even Morgana had gotten exasperated with him. But he'd been the one handling the funds, so boo-hoo.

"Not of the conventional sort— the chest is supposed to hold his mask." Slafyrsyn's hold on his tumbler tightened. Joker found himself worrying that the glass would crack, "Worn over the centuries by all the individuals who have borne the name 'Mistbeard'. The last of which they say buried it upon the hidden and appropriately mist-shrouded Hullbreaker Isle."

After a moment he took in a breath, loosening his trembling grip, "And I'd be content to leave it at that. The mask symbolizes an obsolete way of life in this new chapter of Lominsa's history, and it should be consigned to the past. Yet it is not without power. Should it fall into the wrong hands, another Mistbeard will rise. Hot-blooded Lominsans will again take up his mantle, and the age of piracy will continue…"

Well, Joker definitely understood the power of a mask and a name, especially when tied with anonymity. Sort of his bread-and-butter back home. Anyone with enough gravitas and influence could probably become the next Pirate King if they truly found the verifiable original…

And as the Marshal trailed off into foreboding silence, an absolutely brilliant idea struck Joker like an electric shock from Ramuh himself. His head suddenly whipped up from the desk with enough speed to crick his neck. He stood upright, clumsily pushing back his stool.

"We should go get it!"

Slafyrsyn tilted his head. Joker spread his arms wide in exuberance.

"Mistbeard's coffer! We should go there and dig it back up before anyone else does!" He elaborated eagerly in what he tried to make a whisper-shout, in case other people were listening. Although he wasn't sure how successful he was being at keeping his volume down, "It'll be a treasure hunt!"

Slafyrsyn stared at him as his dazed eyes practically sparkled, much like Morgana's often would when he saw a chance for treasure.

And after a pause Slafyrsyn slowly nodded, fingers stroking at his beard. "There's some logic in that, aye. If we find the mask before some other less charitable soul, we can ensure no other fool can again take up the dread banner. Ensure that the legend of the Pirate King Mistbeard at last draws its final breath… Alright." He added, standing up as well, his broad shoulders casting a strong silhouette against the light of the moon coming through the window, "I know a man. We can head there right now."

Yesss! Adventure!

Joker vibrated with excitement as they both exited the tavern on slightly unsteady legs, Baredon watching them go with a shrug. Some distant part of Joker's brain poked meekly at the back of his awareness. Sounding a little like Makoto, it mumbled something about how this was probably not a good idea. And also that he was supposed to be resting and Minfilia would be very cross with him. But the rest of him, which at the moment resembled a tavern full of drunken pirates, a small pantheon's worth of howling, beastly gods and maybe a bit of Ryuji, was chanting back a resounding "Go for it!" And to paraphrase Baderon; what Minfilia didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Slafyrsyn's man was a retired pirate by the name Denston. He seemed utterly baffled that the 'chief', as he called him, wanted to be transported to Hullbreaker Isle of all places, and so suddenly on this very night. But he was once a loyal hand of a certain Pirate King himself, and so compiled all the same. Joker and Slafyrsyn piled onto his small ship, guided through the rapidly churning seas that surrounded the southern Cieldalaes with the suspiciously practiced hand of an expert.

Joker took in steadying breaths when they came ashore on the island in question, covered shore-to-shore in lush tropical jungle. Despite the fact he had been pretty okay on boats before, a swelling desire to vomit was constantly circling a little in the back of his throat. Must be the rough waters. Yeah.

The next series of events were kind of a blur, appearing in Ren's mental recount as flashes of scattered moments. Pieced awkwardly together into some kind of chronology, he had a vague idea of how things had more or less played out.

The two very armed and very drunk men had tramped into the jungle, tearing their way through the overgrowths. They chased away any startled creature that tried to assault them. With a hefty axe at the ready, Slafyrsyn seemed to be having quite the time. Indeed, his voice had taken on a strongly ocker quality, his intoxication wiping aside his usual comparative decorum as he roared down upon the— wait, was that a fucking Sasquatch? Was he remembering this right?

His next memory was of a winding tunnel slick with algae, and bearing traces of wooden structures that had once borne a now long-disused campsite. And among said debris had been a simple treasure chest.

Joker perked up.

"Oh, look, look! Is this it?"

