The Dead at the Dead Peaks (no relation)

[Faustus]

Mission: Go to the Dead Peaks.

Off topic:
Crew: Faustus (Faustus), Fossil (desolate), Cain (amenities)
Item(s): Various measuring devices.

Setting: Faustus's office, each wall a plane to a different area in Valucre, each pane spanning hundreds to thousands of miles.

"I've noticed a lot of activity centering on the Dead Peaks in Terrenus. In case you didn't know," Faustus spoke to the vague silhouette standing stoic in a corner, light streaming through the window and splashing across the walls, each wall depicting a scene of some distant setting, here a rain forest and there a savanna.

"The Dead Peaks are a mountain range, on the smaller side, located near the heart of their Wasteland. Infested with Suujali as of late, this nasty little thing immune to magic and claws as thick as a man's wrist. The Peaks are a magical dead zone, and houses Terrenus's premier prison system."

He spoke while packing a bag. Provisions to last him a month, so feeble a thing the flesh was. Various measurement instruments, ranging from the mundane barometer to a variety of arcane telemetry devices, the vast majority of which were of his own design and creation. The gaping mouth of the bag seemed endless, and didn't overflow no matter what he threw into it. After throwing in a few canteens of water and a climber's pick-axe, it became clear that the bag was of no simple make.

"Records indicate the prison had suffered from only three assaults in the past decade. And has suffered three attacks, successful if my intelligence is viable, in this past year alone. I intend for us to find out why the prison has managed to attract so much attention this past year, and why the assails have been successful. Whether those involved are of extraordinary mettle, or whether Terran ingenuity is no longer at a prime."

Faustus stifled the instinctive scoff that bubbled in his gullet at the mere thought. The Terrans were machine-like in their progress and development. Nearly inhumane, for all of their fluff and flowers. For now Faustus merely suspected foul play, and reserved his projections until he gathered more data.

"This is a mission of secrecy and delicacy that I cannot trust in the hands of the cannon-fodder. The children have been doing well, but does not change the fact that they are children nonetheless."

Faustus looped his arms through the pack's straps and pulled the thing on, virtually weightless, then turned to Fossil.

"We're doing this clean. Drawing the absolute minimum of attention to ourselves. We're walking to the port, taking a pleasure cruise to Terrenus, taking the Rail from Casper to Hell's Gate and then hoofing it up to the Peaks. The story is we're lovers on a cruise. Can you dress a little less . . . fucking gloomy maybe?"

[amenities]

Just as Faustus began his last words to Fossil, a brief and subtle click introduced another to the room. He was wearing blue slacks that only had one hole in them, his nicest white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to a point on his forearms just below his elbows, and a white bandana that held his hair from his face.

Entering just as silently as nothing at all, he pushed the door gently shut behind him by leaning nonchalantly against it. Folding his arms and crossing one foot over the other on the floor, he tossed one hand before his face and gestured in a circular motion as he looked up, contemplating. Having heard the plans, he could hardly contain himself as he began.

“That’s cute.” This, he directed toward Faustus. There would no doubt be some sort of look in the exchange of fire, so that would be addressed with a straightening of the face a look of mock sympathy. “Really, it is!”

There would only be a moment to get in a retort before the icebreaking humor was gone from the puppeteer, when he would begin the brief that not only prepared him, but laid out the basic schematics for how the entire ordeal was to take place. That was where he would address both Dead in the room.

“You two have your cover, sure, but are there specifics to the way I am to keep myself from suspicion?” He worded things the way he did because he knew that, regardless of whether or not he was told how to evade suspicion, he could do it.

His hands delved back into their pockets and his mouth remained a thin line as he watched Faustus pack.

[desolate]

In the corner, Fossil waited for the Architect to finish the mission briefing. He was staring into the most peculiar pane. It was a view of the planet from space. The same window he always stared into when Faustus invited him to the office. Like he was waiting for something to happen. Occasionally he reached out for the void, but always stopped short, as if in disappointment.

