Chapter Text
In a private room on an airship headed Girmingham's way, Merdera and Trillium sat together. Trillium held his glasses, moving them around, swapping between hands, turning them to face him then away from him, as he rested his head on the window. The wind howled as though it was performing a dirge. Many feet below them, people were finishing up with work, perhaps already heading out. Many feet below them, the country's couples celebrated a cold Valentine's Day, warmed by their shared company. Perhaps, had it been any other day, there might have been a little warmth left for Merdera and Trillium. But as it was, despite the best efforts of the ship's radiators, they shivered. They hoped they were shivering from the cold. Better that than anything else.
Trillium tugged at his button-up shirt. One day, he thought, he'd have to really fill out his wardrobe. But, at the same time, he had to be mindful that, without a fixed place to live, he'd have to carry everything around with him. His ornate Medingile robe lay folded up at the bottom of his bag. His switchblade rested in his pocket. His hand rested around his switchblade.
Out of nowhere, Trillium spoke.
Trillium: "My name is Trillium Wakerobin."
Merdera turned to him. The dark sky behind him, out that window, with a layer of clouds below, seemed to fill the room, maybe even the entire airship. Trillium spoke and the clouds swirled.
Trillium: "My father is the 3rd Baron Wakerobin, and the chancellor of the University of Bambridge. One day, I shall be the 4th Baron Wakerobin. And my dad would have me inherit his chancellorship as well. My life revolved around study. My studies led me to uncovering scores of extinct martial arts which now live on in me. But it was too much. So I ran away. And now I'm here. A Hunter."
Merdera: "... Thank you."
Trillium: "Hanyu teaches at the university. He knew who I was. And now you do too. I don't know why I kept it from you for so long."
Merdera: "We haven't known each other for even two full months. You haven't kept anything from me for anywhere near 'so long'."
Trillium: "... I suppose so."
There never was silence in their room. Even when their words stayed stuck in their bodies, the wind filled the gaps, as did the whirring of the fans, the faint hum of the lightbulbs, and the gurgles of the radiator. There was no silence, just moments of contemplation.
Merdera: "My name is Merdera Zoldyck, eldest son of the Zoldyck family of assassins. When we met, I believed I'd been locked up because my parents feared that I might rebel. But I'm less and less sure that was why."
Trillium: "..."
Merdera: "When we met, I had these memories of my dad coming down to visit me when my youngest sibling, Kalluto, was born. But, the more I tried to recall it, the more the whole memory crept away from me. I don't think he ever came down. How could he? But I swear, I received communications somehow... It's just all gone. Hell, the first time I arrived into Heavens City, I was under the impression I hadn't eaten since my imprisonment started. But that just doesn't sound right. Even Zeno has to eat occasionally."
He sighed. It had only been a couple of months since he'd broken free from his chamber, deep down in Kukuroo Mountain. It should all still be fresh in his memory. And yet, try as he might, not a whisper of his time there came to him in any real detail. The room was small and oppressive, but that's as far as he could get.
Merdera: "When Ken's Hunter Exam videos came out, I told you I was worried my family might find it, but those worries passed eventually. But, I remember thinking to myself, isn't Milluki always online? It wasn't until much later when I realised, how did I know that?"
Trillium couldn't come up with a response. Merdera didn't need a response. Trillium listening was more than enough.
Merdera: "I'm afraid I can't tell you my past as you told me yours. But as soon as I'm able to, I promise you, I will."
A small smile snuck onto Trillium's face. Just a small one. The wind howled once more.
Merdera: "You know, if this goes well, I'm a little worried... If we come out on top, I worry I'll ride the high of victory, I'll ride it and won't be able to stop. Not until some calamity of equal size arrives to knock me back down. I survived that first encounter. I won my fights yesterday. I don't want to say it, but it would almost be easier to lose."
Trillium: "... My life is a series of ups and downs. Not the same as your ups and downs, but I like to think I can relate. I know what it feels like to ride those highs, to coast on through after a victory. And I know what it's like to plunge into the night. I know it well. Merdera, I'm going to do what I can to keep you grounded. I'll help ease you down from your ups. I'll help you pick you up from your downs."
