In the morning, Mikhael arose from his bed and washed his face in the stream. He saw a toad sitting on a rock beside him, completely motionless in its place. Mikhael, who was a hulking man with a dark black beard and long frizzy hair, found it almost insulting the toad was so unbothered by his presence.

He leaned closer to the toad, putting his face just a few inches from him as he stared at the toad, and the toad back at him. He didn't make a face or sound, he just returned the toad's unblinking gaze, waiting for it to react to him in some way.

It did not, and Mikhael finally accepted that, grabbing his towel, and walking away.

He opened the crate that he kept by the river and refilled it with chunks of ice he'd found in the water. Inside he pulled a pomegranate to have for breakfast, which he tore in half then took a bite from the seeds, feeling them pop then crunch inside his mouth.

He went fishing around 10, dropping his net into the water and pulling it in and out until finally, a few fish arrived.

While by the water, he saw a dark ripple in the water and called out, "Lophia, must you spy?"

Out popped the mass of eyes on the blobby fish, Lophia lurched forward and proclaimed, "I didn't know if you were in the mood for talking. You seem a bit grumpy–"

"I am not," he said, his voice low and somewhat grumpy sounding. In Mikhael's defense, it was hard not to sound grumpy with a voice like his.

"Well, I wanted to tell you something funny I saw," Lophia was a lonely creature, Mikhael had realized about a day into his stay on the island of Nubes.

"Hmm," Mikhael sat down on the shore, crossing his legs as he twisted his net up so the fish wouldn't fall out.

"Well, I was doing my routine–I've told you about my routine–"

"Yes."

"So I was doing my routine–but before I go ahead these two men are chatting on the boat right before I start to rock it. And you won't believe it–but they were talking about me! Isn't that wonderful!"

"Hm."

"And they were talking about the Sea Woman and how lovely she is, it was so nice to hear!"

"Hm."

"And I was thinking," Lophia twisted her tentacles around as she did when she felt anxious, "that maybe if you were to get out there...let the humans know you a bit...then you could be talked about too!"

Mikhael couldn't answer right away. He found himself almost perplexed by the entire offer. It took a minute to ground himself and when he finally did he asked, "Why?"

The simplicity to his answer threw Lophia off just a bit. She stuttered as she tried to explain, "Well, as gods, we are meant to be worshiped, right?" She seemed to doubt her own statement. "Right?"

"Lophia," Mikhael stood up, slinging his net over his shoulder. "We aren't divine creatures sent to bring salvation to the lower races. We're accidents. We're masses of magic that developed a brain and emotions, and that was a dangerous mistake. If there truly is someone divine worth worshiping, someone who created and nurtured the life of Earthland, it ain't us."

Lophia seemed rather distraught as she watched Mikhael walk off. She sank back into the sea and swam off to continue her little charade. Mikhael felt sorry for her, but he didn't want her to know that. She was a fine and beautiful creature, and the god of something small but beautiful.

Mikhael envied that simplicity, to be the god of just a place, not some grand concept like death.

When he returned home, he found himself attempting to descale a fish, a task he'd found monotonous and uncomfortable since he began to fetch his food from the sea around Nubes.

He wondered what creature, god or otherwise, created the fish, and he wondered if perhaps the scales were there to deter the creatures on land from eating them.

Yet there he was, scraping the scales off with the back of his knife, fighting the urge to just throw the fish into the boiling water and get on with his meal.

Eventually, he did just that, but found himself having to scrape off the scales again as he picked at the meat of the fish. He grumbled to himself as he picked a spare scale from his teeth.

He wondered if Lophia pitied him because he always had dinner alone. She thought of him as a hermit, and maybe he was just a bit. In his long life he'd seen the churches that had risen and fallen dedicate themselves to solitude in an attempt to be closer with his kind, but he never understood how putting them on an island far from everyone else did them any good to getting closer to the gods.

Lophia liked the be worshiped, and Mikhael didn't think that desire was foolish, he himself thought Lophia was worth worshiping. However, Mikhael knew he was not.

He was not the kind of god you worshiped, he was the kind you begged for mercy.

In the evening, he discarded the part of the fish he hadn't eaten into the woods, then walked back to his home to prepare for bed.

The sun had set over an hour before, so it was quite dark, and that's probably why he felt so alert when he saw the two shadows in the distance.

He didn't hesitate. In his hand formed a staff, or something that more resembled a burnt up flag pole with the tattered remains of a nation's colors still tied to the top.

The staff extended his arm, and his voice bellowed, "Name yourself, and your intentions!"

The two figures shot their arms up, and Mikhael seemed to flinch at the sound of a familiar voice. "Lophia–I'm here to see you!"

He didn't recognize Lophia immediately, mostly because she looked more human that he'd ever seen her, but the voice was distinct enough that could acknowledge it must be her in a different form.

However, the woman beside her was still a stranger.

He didn't retract his arm, he waited for her to also announce herself, and she did so with a stern voice.

"Marigold Pollen, and I'm here to ask for your help."

He looked at the woman. She was young, but her face was worn and tired like someone who had lived a hard life. She was wrapped in a brown coat, her hair tangled and tossed by the wind.

Mikhael was silent, still pondering the position these women carried and whether or not he should send them away.

"I may not look it," the woman said, "but I'm a god."

Mikhael felt his stomach lurch, he hadn't expected that.

"You and I are of similar...positions, from what I understand," she continued, "and I really need some help to undo what I've done."

Mikhael sighed, he was tense no longer. Instead, he felt annoyed. "Come inside from the cold," he said, "just when I thought I'd get some rest..."

>>══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══<<

Liddan and Gideon had always liked the idea of a road trip, and when they were young they had planned to do one when they got older. This was because Liddan hadn't developed his motion sickness just yet, as when he was younger and his senses less refined, this wasn't a problem for her.

Then, Liddan suddenly got the motion sickness. It was abrupt, sudden, and it ruined everything. He also lost his arm around that same time, but the motion sickness also sucked and threw out the whole trip because Liddan would spend half the trip miserable.

However, thanks to the magic suppressants, Liddan was free to enjoy a long car ride with Gideon. That's what Gideon thought anyway, but "enjoy" seemed to be far from the experience Liddan was having.

Gideon drove the four wheeler with the SE plugged in while Liddan sat in the back with Malcon.

Gideon had some music playing, something by a band called Coffin and the Pallbearers. He was drumming on his lap as he drove, but kept glancing back to see if Liddan was awake as he was completely silent.

