CHAPTER 348: MAIDEN DINNER—GOLD VERSUS TITTIES

• DUSK, TANGIERS CIRCLE – 3°N OF THE COLD SEA.

...

THE PASSENGERS OF THE GREAT SHIP were sat together in a magnificent rotund hall—the best room of the vessel. Easily this wondrous chamber contained their scores; they were about three hundred and ten souls aboard. Aside the palatine decors and streaming elegance, glowing Palm-shaped candelabras and the mighty filigreed chandelier coasting the vast baroque ceiling like a cherub, the smiles of every man and woman completed the rich Victorian ambiance.

This night in one word was, glee. It went without saying tonight was the happiest these entitled motherfuckers had ever been on the majestic Cruiser.

And why wouldn’t they be?

Two hours ago they had bagged the biggest treasure loot this side of the Cold Sea.

Gold, large and yellow as the freaking sun.

Initially the passengers had been skeptical, critical, pessimistic—and full-on assholes—when the vessel had drifted this far up north. Two hours and thirty minutes ago, when they’d encountered the [Black Scorpus] on Weeping Well island, that ire had swiftly turned into palpable fear. But...a big but; but when they—whom had all being safely clustered on the ship leaving the fight to one man and two women—witnessed, the mysterious flame-haired Sergeant make a giant bonfire of the insectoid beasts and roar in a great bellow,

"TREASURE!!!"

—you bet your fucking ass they all hopped back on that damn cold island.

It was treasure. And what a great haul it had been.

Once the two captains—who still had their heads—confirmed what lay in the tenebrous depths of the Well, the Cruiser ship went from a mere travelling crew to a motley of fresh workers.

It was pure division of labor.

You had to see these pricks get to work.

Rope ladders were dropped in. Men in khaki overalls suddenly wielding mining hammers, snow dogs, women helping with the loading bags. Shit that made Eotigan and the girls just stand and watch. Bone-shocked. He was no novice to the power of money but. . .daaaamn! His words that moment, two hours earlier had been, "didn’t this sons-of-bitches just scream and tear fucking arse for the ship two seconds ago, when literally crying spiders wanted to digest us?!"

"Mmhmmm." Inaia and Kambili had their arms folded, like, that’s fucking true.

The rushing folk were so hooked on the gleaming haul down there they didn’t even notice the fox-face demon possessing Kambili. They’d just strolled on right past a bellyful Suratanï.

And these motherfuckers were rich! To afford a maiden voyage, you darn right had to be. But oh well, the gold down there was RICH RICH.

Plus it wasn’t just gold down in the Weeping Well. It was rubies and emerald, and sapphires and pearls, dragonglass and totemic amulets, ancient daggers and stuff that looked like it they had ’em carved in the days of the Old gods. It was also diamonds, glittering all over. These lucky folk heaped them all on, and up it went, in improvised crates to the well’s grimy mouth; all of their dfferences, fear—and the heaps of roasting spiders above—forgotten. They had worked cheerily on for two hours to get the might of the discovered loot aboard. In those passing minutes in the ash and cold of the island, Eotigan, Inaia and Kambili had glided to the distant vessel—anchored in frigid shores and washed off rivers of black, black blood. And finally had time to catch their goddamn breaths too.

In the end, when the found treasure was all on the ship, one aging man in a fluffy, oval hat was so elated in the surprise find he lost his shit, belting out like a perp, "Damn! I ain’t never seen a thing so pretty! Even finer than a mermaid’s blessed coochie!"

He’d been talking about the free-flowing gold.

Now it was two hours later, that mouthy man and all other passengers on the Cruiser—including the hero of the hunt were donned in their finest Regent-era regalias, and seated as one on a 30ft-long, longtable. The sitting hall was splendid with the mural of tuxedos and gowns.

It was dinnertime.

You could tell from everybody’s faces—and the hill of treasure currently parked in cold storage in the ship’s pregnant hull, that this was about to be ’some’ fucking dining party.

[🎶 Slow Orchestral Serenade (Olorí oko) – Nigerian Continental Choir.]

The small talks weaving around the table quietened as one of the vessel’s Captains rose to his feet with a sparkling flute in hand. The silvery wine sloshed in expensive color as he tapped his glass smoothly.

Clink! Clink!

The exhilarating music became a delightful minstrel to his voice as he raised his glass in a toast. Long maroon drapes and a nice fireplace were his backdrop.

