Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pav didn’t remember learning how to read. It may even have been before she’d been able to speak.

Her fingers traced the faded letters on the yellowed pages. She could feel the dust of the Wasteland on the page, as permanent as her own fingerprints. Some of the pages were stiff, almost as if they’d once been soaked. Others were sun-baked or even burnt- as wounded and scarred as any person. Flipping to the first few pages, she looked at the year it was written. The number was ‘1971’- Pav didn’t know what year it was now, but she knew that this was one of the older books she’d ever seen.

The book was The Beginner’s Guide to Home Gardening by Alison Giddy. Pav was more interested in the words themselves than in the faded images of lush vegetation. It didn’t matter how uninteresting or how abstract the concept was of what she read- the most important thing to her was to see words, words written long ago by a person now long since dead. And yet that person was still here. Pav was always delighted when she flipped to the back of the book and saw the face of the author.

As Pav traced her thumb over Alison Giddy’s picture- a smiling old woman with grey hair pulled back and wispy strands around her delightfully wrinkled forehead- her reverie was interrupted by a bang and a shriek. She looked up just in time to see the second strike; one of the Roobillies getting his jaw rearranged by one of the Biker Horde’s under-lieutenants. Pav closed the book and put it under her shirt, hands white-knuckled against the cover.

She’d hoped the two hits would be the end of it, but evidently the Roobilly had done something that warranted a brutal beatdown with armoured fists. Pav couldn’t hear what it was he had done. Stolen food? Spilled fuel or drinking water? It didn’t really matter. It only took a few seconds of shrieks and the crack of metal against bone for her to abruptly stand up and walk away.

Pav was part of a small tribe recently- and relatively peacefully- absorbed into the Biker Horde, and had yet to draw any attention to herself. She wanted to keep it that way. Maybe one of the lieutenants would need someone to wash their clothes, or clean their guns. Pav wasn’t a fighter, but she was good enough at busywork that she was considered to be useful.

Although there wasn’t a storm, wind whipped the tents of the temporary settlement. One large tent billowed in a snap of wind, revealing it was empty. Best of all, there was a small table and two chairs. Pav glanced around herself, but nobody appeared to be paying any particular attention to one unknown straggler. Still clutching her book, she ducked under the tent flaps and entered.

The interior of the tent was decidedly Spartan in décor, although Pav did notice what looked to be a shaving mirror on a barrel repurposed into a nightstand of sorts. Next to it was a small bowl of what looked like machine oil. An enormous pair of black combat boots stood near the entrance. Pav sat down on the chair and opened her book again. It was the middle of the day, so the tent owner wouldn’t be back for some time. She would only stay until the beating was over, and then she could return to the communal area where her tribe slept.

Pav continued to read her home gardening guide, lingering over the words she didn’t know. She muttered them under her breath, wondering if she was pronouncing them correctly- did anyone even remember how to pronounce them correctly? How long had it been since someone said the word ‘rhododendron’? How had such fascinating words even been invented?

Although Pav had only intended to sit there a few minutes, inevitably her mind became fully engrossed by the text before her. She didn’t know how long it had been, but the sun was still high in the sky when she heard heavy footsteps that drew close, and then stopped. The unsettling feeling of being watched was what made her look up from her book.

Pav felt several things at once. Like someone was gripping the inside of her stomach with an iron fist. Like her heart had just sunk to the floor. Like her jaw needed to be picked up from where it had dropped. A black figure towered in the entrance, one of the tallest men she’d ever seen. He seemed to block out the light of the day entirely. The horns curling from his helmet made him seem even less human. Although his face was obscured by a motorcycle helmet, his gaze was so fierce and so disarming that Pav felt desperately that she needed to defend herself. The Octoboss. The book slipped from her hands, hitting the sandy floor with a soft thud. She stood up so quickly that her head swam. Had there been a low ceiling, she would have slammed her head into it.

“I- I’m so sorry, sir, I was- there was a-”

“You can read?”

Pav stopped her babbling, horror replaced by confusion. Although she didn’t know the lieutenants’ names, the Octoboss wasn’t difficult to miss. He made even Dementus look small. She’d taken care to avoid him and the other lieutenants at all costs. But now? She’d been expecting to be verbally berated at best. Maybe she’d heard wrong- his deep voice was slightly muffled by his helmet.

“I’m… sorry? Sir?”

As if reading her thoughts, he reached up with one black-gloved hand and yanked the face plate of his helmet off. It was somehow a commanding motion. “You can read?”

Pav had never seen his face before. His cheeks were gaunt, his bone structure skeletal yet elegant. His gaze was made even more piercing by the black warpaint smeared onto his eyes. She was at once terrified and fascinated by the sight of him. She swallowed and quickly bent to pick up the dropped book. Her mind was spinning trying to think of what to say, and picking up the book gave her the extra few seconds she desperately needed to make her mouth work. She doubted the Octoboss would repeat himself again.

“Yes. I’m very good at it.”

He approached her at a speed that was likely perfectly ordinary, but to Pav, it was terrifying. The intervening space between them had been the only thing keeping her head relatively clear, but now suddenly the Octoboss was inches away from her and looking directly down his nose at her. She held onto her tattered book for dear life, but refused to break eye contact. Be useful. Be useful. Be useful.

“Show me.”

Pav was about to pass out when he deftly plucked the book out of her hands, and she shuddered at the brief touch of his gloves against her bare fingers. Her mind was full of fear and- something else she didn’t have the capacity to identify at present. To her great relief, the Octoboss didn’t appear to notice or care, setting the book down and flipping it to a random page. He placed one gloved finger at the top of the text he had selected, then looked back up at her.

“Read.”

Pav licked her lips, which felt much drier than usual. Impressive, considering the dusty Wasteland that she lived in. She bent slightly to get a better angle at the book, but didn’t dare lean in any closer to the Octoboss. This close, she could smell a cocktail of scents- the dyes of his flight suit, machine oil, gunpowder, sweat Pav abruptly started reading, mainly as a way to shut down the rest of her brain. “It is important to test the acidity of your garden’s soil before choosing which plants to grow. Of the ornamental plants, the ones best suited to acidic soil are as follows…”

She continued reading down the rest of the page, expecting to be stopped after a few sentences. She didn’t think the Octoboss understood what a ‘pH meter’ was or a ‘succulent’, but he didn’t interrupt or demand an explanation once. He just kept staring between her and the book as she read. Pav felt droplets of sweat bead onto her brow, but thankfully they settled into her eyebrows rather than dripping down into her eyes. She focused on the words, their sounds, and the pages, grounding herself in them.

Pav had never before been asked to read by someone so high-ranking. Unless it was something they could shoot, eat, or plow, warlords usually didn’t care about anything. But the Octoboss looked so enraptured- like she had just been telling a fantastical story, not listing off different soil types. If he wasn’t so abjectly terrifying, it would remind her of the small children who once loved to hear her stories.

Eventually Pav reached the end of the section, and she looked back up at the Octoboss for clarification of whether to stop or keep going. He had taken off his helmet at some point, and she saw for the first time his brown hair, tightly pulled back and hanging over his shoulder. He still looked thoughtful, but something else appeared to be turning in his mind. Pav kept in mind that the tent flap was still open behind them. If she was fast enough, she’d be able to run out before he could grab her.

But the Octoboss regarded her curiously. “When did you learn how to do that?”

Pav dusted herself off, mainly to give herself something to do with her hands. “I think I could read before I could speak. My grandpa taught me… sir.”

“Could you teach me?”

Once again, Pav wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly. She looked up at the Octoboss, trying to see if he was mocking her. She couldn’t guess his age, but he had to be about ten years her senior or more. He had been raiding, biking, and pillaging likely longer than she’d been alive. He worked directly underneath the Dr. Dementus. Had he really just asked her to teach him to read?

“Yes,” she said bluntly.

Pav was used to saying ‘yes’ in the Wasteland. Cleaning human excrement? Yes. Looting the pockets of rotting corpses? Yes. She wasn’t a crack shot with a gun or a mechanic, but she would happily do the jobs most people wouldn’t. It had kept her alive. But she had never taught someone to read before. She’d certainly read to others- mainly children- but nobody had ever asked to learn from her.

She couldn’t remember how she’d been taught. How did one teach another to read? Pav hesitated, then held up one hand. She slowly reached into her pocket with the other. The Octoboss’s eyes followed her hand keenly, but he didn’t reach for the side piece on his hip. Oddly, for some reason Pav was grateful that her body was mainly hidden under baggy clothes. She pulled out a small stick of charcoal, and flipped the pages of the book. One page was so brown and baked that the words and pictures were long gone.

Under his searing gaze, Pav wrote his title on the page. OCTOBOSS. She wrote rarely, and the lines were shaky, but it was legible enough. Pav looked back up at the towering figure, and he met her gaze with a questioning look.

“Uh. That’s you.” She pointed at the letters. “Octoboss. Sir.”

He looked back down at the words. For a moment, she thought he looked sad- like he was unable to recognize something he was supposed to know. Pav opened her mouth again, and thought about sounding out each letter individually. But then she stopped. She would have to explain that ‘O’ sometimes sounded like this, that ‘C’ sometimes sounded like that-

“Maybe we should start with individual letters?” she offered. “It might be a slow process… I don’t know how much time-”

“I’ll make time. Sit.”

Pav plopped back down in her seat as the Octoboss pulled a chair next to her. He sat down, long legs stretching far beneath the table. She wasn’t sure if he was aware of just how much he was making her sweat. Maybe he was used to frightening people- it was just fear she was feeling, after all. Just terror.

“Uh, so, the alphabet.” She held up the charcoal stick again. “From the beginning. The letter A…”

“May I? I learn best by doing.”

Pav had been starting to trace the capital letter A on the page when he reached one black-gloved hand towards hers. She swallowed noisily and nodded. She didn’t feel like she could say no, but was astounded at the same time that he had even asked. His larger hand closed onto hers. She nearly dropped the charcoal stick immediately. He seemed completely unaware of her quickening breath, or how her heart was pounding directly in her ears. Surely, he had to have been able to hear it. Her heartbeat seemed louder than the howling wind outside.

Pav willed her hand not to shake. With his hand wrapped around hers, she traced out the letter A. She did it again, and again, his hand feeling almost like the constriction of a snake. She kept expecting him to snap or at least get irritated with how slow the process was, and her anticipation of such a moment grew. The anxiety peaked, began to pass, but still he seemed enthralled in the activity. As she moved on to other letters, Pav became accustomed to the slight weight of his hand. The Octoboss just sat in silence, gliding over the letters, his patience seemingly eternal.

When they got to ‘Z’, the sky was going dark and Pav felt drained from the amount of emotions that had just swept through her. The Octoboss released her hand and leaned back in his chair. She snatched it back to her chest like it had just been sprung from a cage. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have been able to feel how clammy she was through his glove.

For the first time since he had touched her hand, Pav looked at his face. She was astonished to see that he had a cat-like smile on his lips.

“I’ll see you here again. Tomorrow.”

Pav stood up again, grabbing her book and pressing it to her chest. Unsure of how to show deference, she bowed her head and began to scurry out of the tent. The comfortable, companionable silence had disappeared, and now she was awash with anxiety and other confusing emotions again.

“What’s your name?”

Pav rotated, desperate to leave but unwilling to disobey. “Pav.”

“Thank you, Pav. Don’t sit in any other strange tents.”

His eyes gleamed in the gathering darkness as Pav scooted out of the tent as quickly as possible. She could feel his eyes boring into her long after she had left the tent behind.

Chapter Text

Pav was upright in bed with a start, tearing her shiv out from under her pillow and swiping at the empty air in front of her. It was still dark inside the tent, but the tent flap sat open. Holding the flap was one of the crested Mortifiers, regarding her with a mixture of annoyance and tired boredom. Pav realized he’d been calling her name as the initial shock and confusion wore away.

“The Octoboss wants to see you.” He dropped the tent flap and walked away.

After taking a moment to compose herself, Pav rolled out of her sleeping bag. The rest of her tribe slept in the same tent, most still snoring away. She’d changed clothes before bed, so thankfully all she had to do was pull on a pair of sensible boots and a jacket. Concealing a small pistol in her breast pocket, she hurried out of the tent and down to the Mortifiers’ bikes.

For the past three days, Pav had spent a few hours with the Octoboss in his tent, going over the alphabet. She’d started putting two letters together to make new sounds. She was unsure if the Octoboss was a fast or slow learner- how long did it take an adult to learn how to read?- but he was proving to be a surprisingly patient student. However, he’d started to show signs of irritation, albeit well-disguised irritation. Perhaps he was sick of the reading- but why would he wake her up at such an early hour to say that? It had to be something different.

During these tutoring sessions, occasionally a Mortifier would walk in to ask the Octoboss for orders, or- more commonly- an aide of Dementus would scurry in and require the Octoboss’s presence. Enough people had seen Pav in the tent that she was sure a few people knew of her by now. That did not mix well with her aspiration to keep her head down and stay unknown in the Horde. For her part, Pav shrunk away and focused on small tasks during the rest of the days.

The Horde was going to move on again today, and already there was a flurry of activity. As Pav made her way down to the bikes, she saw a large cooking pot with a mysterious stew surrounded by fully kitted out Mortifiers. To her surprise, a bowl of steaming mystery soup was pressed into her hands as she approached. Pav didn’t understand the exact political structure of the Biker Horde yet, but as far as she could tell, the Mortifiers were more close-knit and secluded than the others.

Pav dipped her shallow spoon into the suspicious brown liquid and gave it a taste. Her stomach yawned with hunger, and she was surprised that the culinary creation was well-salted (with actual salt, one would hope) and not particularly foul. Despite it burning her tongue, she shovelled it down as quickly as possible before laying the bowl down and making her way across the field of bikes.

The Octobike was easily spotted. She was amazed that the colossal fan mounted on the back didn’t flip the bike- even the Octoboss himself looked small next to it. The lieutenant himself lounged on the seat; legs up on the fuel tank. He was wearing his helmet and terrifying face plate, and he regarded one of Dementus’s yammering underlings. Even without seeing his face, the disinterest he radiated was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Pav stood close enough that the Octoboss would be able to notice her, but far enough that it didn’t seem like she was snooping on the conversation.

Pav had just started to get used to their sessions. Even the feeling of the Octoboss’s gloved hand wrapped around hers didn’t get her head swimming like it had at first. But there was still some sense of unease that she couldn’t quite understand. It had to be fear or intimidation. He hadn’t done anything horrific yet, but surely it was only a matter of time. She’d heard the rumours- he had killed eight warlords before joining the Horde, and was Dementus’s chief interrogator.

She looked at the details of the Octomask. How many people had seen that mask just before they died? Even looking at it side-on was unsettling. But when her gaze wandered to his broad shoulders, Pav looked away. She didn’t want to give the wrong impression. Eventually the underling was sent away, his report finished. The Octoboss made a beckoning motion to Pav, and she obediently went towards him.

“Pav. I would like you to ride with me today.”

This had come entirely out of the blue. The sentence was phrased in a way that Pav could theoretically say no, but surely, she wasn’t actually allowed to say no to him. That had to be some sort of power play on his part. The Octoboss hadn’t exactly been unfriendly to her thus far. He had been almost kind-hearted, compared to the other bosses Pav had known in her life. But he was a dangerous man, and so cold. She didn’t know what this meant, and it made her stomach turn.

“I don’t have a bike, sir.” A useful excuse, she thought- and not a lie, either.

As a response, the Octoboss drew himself up and slapped one large hand down on the seat behind him. Pav looked at what bit of seat remained for her to use, wedged between a very tall man and a hilariously enormous fan blade. There were no visible handles. He couldn’t be serious, could he? She looked back at the insidious face mask, but his blue-grey eyes just had their typical calculating gaze. Had this man ever smiled, let alone laughed? Had the Wasteland blasted away any levity he could possibly feel?

“Any other objections?”

Pav shook her head, feeling her cheeks burn. She wanted to ask why, but didn’t dare.

“Do you have a weapon?”

She nodded.

“Good. Now come closer.”

Pav was sure that she would fully pass out in front of the Octoboss one of these days. Just as she had started to feel a little bit comfortable, now he was keeping her guessing. She inched closer to him as he opened one of the many pouches he wore, removing a small container. He pulled one glove off with his teeth, and Pav saw his bare hand for the first time- weathered, yet pale from lack of sun. She could see all the veins on the back of his hand, the white spots on his short fingernails.

“You’ll need this where we’re going.”

The container was cracked open, and Pav recognized it- what she thought had been machine oil from the Octoboss’s tent. Before Pav could even begin to protest, he swiped one finger across the substance and rubbed just below her left eye. Pav reacted like she’d been struck, instinctually leaning her head back. The Octoboss seemed unimpressed, placing the container on his lap and reaching out with his still-gloved hand. He grabbed her chin and pulled her face back towards him. Despite herself, Pav made an embarrassing sound that could only be described as a squawk.

“Astonishing. I knew your tribe was soft, but are you really afraid of a little charcoal?”

Pav’s cheeks were properly burning, not just with fear and embarrassment but now the rising of anger. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew it wasn’t the makeup that made her jump out of her skin like that. The urge to talk back boiled up in her and threatened to spill over. Her lip quivered with the effort of not snapping back, but instead she shut her eyes and let him continue to rub along the lids. He smeared the greasy substance almost up to her browbones, and nearly down to her cheeks.

When the Octoboss finally released her chin, Pav opened her eyes again. That damnable mask still obscured his face, but she swore she could see an evil gleam in his eyes.

“You didn’t answer my question," he stated.

This was some kind of test. It had to be. Pav took a deep breath.

“I was just appalled by how poor-quality your eyeblack is, sir. Was it scraped off your bike?”

The most horrific silence of her life. Pav thought she could see spots at the corners of her vision.

“Because… Lizzard, from my tribe, makes it the best. You should ask them for the good stuff.”

Pav was sure she was about to get a bullet in the gut. The Octoboss just stared at her for an unbelievably long time, unreadable as always. Then, he made a sound- a loud, creaky thing in the back of his throat. Was that- did he- had she just made him chuckle?

“Terrible salesmanship. Now get on the bike.”

Pav warily approached the Octobike. She placed one hand delicately on the black seat and swung her leg over it. Although she hadn’t meant to, her legs brushed against the Octoboss’s body as she settled onto the seat. She instinctively shuffled away, back flat against the fan cage. Her heart thumped against her chest as she wondered where to put her hands. Gingerly, very gingerly, she placed them on his shoulders. She couldn’t really feel them underneath the fabric and pouches, but just having her hands there was doing things to her already- angerously high blood pressure.

Before Pav was even comfortable, he turned on the engine with a thunderous roar and took off. She instinctively gripped the Octoboss tighter. When was the last time she had held someone? Pav had been interested in a wandering merchant a year or so back, but he had ended things. Now she was pressed up against the Octoboss, left cheek against his upper back. She tried to keep her chest away- partially out of shyness, partially so he didn’t feel her heart hammering against him.

He didn’t go far- he simply pulled up his motorbike alongside a line of other Mortifiers, all in various stages of preparation for the long ride ahead. None of them seemed to notice or care that their boss had a passenger that stuck out like a sore thumb. One of them pressed a helmet and goggles into her hands- dusty, but otherwise not too filthy. Pav put them on, grimacing as the goggles were a tad bit too tight for her face. As she adjusted the straps and pushed the goggles back up onto the top of her head, a sharp bark from behind made her turn.

“OI!”

Dementus himself was strutting up towards them. Ordinarily Pav would cower, but surprisingly she felt protected by the Octoboss’s large frame. The warlord’s white cape was as clean and crisp as an angel’s wings, and danced in his footsteps. Pav put her hands back down on the Octoboss’s shoulders as the Horde leader approached, sweeping his arms grandly. Unlike the Mortifiers, Dementus did notice Pav’s presence. He leaned down until they were eye level, looking at her suspiciously. She held her breath. With one finger, he prodded her shoulder- painfully so. Then he also touched her face- skimming just beneath her eye, then eyeing the black smudge on his fingertip. Oddly, Pav didn't feel as self-conscious as she had when the Octoboss had touched her. Humming, Dementus stood up straight again and looked at the Octoboss.

“Hey, Ock- this is your type?”

Pav immediately understood the implications, but that wasn’t why the Octoboss kept her around, surely. The Mortifier leader only looked at her like she was some sort of mildly interesting beetle. If he had wanted that, surely, he would have tried it by now… and he hadn’t. Pav had been half-expecting him to make a pass at her during their lessons, but he had been the Wasteland equivalent of a gentleman.

“The plan hasn’t changed,” said the Octoboss, clearly ignoring Dementus’s jab.

“Ah! Your plan hasn’t changed, my friend. But mine…” Dementus wiggled his finger that was covered with the eyeblack, waggling it closer and closer to the Octoboss’s face. “MINE…” He poked the mask with a loud tap. “Boop! Mine has changed! I, DEMENTUS…”

He stopped and waved his arms theatrically. Now Pav saw that the unfortunately-named Smeg was dancing around, hyping up the crowd with little stutters and giggles. The Mortifiers all chorused with, “HAIL, DEMENTUS!” with varying levels of enthusiasm. Dementus bowed to his (mostly) adoring fans. Pav had seen and spoken to Dementus only once, and that was when he had executed her tribe’s leader as a ‘welcome’ to the Horde. She was well aware that his affable, charming exterior was a very convincing front for a cunning and ruthless leader. She held onto the Octoboss a little tighter. He stiffened a bit, but didn’t otherwise react.

“I, your great, mighty, merciful leader, have decided…" His voice suddenly dropped from grandiose to quick and quiet. "... that you, Mr. Octoboss, must bring Mr. Harley and Mr. Davidson with you.”

Pav looked behind the imposing man to see two grey-haired fellows standing just behind him. She hadn't known their names, but recognized them mainly because she'd only seen them together, never apart. Like Dementus, they were all smiles, and waved cheerily- like they were just chosen for a drinking game, not this unusual mission. The Octoboss rolled his shoulders, and Pav felt the muscles there. Strong. Oddly comforting. She kept holding on.

“This is unusual, Dementus.” The Octoboss’s tone seemed to suggest he had chosen his words carefully.

“Yes, well, it’s rather odd for only the Mortifiers to explore this new discovery, dontcha think?” Dementus leaned in and patted the Octoboss on the arm. “Now we’ve got two tribes on board with ya! Banditry and Brotherhood and uh…” He looked at Pav. “What the bloody hell was yours called again?”