Slafyrsyn shook his head, "Naw, th' one we're searchin' for is engraved with gold, and hopefully still buried at the far end of the island, at th' other shoreline. This couldn't be it."

Oh. "Can we open it anyway?" He asked, ale-glazed eyes bright and fingers twitching, "There might be something else good inside!"

And as Joker hovered over it like an excited child the chest suddenly rattled, visibly rocking a little. Slafyrsyn let out a hiss of air between his teeth.

"I'm almost certain tha' one's a mimic, lad."

Joker frowned at him suspiciously with bleary eyes.

"How certain?"

Slafyrsyn shrugged, "I dunno, a good ninety-nine percent?"

And Joker snorted, hands upon his hips, "Then that's still a one percent chance it isn't!"

He drew himself up, filled to the brim with liquid courage and mind-numbing insobriety as he continued.

"Part of being a Phantom Thief, Marshal!" He declared proudly, waving a finger in the air. Not that the other man had any clue what he meant by that, of course, "History is made by people who laugh at the numbers! Ya gotta take great risks for great loot! Gotta fight the odds."

And with that did Joker bend down, hands on either side of the chest's lid.

A brief moment later, Joker found his legs thrashing wildly as his head was enveloped by a set of hinged jaws, teeth closing around his upper torso.

"S-Slafyrsyyyn!" He cried, arms desperately pounding against the side of the chest as he felt something wet and slimy feel at his face, "Helppp! It's dark and wet and scary!"

Thankfully, Slafyrsyn's strength was enough to dislodge him from the Mimic's hold after only a couple of hearty tugs on his legs. Joker gasped as he flopped inelegantly to the ground, head drenched with viscous saliva.

He put his sopping face in his hands, mumbling out a muffled thank you.

They carried on— Slafyrsyn repeatedly literally steering Joker away by the shoulder from multiple clearly-not-golden treasure chests as he drifted with an excited little murmur towards each one they encountered.

At the far end of the tunnel was the sight of the southern shore— and the shadow of great, twisted wreckage of a once proud ship, its mighty hull indeed dashed upon the jagged rocks and haphazardly scattering planks of wood upon the sand.

"The Haar," Slafyrsyn nodded, his eyes alight with conflicting emotion, "Mistbeard's ol' ship, lost for decades now."

The tunnel opened out to a sheer drop above the shoreline. Slafyrsyn peered down, shaking his head,

"Id forgotten what a leap it was." Slafyrsyn said hesitantly, a more distantly rational part of his brain considering how unwise such a jump would be in their current states, "Perhaps we should find another way d–"

But before he had finished speaking, Joker had thrown himself with reckless abandon over the edge. His companion watched with eyes agog as his coattails whipped around him, before he landed smoothly at the bottom, bent down on his hands and knees. He looked back at the shape of the Roegadyn on the cliff above him with a grin.

"Nothin' to it!"

Slafyrsyn shook his head before following boldly after him, letting out a delighted whoop.

Ren wasn't sure how much time they had spent combing the sands around the wreckage of the Haar, but he did recall the moment they finally dug up their vaunted prize— a large crimson coffer, lined with golden engravings. The Marshal's hands were subtly unsteady as he unearthed it from the soil, looking it over with a keen eye.

"The lock's still intact, an' there's no sign it's been tampered with. Good, good."

And to Joker's delight, it was he that got to do the tampering, easily twisting a makeshift lockpick with what he had on hand and gently wriggling the sturdy lock on the chest's front. He stepped back, waving a hand at Slafyrsyn to the honors. The man steeled himself for a moment before nodding firmly, resolved.

Joker peered excitedly over Slafyrsyn's bent shoulder, cooing in awe at the false head that peered back at them on the red velvet cushion within.

"'Ere it is!" Slafyrsyn cried, lifting the helm up high. Though dulled by time, the steel still nevertheless managed to catch a dazzling ray of moonlight, lighting the curved surfaces and throwing the angles of the face into sharp relief. It almost seemed to scowl at them as Slafyrsyn gave a giddy laugh, "I almost can't believe it's still—"

And then the two nearly fell over, their already somewhat precarious balance on drunken legs shaken by a sudden quake from the depths of the sea.