Only after Faustus was finished did Fossil consider the mission. Infiltration was his favorite. Boats came in a close second. The bandages hiding his face shriveled to nothing and the cotton fibers of his gloomy attire shifted.

What did Faustus like? He thought back and remembered the simulacrum he built to check in on the Academy. Soon he was only wearing tight swim shorts, pink with glittery silver stars, short enough to show a lot of pale thigh. Then he tried to get into his role. "Statement: I need a tan. Query: Does this make me look fat?"

He turned to appraise Cain. They had both been in the Cabal, but had never been acquainted. Was he coming on the boat? He should. Unable to abide leaving Cain boatless, Fossil thought of a solution.

"Advisement: I could eat him. I am like a briefcase for people."

[Faustus]

Faustus nearly had to squint his eyes to keep from going blind at the sight of Fossil's blatant and radiating homosexuality. Once his eyes adjusted to the flair, Faustus brought his hands together in slow applause, stepped forward, and clapped a hand on Fossil's shoulder in approval.

"My dear, the only thing those shorts make look fat is your package. Never have I seen so striking a beauty."

He lifted Fossil's chin with the cusp of joined fingertips.

Despite displaying all of the warm, affectionate and inviting body language to be expected between two men, if not lovers then at least sexually attracted to one another, with a hand sliding from a shoulder down the length of an arm and a closing measure of space between them, when Faustus spoke it was with bland affect. With words bunched and shoved coldly in place like cobblestone.

He broke away, what physical chemistry brewed between them gone as quick as it had come into being, and turned his attention towards Cain.

"When he says he could eat you, he doesn't mean in the cute way. Your cover is the same as ours. We are, in fact, a polygamous triangle of boiling lust and testosterone, each of us dabbling in the love that dare not speak its name.

"I can think of no better ruse." He paused, looked up, and tapped his chin. "Correction: I can think of no ruse that would better suit us for these precise, exact circumstances. Our lifestyle choice will deter most from lavishing undue attention on us, and the type of attention we are most likely to garner is simply solved."

Faustus held out a hand and on it were three wedding rings; simple silver bands, one of which he immediately put on, the other two which he tossed to their respective bearers.

"Bring a few of the mannequins with you Cain, but dress them in fetishist clothing and fold them into a case large enough to justify shoving the thing into the cargo hold. If anyone asks, they're sex dolls.

"So, if we're all clear on our roles, I'd like to get a fucking move on. Though we own technically own the ship, nobody on board knows that, and they'll cast off if we aren't there in time."

[amenities]

Cain’s pointer finger popped up at the notion, and he pulled the door open and dragged an object in, closing it within an instant of the opening light. There he held a case with wheels on it and a retracting handle that he could pull it on. Procuring from his pocket of endless wonders a cup of pink paint, he dumped it on the black case, smattering the remaining pink goo in abstract, splatter patterns across the cloth. Then he tossed the cup back out the door, closing it just as quickly as he had the first time.

Turning and smiling once more like he had the first time he came back at Faustus, he bent his left hand at the wrist before him, splaying his fingers apart and batting his eyelashes at the Architect.

“Do the honors, Mister.” He rang out with a stark amount of ‘give-it-to-me-in-the-butt”, if only to test his ability and lisp in action.

Whether Faustus put the ring on for him or he had to take and do it himself, he would continue with briefing a moment later.

“I think I could dress like this, to be honest. I would much rather be the man in this all man relationship.”

[desolate]

Fossil blushed. Coldness of words and expression were lost on him, a man who was static and flat in all except the way Faustus already described. It was inspired both by what was said and a memory of their leader from a time before all of this. To make him blush? A leogere indeed. He glanced at Cain. Worthy of enough trust to be given second in command, above even Fossil himself. Perhaps it was the fact that the general was obviously hiding a few tasty tidbits. Saving them for later, so as not to spoil the meal. However, Faustus had proven himself time and again a better deceiver than Fossil could remember, and he did not mind having a witness for this auspicious occasion.