Pav hadn’t really expected him to remember each and every member of her tribe, but had he really forgotten their name already? After just absorbing them and executing their leader? She tried to hide the shock from her face and answered him quickly.

“The Diving Bells.”

“Right, right, the Driving Belles!” Now it was Pav’s turn to get a hearty slap on the arm. “We’re a big happy family, this Horde, and families stick together. That’s why some of your Mortifiers will stay back here, and these two lovely jubblies will be joining you.”

Pav truly wished she could peek into the Octoboss’s mind. He spoke so little, and yet radiated something. She was starting to get the impression that there were, in fact, large feelings that the lieutenant was keeping wrapped up in all that black. Rather than answering Dementus immediately, he reached up over his head and pulled the gauze-y black fabric of his veil over his face.

“Understood.”

“Good man. See ya at the next campsite.” Another amiable pat, and Dementus swaggered off with Smeg right behind him.

The Octoboss sat still for a few moments, and then started ordering his men into formation like nothing had happened. Several bikes headed back to camp, leaving- including Mr. Harley, Mr. Davidson, and the Octoboss himself- about fifteen bikes.

After a few minutes, Pav was deafened by the sound of all fifteen motorcycles firing up at once. The Mortifiers took off in single file, with the Octoboss himself in the middle. Pav held on for dear life and watched as the tents gave way to open landscape, the sun starting to peek over the horizon.

Chapter Text

The Diving Bells had kept themselves safe by living offshore, and that life had suited them until their luck had run out. As such, Pav hadn’t spent much time on wheeled machines or out in the desert. She was used to balancing on boats and the oil platform, not the thundering roar of motorcycles. She’d deduced that the Horde was beginning to make its way inland, having picked the coast clean. The ocean was far behind them now, and her view was of far-reaching canyons and enormous dunes.

Pav had aspired to keep her body away from the Octoboss, but the bump and motion of the bike inevitably meant she ended up pressed up against him. She’d had to move her hands from his shoulders to slide down and link around his chest instead. She’d expected him to slap her hands away, but the lieutenant was thankfully too focused on keeping the Octobike upright in the shifting sands.

It was still early morning when they reached their destination. Although Pav was certain the Octoboss wore that eyeblack mainly to highlight his already-skeletal features, she now understood why he’d insisted on painting her eyes as well. Ahead of them were several massive metal birds, sand-scoured and wind-blasted. The metal glinted brightly in the sun. If they were going to spend even a few hours here, their eyes would be burning.

As they approached, a thought occurred to Pav. Wouldn’t something so painfully reflective have attracted attention? The Octobike suddenly veered left, and she squeezed the Octoboss again, the side of her head right up against his back. The fifteen bikes parked behind one enormous dune, so that the metal birds were no longer visible. Pav dropped her arms from the lieutenant as soon as the bike was still. Oddly, she felt… disappointed to not be holding onto him anymore.

Mr. Harley dismounted his ride and hurried up to the Octobike. “You saw them, right?”

“I did,” agreed the Octoboss. Pav looked around in confusion.

Mr. Davidson came up. “You think they heard us?”

“No. Would have started shooting. And the tracks look a few hours old, at the least.” The Octoboss swung his legs over his bike and jumped off, calling a few of his men towards him.

Feeling like she shouldn’t be on the Octobike by herself, Pav threw her own leg over and tried to dismount. She wasn’t remotely as tall as the Octoboss, and even he had struggled to climb off. Her cheeks burned, knowing she looked ridiculous. Much to her surprise, a hand reached out to her. Pav looked up to see Mr. Harley smiling brightly. She gently took his hand, returning the smile shyly as she jumped off. As she steadied herself, Mr. Harley clapped her on the shoulder. The unnecessary kindness took Pav aback, but it was welcome after the Octoboss’s chilly demeanour.

Two of the Mortifiers took off up the dune, dropping to their bellies when they reached the top. Pav could see they were scouting using the scopes of their sniper rifles. She glanced around, and only then noticed what the men had been talking about- that there were tire tracks that did not belong to their group. She suddenly felt very exposed, and went fishing for her pistol.

“Count?” called the Octoboss up to his men.

“Five of those four-wheelers outside!” called back one. “Could be more in the wreck.”

“Should we start picking ‘em off, Boss?” yelled down the other.

“Wait.”

Pav checked her Tokarev was loaded and counted her concerningly small supply of bullets. The pistol needed a good cleaning, too- she’d gotten sloppy with it. At least her dive knife was sharpened and within reach. She glanced around, paranoid about getting jumped.

“You know who they are?” The Octoboss directed this question to Mr. Harley and Mr. Davidson.

“No clue, and no reasoning with that lot,” sighed Mr. Davidson. Pav noticed for the first time that his upper right arm was bandaged, and that he had a recent cut across the face.

“’Shoot first, ask questions never’ type,” chimed in Mr. Harley. He stood protectively close to the other man. Pav felt the wheels in her head start to turn.

“These northern gangs are crazy!” exclaimed Mr. Davidson. “Who sews wires into their skin? I mean, honestly!”

Pav’s eyes widened with recognition. Forgetting her shyness, she blurted out, “Those are the Metal Zealots!”

Three pairs of eyes locked onto her. As usual, Pav floundered the most under the Octoboss’s gaze. She babbled on.

“They think the war machines of the old times ruled the earth, and we were their servants. That’s why they sew old wires and cables into themselves. We tried to trade with them for their water, but it was… it comes from this cave, and it tastes and smells really horrible. I think it has some toxin that increases aggression and paranoia…”

The Octoboss held up a hand, silencing her rambling. “How big are their groups?”

“Anywhere between five and ten is what we usually saw. I don’t know how many there are in total, sir.”

“Weapons?”

“Uh.” Pav didn’t know different types of firearms very well. “Lots of guns. And don’t get too close to them. They use these nets that tighten on you and slice you up.”

The two older men nodded in agreement, apparently having seen it themselves.

The Octoboss pulled off his face plate. “Right. This is how we’re going to proceed.”

---

Pav sat on the Octobike, trying to steady her breathing. The two snipers were in position, while a small group had donned sand-coloured gear and snuck up to the side of one of the metal birds, waiting in the shadows. The rest of the group waited in silence, the only sound the howling of the wind whipping over the sand. Pav realized that these airplanes must have been buried in the dunes for years, and the storm of the past few days had likely revealed them. Just how untouched were they?

One of the Zealots wandered out of the field of planes, probably to go for a pee. One of the assassins was on him, silencing him with a knife across the throat. They pulled his body back into their hiding space, and laid in wait a little longer. Eventually, another Zealot emerged, likely wondering where his mate had gone. His head snapped back as a bullet zipped through the air and split his skull.

As his body hit the dirt like a doll, the assassins snuck into the field of planes and out of sight. Gunshots rang out, but Pav was too far away to hear any voices. Eventually, the gunfire went silent. One of the Mortifiers walked out of the airplane field and gave the all-clear signal.

Satisfied, the Octoboss returned to his bike and mounted it. Pav pressed herself up against the fan before grabbing onto his shoulders again as he took off. She felt much safer and more comfortable when holding him. She wasn’t sure why she felt that way, and didn’t want to overthink it.

The three empty bikes were tied to the others to drag them across the dunes. A few minutes later, the rest of the group had arrived at the field of airplanes. The dead bodies were already being searched for goods, and the four-wheelers were quickly stripped for wheels and fuel. As the Octobike came to a halt, Pav was so enraptured by the glittering airplanes that she forgot to let go of the Mortifier boss.

“So bright!” said Mr. Harley.

“So… silver,” murmured Mr. Davidson.

Pav agreed mentally and kept staring. Suddenly, the Octoboss reached up and peeled her hands off of him.

“Oh!” Pav was blushing again. “I’m sorry!”

He didn’t respond, dismounting the massive bike. Then he turned and regarded her silently. Pav thought he was going to reach a hand out like Mr. Harley had. But instead, the Octoboss simply reached under Pav’s arms and lifted her out of the seat. Even though she’d just been clinging to him for quite a while, having his large hands on her turned Pav’s face bright red. However, she noticed he took care to not put his hands anywhere untoward and didn’t hold her longer than he needed to. Still, when he deposited her on the sand, she folded her arms across her chest in embarrassment and looked down.

“Walk with me.” It was an order.

Pav followed the Octoboss past the first airplane. She looked at the bodies of the Zealots- three of them, and no Mortifier bodies. She didn’t have long to look at them, however, as she could barely keep up with the Octoboss’s ridiculously long legs. She tried to count the planes- maybe five small military aircraft? Perhaps even more of them, buried underneath the sand. They looked abandoned, and didn’t have any damage to suggest they were used in battle at all.

The rest of the group were left behind, and it was just Pav alone with the Octoboss now. Pav looked around warily, somehow getting an eerie feeling from this place. The Octoboss seemed to feel the same way, as he had his own pistol out. Pav held her Tokarev, making sure to keep it pointed at the ground and not at him.

Suddenly, something flew into her vision. There was a sharp burst of pain, and Pav was sprawled on her back. Her pistol landed just out of finger’s reach. A figure loomed over her, holding the blunt end of the spear she’d just struck her with. Her chin and forearms were festooned with wires, eyes blazing. Utterly silent, she flipped the spear around and aimed it, point down, towards her heart-

An ear-splitting gunshot. The spear slipped uselessly from the Zealot’s hands as she slumped to her knees and collapsed. Already, the sand beneath her head was beginning to turn pink as blood oozed out of her head.

All this had happened in a matter of seconds, and Pav struggled to get her bearings. She leaned up on her forearms immediately, grappling for her pistol again. She stood up, stepping away from the Zealot’s body as if she could still move. Pav looked down at the dead woman's eyes. The gaze that had been so fiery had gone cold and empty. She still wasn’t used to seeing people dying up close.

Behind the corpse, the Octoboss coolly reloaded his pistol. He was glaring daggers at Pav.

“Boss?” yelled a Mortifier.

“You missed one,” he shouted back. “We’re gonna talk about this later.”

The Octoboss walked up to Pav until he was inches away from her, still holding up his gun. She looked up at his face, swallowing. He had sweated off some of the eyeblack, but there was still enough around his deep-set eyes that it made his already steely gaze that much more intimidating. His lip was curled with disapproval.

“Now, here’s what I don’t understand, Pav.”

Pav could see spots at the edges of her vision again. She also felt sweat all over her forehead.

“Soft hands.” The Octoboss grabbed one of her hands and pulled it towards him. “Soft skin.” He pulled at her unscarred arm. “Subpar eyesight. No sense for combat.” He tapped her Tokarev. Then he bent down so that they were eye to eye. “Easily spooked.” His eyes were large and stormy as he poked her rib.

“No muscles. Completely unscathed. I could go on. How are you alive? How can you survive the Wasteland’s cruelties?”

For the first time, Pav heard anger in his voice when he spoke to her. It was true- the things that her people had done to defend the floating oil platform were nothing compared to what the Wastelanders endured out here. Taking down boats with harpoons and cannons was not nearly as confronting as looking people in the eye to take their lives. But still, she felt the bubbling of anger and the overwhelming need to defend herself.

“Not everyone is a mechanic or a trained killer! I’m good at many things. And I’m not unscathed.”

Pav reached up into her mouth and pulled at her teeth. There was a pop as she loosened her partial dentures. She smiled at the Octoboss- revealing most of her bottom teeth were simply gone- and then popped the denture back into place. It was a neat trick she liked to do- suddenly her teeth were there, and then they were gone again.

“None of us Diving Bells have all our real teeth. No fruit at sea. You know if you don’t eat fruit for a long time, your teeth fall out?” She looked straight up into his face. “I know how to boil raw petroleum to make guzzolene. I can drive a boat better than you drive that bike. I can read. I can write. I can do calculations. I know the northern tribes!”

The lieutenant stood up to his full height again. He didn’t seem as angry, but his gaze was still unwavering. “And when you fail to kill an enemy again and get a bullet between the eyes? How useful is that knowledge in your brain when it’s been spilled all over the ground?”

He had a point. Pav worked her jaw. The sweat was running into her eyes now. “I know Water War, not Road War. I have to learn. But I learn quick.”

“Show me you learn quickly, then. Surprise me.”

Pav wasn’t sure if this was also some kind of test. She couldn’t think of anything else impressive when he was gazing at her so intensely with those big grey-blue eyes. They were just-

“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.” Pav slapped her hand over her mouth.

“What?”

What was she thinking? Too late to turn back now. Lowering her hand, she kept going with a quote from a story she’d once read that had never left her.

“I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes can bestow.”

The Octoboss blinked rapidly, then finally he looked away. He rotated his whole body so that she couldn’t see his reaction. Pav could only hear the wind, and the occasional creak of twisted metal. For a long moment, he said nothing. Eventually, he coughed and reached into one of his pouches. “Enough. Clean up that mess on your face.”

He tossed a scrap of old fabric at her. Pav dabbed at her forehead and eyes and looked at the scrap. It was not sweat there, but blood. Pav pressed the fabric back to her face. She thought the Octoboss's voice sounded strained, but didn’t dare comment on it. She was in enough trouble with how she’d fumbled that entire encounter. But rather than feeling scared, Pav felt something else. Almost… proud? Like she was pleased to have survived.

“See this metal bird in particular?" He pointed at the nearby plane. "This is why I brought you here.”

She hurried after the Octoboss as he entered the wreckage of the aircraft.

Chapter Text

As Pav followed the Mortifier warlord into the metal bird, she was struck by how clean it looked. Light shone in from cracks in the shining hull. The ground was littered with sand, but it lacked… junk. It was almost untouched. The Octoboss had removed his helmet inside due to the low ceiling, and Pav found herself admiring how silky his hair looked. Then blood dripped down into her eyes again and she had to keep pressing the soiled fabric to her face. It didn’t even hurt as much as she’d thought it would, getting her forehead split open, but it bled more than any superficial wound she’d ever had before.

She followed him all the way to the front of the aircraft. Here, at the flight deck, the Octoboss paused and placed his helmet down. Sand was built up in front of the windshield, so it wasn’t quite possible to look out of it. But he still stood staring at it, enraptured. He had that same look in his eyes that he’d had when Pav had read to him. Searing focus, yet with a tinge of sadness pulling his face down. He looked out the window of the plane like it had the answers to everything, and yet he couldn’t reach them. Pav got the feeling that she would interrupt something if she spoke and so stepped backwards.

She sat in one of the sandy seats and watched blood drip down onto her trousers. At this point, she was just wasting perfectly good water. Pav reached into a pocket and pulled out what had once been someone’s eye makeup kit. The powders were long gone, but the mirror still worked. Pav looked at her own face and was startled by the sight of herself. The eyeblack was smeared and running down her cheeks, and blood oozed out of her forehead. What a state!

“Let me see that.”

Pav looked up from the mirror to see the Octoboss staring down at her. She was alarmed at how someone so tall could move so quietly. He lifted one gloved hand and placed it under her chin. She froze up, unsure of how to react. The motion was gentle, but it set her heart racing in a way that surprised her.

“Well, well. That gash won’t close on its own. And unfortunately for you, OM’s a few hundred clicks away.”

Pav was mildly terrified of the Organic Mechanic, so that was fine by her. Her only interaction with him thus far had been him pulling her jaws open to stare into her mouth, trying to steal her dentures, and also grabbing her hands like she was a doll. He’d then bombarded her with medical questions she didn’t understand, and then insisted on feeling her ‘glands’. She remembered that he’d looked puzzled and almost offended as she ran away screaming.

The Octoboss released her and pulled off his black gloves. Pav again looked at his pale hands and long fingers. He reached into one of his several hundred pouches- genuinely, how did he remember what he kept and where?- and opened it up. He pulled out a small box and a brown vial of strange liquid. Kneeling on the sandy floor next to her, he popped the box open, revealing a needle and thread. Pav realized what this was- a surprising amount of people in the Horde had what Grandpa had called ‘basic furstayde’ training. Organic couldn’t be there for all four thousand of them at once, after all.

“Was gonna drink this later, but…” He dabbed a cloth with the liquid and pressed it to Pav’s forehead.

The pain was immediate, and burning. Worse than the initial strike. Pav hissed.

“Shh.”

It was not helpful. “DON’T YOU SHUSH ME-”

 “Quiet.”

He growled it right in her ear. Ordinarily, this would have Pav in a puddle on the floor, but it was all she could do to not slap his hand away like a child. She growled as the pain peaked and began to fade in waves. The Octoboss shook his head as he pulled the rag away. He sanitized the needle before putting the bottle away, then leaned back in. Some of his silvery-brown hair had come undone from its elastic, and it brushed up against Pav’s cheek. She stiffened, and he sighed.

“What was that you were saying earlier?” His voice was absolutely dripping with weapons-grade sarcasm. “You’re good at many things?”

Her retort was interrupted by him piercing her skin with the needle. She winced, but the pain was nothing compared to the alcohol burning a hole in her skull. She shut her eyes and tried to relax her forehead. Actually, she was grateful for the reason to close her eyes- otherwise she’d be staring right at his face. He was not unkind, but his hands were rough. As he stitched her skin, she winced and considered reminding him that she was not made of cloth.

“I assume ‘pain tolerance’ isn’t on this very long list?” Stab. Stab. Stab.

Pav found she was unable to come up with anything witty as her forehead was literally sewed back together. “Yeah, well…” Another stab. “Your mother,” muttered Pav at last.

The Octoboss stopped completely. Pav opened her eyes to see him leaning back, looking more appalled than she’d ever seen him.

“That was beyond disappointing. I thought better of you.”

Pav was embarrassed but frustrated. “I HAVE BLOOD IN MY EYES AND MY FACE HURTS! SIR! Give me a minute and I’ll COMPLIMENT YOUR EYES AGAIN! I’LL DO IT!” Schlanger, she thought to herself.

The ghost of a smile flickered onto the Octoboss’s lips. “Good. I expect better next time.”

He leaned in and pricked her with the needle once again. She shut her eyes automatically, mainly to avoid staring at him when he was so close. She could smell him again- machine oil and sweat. It was a scent she actually didn’t mind… could he smell her when they were this close? Did she smell bad? Pav was suddenly incredibly self-conscious.

“Done. Don’t make this a habit.”

Pav opened her eyes and leaned back, hoping he hadn’t smelled her. She raised her eye makeup kit to her face again. She looked at the stitches on her forehead and was amazed to see how carefully he’d sewn her up. The scar would be a thin line, if that. She dabbed at some blood in her eyebrows with the edge of her sleeve and looked over at him.

“Thank you.” Pav meant it earnestly. He hadn’t needed to be so careful, especially with the yelling.

The Octoboss stood suddenly. “Couldn’t have you bleeding all over precious resources.”

He walked off abruptly, but made no indication that she should follow. Pav attempted to clean up her face as best as she could, but between the blood and the smudged eyeblack there was no hope. She sighed and put away the mirror as the Octoboss suddenly burst back into the cockpit with his long arms full of yellowed books. He placed most of them at her feet before pushing one directly into her hands. Even though the cover was stained with unknown substances and fading with age, it had a clearly drawn image of an airplane on the front cover. FLIGHT MANUAL’, it said. ‘ROYAL AUSTRALIAN AIR FORCE’ was printed neatly at the bottom.

The Octoboss crouched next to Pav. His normal cool demeanor was replaced by wide-eyed intrigue.

“What is this? Tell me!”

Pav was surprised by the urgency in his voice. “It’s a flight manual for this type of aircraft, sir.”

His eyes seemed to glimmer. But not with that catlike sadism, it seemed almost like… genuine excitement? “Read something from it.” He opened the book to a random page, holding it up to her.

Pav leaned towards the book, settling on a middle paragraph. “The ability to sense a flight condition, such as straight-and-level flight or a dive, without relying on instrumentation is often called ‘feeling the airplane’. This takes time and exposure for this particular model. The sound of the engine in cruise flight is different from that in a climb and different again in a dive…”

Pav continued to read for a while, and as she did, she felt like the Octoboss was inching closer and closer to her face. But he didn’t tell her to stop. Eventually, she reached the end of the page and looked up.

Her mouth fell open. The Octoboss had leaned in intensely, hanging on every word, eyes following the movements of her lips, and had a look on his face she never thought she’d see.

“Sir?” she squeaked.

The spell was broken. He blinked rapidly and leaned back as if she’d slapped him across the face. He shut the book and placed it at her feet, then stood up. His expression went from alarmed to stony so quickly that Pav almost wondered if she had imagined the hungry look he’d been giving her. Still, her cheeks burned and her heart was pounding until she thought it would burst out of her chest.

“I need to check on the men,” he said, voice matter-of-fact and dispassionate once again. “Stay here and collect any reading material you can find about airplanes- anything. I’ll be back.”

He grabbed his horned helmet and left the airplane at considerable speed, leaving Pav alone in the cramped aircraft. She settled back on the pilot’s chair and looked around herself, rubbing her cheek. Her emotions were a confusing jumble. She’d just been told off, so what had that been all about? And why did she feel… thrilled? Deep inside, past the head-spinning nervousness and anger, there was the unmistakable thrum of excitement that he’d looked at her like that.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.”

Pav stood up abruptly- a horrible idea, as her head swam and she promptly flopped back down into her chair. She leaned forward in her chair and slapped the floor in front of her. After a moment, she chuckled to herself- had it really been so long that someone looking at her like that gave her butterflies? But these were feelings that were certainly going to be forgotten shortly. So, she was just going to file them away, at the back of her mind, and never think about them again.

Pav stood up- slowly. It was time to be useful. There was no need to sit and think on what had just happened- no, she was going to be a useful and excellent addition to the Horde and find as many books as she possibly could. She promptly set to it, kicking at anything she could find under the sand with her steel-toed boots. She found unopened packs full of a black cloth very similar to that cape Dementus was always showing off in. Those were placed to the side as she continued digging with fervor.

“Knock, knock! Don’t shoot!”

Pav looked up to see an arm waving at her from the doorway of the aircraft. That arm belonged to Mr. Davidson, who poked his head out and peered around the new space with interest. Pav was surprised to see him, but grateful that it wasn’t the Octoboss. Undoubtedly, Mr. Harley was right behind him.

“Hello, sirs. Did the Octoboss send you?”

“He did!” Mr. Davidson fully entered the aircraft, now that he seemed convinced that she wasn’t going to shoot at him in a panic. Pav wondered if that had happened to him before. As expected, Mr. Harley followed after, a shovel in hand. Pav decided that it was simply impossible to see one of them without the other. She looked up at them expectantly as they made their way to the flight deck.

