Chapter Text
Odd Haul Chapter 1
Act 1: The Escaped Chef
His best course of action was to not go to the pub, and yet he did anyway. He ran from the underwater corridors beneath the oil rig, hurtled across metal grated bridges, and sprinted down steel-laden streets. The waters were choppy that day. The slightest deviation in decision would determine whether someone lived or died.
The day was hot, and the streets of Oil Rig Delta had quietened after the lunch rush. People had hurried off to pubs and restaurants. Choosing to evade the sun’s heat to instead bask in the minutes they had away from their labours.
The broad man now stood outside of one such establishment. He was hunched over, catching his breath from sprinting over there and struggled to hide the panic riddled in his face.
Above was a wooden sign for the pub ahead. Capitalised letters read: ‘The Loose Rivet’. The text sat next to a shape akin to a tilted toadstool.
The man straightened up, wiped the sweat from his forehead, cleared his glasses, and readjusted his braces. The hand that rested against the large batwing doors hesitantly pushed them open and Tomàs Odion stepped inside.
Tomàs stood silhouetted with the daylight behind him, which brought glares from the scaly crowd below as they all tried to decipher who this bald human was.
He scanned the audience, hoping he could quickly spot a certain individual among the masses of overcrowded tables. He shared uncomfortable stares as he descended the steps and entered the den of hungry travellers and residents. The crowd consisted mostly of workers, specifically the large builds of constructionists and anglers, but what stood out the most was the diversity in their aquatic morphologies.
A dozen Shark-like people looked up at him, dorsal fins protruding from their scalps, necks, or backs. Rows of teeth rested naturally on the outside of their smiles. Some patrons had a crown of tentacles that encircled their heads where, atop their scalps, lay the domed shape of a cephalopod’s mantle, clothed in large hats or headdresses.
There were gills found on collarbones, lobster claws on wrists, exoskeletons, and long fish tails that swayed idly. Webbed hands held glasses and cutlery, with fingers that ended with no fingernails.
These people were known as the Aquarics.
The batwing door swung closed, allowing all observers to judge the descending human man in all his fishless glory. Tomàs pushed through the looks and delved deeper into the pub, hiding his worry from the observers the best he could, searching for somebody who could help him.
A table of Shark-likes started talking about him as he walked by.
“Hey, isn’t that the man who works for Avabite?” one murmured rather loudly.
“Yeah, I think yer right,” another one said, “the Hell is he doin’ up here?”
A mountain of a grey scaled man stood up from his stool and grimaced at Tomàs’ presence.
Tomàs hurried along, swerving past a waiter with many arms who held plates of seared salmon fillets and thick scented bowls.
Constant conversation filled the place, the loudest of it came from a table at the far corner. A rowdy group of Reptilian-like people plagued the scene with vulgar and obscene outbursts. Tomàs did his best to ignore it, there were grave issues at hand.
Tomàs looked over the line of patrons by the bar, but still couldn’t see the hero he was searching for. As he returned his gaze forward a pair of piercing yellow eyes with tiny slits for pupils stared inches away from his face.
Miraculously, Tomàs didn’t cry out in alarm but took a step back. In front of him was a young Snake-like lad. His leer was cruel, his scaled skin was dark and absorbed the pub’s orange lighting. His neck was long and grew from the collar of a black leather jacket that was a size too big for him. He arched his long neck upwards in an attempt to make himself look bigger than Tomàs, but Tomàs could see he was making up for height by standing on his tippy toes.
Tomàs immediately relaxed when noted that it was just a bothersome adolescent staring him down. He had dealt with customers of similar natures and knew to return the look and folded his arms, hoping the size of his forearms would be enough to tell the rascal to sog off.
“Not very hairy for a human are ya?” the snake smiled grimly, “you making a statement, or something? Trying to pass as one of us in our space?”
“I- I’m just bald,” Tomàs retorted. His voice broke when he said it which ruined his composure. He wasn’t aware The Loose Rivet was an Aquaric-orientated pub, that said, he didn’t see any humans among the crowds.
The Snake-like continued to glare for a moment, and slowly advanced forward, forcing Tomàs to take another step back. The Snake’s gaze darted over his shoulder and the Reptilian almost lept back when the mountainous Shark-like approached from behind Tomàs, towering over the both of them.
“Ay Slitherback! Leave the man alone!” the Shark-like growled deeply, “and tell your table of idiots to shut it, me and my lads are getting proper tired of your fishshit!”
For a moment it looked like Slitherback was about to challenge the Shark-like, but decided against it when the shark gave Slitherback a friendly grin, one that made sure to showcase all rows of his teeth. Instead he hissed, and scurried away.
The Shark-like placed a friendly webbed hand on Tomàs’ shoulder, “ignore that twat,” he said, “yer safe ‘ere lad.”
Tomàs was not in the right mind to converse with this supportive stranger, and really struggled to get out a ‘thank you’ which the Shark-like noticed.