"Cool song, right?"

"Sure," Liddan said, then nothing else.

Malcon, who was also in the back, popped his head through the window to say, "WHAT?!"

The four wheeler, unlike most modern cars, had a driver seat separate from the passenger compartment, and with Gideon blowing in the cold winter wind, it was a good thing the cold didn't bother him much. However, the wind was hard to hear over.

Gideon grunted as he shouted, "Uh–why don't we stop in the next town coming up!?"

"WHAT?!"

"We're stopping in the next town!"

"HUH?!"

"I SAID–"

"WHY DON'T YOU STOP IN THE NEXT TOWN!?"

"THAT'S WHAT I'M DOING–geez–fine! Whatever–" Gideon pulled into the next exit, seeing a sign for the town he hesitated. The town was called "Marigold Roads".

Gideon thought that maybe it wasn't the best call, but then Malcon began to shout, "Pull over I gotta pee!"

He drove down the exit, hoping Liddan didn't notice the town name as they passed the sign.

When they arrived in the town, Gideon parked somewhere on the mainstreet. It was a small little town, with a nice and busy downtown area despite it being winter.

As soon as they parked, Malcon was rushing to go pee. As Gideon unplugged, he wiped his brow saying, "Woo, driving this thing takes the energy out of you. I need to get something to eat before we drive again."

Liddan was still in the back, and he didn't seem to have heard Gideon. He squinted his eyes, "Liddan?"

"Yeah?" Liddan responded nonchalantly.

"I said we should get something to eat."

"I heard you," Liddan said, then was silent once more.

Gideon crossed his arms. He turned away and swallowed his annoyance. It would be dickish to complain to Liddan that he's not having fun, because the point of this trip is for Liddan to have fun and you can't get mad at a person who's not having fun for not having fun. Gideon was trying to help and he can't just get pissed at Liddan because his helping isn't helping–it was a horrible cycle and Gideon felt sick for even thinking about it.

He turned back to Liddan and said, "What sounds good right now? Burgers? Or maybe something sweet?"

"Whatever you want."

Gideon wanted to strangle Liddan a bit, but instead he just said, "BURGERS IT IS!"

They sat down in a tiny diner with the cheapest food Gideon had ever seen. He chowed down on his burger, but intently watched Liddan eat his food and stare at the table.

"So, you doing okay on the drive?" Gideon asked, "You aren't feeling sick?"

"Not with these on?" He shook his wrist slightly, flashing his suppressant bands to Gideon.

"Right, but even I get a little sick on long car rides," Gideon said, fiddling with his straw. "Hey, while we're in town, why don't we find something to do?"

"Okay," Liddan said. Gideon was confused as he observed Liddan. He didn't look or sound depressed, which Gideon had feared he'd become on the trip. What he was facing wasn't someone who was in a deep low period, but more so just the absence of joy. Liddan was just in emotional limbo.

"What is there to do in this town anyway?" Malcon asked, picking seeds off the top of his bun.

"Yeah," Liddan looked out the window, "where are we again–"

"That's not important," Gideon said quickly, smacking his hand over the top of the menu that read "Marigold Diner". "Maybe we can go shoppin'? I bet there are some cool thrift stores–maybe a record shop? That sounds fun, right?"

"Sure," Liddan said with a nod. Gideon was hoping for more than a sure, but he'll take anything at this point.

Gideon slid out from the booth, "I see a bulletin board–I'll see if they've got anything we can do there."

Taking a breath, he went to the board and peered at the advertisements.

"You boys lookin' for work?" Gideon looked over his shoulder as an older woman in an apron approached with a slip of paper.

"Ah, no–" he stepped aside as the woman began to pin down an advertisement. "We're here to see the sights, any recommendations?"

"Oh, you're in the off season, darlin'. Next week is Valentine's Day–so we have the Carnation Parade and the Rose Dance. Or you should come back in the fall for the Marigold Festival–"

"Never mind..." Gideon didn't like the sound of that, but when he looked on the board he saw the sign that the woman had just posted. It was a job, not a normal advertisement. It was looking for someone to escort a group to Minstrel. It seemed like a lot of work, which Gideon wasn't interested in, until he saw a few recognizable words.

He snatched the flyer and returned to the table, flashing it in the other's faces as he said, "I have an idea–"

Malcon squinted at the flyer, "No! Not a job–"

"It's an escort mission of–get this–the band Coffin and the Pallbearers!"

"Who?" Malcon said.

Liddan, however, pointed to the paper and said, "Isn't that the band we were listening to?"

"Yes–them!" Gideon said, "They're touring and they're apparently in need of an escort to Minstrel! Meaning we get to tour with a band–isn't that the dream?"

Malcon tilted his head, "Is it?"

"Let's do it," Liddan was surprisingly agreeable. "You seem really excited about it, let's do it–"

"Wait," Gideon put the flyer down, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable, "I mean, if you don't want to do it–we don't have to! It was just a suggestion–"

"No, I'm cool with it," Liddan didn't sound excited, but he didn't sound uninterested either.

Gideon tried to take the win, leading the team back to the four-wheeler to head to the location on the job.

Following the directions given to them by the older waitress, they arrived by the end of the hour to an old and dirty house with a big truck in front of it.

"This it?" Gideon said, looking down to see if the house number matched what was on the posting. Liddan and Malcon stepped out of the back, stretching their legs and watching as a man loaded things into the back of the van. "Hey," Gideon called out, "You guys the one who posted the ad?"

"Huh?" The guy looked out, he had your generic punk vibe, his hair was long and greasy, his jeans ripped, and his arm covered with tattoos. He then pulled down a pair of glasses that had been pulled up on his forehead to get a proper look at the trio. "Oh–yeah–you guys want the job?"

"Yeah–are you one of the Pallbearers?" Gideon said, a little excited.

"Yeah, I'm Reck," he said, "I'm on drums. Hey–before we hire ya', Coffin wanted to talk it out first. Okay?"

He rushed back into the house, and Gideon took a moment to wave his arms at Liddan. "That was Reck–he's the drummer!"

"Yeah, we know," Malcon said, crossing his arms, "he just told us."

"He's crazy–I've never seen them live but I heard he once used a turkey leg as a drumstick–it was weird!"

"Yeah...sounds weird," Liddan said, scratching his chin.

Soon, Reck popped out of the front door of the house, waving the trio in. "Come on in, guys."