“We’ve been ordered to scour every single one of these birds and haul away anything not nailed down.” Mr. Davidson leaned over the console and poked a few buttons. “Even the fuel, old as it is.”

“Got your work cut out for you here, mate!” Mr. Harley patted the big pile of books and beamed at Pav.

Pav smiled back, but wondered why the Octoboss had sent these two here. Weren’t they both too important for scavving? She somehow felt too awkward to ask. Luckily, both men were thoroughly distracted by the fascinating structure they had entered.

“Nuts about anything that flies, that Ock is,” said Mr. Davidson, moving on to the packs. “No surprise he demanded he be the one to explore here first.” He pulled out some of the black material.

Pav glanced between both of them. This was an excellent opportunity to learn more about the mysterious man. “He did, did he?”

“When the scouts told us about this place, he stonewalled Dementus into letting him have first dibs.” Mr. Harley was starting to dig out the sand, tossing it outside. “Never seen him that passionate about anything.”

Pav was intrigued, especially since they both seemed happy to chat. She stood up, unwilling to sit and let them do all the searching. “Just because he likes flying machines?”

“Love, he doesn’t like them.” Mr. Davidson yanked something out of the console and tossed it to the side with a clang. “He’s obsessive. Got some fool notion of flying. In the air.”

“In the air- as opposed to flying where else, dear? In the dirt?” snorted Mr. Harley.

“It was said for emphasis.”

“Emphasis- learned that one from the History Man, didja?”

Mr. Davidson paused his looting. “... Maybe. It’s such a good word, though.” He held his hands up to the ceiling, as if an invisible audience was beyond it. “EMPHASIS.”

Pav listened to them continue to egg each other on, looking between one older man and the other. She didn’t see couples very often in the Wasteland, but their jovial nature made her feel at ease. Was that why the Octoboss asked them to look after her? She would feel uncomfortable being alone with most people from the Wasteland, but these two were surprisingly normal and well-adjusted.

She walked up and down the length of the plane, brushing sand away wherever she could. New words popped up. ‘EMERGENCY EXIT’ and ‘DO NOT STEP’. Seeing as Mr. Harley and Mr. Davidson were quite literally tearing up the front and middle sections of the plane, she made her way to the tail end. She kicked at the dirt, and her foot immediately connected with something metal and heavy.

Pav bent down to dig out the sand with her bare hands. Something orange and rectangular appeared, with large black letters. ‘COCKPIT VOICE RECORDER. DO NOT OPEN.’ She knelt down and pulled the large contraption out with her hands. It was heavy, and sturdy. She felt like if she dropped it from a height, it would probably survive. She rotated it in her hands. Voice recorder… did it have something inside?

“Found something, eh?”

Pav turned to see Mr. Harley holding that massive black sail thing in his hands. Pav tilted her head. It would go surprisingly well with the Octoboss’s black flight suit, she thought. She looked back up at Mr. Harley and smiled.

“Is there anyone in the Horde who’s good with radios?”

Chapter Text

It was one of those nights where the moon shone so bright, it seemed as if the whole desert was lit. Stars and satellites wheeled overhead. The wind blew- not a strong gust, but one that would certainly be chilling if Pav wasn’t currently being held in a warm and safe embrace.

Her legs were propped up on the fuel tank of the Octobike, entwined with another long pair of legs. She felt the slow, steady heartbeat in the warm chest underneath her. Pav looked at the large hand currently resting on her hip and took it in hers, pulling it towards her lips. She placed a long, lingering kiss on the pale, scarred knuckles, then looked up.

The Octoboss had his chin tilted downwards to look at her. When she lifted her mouth from his knuckles, he leaned in and nuzzled his cheek against hers. His beard was rough against her skin, but the motion was so affectionate that it set her heart thundering. She pressed up against him, burying her face in his hair. She breathed deeply, caressing the edge of his jaw with her fingertips. She pulled back just enough that she could lean her mouth towards his, and-

Pav opened her eyes. All sense of fatigue was gone as the memories of her dream came flooding into her mind. She sat up abruptly, clapping a hand over her mouth as a deep flush spread across her cheeks. Her forehead throbbed with a dull, aching pain. Around her, the rest of the Diving Bells shifted and sighed in their sleeping bags. It was still dark, but Pav felt that it would likely be dawn very soon.

She laid back down and shut her eyes, but the Octoboss popped back into her mind’s eye immediately. She opened them once again and rolled over in her sleeping bag, smacking her face into the rolled-up ball of cloth she used as a pillow. Pav was exhausted after yesterday’s events, but it was clear she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep this morning.

With a long-suffering sigh, she crawled out of her sleeping bag and set about to getting dressed. She had helped the Mortifiers- and Mr. Harley and Mr. Davidson- load everything they could from the planes onto the bikes before following the Horde to their new temporary settlement. The Octoboss had shooed Pav back to her tent when they’d arrived, insisting someone else do the heavy lifting. Pav had then collapsed into her sleeping bag, not even stopping to eat some dinner.

That was a mistake, her yawning stomach informed her. Pav hoped someone would be up cooking this early, or if she could nab some Dinki Di. Once dressed, she popped out of the tent and walked through the camp, thinking about the previous day’s events. Mr. Harley and Mr. Davidson had promised to take the flight recorder straight to the History Man, who was the most knowledgeable about radios. Pav had told the Octoboss it would be helpful to him, once she could hear its words.

Not many other members of the Horde were up at this time. Pav made her way to the nearest ration tent, where a sleepy sentry allowed her to take a can of Dinki Di. Pav tore off the lid and sat down on a rock to munch away at it, looking over the vast expanse of tents before her as the sun began to rise. She gingerly reached up to touch the stitches on her forehead, cursing the massive headache that likely wouldn’t go away any time soon.

Unbidden, the image of the Octoboss lovingly nuzzling against her popped into her head. Pav dropped her head down and started eating more aggressively. Maybe it would be good to avoid him today- at least until the memories of that dream faded. Pav hadn’t been asked to teach him more reading today, so maybe she could successfully avoid him.

A new settlement meant new latrines had to be dug. That would keep her far enough away, and if she was lucky, the Mortifiers wouldn’t spot her either. Pav pulled her shawl up over her head and tucked her thick dark hair into it. Once she finished her breakfast, she put the can away and hustled to the far end of the settlement- away from the elites’ tents.

Grabbing one of the designated shovels, Pav set about to digging. She hummed a little sea shanty to herself as she worked- mainly because the digging was so mindless, that it kept her mind off the previous night’s dream. She figured she would work until her arms and back would ache, and then she could switch over to another job, maybe food prep-

“SMEG FOUND YOU!”

Pav screamed and dropped the shovel, which clattered against her steel-toed boot. She rounded on the tiny man that had magically appeared behind her. He was grinning down at her, hands clasped together eagerly. Before Pav could say a word, he had jumped down into the hole she was digging and promptly started bouncing around her like a hyperactive rabbit.

“Yes, Smeg was told to find the Octoboss’s girl! Looked all over the camp, I did!”

Pav was instinctually leaning away from the strange little man, as she tended to do when a strange person suddenly invaded her personal space. She had to keep rotating in place to keep her eyes on Smeg. The whole thing was so sudden and random that it took her a moment to realize what Dementus’s jester had just called her.

“Hold on… the Octoboss’s girl?”

“Yes! You!”

A mixture of anger and embarrassment made Pav’s cheeks turn warm again. “That is not what I am!”

Smeg stopped his hopping, his smile vanishing from his face. He looked closely at her, suddenly rubbing his hands together nervously. “You’re right, you’re right… how small-minded of Smeg.” He cleared his throat. “The Octoboss’s woman. Yes, too old to be a girl.”

“That’s not what I meant!” exploded Pav.

Smeg tilted his head. “The Octoboss’s… female?”

Pav pinched the bridge of her nose. “Never mind. Just… why? Who sent you to find me?”

“Oh!” Smeg stood up straight again- not an intimidating vision, considering he and Pav were the same height. In a surprisingly deep, booming voice, he cried, “The mighty Dementus demands your presence!” Then, in a smaller voice, “… if that’s okay with you.”

Pav stared at him. “Do I actually have a choice here?”

Smeg thought about it for a moment, then surprise dawned on his face. “No… no, the Octoboss’s sheila doesn’t actually have a choice.”

“My name is PAV.”

“… The Octoboss’s lady friend.”

“PAV. PAVLOVA.”

Smeg pressed his hands to his mouth. He took a deep breath. “… The Octoboss’s gal.”

Pav threw her hands up in the air. Despite being the same size as him, somehow she didn’t want to risk a tussle with this… strange person. “Alright, alright. I’ll go see Dementus later.”

“Oh no, he wants now! Well, actually, a while ago. Said to bring the Octoboss’s dame immediately, but I couldn’t find you… he might be angry now, actually.” Smeg started twisting the front of his shift. “Yes, we go now!”

Pav made a sound of protest as he grabbed her hand and yanked her out of the hole she’d been digging. He took off at surprising speed, leaving Pav to focus only on trying to keep up.

---

Pav was huffing and puffing when Smeg pulled her into Dementus’s tent. He only let her hand go once they were both inside. Contrary to her burning lungs, Smeg wasn’t fatigued in the slightest bit. In fact, he broke into an excited dance as soon as he let her go. Pav could only watch in stunned silence as Smeg started breaking it down, even dropping down to the floor as he passionately gyrated.

“SMEG!”

Smeg shrieked and fell backwards as if he’d been struck. Now that Pav wasn’t distracted by what had to have been some sort of bizarre mating dance, she could look around the tent proper. She was astounded at the size of it- it seemed even bigger on the inside. The amount of stuff inside attested to Dementus’s wealth. She couldn’t even name some of the things she was looking at.

Something touched her leg. Pav looked down and took a huge step to the side. One of Dementus’s enormous dogs was sniffing her. Pav regretted eating dog food for breakfast as the canine regarded her inquisitively. She’d never seen such a large animal before, and it made her nervous.

“SMEG!” shouted Dementus again.

Smeg crab-walked backwards and hid behind Pav’s legs.

The Horde leader himself was seated in a cushy-looking chair, one hand entwined in his beard. On a table in front of him sat the flight recorder that Pav had found. He glared daggers at Smeg. “What took you so long?”

“Couldn’t find the Octoboss’s… person of the female persuasion.”

Dementus now fixed his glare on Pav. “Where have you been hiding, girlie?”

“Actually, she doesn’t like that term!” exclaimed Smeg, looking around from behind the safety of Pav’s legs.

Dementus went quiet. He stood up and walked towards a blue crate. Opening it, he pulled out a bone that had gristle on it. All the dogs in the room immediately stood at attention, eyes following the movements of the bone. After a moment, Dementus threw it at Smeg with shocking accuracy. It beaned him directly in the face, knocking him flat onto the floor. Pav scurried to the side as all three dogs were on Smeg immediately, trampling him as they fought over the bone while he shrieked.

Pav stood there, unsure of what to do and how to help the poor man currently flailing underneath the dogs’ legs. But then Dementus was beside her, grabbing her roughly by the arm and leading her towards the table with the flight recorder on it.

“I was digging new latrines, sir,” said Pav, somehow feeling guilty for Smeg’s current predicament. “He brought me as soon as he found me…”

“This isn’t about him,” said Dementus, not even looking at Smeg as he was lost to the dog fight. “Now that I have you, tell me- what is this?”

Pav looked at the flight recorder. She was confused- Mr. Harley and Mr. Davidson had said they would give it straight to the History Man. Did the Octoboss know about this? Sensing Dementus’s impatience growing- and still hearing Smeg wailing- she answered quickly.

“It was in the tail section of the metal bird I was scavenging. It’s a recording device of some kind.”

Dementus clicked his tongue. “Bloody heavy. Could have probably brought more stuff home with us, if this had been left behind.”

He looked at her, and Pav noticed for the first time that one of his pupils was enormous- far larger than the other one. From behind her, Smeg suddenly stopped his shrieking. Pav wanted to turn and see if the man had died terribly, but Dementus was fixing her with such a look that she didn’t dare move.

“Bit of a waste, isn’t it? If this doesn’t serve the needs of the many.” His voice was dangerously low. He was also smiling- a sight that was somehow more frightening than if he’d looked angry.

Pav had the overwhelming feeling that she needed to choose her words very carefully. Although she felt nervous around the Octoboss, Dementus was setting off every possible warning sign in her brain. She tried to wet her dry lips before venturing an answer that might satisfy him.

“Sir, I insisted this be brought back because I believe it will help the entire Horde.”

“Really?” Dementus bent so that he was eye level with her. He had not yet released her arm, and it was starting to hurt with how tightly he held her. “How interesting that you presumed to tell Mr. Harley and Mr. Davidson what to do. That you imposed yourself to set my History Man to your own devices.”

Pav tried to hold his gaze but couldn’t. She looked down at the teddy bear hanging off his belt. “I didn’t mean to presume above my station. It was in the interest of the Horde. I’m very sorry.”

“For the good of the many, is it? Not the few?”

Pav took a deep breath before answering. “Yes, that’s why I- I asked for it to be taken to the History Man. Because he’s so good with radios, I wanted him to assess its worth before-”

“So, it might be worthless?”

Panic rose in Pav. She looked Dementus in the eye. “No. What I don’t know is how incredible its worth is.” She placed one hand on Dementus’s, a sudden clarity in her mind. “That flight recorder… could make you the most knowledgeable man in the Wasteland.”

“Dementus.”

Pav and Dementus both turned at the same time. She dropped her hold on the Horde leader’s hand when she saw Smeg. The little man was cuddling with one of the dogs while the other two played tug-of-war with the bone, looking apparently unbothered by his previous situation. Then, two tall men bent to enter the tent- the Octoboss, and just behind him, the History Man with his white sceptre.

The History Man waited near the tent entrance while the Octoboss took several long strides towards Pav and Dementus. His horned helmet was in one hand, and he had already applied his eyeblack. Pav had never seen him without it. In just a moment, the Octoboss was on both of them, looking between Dementus, Pav, and the flight recorder on the table.

“History Man!” exclaimed Dementus. He released Pav’s arm, where a bruise was forming. “Invited our betentacled friend? You shouldn’t have! You really… shouldn’t have.”

The Octoboss put one large hand on Pav’s shoulder. Pav had had quite enough of strange men grabbing her for one morning, so she shrugged out of his grip and backed out of both men’s reach. The Octoboss let her go, his gaze searing into Dementus. The Horde leader raised his hands in a sort of surrender.

“Oh, she already answered my burning questions! You can take her for… whatever you use her for.” He looked at Pav again. “I’m going to hold you to that promise, little lady. Count on it.”

He jerked his chin in a dismissive motion. Pav gave a little curtsy and all but ran out of the tent. She only stopped to give a polite bow to the History Man, who regarded her curiously. Then she swept out of the tent, intent on putting as much distance between it and her as possible.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t gone two steps when the Octoboss’s voice reached her ears.

“Pav.”

She turned around. The Octoboss had followed her outside. The only good thing about all this was that the dream she’d had about him was the farthest thing from her mind now. She crossed her arms and looked up at him as he placed his horned helmet onto his head.

“Are you hurt?”

With her hand, she covered the spot where the bruise had formed. “No.”

Pav expected another diatribe, and was bracing herself for the lecture. She was frustrated, angry, and above all- frightened. But no sarcastic, sneering comments came this time. The Octoboss was looking at her with something that almost approached concern.

“You did well.”

Pav looked up, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Come with me. Let’s speak alone.”

Looking back one last time at Dementus’s tent, Pav followed the Octoboss.

Chapter Text

As Pav followed after the Octoboss’s imposing figure towards his tent, another person sidled up alongside her. Thankfully, it wasn’t another Horde freak, but one of the Diving Bells- Lizzard. They were currently deep into their breakfast of Dink-Di, glancing back and forth between Pav and the Octoboss. Pav put an arm around their shoulders and surreptitiously leaned her head in to theirs.

“Have you told him yet?” they asked through a mouthful of dog food.

“No, not yet,” Pav murmured. “Later.”

She released Lizzard and watched them vanish into the sea of tents. Then she continued following the Octoboss, who eventually stopped when he reached his tent. He swept the tent flap open and gestured for her to enter first. Pav did as he indicated, grateful to escape the already-sweltering heat of the early morning. She looked around the interior of the Spartan tent, wondering at how different her life might have been if she hadn’t sat here that day.

The Octoboss entered shortly afterwards, veil, mask, and helmet still on. Pav found herself noticing that his long, elegant neck was still visible even with all that on his head. She looked away and took her usual seat as the Octoboss removed his headwear and stowed it next to his bed. Pav only looked at him again once his back was turned, as he fussed with something in one of his pouches.

She thought back to what had just happened with Dementus. Her throat felt hoarse and her heart pounded. What would have happened if the Octoboss hadn’t appeared? Pav knew she could talk her way out of some situations, but that had been a truly terrifying one. Despite her fear and reservations, she was incredibly grateful that the Octoboss had gone out of his way to help her.

“Thank you,” she said aloud. “For getting me out of there.”

He didn’t turn around, still looking for something. “You should thank Mr. Harley. He came and got me after he saw Smeg dragging you across camp.”

Pav lifted her head in surprise. She remembered how Mr. Harley had smiled so kindly when he’d helped her off the bike. For such a tall, scary man, he had been bizarrely benevolent. He didn’t even know her. Why was he helping her out of seemingly no gain for himself? Especially considering what the rest of these warlords were like…

The Octoboss turned around then, and seemed to immediately identify the confusion on Pav’s face. “He had a daughter, once. She had dark hair like you.”

Pav blinked. “Really?”

The Octoboss nodded; his face grim. “It’s not my story to tell. You should ask him.”

Pav felt herself feeling somewhat relieved- she never liked to assume the worst, but knowing that Mr. Harley was helping her out of a fatherly impulse was good- if rather sad- to know. She resolved to ask him about it the next time she saw him. Folding her hands in her lap, Pav watched as the Octoboss took the seat opposite to her. She reached into her suit and pulled out the small book they were reading together. But the Octoboss shook his head.

“Not yet. I brought you here to talk about Dementus.”

Pav placed the book down on the table and took a deep breath, unsure of what was coming.

The Octoboss had also removed his gloves, and he placed a small curio on the table in front of Pav. Pav leaned forward to get a better look. She could smell the Octoboss suddenly, and the memory of last night’s sensual dream hit her like a sack of potatoes. She sat back with a start.

Thankfully, he had no way of knowing why she’d reacted like that. “You can touch it,” he said approvingly. “I wouldn’t have shown it to you if I didn’t think I could trust you with it.”

Pav swallowed- he trusted her?- as she picked up the little item and rotated it in her hands. She recognized it immediately- she had used such an object before, back on the oil rig.

“You’ve seen an altimeter before?” asked the Octoboss, seeing the recollection on her face.

Pav looked up at his eyes, surprise thankfully chasing away the other awkward emotions. “An altimeter?”

“Yes, for measuring altitude. Height.”

“Oh! Well, we had bathymeters that looked a lot like this. They measured depths, though.” Pav looked at the numbers and the dial, wondering if it still worked. “Very useful for knowing when you can get raptures of the deep, or checking your ascent rate so you don’t get the bends. Oh, you wouldn’t have heard of either of those. Stop me if you have. Raptures of the deep is- you know when you go down really deep, the air we breathe here basically gets you drunk? Being drunk and disoriented hundreds of feet underwater... And the bends, that’s when you get bubbles in your blood from ascending too quickly. Doesn’t sound bad when I explain it like that, but it’s horrifically painful… I wonder if you can have the same problems if you go up too high? But the pressure’s going in reverse then… oh.”

She realized just how long she’d been babbling, and felt her cheeks become warm again. But the Octoboss had listened to her babble with intense curiosity, the corners of his mouth beginning to tug upwards.

“You like to talk about your expertise, don’t you?” Normally such a thing would be said with sarcasm, but the Octoboss sounded almost enchanted.

Pav shrugged her shoulders. “I love learning things, and talking about the things I’ve learned. I love it too much to keep it all to myself. I think everyone should benefit from knowledge.”

“Very kind,” he murmured, seeming lost in thought.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Pav brushed down her dive suit, unsure of how to handle the attention. “That just seems logical, not kind. Babbling about Old World things isn’t how you typically inspire sentiments in people.”

“Then what would you recommend for… inspiring sentiments?” he asked, chin in hand.

Pav had never been asked such a question before. She took in a breath, and knit her brows together. She looked down and away- partly because she was thinking, partly because the Octoboss was giving her such a searing gaze that it was difficult to look up at him.

“Well… I’ve always appreciated that second word. Sentimentality.” Pav’s bathymeters were at the bottom of the ocean now, along with most of her other possessions. Her heart ached with sadness, and she fell silent. She looked back at the altimeter in her hand.

The Octoboss’s countenance darkened, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. “This belonged to one of my best Mortifiers.”

Pav looked up from the precious object. “What happened?”

He leaned in towards her. “He made Dementus angry.” Then he nodded to the altimeter. “This is all I have left of him.”

Pav rotated the altimeter, looking at its underside. Now she could see- although it had been cleaned carefully, there was a hint of an old stain on it- probably blood, she now realized. Pav looked back up at the Octoboss. “Why are you telling me this?”

The Octoboss leaned back again, now gazing off into the distance. Then he looked at her, and Pav found herself somehow compelled to maintain eye contact. Why were his eyes so pretty?

“Because,” he answered after a long moment, “if someone makes Dementus angry, one little souvenir is all that's left.”

Pav straightened in her chair, connecting the dots. She didn’t quite know how to respond. Back on the oil rig, everyone simply worked together to survive. There were occasional minor politics, but nothing like this. She had been thrown into uncertain waters. But the Octoboss wasn’t done speaking yet.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Pav couldn’t stop her eyebrows from jumping into her hair at the unexpected apology. He continued. “I should have had the flight recorder given straight to Dementus. We could have avoided the… unpleasantness of this morning.”

Pav put the altimeter back onto the table and raised her other hand, scratching at her hair as she pondered. She tried to think of the last time anyone had apologized to her for anything. The Octoboss was still staring at her, and she had no idea how to respond.

“Um, that’s very… gentlemanly of you.”

The Octoboss nodded, seeming somewhat relieved. Then he suddenly looked almost sheepish. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t go spreading that around.”

“The… what?” Pav’s brain wasn’t working very well anymore by this point. Had it ever?

“The apology. Don’t want the Horde to start getting the wrong idea.”

Pav was so sick and tired of the Octoboss constantly getting her tongue-tied, speechless, bamboozled, that this sudden moment of vulnerability made a switch go off in her brain. For the first time, a coy smile curled her lips. A little demon inside her made her speak her next words.

