DAY 44-1: CONCENTRATION

       If she listens close enough, she can hear the creaks the ship emits as it rocks back and forth. Even as she lies alone in her cot, the darkness within the cabin continues to churn her insides. She'd have thought it'd be different, gaining the luxuries she's always envied just by waking up in an alternate dimension and savouring every last bit of it regardless of the surreality.

       Though, with a dilapidated roof above her and tattered bedsheets, it's unfamiliar. Unsettling. She can't bring herself to rest. Not when this kind of darkness only brings on those ghastly nightmares.

        Leda tiptoes through the halls as quietly as she can, past the cabins Ro and Orian reside in. The bridge of the ship still has its butterfly lights flickered on, notifying her that Nixon is still up at this ungodly hour. Her nerves bundle. She gently utilizes the tips of her toes like a ballerina would to slip by, silent as a mouse. It's after she makes it safely past the door that she hears snores. He must've dozed off after all.

Trusting it'll be all right (he is the captain at the moment) Leda doesn't stick around a second longer. On her way to the main deck, she makes a pit stop by the cellars. There isn't much to offer in this well-kept room but before they'd departed Nixon had given her permission to grab a drink whenever she pleased. She shouldn't have been too surprised by the notion—this is Annadia, after all. Having only grazed the surface of this realm, it shouldn't be naive thinking their wine will be off the charts as well.

The air is refreshing as she steps onto the deck, but also chilling. She suppresses a shiver, staring out into the fog that has curled through. Even with the bitten moon above and its midnight tinge blurred in the most fantastical way, it's calming. The only lacklustre thing is the lack of stars to go with it. Nonetheless, that doesn't stop Leda from settling into one of the nearby chairs. After popping the cork and filling her glass, she tilts the delicious drink down her throat.

Her fingers twitch around the bottle in her fingers, her mind roaming and bubbling as she drinks some more.

         "I'd suggest cutting back on your... drinking and gambling habits, Miss Jenson. You know very well you don't have much longer left. And frankly, you shouldn't be wasting your excess money on anything except proper cures and remedies..."

          "I can barely steal enough to feed myself," she'd scoffed in his face. "'Cure,' my ass. There isn't a proven one. Besides, you know damn well I can't pay for something as expensive as a surgery or therapy anyway."

          "Nevertheless, cancer can't just go away, Miss Jenson. Day after day your cells are deteriorating until finally you won't be able to—"

        "When I die, I'll die," she'd asserted, ignoring the sting that came with it. "Sickness and famish—capitalism and this damn social hierarchy—it's already taken away everyone I care for. What gives you the right to tell me I'm the only one who has to be spared?"

        She drowns the memories—emotions—with another reassuring gulp. Considering Rhett brought her back to life, did that magically erase the illness she was fighting too? No matter how painful it was getting by, drowning herself in unhealthy traditions left and right, it never mattered squat to her so she'd forgotten to ask.

        This 'peppered plague' going through Edaps is even more unforgiving than cancer. And though there's no evidence of something wrong with Ro, she knows the naive her from back then—the one who'd cry herself to sleep wanting no more than to live even a little bit longer—understands that's not the case.

        There's no way they can easily get in and out with a convenient antidote, especially if Edaps and Straeh are seriously as bad of enemies as they're said to be. Then there's the whole business of getting the Heart prince to agree to meet with Rhett.

          Leda closes her eyelids, her exhaustion swirling in like the cool fog around her. Did she agree to all this to prove something to herself? Atone for her stubbornness of doing nothing about her approaching death while the Spades in this world were doing everything they can to survive?

          Even if they're not her people, they're still people. People she can somehow help. People she wanted to help. Isn't that enough, then?

          Leda was assured that if she died, she'd leave everything behind her. The tormenting pain of isolation. The sorrow. Being alive has always brought her sentiments she was better off without. But these sentiments bubbling within her now are ones she doesn't want to set loose. She sincerely wants to find a cure for Ro, Annika, Adi, and everyone else in Edaps.

          And she will. No matter what.

♥♦♣♠

"Are you sure?" Nixon demands as she stands before a wide selection of weaponries laid out before her—ones the palace servants readied specifically for their journey. "Not a single one?"