Inside the house was what you might expect from a band. Every space was dedicated to the music, so the walls were covered with foam and blankets to stop the echo. There were some old fashioned recording equipment tossed into a box, then some fancy new lacrimas sat in the center of the room.

On the couch were two other members of the band. "That's Checker," Reck said, pointing to a guy with piercings fiddling with a bass guitar. "And that's Dale." He pointed to a guy who looked alarmingly normal, just a plain looking dude in a white button up.

"Just Dale?" Liddan asked.

Dale seemed confused, "What do you mean?"

"Coffin's in the kitchen," Reck said, "go ahead and say hi. She gets the final call, as always..."

Gideon, Liddan, and Malcon all slunk into the kitchen where they saw the back of a slim woman with her head stuck in the refrigerator. She was humming a song to herself, but she didn't bother to pull her head out when she said to them, "You here about the job?"

"Yes–you're Coffin right?"

"Sure am," she slammed the fridge door shut, and that's when it became clear that the woman was missing an arm.

Her right arm cut off just a few inches past the elbow, and when she looked Liddan up and down she smiled. "Hey–fellow amputee?"

His eyes widened, "Yeah...well it wasn't amputated, more so ripped off."

"Geez–I just got hit by a bus–lucky me," she was holding a jar of pickles that she shoved between her thighs and unscrewed with her single hand. "So you guys think you can protect us?"

"Protect you from what exactly?" Malcon asked.

"Well talking cat," Coffin said, the jar now open and a pickle inches from her mouth, "we're heading on tour and we've got a bit of a conundrum. We seem to have pissed off a dark guild and we have a nasty feeling they're gonna give us trouble when we hit the road."

"How'd you get on the bad side of a dark guild?"

"Well, we were playing a gig for the guildmaster's son's birthday. And the kid kept yelling we play the same song over and over again. Over and over and over–and anyway–"

"What'd you do..."

"We politely declined to play Baby Shark and now whenever we go out we have this pack of motorcycles following us throwing birthday cakes at our windshield."

"Geez..."

"Tomorrow we open for Two Anatomically Correct Hearts Stitched Together and I don't want us run off the road by the birthday brigade. We'll be on a boat to Minstrel tomorrow evening, so we won't need you once we're out of Fiore, but we could really use an escort from here to Clover Town."

Gideon glanced over at Liddan, trying to gauge how he felt. "Sounds good?"

"Yeah," Liddan said, "but I don't really have my magic at the moment..."

"So what, the sword on your back's just for show?" Coffin pointed to the sword fitted on Liddan's back, which he'd been carrying around passively for the entire road trip. "Listen, so long as you can keep those idiot Blue Hunters off our backs, I'm fine with however you do it."

"Blue Hunters?" Liddan's eyes widened. "Wait–not the Blue Arrows, right?"

"You know of them?" Gideon asked.

"I sorta broke into their hideout a few months back," Liddan admitted, scratching his head, "I got them confused for another dark guild and ended up wrecking the place until I figured it out...I mean I cleaned up but I doubt they'd be happy to see me."

"Hey, I ain't hiring you to take 'em out for a nice steak dinner or nothin'. Just stop them from wrecking our van on the way to Clover Town. That a problem?"

"No," Liddan said with a nod, "Let's do it."

Coffin smiled, "Alright, Sword Boy, let's get ready to move!" Coffin took a quick drink of the pickle juice before tossing the jar back in the refrigerator. "Get that van packed, boys! We gotta pedal to the medal!"

Liddan followed Coffin out of the kitchen, as did Malcon, but Gideon felt a little uneasy. He didn't realize Coffin was also an amputee, though he should have figured it out from the cover art with the severed hand strumming the guitar. He wasn't sure if this was good or bad for Liddan, but he figured maybe they were just going to have to ride this wave out.

>>══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══<<

The God of Death in War. Mikhael.

Marigold had certain expectations, but this wasn't it.

He wasn't very godly, not like the ones she'd met last year. He looked very human, with dark features and hair. Lots of hair. Too much hair, the guy needed a shave and haircut like Marigold needed, well, a cure to her own cruel unknown spells.

His home was more like a hut, a humble abode that Marigold found quite familiar. It reminded her much like the tree she'd made a home for herself in with Lilly. Had Marigold been a man, she'd probably have turned into something like this.

Lophia was chatty, as if she were filling in for the absence of Mikhael's words.

"Mikhael and I have known each other a long time," she explained, "ever since he first came to the island–I was so happy to have another god nearby. But he felt so bothered by other people visiting the island so I tried to turn the boats away the best I could."

"Lophia," Mikhael's voice was deep and dark, but it wasn't frightening. There was a politeness to it that kept it from feeling too heavy. "I suppose we should allow her to talk. I'm tired and I'd like to sleep soon."

"Oh," Marigold said, "well," she suddenly felt rushed. She had a lot to ask Mikhael so she wasn't sure how to briefly lay it all out. "Okay–so I'm a god–I recently learned that–and I'm figuring things out but I accidentally unleashed a curse on the demon race that's killing them–including my husband–and since you're a god of death I thought maybe you could help me learn how to undo it." She put her hands together, smiling nervously as she said, "That's pretty much it."

Mikhael just stared back at Marigold for a moment, blinking once or twice before wiping his eyes. "Well then," he stood up, "I'm going to bed."

He walked to the mat in the corner and pulled the furs off to cover himself. "You can come back in the morning, we'll discuss things further then."

Marigold squinted as he seemed to just sink into his bed, as if she and Lophia weren't even there. "Okay?" She turned to Lophia, who quickly stood up and grabbed hold of Marigold's arm.

"Let's go back to the boat," she whispered, leading her out of the hut to walk back to the shore.

On the way back, Marigold felt the need to say, "That was weird–so is he going to help?"

"Um," Lophia wasn't sure, "I hope so..."

"He wasn't what I expected," Marigold said, "I thought he'd be more like one of the Battle Gods, you know?"

"Well, he isn't a battle god," Lophia said simply, "there is a great range of gods, all very different. There are the gods of land and sea, who embody the magic of a specific location–like me! Of course, they're considered far less divine than the gods of spirit. Gods like you! You embody concepts and ideas, not places. I, for example, could die if my sea is ever destroyed. My existence is tied to the presence of the sea. So a god like you or Mikhael don't go away so easily. It's not as if the concept of death can be destroyed."

"But the god of death–and life–did die. Or vanish, or something," Marigold wasn't sure how to describe it, the history of the gods was so baked in mythology that it was difficult to fully grasp what it was about. "Did you know the god of death and life?"