Merdera: "... Thank you. Again."
And the wind swept by once more. They sat still, in thought. Though of course, as the space in between their words was not silence, the space in between their motions was not still. Their hearts raced, their bodies shook. Merdera swiveled his shoulder as Trillium did his glasses.
Trillium: (thinking) "There's no need to thank me... I have to do it. I have to keep you grounded... It's my duty. That's what it feels like... I have no choice. And maybe, this duty of mine will help keep me grounded, too..."
Eventually, the two of them stepped out into a cold February evening in Girmingham. Merdera stood, wearing both his sword and his shinai, one belt above the other. It reminded Trillium of the tales of Miyamoto Musashi. He hoped Merdera's strength would rise up to that fabled level as well. And, after a brief walk, they got into their ride. Damnameneus looked at them through the rear-view mirror.
Damnameneus: "You ready?"
---
While they had been scheduled to perform a job for Henry Ombudsman, the recent events involving him and Clean-o-Brill meant Matcha and Sencha were a little short of work. Sencha had received a message from Larboard assigning him a job in a couple of days he was sure Oolong had mentioned he was going to do, but even that wasn't much. In a spare room tucked away in Clough's offices, the two of them made their way through a stack of paperwork. They'd take ferrying rich pains-in-the-ass over being stuck on admin duty any day...
Sencha: "Hey, we should probably check about later with the boss, just to make sure it's all still okay."
Matcha: "Oh, sure, it's been a while since we asked for the time off. I'll call."
The phone rang. The phone kept ringing. Only when Matcha was about to give up and try again later did Larboard answer. And for the first few seconds, Matcha heard nothing but the hum of a computer and what sounded like a very long sigh. He had to be the first to speak.
Matcha: "Boss, I hope you're well. I was just calling to confirm about mine and Sencha's upcoming time off."
The computer's hum sounded angry, like a hornet's buzz.
Larboard: (on phone) "... Time off?"
Matcha: "For Valentine's Day. We requested this evening through to the morning after tomorrow to be free from call. Just wanted to make sure it was still all okay."
Larboard: (on phone) "... Oh. Yeah. Sure."
Matcha: "... Uh, terrific, that was all. Thanks, Boss."
Larboard: (on phone) "... Thank you, Matcha... for all the work you do... and pass my thanks onto Sencha too, please... I value you more than I can say..."
The two guards shared a look. That was odd, right? The call ended. Matcha didn't need to say it. The thought had already transmitted straight to Sencha. Hora hora. Well, no matter how strange Larboard sounded there, the confirmation that their date night had the boss' go-ahead made the mountain of admin go down a little faster. Filing one sheet in the 'completed' pile, Sencha raised his head to the ceiling in thought, counting on his fingers.
Sencha: "...seven, eight, nine... Hey, I'm pretty sure we're all gonna be in the office today. How long's it been since that's happened?"
Matcha: "Oh, really? We're here, Peppermint's working with Bulwark... Gunpowder and Chamomile went out on a job, but they should be back soon..."
Sencha: "Lapsang's on admin duty too. Oolong is... I'm not sure what he's doing actually, but I don't recall him being on too distant a job today. Rooibos was meant to be travelling over to Juliet "Above Punishment" Grumple, but, uhh, I think they're stationed here too. Not too sure, I don't see much of them. And, of course..."
Matcha: "Oh yeah. Darjeeling's back today. Hora hora."
Sencha: "I wonder what he's gonna be like...? All this time away from the office... I get it, of course. I'd have wanted some time away too, if I'd..."
And he trailed off. Matcha knew exactly what he meant. Honestly, the two of them were surprised Gunpowder had stayed so close to the offices. Taking all those taxi jobs must have been his way of dealing with it all. Elsewhere in the offices, stationed at the front end of that long corridor heading down to Clough's den, Peppermint's mind was as far from silly things like looking out for threats to Clough as it could be. What did he have to worry about anyway? He was a rich guy, that's all. He wasn't even public facing right now. Why did he hire guards for times like this? She had something else on her mind now, something much more important.
