Chapter Text
A salty breeze rushes over the bow of the cruise liner, lifting your hair from your forehead and shoulders in a swirl of dark locks. Your spirits lift with your curling tresses, and you bask in the smell, the acute sense of freedom, the lively pull of adventure. You have never sent out to pursue a case with such a strong call to carpe diem before! The sun glistens off the dancing waves, the birds call out as if to say, “Land ho!” and the sky--
A loud, snorting sniff knocks you out of your thoughts. Terezi lets out a long “ Ah ,” and settles in next to you, leaning languidly on the rail. “You just ruined a perfectly good sensory experience,” you say, frowning.
“I think you mean I made it better , Crocker,” she says. “Besides, we’re here to work , right?”
You sigh. You did say exactly those words when you heard the details of the job. In your defense, they were almost entirely for you and not for Terezi. You’ve learned over the course of your eventful partnership that Terezi always takes the job seriously, even when she’s acting like a complete buffoon. You always take the job seriously as well, of course. It’s just been so long since you’ve had a real vacation, and a tropical island seemed a destination straight from your dreams! But she’s right. You are here to work.
“We can probably stand to enjoy ourselves a little bit, at least,” you say.
“Absolutely not. We are professional hardasses with the most unyeilding of sticks shoved up our butts,” Terezi says, the corner of her lips curling. You get the sudden and distinct suspicion that her jackassery is going to up the ante on this case. What a sense of adventure does for you wreaks absolute havoc on Terezi’s already fragile respect for decorum. You can’t point definitively to any specific evidence for this fact, but you know suddenly beyond the shadow of a doubt that it’s true.
“We are professionals, and this is not a vacation!”
“So no sightseeing?”
“It’s not like you can see many sights anyway.”
“Wow, Crocker. Should I say sight smelling ?” You let out a small “hoo hoo!” and she prods you in the side with her walking stick.
“Tasteless jokes aside, I supposed some sightseeing won’t hurt. Or sightsmelling, or even sighttasting! Or would it be scentsmelling and flavortasting?”
“Forget I asked. Is that it?” She points at the horizon, where a sprawling island rises above the gorgeous turquoise water. You aren’t sure what it looks like to her, but you imagine it’s a blur of color, completely lacking in detail. You can’t see much detail yourself at this distance.
“That should be it. Skaia Island,” you say.
“Describe it to me.”
“Patience! We’re still too far to see much. I’ll describe it as we get closer.”
The cruise liner meanders its way to the small port city, where it will stop before journeying on to an extravagant tourist resort on another island. You and the other tourists will disembark, but unlike the others, you will not be returning to the ship. This island is your final destination, and you will have to dig in deep to uncover its unsavory secrets.
You describe the island artfully to Terezi, painting a picture for her that you hope will sharpen the details she cannot see. You have a particular knack for words that makes this task enjoyable for both of you, you believe, even though Terezi never compliments you on it. You’ve really polished up your imagery skills since you’ve starting working with her. You describe the buildings scaling up the squat, green mountain, mentioning every feature that stands out to you and makes the island unique: the double story dwellings, the smooth plaster walls, the clay tile roofs, the worn alleys. You point to elements of special interest like curved archways and festive murals, and you try to do justice to the small, colonial fort on the edge of the sea. The detail you don’t need to add is color. She can see for herself the bright, cheerful paint covering many of the buildings. It looks like a pleasant city, neither horribly poor nor pompously rich, and you find yourself feeling touristy again.
Terezi points to the top of the mountain. “What about that?” she asks. You’re surprised you didn’t notice it. Too busy thinking about how lovely the little city looks, you suppose, grimacing at yourself. You look up and examine the stoney fortress, tucked almost completely away behind the trees, surrounded by imposing walls. It seems a more grandiose and ominous version of the fort on the ocean, and you say as much. You can’t quite tell at this distance, but you think you can see barbed wire at the top of those stone walls. Terezi glances at you.
“You think that’s the place?” she asks.
“I would be surprised if it weren’t,” you say, but you really didn’t expect that it would be this easy to find. They did say it was something of a fortress, but...then again, squinting up at that barbed wire, maybe ‘easy’ is jumping the gun a bit.
The cruise liner pulls smoothly into the harbor. You go with Terezi to grab your things, and the two of you trail behind the happy tourists, speaking in whispers. You’ll have to review the case details when you get put up for the night, but before that, you may as well scope out the area. It’s always good practice to know your surroundings before you get in too deep!
“Shall we take a look around?” you ask Terezi.
“Already throwing work ethic to the wind and pulling out the disposable camera?” she teases.