From his chest, Fossil produced a book. The grimoire he used to cast spells. A powerful artifact. An unnecessary one, at least for his purposes. He clutched it, the fact that it came from within him an indicator that it was made of human flesh. Esoteric designs marked its surface, not unlike those on the various devices Faustus made. No, exactly like, from handwriting to overall design.

More quickly than one might expect from having seen Fossil in action, often one who was as slow as a tank when advancing, he seized Faustus retreating hand and placed the grimoire in it. "Observation: You are every bit the man I expected and more. Clarification: This is reading for when you have alone time on the cruise. Mockery: It is not pornography, though I suspect by your standards it may as well be."

Other than that, Fossil was quiet. He circumnavigated the office until he reached a particular pane, where the sun was bright, palm trees swayed, gigantic coconut crabs skittered and waves crashed against a rather advanced looking docking bay that stretched out of sight along a rare empty space on an otherwise tourist filled boardwalk.

A thought occurred to him when Cain stated his preferences, as he was about to leave. "Observation: I am the lowest ranked. Query: Does that make me the bitch?"

In he went.

[Faustus]

"Cain." Faustus did not whisper, so much, but spoke in a low tone made all the more austere for its dim conveyance. He held Cain's outstretched hand and delicately worked the silver band onto his ring finger. "When was the last time you saw a homosexual bat his eyelashes at another, much less at his husband?

"You are perhaps inexperienced in the art of deception. At this level, and for this long." He managed to speak down to Cain while keeping him at the same level; looking him in the eyes like a man while adopting the tone of one addressing a delinquent. A juvenile. "I need you to sober yourself. Do you understand? At this stage of the mission, failure would not be catastrophic but success in such affairs more often than not hinges on one's ability to be clandestine."

Just then Fossil produced the grimoire, and the scalding gaze of one Faustus Clemens turned away from Cain and focused dutifully on the tome. His face, as always, betrayed virtually nothing about the inner workings of his mind. Even if they had hinted at a concept, his face could never convey the true depth of that wondrous engine of thought between his ears.

But what did give something away, available to the purview of keen eyes paired with a keen mind alone. The delicate way in which he handled the book, his hand cupped around the worn spine, nesting the volume against his chest as if handling precious cargo.

The most precious, fragile treasure of all . . .

Just moments before walking through the selfsame pane Fossil traversed, Faustus drew a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles from a nearby drawer and, applying a gel-like substance spooned by two fingers from a plastic canister, he teased his hair into a style that made it seem as if he'd just woken. With that, and one final look at Cain, he passed through the pane.

The transition was subtle yet sudden. As if his wall were a window looking into a tropical world, and the only thing separating his room from the beach was a property line, a single step transported Faustus from the utilitarian facility of the Dead to the gentle breeze, warm air and lively scenery of the Muhirian coast.

[amenities]

Cain watched as the article moved from Fossil to Faustus, his eyes following it with the trained diligence of a child watching his new puppy move from the hands of his mother to those of his father. It was a palid, flesh color, but all he could think when he looked at it was "ooh, shiny!" He waited until he saw the Architect nestle it against his body, where he would immediately tear his gaze away from it. He knew what jealous looks could do to business relationships, but he also knew what it meant when somebody held an artifact with such care. He brushed the thought to the back of his mind and drank in every word of advice he could.
​
Before Faustus could quite clear the threshold into the wall dimension, Cain uttered a couple words of his own in retort to the criticism.
​
"I bat my eyelashes at wo--" Before he could finish, Clemens had gone. "Sweet.." He concluded, before stepping into the bustling harbor where their romantic escape awaited.

[desolate]

Just as Fossil arrived, he discovered that the gate hadn't led to such an empty space after all. There was one young woman in front of him, whom Fossil placed at fourteen years, three months, twelve days, two hours and forty three point two seconds old. Footprints in the sand suggested she had been underwater and galloped, like only a clumsy adolescent female could, during the precious seconds it took to traverse space from headquarters.

She gazed at him with wide eyes, pupils dilated from excitement and irrepressible attraction. He was not flattered. Fossil placed her ethnicity as Terran immediately. That fact became obvious with the first few words that came out of her mouth.