“Name’s Greatgill,” he said, “lemme get yer somethin’ Chef-Man. Looks like yer hadda rough one.”
Tomàs followed Greatgill as he led the way to the bar, making use of the wide berth people gave the giant as he approached the bartender.
Tomàs filled in a gap in a line of ordering patrons, positioned uncomfortably close to Greatgill. Tomàs gave him an appreciative smile before their attention was stolen when the Reptilian group erupted in more immature laughter from across the pub.
A bartender came to serve them next and recognised Tomàs too. Unlike the majority of the people here, the bartender was like Tomàs: a human. Unable to breathe underwater but had the privilege of growing hairs.
“Oi, Fred!” Greatgill called, “another kelpie for me and a…” he looked to Tomàs.
“Water,” he mouthed.
“… and some of Delta’s finest for the fry cook,” Greatgill finished.
“Well hey! Look who’s escaped his nine to five!” the barman cheered when he saw Tomàs, “finally had enough working for that miserable twat, eh?”
“Either that or he’s forgotten which kitchen he works in,” Greatgill jested. The joke might’ve been funny were his situation not so dire.
“Or are you here for food?” Fred asked, “I was under the impression Avabite didn’t have the soul to give his employees lunch breaks. Is he going to be pissed you’re eating here?”
Fred passed Greatgill a glass of healthy green sludge, and Tomàs a icy glass of water. Tomàs realised he needed to speak and took a refreshing gulp. He still hadn’t caught his breath from rushing over here.
“I- I’m, I’m here for something else,” Tomàs sputtered, not hiding the worry in his voice at all.
“Hell,” was Fred’s response to Tomàs’ fear-bitten words. “Something‘s happened then, eh? We got a vacancy for a dishwasher if it’s work you need. But that’s no job for a man of your talents.”
“I could try find yer something in construction,” Greatgill offered, “can’t promise nothing though.”
“I think his kitchen skills would be better suited elsewh-” Fred began.
“I’m not looking for a job!” Tomàs barged in, though considering his circumstance, that might not be true for much longer.
Greatgill frowned and the barman looked concerned.
“What’s that bastard done now?” Greatgill growled, “I’ve been ready to throw down with that git before his restaurant got big.”
“Popular from exploiting talents like yourself,” Fred added.
“Tell me what he’s done and I’ll march my boys down there should I have to,” said Greatgill.
“NO!” Tomàs yelled, “No no. I’m just looking for someone here, that’s all!”
“Who?” they both said firmly but with concern.
Tomàs thought over which details to share about his ordeal.
“I heard Captain Romeo and his crew have returned,” Tomàs said, “I’m looking for Crayton Marcus, I heard he was here.”
“Why ya meeting him?” Greatgill pried.
“It’s just… business,” Tomàs assured, “civil matters.”
“These civil matters hav’ yer lookin’ like yer seen a murder,” Greatgill said.
“Are you… confident this isn’t about Avabite?” Fred asked.
“I was just wondering if he could help me with… something,” Tomàs explained.
Fred studied Tomàs’ face. “What’s going on, sir, what problem do you have that you go looking for one of the Mayor’s agents before you go to the Patrols?
“I can’t say,” Tomàs flinched, “please, I just need to know if he’s still here.”
Greatgill traded a look with the barman. Debating whether they should share the information he wanted.
“He’s still here,” Fred confirmed, “well, he should be, his drink was on the house, not his lunch… however… I can’t see… where he’s gotten to…”
The three of them surveyed the crowds.
“Tell yer what,” Greatgill said, “chat with Murky instead, the two work together. She was at a table over yonder. She’ll help ya out.”
“Great idea,” Fred responded, “they were both at the booth down that way. Furthest one, straight ahead,” he pointed to his left and down the counter, “she’s a Squid-like, green with a grey beanie.”
Tomàs glanced in the pointed direction, hoping to easily spy someone with green skin.
A commotion that involved yelling and swearing was brewing near the rowdy Reptile table, which was in the direction Tomàs was meant to go.
“Hold up…” Greatgill said, donning his new beverage and turning to Tomàs before he walked off, “throw us a hint, what’s happening with Avabite, lad?”
“I never said this was about Mr. Avabite…” Tomàs said, avoiding his eyes.
Before he could say anything else, shouts followed by the sound of breaking glasses came from Tomàs’ right. He turned and saw a blur of green slide across the counter top towards them. It knocked over Greatgill’s drink and reached a stop in front of Tomàs.
It was a person. A Squid-like woman with patchy green skin. She rolled to her feet and stared menacingly towards the other end of the counter where Slitherback also stood.
“Found her,” Fred mumbled, not amused in the slightest.
——————————————————————
The Journey to Pipeline:
The tide of war, of gods, of gun, and sword swept us all south,
And through the toxic gates of Hell, with silenced lips and mouth.
Leaving fields where we were raised, we searched through Advent’s waters,
We found the Oil Rig garden, now we live with pain, not slaughter.
(The Journey to Pipeline. Poem by M. L.)