“What, will the Horde start thinking you’re… soft if I do that?”

He looked as serious as the dead. “Yes.”

“Will they think that you secretly play with Dementus’s puppies if I say that?”

“What.”

That horrible demon inside Pav egged her on. “Will they think that the great and powerful Octo-”

As Dementus had beaned Smeg in the face with a bone, the Octoboss was similarly accurate when he threw his glove at Pav. It was surprisingly heavy when it smacked her in the head and fell into her lap. It was enough to silence Pav, but not enough to make her feel anything less than victorious.

“This is pointless,” snapped the Octoboss. He took back the altimeter and stuck it in a pouch, then abruptly opened the book that was on the table. “Read. Now.”

“Erm,” said Pav, reverting back to her usual subservient mode. “Just read? You don’t want to trace the letters with me?”

“You didn’t like it when I touched you earlier in the tent,” said the Octoboss dryly.

Pav blinked, not remembering what he was talking about at first. Then she recalled when he had placed his hand on her shoulder. “Oh! That was because… well, Smeg and Dementus had just been grabbing me. I’d had enough. And you didn’t ask… sir.”

“Then, may I trace the letters with you, Pav?”

Again, she was expecting the question to be a sarcastic one, but he seemed genuine. Pav nodded her head approvingly. She took out a charcoal stick, and held her hand ready for the Octoboss to wrap his hand around hers. He did so immediately, his large hand engulfing hers.

Except this time was different. He didn’t have his gloves on. The Octoboss had never held her bare hand with his.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he was also staring at their hands enveloped together. He looked up at her face. Pav returned his gaze, and her mouth opened, unsure of what to say. She had felt his hand on her before, when he had sewn her forehead back together, and when he had painted her eyes, but this was… much more intimate. Skin against skin, hands entwined together. Just like that dream, on the Octobike…

 “AND TODAY WE'RE PUTTING CONSONANTS TOGETHER!” Pav exploded, loud and abrupt enough that it gave the Octoboss a start. “Let’s begin, shall we?!”

She started tracing letters at considerable speed, the sweat on her forehead making her wound burn.

---

They worked on the letters until it was nearing lunchtime. Pav’s stomach informed her that it required a meal. She covered her stomach with her free hand, embarrassed if the Octoboss heard her stomach rumbling. But sensing her hunger- or feeling his own- he released her hand and leaned away. As he let her go, he opened and closed his hand rapidly, stretching his fingers. Pav wondered if it was cramped from the writing. But he’d never gotten a cramp during any of their other lessons…

“That’s enough for today. I’m sure you have other duties to attend to.” He sounded matter-of-fact as ever.

Pav slouched in her seat. “Ah yes, dunny digging. I’m sure the other diggers have been missing me.”

A little half-smile appeared on his face. “I’m sure they’ve missed your sunny disposition. Now get.”

Pav rose out of her chair. As was customary, she gave a little bow of courtesy. The Octoboss just regarded her with those lovely eyes. She scampered out of the tent, feeling his gaze more intensely than ever before. The bright sunshine and heat were almost a relief when she lifted the tent flap and vanished from his sight. She took a moment to adjust to the light and looked around herself. She remembered what Lizzard had said, but somehow, she wanted to wait for the right time to bring it up with the Octoboss. Particularly after how that morning had just gone with Dementus.

Some of the Mortifiers were around, repairing weapons and armour or just chatting in a circle. Very pointedly, not a single one looked up when she exited the tent. Somehow, that made Pav feel more uncomfortable than if they had all looked up and stared. Rubbing the back of her neck, Pav quickly walked away back in the direction of the latrines. She looked around herself as she did, hoping to see Mr. Harley, and intending to avoid Smeg and Dementus. But her trip back to the site was uneventful, leaving her to ponder on the morning she’d spent with the Octoboss.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen on the Horde encampment. After a long day of confusing emotions and physical toil, Pav was sitting by the fire. The youngest of the Bells, Mizzen, was sat in front of Pav’s legs while Pav attempted to wrestle with the young girl’s hair. She had somehow gotten various burrs from tumbleweeds stuck into her thick black tresses. It wasn’t dire enough to warrant cutting it all off, but Pav was well and truly frustrated as she fumbled with the comb.

Lizzard was next to Pav, grinding up some new concoction with a mortar and pestle.

“So, what’s he like?” Their voice was carefully casual, instantly making Pav suspicious.

Pav kept her eyes focused on the back of Mizzen’s head as she untangled another burr from the girl’s hair. “Who?”

Lizzard tilted their head and gave Pav a side eye that could have put the Octoboss to shame. They didn’t even bother to answer Pav’s pretend ignorance.

Pav sighed and kept brushing. “The Octoboss? He’s… intimidating.”

“Even when you and he have a roll in the hay?”

Pav nearly dropped the comb she was holding and looked at Lizzard with shock that was not feigned in the slightest. Mizzen turned her head to look between the two of them.

“What’s a roll in the hay?” she asked. “What’s hay?”

“Shh,” said Pav, and yanked out another burr. She glared at Lizzard. “I am teaching the Octoboss how to read and write. I have respectable employment.”

Lizzard looked at Pav carefully, and she knew they were searching for a sign of a lie in her eyes. “All that time in that tent alone together? You just read and write? You serious?”

Pav nodded sharply.

“Is Lizzard saying something gross?” asked Mizzen.

“Yes, yes they are,” said Pav sharply.

Lizzard sighed and scratched at some stubble on their neck before going back to grinding with the mortar and pestle. “I just think it would be real nice for the Diving Bells if the Octoboss had every possible reason to like our dear Pavlova.”

Pav choked out a sound in protest.

“‘Less we end up getting scummed like the Roobillies.” They looked up at Pav. “The thought of it can’t be so bad, can it? There must be something about him you like.”

Pav sighed, knowing Lizzard wouldn’t drop the subject unless she threw them some kind of bone. “Well… he has nice hands.” She stopped, thinking about his hand wrapped around hers. “There’s this vein along the back of his hand…”

Lizzard grinned. “Wonder where else he’s got a-”

At that point, Pav kicked the flimsy plastic leg of Lizzard’s chair. As she expected, Lizzard preferred to save the contents of the mortar and pestle over themselves, and ended up sprawled on the sand with their hands in the air. Pav found herself sputtering out a laugh at the sight, and Lizzard started cackling too. But when Pav looked up again, she fell silent.

Two men were standing right by the campfire, staring directly at Mizzen. One of them had some sort of brown sack over his face, with holes cut out for eyes. The other had goggles on. Pav couldn’t see their expressions well, but a sinking feeling came over her as she recognized the gang. An MFP- and his former prisoner.

“Can we help you?” asked Pav, placing her hands protectively on Mizzen’s shoulders.

The one with the goggles pointed at Mizzen, ignoring Pav. “Never seen you around before. How old are you?”

“Fourteen,” said Mizzen, before Pav could shush her. Next to her, Lizzard sat up- getting in a better position to reach for their gun.

“Nice hair…”murmured the other.

Unlike Lizzard, who was from the Wasteland, Pav had never seen anyone she had killed before. Whenever the oil rig had been besieged, it had been a slow-burning tension that lasted for weeks. She’d gotten up and done her chores every day, aware that one misstep could mean a sniper’s shot to the head. And when she was ordered to fire on a boat, she never saw the faces of those who fell into the sea. She didn’t want to change that now.

Pav stood up abruptly. “If you’re hungry, we have food, if you’re thirsty, we have water.”

The men might have been able to choose their baser instincts over bullets and guzzolene, but not food. Not everyone in the Horde got to eat daily. Taking their night’s rations, Pav approached the two men and pushed the food into their hands. She looked back at Lizzard for support, who was already nodding their approval.

“Eat up, mates. Come sit by the fire.” They shook a bottle of alcohol.

Pav hustled over to Mizzen, pulling her to her feet. As she did so, Lizzard gave Pav another pointed look. “You see why a little more protection wouldn’t be a bad thing?”

Pav glared, then immediately steered the girl back in the direction of the Diving Bells’ tent as fast as she could without making it obvious that they were in a rush. She occasionally glanced back behind her to see if the two men were following, but it seemed that the food tactic had worked- for now. Mizzen seemed to understand the gravity of the situation they’d just left, because she was uncharacteristically quiet.

As they walked through the darkening camp, Pav mulled over what Lizzard had said. She knew a couple of the members of the Biker Horde- men, women, both, neither, in-between- made a career out of cozying up to higher-ranking members and keeping themselves well-fed that way. She respected them for it, because quite frankly, she couldn’t do it. The idea of being a courtesan for the Octoboss wasn’t nearly as upsetting as being one for the other leaders, but still… the idea of it sat wrongly with her.

Pav wondered- did that make her selfish? She looked down at Mizzen. There had to be some other way of keeping her and the others safe.

Pav didn’t let go of Mizzen’s shoulders until they had reached the safety of their tent. Once there, Pav pulled the girl’s shawl back up over her head. She worked very hard to ensure each strand of her hair hair was tucked into it, and adjusted her clothing too, for good measure. Then Pav placed a kiss to her forehead.

Suddenly Mizzen looked behind Pav and gave a start. She put her hands on Pav’s forearms. “Um…” she said loudly, “good evening, Mr. Lord Octoboss sir.”

Pav turned around, instinctively stepping in front of Mizzen. The Octoboss was indeed standing there, almost completely invisible in his dark clothing. His motorcycle mask was off, but his horned helmet was on, making him look like some mythical creature in the dark. Had he been standing there the entire time? Or had he been following them?

Pav turned back to Mizzen and gave her a firm yet gentle push towards the tent, where she could hear the soft voices of the other Diving Bells. “Stay inside the rest of the night, do you understand?”

“Oh-okay, Pav,” said Mizzen, warily entering the tent. Ordinarily the girl hated being told what to do, but the Octoboss’s mere presence had the ability to frighten almost anyone into instant compliance. Once she was safely in the tent, Pav turned back to the Octoboss with her arms crossed. She still didn’t want him to see the bruise Dementus had given her.

The Octoboss looked in the tent’s direction. “Did something happen?”

“It’s taken care of,” said Pav quickly.

He stepped forward, forcing Pav to tilt her head up to look at him. Evidently, he had been busy the rest of today- his face was scoured with dirt, and his eyeblack had almost completely faded. He was gazing at her face searchingly, clearly not happy with her response. Despite the coolness of the night, Pav felt her cheeks begin to warm.

“Can I help you, sir? Must be important if you followed me here.”

He seemed keen to press the issue, but her accusation was enough to change the subject. “I heard you coming from a mile away.” He gestured at all the metal on her diving suit. “And I figured you’d like to hear what History Man had to say.”

Pav hadn’t expected this at all, least of all so soon. Even more surprising was the fact that the Octoboss himself had come to tell her. She felt a bit bad for her accusation now.

“What is it?”

“He said he can’t hear the voices from the flight box without ‘a radio receiver with wide range frequency’.” The Octoboss said it slowly, like he’d repeated and practiced that phrase several times to get it right.

“Oh…” Pav sighed in disappointment. “Well, thank you, but where am I supposed to find one of those?”

“You wait until we scavenge one, same as everyone else,” said the Octoboss matter-of-factly. “If you ask the Preppers for one, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Pav blinked. “The Preppers… have that kind of receiver?”

The Octoboss gave a long-suffering sigh. “Their precious garb- religious artifacts. Only Dementus gets to touch them. They don’t even know what they have, in that pile.”

Pav didn’t respond immediately, instead looking around the imposing darkness of the camp. She thought again about her conversation with Lizzard. At once, she made up her mind.

“Alright, then I’ll go borrow one for the History Man.”

The Octoboss blinked slowly, like the oil rig’s old tomcat. “Say again?”

“A radio! I’m going to borrow one from the Preppers. It’s dark now, so it’s the perfect opportunity, right?”

The Octoboss leaned even closer towards her, seeming more incredulous than angry. “You’re telling me that you’re planning on stealing?”

“Borrowing!” corrected Pav. “You can come with me, if you want to make sure I behave. And if you don’t, and I get caught, well…” she shrugged, turning away from him. “All those Old World voices, unable to be heard… so many secrets about flight… that we’ll never get to hear.” She turned back, looking up into his eyes again.

Pav wanted to look sad and forlorn, but couldn’t stop a smirk from appearing. For his part, the Octoboss seemed to be having a similar struggle- trying to look imposing and intimidating, but his eyes sparkled when she mentioned flight.

He worked his jaw. “You are… a manipulative woman.”

“Is the manipulation working?” asked Pav excitedly.

The Octoboss rolled his eyes, then abruptly walked off in the direction of the Preppers’ campsite. Pav followed, nearly skipping with joy.

---

As it turned out, the Preppers had an old camper van that they used to store precious Old World items, haphazardly tossed inside. It was out of the way of the tents, and Pav was surprised to see that it was unguarded. But as they approached, the Octoboss suddenly held out an arm, preventing her from moving forward. Then he pointed down at the ground. Pav squinted, but couldn’t make out much in the dark.

The Octoboss leaned in towards her ear, his already deep voice even lower and practically purring. His breath was warm and his voice silky against her ear. “Explosive wires. Non-lethal, but they’ll wake half the camp up.”

The shiver that ran through Pav’s body made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Her heart felt like it was pounding in her throat.

“I… oh.” She tried to find more words, but her brain felt like an engine without guzzoline.

The Octoboss straightened and took a large step. After taking a moment to gather herself, Pav followed- almost having to jump to make the same distance.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered.

Pav kept behind him, trying to step only where his footsteps were. Evidently the Octoboss’s night vision was significantly better than hers- maybe her mother had been right, always yelling at her for reading by the faintest bit of candlelight.

Once they reached the truck, the Octoboss reached into one of his pouches and removed a flashlight. When he switched it on, Pav was surprised to see that some sort of red semi-transparent material was stuck onto it, resulting in an eerie red light. He shone it into the truck and gestured for her to come closer.

“How do you know what you’re looking for?”

Pav stepped up next to him and peered into the truck, her shoulder brushing against him. The interior of the truck was absolutely littered with ancient-looking technology- most of which likely hadn’t worked since her grandfather’s time. Pav reached into the truck and picked up the closest radio she could see. She looked at it, reading the letters. It didn’t say anything about wide range or aircraft.

“I need to check each one, I think,” she muttered. She promptly shoved her arms and torso into the open window, rooting through the scattered radios there. Beside her, the Octoboss also stuck his arms through and shone the light to assist her.

“Dementus really won’t notice?” she asked, after a minute of fruitless searching.

“Not if we’re careful. Now hurry up,” he hissed.

“Well, you could help if you paid more attention to your letters…” muttered Pav.

“You seem very keen to test your luck,” said the Octoboss with enough venom that it made Pav hush up and focus on searching.

Finally, Pav found something- a very large receiver with multiple listed frequencies. It didn’t appear to have a working battery, but that would probably be easier to find than the receiver itself. Pav pulled herself out of the truck and handed it to the Octoboss when he straightened up.

“Here,” she said. “They might not even notice it’s gone. But it needs a battery.”

“Tomorrow’s problem,” said the Octoboss, shutting off the flashlight and stowing both items in his sea of pouches. He took Pav’s forearm- gently, not like Dementus had- and started leading her back over the explosive tripwires. Once they had passed them, Pav breathed a sigh of relief.

Too soon, as it turned out, because voices and flickering lights suddenly appeared from the nearby tents. Pav looked at the Octoboss in a panic- there was absolutely no sensible reason for them to be standing out here. Her mind swam, trying to think of what to do. Lizzard’s words, for some reason, were the first to pop into her head.

Pav reached up and grasped the Octoboss’s shoulders, pulling him down towards her. An old trick in every romance book that would surely work. She expected resistance, but he accepted her embrace and leaned down towards her without any hesitation. For some reason, that was the worst thing he could have done. His face was very close, and she could feel his warmth- and Pav panicked.

Abruptly, she did one of the only defensive things she knew- bending her arm and slamming the sharpest point of her elbow directly into his solar plexus.

The wind was knocked out of him, and he almost doubled over with a wheezing gasp. Pav moved to put one hand on his back just as the group emerged from around the tents. When she looked up, she was alarmed to see that it was Rizzdale Pell and some of the members of his gang. They looked between the Octoboss and Pav.

“Too much to drink!” squeaked Pav, hoping she sounded even remotely convincing. “You know how it is.” She patted the groaning Octoboss on the back. She wasn’t sure if she had really hurt him or if he was just doing a very good job of pretending to be ill.

Rizzdale rolled his one remaining eye and kept along with his group, leaving Pav and the Octoboss standing alone in the dark. After a moment, the Octoboss stood at his full height again. Pav twisted her hands together as she realized what she had just done. Made it seem like she was going in for a kiss, and then brutally elbowed him.

“Um,” she said, her previous confidence dashed.

He stepped towards her. In the dark, she couldn’t see his face, only the outline of his horns and body.

“I’m sorry, I… panicked.”

She squeaked as his gloved hand suddenly grasped her chin- not painfully, but enough that she was forced to look up at him. He leaned down so that they were eye level, lips barely a breath apart. For a second, she thought he was going to steal the kiss that she had denied him- but then he moved his head again, pressing his mouth against her ear. She could feel the curve of a smile on his lips.

“My forgiveness will be conditional.”

He released her chin and stepped away, leaving Pav standing alone in the dark.

Chapter Text

Pav slept poorly that night. She tossed and turned, and wished for some solitude so she could scream into her pillow. What kind of revenge would the Octoboss enact, exactly? For some reason, the idea of him grabbing and pinning her wrists kept popping into her head, and it made her want to slam her head against the floor. Eventually, she fell into a fitful sleep. When she woke later that morning, she went to the Octoboss’s tent for their usual lesson with a feeling of dread in her stomach. But when she arrived there, she found it empty. Moreover, the Octobike was missing, as well as a few of the other Mortifier bikes.

Pav didn’t see them for two days. Although she was incredibly shy and reserved around the remaining Mortifiers, eventually she worked up the courage to ask one what had happened. “Boss is taking care of it,” was the only reply. But they seemed anxious, and so she didn’t press the subject. Pav made herself busy with camp chores and tried to stay out of sight of the other underbosses. But as the Octoboss had stated, none of the Preppers appeared to have noticed their radio had gone missing.

On the morning of the third day, a Mortifier who Pav now knew was called Metaltail woke her and told her the Octoboss requested her immediately. Pav found herself glad to hear that he was back before the usual nervousness returned. She blearily rolled out of bed and got dressed while the Diving Bells shifted and sighed in their sleeping bags around her. It was early yet, with the grey light of dawn illuminating the inside of the tent.

Pav didn’t have anything to eat, and she wondered if that tasty stew would be provided again by the Mortifiers. But when she reached their side of the settlement, she was surprised to see only the Octobike had been made ready. One of the Mortifiers was tying something onto it, while the fully-dressed Octoboss was deep in conversation with Mr. Harley and Mr. Davidson.

As Pav approached, someone tall and clad in white suddenly stepped next to her. Pav looked up just in time to register- much to her horror- who it was, before he suddenly grabbed her hand and her waist. Pav was so stunned she didn’t even make a sound as Dementus started gliding around the sand with her, humming a song she didn’t know. She ended up grabbing onto his shoulder just so she didn’t fall over into the dirt.

“Good morning, Driving Belle!” He sounded incredibly cheerful as he spun Pav around. “And it is a good morning. What a day, what a deal!”

Everyone around them- including the Octoboss- could clearly see what was happening, but no one appeared surprised. Pav’s last interaction with Dementus had been when he threatened her in his tent, and for a moment, she was terrified that he had learned what she and the Octoboss had done. Whenever she could see the three underbosses, she gave them a horrified, pleading face. Mr. Harley just smiled and waved while Mr. Davidson clapped along to the tune.

“Such lovely news from the Octoboss today!” Dementus suddenly dipped Pav, then pulled her back up again. Pav felt more like a doll he was playing with than a dance partner. “Today, you might be able to hold your promise to me, little Belle!”

He held out his hand and indicated for her to turn. Pav did so- sometimes they had danced in the oil rig- and he pulled her back in again. “You’re going to get me a little item today that will serve you well… or…” his voice dropped several octaves, “look wonderful on your corpse.” Then his voice perked up again. “WHAT A HOOT!”

He spun her around one more time and then pushed her in the Octoboss’s direction. Pav scurried in probably a rather pathetic way to his side, and promptly hid. He had his motorcycle mask on, so she had no idea what his expression was. Dementus then strode over to the Octoboss. He looked up- up- at his horns, and poked each one individually with his finger. He did this until he suddenly drew blood, and then stepped back, sucking the new wound.

“Mm, you ever think about stabbing people with those horns of yours? Think about how funny it would be, two screaming people hanging from your helmet as you ride around the Wasteland!”

“We should be back by sundown,” said the Octoboss flatly.

Dementus rolled his eyes and elbowed Mr. Harley. “This fella…”

“Is there anything else, Boss?”

“Ooh, Ock, you’re eager! Well, so am I!” He stepped back and nodded to Pav. “Have fun with the dismemberment! I want all the gory details when you get back.”

Dismemberment? But he had walked off, whistling. Pav realized that Smeg had been standing there, watching her and the Octoboss suspiciously. Then he scurried off after the Horde leader. A Mortifier abruptly handed Pav a helmet and goggles, different from the ones she’d had days earlier. No food was on offer, however, and her stomach grumbled in complaint. Still, she nodded in thanks, but the Mortifier was already checking the tire pressure on the Octobike.

Pav put on her helmet and goggles quickly. The Octoboss mounted his bike after a few final checks. Mr. Harley kindly held out his hand again to help her on board. Pav looked at him, remembering the questions she wanted to ask about his daughter. But now was not the time. She settled between the Octoboss and the giant fan. It was only when she placed her hands on the Octoboss’s shoulders that she remembered she was also in trouble with him, not just Dementus.

Her stomach flipped as he turned on the bike and drove off. This all felt horribly wrong. Pav watched a metal pot lid spin in their wake as they left the camp behind. She held on to the Octoboss’s shoulders, hoping to mainly grip the fabric and not him. But inevitably, the motion of the bike ended up with her sliding up against his back and with her hands gripping his shoulders for dear life.

---

Pav wasn’t sure how long it was until she saw the pile. Her sense of time wasn’t what it usually was- her stomach was in knots and her head was buzzing with questions. How could she fix things? It was only the pile that brought her back to the present. She wasn’t sure what she was looking at first, leaning over the Octoboss’s shoulder to get a better look. A massive flock of crows flew up, cawing. The smell hit her not long after that.