  He eyes the quarter staff as well as the short sword, beckoning she take at least something. Leda merely bears a wide smile.

"What kind of cat burglar carries such immoral gear? I have everything I need right here."

She wiggles her fingers for emphasis.

"I understand your self-defence isn't negligible," he says, fumbling for words. "But you are a lady. Having at least a proper precautionary in case that comes to naught is ideal. Perhaps a milder weapon like a bow and arrow would be—"

  "Being the next Katniss Everdeen does sound amazing, but I'd rather survive with my own strength. 'Sides. Even if I did take a weapon with me, there's no way in hell I'd have the guts to use it."

  Nixon is conflicted a first—the scrunching of his features is proof—but it disappears in no time. He heaves loudly, bringing his now bandaged hand to his head, most likely in an attempt to comprehend her reference. Just as Leda sports a warm laugh, her arm is seized from behind.

"How will you survive off your strength when you're mostly bone?"

Ro, who'd also awaken at dawn, stares down at her from his towering height.

          She deadpans. "I didn't mean that kind of strength. Though, if it's a one-on-one fight, I won't lose, even against you."

"Where does your baseless confidence come from?"

"Now, who said anything about it being baseless?"

Ro tips his brow, disregarding her sarcasm with a snort. It's then she takes notice of the silky whitish-blue coat he has on, along with countless other bundles she guesses Nixon's forced upon him. He's kept on his armour, though; most likely boiling under all the heat, too.

He pins his attention towards the cloth and the numerous weapons stretched across it. Then, nudging her aside, bends forth to closer examine them. "Even in the off chance you did wield any of these, without proper training, you'd have left yourself more vulnerable to blows to the body. Strength and dexterity. The hook to dislodge your enemies. Not to mention a sharp enough blade to cut down everything that stands in your way..."

He raises a large, but heavy staff into the air. Every portion of his face is consumed with satisfaction as he stands. He handles the undoubtedly heavy axe with ease, extending it out towards him. As he squeezes the wooden staff, he smirks in approval.

"A halberd, huh? I haven't possessed one since I was little." He tosses the massive weapon to the unsuspecting man. "I've taken a liking to this, Jack Nixon. Ready it for me before we arrive to the port."

Ro's already spun around, ignoring Nixon who barely catches the axe in time to avoid slicing his head. He holds it firmly between his eyes, exhaling a loud sigh of relief as his head falls. "Y-yes, Your Highness."

"We are... almost there, correct?" Back against the edge of the boat is a still weakened Orian. Like Leda, he's gone against choosing a weapon. He's changed as well, into a mat black jacket draped overtop of a green turtleneck shielding the lower half of his face. It complements both his black joggers and the bandanna amidst his red strands.

A wintry breeze billows through. A puff of white leaves Leda's mouth when she exhales, only adding to the greyness that encircles the skies and treacherous mountains looming around them. She grasps her arms, the brown coat she'd received from the castle too weak of an insulator. It's like they've went straight from spring to winter. And in just a day, too. She hadn't anticipated Straeh to be a snowy fortress.

"Almost," Nixon reassures Orian.

He sets aside the halberd then goes ahead to polish it with the supplies nearby. Orian concedes his seat to him to which Nixon gladly occupies it.

"Nix," Leda calls, stirring his focus at once. "You said these are 'Annadian weapons' but what makes them different? They look like ordinary ones to me."

Nixon smiles at her question. "It means exactly what it sounds like. These weapons are blessed by the fairies."

Leda's eyebrows ascend on her forehead and she snaps her gaze onto the bow and arrow then the halberd in his hands. They're still in pretty good condition, a little dusty here and there, but no speck of 'magic' if it's ever visible. These weapons are nothing she'd associate with the fairies she's heard so much about. And yet...

"The fairies have given us many blessings," he prattles on. "Even that meat you consume daily—"

"The fairy meat?" She's quick to cut him off.

He chuckles and nods. "It is very much another blessing they've graced us with."

"Seriously? And here I was convinced I was killing off fairies to eat their meat this entire time!"