"I'd run into them from time to time. They were the first gods to ever come into existence. There was nothing if not Life and his counterpart Death. She was frightening, the god of Death, but not unkind. It was in her nature, it seemed, to be unsettling to us. As even the gods knew that she might one day claim them. Of course...that didn't exactly happen. She disappeared one day, and so did Life...and then..." Lophia looked off wistfully. "Well, after a very long time, you appeared."

On the boat, Marigold reunited with Sylvie and Laurie (and Red's head, but who cares about him). Sylvie could tell she looked rather unsatisfied, and since they'd been gone only an hour, it was unlikely anything meaningful really happened.

"Did you meet him?"

"Yes," Marigold answered quickly. "He said to come back in the morning."

"That's good I suppose," Sylvie said.

"Can we come onto the island this time?" Laurie said, "All the bobbing is making me a little sick..."

"Ehhh," Lophia was still uneasy with them coming onto the island.

They decided to sleep on the boat, as small as it was, though Lophia jumped overboard to sleep in the water (somehow).

With Sylvie and Laurie fast asleep, it was just Marigold awake for the time, Red propped up near her as she wrapped herself with a blanket.

Red, a master of timing, decided this was a time to ask, "You wanna mess around?"

"I'm married–and you're just a head."

"The only thing I have to offer is my mouth," he stuck his tongue out, "isn't that a woman's fantasy?"

Marigold paused for a moment, "You might be right actually...but still no."

"Well then," Red said, "Could you wrap me in a blanket, or something?"

Marigold tossed a blanket on Red's head, completely covering him. "That's not what I meant but thank you," he said, his voice muffled.

Feeling a bit merciful, Marigold moved the blanket to allow Red to curl up in it like a dog would. Though Red was still just a head, the cushioning was nice and gave his neck a break.

"He wasn't what you expected, was he?"

"No, but he felt familiar, somehow," Marigold said, pulling her own blanket over her legs. "I don't know, I'm worried this may all be for nothing."

"Maybe," Red said, "but I'd like to inquire that I still get my body back whether this man helps you or not."

"That's for me to decide," Marigold said. "You'll be lucky if you even get an inch of your spine back."

"You can act tough," Red said, "but I've watched you long enough, you've got too much heart to leave me to die."

Marigold didn't say anything. Red probably took that as a confirmation, as Marigold not wanting to admit that she was too soft to let him die. However, what left Marigold so unsettled was the reality that she might not be as soft as she used to be, and she had no qualms for leaving Red to die.

>>══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══<<

"We're all packed," Reck said as he shut the doors to the van. "We'll drive ahead and you just follow behind. And, like, if any weird things show up, just stop it or whatever."

The lax nature of the band made the job's atmosphere all the stranger. They almost didn't take the threat seriously because the band didn't seem to either.

Afterall, how bad could a dark guild throwing birthday cake at them be?

Gideon followed behind the rusty van in the four-wheeler, Liddan and Malcon hanging out in the back, looking out the windows with a look of boredom on their faces.

"This is boring," Malcon announced, saying what they all thought. "We're just driving again!"

"Well that's the job–" Gideon said, "when we get to Clover Town, at least we'll get to see them perform, right?"

"Yeah yeah," Malcon grumbled. "I wish we coulda been in the van with the band or something, I bet that would've been fun. Coffin seems cool."

"Well we can't protect them inside the van..." Gideon looked back at Liddan, who seemed to just be staring out the window. "You okay?"

"What?"

"Are you okay–"

"You keep asking me that," Liddan said, "it's kinda annoying, man."

Gideon bit his lip, "Look–I'm sorry–I just..." It was then Gideon seemed to blurt something out maybe he shouldn't have, "I'm only doing this trip because I wanted to make you feel better so if you're not feeling any better than it's useless!"

Gideon couldn't see Liddan's face because he was driving, but the silence from both him and Malcon made it clear he'd screwed up.

"The fu–"

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Gideon was forced to swerve as a motorcycle swung in front of the four-wheeler. The bikes began to multiply as they heard the cries and laughs of the riders all shouting, "You ready for your birthday present!"

Coffin kicked open the back door of the van, grappling onto the closed door to get a look at the newly arrived Blue Hunters. She looked annoyed, and she shouted at the Blue Hunters, "Only if it's your pimpled severed dick!"

"Hey Coffin!" The Blue Hunter on the back of a bike said, "You take song requests? How about Baby–AH!" The man was silenced when a full amp was flung at him, fully knocking him off the bike and causing Gideon to have to swerve around him.

"Geez Coffin," Dale stuck his head out, "that's the third amp you've thrown at our enemy! That's why we hired these guys! It's cheaper than replacing those things!"

Dale reached over Coffin to grab the swung open back door, but before he closed it, Coffin locked eyes with Liddan, who had popped his head out the side window to get a better look. "Sword Guy–cut them off!"

Liddan, realizing she was referring to him, grabbed Malcon and said, "Can you fly me over those guys? I need to cut off their dicks."

"I don't think that's what she meant when she said 'cut them off'."

It was definitely what she meant.

Liddan didn't have a clean plan, but as Gideon was frantically driving to keep up with the van, Liddan was flying overhead with Malcon.

"Do you want me to drop you?" Malcon asked.

"I'm not sure, can you more...gently lower me–WHOA!"

Malcon dropped Liddan onto the bikes, and he managed to (somehow) land on the back of a bike.

There, the rider turned to look at him and shouted, "RED CURSE! You've come back to kill me!"

Liddan squinted his eyes, until finally, recognition took over and he gasped, "Sammy!"

"You remembered...?"

"Bye Sammy," Liddan grabbed the back of Sammy's head and flung him off the bike, "nice seeing you."

As Sammy barrel rolled off the bike, Liddan tried to grab hold of the bike with his arm, but not only was driving a bike with one arm difficult, Liddan had also never really driven a bike before. So this resulted in him swerving around aimlessly for a bit while shouting back to Gideon, "Okay–that didn't work out–you do a thing now!"

Gideon was strapped into the four-wheeler, making the use of his magic quite challenging. His energy was already quite drained, and if he wanted to properly use Ice-Make (two handed like his father taught him) he'd have to let go of the rod.

He looked up to Malcon who was flying back down to the vehicle and came up with a sloppy plan. "Malcon! Come here!"

"Huh?" Malcon flew down, and as he came into reach, Gideon snatched him from the air and put him in his place.