Peppermint: (thinking) "The fugue... It's finished, isn't it...? You've been putting off playing it in full. Of course you have. I want to hear it. But... when it's done... when your time composing is over..."
Her breathing shook. Her stomach felt like it was full of butterflies. No, not butterflies... Wasps. Her insides stung all over. She'd travelled so far down this road with Bulwark over such little time.
Peppermint: (thinking) "...there'll be no escape."
In another room, a small break room, Rooibos huddled a piping hot tea over to the chair next to Lapsang, who was taking a break from her admin work. She stretched her neck then sipped her coffee, black, with seven heaped spoons of instant coffee and not a single sugar. Any less coffee and it just wouldn't register on her tongue. Hours of digital admin, hunched over by her laptop, really made the base of her neck sore.
Rooibos: "You see Oolong today?"
When was the last time Lapsang had heard Rooibos speak? She cast her mind back, and had they not just asked her a question, would have kept casting her mind back for a long time before anything came to her. Rooibos just tended to work alone. While they were a guard, the bulk of their work was acting as a go-between for Larboard and his clients. There were plenty of people out there who'd heard Rooibos talk more than any of the other guards put together.
Lapsang: "No, not once. I'm pretty sure I heard him leaving yesterday, though. It was around his usual time but he didn't sound his usual self. He left in quite the state."
Rooibos: "Oh?"
Lapsang: "I've no clue what was going on, though. I swear I could hear something else, too. Things sliding around in a box."
Rooibos: "You think he was...? No, that wouldn't make sense."
Lapsang: "It kind of sounded like it, yeah. But, there's no way Oolong was fired. He must have just been moving something for the boss. He's always scurrying back and forth from the boss' office, after all."
Rooibos just sipped their tea with a shrug. Time simply passed in the offices, and if you didn't know Larboard's guards were bodyguards, you wouldn't have been able to tell them apart from regular Clough Industries employees. Driving back from a job, Gunpowder and Chamomile lightly nodded their heads to one of Rainy Drive's tracks. Her head on the window, a light patter of rain providing a gentle layer of white noise behind the music, she closed her eyes for a second, wishing she'd been able to ask Barquentine out for Valentine's Day. Maybe next year. She didn't even know if Barquentine was into women or not. In fact, she'd never heard her mention anyone in that sort of way. Maybe it'd have to be the year after...
Elsewhere, also travelling back to the offices, resting his head against the train window, the guard Darjeeling barely heard the racket around him. It all just faded together into a whirling haze of sounds, occasionally cut through by the announcement of the next stop. Cross was still a few away. It felt like so long ago, the last time he was here. He felt he was finally ready to return.
Among Larboard's guards, Darjeeling was the only one who wore a typical black suit. Oddly, in their company, it really made him stand out. Once upon a time, and indeed, the last time Darjeeling was actually in their company, it wasn't just him, as Jasmine typically went for a standard suit too, but now, of course, he was left as the only one.
When a nobleman off in the continent had got in touch with Larboard for his services, Larboard had planned to offer a polite rejection. His guards worked in England, and expecting any one of them to travel so far just wasn't reasonable. But Darjeeling had leapt at the opportunity. The nobleman was offering good money, and Darjeeling was up for it, so there was no reason for Larboard to say no. And even when the job was meant to be done, Darjeeling somehow managed to get an extension. He hadn't felt it right to return just yet.
He'd killed Mulie. That's how he looked at it, anyway. Those weeks ago, following that urgent call to track her down and bring her back to Clough, Darjeeling and Gunpowder had been the ones to do it. They stood as the strongest of Larboard's guards. It only made sense. Many believed, since Gunpowder was visibly larger, that he was the strongest of the lot, but Gunpowder and Darjeeling had arm-wrestled many times and knew very well the results. They'd used their strength, they'd captured Mulie, they'd thrown her in the brig, and then, they'd stood by as that hitman Zeirni stole her life.
Darjeeling didn't reckon he'd ever said more than a couple of words to Mulie and he wasn't even sure he'd done that much. They may never have spoken, he couldn't quite remember. But that didn't mean he was in any way comfortable with his part in her execution. He hadn't known he was taking her back for that. But he'd done it.