"Radical! You're Mr. Trasimene, aren't you!" It was not a question.
"Answer: No."
"But, but, but you look just like him! But you talk funny. But, ooh, ooh, are you," shrill, excited yelling became hushed whispers, "under cover?"
"Answer: No."
"I have to tell mommy! She'll puke with excitement!" As fortune would have it, his associates had not yet appeared. Too busy playing with themselves.

Fossil was about to kill her outright in a properly clandestine manner, but Faustus, followed by Cain, interrupted with their arrival. All they were witness to was the rambunctious girl bounding away with glee born of fervent dedication to gossip. Alive and well. For now.

"Query: Is this going to be like the Electric Chameleon?"

[Faustus]

Faustus appeared behind Fossil, suddenly filling space that was unoccupied moments before, accompanied by a slight and not entirely unpleasantly scented gust of air that ruffled his clothing and lifted his hair. Eyes trailed behind the effervescent path the bubbly girl left in her wake. He ho-hummed to himself and brought a neutral gaze to Fossil, inspecting him but saying nothing. What few leaps of logic were left to him, he could not take very far due to a dearth of information.

He seemed just on the cusp of inquiring something when Cain sprang into existence behind them, he too arriving from the void, and more and more people seemed to be streaming through the boardwalk now.

"No no. Nothing like a Chameleon. That's a club dear, we're going on a pleasure cruise. Much more luxurious. Decadence out the ass, dear. How fortuitous it is that my esteemed great-uncle died, bless his soul, and left me so sizable a portion of his wealth."

Faustus decided that if he didn't get things moving, that the three of them would stand there and gossip all day and that the cruise liner would leave without them, so he stirred them into action. Attending to each of them like a mother hen clucking at her chicks, Faustus pecked and pecked at Cain and Fossil as they moved towards the massive ship which occupied the horizon when one faced the dock.

Before too long they were on the loading bay, falling in line with a sparse stream of people that continuously shuffled to gain ground, families of all number and ethnic background, but all of them undoubtedly flush with cash, and all of them moving as one entity ever toward the belly of the ship. It took them nearly ten minutes of walking just to get to the entrance gate. Faustus fished around in his man-purse for the boarding passes and presented them.

"Checking in Robert A. Heinlein, H.P. Lovecraft and John Eldredge. All of our papers are in order, and we requested a portside cabin aboard the S.S. Charon."

There were four such mammoth cruise liners in circulation. The Charon, the Atropos, the Davy Jones and a fourth yet unnamed and still in production.

The ship itself was of such tremendous size that it could comfortably house a small village in its stomach, and provides a premier in entertainment, with a number of parks, an indoor water park, gambling houses, liquor corners, a red-light district where only those with proper verification and the appropriate color boarding pass could enter, and all such manner of mindless amusement.

The ship hovered atop the water and floated about at no great pace, but on demand an array of square pads unfold from its underbelly and, charged with electricity, can propel the ship at great speed in any direction but up. The plexiglass dome can seal off at all ends to allow the ship to submerge on those special days in a voyage where the customers were to be treated to a breath-taking display of underwater nature.

The whole process took the better half of an hour, but they were then shown to their rooms. Faustus, or Robert as he was known by the crew, did not let his luggage out of hand, insisting that he been taught to handle his own messes.

"It'll be a while yet before we reach Terrenus." Faustus sloughed off his pack and suitcase then threw himself bodily on the single, huge bed in the room. "But these are the sacrifices we must make for the good of the organization. Champagne? Chocolate truffle?"

Spoiler:

[desolate]

The S. S. Charon was magnificent. Fossil would have to remind himself to check out the engineering specs later. He paused at the gate and examined the hull. The most interesting part of its build were the square, electrically charged hover pads. Doubtless, they linked to the life support system when the S. S. Charon submerged. Was a tour of the ship out of the question? While Faustus handled the boarding procedures, Fossil traded a few troubled glances between the ship and the sky. Finally, the line shuffled forward and he was pushed from his thoughts and onto the lavish cruise liner.