"Strap in and drive this sucker!" he said as he grabbed hold to the four-wheeler, trying to brace himself as he climbed onto the top of the vehicle.

Malcon, who was (if you remember) a cat, began to scream uncontrollably as he started to steer the four-wheeler, nearly knocking Gideon off in the process.

However, Gideon took his time to put his hands in place and spit out, "Ice-Make–BARRICADE!"

From his spell and onto the highway came a thick ice barricade that successfully knocked one bike off their path. However, three more swerved behind it. "Oh geez," Gideon said, and he turned to see Liddan struggling to keep his balance on the bike. "You okay?!"

"This was not my best move!" He shouted, "I can hardly drive this thing with one arm and I can't use my sword so I'm useless!"

"No you're not!" Gideon blurted out, not ready to hear any self-deprecation from his friend. He turned to Malcon who seemed to have settled into his new role as driver. "Keep it coming Malcon, I'll be back in a second!"

"Huh?"

What happened next was perhaps the wildest thing Gideon and Liddan had ever done. Gideon flung himself off the roof of the four-wheeler and toward Liddan's bike. Normally this would have caused Gideon to smack into Liddan knocking them both off the bike and into the dirt, but Gideon made an interesting move.

Just before he collided with Liddan, he used water body to desolidify himself. Thus, as a blob of water, he sort of just swallowed Liddan for a second, causing him to swerve as he got used to the blob of wet Gideon wrapped around him until Gideon started to again form and grab hold of the handlebars. "Move back," Gideon muttered from the water, and Liddan scooted back as far as he could on the bike until Gideon resolidified and took control of the driving. "You let me drive–and you do your thing."

Momentarily, Liddan wondered if this was a good plan. He wondered if he should've just stayed in the car, maybe attempted to drive that stupid thing rather than jump onto this stupid thing. He hesitated as Gideon took over, his brain starting to buzz again with that horrid anxiety that reminded him he was worthless.

"Liddan," he heard Gideon's voice, "tell me what you need me to do." Liddan thought that perhaps that's all he'd wanted to hear from Gideon.

He stretched his arm out, "Bring us behind them–I can slash their tires!"

"Perfect!" Gideon did just that. First he slowed down, dropping him and Liddan far behind the others in a flash. It left the Blue Hunters with their heads turned, trying to see where they were going.

Liddan kept his legs tightly wrapped around the bike as he leaned to the side, careful not to tip over, and began to slash at the tires of the other bikes.

It was effective and quick, and they watched as each bike slowed down or spun out on the road. The Blue Hunters were forced to stop and were left grumbling on the road.

The last of the bikes was tricky, they knew Gideon and Liddan were coming so he kept his head turned to the back, completely oblivious to the fact he was about to run into the back of the four-wheeler Malcon was driving.

Malcon didn't seem to notice, having settled into his role as driver as he turned to say, "Oh I better not have just been rear ended–"

Gideon was quick to swerve as Liddan cut down the wheels of the last biker as he fell down into the road, the Blue Hunters no longer a threat. Liddan threw his arm and sword up with a proud and ecstatic, "WOO! Got 'em!"

With a smile, Gideon sped down the road, he and Liddan finally in sync, but certainly with a lot to talk about later.

>>══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══<<

In the morning, Marigold woke up cold and chilly. Having slept on the boat, she felt nauseous as she was forced to pull herself up from under her blankets and stand up. She was rocky, and she was anxious to get off the boat.

The sun was up, just barely, and she pulled her head over the edge of the boat to call out, "Lophia? Lophia, are you up?"

Lophia's head slowly lurked out of the water, right as she took a big yawn. She stretched her arms out, her skin pale and scaly as she said, "Is it morning already?"

"We need to go see Mikhael–"

"Ohhh...why don't you meet him by yourself? Now that you've met him, he won't be hostile toward you!" Lophia smiled innocently, however, Marigold just looked at her plainly.

"You just want to sleep in don't you?"

"No..." Lophia slowly sank back into the water, "no..."

"It's fine," Marigold sighed, "Maybe it'll be best if we talk alone."

Marigold didn't wake Sylvie and Laurie when she got off the boat, nor did she take Red's head with her. She didn't want him anywhere near her when she was talking to Mikhael.

On the island, she ventured back to the place Lophia had taken her before, but when she arrived at Mikhael's home, she found it was empty. His blankets were rolled up and put in the corner, and the fire freshly put out.

Marigold stepped back outside, looking around to try and find Mikhael. She saw in his footprints in the muddy path and decided to follow.

Along the walk, she could soon hear the sound of flowing water and found herself once again walking in on a god in the midst of his bath.

Mikhael, thankfully, was waist deep in the water.

"Oh geez," Marigold turned her head to be polite, "I'll go back to the hut."

"I waited all morning," Mikhael said, sounding a bit disappointed, "I didn't think you'd come back."

Marigold pulled her sleeve up to look at her watch. "It's 7:45."

"The sun has been up for," Mikhael seemed to look a bit confused, "for hours."

"That's not likely, it's February," Marigold glanced back at Mikhael, then sighed, "your sense of time is a bit out of whack isn't it."

He was silent for a moment, then found his answer and said, "What use is there to know the time? I measure my days by the course of the sun."

"I guess so," Marigold shook her head, "not so good when you're making plans with others though."

She glanced toward the water as she noticed Mikhael lurching forward, extending his arm to the coverings at the edge. To be kind, Marigold reached down and passed them to him, avoiding looking anywhere below his head as she did.

"Well I'm here now," Marigold said, "I know you don't see a lot of people, but I'd like to...be on good terms with you."

"Yes," Mikhael wrapped himself, "I don't see a lot of people..."

He got out of the water, wrapping himself tightly to keep himself warm. "Do you have scissors?"

"Uh," that was an odd question, "probably somewhere in my bags–why?"

"I won't talk for free, I want something in return?"

"Scissors?"

"No."

After a walk back to the boat, Marigold returned to Mikhael's hut with a pair of scissors and a razor.

"Okay," she took a breath, "I've only done this a few times...so don't expect anything too great."

"I just want you to be able to see my face," Mikhael said, his voice soft and solemn.

Marigold took a breath, then began to brush through Mikhael's matted hair. She quickly realized how challenging a task this might be. Though his hair was clean (mostly), with no mirror, the back was left far less brushed than the front. He was a hermit, afterall, and in his isolation his appearance became unimportant. It was almost irrelevant when there is no one to look at you.