Four bodies lay in the dirt, already stripped of outer clothing and weapons. As the Octobike slowed to a halt, the Octoboss used his feet to stop the bike just next to the corpses. The crows had already eaten the eyes and tongues, and opened up the rest of the bodies. Flies buzzed. White eggs like grains of rice were visible, and maggots writhed. Pav was suddenly grateful to not have been given any breakfast that day.

The Octoboss dismounted, stomping his foot twice on the kickstand. Rather than holding out a hand to Pav, he immediately picked her up under her arms again and deposited her onto the sand. She allowed him to do so without fuss, still staring in horror at the bodies. It was hard to discern who they were, but no tattoos or body modification from the nearby tribes were visible. The Octoboss reached into one of the tied bags on the bike, digging for something.

Suddenly, the Octoboss produced an axe and held it out to Pav. She looked up at him in confusion. He unclipped his mask, placing it on the bike seat. Most of the eyeblack was gone, but he looked tired- so tired that the shadows in his eye sockets were essentially eyeblack themselves. Rather than seeming dispassionate and immoveable, he just looked weary. Had he slept at all the past two days?

“Sir… are you alright?”

His eyes seemed to look through her. “Start dismembering these corpses.”

Pav was once again speechless. He handed her the axe. It was heavy, and the recently-sharpened edge glinted.

“Remove anything with bones. Leave the guts for the crows.”

Pav looked back down at the corpses, pale and bloated and crawling with disease. Was this part of that conditional forgiveness? But there was no cat-like smile this time, no teasing growls. The Octoboss simply looked worn out.

“I… I’ve never…”

The great benefit of dealing with corpses on an oil rig was that they simply got tossed overboard. The same had happened with Pav’s parents, and her grandfather. When they passed, they were wrapped and given to the sea. No flies, no maggots, no smell. Pav was used to some nasty business, such as cleaning latrines, but this was… had been a human being. And he wanted her to chop them up?

He seemed to recognize her apprehension. “Think of it like firewood.”

“Who were they? What happened?”

“Does it matter? They got what they deserved.”

His voice was bitter. The Octoboss pulled one of the AK-47s from his bike. Pav stepped backwards, but all he did was settle up against the Octobike and gaze around the area. He was going to be guarding her while she worked. He really expected her to do this? When she still didn’t move, he tilted his head and set his jaw, glowering.

“You said you could learn anything in the Wasteland. Now do your job.”

Pav took a shaky breath and got a better grip on the axe, looking at the body closest to her. She didn’t know what horrible wounds were the lethal injuries or the pecking from crows. She closed her eyes, and swung into a knee. The crunch was disgusting. She also hadn’t swung nearly hard enough to cleave all the way through the joint. Swallowing, she did it again. Chop, chop, chop, until the lower leg was separated.

It went, to her horror, surprisingly easily. Like chopping old dead wood for a fire. She tried not to look at the maggots, waved off the flies that landed on her face, and whimpered when she remembered what they had just touched before her. When the first one was fully dismembered, Pav moved on to the next one- it was a woman, and- more to her horror- one she recognized. One of the women who served Dementus personally. One of her eyes was still partially attached- very green and memorable. Were these… all Horde members? She looked back at the man she had just cut apart like a doll. The pile of bones and flesh, the organs.

Pav retched loudly, dropping the axe. She sank to her knees, gagging. Nothing came up but a bit of spit, but her body kept trying to force something up. Tears filled her eyes as she dry heaved. She collapsed onto her hands and knees, feeling the first tear spill down her left cheek. As she gasped, she heard movement as the Octoboss got up and moved closer to her, placing one knee on the sand. He didn’t say anything. Pav looked up at him, and his tired face was as dispassionate as ever.

“These people… they’re from the Horde. Our Horde?” she whispered.

The Octoboss looked down at them. “Not people,” he muttered. “They stole supplies, slit throats in the night.”

Pav stopped gagging, but couldn’t stop the tears from escaping and running down her cheeks. She wanted to wipe them away, but didn’t dare touch her face. Life on the oil rig had been hard, but the Wasteland made it seem like a paradise. Was this really all she could hope for the rest of her life? Tiptoeing around armed lunatics, hacking open rotting corpses, wondering if the next day would be her last? She choked on a loud sob, and turned away from the Octoboss.

She couldn’t see his face, but his voice was harsh and rasped more than usual. “If Dementus could see you now, he would make you watch the next one.”

She couldn’t find any words, so she just blubbered.

She heard him move again, and suddenly his hands were under her arms, lifting. “Don’t ever show this!” he snapped. “Don’t be weak, Pav.”

As he pulled her onto her feet, he kept his hands on her to steady her. He kept repeating it. “Don’t be weak, don’t be vulnerable, nemoj de me ĉiniŝ ranjivom…”

Pav blinked the tears from her eyes, catching a different language but not having a clue of which one. The Octoboss led her away from the pile and let her lean on the Octobike and catch her breath. When she looked back at him, he was watching her intently.

“Um,” Pav sniffled, “do you have a sort of clean bit of cloth, or…”

He reached into a pouch and pulled out a dark green bit of linen that looked surprisingly clean. It matched Pav’s green dive suit. Pav nodded her thanks before taking it and using it to clean up her face. She tucked the cloth away. Eventually her shuddering breaths became more steady. She still had three bodies to cut up. Three. She swallowed and let out a long breath.

“Okay. I’ll keep going.” She bent down to pick up the axe, sniffling one last time.

Silence stretched out as Pav dismembered the next one. She glanced up at the Octoboss to find him alternating between looking at her and scanning the horizon.

“Do you regret knowing me?” he asked suddenly.

Pav looked at him. He was still unreadable. After a long moment, she answered honestly. “I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name.”

He didn’t say anything, so she got back to chopping. As before, she managed to get into a sort of rhythm, separating the bony body parts and leaving anything goopy for the birds. A few crows landed around her, pecking at the bits she left behind. By the time she reached the fourth body, Pav was sweating in her dive suit. She pulled off her shawl and yanked her long black hair out of the way of her neck, pulling it back. Ordinarily she would take off her dive suit, but found herself too shy with the Octoboss right there.

When it was done, Pav threw down the axe, its edge now decorated with tiny shards of bone and other bits of gore. The Octoboss beckoned for her to rest against the Octobike again. She slumped against it as he took out a jar and tarps, placing the gun down. She realized he was wrapping up the parts and collecting the maggots in the jar. Ordinarily, Pav would offer help, but she had felt every blow of that axe reverberating through her body during the last corpse.

Again, the nausea came as she looked at the aftermath of her work, not during it. Pav turned away and started breathing sharply, looking at the distant horizon. No one had come to interrupt their ghastly work, which was a relief. Pav didn’t think she could stomach another dead body today. She leaned up against the bike as the Octoboss started tying the parts to the bike. Why were they even doing this? He hadn’t told her. Normally bodies were piled up and burned, not chopped up.

“You did well,” he said.

Pav just nodded glumly, not finding his approval as exciting as she usually did.

He leaned up against the bike with her. For a while, they stood in another long silence, only interrupted by the caws of the crows.

“Did your grandfather name you?”

Pav looked at him. “Yes, he did. He said ‘Pavlova’ was a sugary food in the old days.”

He nodded. “My mother gave me my name. Dragomir.”

“Oh,” said Pav, suddenly remembering what she’d said earlier. “What does that mean?”

The Octoboss put his motorcycle mask back on. “I don’t know.”

Pav rolled over the name in her head. It suited him. It sounded a bit like ‘dragon’, after all. She wondered who else in the Horde knew his name. “It’s a lot nicer than ‘Smeg’, that’s for sure.”

A little sound, like a chuckle, came from him. But then he slapped the side of the Octobike and mounted it. “Let’s go. The worst is done, but you still have work to do.”

Pav gave him an appalled look as he pulled her back onto the Octobike and started the engine.

Chapter Text

Drago hadn’t had much time to think about his almost-kiss with Pavlova.

He’d already gotten little sleep that night, full of conflicting emotions. Feeling like a fool for misreading the situation, anger at the (well-placed) strike to his solar plexus, and above all, confusion. He was not a person who experienced attraction often, he’d realized long ago. Sometimes he forgot he could feel it at all. He could only think of two people in his life that had set his heart racing. That beautiful man with the blue eyes he’d once met by the sea, who made the ocean itself seem dull and colourless. The woman with soft lips and a scar on her left temple, whose gravelly voice had made his ears thrum.

Circumstances and the hardships of the Wasteland meant little had come of those meetings. Drago had tried with others, more out of loneliness than anything else, but it somehow always felt like he was forcing it. Inevitably, his duties and the dangers of surviving day by day meant that even his desires eventually faded to the back of his mind. Years passed. And then- her.

Drago had noticed her immediately the day that the Horde had captured the Diving Bells. He hadn’t even realized it at the time. But when they were all on their knees, him walking back and forth with his mallet in hand, he had glanced back at Pav multiple times. Thick, long black hair that fell in waves. The birthmark under her left eye. He hadn’t even realized that he’d give her so many glances until the day he saw and recognized her in his tent. The one that she had so stupidly wandered into. He was incredulous that someone could be so smart and so incredibly clueless at the same time.

Her face had haunted the back of his mind ever since. Drago had no idea what she thought about him. She seemed frightened of him when she wasn’t trying to get a rise out of him. He didn’t know how much of her bumbling was due to genuine fear or else… well, he had started to hope it was something else. The way her bare hand had perfectly fit into his when they wrote together. The looks and little gasps. That night they stole from the Preppers, his emotions were high, he thought she was going in, and…

And then he hadn’t been able to think of it again, because one of his Mortifiers, Sable, had burst into his tent. Tears running down his face, wailing, ‘she’s dead, she’s dead’. Drago had only stopped to grab a weapon and his helmet as he’d thundered out after Sable in the dead of night. But he had been too late- one of his own Mortifiers, Ember, and a member of Banditry and Brotherhood- Hilly, he thought he was called- had had their throats slit from behind while on guard duty. Guzzolene and water, stolen.

Dementus had also been awoken and brought to the scene. Told Sable to keep a lid on it as the Mortifier held Ember and rocked back and forth, choking on his grief. It reminded Drago of years ago, when Mr. Harley had held his daughter’s body and screamed and screamed. Drago had bent to hold Sable, shushing him, eventually letting him sob silently into his shoulder while Dementus urgently spoke with the other underbosses. It was decided that this shouldn’t get out. No sense in letting the rest of the Horde get any ideas. A small group would be sent out to catch the killers.

Drago was the first to volunteer to lead it, still holding Sable as he wept. The two bodies would be quietly buried a way from camp, under one of the dead trees. Drago would have stayed to be with Sable when they buried Ember, but they had to track the killers while the bodies were still warm. He promised to visit her grave upon his return. It was assumed the group of killers was small, so Drago only took six with him. Unusually, he only brought one Mortifier. The rest were of different gangs from the Horde. He wanted them to watch, and know the ruthlessness of what happened to those who betrayed the Horde. Years ago, he would have shown mercy. But every time he’d tried to be the better man, he had lost much. Now he only showed mercy to himself and his loved ones- with unforgiving brutality to everyone else.

The four thieves had not planned their escape well. In less than a day, Drago and the others had caught up to them. It took longer to end them.

As Drago glanced down at the body parts loaded onto the Octobike, he was grateful that Pav had not noticed- or at least commented on- the piles of sticks not far from where the bodies lay. Her focus was fully on the corpses, not the remnants of the St. Andrews crosses from which the perpetrators had been bound and tortured. Drago had gotten every piece of information he’d desired out of them- including the identity of the one who had slit Ember’s throat and not even given her a chance to fight back. All of them had lingered, but that one- he made sure she lingered the longest.

Eventually, Pav would need to face that reality of the Wasteland as well. But considering she was about ready to paint his Octobike with last night’s dinner, Drago decided that would be a lesson for another day. With his Mortifiers, he often comforted them with a pat or other gentle touch, but touching Pav set his nerves ablaze. Bad enough that every time he lifted her off or onto the Octobike, his back always got sweaty worrying that he would put his hands too forward towards her chest by accident. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was some lecher like Dementus.

And he did care what she thought of him, tremendously. Normally, that fact irritated Drago to no end. But for now, he was tired. Mentally, physically, emotionally. It was making things slip out. He needed to finish the task at hand, then go home and get some rest. He hadn’t visited Ember’s grave yet, either- he wanted to be sure he had time to properly pay his respects.

They drove most of the way back to the Horde encampment, the Octobike's engine roaring in his ears. Drago felt Pav’s hands on his shoulders. He thought of how long and elegant her fingers were, how suited they seemed to be for writing. He was just grateful her sea-suit was so baggy. He had already felt the sweat gathering on his neck when she’d pulled her hair out of her shawl earlier. If her suit was tighter, he’d have an even more difficult time. Although the suit itself did leave a lot to the imagination…

Drago blinked rapidly and bit his tongue. Painfully. He prided himself on being controlled and measured with his emotions. While Dementus blathered and experienced sixteen different mood swings over a single conversation, he was the calm and collected lieutenant who put fear into the Horde. And here he was, acting like a teenager. Worse than when he was a teenager. Over a woman who had only just barely stopped being an outsider to him. It would probably be better if he drew away, but he didn’t like that thought. Besides, she had to learn how to fend for herself in the Wasteland, and that would be best done if she was by his side.

Drago cursed himself for his romantic delusions for the rest of the ride. When they neared the Horde encampment, rather than heading towards it, he veered left as he’d been instructed and continued for another hour. Pav was starting to slump against his back, her head between his shoulder blades. He tried not to think about it too much and wondered if she was exhausted. Cutting up bodies was no small amount of work, even for a labourer such as herself.

The sun was starting to get low in the sky when they reached it. A single lone, large tent next to a dead tree. As the Octobike came to a halt and Drago struggled to rein his old girl in, two sharp caws told him he was in the right place. As he struggled with his kickstand, wings flapped from the dead tree. A two-headed crow watched the new arrivals with four glimmering, beady eyes.

As usual, Drago dismounted the bike first. He held out his hand for Pav. She seemed to have composed herself again during the ride. She took it, and as always, he wondered at how delicate her touch was. As she dismounted the bike, he realized how thirsty she had to be. He’d been too worried about her immediately wasting water by vomiting it up at the kill site, but now he offered her a canteen.

“Thank you,” she said. She always thanked him, he’d noticed. So polite. Too polite.

As she sipped from the canteen, her eyes were fixated on the two-headed crow. “I’ve seen more two-headed fish than regular ones, but never a crow!”

She sounded so excited that he couldn’t help but feed her curiosity. “They’re called Edgar and Allan.”

Pav blinked. “They have names?”

Drago nodded. “There was a ‘Poe’ but that head shrivelled up and died.”

Pav handed the canteen back to Drago. He tried not to think of the fact that her mouth had just been on it as he sipped from it himself.

“You know these crows?”

“I know their owner. Are you able to help me carry these into the tent?”

Pav looked down and nodded. “Yeah. I can’t see them like this.”

Drago decided not to comment on what Pav was about to witness. He just nodded his approval as she picked up one of the wrappings in her arms.

“Leave them by the entrance to the tent. Let me go in first.”

She looked so curious. Curious all the time, such an inquiring mind. Drago wished he could bring her to listen to the History Man. He was sure she’d enjoy it. As Pav carried and dragged the tarps to the tent entrance, Drago approached it warily. He knew Lammergeier wasn’t going to attack- Edgar and Allan hadn’t sounded the warning alarm- but he didn’t know Pav, and so Drago didn’t want her poking her curious little head in first.

Drago took heavy footsteps. Even though Lammergeier was absolutely aware of their presence, sneaking up on someone unintentionally was a death sentence in the Wasteland. He opened the tent flap slowly. Lammergeier sat cross-legged on the floor, his face mostly covered by a motorcycle helmet decorated with black feathers and shards of human bone. Black ink stained his lips, and he showed sharp yellowed teeth when he smiled widely.

“Drago!” he cried. “Trick or treat! MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

Drago was used to not understanding half the words out of the man’s mouth. “I have another with me.”

“Yes, I heard how intrigued the boys were. Come in!”

Drago held open the tent flap so Pav could drag in the tarps. She looked between Drago and Lammergeier in confusion. Behind Lammergeier was a cart, with an enormous variety of knick-knacks that looked mainly like junk but hid a few treasures. Drago nodded at her gently. Lammergeier was ostensibly weird even by Wasteland standards, but he wouldn’t hurt Pav. She dragged the tarps over to him, and then stopped, breathing hard.

“Um… hi. I’m Pavlova.” She wrung her hands together.

“A very saccharine name. Sweet, sugary… cloying.” He waved at both of them to sit.

Drago sat, leaned forward, and unwrapped one of the tarps, revealing the limbs. He couldn’t see Lammergeier’s eyes, but he knew the look of predatory glee he would get in them. The older man's jaw trembled and saliva dripped out of his mouth. At once, Lammergeier grabbed an arm and started smashing it on a nearby anvil. With each blow, Drago felt Pav jerk in fear. He didn’t want her to run out of the tent, so he placed a hand gently on her elbow.

Once the arm had been split in half, Pav watched in horror- and Drago in boredom- as Lammergeier starting sucking the marrow out of the bones, gnawing on the spongy material inside. The sounds were at once fascinating and horrific. Pav inched closer to Drago as Lammergeier repeated the process with a different arm, going after the marrow like a man possessed.

Lammergeier was a merchant of sorts, who wasn’t part of the Horde but tended to wander near it on occasion. Dementus tolerated him because he could get highly unusual items whenever he disappeared for lengths of time, and his demands were very simple. He liked the marrow. Drago wasn’t sure what the source of this furious fixation was, nor did he really want to know. But the benefits of slaughtering foolish raiders or disgusting traitors was that it gave them a bargaining chip that Lammergeier could never refuse.

By the time Lammergeier had sated his bloodthirst, Pav was up against Drago’s arm. She didn’t appear to notice just how close she’d gotten, but a warm feeling grew in his chest. As the broken bones clattered to the floor, Lammergeier seemed to compose himself and turned his attention to Drago and Pav once again. He smacked his lips.

“Four bodies,” said Drago matter-of-factly.

“Mm, and what delightful death knells were inflicted upon them!” Lammergeier lifted a femur with surprising ease and pointed out a wound to Pav. “Here, you can see the point of entry, where-”

“Lithium battery,” interrupted Drago sharply. “And that ‘record player’.”

Lammergeier gave an outraged harumph. “And do you want to drain my blood until I’m blue and cold as well?! The lithium battery alone… mmm, I’m not sure just four bodies is going to whet my whistle.”

Pav drew her limbs closer to herself and tried to hide behind Drago.

“Oh, no, my dear, I only feast from the ones who have gone to see the Ferryman. No, no… something else.”

Drago ground his jaw. “Four isn’t enough?”

Lammergeier spread his arms. They were pockmarked. “The record player- well, only your painted Roman emperor would really want that, but a lithium battery is worth a journey to the underworld. I like you, young Drago, but just marrow won’t keep the skin from my bones.”

Drago blinked rapidly, his irritation rising. Surely this would be enough corpses to sate the man’s bloodlust for days. Of course, he had a great deal of implements in his pouches, but he wasn’t ready to part with any of them.

But next to him, Pav stirred. “I have something.”

Her diving suit didn’t have nearly as many pouches as his flight suit, but she reached into one on her hip and pulled something out. It looked to be a watch that worked- already something unique and valuable in the Wasteland- but it was much thicker in make and had more than just the time on its face. Pav held it towards Lammergeier.

“It’s a dive watch. It lights up and can survive pretty much anything.”

Lammergeier made a delighted sound and took it from her immediately. “Precious, important, rare… yes, yes!” He leapt to his feet with surprising athleticism and went to his cart immediately. A loud cacophony erupted as he searched for the requested items.

Drago looked at Pav, wondering if this was some precious heirloom that she was loathe to part with, but he found her difficult to read. She felt him looking at her and returned his gaze. She was still up against his arm. He opened his mouth to speak, but then something clattered to the ground in front of them. Drago saw it was a piece of metal twisted into the shape of a flower. He picked it up with two fingers, gazing at it.

“Lammergeier?” He called over the clanging. “I want this too.”

“What? Oh, take it, take it!” More clanging. “Now go hide away in your tent!”

Drago straightened, unintentionally making Pav lean away from him. “Why?”

“Ten plagues! Four Horsemen!”

Drago stood and tore the tent flap open. Across the horizon, to the east, there was a sandstorm bearing down on them.

Chapter Text

Drago burst back into the tent, grabbing Pav by the arm and hauling her up. There was no way in hell he was going to share the tent with Lammergeier’s slurping and gnashing for the whole storm, so he wanted to set up the emergency tent on the Octobike as soon as possible. He dragged Pav by the arm back outside despite her protests. The two-headed crow cawed a warning as Drago stormed back towards the Octobike.

Pav was slow on the uptake, stumbling along as she looked at the oncoming storm. Drago released her arm and began the process of unfolding the tent and all its pegs. He threw down the heavy metal rods on the sand on the sheltered side of the Octobike and let the tent- really more of a king-sized bedsheet- billow out over the bike and its fan.

Finally, Pav broke out of her stupor and started helping. He knew she’d tied down cargo and the Diving Bells’ tent during storms, so Drago was confident that he didn’t have to tell her what to do. She drove the tent pegs into the sand as deep as she could, using a small hammer from her pockets to beat them down into the dirt. Despite her thin frame, she was surprisingly strong. Drago had thought she was as fragile as glass when he’d first lifted her.

The storm was bearing down on them now. Pav’s hair was whipping across her face. Edgar and Allan gave a shriek before taking off and fluttering into Lammergeier’s tent. Drago secured everything stored away on his bike before dropping down to his knees and checking the integrity of the tent pegs. Pav struggled to stand up as the wind howled, pushing her hair out of her eyes with her hands.

“Get in!” Drago shouted.

Pav bent down and crawled into the tent. The sheet mainly covered the Octobike, not leaving very much room within. Drago had never really intended for more than two closely nestled people to need to be covered by the bike. It hadn’t been a problem in the past, with his injured Mortifiers or, one occasion, the History Man- although that ancient wizard snored enough to wake the dead. But now, he was in a very small space with a person that he struggled to just sit next to.

Pav also looked uneasy. Despite the wind howling outside, it seemed uncomfortably quiet in their little shelter. She was up against the Octobike, with Drago near the tent pegs. Drago still had the dull ache in his stomach from when she’d elbowed him. A cat-like smile appeared on his lips. Despite his own growing nervousness, his voice was solid as granite.