Not only Nixon, but Orian and Ro gain a look of incredulity.

"O-of course not!" Orian muffles through his shirt, sitting straighter against the railing.

Ro has his chest puffed out. "Fairies are adored and loved by all the people of Annadia. Let alone kill them—if they felt necessary, they could destroy our world in an instant."

"Then, what the hell am I eating every day?" she demands.

Nixon intervenes. "Once every year fairies shed their skin and fat and emerge as even stronger creatures as they do. Fairy meat is used as a magical herb and various people cater it in different manners. What you are consuming is its shedding in its most natural form."

Leda's mouth parts, hanging limp. Hold on, is he telling her fairies shed like a snake or even a butterfly from its cocoon? And she's eating this said... 'shedding'? Her face falls, repulsed. She doesn't even want to recall the sweet taste of the piece she'd swallowed an hour prior. The idea is just disgusting.

"Anyway," Nixon says. "These weapons you see here are actually—"

He doesn't receive the opportunity to finish. Leda barely realizes what's happening in time because she loses her balance and stumbles straight into the mast. She hits hard, grunting at the pain that shoots up her abdomen as she tumbles backwards to the ground.

"M-Master!" Orian reaches out his hand for her but they're once again tossed.

She rolls southwards this time, hitting painfully against the planks until she smashes hard against the railings. Her body hangs over, the foggy blue sea a closer proximity she expects when she parts her eyelids. She's saved from her doom by a tug from behind. Then she's on her feet, stuttering into the chest of the one who'd grabbed her: Ro.

He's gritting his teeth, clenching his side he'd probably bruised from collision. His scowl is fixed in the distance. Another loud explosion goes off, tremors knocking the ship off course and sloshing water up and onto the deck. Ro keeps Leda firm but the thought spiralling in her mind is a hard one to digest.

"Bombs?" she shouts, newfound trepidation settling in.

"Canons," Ro corrects, clicking his tongue. "They're firing at us. Jack Nixon—"

"Timmad, this is supposed to be Edaps territory!" He's seized the railings with both hands as his legs plod forth towards the control room. "I've got to take the helm. Somebody, furl the sails!"

Ro swoops down to scoop the halberd nearest to him—all of the weapons currently scattered across the deck—and his eyes narrow in utmost conviction.

"Ro, no," Leda immediately snaps, reaching for his sleeve. "You have to be taking it easy—"

"Take the Mond and go!" His bellow travels like a ice up her spine.

She teeters when more reverberations tremble the ship, but catches her footing in time.

"Ah, I knew I recognized that silly symbol on the ship."

"Silly, silly."

In just an instant, Leda's pushed behind a wincing figure—Orian—Ro yanking his arm from her possession and readying to fight. Orian removes his palm from his reddened face, having crashed face-first into the floor the way he did. But Leda's attention is glued ahead, the wires of her brain zip-zapping with nerves.

Two figures loom at the top of the thin mast, perched high and gaunt like hawks ready to feast on their prey. They're clad in armour in the shape of, and adorned in, hearts. The female of purple hair has a stick of some sort by her pink lips, stretched back in a smirk. The shorter, but burly man is wearing a top hat. He's licking a lollipop which doesn't help dissipate the psychotic look in his turquoise eyes.

"Uno, isn't that Edaps clothing?" A malice drenched giggle rips from the lady's mouth. "Ah, Spades. They're Spades."

"Spades. Spades," chimes the male in a nasally snicker.

Orian doesn't move from in front of Leda but he begins to quake. Leda's heartbeat patters loudly in her ears, in an offset, slowing rhythm. Ro is the only one who doesn't cower, his hold on his staff tight as can be.

"Say, Uno," she purrs on, her snake-like tongue hanging from her mouth and wrapping around her stick. "I was going to stop firing if they ended up being some other suit wandering into Heart territory, but now that we know they're actually our favourite pieces of garbage... we can... kill them, right?"

'Uno' brightens instantaneously, cackling like an utter madman. "Kill. Kill." He pops the lollipop out of his mouth only for it to morph into a scythe tall enough to scrape the sky itself. "Let's kill them, Paola."