Live to Venture (#0)

02 | The Parallels of Adventure

Something snappy, probably, like a water turtle. Something rude, but also short. Four words. A personal pronoun, her name. I'm speaking to you, Novari.

"I'm speaking to you, Novari," Seira snapped.

She made no indication, but she did adore a successful prediction. The satisfaction of a good kill, a job pulled off with the grace of a dancer. Sheer skill and undeniable talent, with the ego and beauty to match.

"Were you?" Novari asked. Her rock had the illusion of comfort, but it was quite the pointy resting place, probably formed by those volcanoes in this area hundreds of years ago. Unstable sea floor, shallow water. The perfect recipe for a floating island.

"You didn't answer me," Seira snapped. Snap, snap. The water turtles were migrating south this time of year, big herds of them.

"I don't recall what you said," Novari said, spinning her knife over her fingers in an impressive display of dexterity and detail. A useless skill, maybe, if one didn't think hard enough concerning the art of intimidation.

Seira snorted, for there was nothing in this ocean Novari Silta failed to recall. She could remember the exact tone and words somebody spoke ten years ago, the colours of a painting she saw once when she was fifteen. She remembered the migration patterns of the water turtles down to the meter, the exact capacity of a blue-tailed eyden's brain down to the syllable.

Seira began again, "I'm confirming that you're sure about this storm. If we're missing our chance now, and you're wrong about them coming back this way—"

Novari held up a single artistic finger to silence her mother. Grey clouds, high humidity and that heavy feeling of the air on her skin. It was so obvious to her. "There will be a storm, and it will be tonight. They'll turn the ship around and come back this way."

"They're passing in minutes. If we miss our only chance now—"

"Go ahead, attack now," Novari said, spinning her knife and keeping her eyes trained on the horizon. "I'll get the body bag. That way, you'll still be warm when I zip you up. Like a nice, warm, dead, burrito." Tomorrow was burrito kapas day in the mealroom, and inspiration must come from somewhere.

Seira's mouth was twisting in a way that resembled her features melting. "I have my doubts that this will go any different at night than it would during the day."

Novari said truthfully, "Perhaps you'd be a cold burrito instead of a warm one."

Seira glanced back out at the ocean, where the red sails had just appeared. That Siren look appeared, causing her to forget about her daughter's lack of an answer.

It was so small from this far away; Novari could cover it with only her little finger. It didn't look incredible at all, much less something to fawn over for your entire life.

"You think attacking at night will change the game all that much," Seira said, accused, thought, wondered with resentment, whatever fit her disdain most. Odd, how after all these years, Novari struggled to find the right variation of a synonym in this mental chaos. Odd, how after all these years, Seira still questioned brilliance when it sat spinning a knife in front of her.

The Avourienne wouldn't even waste energy on providing a scout at night. They'd be relaxed and turned off as soon as the sun set. The element of surprise, the underdog of the game: Novari's best ploy.

"Attacking at night is the only way we win," she concluded.

"And you'll take care of him?"

"I'll take care of him."

Seira looked away again to glance back at the Avourienne. "And you'll be able to find it at night?" she asked, pulling out her spyglass to get a better look at the approaching ship.