“You know what I mean,” you say. And even if sightseeing were on your mind, which it is not , mostly, you would bet big bucks she’d be just as much on board! She has her ears perked to the sound of a new language and her nose open to the oodles of new smells. You can tell. It’s in the keen arch of her eyebrows and the spring in her step.
“We should find ourselves a guide first,” she says.
“Well, there are a couple of guides with the cruise that--”
“Crocker, the people working with this cruise are swindlers and crooks. If we’re going to break past the facade put up for the tourists, we’re going to have to find someone more authentic.” You know she’s right, but she doesn’t wait for you to say so. She turns her head, pauses for a fraction of a second, and takes off down the pier. You follow, suppressing a sigh.
You haven’t had many cases outside of the country. The ones you have had have all been wildly successful, but you’re still getting used to the added strain of culture and language on top of the usual demands of the job. Not that you can’t handle it! You’ve done what research you could in the amount of time you had, and you’re no chump. But sometimes, letting Terezi lead the way takes off some of the stress. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, and she works well under pressure. You can trust her. Usually.
And even as you reaffirm your trust in Terezi’s judgment, she passes by some hapless dolt, sticks out her walking stick, and trips the poor man straight off the pier.
“Oh my goodness!” you say, rushing to the water. He comes up sputtering, and you get down on your knees, reaching for him. “Are you alright?”
He seems bewildered as he takes your hand, and Terezi deigns to help you pull him up. “Goodness,” you say again as you dig your hand towel out of your bag. You shoot Terezi a look she probably can’t see as well as you wish she could, and she sends you a devilish smirk over his head.
“Uh, thanks,” the man says with an accent, taking your towel. He runs it over his mohawked hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “I think I’m okay. I guess, I tripped?”
“You sure did,” Terezi says. “That was on me. Sorry. Walking stick. Blind. Happens all the time.”
“Oh, uh, sorry about that,” he says. “I would have moved, if I had known.”
“Don’t worry about it. Are you from around here?” Oh. Now you get it.
“Not exactly, no, but it’s one of our main stops, and I know it really well. Do you have a question?”
“You could say that. We’re staying for a bit, and we were looking for someone to show us around. And now that we’ve accidently thrown you into the sea, it would only be right for us to make it up to you. How about some food, our treat?”
You have to hand it to her, she’s an underhanded snake when she wants to be, but she gets the job done. His eyes light up, but he bites his lip. “Uh...that’s nice of you, to offer that, but I’m technically working right now, sort of…”
“Sort of?” Terezi presses.
“I mean, I’m supposed to be working, but sometimes I finish what I’m really supposed to do early and then just leave. Otherwise, she just gives me more work to do.”
“Sounds to me like you have a good reason to come hang out with us, then! What’s your name?”
He bites his lip again, but this time, he’s fighting down a smile. It’s hard to guess at his age--around twenty, maybe, perhaps a little less but not much more. Now that you’re really looking at him, he seems a bit world worn. Despite a layer of lean, hard-worked muscles, he has the physique of someone who didn’t get enough to eat when they were young. His brown skin is dark from the sun. Scars, mostly dull with age, litter his arms and neck, and he has an impressive cut on his cheek. You would probably feel compelled to feed him even if Terezi hadn’t flipped him head-over-heels into the harbor.
“I’m Tavros,” he says. “And I think that maybe it would be fine if I showed you around for a while. I do have a curfew, though, so I have to be back before dark.”
“No problem, Tavros!” Terezi says, offering to him a hand. She helps pull him to his feet, and despite the fact that he’s still dripping wet, he seems quite pleased with the situation. “I’m Teresa, and this is Janet. Listen, we just got here, so we don’t really know our way around yet. How about you take us to your favorite place to eat?”
She’s pulling out the fake names. You know by now to let Terezi take over from here. She’s a much better judge of character than anyone else you’ve met, and she’ll determine whether this Tavros is someone you can trust. You just have to play your part until he’s been put down on the record as safe.
“Okay, sure,” he says, and he turns towards a small road that twists into the town. But he pauses. “Uh, by my favorite place to eat, do you mean--that is to say, do you want a place that... you might like better, instead?”
“Anywhere you eat will be fine for us,” you supply.
“Uh...okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. He glances around and changes direction. “Let’s go this way, then.”
He leads you into the town, but you notice immediately that you’re not really going into town. You’re staying on the well-traveled thoroughfares that lead to the cruise landing, where you’re beginning to recognize the faces of tourists you saw with you on the ship. Vendors line the roads with art and souvenirs to sell. Shops are full of pretty and expensive clothes and trinkets, and the cafes all have their menus listed in English as well as the local language. The area clearly isn’t a daily destination for the locals. You purse your lips but let Tavros do his thing. He stops outside a rather cozy little restaurant, which, you hate to say, does look exactly like the place you yourself would choose if you were back home. He turns to you with a smile that has just a shadow of sheepishness. Hmm.