Bottles of expensive wine, colored in splashy orange by the lively candlesticks shone against the plutocratic cut of his naval suit. Burnished in his swirly eyes. His voice was sonorous in the vast hall. "I RAISE A GLASS to our dashing savior of the day, of whom this here frigate is proud—and lucky to have. His mystique does not betray his chivalry. Oh no. He is of little words," he dropped his head with a chuckle, "I mean we all fuckin’ know this. But his heart is huge with bravery." Soft claps rounded up the longtable like rain. Still, the captain spoke. "So we all raise our glasses. . ." he waited the beat it took for three hundred and ten souls to lift up Vanois flutes that sparkled in the hall more than torches in a cave,

". . .to THE MAN OF THE HOUR, and his equally exotic companions – they whom pulled all of us in here today out of certain death at the jaws of those mandibular monsters.

"We lost one good man today on Weeping Well Cove...but it could’ve been hundreds. So, we say," his toasting arm lugged up higher, "—a warm nautical and hearty thank you to THE MAN. A toast to Naval Sergeant LARS EOTIGAN!"

"HEAR! HEAR!" All at the table returned in smiles. Some men banged the polished tabletop. A couple of women were in tears. Happy tears. Everybody was thinking just what a ’gods-sent’, auburn deliverer Eotigan was. In reality, he was the freaking devil.

"And lest my partner here forget—" the second Captain joined the first upstanding, "we ALSO thank our beloved Serge for that BIG ASS BOUNTY sitting in our BOOTY right now!

—A toast to a GODDAMN G!"

The passengers roared in laughter, shouting, "HEAR FUCKIN’ HEAR!"

All the while the man whom they praised sat in silence. A brooding shadow on the left side of the longtable. Inaia and Kambili were seated on both sides of him, one girl on each arm. Inaia rocked this entire motherfucking hall in her red python-seam dress; her abundant dreadlocks heaped upon her head in blonde goodness so the shaven sides showed, and Kambili murdered the night—she had glorious skin. Eotigan felt she should be on his menu. . .because she looked good enough to eat.

Almost too good to eat.

Her buzz cut had being dyed summer blue and the light hair was luminous on her. Her gorgeous face was back to normal. Suratanï had taken a backseat tonight. The girls auras were so full of that allure, distinguished from each other, light and dark, yet none diminishing the first. The one thing Eotigan shared in his mind about the women is how he wanted to have them both bend so far down on the edge of his masters bed, there’d be little to hide.

Nonetheless, it was the girls who waved and smiled back in his place. The passengers did not take offense. The energy of the room was like a Viking harvest feast. There’d definitely be loud sex noises this night for sure. Fucking! There’d be fucking.

Eotigan morosely watched the both Captains sit. And everybody dug in to the splayed meals.

There was something for everybody tonight.

Salads for the vegans. Yuck veggies. Meat and fish for the real fucking people! Chili Chicken soups. Lamb. Spider?

This was Kambili’s plate.

Eotigan grinned alone at this. He had a girlfriend who enjoyed the grilled essence of gargantuan insects. Nice! He drank blood. But Kambili’s cultic diet was only a brief delight for him. His near effeminate mouth pursed seconds after. Eotigan knew he should be be happy. Grateful. He just survived a [Black Scorpus] den attack. He had entered [3rd Intra-volution]. Both his women were getting along nicely. Damn! Did they look supernatural in their dresses tonight?

By Inaia’s genius numeracy, the shining loot hauled off Weeping Well island should be well over a hundred million gold bars—when refined. Ten times that in ingots. He had just made all these people not just rich. RICH RICH! But the only treasure he wanted to be tweaking this night was the two wonderful women at his sides.

Inaia’s big white titties were worth more than any shit gold.

And Kambili’s fat bum would sure trump a booth of rubies.

Eotigan could think this, for he was already billionaire devil status. His infernal gaze roamed the munching folk as gently, he let his hands disappear under the longtable and land on lush, warm thighs.

Inaia’s reciprocating moan let him know their dinner just might have to end early.

He went a step further and grabbed her cream swell of underboob, groping the generous flesh perversely. His right hand firmed on the succulent peaks. He looked next to Kambili. Her pupils were darkening. Suratanï was rising. Not as a fox devil to transform his fair-skinned girl, but as an equally thirsty bitch. He was in awe of his women. Both Kambili and the demon living inside of her wanted to screw him so bad.

But he also knew his girls had to be hungry after a battle like that. He’d have to keel to being a gentleman—for now.

And he had to be at least gracious to these passengers who seemed to all now have one big crush on him. So he let Kambili and Inaia eat and drink. And he allowed his facial muscles to shift in a grin every now and then. Only three women in the world had been able to make him truly laugh out loud, and they were all dead. One had killed the rest.

Nonetheless Eotigan’s errant hand did keep creeping higher as the swanky dinner progressed.