They shielded their faces with their arms against the sudden great splash of water that fell upon them, blinking at the menacing silhouette that had risen against the moon. A mass of undulating shapes, an enormous round head, and furious bugging eyes. A giant octopus, or squid or…?

It let out a keening howl as its tentacled arms flailed. An abrupt storm ripped through the coastline at the beast's call, blanking out the light of the moon with dark clouds and pelting a sudden burst of heavy rainfall down upon them.

"Bloody hells— Kraken!" Slafyrsyn shouted, tossing the bulky coffer aside and readying his weapon again.

Joker drew a pair of daggers. The flailing beast definitely fit the description, for sure. He supposed he should've expected something like this.

His memory of most of the fight was a dizzying blur of lunging tentacles and spraying ink, set against the constant deluge of an angry squall.

Slafyrsyn grit his teeth, taking tight hold of the axe handle. With a roar, he swung his weapon, sending the bladed edge slicing clean through a tentacle that came at his head. The top came away, still wiggling violently in the air before splashing back into the sea.

Joker held his own in much the same way, weaving dexterously between lunging appendages (and quite admirably so, he had to say in hindsight, given the degree of his inebriation), and slashing his way ever closer to the Kraken's body. He jumped back as magic pooled from the beast's body, prompting a sudden spout of roiling seawater to burst between the tidal rocks and nearly taking his leg off.

More and more explosions of highly pressurized water erupted through the mass of stones at the edge of the shore, attempting to encircle him. Well, that was hardly a problem. With Leviathan at the forefront of his heart, Joker leapt forward. He felt the sea in his veins as his teeth sharpened. Threw himself into the deluge, watched it ripple around him as his slitted eyes glowed bright, taking hold of it with the Lord of the Whorl's superior mastery over the whirling waters.

And when he was at the apex of the spout's plume did he leap. He dove through the air, a pair of knives pulled back in his hands. And with a cry, Joker plunged the blades deep into the very top of the Kraken's bulbous head.

There was a spurt of blood. A great tremor rocked the Kraken's body, its tentacles stiffening.

And then its bulging eyes rolled up, glaring into Joker's from where he remained connected to it via his hold of the knives still plunged deep into the thick, rubbery skin of its mantle.

Ah. Guess that wasn't where the brain was…?

Immensely regretting his lack of knowledge of cephalopod anatomy, Joker yelped as the angered beast retaliated, swiftly wrapping a slithering arm around his torso.

Whoops.

Joker let out an angry scream as he was suddenly thrown through the air, tossed aside like a rag doll. No fair, no fair, it was supposed to be dead!

He heard Slafyrsyn call out to him in alarm as he hurtled rapidly towards the writhing sea. He closed his eyes, letting the storm buffeting his body envelop him as he reached inside himself for that rather persistent voice of reason at the back of his head.

There was a burst of blue flame, followed by an eruption of crackling lightning.

And when the light faded, Joker was hovering smoothly in the air, the storming winds wrapping around him like a protective embrace, adorned in oversized layers of flowing robes.

The once volatile gales lowered him gently down, as if aiding him like guiding hands. He landed smoothly just above the surface of the water, the toes of his boots peeking from under the layers of cloth and alighting upon the crests of the waves with a gentle ripple.

Both Slafyrsyn and the Kraken looked astonished as Joker floated serenely above the sea, robes billowing in the wind and eyes closed, a familiar red staff held in his hands.

The gold blaze of Their eyes was uncanny in the dark as they suddenly snapped open. Their robes whipped around Their face in a sudden, violent flurry as the pacified storm renewed with reignited vigor, becoming Theirs.

The dark clouds above rumbled. They readjusted Their grip on the smooth wood of the staff. Raised its forked spikes high to the heavens.

They tipped Their head back. Their eyes narrowed with a serene contempt.

"Begone."

And the bolt of lightning that leapt at the word streaked through the sky, crashing down upon the Kraken with enough force to shake the sea. Its tentacles thrashed in a chaotic tangle as it writhed against the pain, and then slowly stilled as it tipped sideways, smoke rising from its fried body. Its great weight crashed against the shore, an enormous column of water rising in its wake and spilling against the stones.

The rain stopped abruptly. The clouds began to part, a beam of early morning sunlight piercing through.

