Frankenstein's Bastard Child

Volume 24

We arrived at the doc an hour and a half late freshly showered and pampered (at least our definition of pampered anyway). I, Alice Vulcanstien wore an elegant (slightly grimy) leopard spot fur coat one of my father's whores used to wear paired with a black turtleneck which I'd ripped a boob window in. On my lower half were simple cargo pants not so baggy it would get in the way of my walking but not so tight I would look like one of those starving models. The shoes I was especially proud of. One time I had read this news story that one of my dad's "friends" got sent to the psych ward for pleading insanity in a drunken assault case and the story a day later was that the straight jacket they were wearing was actually a style choice!? It was hilarious they even got boots hand tailored to match the straight jacket which I have now modified to include a modest 1 1/2 inch heel. You know something noticeable but still able to walk and fight in. Muvere on the other hand was sporting a dashing black fedora with a red band. On their body however was a military grade skin tight shirt with a hand painted logo on the front. Earlier that week they had found the script for the play "Zombie Prom" and absolutely loved both the writing and the font so they decided to hand paint the word "ZOMBIES" on their shirt as a logo. It was honestly impressive that they were so skilled with a brush. Not to mention their breasts didn't look too bad in them either. Moving on to their lower half was a pair of ripped black denim jeans with garter-like spare pouches wrapped around each leg (each one filled with iron tablets and a spare switchblade for me as well as an extra magazine of my hand made refillable "Toxicity Bullets").

A man stood atop the boat. He looked between the ages of 50 or maybe 60 wearing a beat up blue flannel and slacks. He instantly realized we were the ones who booked the charter and lowered a board riddled to the brim with wood rot. The boat didn't look too good either. Barnacles strewn over the port, stern, starboard side, and just about any other place you can think of was covered. The boat was a deep brown which was clearly given that shoddy second coat of paint to have an excuse for the rust. It was perfect. It was just barely seaworthy and I doubt anyone even knows it's out here. The two of us walked up the board as the "captain" bowed in our presence (funny, the royal treatment was a bit awkward).

"Welcome madame aboard this fine vessel of mine I'm sure you-" Before he could finish the sentence I shoved the briefcase I was holding into his chest. The same one that contained the 20,000 in cash and a pop up flotation device built in. Before he could speak again I interrupted in a half mid-Atlantic half snooty French accent.

"Ah dear I'm not much for the chit chat just hold onto that tight so me and my honey pie can, ah make out in the back." I teasingly hugged Muvere hoping they would come up with something quick.

"Bonjour monsieur, nous prévoyons de vous expulser de ce bateau plus tard et de procéder à l'embrasement." They spoke in an almost fluent French accent. SInce when did Muvere learn French? Regardless, the man shrugged and went to the control deck with the briefcase in hand. Most likely he had no idea what Muvere was saying. Despite the rough exterior the gallows weren't too shabby. A sort of humble but still dingy Irish pub on the water. Not bad. Muvere and I sat in a booth to the right of the rickety spiral staircase we had to climb to get here. There was a message on a mini fridge somewhere in the back which read "help yourself!" To no one's surprise there was like three beers and a rat giving birth. I popped off the cap of one and held it in my teeth and took the other two back to our table. The brewing was shoddy and amateurish but it's always a plus to drink something from an independent brewery. I'll just assume that it was good a month ago when it expired. As soon as I placed one in front of Muvere they slapped it across the room in shock (oh right I forgot they were scared from the last time they tried alcohol).  They blushed and looked away muttering apologies.

"Sorry I didn't mean to react like that, my hand just moved." I smirked a bit at the sudden bashfulness and took one more swig of the prison beer before putting the bottle on another table. Once I got back I plopped myself onto Muvere's lap. They became so stiff they could've been the iceberg that sank the titanic. I gently slapped their face to make it face me and spoke.

"Listen, don't worry about it, let's just embrace what we have and by the end of the day we'll be in The Great British Empire. Common get excited I saw you looking at a couple cook books back at the mansion you looked really into the idea of trying English tea. How about it? Tea and crumpets by the buckman bridge?" Their faces shifted from discomfort to what could only be described as "pep" (something told me I just started a rant).

"Yes of course, I found a book on American history about the Boston Tea party. I mean just imagine such a mellow dramatic time of fighting for control but also. Taxes on tea? What was the turning point? How could such a small prospect create such a big symbol? Imagine tasting that same tea that was dumped in the harbor knowing people cared enough about to murder, pillage, steal, and conquer land that wasn't even their own. It'd be like drinking pure human turmoil. It's just so fascinating!" I listened intently even though I didn't really know what they were talking about. I was barely versed in Icelandic history let alone the history of a whole nother continent. Regardless it was nice to see Muvere talk about things they liked. It was refreshing honestly. And maybe a bit enthralling.

We spent the whole trip talking and planning, hoping and dreaming, and you know playing bar games like darts and pool and stuff. It took them such a long time to teach them how to play pool it was honestly hilarious. During one of Muvere's many rants I made use of one of a near by steak knife to etch the word "sex" into the revolving pistol I had with me as well as my deringer. Get it? They're my Sex Pistols. Welp, that joke fell flat. About 5 hours had gone by and we finally made it just a few nautical miles from the dock. It was misty today so secrecy probably wouldn't be a problem. We called the captain to the main deck to "chat". He looked a bit confused but still did as we asked. He still had the briefcase.

"What seems to be the trouble madame? We're almost to port. Did you need something?" He began to shift uneasily as I approached him. I spoke in that same fake accent.

"Well doll I thought you'd just like to know our names." I grabbed him by the shirt collar as he tried to rip my arm from his grasp. It was pointless though. I had already pumped my Brown Eyed Girl into my veins. "My name is Anya Fischer and back there is my husband Alard Fischer. We're headed to Egypt." Before he could interject I threw him off the side, briefcase and all. As soon as he hit the water the life preserver built into the case inflated. He'd be fine as long as he held on tight to that case. And besides that's the easiest way I can think of to earn 20,000 and a cool briefcase. Everything was going just as planned. I gave the thumbs up to Muvere and we somehow maneuvered the boat to the dock leaving it tied up with the keys in the ignition. It would be a long journey but considering the fact that between the Emerald Isles and the Scottish Highlands we could possibly run into another tower. No, that's not optimistic enough. We're going to find that tower and we're gonna free whatever's inside for better or worse.