It took a long time to get to their room, but it gave him time to memorize the map and attractions, provided to him by a flirtatious female attendant with several brochures. She was warded off by linking an arm with Faustus.

Fossil stood awkwardly in the center of the room, discarding the brochures on a nightstand. He did not know what to do with himself.

"Query: Are we allowed to take a tour of the critical systems of the ship? Statement: I want to examine life support, propulsion and navigation." All business. Collecting data in person was far more valuable than reading some Catalyst documents. The idea of relaxation was beyond him. Fossil paused only to eat the curious culinary creation called chocolate. Silence. A few moments of consideration. Furrowed brow at first, then wide eyes when the truffle melted. His cheeks flushed.

He ate another before he continued speaking with the realization he was being a bit selfish by monopolizing their time. "Query: What would you like to suffer through? Observation: The only time we are together is spent as wrecking balls."

By the time he was done talking, a bewildered Fossil nearly had the cork off the champagne bottle with his bare hands. It popped, socking him in the eye and spraying precious bubbly all over his bare, now glistening torso.

[Faustus]

"You can collect as much as you can as long as you don't draw attention to yourself. Remember, we are merely tourists indulging in the upper limit of decadence. We only have three of the four ships in circulation, and a fourth in production. When we get back, I'll let you have free reign over the other."

Faustus considered Fossil's work ethic. In reality, it was misleading to use such a term as 'work', when everything Fossil did seemed as if its motivation was born of some primal sphere, some necessitating force inside of his very being, such was his power of delivery and his dedication. Of all those in the Dead, truly of nearly any other man he'd ever met, Fossil reminded him most of himself.

From the far corner of the room where he had shoved his pack, the bundle called his attention subtly, the book nestled inside of it scratching at the back of his mind, begging him with the most saccharine voice to abandon all else, all light and pretense, and delve into that inky shadow of the world that was the deepest seat of learning.

Fossil's general antics called Faustus's attention back to the immediate present, all current musings placed delicately atop the backburner and set on simmer. A genteel smiled twanged the corner of his lips. Clearly with the intent at gentle derision, softened by a thick cushion of familiarity and a professional bond, yet delivered in a way that did not too heavily incense.

"Lovecraft, my loving craft, you never fail to amuse me but I believe this is the first time I've heard you speak in so casual a tone. At least one not as heavily . . . affected as your usual. Ah! Come now, you've made a mess all about the cabin and yourself. Here, let me help."

Faustus grabbed a hand towel and rushed towards Fossil, the hence unbuttoned dress shirt falling open and removing a pale torso with neatly defined muscles upon a lithe torso. One hand lay delicately on Fossil's shoulder, the other brought the towel to wipe across his chest and soak up the sparkling champagne.

Just then the door opened, and a woman that looked as if she had lived a conservative life all her years was treated to a double dose of indelible sin. Faustus cast his eyes, which shone as if lightning brewed behind his irises, to the floor and then looked up at the woman almost meekly.

But his tone of voice, when he spoke, came with a hard edge and was cold to the skin.

"I'm disgusted by the ineptitude of the workers on this ship my Lovecraft. How dare you enter without knocking, without being told you may enter. I come from a land where to enter another man's domain uninvited, of which this became the moment I paid my fare, was to receive no less than the most severe clout about the mouth and ears."

The woman blushed furiously and looked down at a moment, sputtering inaudibly.

"Cease your incomprehensible spewing, rag. In the bathroom even now my dear Johnathan is recovering from the beating I gave him." Faustus gyrated his hips lewdly. "What if you had come in at that moment? To what delight I would have taken a strip from your back. Out with you, and let the others now."

He shooed her away like so much garbage. The woman left, her face redder than a tomato, pitiful excuses stumbling from her lips all the while. Faustus tossed the towel to Fossil unceremoniously and began to dress in more casual wear with comfortable shoes.

"That was a good catch. You sniffed her out even before I even had a chance. There are a lot of wealthy people aboard. Influential. No doubt there is game to be ran here, biz as well. Interested in prospectin'?"