And Slafyrsyn whistled as Joker stepped back onto solid land, Ramuh's robes melting away behind him into trailing blue embers that vanished into the dawn sky.

The Roegadyn approached the Kraken with a touch of caution, his old helmet re-retrieved and under an arm, and his axe trailing in the sand behind him. He gave it a swift, experimental kick. It didn't move.

Slafyrsyn turned back to Joker with a broad grin on his face.

"Tha' was fantastic, lad!" He bellowed, hefting his belongings to clap his hands, "T' think ye—"

He cut himself off abruptly as he peered at Joker's face in the growing light. His expression was deeply troubled as he stared down at his hands, still sparking with traces of electricity.

"Lad? Joker, are y' alright?"

And Joker turned to him, face practically melting into a wibbling lip and shining doe-eyes.

"I didn't grow a beard!" He cried.

Slafyrsyn tilted his head, "Eh? Tha's what you're upset abou'?"

Joker sniffled heavily against watery eyes, "I-I wanted to grow a big Ramuh-beard when I… did the—the thing. The… 'Priming' thing. W' the eating an' stuff. A real big, fluffy white one. Turn to you and b-be like 'hey look now I'm Mistbeard'! Buh—but I didn't!"

Slafyrsyn frowned sadly. He awkwardly pat at his shaking shoulder with a large hand, "C'mon, It don' really matter now, do it?"

Joker sucked in a breath, "It ruined my joke." He murmured, fat tears beginning to track down his cheeks, "I'm Joker. Ish wha' I do. And it ruined it. Tha's not fair..."

"Awwww, now, now. Here, look a' this."

Slafyrsyn hauled his old mask up, hovering it above Joker's head. And then he dropped it heavily over him like an ill-fitting helmet. Sized for a large Roegadyn man, it fully encompassed Joker's head and neck, slipping down to his shoulders and blacking out his sight completely.

"There see! Now y' are Mistbeard!"

Another sniff echoed loudly from inside the hollow mask, "Y'mean it?"

"'Course lad, 'course! In fact, you can keep it! It's safer in your 'ands–- and you can consider it my gift for killin' ol' Leviathan an' that big beastie just now!"

Joker clonked his enlarged false head against the man's chest like a bunting cat, "Tha'sh sho nice of youuuu…" He practically mewled.

And then he promptly tore the helmet off and staggered to the shoreline, throwing up into the sea.

"Oh."

Ren blinked at the ceiling for several seconds. There were still gaps in his memory– he had no clue how he ended up back at the Rising Stones afterwards, for instance. But he got the gist of everything now, at least.

Face going slightly green, he rolled himself up like a burrito in his blankets and became a fat little Tsuchinoko on the floor.

"I'm just gonna… die. On the floor. Yeah."

He planted his forehead hard against the wooden boards below.

Y'shtola gave an amused hum as she leaned an arm against the door frame.

"I suppose it is important for young people to experience overindulgence firsthand so that they may learn from it."

Ren lifted his head to raise a grouchy eyebrow, "Oh, a 'young person' am I?" He grumbled, "So you're finally admitting that you're not actually twenty-three, then?"

Y'shtola said nothing. She merely stared at him for a good several, heavy seconds as he squirmed with intense and immediate regret under her unbroken gaze.

An ominous shadow passed over her face as she smiled.

Ren spent the rest of the morning huddled in the corner of the Rising Stone's kitchen, bent low over a mug of pitch-black coffee and refusing to budge until he knew for a fact Y'shtola had left. Tataru occasionally paused in her meal preparations to pat at the top of his head, holding back tittering laughter.

Original Ao3 endnotes:

MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES TO FREQUENT COMMENTER ODEH, who I know has been desperately wanting to see Joker with a big ol' Ramuh beard and has now had their hopes as thoroughly dashed as Joker's himself.

Yeah, I've been watching Frieren, how could you tell?

(Sorry, the opportunity with the mimics was too good to pass up! Plus a Dungeon Meshi reference too. I'm on a roll!)

A couple of bonus sketches!

1. When they came back afterwards (Thancred has lots of experience with drunk people!)

2. Joker's appearance as of 2.3! I'll probably include this in the next main chapter as well.

See you again with a new chapter of the main fic when I get back from my break. :D