“If you don’t like it, you can share with the Bone Man.”

Pav’s expression twisted into disgust and fear. She unwrapped her head shawl completely and placed it onto the sand, then curled up with her head on it. Despite her fetal position, her deep brown eyes were wide and she watched Drago like one might watch a hungry dingo. Drago realized with a start that she had much more reason to be worried than he was. He had her cornered and alone, far away from help. He was probably genuinely frightening her.

He cleared his throat as he removed his horned helmet, setting it next to the Octobike. Drago turned completely away from Pav, using his right arm as a pillow. It was uncomfortable, and turning his back on someone went against everything he knew. But he didn’t want her to become even more afraid. He liked to tease her with a little intimidation, liked how her eyes went wide and how he could see her throat tremble when she swallowed. But this was different.

Drago could hear Pav’s breathing, rapid and shallow. But as he lay there, he heard her breathing start to become deeper and more even. He felt himself become more relaxed. It had been days since he’d had a full night of sleep. Before he knew it, he was out cold. He didn’t even realize until he opened his eyes again. The storm was still overhead, and his right arm was completely numb. He jerked up, left hand flying to his weapons. Behind him, Pav squeaked.

Drago turned around to look at her. She was still curled up, although at one point she had stretched out one leg and bent up the other close to her head. It looked like the world’s most uncomfortable sleeping position. She was still staring at him with her huge dark eyes, barely blinking.

“How long was I out?” He rubbed his face, frustrated that he’d fallen asleep so easily.

“A few hours, I think,” said Pav quietly. “I couldn’t sleep, though.”

Drago properly turned around so that he could lie down and look at her, as well as let the blood flow back into his right arm. Pav seemed on edge, still, but he didn’t think she was like a cornered animal ready to lash out anymore. The storm beat around them, but the tent pegs and the bike held securely. They looked at each other, and the silence between them was heavy. Drago wasn’t sure if it was because he’d just been asleep, but he felt less nervous now.

“Go back to sleep,” she said softly. “You need it.”

Drago so liked her voice. He loved how gentle it was, when she read to him. Even that little trill it got when she went all high-pitched when she was emotional. Not harsh and braying like Dementus’s seagull caw. There was a measure of innocence in it that relaxed him. Just looking at her felt calming. His eyes started to drift shut again.

---

Pav was stiff as a board those few hours in the tent. She had never been caught out in the open in a Wasteland sandstorm before. She wondered how irradiated the sand blowing at them was, if the wind would rip her apart as soon as she stepped out into it. Once the Octoboss was asleep, she managed to uncurl a bit and get into her favourite sleeping position. But sleep would not come. Even though there was certainly no way anyone could sneak up and attack them, Pav could not find rest. She thought of the bodies, of Lammergeier eating their bone marrow. And in front of her, the large frame of the Octoboss.

She was curious enough to want to lean over to look at him, to see what his face looked like when he slept. He snored very gently, his breathing deep. But then she thought of what would happen if he opened his eyes while she was bent over him and thought better of it. Instead, Pav looked at his broad shoulders, his long limbs. His black cape was bunched up on the floor, so she could see the entirety of his back. When her eyes wandered down to his hips, the words, ‘That’ll work for me’ popped into her head unbidden.

Blushing, Pav buried her face into her shawl. She wondered how few people had seen the Octoboss fall asleep. Did he ever… share a bed with anyone else? Pav had never seen anyone else in his tent except for Mortifiers giving reports and Dementus’s message-runners, usually in a state of hand-wringing. Nor had she seen him being affectionate with anyone. Maybe he had someone in a place the Horde usually stopped, like that bone man? How would she even begin to find that out? There was no way Pav would ask him personally. She also found she was afraid of the answer, if he did have someone. Why did she care so much?

When he woke up, she went still again. Even though the Octoboss had never been lecherous or else made her feel unsafe, they were alone and isolated. Pav knew how women could be treated in other gangs. Some of the people on the oil rig- mostly men, but even one woman- had tried to make life that way, but they had never succeeded. As far as Pav knew, no one had ever hurt one of her Diving Bells in the Horde. But she knew, first hand, that people were different when they thought no one was watching.

But the Octoboss- Dragomir- just looked at her before falling asleep again. Now she could see his face as he slept. She looked at the veins along his neck and under his eyes. The soft lines that indicated his age. Soft lips. Strong cheekbones. The urge to reach out and brush his cheek appeared, but Pav didn’t dare move. Even though she wanted desperately to feel how prickly his beard was. She realized that she liked… everything about his face. It was so unique. She’d never seen anyone who looked like him. He was beautiful.

He stirred, and Pav looked away. When the Octoboss opened his eyes, she looked back at him. They looked more grey than blue in the dim light. The storm showed no signs of letting up, and Pav didn’t even have a book to occupy herself. The silence was starting to get to her, so she thought of something, anything to say.

“Thanks,” said Pav.

Dragomir blinked. “For what?”

“For not… well, you’re…” She realized she might have made a mistake by opening with that. “We’re alone, together, and… you could have…”

Rage twisted the features of the Octoboss, effectively silencing her. “You shouldn’t thank me for that. You shouldn’t thank anyone for that. I am not an animal.”

His voice was even more raspy than usual, and Pav found herself grasping at straws for any answer to defuse the situation. But the Octoboss continued.

“If anyone ever tries to do that- to you, or the other Bells- you tell me. Has anyone in the Horde done that?”

His voice was strained- was he afraid? But Pav was quick to mollify him. “No, no one has- no. I mean, people get pistol whipped for not working hard enough, but never… never that.”

The relief was evident on Dragomir’s face, and he seemed grimly satisfied. He shifted into a more comfortable position. Pav didn’t want to leave it there, so she tried again.

“I wasn’t… trying to say you would do that. It just seems like… what you just said, that’s not a very common attitude in the Wasteland.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “You might be surprised to learn Dementus feels very strongly about it.”

Pav was surprised. Dementus didn’t seem like the type of person who cared about a person’s bodily autonomy very much. But then… in the tent, he’d grabbed her arm and threatened her life, not anything else. Even though, like the Octoboss, he could have.

The Octoboss grunted. “He doesn’t tolerate it.”

It was possibly the only time Pav had heard any grudging respect in Dragomir’s voice, when it came to Dementus. She thought about what an odd pair they were. They had absolutely nothing in common, and the Octoboss often seemed irritated with him. Yet he still followed him and never seemed to question his authority. Pav wondered why, but again, she highly doubted the Octoboss would approve of her asking questions about Horde politics. She also wondered why the two of them seemed to care so deeply about such things. Whenever she spent time with Dragomir, she had more questions than answers.

“Well, I’m glad,” said Pav softly.

For a moment, the Octoboss started to smile, but then his face became serious again. “That doesn’t mean this is a gentle place.”

“No, no… I didn’t think it did.”

Another moment of silence.

“Was the oil rig gentle?” Dragomir asked after a while.

Pav propped her head up on her hand, thinking. “Well… yes and no. All sorts of terrible things happened. Machine accidents. Storms. Drowning. Radiation poisoning. The uh… diving risks I told you about. But it wasn’t… like this.”

“Mm. Good. The Wasteland kills anything too gentle.”

It seemed an odd thing to be satisfied about. But Pav worked up the courage to fire off her own question. “What about you? Where did you grow up?”

Dragomir seemed more surprised than offended. Pav hoped it had been an innocuous enough question to be seen as such. He was thoughtful for a moment. “Many places. I was always moving around with my family.”

“Family?” asked Pav softly. She decided to throw in more about herself. “I had… my mom and dad, as well as my grandpa.”

He started tracing a circle in the sand with one gloved finger. “My grandma. And my mother.”

The Octoboss shut his eyes then, and the pain was evident in his features. Pav felt terrible for bringing it up, but she wanted to know more about him. Socializing had never been one of her strong skills, so she was fighting for another topic to bring up. Eventually her mouth moved faster than her brain, and a potentially terrible sentence popped out.

“I’m sorry, but… they must be where you got your good looks from!”

He opened his eyes again, and Pav’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. She was so afraid he might get angry, but instead she thought his cheeks turned the faintest hint of pink. It was difficult to tell in the dim light. But then he smiled again.

“You have good taste.”

The confident comeback took Pav off guard completely. She flailed for a response, but came up empty.

He looked down for a moment, then back up at her face. “You probably get told you’re beautiful every day.”

“HUH?”

Pav sat up so fast she nearly banged her head off the Octobike. The Octoboss’s smile dropped completely as he also leaned up onto his forearms. He looked alarmed, confused, frustrated.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t, I just uh…” Pav rubbed her hand over her hair. “I just wasn’t expecting…”

He sighed and lowered himself back down onto the sand, turning away from her. “Well, I won’t say it again. No point in repeating the obvious, anyway.”

Pav felt she had done something wrong, but wasn’t entirely sure what. She waited to see if the Octoboss would say anything else, but he was silent. She rolled onto her back and let out a long breath. It had to be night time, now, so she tried to get some sleep.

Chapter Text

When Pav woke up in the morning, she rolled over and looked at the patched sheet of the tent, feeling surprisingly warm and peaceful. It was a moment before she realized there was supposed to be an Octoboss where she was facing, not just empty fabric. She sat up suddenly. It was dead silent, with not a hint of wind. Although sand had piled up around the tent, there was a gap where Dragomir had dug his way out and left. Pav rubbed the dust out of her dry eyes and immediately climbed out of the tent.

She shielded her eyes against the light of the sun. The sky was bright and cloudless with no indication of the storm that had passed yesterday evening. As Pav’s eyes adjusted, she heard the hacking caw of the two-headed crow. She looked up at the dead tree on which they sat. One head gnawed on a pink bone- a human one- while the other watched her with impassive eyes.

The Bone Man’s tent opened and Dragomir strode out, his helmet in one arm and a strange contraption in the other. He had reapplied his eyeblack and seemed less tired, but his face was lined with some other negative emotion that Pav couldn’t quite recognize. He stormed over to the Octobike with such intensity that Pav immediately dropped to the ground and started removing the tent pegs to be useful. He set the contraption on the bike and put his helmet on. Pav could feel him looking at her, but he remained silent. She felt her cheeks burning as she worked.

Once she gathered the tent pegs, she stood again and held them out to the Octoboss. His gaze was disarming. His eyes were large, mouth set in a grim line. He hadn’t looked at Pav so searingly since that day with the metal birds. Rather than taking the tent pegs, he suddenly leaned over so that his face was inches from hers. He snatched her chin in his gloved hand and turned her head left and right. His other hand came around and gripped the back of her head, his fist in her hair. He wasn’t hurting her, but she had no chance of escape. Pav nearly dropped the tent pegs and grabbed his wrist with her other hand.

“What are you-”

“Those stitches look ready to come out,” he said bluntly. “Sit.”

Pav had nearly forgotten about the stitches he’d given her on her forehead. The pain had faded to a dull ache days ago. Still, it seemed like an odd time to do it. The Octoboss released her chin and face, taking the tent pegs away. He wrapped the contraption in the sheet and stowed the pegs, tying it to the bike with precision that came from years of practice. When he turned back and saw her still standing there dumbly, he loomed over her and rasped with emphasis.

“I. Said. SIT.”

Pav dropped to the ground like a rock, her legs turned to jelly. Was this because of last night? She tried to think of how she’d offended him. Dragomir kneeled in front of her, removed his black gloves, and produced a pair of small scissors from a pouch. He held her by the jaw this time, and Pav felt her lips being pushed into a pout. He leaned in very closely and began to snip at the thread, tossing the bits to the ground. He was gentle with the scissors, and Pav felt nothing but his hand on her skin. He seemed to lean closer and closer with each cut, until his mouth was just an inch or two away from hers. Pav felt something coiling in her stomach. His eyes were fully focused on his work, so she tried to look at those instead of his well-formed lips. His pupils seemed small. Like a predator’s.

When he finished and put the scissors away, he didn’t lean away again. Instead, the Octoboss looked at her mouth closely. Pav suddenly wondered if he was going to slam her down into the sand, climb on top, and kiss her. The thought should have terrified her, but she found herself leaning just a half breath to him, her stomach doing backflips. But he stopped her approach with his hand. He tilted his head. The smallest cat-like smile appeared on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Pav thought she could see a bead of sweat appear on his forehead.

“How bold of you,” he murmured. Then he let her go, and stood.

Pav was left sitting there, astronomically baffled and heart pounding as Dragomir made the Octobike ready. She placed her fingers on her lips, then reached up and touched the healing scar on her forehead, feeling the texture of it. She was still trying to process everything that had just happened when Dragomir walked up to her again. She looked from his boots, to his long legs, to his stomach and chest, and finally his head. He had put his mask on, but not the veil. She felt very small.

“Lammergeier wants to give you the lithium battery personally.”

“Oh.” She still just sat there.

“If I may.”

He bent down, put his hands under her arms, and lifted her to her feet. He’d done it so many times by now that Pav was getting used to it, but her legs were so weak that she found herself putting her hands on his chest to steady herself. She was glad he’d put his mask on, because the completely insane thought of leaning up and kissing him popped into her head. She thought for sure that her brain had to be malfunctioning. Maybe it was the stress of the dismemberment yesterday. Pav looked up into his eyes again, then back down, afraid of how her body might react. He let her steady herself, then released her and gently pushed her in the direction of the tent. His voice was rough.

“Don’t take too long… he might get hungry.”

Pav walked towards the tent feeling a bit like she was dreaming. She looked back once and saw Dragomir leaning over the Octobike, hands white-knuckled. She quickly turned back and entered the tent. The whole situation had left her so flustered that she completely forgot what was coming. She was greeted by the sight of Lammergeier horrifically feasting on the marrow of an entire rib cage. He was bent over it, gnawing like a starving wolf. He stopped and raised his head, smiling with blackened teeth. Pav saw his eyes for the first time and realized that the whites were completely jaundiced.

“Ah! I hope you slept peacefully. I couldn’t sleep, thinking about whether this one was a fast bleeder… or a slow bleeder.”

He stroked the rib bones lovingly. Pav just stared at him.

“Anyway, here is your radio, little Bell.” He pointed down at the radio that she and the Octoboss had stolen. “I had the right sort of battery. Make sure Smeg can’t recognize it.” He looked at her with intrigue. “Such lovely bone structure. I can put your bones to good use, after you die.”

Pav gingerly bent down and took the radio, half-expecting him to grab her and start chewing on her hand. She cradled the radio like a baby as Lammergeier went back to his feasting. She heard how his teeth ground against the bone, the slurping as he removed the marrow. Slowly, she backed away to the entrance of the tent.

“Um… thank you… very much.”

“Do come back! I so rarely get visitors!”

Pav scurried out of the tent, radio in hand. Dragomir was waiting for her on the Octobike, with veil and gloves on. He tapped a handlebar impatiently as she approached, holding out a hand to pull her onto the bike. But Pav thought about what Lammergeier had said when she looked back down at the radio. It was the only sensible thing that had come out of his mouth. She looked back up at the Octoboss, finding it easier to look at him now that his gaze was hidden.

“Did you send me in there on purpose?” she asked sharply.

His voice was completely flat. “Your accusations wound me. Now get on the bike.”

“Wait… just wait, a little bit.” She pulled out her dive knife.

“Decided to end me?” he asked, sounding bored.

“What? No!”

“Such a relief.”

Pav sighed and used her knife to carve lines into the radio, scratching at some letters and generally making the radio look more damaged. She was careful not to cut too deeply- just enough that it didn’t exactly resemble the radio they had stolen. When she was satisfied, she tucked her knife back away and held it out to the Octoboss to examine. He looked at it, but his expression was entirely unreadable.

“Good,” he said, but didn’t sound sarcastic.

He reached over and yanked her onto the bike. Pav managed to swing her leg high enough and just got her seat as he turned the engine over. She scrambled to pull her goggles down and her shawl up over her mouth and nose as he took off, leaving the tent and the cawing crows behind. Pav looked back one last time at the tent and the two-headed crow, wondering if she would see them again.

---

When they arrived back at the Horde camp, the Octoboss took the contraption from his bike and walked with Pav to Dementus’s tent, which was surprisingly empty. The camp was bustling, chores being done that likely hadn’t been able to be finished during the storm. Dragomir removed his veil, mask, and helmet before entering the massive tent at the center of the camp. Pav looked around as he placed the contraption on a table and motioned for Pav to sit by it. She did so, and he sat next to her.

Complete silence. Pav shifted uncomfortably. Dragomir still seemed to be in a very strange mood. The flight recorder was on the ground by their feet, and he was gazing into it like it held all the knowledge of the entire world. Pav was suddenly very anxious that it wouldn’t work, and he’d be even more disappointed. She felt the urge to speak up.

“Um, sir?”

The Octoboss broke out of his daze, and turned and regarded her.

“If I offended you, last night… I’m sorry.” Pav twisted her fingers together.

His eyes were cold. “You didn’t offend me. I just don’t understand what you want.”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem interested in me, then you pull away. Hard. Then you act interested again. It’s bloody confusing, being toyed with.”

Pav hadn’t meant to do that at all, but she realized that her behaviour, externally, probably looked like she was being a terrible tease. She opened her mouth, and panic flooded her mind. She didn’t do well with conversations like this, and she was surprised he was immediately so open with her.

“Is this a game to you?”

“No! It’s not!”

“Then what do you want?”

The pressure made Pav’s head hurt. What did she want? She couldn’t deny that she found Dragomir very attractive, but she didn’t want to just… act on that feeling, with nothing else. She didn’t know what kind of person he really was. But was she supposed to jump into bed with him, to ensure safety for the Diving Bells? There was no way she could have a normal relationship with a warlord. He probably wouldn’t even want one. She didn’t know how to verbalize it all. Her gaze fell, and she found herself speechless.

Dragomir glared at her. “If you want to play games, I can play them right back.”

The tent flap opened and Dementus came in, with the History Man and dogs just behind him. Smeg scurried along just behind, and looked at Pav and the Octoboss with visible suspicion. Despite their tense conversation, Pav inched closer to the Octoboss when the dogs came up to her, sniffing.

“SO!” said Dementus, incredibly loud in the small space. “Got stuck in the storm with one bike, hmm? Must have been a… pleasant night for the both of you.”

The timing of that particular comment was appalling. Pav’s face was on fire. She knew there was no point in denying it. She and the Octoboss had spent the night, alone, together. Protesting would just make it worse. No one would ever believe her that nothing happened, except maybe Lizzard. Unfortunately, her evident embarrassment only egged Dementus on.

“No, no words needed, Driving Belle. That blush says it all! Although I am curious.” He leaned down towards Pav. “What is he like in bed? He’s so private, so dull, he seems so… dispassionate.”

He was muttering it to her as if the Octoboss wasn’t sitting literally right next to her.

“I… he… he’s right there!” she exploded.

“Ah, good point! I should ask him!” He turned and looked at Dragomir. “So, how are you in the sack?”

Pav looked at the Octoboss. His face was positively stony now, like he had been chiseled from marble. It was a different kind of anger than the one he’d shown to her earlier- like something he was confident in dealing with. Dementus probably made everyone’s personal business his own entertainment. Dragomir looked at Dementus evenly, and responded like he was talking about the weather.

“Never had a complaint.”

Pav covered her face with her hands as Dementus clapped and stood back up straight again. “Good answer! See, that’s what I like to hear! Now, you had no trouble getting my gifts, I see. SMEG!”

Smeg scrambled on all fours to the other side of the tent, opening a trunk. There were thin, square cases inside. He removed one and came back to Dementus’s side, presenting it like a trophy. Dementus reached inside, removed a slim black circle, and placed it on the contraption. Pav watched in fascination as he lowered a needle onto it. After a scraping sound, rich orchestral music began. It was a thundering symphony, and Dementus began waving his hands in the air rhythmically.

“Marvelous! Delightful! SMEG! Dance for me IMMEDIATELY! DO NOT STOP.”

Smeg danced with such insane passion that Pav couldn’t help but stare at him. Dementus wrapped his arms around the Octoboss’s shoulders and swayed side to side, humming. The Octoboss, meanwhile, had a facial expression like he was considering suicide. Pav looked over at the History Man and was relieved to see that he was acting normally- bent over the flight recorder, adjusting some dials. She got out of her chair and slid down to the ground next to him, providing the radio from a pocket.

He took the radio from her, and Pav looked in wonder at his wrinkled hands. How few people were there left, as old as he was? Even the way he smelled reminded her so much of her grandfather. She found herself scooting closer to him, away from the madness that had been caused by the new musical contraption. She watched as the History Man turned on the radio, adjusting the dials. One of the dogs sniffed Pav again, and she froze up. It had a muzzle on, thankfully, as it nosed her dive suit.

Suddenly there was a painful burst of static, and Pav leaned away.

“This is Romeo 9-5 requesting an update, Flight 41, please acknowledge.”

The Octoboss turned his head like an owl, eyes huge. Even Dementus lifted the needle from the circle, stopping the music entirely. Smeg, as ordered, kept dancing.

“Flight 41, your position shows you’ve adjusted course, please respond, over.”

More static. Then the voice spoke again, with an undercurrent of stress.

“Flight 41, your position shows you diverting to the Indian Ocean. Please acknowledge.”

A different voice, more urgent. “How many kilos we talking on that carrier?”

“Two hundred thousand,” responded the first.

“Shit.”

“Flight 41, acknowledge-”

Dementus took the radio from the History Man and switched it off. Without the music and the radio, it was eerily quiet in the tent. The only sound was Smeg’s boots shuffling on the carpet as he high-kicked.

“Well,” said Dementus, stroking his beard. He looked down at Pav. “Seems you are useful. Now, out! Underbosses only. NO GIRLS ALLOWED.”

He pulled her up to her feet, much rougher than the Octoboss ever did, and shoved her out of the tent. Pav was left standing outside, full of many different complicated emotions. She made her way towards the Diving Bell tent, hoping someone was there to listen to her tale.

Chapter Text

Dragomir didn’t leave Dementus’s tent for the rest of the day.

He sat next to the flight recorder, basking in every word, every strange phrase. Around him, the other lieutenants discussed the ancient words. A map of the area had been brought out, and Big Jilly- their best navigator- had been brought in to try and pinpoint where the plane had gone down. Drago had asked the History Man to restart the whole recording, over and over again, then asked to be shown how to do it himself so he could listen to it on his own. When everyone else had left, he was still sitting there, listening. Until Dementus finally kicked him out, late in the night.