[desolate]

Standing statuesque while the boss dabbed at his chest with a towel, Fossil silently watched the heated social exchange. He studied it. He did a lot of that, particularly with Faustus, from studying the words and phrases themselves to the way muscles in his vocal tract moved, and those lips—he shut his eyes until the stuttering "rag" left them in partial tears. His interest in her was limited solely to examining Faustus in a new social role.

When she left, he poured them both a glass of champagne from what was left, wholly unconcerned with his black eye or the remaining bubbly on his body. The towel hit him and fell to the ground.

For some reason, he felt like he should explain the change in his tone.

"Statement: I am pleased you noticed my alterations to this body's speech articulators. Disclosure: I overheard someone called me dead pan and I do not wish to bore you," Fossil paused and considered the prospect. No need to be cock shy. He took a sip, but it was not nearly as fulfilling as the truffle had been. There could be no harm in drinking more. So he did.

Time to impress.

"Commentary: The fact I look snuffed out," Fossil pointed at his bruised face, "will make you seem more trill to those flossing fat cats." He felt like he should smile. It came out crooked and awkward. "Query: How about we make a wager on our biz? Clarification: I will give you a scratch," at this he wagged his eyebrows suggestively, "if you can get your weight up more than me by the end of the day, homey."

A challenge. Not that anything that happened would not intrinsically benefit Faustus in the long run, but it seemed more interesting than tumbling down water slides.

Perhaps.

[Faustus]

Faustus cocked a brow, the arch reaching nearly to his hairline.

"Ho-ho, what's all this then? The protégé is rife with ego, and feels that he has learned all that the master has to teach?" Faustus smirked in a manner at once devilish and debonair, the kind of smirk he had when attempting to entice the ladyfolk or to drive home a particularly derisive diatribe.

With a sharp turn and a flutter of the ends of his shirt, Faustus turned about face and began to dress. The hues were subdued but the trim pronounced, the end effect being that his silhouette stood out in memory over the specific features of his countenance or body type. An admixture of white, black, and gray made up his wear.

He palmed the usual gamut of party tricks. A deck of party cards. A satchel of die. A number of small baggies, some containing a pill the size of a contracted pupil while others were packed to repletion with curious powders and herbs. These he pocketed and, sliding his finger along the brim of the stylish hat he placed along his head so the shadow obscured half his features but only highlighted his spectral smile, retorted.

"I bet you think cause I look fly as shit that you can snuff me but it strikes me as if you're tripping, plain and simple Lovecraft, plain and simple.

"So let me break it down like this. No holds barred. We do whatever needs to get done, scratch and claw if necessary, and scratch up a big a pile as we can. At the end of the week, by which time we should be pulling up to Terran harbor, we'll compare and see what's what.

"And just what are the wages of sin, you ask? We can work that out later in the week, once we see how the fish are biting, so that the payout is proportionate to what we manage to gather."

One could see it in his eyes, such ardor, such glee in the prospect of robbing the fatcats blind. He felt there was nothing more to say. Fossil, ever competent, didn't need to be led down the path of chicanery by hand. Without addressing him again, he stole out of the door and got to work.

Faustus fell into a comfortable place at a comfortable pace. He had a smooth talking way about him that, though not congruous with the general air of sophistication surrounding him, could nonetheless navigate itself around the customary defenses and endear people to him. It was a common trait of the capable con-man, to break down the walls of suspicion and implant, at will, ideas of camaraderie and trust. Of honesty and authenticity.

Before long he had a group of the opulent surrounding him with wide eyes, some eating out of the palm of his hand, the more cautious taking a step back to put distance between themselves and the inexorable pull of this black-haired, gold-eyed figure.

But even when acting in prudence, they could not draw their eyes away from him completely. And before long he had them transfixed in the fluid movement of his hands and his smooth articulation.

"Now watch close. Aim of the game's to name the dame."

His hands moved in a blur among the three cards, the queen losing herself among her knights errant, and then laid the table out before the mark. The rich, bald little man with dewdrops of sweat formulating on his brow had no chance. There was no sweeter game than a rigged one and deep in their hearts, Faustus suspected that they knew they stood no chance, but just couldn't help themselves anyway. Of course the game is rigged, but you can't win it if you don't try.