So Mikhael's desire to be seen felt almost welcoming to Marigold, in his own strange way. However, it also felt like a bargain, a trend that if Marigold ever wanted something from him, he had to earn it.

She began to clip his hair clumps of it falling onto the floor. She wondered if she'd have to be the one to brush them up later.

"Do you know where the gods come from?"

Marigold paused, realizing that when he said they'd talk, this would be that time. "Gods are the magical energy from our world...manifesting into sentient beings."

"Yes," he nods his head, "but do you know why the gods form in the first place?"

He listened for Marigold to respond, but she maintained her silence. "Because," she tried to come up with an answer, "I guess we need them?"

"We come from the desires of mortals," Mikhael explained, "they...believe us into being."

Marigold squinted her eyes, she wasn't sure what he meant. She thought of Lophia, wondering if her desire to be known by the locals was more than just a need for heroics. If a god comes from the belief of mortals, then could they become undone by the lack of belief?

As Mikhael bent his head down, causing Marigold to pull her scissors back as she watched him reach for a stick to draw into the dirt on the floor of the shack. He kept his head down

"The gods don't know which came first, us or them. Did the mortal creatures believe us into existence? Or were they a product of the gods? The gods like to believe that they created them, but life had been around so long that he couldn't remember." He drew a line through the circle, splitting it in half, "But when there was life, there was also death. The mortals believed that life wasn't enough, that they deserved more after the fact. Thus, the god of death was created, and with them the rules of life and death."

"But what..." Marigold said, "the gods told me I was the god of both life and death, so there were originally two gods?"

"Yes," Mikhael said, "it's strange. The job seems to be too much for one person, but here you are."

"But you're a god of death as well," Marigold recalled, "the...what was it...god of death in war?"

The words seemed to leave Mikhael bitter. He sighed, "What a pitiful title..."

He sounded disturbed as he spoke, "When life and death made their agreement on the rules of death, they decided that in order to have a happy afterlife, you had to earn it. You had to live a moral life, to live dutifully and for good." He sighed. "But war brings out the worst in everyone...doesn't it."

"The mortals thought it unfair that they be judged by the same moral code in war," he explained, "Mortals believed they were entitled to a good afterlife despite the inhumane actions they committed in war. If they took a life...it shouldn't count against them because it was in war. They had no choice, that's what they believed."

Marigold's face twisted, she hadn't thought of that. War was just a reality of life. Marigold had killed before, but she only did so when necessary to sustain her own life. Were she judged the same as some psycho murderer, she'd be quite upset.

"The mortals believed that death in war was not just necessary, but justified. That morally they should be exempt from the rules we'd agreed upon years ago." He threw the stick he'd drawn in the dirt into the fire. "And thus, I was created."

"But those who participate in a war don't kill carelessly. For many people it's a matter of life and death." Marigold said, moving from behind Mikhael to face him. She sat down on the stool beside his and looked at him intently. "Many soldiers join because they're drafted, not from some lust to kill. Or those in war torn areas, or countries and communities that have war thrust upon them–they kill because they will die if they don't. It's a harsh reality–"

"Do you think war is inescapable," Mikhael looked up to Marigold, she fell silent. "War is a choice–"

"Not for everyone," Marigold said, "not everyone chooses war."

"I don't speak just of humans," Mikhael said, "look at the demons and angels. The demons nearly wiped out every angel. Centuries later, not a single new angel has been born. And now, you will be responsible for the annihilation of the demons–"

"I didn't want that to happen–" Marigold said, rising from her seat, "that was the will of the other gods, not me! I wouldn't want an entire race dead by my hand–"

"Right," Mikhael sighed, "yet here we are."

"Here we are," Marigold crossed her arms, "I came here because I hoped you could help me undo this. Please, my husband is infected–"

Mikhael looked at Marigold, and with no emotion in his eyes said, "How tragic."

Marigold glared at the man, his hair half cut, his face starting to finally peak out from behind the overgrown hair. She didn't like the sight of it, because for a man with no expression on his face, what was the point of seeing it. She moved back behind Mikhael and continued to cut his hair.

"I didn't come for a moral debate," Marigold said, clipping away and clumps of hair, now with a haste to get the job done. "I'm no fan of war. I wish it wasn't a part of life but it is. So long as two people in this world are living, there will be conflict, and we've yet to breed violence out of our nature to keep us from killing one another."

"You think one day humanity will be above war?"

"I hope so," Marigold said, "but so long as people in power believe they've got a cause to let other people die for, there will be war."

Mikhael turned his head, forcing Marigold to pull her hands back as he looked up at her. He looked intently at her, right in the eyes to ensure he understood what he was saying. "Are you not powerful?"

Marigold winced, "I'm...that's not what I meant," Marigold shook her head.

"You don't want the responsibility," Mikhael turned his head, "I can see that."

Marigold bit her tongue, Mikhael continued, "Your plague was birthed from your own hatred, you can blame the other gods for manipulating you, but your plague came from you, not them."

Marigold sighed, she knew that, she'd tried to take responsibility, to not shove the blame all on the other gods. However, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want the responsibility."

Mikhael didn't turn his head this time, instead he listened.

"You're right, the demon Lucard had taken my daughter, killed Ellabentra, and I was...enraged. I wanted him to die, and I didn't control myself. I know it was my fault. I just want to fix it."

Mikhael gently nodded his head, this seemed to be everything he needed to hear. "You need divinity."

"What?"

"The power of gods is from faith. You need worshippers."

"Worshippers–I don't want to be worshiped–"

Mikhael looked back at Marigold, "If you gain the faith of followers, you'll find more strength. That should allow you to kill the plague."

She was silent, unsure of what her next step would be. Apparently, living in the woods in isolation was going to be no help to her. She had to get people on her side.

"Well how am I supposed to do that?"

"That's more Lophia's wheelhouse," Mikhael said, feeling Marigold pull her head back to begin cutting his beard. "The only prayers said to me are pleas for me not to take them. I'm not your guy."

"So I get followers, or I get people to believe in me, then I can undo the plague?"

"How are your people skills?"

"Well," Marigold pondered the question a bit. "I don't know, you've just met me. Would you say I'm personable?"

"I have no strong opinion about you."

"Huh," Marigold slid the razor down Mikhael's face with care. "I used to be very...likable."

"Really."

"I guess things just got muddy along the way."

Marigold's hands left Mikhael's cheeks, now smooth. She took a towel and wiped off his face. "There, all clean."

