Oh, right. You haven’t really eaten since last breakfast, so it probably won’t hurt to eat something…

You inquire about breakfast, “Sure… I am a little hungry. W-what kind of food do you serve here. Or— what’s on the menu… context wise.”

“Yer gonnae have tae speak up a wee bit, pumpkin.”

“S-sorry. I said I am hungry.”

“Ah. Well, the kitchen here makes a very lovely Matuvian sandwych. Coffee’s great too. Sound like something ye like?”

“U-uh yes, that’s fine, thank you.”

She barks at one of the Kunehva, “Grecks, go send for scran. The lass wants a sandwych. Oh, and get her a cuppa— Oxcotian sugar; poor paper doll can use a winding.”

Are you really asking why we haven’t corrected the gigantic, steel-clad, woman, with suspiciously luminous eyes, and suspiciously prominent canines, on the matter of your gender?

Do you understand how terrifying she is? Coming up here, you really thought she was going to fall through the floorboards.

H-hi…

You don’t want to think about it right now, but you thought you had a moment of respite— finally a moment to unwind with a hot shower… Then you turned around and saw that… thing. Apparently every other Qothic Deity is just as much an abomination. Makes you wonder what madness leads this many people to believe in such horrors. Oh, right, probably brain damage. You’ve already covered that.

There really isn’t anything you can do right now. Even if you sent for Janko, your request would be considered only to be lost in the bureaucratic minutiae that is the Qothic machine. And by the time it reaches him, you’re certain they’d already be done with you.

Have a problem with that? You’re free to file a complaint. We’ll get back to you by the time you got all the notches on your horns.

And this is if they want to work with you.

You thought working with the private sector was a headache. Guess there’s still time to grow up.

Hi. H-hello… Like— again.

If you know anything about interacting with Qoths is to take extra care to not get on their bad side. If you just let them do their thing and stay out of their way, then they’ll just focus on stabbing each other in their little clubhouses.

Just hope that they haven’t convinced themselves that you stole one of their made-up Gods or something. Because then you have Gortogen.

As for the little girl in charge, you don’t really care about what selfish whims she would want to force upon the Court of Oxcot. You like to learn things, but Qothic politics is just plain nauseating. And you’re not in the mood right now.

Ugh… Too much Qoth…

Sorry… you’re starting to feel a little crabby.

Y-yes? “Hack off” kind of implies that there’s some form of amputation involved. Why does this distinction matter right now? What?

You don’t want to talk about people losing body parts. We should move on.

I got a better idea: Literally anything else.

It’s clear that we’re running out of good ideas now. Thanks for being so upfront, it saves us the time to—

Oh my God— look, that squami is reaching for her firearm.

The Captain’s scowl turns upwards, “Ah, Squingle the Squami. Wee devil. Naughty lad this one.”

Squingle, in a sleezy, scratchy voice coughs out from below, “Hhgk, please, my lady! Put me down! God told me to do it!”

“Had me ready tae bite ye head off like a neeveet for snatching my service pistol. Right then, I’ll let ye go, only cause I like ye.”

After she puts down the puppet, it wastes no time to slither over to you. Peering up close you see a collection of real teeth in the puppet’s mouth.

“Wait just a second. Hold the goddamn quill. Who’s this mango?Qothic derogatory term for Siltrians I’ve never seen you ’round these parts.”

“Ah, this Lassie is helping me track down her mass murdering pal— ‘Alleged’ mass murdering pal.” The Captain says.

“’Lassie’, huh. Cricket you loose whale, get up off the floor and take a look at this! We found another one.”

The puppeteer springs up, and opens up in a strained, high-pitched voice. “Well, Shama lees, Doe-Eyes… Is that eyeliner?”

Squingle leans in, “I think it’s time for a new pair of shorts, you are absolutely strangling your you-know-hoo-hah!”

“Squingle! How rude of you!”

The hunter’s long tail nearly flicks your leg.

Oh my God. It’s Cricket the Gormutt. You really don’t need this… You’ve always been scared of jesters, what amusement does Shama seek to send you a hunter jester!?

Cricket cradles the puppet, “I-I am so very sorry my dear. Squingle— well, ever since he got hit by that VinderhassiQothic crank freighter back in Matu he just hasn’t been the same… Brain’s all mince-mangled, and what not. Scrambled and fried, even. Head klom’d to mash, and what have you.

“Please show poise for this poor little delicate soul. He means well, honest to God!”

“Look, I’m not a woman.” you whisper, ignoring the tragic backstory of a literal puppet. “The Captain just thinks I am and honestly at this point I’m too scared to tell her otherwise.”

“Well, I can see the confusion; you’re very pretty.” She smirks, “You probably get a lot of that, ‘dontcha?”

“Someone should go tell her that Lassie’s printing like a Gnomanyan’s pistol in a monsoon.”

Cricket leans in, “Anywho, you got a name, Doe Eyes?

“Oh, and who’s your murder pal?

“And where’d you get that hat!?

“And why’re you being so silly!?

“Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Raghhhh—what’s up with you!?” Cricket flutters her eyelids. Her eyes are so oversized you can hear her blink.

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