The winners got to keep their money. The losers had to take a shot and, with that one glass of dark liquid, felt themselves gripped by a fear of exhilaration as if falling into an abyss. Perhaps they thought this titillation to be nothing more than the fervor of a drink, but little could they know of the noxious drug flowing through their veins with every pump.

With each playful groan of the crowd as this baron or that duke had to down the burning liquor, the Dead's clientele grew.

[desolate]

On the first day, after departing Faustus, Fossil found the rambunctious girl and her mother, predictably vomiting over the news that the amazing Vaile Trasimene was on board, in the ladies' restroom on Sub-level B. It was the approximation of riding coach on an airplane. Smaller quarters, rooms packed tight, tourists squeezed together and waiting for the relief of their months planned ahead schedule.

As expected, the ladies' restroom was spotless.

"Mommy! Mommy! Look! I told you!"
"Oh! My! Gaia! BLAAAAAAURG!"
"Tee-hee! This must be how they named Blaurg!"
"Query: Are you here with friends?" Fossil took the girl, shaking with excitement, away from her puking mother.
"Of course! You think I'd just come on a cruise with mommy? That'd be like. So. To-ta-lly. Lame-o!"
"Statement: You are insufferable."
"U-um. . . I-I'm r-really super-duper califragilistic and expialidociously sorry!"
"Query: How would you like to make it up to me?"
"Oh! My! Gaia! A favor for V-BLAAAAAURG!" The girl joined her mother in vomiting for a few moments. Fossil waited patiently. When she was finished, he gave her several packets filled with orange jelly.
"Statement: This is the stuff I use. Tell them it is. . . so. To-ta-lly. Radical. And they can find more in Last Chance, if they like."
"Oh! My! Gaia! It. Looks. SO. YUMMY!"

After some obligatory small talk, Fossil left, knowing she wouldn't remember him or much of the trip. Just where to get more. And they'd all be terribly addicted, every teenager on the ship and their decadent parents who couldn't help but sneak a peek, sick of vicarious living. It was a special batch. The withdrawal was killer.

When talk starts going on a week later, every kid in school talking about the cool new jelly on the street, the Last Chance drug trade would be inundated with new business. New business that would utterly swallow the old business, bringing more dealers to the Dead.

But that was just a bit of silly laying around. The drug did all the work, with a little endorsement from a famous look-a-like. Fossil didn't really get started until a few days later.

"Hiya! You look awfully familiar there, my boy!" Odette, Mayor of Ignatz, greeted Fossil with a joyous hug. Nearly bare breasts against chiseled, now tan pectorals. Who knew the librarian mayor could get so. . . rated M? In any case, Fossil had managed to work his drug up to one of Odette's potential fiance's second cousin's nephew and, with the promise of more jelly, surreptitiously had a meeting arranged. To a talented man like Fossil, Odette's interests were something he could easily play around with.

"Statement: No. I do not." Odette looked confused. Of course, Fossil had a mint julep masque on his face. Healing sunburn, he explained. The price of such a beautiful tan!
"Query: I hear you are in the market for rare and exotic animals? Statement: I happen to know a few things about cryptozoology."

And oh, how he hooked her, and how she regaled him with tales of gorillas with tails running amok in Ignatz, and how she was sold on a seagull with tentacles—WITH TENTACLES!? she screamed, interrupting the casino gala—that Fossil caught (see: made, in a stunning, I say, stunning show of medical ethics suitable for a member of the Dead) on this very trip!

Did he mentioned the hallucinogens it secreted? Why, of course not. It was perfectly safe to cuddle and roll around with in one's library, squealing in delight. They shook hands, he had it delivered in a gold plated bird slash squid cage slash aquarium on the last night of the trip, and Fossil returned to their room at around midnight.

It was there he calmly sat down, washed off the mint julep masque and, unable to contain his grin, ate many truffles that caused him to blush brighter than his fictional sunburn.