Mikhael leaned forward, rubbing his fingers to his chin. He sighed in relief.

"How does it feel?" Marigold asked.

"Lighter," he stood up.

"Don't you want to see it? Look in a mirror?" Marigold shrugged, she looked at the man now before her. He was undeniably different. He looked much younger than she'd assumed, his face still rugged but not that of an old man like she'd expected to be hiding under the frizzy, matted mess. He looked more human, though she had to remind herself he wasn't, and neither was she.

"How do I look?" he asked plainly.

Marigold smiled, "You look very nice."

"Then I don't need a mirror," he nodded, "I believe you."

"You do?" Marigold chuckled, "Can I count you as a follower?"

"No," he rubbed his chin, "if you come to Nubes again, I won't kill you."

Marigold's brow twisted just a bit, "Thank you."

>>══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══<<

When the van arrived at the coast, Gideon, Liddan, and Malcon found themselves joining the band on the boat ride to Minstrel in the promise of getting to see them perform.

Gideon and Liddan were feeling a bit uncomfortable around one another. Though the fight let them burn off some energy, they still felt awkward.

Coffin was pulling out her guitar, dragging a cloth down the strings as she watched the awkward duo sit uncomfortably. "So," she looked between the two of them, "that was a fun biker chase, liked what you did with the sword."

"Thanks," Liddan said, his sword in his lap as he too tried to wipe the blade.

Gideon was silent, he could tell Liddan was still a bit pissed from what he'd said before. So Gideon fell back into his needy nature, trying to please Liddan best he could. "Uh, you want something to eat?"

"I'm good–"

"No no, you should eat," Gideon stood up, "I got snacks somewhere–I'll go find it! Do they sell snacks on here? How about onion rings–those sound good–"

Gideon began to rush off, Malcon looking over his shoulder as he too stood up, "If snacks are happening, Ima go be where the snacks are." He then gave a polite bow to Coffin then flew off to chase after Gideon.

Liddan sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he grumbled, "Ugh, he is being so weird..."

"Yeah, I've seen that," Coffin scoffed, "my gran was like that when I lost my arm. Wouldn't leave me alone, just kept askin' me if I was alright, making me soup, tucking me in, trying to wipe for me in the bathroom." Coffin rolled her eyes, "Kinda weird if you ask me, but aight."

"Sounds...a bit familiar," Liddan shrugged.

"Then again, I could have it worse. At least she cared enough about me."

"Yeah..."

"Then again," Coffin pointed her finger at Liddan, "that don't mean I can't complain about it either. It sucks, just cuz I lost my arm don't mean I'm a baby all of the sudden. Geez Gran, I never needed two hands to wipe anyway."

Liddan let out what was close to a laugh, pulling his legs in as he watched Coffin position the guitar in her lap. Of course, strumming seemed like it might be an issue. "How do you play the guitar with one arm?" He asked, "Do you have a prosthetic that helps–"

"Dude–like I have insurance–those things are expensive!" Coffin stuck her tongue out with a laugh.

She reached into her bag and pulled out an arm band she slid over her amputated arm. She then retrieved what looked like some kind of boning tool, the kind you'd use for scoring paper. "Nah dude, I just strap on this lil stick I found–it's like a little bone–I don't know I found it in the trash somewhere. I fiddled with a lot of different techniques but this one just worked the best." She strummed the guitar. "I think I'll try and get a prosthetic built one day–maybe so I can pluck like I used to–but I ain't got the money for that."

Liddan watched as Coffin gleefully played her instrument. She looked truly impassioned as she played, "It took me a whole year to learn how to play at my original quality. I ended up breaking my guitar once cuz I got so frustrated I threw it out the window. But I fished it out of the road the next morning and started again." She smiled, "Cuz when you love something this much, you just have to figure it out, you know?"

She looked at Liddan expectantly, but Liddan said, "I don't know..."

Coffin stopped playing, her smile faded as she asked a more serious question. "How long ago did you lose your arm?"

"Two years..." Liddan looked down at his arm, "next week."

"I see," Coffin nodded her head. "Yikes, next week is V-day, did you lose your arm on Valentine's Day–"

"Yes I did."

"Nooooo," Coffin grit her teeth, "man, the worst thing that happened to me on V-day was getting a condom lodged up there and having to use a pair of chopsticks to get it out." Liddan's face twisted as he tried to picture what Coffin was describing, "Don't worry, they were plastic...so no splinters. And they were washable."

"You kept them?"

"Anyway," Coffin struggled, "two years huh? That's pretty long."

"But I don't think I really felt the loss," Liddan said, "cuz I had my prosthetic–and because it was magic–I could just function as I did before. I didn't have to...deal with it until recently."

"That's tough," Coffin said with a nod, "sorta postponed the grief, didn't you?"

Liddan shrugged his shoulders, "I guess."

"Well," Coffin shrugged as well, smiling a bit as she said, "grief is a process–not that I'd know. I mean, I wish I could relate to your super unique experience."

Coffin reached toward Liddan, the plastic tip extending from her stub poking Liddan playfully. "Oh wait...maybe I can?" This got Liddan to smile just a bit. He even half laughed.

"Come on, dude," Coffin stood up, picking her guitar up, "I've got a few songs in my set tonight that you can scream-sing along to if you'd like." She paused as she stretched her arm out, "And tell your friend what you're feelin'. He's desperate for some kind of validation from you. Tell him what he's doing wrong before he goes whacko."

When the boat docked at Minstrel, the band was quick to book it toward their show that evening. It was a smaller venue, full of punks and rockers all waiting to hear some good music.

Malcon camped out on Liddan's shoulders, insisting, "If they start to mosh, then I will literally die–"

"No no–I got it," Liddan said, patting Malcon's legs as he let him sit comfortably on his shoulders. "Stay where you are."

Gideon kept his arms crossed, stealing glances at Liddan and trying to look conspicuous. It wasn't working. "Dude," Liddan said, "you need to stop staring at me–"

"I'm not staring at you–"

"Gideon," Liddan sighed. He took a breath as he tried to find the right words. "You don't need to fix me."

Gideon quickly turned his head, looking rather defensive. "I was never trying to fix you–I just wanted you to have fun. I'm sorry–I thought the road trip would be fun–maybe you could see a bright side to the whole magical suppressants because you get to instead chill in a car and not want to throw up–I thought it would be fun! I'm sorry I made you do the job, I thought it would be fun–I must not have been thinking of you–"

"Are you kidding me," Liddan shook his head, "Clearly you've been thinking about me too much, you're always worried if I'm gonna like something or not. You keep staring at me–I know you're doing it and I know you're worried about me but I'm glad we went on the trip."