Despite his brimming excitement, Drago still had a mind to go fulfill the promise he’d made. He made his way out of camp. One of Dementus’s dogs raised her head in alarm, but recognized his scent and went back to her digging. It was a cold night, but the wind was still. Drago walked towards a broken dead tree, split in half by a bolt of lightning long ago. The sand in front of the tree had been recently disturbed. Drago settled to his knees in front of the sand, opened a pouch, and removed the metal flower he’d taken that morning. He covered it in a fine layer of sand and sat back.

Drago was content to sit by Ember and Hilly’s grave and look at the stars, but a snuffling made his head snap around. One of the dog’s puppies had followed him, and was approaching the grave. Drago was certain that the two of them had been buried deeply enough that dogs digging them up was not a possibility, but he still picked up the puppy and placed it in his lap, running his hand over its head to quiet it down. He let it sniff around his flight suit, learning his scent.

“No food here,” he murmured as he scratched behind its ears.

Drago thought of his memories of Ember and wondered if this sort of thing was going to happen again. While there wasn’t enough to go around, it was very likely. He couldn’t be around to protect his Mortifiers every second of the day. Soon, Drago would have to think of something to prepare them better against the next mutiny. He hoped this bounty in the ocean was going to be as prosperous as Dementus thought it was. Dementus didn’t say it, but Drago knew all his little tells when supplies were beginning to dwindle, and when times would become desperate again.

Minutes later, jingling interrupted Drago, again. He growled. How many people knew about this secret gravesite? He turned around, his free hand already going for the gun at his belt. But he realized he recognized the jingling, even before the person’s shape came into view. Pav was taller than most of the women in the camp, and she walked with a sort of unique canter that probably came from growing up in the middle of the ocean. Drago released the gun, and then remembered the little puppy in his lap. When Pav was fully visible, her eyes went straight to the pup- but she didn’t say anything about it.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she said hurriedly, as if worried he was going to snap and send her away. “Um, Metal Tail told me about… what happened. I’m very sorry.”

The puppy squirmed out of Drago’s grasp and went to inspect the new arrival. Pav immediately bent to pick up the little creature- apparently, they didn’t frighten her when they were that small. She walked up so that they were very close- if she kneeled, they’d be face to face. Drago found he wasn’t sure how to respond to the unexpected sympathy, so he was silent for a moment.

“Thank you,” he eventually said. “You helped their killers get what they deserved.”

Pav cradled the puppy to her chest, her face unsure in the dim light. It seemed like she wanted to say something else, but an awkward silence stretched between them.

“Is that the only reason you came out here?” he asked.

“Um, no. I also just wanted to say… I’m not toying with you.” The rest of the words came out in such a hurried jumble that Drago could hardly keep track. “I like you, but you’re scary, but you’re also nice, but then you’re scary, and oh- I’m really not good at this… I THINK, I want to get to know you more, but not like that- I mean, I want to get to know you as a person first. So, um, I won’t flirt with you and confuse you, I promise. And then… I don’t know.”

Drago blinked. “I-”

“SORRY, I’m just going on about myself when you’re here to grieve, I’m so sorry. I just… couldn’t sleep until I told you. Um.” She leaned forward and put her free arm around his shoulders. It was… a hug. Drago went completely stiff, shoulders up to his ears.

“Here’s your puppy back. I’ll leave you alone now.” Pav dropped the puppy in Drago’s lap, made an odd sign towards the grave, and then literally sprinted away, leaving him alone.

Drago let out a long breath, which fogged in the chilly night. He had a sneaking suspicion that she’d rapid-fired all that at him so that he wouldn’t be able to respond to her. That woman certainly liked to shut things down. He had tried to torment Pav the previous day in the sand and make her feel dizzy, but he’d only stoked his own feelings by toying with her like that. All sorts of thoughts plagued his mind. He felt guilty for them- as angry as he was with her, he didn’t want to act towards her like that out of anger or vengeance. But to know he wasn’t just some petty amusement to her… three words that she’d said stuck out more than anything else: I like you.

Drago looked at the puppy, who whined in annoyance at not being cuddled any longer.

---

The next morning, Drago was back in Dementus’s tent with the rest of the warlords. The History Man had written every word of the recording onto his clothes, and a map of the north had been brought out. The aircraft had been carrying weapons, and it had gone down east of where the Diving Bells had had their floating platform. That, of course, raised the question of if the Diving Bells had already found and scavenged it- and if not, why? Which meant that Pav was summarily ordered back into the tent, despite Dementus’s ‘no girls allowed’ sign.

Today, all of the most important members of the Horde had been assembled. Rizzdale Pell, Mr. Harley, Mr. Davidson, Big Jilly, Fang, Squint, the Organic Mechanic, Smeg, the History Man, and of course, Dementus and the Octoboss. Pav was visibly alarmed at being one woman alone in a room full of staring older men. Drago wasn’t actually sure how old she was- maybe thirty? She always dressed modestly, but she was positively covered up now. She kept impulsively shoving strands of her black hair back into her shawl, and looked sweaty and uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry, girly,” said the Organic Mechanic cheerily. “We treat our friends well!”

“And you ARE our friend, no matter how much you scream you’re not!” exploded Big Jilly.

Pav looked at him, appalled, while the Organic Mechanic sighed.

“ANYWAY,” said Dementus. “We’ve learned some interesting things, Driving Belle.”

He slapped the map, which was a patchwork embroidered fabric one of his serving women had made. It was a ramshackle reckoning of the northern territory of the Wasteland, ending at the ocean. Drago recognized the spot where the Diving Bells had been picked up. They had moved south, so Drago had actually not yet seen the beach or the oil rig. As he understood it, the north was full of tribes so dangerous that the Diving Bells had preferred to risk the complete unknown of the Pole of Inaccessibility rather than try to survive on the coast.

“Your little patch of ocean seems to be a graveyard for some metal birds. One carrying two hundred thousand kilos of weapons was shot down somewhere up here.”

Pav used her fingers to work her hair further into her shawl, even though the strands hadn’t come out. Drago remembered she’d been doing that to the young girl, as well. Hiding. Making herself smaller. It was the wrong thing to do. Dementus was just encouraged by how submissive and frightened she was. He kneeled next to Pav- all smiles and kindness, big eyes blue as the sea- but that sea had sharks in it.

“Does that sound familiar to you?” he asked sweetly. “Maybe your people found it?”

Pav blinked. Her eyes were watery. Sometimes she looked over at Drago, and then back down again. Drago kept looking straight at her with an impassive face. She had to learn.

“Take your time,” said Dementus, like fly-covered honey. And Pav could take as long as she needed. She just wouldn’t be able to leave that tent, perhaps ever again, until she answered his question.

Finally, she leaned over to look carefully at the map. She squinted, muttered, used her fingers to measure the distance. Drago watched in fascination as she worked. Her mouth moved, forming wordless numbers, and he gazed at her full lips and thought of how they would feel. When she turned her head, he could see the swell of her long neck. Drago swallowed. He thought he saw Rizzdale Pell looking at him with a smirk out of the corner of his eye and had to resist thumping him.

After a moment, Pav finally spoke. “Two hundred thousand… that’s a lot… we never had that kind of armament. A plane that big… I would remember that.”

“So, it’s still there, untouched?” Dementus looked back at his assembled underbosses. “Hear that, gentlemen? She can scav it for us!”

Pav sat up stock straight. “Erm… hold on, Lord Dementus, just because it got shot down there doesn’t mean it’s… still there. There are waves on the ocean bottom. Storms, tides- it could have drifted-”

“SHHHHH…” Dementus placed one finger on her lips, smooshing them together. “SHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I don’t like the word ‘no’. If it’s there- and it will be- can you scav it?”

Pav’s voice was a bit muffled by the finger on her mouth. “Yes, but only with a diving bell.”

“HISTORY MAN!” exploded Dementus, making Pav jump in her seat. “Diving bell wordburger!”

“A diving bell,” began the History Man. “A chamber used to transport people from the surface to the deeps and back again, a necessary tool for working underwater.”

“Of course, of course…” said Dementus, like he’d known this all along. He looked back at Pav. “So odd that you’re called the Driving Belles and not the Diving Bells,” he mused.

“Uh,” said Pav, furrowing her brow. “Yeah, uh… missed opportunity there.”

“And if we found you another diving bell?” asked Mr. Harley.

“Well…” Now that Pav was absorbed in her work, her shyness had vanished. “We’re missing a lot of other equipment. But if we had the bell, maybe… we could go back to the rig, get what we need, then go back to the plane? We might even be able to get some guzz. But I don’t know where to find a diving bell. Are there other oil rigs or docks that you know of?”

Silence in the tent. Pav grasped for anything.

“Shipyards? Maritime museums?”

“MARITIME MUSEUM,” said Fang, almost salivating. Pav jumped- he had started leaning over her and she hadn’t noticed. In a flash, he ran out of the tent. “In the TOURIST BROCHURE!” he shouted.

“History man…” sighed Dementus. “Maritime museum wordburger.”

“Maritime museum, an institution devoted to the preservation of objects of nautical significance.”

Pav nodded, “Diving bells are huge and heavy- unless you knew exactly what it was for and needed it, it’s unlikely anyone took off with one.”

Fang burst back into the tent. In his hand was a folded-up, colourful bit of paper. He unfolded it, revealing it was quite long- and on the verge of falling apart- and slammed it down on the table right in front of Pav. He started smacking one particular faded image. Big Jilly rushed over and joined him, eyes rapidly moving over the letters by it. Drago, for the life of him, could not understand how and why their most insane member was one of the few of the gang that could read.

“FLAGSTONE’S HISTORICAL MARITIME MUSEUM,” said Big Jilly loudly and clearly. He suddenly gasped and pointed. “It’s got harpoons, boss! WE CAN KILL PEOPLE WITH HARPOONS, BOSS!!!”

“That sounds EXCELLENT, Large Jilliam!” shouted Dementus with matching energy.

“KILL PEOPLE!!!” shrieked Big Jilly.

“HISTORY MAN! HARPOON WORDBURGER.”

As the History Man explained to the enraptured trio what a harpoon was, Pav leaned over the map- probably to get farther away from them- and looked between the map and the colourful paper. Drago leaned forwards as well. After a moment, realization dawned on her face, and she looked up at Drago and pointed. “Um… Flagstone… might actually be this place. ‘Agston’. I know that territory, but I’ve never been there. There’s razor-sharp karst, sulfur springs, crazy gangs…”

“So what?” moaned Dementus, rolling his eyes like he was incredibly bored. He hadn’t given any indication that he’d been listening to Pav, but he’d picked up on every word. “Your boyfriend will go! And hey- with those dead thieves, you can even have your own bike! No more snuggling up to him and distracting him from the road! Now, off with you.”

Pav’s face looked mortified, but then her face twitched. “Off with me?”

“What, you think we’re sending you on this mission? Don’t be ridiculous! Out, OUT! Organic, take the lady outside!”

“Righto.” The Organic Mechanic put his hands on Pav’s shoulder, hauled her up, and steered her out of the tent. “Sorry, love!”

Chapter Text

The rest of the meeting in the tent was relatively smooth. The logistics of moving the Horde were discussed, as was the planning. Drago put his foot down about the Mortifiers being the ones to scav the museum specifically. Dementus, once he was sure that what he wanted was set in stone, eventually got bored and wandered off with Smeg and the History Man. Small details always bored him, meaning it was left to the Octoboss and the other underbosses to actually figure everything else out. As the planning winded down, Organic Mechanic cooked a gaggle of lizards on sticks, one of which he handed to Drago.

“So, what are her teeth made of?”

Drago stopped with the lizard halfway to his mouth. “What.”

Organic wiggled his fingers. “Her dentures! Fascinating contraption. Are they human teeth? How did she wire them together?”

Mr. Harley laughed. “OM, normal people don’t talk about medical appliances during pillow talk.”

Organic looked genuinely shocked. “They don’t?”

“Well done, by the way, Ock!” Drago felt a thumping on his arm, and looked to see Mr. Davidson patting him like a proud father. “Thought you were some kind of sexless alien.”

Big Jilly didn’t look up from where he was playing five-finger-filet on the table, thankfully away from the map. “Still looks like one, though...”

Except for Big Jilly’s comment, this was not the type of heckling that Drago was used to, and he was uncharacteristically stunned. He looked at Squint, who gave him an enormous shrug.

Fang leaned over in front of Drago, munching away on his lizard. “So, what’s she like?”

“Yes, I commend you, Ock…” said Rizzdale in a tone that Drago did not care for. “Took that sheila for a prude. I reckon you bent her over like-”

Drago shoved one gloved finger into Rizzdale’s gaping eye hole and twisted it, hard. The tent was filled with his pained howls.

“Like what? Like what?” His voice was even and measured over the screams.

“NOTHING, NOTHING AT ALL! YOU PROBABLY TREATED HER REAL NICE-” A sickening, wet pop. “AUUUGH- FORGET I SAID ANYTHING!”

“Good.” Drago yanked out his bloodied finger with the same care he’d shoved it in there. The other underbosses looked on at the carnage with glee. “I’m going to get some air, while I’m still feeling generous.”

“Well, Mr. Harley and I know how hard it is to find someone in this Wasteland,” Mr. Davidson called after Drago as he stormed out. “Just nice to see you enjoying yourself, is all!”

---

Later that same evening, Drago was sitting at the small table in his tent. He was shakily tracing letters from the examples Pav had given him, and struggling to read from a small book on his own. The ‘museum’ was going to have a lot of writing, and he was trying desperately to improve as much as he possibly could before the trip there. It was aggravating. His mother had known how to read, he was sure. If he’d had more time with her, maybe she could have taught him. It would have been as simple for him as riding the Octobike was now. He felt a pit in his stomach.

A swish of fabric at the tent, and Drago turned, expecting to see a Mortifier. Instead, it was Pav. She still had her shawl on, but some of her thick black hair had escaped and was hanging down over her shoulder. It was very long, reaching her stomach. Drago put down his charcoal stick and opened his mouth to speak, but she stormed right over and stood in front of him.

“I want to go to the museum.” Her voice was firm, her fists clenched.

Drago looked at her. He picked the charcoal stick back up, and continued writing. “No.”

Pav walked around the table and sat down loudly in the chair opposite, chainmail jingling. “Why not?”

He didn’t look up at her. “Give me one good reason that I should take you.”

“You need a maritime expert! And… I want to go!”

“Yes, that’s what you want. And Organic Mechanic wants to look at your dentures, but you’re not going to let that happen either, are you?”

Pav leaned back. “Did he ask about them again?”

“Oh, yes.” Drago smirked. “He’s rather enamoured by them.”

Pav looked extraordinarily anxious, but then frowned. “You’re changing the subject! Why can’t I go- or at least another Diving Bell?”

“This is a military operation in uncharted territory, and you’re a liability.” His voice was blunt.

“But you’re bringing the History Man!”

“The History Man has proven time and time again that he can handle dangerous situations. He’s made it to this age for a reason. You almost got killed last time.”

Pav opened her mouth for a retort, then shut it with a click. “Okay. You’re right. But you could train me!”

“That takes time. No.”

“Please. This is important to me.”

Hearing her beg lit up some dark part of Drago’s mind, but he didn’t entertain it now. He chose to ignore her. He had put up with Dementus’s whining for years- this was nothing in comparison. Pav scowled at him, probably thinking she looked sufficiently outraged. Drago just smirked even more. She looked down at his alphabet practice, worked her jaw, and then abruptly stood up. He thought she had finally given up and was leaving, but instead, she walked over to his bed. Drago turned to see her falling down onto it. She lay on her back, arms crossed, glaring up at the top of the tent.

Drago stared in stunned silence. This was not how he’d imagined her in his bed. “This is not flirting?”

“This is my protest!” declared Pav. “I’m not moving until you agree to let me come.”

Drago stood up from the chair and walked slowly over to her. Apparently, Pav hadn’t thought this through, because when he stopped and loomed over her, he could see a red tint grow on her cheeks. It made her large, dark eyes stand out even more. He looked down at her in silence for another moment, not able to help but enjoy making her squirm under his gaze. He wondered how long it would take for her to break. Then he raised one foot and sharply kicked her boot.

“Get those damn boots off my bed.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Pav hung her feet over the edge. “But I’m still not leaving until you agree I can help.”

“And what about when I want to sleep, and I climb into bed with you?”

Drago could practically see steam rising off Pav’s face now. He used the moment to admire her face in this position. The blushing and the dim firelight in the tent brought out jewel-coloured undertones that he hadn’t seen before in her soft brown skin. Her hair framed her elegant face wonderfully. Not for the first time, Drago had to resist the urge to reach out and touch the waves of hair. He remembered the stories his mother would tell him of beautiful princesses, and thought Pav must look like one of them.

Pav seemed to be unable to handle his gaze any longer, because she suddenly rolled over and faced the tent wall, still dangling her boots off the bed.

Drago pushed away his amorous thoughts and sighed. “Suit yourself.”

He went back to the table and practiced writing again for some time. It occurred to him that if he had time to practice this, Pav would probably be able to practice some basic combat skills. It would be some time before the Horde reached Agston. He turned around again to look at the woman in his bed. By how stiff her shoulders and back were, he could tell she was still awake- and had no plans on moving anytime soon. He caught himself looking at her hips and turned back to the table. Several more minutes passed, the only sounds within the tent the scraping of charcoal on paper.

The charcoal stick finally snapped and broke. Drago read a bit, but he was tired and wanted to go to bed. And despite his posturing, the idea of climbing into bed with Pav made his neck start to sweat.

He sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

Pav rolled back over. “Really?” Her voice was full of excitement.

“I haven’t agreed to bring you yet. Be here at dawn for training. Now out.”

Pav swung her legs off the bed and got up. She lingered near Drago for a moment, as if considering something. She jumped forward and put her arms around his shoulders again, but didn’t quite commit- like she was hugging some dangerous animal. Drago didn’t stiffen up this time, but he made no move to return the gesture. Pav just smiled and scurried off.

“Thank you!” she called over her shoulder.

Drago was well and truly irritated with Pav for some reason that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. This only worsened when he went to bed that night and realized that her scent was on his pillow.

---

Pav was up and ready at the crack of dawn. She had her dive knife and pistol ready as she power-walked towards the Octoboss’s tent. Her heart was in her throat, stomach full of butterflies. This whole operation was insane and terrifying- but it was also an opportunity. If the Diving Bells could do this, they’d be an invaluable group in the Horde. Maybe one of their number could even become one of the underbosses. Guaranteed food and shelter. Protection for Mizzen. Pav was brimming with excitement.

Dragomir was already waiting for her outside his tent when she reached it. He was fully dressed, eyeblack and horned helmet on. His veil rustled in the gentle breeze. Pav was hoping to be the early one today, but he always seemed to wake up before she did no matter what ungodly hour she got up at. He didn’t say anything, just gestured with his hand for her to follow him. Pav walked after him, looking at his long legs before realizing what she was eyeing and then looking straight ahead.

They walked outside of the camp; a different area than the gravesite. Pav was very grateful to Metal Tail for telling her about what had happened. It explained everything about how the Octoboss had been acting- although the memory of what she’d did to those people still made her feel sick to her stomach. She knew that the same thing had happened to her family, when their bodies had been given to the sea, and the creatures of the deep had descended on them. But now she knew what it must have looked like. As a result, Pav had eaten little since returning to the Horde encampment.

Once they were a sufficient distance from the camp, Pav saw a line of broken glass bottles stood on an overturned dead tree. Dragomir turned and regarded Pav with his large eyes. He was as unreadable as usual, but there were no warning signs of him being in a bad mood. In the grey light of dawn, his eyes seemed strikingly blue in comparison. His beard and moustache looked like he had just trimmed them, so his full lips were even more noticeable. Pav pressed her own lips together in a thin line.

“Are you just going to admire me?” he asked.

Embarrassment made the words spill out Pav’s mouth like a fast current. “Wh- you haven’t told me to do anything! I thought you would give an explanation, first!”

He tilted his head. “What were you expecting? Theory? Philosophy? Show me what you can do.”

“Wait,” said Pav. “Aren’t you… busy? Why are you training me and not a Mortifier?”

“Because all the Mortifiers had to prove themselves, too.” He sounded mildly annoyed that she had asked.

Pav paused. The slight irritation in his voice made that little demon worm its way into her head again.

“So, this isn’t… because you want to spend more time with me?”

“No.” His gaze become frightening, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Same as you would never pet one of Dementus’s puppies, right?” Pav couldn’t keep the smirk out of her voice. “Oh, but last night you were-”

He ran at her so fast that Pav couldn’t help but let out a small scream. Good-looking as he was, a man who was easily over seven feet tall with those horns bearing down on her was an incredibly alarming sight. He wasn’t armed, but his hands were poised to grab her. Pav turned around and sprinted as fast as she could. Her feet struggled to find purchase on the soft sand, and then she felt a heavy mass slam into her back and send her sprawling to the ground. Her arms were pinned as a pair of arms locked around her, and she felt like a lobster in a trap.

Pav managed to turn her head to look at the Octoboss lying next to her. His face was one of extreme disappointment. Painfully, his pouches and various implements poked into her.

“Um,” said Pav. “I… panicked.”

“I did notice.”

“At least you know I’ll always be good at making a tactical retreat?”

His face and voice were deadpan. “That was a tactical retreat?”

“Yes!” Pav tried to scoot away from his knives, but made no attempt to stand up. “It’s like running away, but brainier.”

His lips twitched. “Think you’re funny?”

“Only when I’m not trying to be,” said Pav.

It was the honest truth. She tried to read his face, but couldn’t tell if he was about to laugh or throw something at her. And it was nice to be beside him, with his arms around her.

“So, I should let you come on the mission… because you’re good at tactical retreats.”

Pav remembered why she was there, and it was not for pseudo-cuddles with the Octoboss. “No, I just… what do I do if someone runs at me like that? Besides just shooting them.”

His arms snaked away from her middle. “Up you get.”

Pav rolled away and stood, sand sliding off her diving suit. The Octoboss stood too, dusting himself off.

He gestured to himself. “Grab me.”

Pav reached forward with both hands. She wasn’t sure what he meant her to hold exactly, so she reached up and grabbed his shoulders. Dragomir, in turn, reached up with his hands- ungloved, Pav realized- and took her face in them both. His fingers felt cool against her skin. He placed the tips of his fingers under her eyes, on the tip of her nose, and applied the faintest pressure underneath her chin.

“Eyes, throat, nose. Simple.”

He didn’t let her face go. Pav swallowed. “And… if they grab and pin my arms…?”

