As Alexander and Franklin Fake My Death...Dear piece of paper I found wedged between a couple storage boxes,
Alexander and his little octopus pal went out to fake my death. I suggested dismembering the hag who handed me off to those snooty bastards all those years ago, Murtle, but we weren’t anywhere close to my home mountain range… So I suggested, instead, a local Nakalo slave who used to tease me every time I was dragged into the market district. Her owner’s family was rich and treated her with kindness, compared to my retched “home,” if that’s what you’d call it… So I had Alexander snipe her in the center of her forehead. That’ll teach you… Can’t learn from it, anyway, since your body parts are probably hacked off by now. Good.
I wish I could’ve gone with them, just to make sure I at least got part of the pay for my death. Alexander did take one my soft, furry tails, after all. He promised he would replace it, but my other one is feeling lonely on my belt… I can hear it whimpering with sadness. I’m trying to calm it down, but it just won’t stop howling… It’s okay, baby. My soft, sweet, fluffy thing. You’ll get your brother back. I promise. If Alex doesn’t return him, at least with a cousin, then he will get a knife in his back…
The Gazelle is really quiet, even while docked. I can’t hear anything outside these walls. Dead. Dead noise. My ears are ringing from the silence. I’m tapping my foot on the floor and humming to myself to try and keep myself from going beznog insane… All that’s keeping me entertained right now is writing on this ink-blotched piece of paper I found between a few storage boxes. Oh, wait, it’s a supply list. There’s a list of supplies Alexander apparently ordered written on the back of this. Or the front, since I’m writing on the back… But there seems to be a weapon order… Toxins, Bows and arrows, knives, smoke bombs, paralysis dart guns… Thank you, supply list, for letting me know what he ordered. I might swipe a few smoke bombs, which are in…the second storage box in front of me. Sweet, blessed, sticky fingers of mine. He won’t miss a couple… They’re just smoke bombs. I might need them to startle a few snacks, er…creatures.
Currently roaming around Alexander’s room, poking at the sniper rifle he was screwing around with earlier. It sure is shiny. A couple of my fingerprints are on it now… I hope he doesn’t mind. Then again, I don’t really care. He won’t hurt me. Only if I break it…
Alexander’s window is open over his bed. The breeze is wafting in and I can smell the distant sea. I always had a knack for sniffing it out, being one of my favorite smells… Although I lived in the mountains between Antiford and Titania for a few years, I never once visited the ocean, but I could smell it. Even while traveling with Alexander, we haven’t flown over the sea at all. I saw it at a distance, once, but it vanished behind the horizon before I could see its waves. I’m hoping we get a job by the seaside…
Beds really aren’t that comfortable. I prefer the wooden floor compared to Alex’s bed. No, I don’t sleep in the same bed as him, stop assuming! I’m just sitting on it now, testing it… It feels like a rock. No, rocks are more comfortable than this bed. I have my own room with a bed on this ship, but I never use the bed itself. I’d rather find another obscure location to rest my head for the night. Last night I slept in the pantry on a Nakalo-sized bag of sugar. It was rather comfortable, actually, even though when I woke up, my head knocked against a shelf and a box of baking soda fell on my face… But when I was enslaved to that horrible Fredrick and his Pa, Mortimer Lucke—luck my ass—I was forced to sleep in a closet too small for me to lay down in. I had to sleep sitting up for the past ten years, my Vibrannian growth spurt being stunted by the midget ceiling, therefore resulting in my losing a few inches to my supposed five foot five height. At least now, I have room to grow, but I’m at the end of my growing period, anyway. Being small shouldn’t be too bad. I can fit into small, dark places and blend in instead.
I just heard footstep up top on the deck. Alexander and his land squid-being-thing are probably back, hopefully with a new brother for my lonely tail… Or at least money. But I prefer a replacement tail. Though no tail could ever replace Reginald… Rugby wants a friend. He gets lonely, so I pet him.
So, paper I found wedged between two storage boxes, I will bid you farewell. Rugby’s getting whiny, and Alex would wonder why I’m randomly standing in his room… So, I’ll fold you up and put you in my pocket for later ramblings.
-- Huntress Rilain Svain Mortador, now the Lucke family’s deceased Nakalo slave