Nobody's Servant 1.0

Breathe Out

I will not say I thought I did everything right, it's far too late for that. But I thought I was fixing things, slowly but with enough certainty to risk hope. Despite my efforts, there is no accounting for whim.

Slippery flesh repels my claws as they desperately scratch and search for any anchor in the grooves of her palate. In the most reckless surge of panic, I roll over to reach for a molar, stalling the inevitable at best but risking my hand to be crunched off. The privateer doesn't think to, or maybe even chooses not to, preferring to test my strength against the persistence of her throat. All the while, whatever light can make it inside in brief flickers brings disorienting halos of color. Their afterimages print themselves behind my eyelids where my inhalant of choice still stings.

Another gulp pulls my grasping arm taut, elbow and shoulder locking, fingers slipping.

"Hey nonononono!" I babble, but I've got nothing else to reach with. Walls of slick muscle pin my left arm across my body, and each struggle to pull it free only sinks me deeper into their crushing invitation. When my last couple of fingers slip free of the tooth, there is not even enough room for my chest to pull in a gasp.

In the time it would have taken, I am completely enveloped, any sign of me sliding easily behind her collarbones. It's an assault on my senses, addled by dragonbreath. Each heartbeat, already bordering on overwhelming the first time, feels as though it scatters my particles before its power, remade whole on diastole. Nerve endings light up at the glide of esophageal lining across my body, and bliss fights fear to claim the surface of my thoughts. My devourer's embrace will destroy me.

My stomach drops in alarm, as I drop into the depths of her own all over again. I lose my sense of cardinal directions, and I think of the pool that transformed me. Maybe there is a chance that this will hurt less. Maybe that's a fantasy too far.

I break the surface of the digestive bath, slamming a palm into the wall, searching deep into the folds for one of those cartilaginous ridges to pull myself out, but a simple flex places it well out of arm's reach. I retract, growling with the effort, and rising to a snarl as I beat against the welling muscle.

"You fucking liar!" I wail. "You said you'd take me with you!"

"This stuff didn't calm you down at all, did it?" the privateer remarks. I can picture her examining the inhaler, already beginning to relegate me to afterthought. "Settle down, I've got something else for you."

I don't stop thrashing against her stomach lining even as they pitch and tilt around me, until cold fluid begins to pour into the chamber, bubbling into a stiff foam on contact with her acids. They fill the limited space in seconds, but recede just as quickly, the sound of their fizz leaving with them. Tarkossha extract, Foszarei's gift to the Ravel, up there with plastimber and detoxified seafood. I nearly get a rush off the extra hit of oxygen, bitter scent aside, but that's secondary. It plugs up the enzymes and neutralizes the acid; I could survive here for hours now.

"So now we trust each other, right?" the voice around me asks.

"This is better," I concede. While I am relieved, I also realize this means she plans to keep me for a while. "Couldn't have changed me back, could you? Unless all my ectoplasm went over the cliff..."

"It's handled," she assures. "I can see from here the situation down in the harbor is no better. This will save me from having to fuss with the vigil about getting you through. If your friend is documented like you said, he'll probably manage. Let's take care of you first."

"Sounds fine to me," I murmur, letting go of my fears. Sometimes, things just work out, I must remind myself. I relax, sliding down wherever my body will settle most comfortably. Even under the influence and the rhythm of her body as she begins her own long walk back, I haven't lost all my lucidity, so at length, I finally think to ask, "You have a name, right?"