He shut his eyes, hard, trying to send those nasty thoughts away. He couldn't keep on living in fear of what he'd done. He had to go back to his boss eventually. He clenched his eyes shut, all sorts of strange lights and illusory colours dancing across his blank vision, the sounds around him fading out further. And, just outside the offices, under cover from the rain, Larboard's mind rang with haze as he finished off another cigarette. It wasn't even late yet and he'd already finished off a whole pack. Good thing he'd bought another.
Larboard: (thinking) "It's so warm... It's nothing like the ocean's depths, it's like... sharing a moment around a campfire with friends. It's no substitute, not really. But it's nice in its own way."
He'd been out here most of the day. Normally, he'd never spend so much of his time like this, but what was Clough going to do about it? He'd still not contacted Larboard since the other day. A little smoke break like this wasn't going to get him to do so. Besides, Clough smoked boxes of cigars as a smoker might a pack of cigarettes. He wasn't in the position to say something here.
Larboard: (thinking) "It's all I can do. I can't stop. Because when I do, even if it's just as I flick the lighter, I just think of Oolong. Fuck."
Larboard just didn't know what to think about Oolong, about last night. Oolong had been acting out of care. Larboard knew that very well. He just wished that care didn't have to come at the cost of honesty. At the end of the day, his line of business revolved around trust, not compassion, and unfortunately, his most compassionate guard ended up becoming his least trustworthy. It was all rotten. He had to fire him. There was no other choice. He knew exactly how much deathsroot he'd been taking. His addiction wasn't nearly as bad as he'd oftimes worried it was. And he knew that much for certain.
Larboard: (thinking) "He took both my bags... that he knew of... but when I picked up Bulwark's keyboard, I also picked up a third... I went, in person, for the first time. But I'm not addicted that badly. If I were, I'd have taken some by now. But it's still right here..."
He pressed his fingers to one of his jacket pockets. There it was, an unmistakable feeling. He could have deathsroot in one pocket and ginger in the other and he'd be able to tell them apart just by the texture. It was right there, his proof that he was handling things just fine. He hadn't taken any. He didn't have any desire to take any. He touched the bag through his pocket again. The sensation wasn't quite as vivid as it had been before. All those cigarettes, that persistent heat against his fingers, must have dulled their receptors a little. But even still, he could feel it well enough.
As he looked down at his second pack of cigarettes, his hand hovering over it, at the ready to grab out another one as soon as the thoughts got too much for him, he felt a buzz from another pocket. A message. Bulwark was requesting him.
Larboard: (thinking) "He's finished... I won't need the next pack, then. I was going to check up on him as soon as my smoke break was done, anyway..."
And Larboard returned into the offices, past the regular employees, all the way to the very start of that walkway to Clough's smoky lair. The guards awaited his presence. They looked petrified.
For over two minutes, Bulwark's hands floated above the keys. Of course they did. He resisted starting things off for as long as he could. His hands simply rested in place. But eventually, slowly, so slowly you could barely notice them moving at all, he lowered them down. And above Bulwark's shoulders, just as slowly, Peppermint swore she could see a pair of bony hands descend in sync.
The first note filled the corridor, filled the building, filled the town. The second and third completed that trifecta which Peppermint felt was weaved across her entire brain now, coating each of her thoughts in some subtle way, notes which had echoed through history with their every performance, through the hands of countless musicians, into the hands of Bach, and on into the future, into Peppermint's own mother's hands, and now into Bulwark's, those notes submerged Peppermint and Larboard down further than the seas may go. They stood in complete darkness, further down than the ocean floor, in a tomb of rock. And now, it wasn't just Peppermint who could see it. Larboard too saw that figure behind Bulwark, his hands on his shoulders. The Grim Reaper.
It started off slow. One hand, then the other, and it was still building up as Bulwark's weeping whistles entered the piece, rising, swelling! It started off slow but entered a state of passion so raw you couldn't believe it had emerged from the piece's beginning! The Grim Reaper tightened its grip, its bones digging into Bulwark's flesh. The two were inseparable. This piece, thought Peppermint and Larboard together, was a collaboration between Bulwark and Death itself. There was no other explanation for how he could have captured the very essence of mortal terror and reformed it into these notes.