Gideon hesitated. "You were?"

"I got to meet an amputee who's in a rock band," Liddan said, "that was incredible–I mean–you did that on purpose didn't you? That's why you played her songs while we were driving?"

Gideon shrugged, "I forgot about the whole one-armed thing–I just liked her music–"

"Okay," Liddan shrugged, "look, I know I'm not smiling or laughing as much, but I'm not miserable. I'm just...I'm just a bit numb okay? It's hard to smile without suddenly feeling like I'm...lying to myself or something like that? I don't know...it's hard to explain. But if I was miserable, I would tell you, because I know you'd actually try and fix it."

Gideon smiled.

"But don't try and fix it."

Gideon frowned.

"Because I'm not...I mean I don't want you to fix me, I just want you to be there, okay?" Liddan smiled faintly, "Like Malcon."

Gideon looked up at Malcon, who gave a small, cheeky salute. "Just go with the flow man," he said.

"Well I'm here, okay?" Gideon said, raising his arms, "so am I helping–"

"No–stop–just...just chill."

"I can do that," Gideon nodded, "I'm very chill."

"No you aren't."

"No I'm not..."

The men turned to the stage as Coffin and the Pallbearers arrived, Coffin with her arm up and her guitar hanging from her neck.

"I'm Coffin–and these dicks are the Pallbearers–how we doin' tonight?!"

The crowd gave a cheer, except for one dude who screamed, "Where'd you leave your arm?"

"Up your mom's pussy–we're gonna start with a song I just wrote half an hour ago called I'll Smile When the Chemicals in My Brain Figure This Mess Out. It's a work in progress–but the title stays! Okay! One–two–three–GO!"

With the bone strapped to her stump, Coffin played her song with a fiery passion, the crowd jumping up and down. Gideon joined, hooting and hollering while Liddan leaned against the wall. Gideon kept looking back at him, wondering if he didn't like the song or if he wasn't happy there. All the worry came back instantly, until Liddan put his hand up and mouthed, "I'm okay."

Gideon smiled then turned back to the stage, raising his arms as he enjoyed himself, not worrying any longer. He just had fun.

>>══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══<<

When Marigold returned to the boat, Sylvie was up with Lophia and Laurie, waiting for her return.

"Did you figure it out?" Sylvie said, stretching her arms out, "Did you solve everything? Wait–am I raising my expectations too high? I wasn't sure how transformative this talk would be. Did he adopt you as his apprentice and now he's your master and will teach you the ways of the god–"

"He told me what I need to do," Marigold said with a sigh, she dipped into the shallow water to climb back onto the boat, then sat down on the deck beside Sylvie. "I need to get...followers."

"What?"

"Believers I guess, I need people to have faith in me."

"Oh," Lophia suddenly looked excited, "I can help with that. You can hang out with me on the water and whenever a ship comes–you join me and we save them and then they go back to the town and talk about it–"

"I don't think that'll be very effective for me," Marigold sighed, "I think I need to start...talking to people, helping them–protecting them so that they can feel safe again. I need to be someone worth believing in."

Sylvie put her hand on Marigold's back. "I believe in you."

Marigold smiled, trying not to fully start sobbing from the sincerity in Sylvie's voice. "Thank you. Thank you so much Sylvie."

"How cute," Red said, his voice muffled under a blanket. "I'm glad I could help you."

"Ew, this guy," Sylvie grunted, "Can we just throw him in the sea and be done with him?"

"No no," Marigold said, yanking the blanket off Red and grabbing him by his hair. "I was thinking I should ask Laurie what we should do."

"Who?" Red squinted as he looked to Laurie, who was sitting on the floor of the deck, fixing his prosthetic as he glared at Red. "Oh, that guy."

"You cut my leg off–"

"Well," Red thought on it for a minute, trying to find a way to answer for his actions. "On the bright side, I'm sure you've lost weight..."

"You're a monster," Laurie said, shaking a screwdriver at Red's general direction.

"Listen, Larry," Red said with a sigh, "I cut off your leg, she cut off my head. I'd say we're even."

Laurie glared at Red, but then his arm fell limp. "I'm not gonna tell you to kill him, Marigold. You do what you think is right."

Marigold nodded her head, "I'll do what I think is right." She grabbed hold of Red and hopped off the side of the boat, then held Red out an arm length away from her. "You'll get your body back, and that's all you'll get from me."

Red smiled, "Good girl, you wouldn't leave me out to dry."

"Sure I wouldn't," Marigold smiled as she watched Red's body begin to grow back from the neck down. Red grit his teeth, the sensation of regaining all his vital organs and limbs was a strange one.

"Hold on," Marigold's grip tightened. "We're almost done."

From his head came a chest, then arms, then fingers, and then a leg. Just a leg.

Red smiled as he felt his foot touch the cold sand on the shore, but his smile vanished as he looked down. "I think you're forgetting something..."

Marigold smiled, "I don't think so."

She released her grip on Red's head, stepping back to allow him to try and balance himself on his brand new leg. Quickly, he fell down into the sand, looking up at Marigold as she walked back into the water toward the boat.

There, Red laid naked on the shore with his one leg, shivering and shaking with rage. "You whore–" he pushed himself up with his arms. "You're just going to leave me here?!"

"Yup," Marigold said, "Eye for an eye–or I guess a leg for a leg in this case." Marigold settled back on the boat as Red cursed at her from the shore. "You're on your own, Red, thanks for the help."

He shouted something, but as Sylvie started the motor, they couldn't hear his cries. Laurie looked back, a feeling mixed between satisfaction in guilt coloring his expression.

Marigold sat beside him, "I don't know if that...helped," she shrugged, "but I figured he owed you that much."

"Thanks," Laurie said, turning away from the shore as the boat began to bob on the water away from the island. "I guess I never thought I'd get any closure on that whole thing...and now that the guy who did it is stranded on an island with one leg...well..." Laurie shrugged, "but I guess I'm not sure if that's closure or not."

"Well," Marigold watched as the island began to fade in the distance. "I'm sure we won't have to see him again at least."

Sylvie, in the driver's seat, shouted over to Marigold, "Where to?"

"I'm not sure," Marigold looked out onto the water ahead. "I guess where I'm needed."

Sylvie squinted, "Yeah, but where, like, on a map?"