“This is your favorite place to eat?” you ask, casually so as not to sound accusatory. He shrugs one of his shoulders.
“My, uh, boss likes to eat here sometimes,” he says. “I’ve come with her before...once or twice…”
“We’ll put it on the map,” Terezi says. “But I’m not feeling it right now. Looks like a tourist trap.”
“What she’s trying to say,” you cut in, “is that we’d like to see what you like.”
“Uh,” Tavros says, lifting his hand up to rub the shaved side of his head and looking almost embarrassed. “Are...you sure?”
“Yes,” Terezi says flatly.
“Okay…” he says, and this time, he takes you away from the dolled up tourist part of the city. The roads become a little less even, the buildings a little more dusty, and the shops and restaurants far less aesthetically conscious. The people here have things to do and lives to live, and the notable lack of white families with cameras and water bottles lets you know that you’re getting to the part of the city you should know. If you want to find information and informants, this is where you’ll find them.
You make it to a busy outdoor market that you can smell before you can see. Women walk around with baskets on their heads, calling out their merchandise. Some other entrepreneurs sit on the ground with their wares spread in front of them, and stalls line the streets. You see crates of fruits and vegetables, roots, herbs and spices, bright plastic buckets, cell phone credits, and a ways off, beautifully patterned fabrics. There must be fish and meat somewhere, too, going on smell alone. It’s loud, dusty, and crowded, and you don’t even have to look at Terezi to know that she’s grinning. Just what you need on the first day here. Chaos and commotion.
“Uh, here we are,” Tavros says, stopping in front of a stand with several pots of stew and rice covered in plastic wrap. “I’m pretty sure that this is the best place to eat on the island, but, just as a fair warning, it’s really spicy.”
“Yes, perfect,” Terezi says. She is having too much fun. Tavros seems both pleasantly surprised and pleased with her enthusiasm, and he turns to the woman at the stand with his own wide grin. They exchange words in another language. You get the impression that they’re on friendly terms, reinforcing your confidence that Tavros does eat here often, and you also feel strongly that they’re talking about you. She’s glancing at you intermittently as they speak. Your best guess is that most tourists don’t make it this far into town, given the time constraints on the cruise’s itinerary. Whatever her opinion of you is, she smiles and seems happy to load bowls of rice and stew for you. You all take the bowls and sit at the plastic table next to the stand.
Tavros was right. It is very spicy. It’s good, but holy moly! You are definitely more of a sweets person. You try not to be too obvious as you wipe the sweat from your brow.
Next to you, Terezi sits with her tongue hanging out, grinning. “Janet,” she says, “describe it for me.”
You don’t know if you can get your mouth to work properly, but you’re too proud to give her a reason to tease you. You launch into your best descriptive prose. Honestly, the sounds and smells tell a better story than you could ever manage, but you do your best. But the subject matter is a little out of your realm of expertise. You can’t name half of the produce you see, let alone the roots and herbs and spices. After listening for a little bit with wide, interested eyes, Tavros starts to supply words and tidbits of knowledge for you. He becomes a rather enthusiastic participant in your storytelling, which is always nice. Terezi, with a tilt of her head, takes notice.
You finally make it through your hellfire spiced dish. You don’t want to look at yourself in the mirror. Your face must be redder than a radish! “Whoo!” you say, wiping your forehead. “That was excellent! Shall we walk?”
Terezi stands up. “Where to now, Tavros?”
“Uh,” he says, following suit. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
“Hmm…” she says. She makes a show of turning around and finally points up at the mountain. “How about that?”
“Oh, uh, we can’t go up there,” Tavros says. “That’s private land, not a historical place of interest or anything open to tourists.”
“What kind of private land?” Terezi asks.
Tavros hesitates. “I don’t know exactly,” he says. “Except for rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“The, uh, kind that you don’t say out loud in crowds of people, where anyone can overhear you and tell other people that you were talking about it.”
“But you do know the rumors.”
“I...know of the rumors.”
“Do you know of people who know of the rumors better than you do?”
“Uh…” He glances at you, and you wipe your face of anything but friendly interest. “Yes?”
“Okay, just asking,” Terezi says. “What about the fort by the ocean?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s open to the public. I think it’s a museum now.”