It continued. The harrowing piece continued. Larboard had heard it in progress many times, and Peppermint many more, but each of those renditions had only given them a glimpse into the void. But now, Bulwark had grabbed them tight and had torn them as far down into the underworld as he could. His whistling no longer seemed like it was coming from him, like it was coming from a mortal man, it sounded like the wail of a banshee, like the cry of a siren bereft. It shouldn't have been possible for a person walking through life to be so wholly in the realm of death. And yet, this piece clearly proved it was.
Bulwark hadn't given the fugue a name. There wasn't any need. It's not like he was going to write another. Bulwark's Fugue. That was good enough. No, actually, in death, he'd have no need to keep his full name hidden. Chock's Fugue. In fact, why should it be named after himself? If anything, it was Smack's Fugue. But, there was yet another route. It could be named after its creator, or its recipient, but its muse was just as good. Peppermint's Fugue. She'd been there the whole time. She'd helped every step of the way.
There was no light at all around them. The three stood outside of perception. Bulwark played. Larboard and Peppermint listened. And all the while, the Grim Reaper grew larger and larger. With every note that passed, Peppermint couldn't escape from the fear that no more notes would follow. She couldn't bear that happening again. Upon this fugue, where the name BACH was placed in the countersubject... It couldn't happen again. Absolutely not. Even though she knew the piece was finished, she couldn't rationalise herself out of the fear. Death doesn't wait for the curtains to close.
But there was something else, too. Peppermint was experiencing the fugue in her very core, she hoped and hoped that the next note would come, and at the same time, she just couldn't look away from that figure behind Bulwark. It dug its fingers so deeply into Bulwark's muscle that it almost looked like he was puppeteering him. And yet...
Peppermint: (thinking) "The Grim Reaper... It's staring straight at Larboard..."
Its hollow eye sockets were fixed on Larboard, only him. The whole time, it clung to Bulwark but looked elsewhere. And Larboard could see it as clear as day. The thing about death is, no matter how much experience of it you may have, that concept of eternal death, of never existing again, is not something any person can be prepared for, not even a little. Dying, sure. Everything dies, and everyone has seen someone or something die. But after dying, truly being dead? No one can experience that. The living live. That's all they can do. All this is to say, none of Larboard's deaths could have prepared him for this sensation. They were nothing. It had all been bullshit. He'd never died, he'd never been reborn. And even if those had been deaths, he'd never been dead. He'd never felt like this before.
Larboard: (thinking) "...How... How has he done this...??"
Outside that corridor, a few turns away, a group of office workers stopped mid-motion, now brought into that world of blankness. The lights just didn't register to them. Further down the corridor, Barquentine's mind had cleared. She could barely hear the faintest whispers of music but it was all she could focus on. The clock's ticks and tocks vanished. She took a step towards Bulwark, and another. She couldn't stop herself. She ran further in. She had to hear more.
But everything must end. All that lives, dies. All that starts, concludes. And as the final notes flooded out, they left behind a silence so great that everyone from Barquentine to those office workers, and those in between, could hear the blood rushing through their ears as loud as thunder. Slowly, but surely, things returned to normal. That rush of blood drew to a hush. The office workers got back to their keyboards. Barquentine returned to her post. Peppermint sighed in relief. Her mind wasn't on the future right now, just on what she'd heard. She was endlessly glad she'd heard it to its end. And Larboard sighed in relief too, now that spectre was gone.
But in the centre of it all, Bulwark was barely there at all. The fugue state persisted. His final few steps along that path of life were approaching.
Larboard, after a very long time, was the first to speak.
Larboard: "Clough hasn't contacted me in some time now, nor have I him. I don't know if Smack's information will be of much use anymore. But I shall do everything I can with it. Whatever you get, I'll fight with it to please that son of a bitch, and when he's back in full health, I will quell his wrath."
