Chapter Text
Eridan swerves the Bucket around yet another obstacle. The other airships are gaining, but they’re clunky, ancient empire-issue ones that aren’t meant for manual steering and don’t have the same maneuverability that The Bucket has.
They also don’t have Eridan at the wheel. Not that you’d ever tell him that, his head is big enough as it is.
Equius is hanging on for dear life to the mainmast. He’s clutching it hard enough that you can see splinters around his arms. You make a mental note to make Eridan add a sheet of steel around the base later if he’s going to keep doing that.
You, however, are absolutely living .
The wind races along your gills and cards wicked fingers through your hair and whistles around your horns. Being chased makes you feel alive in a way that all the salt water in the world can’t.
The Palace looms in front of you. It’s so close you could practically reach out and touch it. The glass crystal towers are glowing; there’s some kind of commotion happening down below. You, however, are too concerned with what’s happening in the air to pay much attention to anything on the ground.
Eridan takes another sharp corner and everything that hasn’t been bolted down—coils of rope and various tools and boxes—slides to one side. Equius looks strangely green for a blueblood. You let out a laugh of pure joy, clinging to the rigging above the forecastle, and pull the blunderbuss Eridan loaned you from its makeshift holster in your sash.
You toss a look back towards Eridan, and he nods, grinning a rather bloodthirsty grin.
The Bucket swings around and it’s now side-to-side with one of the Imperials chasing you.
You take aim and shoot.
The bullet hits its mark: the balloon of the Imperial. Like the Bucket , Imperial airship balloons have many compartments, so one little hole alone isn’t going to bring it down.
It does, however, distract them long enough that they leave a clear path to your real target: the ship’s topside boiler. You take aim and shoot again. Your aim is true, and you think that Eridan will be pleased at how you’ve improved. The bullet impacts the side of their boiler with a loud clang.
You motion to Eridan to bring the ship up, and he does. Just in time, because the boiler on the Imperial fails catastrophically, and you hear screaming as the pressure of all that steam is released in a chain reaction that sounds like a continuous roar of thunder.
The Imperial loses altitude quickly, and you let out one last laugh into the cold wind before clambering down.
Equius is staring at you in horror.
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” you tell him. “All those Imperials have a psionic or two on board who will keep them from crashing completely.”
You cast a look over the side. And true to your word, the Imperial is enveloped in a purple-orange light, and it slows its descent.
Then you give him a wink, because you can. “You’re cute when you’re scared.”
That causes a rush of blue to his face and you turn away, pleased with yourself.
You’re just heading back towards where Eridan is at the helm when there’s a sharp crack and The Bucket gives a great shuddering heave.
“Somethin’ hit us, Fef!” Eridan shouts over the wind.
You rush back to the prow to see if you can see anything.
Then, several things happen all at once: there’s a sizzling crackle that can only be psionics, a huge FWUMP of something hitting the balloon, and the unmistakable sound of tearing silk.
“Fuck,” you say, as a cloth-wrapped bundle lands with a THUMP on the deck, not even a meter away from Equius, who pulls back in surprise.
For a moment, no one moves.
Then, the bundle of cloth sprouts an arm.
An arm that’s bedecked in red velvet, gold, and rubies.
You’ve pulled your knife without even realizing it.
The fabric is shoved away to reveal two trolls. One, a tall, lanky fellow with a double set of horns and wearing some ridiculously fine, if incredibly tacky, clothing, and a pair of spectacles with blue and red lenses. There’s a streak of yellow blood crusting around his nose.
The other troll, and the one belonging to the red velvet arm, has long, messy hair, curved horns, a red gown that probably costs more than you make in a year, and, most alarmingly, a rivulet of ruby red blood streaming from a cut on her cheek.
There are only two trolls on the entire planet with red blood. The Queen and the Princess.
And if you’re not mistaken, you’ve just had Princess Aradia crash land onto your ship.
***
Your pan hurts.
Your everything hurts, as a matter of fact. But you suppose that’s a good sign; it means you’re alive.
The fabric wrapped around you like a burial shroud constricts, and you nearly tear it in your panic to escape. You fight your way free of the whatever-it-is and the first thing that comes to mind is to check on Sollux.
He’s right beside you—still holding your hand, as a matter of fact—and he lets out a pained groan. Also a good sign.
Your first thought is that you’d landed in some kind of rusty tin can.
Your second thought is that there are three very unfriendly-looking lowbloods staring at you in shock. Two of them—seadwellers, judging by their fins—are holding weapons aimed directly at you.
The one with the knife (and is she really a fuschia? You’ve never seen one in the wild before!) has long hair and a pair of horns that curve gracefully up and away from her head. She’s wearing rags, and looking altogether like a feral. Except you can see the intelligence glimmering behind her pink goggles, and you know this is someone you don’t want to get on the wrong side of.
The one with the gun has horns that are almost lightning-shaped and a streak of violet in his hair. His clothes are worn but obviously well-cared for.
The third troll (and by all the moons, you really, really hope that there are only three) appears to be a blueblood, with dark goggles obscuring his eyes and one of his horns cracked off. The other horn is shaped a bit like an arrow. Of them, he’s the only one who doesn’t look like he’s about to murder you both.
There’s a moment where the five of you are frozen in place, as if the universe itself stops, and all sound recedes, and all that’s left in the world is the five of you.
You blink, and the moment passes.
Sollux is gripping your hand so hard you’re sure it’ll bruise. Right now, things aren’t looking so great. You both have exhausted your powers and are on the verge of complete psychic burnout.
There’s absolutely no way that these three don’t recognize you. You’re rather conspicuous.
“Y-your Highness?”
The blue one breaks the silence first. The tension of the moment snaps like a rubber band. He’s staring at you, completely aghast.
“Um. Yes,” you say, since there is no denying it at this point. “How uh...are you? Is everything...good?”
You grimace at your own words. You sound like Tavros with all those “um”s and “uh”s.
Nervously, you smooth your hands down over your skirt, which is nothing but tatters right now. A ruby catches the light and you wonder if there’s any chance these three will let you live. Maybe if you trade them all your jewelry?
The irony that you and Sollux had jumped blindly to escape an uprising, trusting to fate, or maybe Serendipity, to guide you where it would, only to wind up landing directly on an airship no doubt belonging to those very same revolutionaries, was not lost on you.
You glance over to Sollux, who’s now sitting up, fully alert, with his psionics sparking weakly from his eyes. He’s still holding your hand. It’s comforting.
You are a rubyblood, a member of the highest caste in the Alternian empire. You are a princess of Carnelian. You will not beg for your life. So you straighten your back, drawing yourself up as regally as possible.
If you are to die, you will die with your head held high.
The fuschia exchanges a look with the violet and a wordless understanding passes between them. The violet nods, and lowers his weapon. The fuschia lowers her knives, too.
The blue didn’t appear to be armed. Or at least, he hadn’t drawn a weapon. In fact, he’d been clutching at the central mast of the ship the entire time. There’s an indentation where his arms had circled it.
The fuschia steps forward, her knives are sheathed in her belt, but you’re not taking any chances.
She holds out her hand. “I’m Feferi Peixes, and this is the good ship the Rust Bucket.”
You’re a little taken aback at the lewd name, but paradoxically, it puts you more at ease to see the clear unholy glee on her face as she introduced the name of the ship. The violet rolls his eyes at that, and the blue just looks horrified.
You match her grin with one of your own. “I’m Aradia Megido, and I think you just saved my life.”
This might be an unexpected turn, but it also promises to be exciting.
*****END PART ONE*****