For the rest of the day, which is admittedly only the several hours before dusk, you let Tavros lead you around, acting the part of picture-perfect tourists. You only poke and prod when the opportunity presents itself, just enough to turn up the basic information about your location and its current happenings. You don’t manage to wheedle anything out of him that you don’t already know, besides fun little cultural facts and customs. After a while, Terezi mainly focuses on Tavros. You learn that he was born on another island, that he’s spent most of his life travelling the seas and trading goods with his “boss,” and that he has “people” on this island. He doesn’t go into much detail about any of it. You’re finding it harder to read Terezi’s opinion of him than what’s usual, but even you get the feeling that he’s hiding something. What he’s hiding will determine his usefulness to you as well as the trust you can put into him. You have to admit, you’re intrigued.
You finally get to your hotel at early sunset. Tavros waits for you to get checked in. You turn to Terezi to let her decide what to do with him.
“It was nice meeting you,” he says, and he looks like he means it. He’s sweet, if nothing else.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Terezi asks casually. Which means that she’s pegged him as useful. That much is good news. Finding guides and informants can be a huge pain in the tush.
His eyes light up. “Uh, just working.”
“All day?”
“Not if I don’t have to.”
He grins, and you can’t help but smile back. “Would you like to accompany us? We’ll be hanging around the island for a while, and it’s always more fun with a friend!” you say. The word ‘friend’ lights him up like a lightbulb.
“Yeah, I think that sounds nice,” he says. “I’ll try to get done early, then, and, uh, meet you somewhere?”
“I don’t suppose you have a cell phone?”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” He digs in his pockets and pulls out a rather nice phone, complete with waterproof case. You’re embarrassed to feel surprised. He waits for you to give him your number, and he types it into his phone. “Okay! So, I’ll just text you, and we can meet up somewhere.”
“Excellent,” you say. He gives you final smile farewell and takes off down the road. You hope he makes his curfew.
In the sanctity of your hotel room, you finally settle down to discuss the situation. Terezi lays sprawled on the bed, rubbing her dirty, dusty clothes all over the covers, and you bite back comments while you put your belongings away in the drawers. Terezi lives out of her suitcase, no matter how long you’re going to be somewhere. It drives you a little crazy.
“What do you think of him?” you ask.
“He’s a doofus,” she says.
“That’s it?”
“No. My best guess is that he’s a pirate.”
You turn to her with a raised eyebrow. “That’s your best guess?”
She shrugs. “It would explain why he won’t talk about his work or his boss.”
“Wait, that was an actual, serious hypothesis?”
“Focus, Crocker. The case. Give me the details again.”
You sigh. You’ve gone over it several times, but since Terezi can’t read the dossiers herself and she never bothers to bring her braille versions, she likes to be briefed often. “We have three critical pieces of information: a series of mysterious deaths across this island; pirate activity linked to the trafficking of dangerous arms and equipment; and suspicion of some seriously illegal activity taking place in the former stronghold of the self-proclaimed Lord English, a sorry remnant of the former colonial aristocracy. It sounds, from the reports, like something straight out of a Gothic science fiction story--lights seen at night, strange sightings in the forest, and talk of humans who are more than human.” You glance at Terezi, who’s staring at the ceiling deep in thought. “Those rumors Tavros mentioned...do you believe they’re related to all this?”
“No doubt,” she says. “He knows something , at least.”
“And if he’s a pirate, like you said…”
“He’s a crap shoot. Getting close with him could either be very useful or very dangerous. Or both.”
“Well, it’s not as though we’ve never been in that position before,” you say, closing the last drawer and storing away your suitcase. “He doesn’t seem like a bad kid, at least.”
“No, and even better, he’s gullible.”
She sends you an impish grin, and you roll your eyes. “Well, I’ll let you have at that, then,” you say. “ I’m going to shower, because I’m covered in sweat and dust and would prefer not to get it all over the bed!”
“Like this?” she rolls around, shimming down into your side of the bed, and you swallow your irritation. If you start the back and forth now, she’ll just keep doing it. It’s taken you a long time to find the patience not to take the bait.
“I’ll be in the shower,” you say instead. The shower is small, modest, and not very hot, but it has a lovely little window at head height that lets you look down across the city rooftops. You’re very nearly clean when Terezi jumps in and gets her damned dirt all over the place. Honestly.
It takes another two hours to get settled into bed. You have enough space between the two of you to shove a pillow, which is a gift with the way Terezi moves in her sleep, and you turn off the lights. Under the sheets, you set your alarm for 5:00 am. You've learned through experience that one of you will be waking up to some kind of insect, small creature, or other such surprise on the opposite pillow, and that the victim will be whoever wakes up last. You don’t intend to start off this adventure by losing.