He leant back, rolling his neck, cracking his knuckles, stretching as much as he could, trying his absolute best to return to something resembling a professional state.
Larboard: "Smack's URL hasn't changed since I gave it to you last. Catch your breath, then it'll be time."
Bulwark: "..."
Peppermint: "..."
Bulwark: (faintly) "... Please. Larboard. Please... Let me wait until morning."
Larboard: "You don't see yourself recovering before then?"
Bulwark: (faintly) "... One more sunset... One more sunrise... Please."
Larboard: "..."
He stood. Larboard just stood for a few moments. And then, it hit him. Ah, he thought. That's what his gut feeling had been. He was a shrewd businessman. He'd had an inkling that something was off for some time now. He'd just felt something was coming. It wasn't the business with Ombudsman, or Grumple, or any of them. It wasn't Clough's decline. It was this. One more sunset and one more sunrise. One last chance to see the beauty of the world before his death. Of course. How else could he have created a fugue like that?
Bulwark never asked Smack for that information, had he? Whatever he'd asked for, if he'd asked for anything at all, was something else altogether. Larboard just hadn't been able to consider it.
As a gatherer of information, Bulwark is null and void to me. The memory rushed into Larboard as would a bullet. He lied directly to my face. Clough's words returned. First Oolong, and now Bulwark. No, that wasn't the right way round. Bulwark had started well before Oolong.
His line of business revolved around trust, not compassion. This was something Clough clearly knew well, a lesson he'd absorbed into his deepest essence. There's been no room for compassion towards Bulwark. While Larboard had been hiring his services and sorting out that trade with Smack, he'd been dancing in the world of compassion. Clough had known all along. Bulwark could not be trusted.
And yet...
Larboard: "You alone may keep secrets here, Bulwark. They flitter about our surfaces as though written on our skin to you, but your secrets are yours and yours alone. But I know your secret. And I know exactly how you feel."
He closed the distance between him and Bulwark, stepping in front of him, looking down at him.
Larboard: "Your fugue was the most pure display of honesty I've seen in my life."
He knelt down. His eye level matched Bulwark's. They locked eyes.
Larboard: "Anything can become a secret. Even the simplest fact. All it requires is the earnest will to keep it from someone. Bulwark. The following, I shall never tell Clough. Not one bit."
As he knelt, his eyes boring into Bulwark's own, he locked away secret after secret from Clough. One after another, they revealed themselves to Bulwark. It was effortless finding them. It had never been this easy before. One after another, he saw them all.
It was in his second year of university when Larboard first tried deathsroot. One of his friends on his business course had managed to buy some, and they'd all got together one night to try it out. They all took the tiniest piece they could and plunged into the seas with it. It was the first time of many for all of them.
It was the perfect way to prepare for something big. Larboard knew one person in his course who, to calm his nerves before a big presentation, had drunk a couple shots. One of the assessors smelt it on his breath as he shook his hand. The university did not take kindly to it. In contrast, just a small piece of deathsroot calmed you down way more than alcohol could and there was no way to tell you'd taken it. Larboard had taken a bit before one of his end-of-semester assessments and came out of it with a top grade and a carefree mind. Soon enough, he and his friends made it a habit to take a small piece before anything of the sort, before any big things, to settle themselves, to ease the stress. It just made everything easier.
In the final exam of his second year, Larboard felt great. He'd drifted away peacefully and had been born again, all those times, and in the face of that, a little exam was nothing to worry about. And as he sat in the hall, smiling as easily as he breathed, when he saw someone come in and whisper to one of the invigilators, when they called someone else in, when they kept sneaking glances at Larboard, he didn't put his mind to it at all.
And when he found out he'd dropped a small bag of deathsroot on his way to the exam, when he heard there were witnesses confirming it was definitely his, he didn't stress either. He just drifted away once more. Larboard failed university, walking away with just a Certificate of Education for his completed first year, and he was lucky to get that. He didn't stress then, nor did he stress when his parents blew up at him. How could he?
It was incredible how small the 'big things' became. Once reserved for finals and presentations, soon enough, even the weekly shop warranted a little dip into the ocean. As it was going, Larboard may well have been the first of his friends to sink down never to resurface. But this was not to happen. Despite his failure at uni, he'd ended up in the world of business anyway. His employers didn't need to know he'd never actually received his degree. Any place that asked for proof, any place that found out, he let the ocean breeze sweep out of his mind. He lied so easily about it all, to anyone who asked. But, after one night where he'd only barely been able to drag himself back to shore, he knew he had to make a change.
The very first guard who worked under him was Chamomile. Though she'd received plenty of training, the world of bodyguarding was not especially welcoming to women. She struggled to find work in agencies or for companies directly and had no luck independently. Larboard offered to help her on a complete whim. He became her agent. And since Chamomile worked best as a partner, he sought out another guard, Sencha. His agency began to take form. And the whole time, he did his absolute best to take on this venture as himself, taking in the good and the bad, the stressful moments and those cathartic victories. And this became even easier when he took on Jasmine. She had compassion in spades. Around her, it just felt so easy to be human, to be nice, and to be present in this world without yearning for the ocean blue.
As Larboard continued to rise up in his regular job, a position in a small manufacturing firm, he also devoted his attention to his side-business. Everything he learnt from running that agency just helped him make his way up the corporate ladder even further. After Jasmine came Peppermint, then Oolong, and then Sencha's boyfriend, Matcha. Chamomile didn't have a regular partner now Sencha had Matcha to work with until Larboard took on Gunpowder. The two just ended up complimenting each other perfectly. Darjeeling joined next, then Rooibos, and finally, Lapsang, both a guard and a master of technology. Not one of the guards Larboard had picked up had ever left. He was happy. He was successful. And eventually, he rose up so far in that manufacturing company that he attracted the attention of competitors. Clough Industries came knocking.
It wasn't long before he caught the attention of Denjamin Clough himself. Their partnership came on quickly. Denjamin Clough sought protection and Larboard offered just that. It just made sense for the two of them to work together, thought Larboard. The extra money was welcome, too. Larboard rose up this company as he had his last, and even as Clough found his own private guards, he kept Larboard close by his side. And all this time by Clough, working on greater and greater projects, earning more and more money, left its mark on Larboard. More projects meant more money meant more stress. He was lured back to the seas.
It wasn't a deep tale. The lure of money was enough to overpower Larboard's natural kindness. This was his first taste at wealth. He'd been making money before, sure, but not on this level. He couldn't escape from it. He worked his way up to being Clough's second-in-command and he grew cruel. That was it. But it wasn't like his kindness was snuffed out completely. It just hid away, below the surface, deep below the surface, and with each payment, it just hid further. Once more, he thrived on lies, he buried all of his stresses and coasted through life with a smile. Once more, it came to an end.
Even Cross' trillion wasn't doing it for him now. He was a mess. He couldn't pretend otherwise. He didn't want to lie. He didn't want to keep secrets. He could not stand Clough. He'd fired Oolong. And he knew that Bulwark hadn't asked Smack what he'd told him to.
Of course he hadn't. After all, if Larboard had been the one to receive a request like that, there's no way he'd have asked Smack what he was told to. Why would he?
Larboard: "I'll keep my distance until the morning. But after that, I'll have to report your findings to Clough. There's no way around it. Best of luck."
He rose to his feet.
Larboard: "And thank you. I shall never forget that fugue of yours."
And he left, back to his office. Peppermint didn't know what to think. But, as Larboard shrank away into the distance, she realised his secrets just weren't intriguing her. Whatever he'd told Bulwark, she didn't want to know. She didn't know what she wanted to know. But she did know what she wanted to do.
Peppermint: "I'd like to watch the sunset with you... and the sunrise, before you head off to Smack."
Bulwark: "I'm not going to wait that long to see him. Larboard's given me the time. As soon as I feel up to it, I'm going to deliver my last performance."
Peppermint: "Don't say that... Don't say 'last'..."
Bulwark: "When we watch the sun set and rise again, I won't have any jobs left undone. I won't have any distractions. I just hope the clouds clear up. I'd love to see those reds and purples and pinks."