The Octoboss released her at that, and walked around behind her. Then, he had her again. His arms were suddenly caging hers in, and she was pulled back against his chest. She wasn’t completely flush against him, but the closeness still made Pav go stock still, feeling his warm breath tickle her neck. He leaned around so that his mouth was close to her ear.

“Now widen your stance,” he growled.

Pav thought she was going to fall over, but did as he requested, spreading her stance farther open.

“Sweep your left leg behind my legs, then lift them.”

His face was so close to the shell of her ear, he could graze it with his lips if he wanted to. Pav couldn’t see his face, and wondered if the same thoughts were going through his mind. No smirking or teasing came to mind now. She had never felt so weak from someone’s touch before.

“What’s the matter?” he purred; his voice more raspy than usual. “I shouldn’t laugh, but you’re so helpless…”

That word turned a switch in Pav’s brain. At once she swept her left leg behind, lowered her arms to grab the Octoboss’s legs, and sent him tumbling down into the sand. Pav didn’t stop there, taking her boot and planting it squarely on his chest, fumbling to get her knife out of her pocket. But the Octoboss grabbed her boot with both hands and twisted his body, easily slamming her down. Pav barely caught herself with her hands. She tried to kick him with her other foot, but he flung sand into her eyes while she struggled to compose herself. Pav yelped and rolled away, rubbing at her eyes, but then a heavy boot was firmly planted on her chest, pinning her to the ground.

“And you tell me you’ll be useful at the museum.”

Chapter Text

Drago ground his boot harder on Pav’s sternum, pressing her into the ground, trapping her with his weight. She wriggled and tried to ineffectually push and twist as he had earlier, but he had already put most of his weight against her. He couldn’t stop a smirk from playing onto his lips as he had her helpless in the sand. After a few moments, however, she stopped struggling. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and her breathing was fast and shallow. She laid her head back on the sand, and her tresses of hair that had escaped her shawl were around her head like a black halo.

Drago was momentarily distracted by the sight of it, until he realized that she was also starting to shake. Suddenly concerned that he was doing some real damage- after all, few in the Wasteland had healthy lungs- he removed his boot. Pav let out a long breath but just continued to lay there, sweat beading on her brow. Drago had ground his boot into many heads and torsos, but he’d never had a reaction like this before. A feeling of concern he didn’t want to address rose in his gut.

“Too much?” he snarked. “Have I broken a fragile bone?”

“No, no,” said Pav quickly. She huffed and sat up. “No, no, I just… no.”

Her face looked bewildered, like she had just realized something she hadn’t known before. Maybe she had finally realized just how vastly underprepared she was if she wanted to join the Mortifiers on their mission. Drago sighed and offered her a gloved hand to help her up. Pav sat there for a moment longer before accepting it. She was heavier than usual when he yanked her to her feet, like an unconscious person. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, quietly enjoying the closeness. He was fairly sure of his decision, but he offered Pav one more chance anyway.

“At least show me you know how to shoot.”

“Yes… yes, I can do that.”

She pulled out her pistol, and Drago was immediately mildly concerned that she was going to misfire in the state she was in. At least her finger was off the trigger. He was exceedingly curious about the battles she’d fought on the oil rig. He stepped back as Pav aimed at the line of broken bottles twenty meters away. He watched as she pulled her shawl down over one eye and lined up the sight carefully. There were four bottles sat there. The crack of gunshots rang in his ears, and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. To his immense relief, she managed to shatter every single one of them.

“Can you do that without covering your eye?”

“Uh,” said Pav. “I aim better if I cover my eye. I learned that when shooting at boats.”

Drago had never seen the ocean before, but he imagined that the oil rig was a massive fortress that was frequently besieged by enemy vehicles- not entirely different from sieges he himself had been part of when conducting Road War. Pav had been high up, taking shots at the intruders. She had likely never been in a situation where someone was face-to-face, about to kill her, until that day in the airplane graveyard. She was an accurate shot, but slow. He shook his head, his decision made.

“We don’t know who’s living in that museum. You’re not ready.”

Pav looked absolutely crushed. On a smaller matter, her puppy face might have moved him, but not when it meant sending her to almost certain death. As such, his face remained stony and impassive, ready to counter any arguments she could make. Drago had once managed to talk Dementus out of rigging up lines of fire shooting out of his boots whenever he clacked them, after all. Pav put two fingers to her bottom lip and pushed it sideways, something he’d seen her do before when she was thinking.

“If I improve by the time we get there-”

“No. I don’t have time to train you, and travel will only be a few days.”

Pav clenched her teeth. “I’ll ask one of the Mortifiers to train me, then.”

He approached her slowly. “The ones that answer only to me?”

She looked up at him, oddly resistant to his intimidation for once. “Yes. One of them will agree, especially if I offer to do their chores for them. And besides…” Here, she smiled triumphantly. “They know you like me!”

Drago stared at her for so long, in such absolute silence, that her smile practically melted off her face and was replaced with a look of deep concern. Her eyes started moving rapidly. When the silence stretched on, she attempted to fill it with yammering, as she had a tendency to do.

“Well, you let me get away with a lot more than most people would- I mean, I sat in YOUR tent, and you didn’t immediately shoot me. I punched you in the gut and you just made me do some morbid chores. And you liked when I told you that your eyes are beautiffmphhh.”

Drago had gently placed two fingers on her lips, effectively shushing her. Another hand wrapped around her jaw as he leaned in very close to her face.

“I do like you,” he said in a voice so soft it was just above a whisper. “But you are very, very good at forgetting your place. Don’t forget what I had to do when we first met.”

Pav could only meet his eyes for a few seconds before she had to look down. With his fingers still on her lips, she just nodded glumly. Drago pulled his fingers away, but still held her jaw cupped in his hand. She looked up again at him. This close, he could see the small, faded beauty marks under her right eye, not just the one under her left. Her diving suit still smelled like salt, even after months. She had felt so relaxed in his arms when they’d been wrapped around her middle. She had fit perfectly up against him, like she had been meant to be there. Drago felt himself leaning in, and she didn’t pull away.

“OCTOBOPS!”

Pav shrieked, and Drago rounded on Smeg with such a murderous glare that the little man immediately fell backwards onto the ground and started shuffling away, leaving a trail in the sand as he dragged himself to a safe distance. That did not help him as Drago stormed towards him and grabbed him by one leg, yanking him up and holding him upside down, only leaving his shoulders and head on the sand. Empowered by pure rage, he kept his boot intimately close to Smeg’s neck.

“The only reason you’re still alive,” the Octoboss hissed with pure venom, “is because Dementus finds you mildly amusing.”

“LORD DEMENTUS IS WHO SENT ME! ‘GET ME THAT OVERGROWN GOTH OCTOPUS IMMEDIATELY, SMEG’, HE SAID!” Smeg wailed as Drago’s boot wedged itself between his neck and shoulder, very close to crushing his collarbone. “VERY BAD TASTE TO SHOOT THE MESSENGER, LORD OCTOBOSS!”

Pav suddenly appeared next to Drago. “Erm… why did he summon him?”

Smeg stopped screaming, adopted a completely straight face, and looked at Pav like she had just insulted his mother. “That is NOT the Octogirlfriend’s BUSINESS.”

Pav threw up her hands. “I’m NOT-”

“Oh no, no, Smeg was standing there long enough to see! Smeg saw EVERYTHING.”

Pav looked absolutely mortified. Drago yanked and twisted Smeg’s ankle- not hard enough to do damage and make him useless, but enough to make him terrified. He promptly started dragging Smeg along the sand back to the encampment by the one leg. To his extreme disappointment, Smeg seemed to be enjoying the ride, so he threw down the leg in disgust. Smeg stood up and bounced around with such vim and vigour that it was like the Octoboss hadn't done anything to him. He just became even more irritated, and wondered if Dementus would forgive him for stabbing Smeg.

“Come along! Smeg was kind to not tell Lord Dementus about the radio!”

Drago froze. “Say that again.”

But Smeg was already bounding off along the dunes. Drago turned to exchange an equally concerned look with Pav before he followed after him.

---

The Horde was a flurry of activity as preparations were made to set out once again. Rich classical music emanated from Dementus’s tent, as it had since he had acquired his record player. Pav looked at the enormous structure as she passed it, curious as to what the Octoboss had been summoned for. Outside of it, Dementus’s personal maids were beating his ostentatious rugs with sticks. Pav couldn’t see any other underbosses, even though all the gangs were busy packing and organizing. She went towards her own tent.

Normally, the Diving Bells had to double up since they’d had so few vehicles. But with the addition of four bikes, Pav was able to drive one of her own now. She wondered if she’d be able to sit behind the Octoboss on his bike again, and felt oddly sad that she might not have the chance. At least her new bike was much smaller, and she didn’t need help mounting or dismounting it. As Pav sat on the bike, she wondered which of the bodies she’d chopped up it had belonged to. Feeling ill again, she quickly dismounted and set to packing.

When evening fell, all but the bare minimum had been packed. Pav idly had the thought of going to the Octoboss’s tent, but thought of what he’d said about her remembering her place. But then, he’d almost kissed her after he said that. Pav brushed her fingers over her lips. She did want to wait and get to know him more, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but be disappointed that Smeg had interrupted them. Pav wasn’t the type of person who could simply have casual encounters with people. She wanted to know Dragomir wasn’t going to treat her badly. But as she thought that, the memory of him grinding his boot into her chest returned, and she felt warmth in her stomach. At least he hadn’t seemed to realize, then, her entirely inappropriate reaction to him pinning her like that.

Pav got up and decided to take a walk along the encampment. Her mind was too muddled to focus on a book, and she wouldn’t be able to sleep, so she wondered if she could make herself useful somehow. She avoided the Octoboss’s tent, not trusting her body or her feelings at present. But she wondered if she could find a Mortifier and ask about the training, so she set off in that direction. While most of the gangs were still packing and grappling with ropes, Pav could see a campfire at the Mortifier encampment. As she approached, she saw they were all sitting in a big group together around it, and that the Octoboss was there too. Pav was stunned to see he was smiling- genuinely smiling- as he spoke to his men. No glares or cat-like smirks. He held a cup that seemed dwarfed in his hand, and was deep in conversation.

Pav was so enchanted by the sight of him smiling and relaxed that she didn’t move for far longer than she’d intended. Eventually, the Octoboss’s eyes roved over in her direction, and spotted her. His smile didn’t drop, but she could feel how sharp his gaze was. Pav was immediately gripped by anxiety. As she scampered off like some kind of cave creature, she could feel his stare burning into the back of her head. Pav returned to the relative safety of the Diving Bell encampment, and sat down on a crate again. Some of the Bells were already in bed, but Pav was too full of nervous energy.

“Why, Pavlova! Is it not dark enough for you here, or do you need a deeper chasm?”

Pav was startled when one of the Mortifiers approached her from around the tent. She recognized him immediately, even though she didn’t know his name. She had no idea how he knew her name. He had a cape that looked like a long plume of black feathers, and his helmet was crested with them as well. She could hear metal scraping- each of his fingers was adorned with razor-sharp caps that made his hands look like a bird’s talons. He tossed a heavy bag at her feet, and interlaced his fingers like he was eagerly anticipating something. Pav did not appreciate being snuck up on in the dark.

“Who are you?” she exclaimed. “How do you know my name?”

He tilted his head at her, making him look even more bird-like. “I’m Firelock. Who do you think went and told the Octoboss that day you sat in his tent? It would be embarrassing if I didn’t know your name.”

Pav was so incredibly tired of being rendered speechless by this point, but found she had no words.

“What, you think we were just going to let you wander willy-nilly into his tent and not tell him? You never even saw the longshot I aimed at your head! But it seems to have worked out. Congratulations, by the way! We were beginning to think no one would catch our dear boss’s eye ever again.”

Pav wanted to answer, but couldn’t get a word in. The man talked quickly.

“Our beloved Octoboss has invited you for drinks with the Mortifiers,” Firelock continued. His voice was polite and refined, almost like the History Man’s. “I am to escort you, IF you accept.”

Pav thought of sitting with all the Mortifiers at that fire. How Dragomir would gaze deeply into her eyes, and how his men, knowing everything, would stare at her as well. The social anxiety almost made her fall off her crate. “Um… I… that’s very kind, but…”

“Yes, I told him you’d say that. You’re like an easily startled rabbit. Look, see? Look how huge your eyes are right now. Your nose just needs to start twitching. Goodness. About as useful as a bunny in a fight, too. At least you’ve got your looks. Well, no matter. You can get started on these!”

He kicked the bag with one elegantly pointed boot. Pav looked up at him, confused.

“I hate cleaning guns. All that gunpowder. I also hate collecting maggots, digging latrines, and chopping wood. You see, I once lived… a more refined lifestyle.” His finger-talons rang melodically as he tapped them against each other. “And from what I hear, you’re good at all of those- and you’ll do them in exchange for some basic combat training. Is that right?”

Pav finally found her voice. “Yes, yes, it is!”

“Wonderful!” He clapped his hands together. “You do my chores; I teach you how to fight. Now if you’ll excuse me- you may not want any alcohol, but I so badly need some.”

He turned away, his cape opening dramatically like a peacock’s tail. Pav pulled the bag towards her and opened it up, revealing it was indeed full of guns of various calibers. She set about to cleaning.

Chapter Text

When daylight came, Pav was riding north with the rest of the Horde. She and the Diving Bells were near the back, as they were one of the newest gangs. This meant that Pav was sometimes literal miles away from the Octoboss and the Mortifiers. She often anxiously turned and looked back as she rode, knowing raiders would likely pick on the stragglers at the back if they were lingering in the area. But the vastness of the Horde kept interlopers away, and the ride was a peaceful one.

The first evening the Horde stopped, Firelock, as promised, came to find Pav. He took the weapons she’d cleaned from her and showed her some basic moves. Pav found it was actually better for him to teach her than Dragomir. Firelock didn’t have the same paralyzing effect that the Octoboss had on her, which meant she was actually learning. The following day, she would clean more guns, and the day after that, another training session. It was an equitable trade, and Pav was happy with it. It was even better that the Octoboss was aware of the training and had maybe even orchestrated it.

Four days later, the Horde spotted the first Old World sign of ‘Agston’. The vast majority stopped to bed down for the evening while a small scouting party went ahead. The Octoboss was not among them, but he had sent several Mortifiers in the group. Pav finally got to see him for the first time in days. He was spying on the distant town with binoculars, occasionally turning to talk to Mr. Harley, who was laid up next to him. Pav hadn’t been able to see, let alone speak with him, and she found she missed the deep sound of his voice. She wondered if he had been thinking about her at all.

“I don’t wish to interrupt your doe-eyed gazing, but it is time for another training session.”

Pav turned to look at Firelock as he approached, rubbing his wrists. From the smell, he’d already been partaking in moonshine today. But he was still preening, poised, somehow cleaner and more elegant than almost anyone else in the Horde. He walked right past Pav, not stopping. She was expected to follow, and so she did, casting one last look at the Octoboss before she followed the Mortifier to a relatively open space in the encampment. Sometimes people looked over when they trained, but for the most part, they were too busy to really care. Pav was grateful for it, as she found herself rather embarrassed at how little she knew about basic combat.

Training was, as usual, hard. But Firelock, like the Octoboss, was oddly cognizant of where his hands went when he grappled with and fought Pav. He never touched any exposed skin, and had more than enough opportunities to grab her somewhere untoward, but never did. After the conversation Dragomir and Pav had had in the sandstorm, she realized this had to be on purpose. Were all the Mortifiers like this, or had the Octoboss specifically asked Firelock to train her because he knew he wouldn’t be a cad? At any rate, Pav didn’t have much time to think about it when Firelock’s finger-talons raked across her arms or she got body-slammed into the ground.

By the time Pav landed in the sand for the umpteenth time, her legs were jelly. Her forearms had scratches from where Firelock’s sharp finger-talons had grazed her, but at least she had raised them protectively over her face in time. But it wasn’t that which made her pause- it was the fact that she had landed a hit on Firelock’s solar plexus before he’d flipped her back down to the ground. He was bent over slightly, muttering curses. Pav had learned enough that she knew he had intentionally left himself open. The idea of it made her absolutely fume, and she sat up in the sand.

“You let me have that one!”

“Don’t know what you’re on about, but please do stop shouting. I can’t focus on how much pain I’m in when you’re in my ear. OOOOOOH.”

Pav glared and folded her arms as he slowly leaned down and collapsed on the sand.

“A fine hit, which makes this a good place to stop, anyway! I need a drink.”

Pav wanted to fight the matter, but she was quite literally out of breath. Besides, Firelock had been unbearably flippant and avoidant whenever she’d tried to ask him questions during previous sparring practices. Where was he from? Around. How long had he known the Octoboss? A while. What was his relationship with the Octoboss? Complicated. Pav had only picked up that Firelock was a few years younger than Dragomir, and also that he had once been part of a different gang. He also had a fierce thirst for alcohol. Pav wasn’t sure how or where he got all that alcohol from, and wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know. He also frequently complained of a need for ‘sigaretts’.

The sound of motorbikes in the distance attracted Pav’s attention. With no small amount of effort, she hauled herself to her feet to get a better look. The sun was still just clinging to the sky, so she could still clearly make out the bikes. The scouting party was coming back. No one was chasing them, and they appeared to have the same number of people as they had left with. They even had extra cargo strapped to the bikes. Had they already been inside the maritime museum? Pav was so desperately curious to hear what they had found. What if they had damaged some priceless artifact?

“Well, look at that,” mused Firelock between sips of moonshine. “Drago is absolutely going to be calling an emergency debrief with the others now. Look! Look at them scuttle!”

Pav looked at him. “Don’t you have to join, too?”

Firelock rolled his eyes and took another swig. “He only sends volunteers, and I am not volunteering. Dragging a heaving great diving bell sounds bad for my health. Besides, Drago doesn’t like putting his trophies in the line of fire.” He looked pointedly at Pav. “Thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

Trophies? Pav looked at Firelock as he continued drinking- far more than she’d seen him drink before. She wondered if something was wrong today, but didn’t know him well enough to analyze that. Trophies… She looked at him closely. Alcoholism and flippant nature aside, he had fine features. Dark hair and eyes, not tall but strong and proud. He actually had rather similar features to herself, her mother, and her grandfather. He even still had his actual teeth, unlike Pav herself. An odd feeling blossomed in Pav. It had been a long time since she’d felt it, but she recognized it well.

Jealousy.

“His trophy? Are you and the Octoboss… are you now, or were you ever, together?”

Firelock had been taking another sip when Pav asked the question. It spewed out of his mouth now as he nearly fell onto his face, howling with laughter. He laughed so hard and for so long that Pav started feeling incredibly foolish, and realized just how childish of a question that had been. She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. Still, Firelock laughed and laughed.

“Are you done?” she snapped when the peals of laughter still carried on.

“No, Pavlova, I’m not done!” Firelock was positively wheezing. “I’m extraordinarily flattered that you think I’m capable of seducing that obstinate lummox! Should have tried that years ago- maybe things would have worked out differently.”

Pav’s brows had knit together, only amusing him more. Firelock waved a hand dismissively.

“Oh, you’re almost as fun to goad as he is! Bah- he’s not my type, anyway. I need a man with some meat on his bones, like that Organic Mechanic.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Not someone you can snap up and cook like spaghetti. No offence.”

The unusual word spah-getty caught Pav off guard, but she was in too foul of a mood to ask.

Firelock sighed “Oh, don’t be so precious. Those wrinkles will ruin you. Now, relax- that man is all yours. Want some?”

Firelock waved the bottle at her. Pav shook her head. He always offered, and she always declined. Still, embarrassed as she was, the relief she felt was palpable. This had all been incredibly silly of her, which just made her feel even grumpier. The Octoboss didn’t belong to her- what right did she have to interrogate Firelock? Pav sat down next to him and pulled her knees up to her chest, watching the bikes approach. Sure enough, there was soon a burst of activity in the Mortifier encampment. It was always easy to spot them and their impressive gear. Many, but not all, were headed to the large tent that belonged to the Octoboss. Pav knew she wouldn’t be allowed to join, and she sighed.

“Thanks for answering my question,” Pav said, after a while. She still felt silly.

“Mm… funny how similar the two of you are,” said Firelock. He had finished the entire beverage, and looked and sounded sleepy. “He’s the jealous type, too.”

Pav looked at Firelock, eager to learn this new information. “Really?”

“Well, what are the odds that he asks me to train you, knowing I don’t have relations with women?”

“He asked you to train me?”

“Oh, please…” He was starting to murmur and nod off now. “You can’t be so naïve… it’s as if he thinks one of the others are going to fall in love with you at first sight, too…”

“What? What?”

Firelock had dozed off. Pav struggled to process this information. She reached over and poked him, hard, but there was no response. She had never seen him finish the whole bottle in one sitting before. She suddenly became worried that he was genuinely ill. Pav reached over and unstrapped his helmet, removing it so that she could listen to his breathing, but it seemed even. She looked back at the Octoboss’s tent, and then back down at Firelock. Then at the helmet in her hands. After a moment of thought, she pulled it down over her own head. It was a perfect fit.

A terrible idea crossed her mind. Firelock was only a little bit shorter than she was. She could fit in that sleek black armour of his, probably. Actually, almost certainly. And it wasn’t stealing- she’d give it right back to him. The sun had gone down by now. If she stayed in the back of the tent, no one would notice. Gingerly, Pav took Firelock’s black jacket as well as his arm braces. She gently leaned him down and put a small bag under his head, and then put her own shawl over his body to keep him warm. He started snoring. She made sure he was lying on his side; in case he vomited in his sleep.

Feeling a mixture of being a terrible person as well as unbelievably excited, Pav headed towards the Mortifier encampment. At first, she snuck, then realized that the Mortifiers walked with confidence and tried to adopt their swagger. It wasn’t far to the tent, and she could see some of the Mortifiers spilling outside of it. Pav didn’t dare approach too close. She stayed at the back, stopping as soon as she saw Dragomir. She had missed the first part of the debriefing, but he was still speaking.

“… though Dementus says it’s safe, and even though the Roobillies laid traps along the perimeter, keep your damn heads down. These gangs up here aren’t Buzzards or Roadkill. They’re organized. Trained. Never go anywhere alone. Report anything unusual back to me. Watch your backs. Your fronts. Dismissed.”

He didn’t have his helmet on, and his long hair was no longer tied. His eyes were still so large and dramatic against his black war paint. Pav was so entranced by watching the Octoboss give his men orders that she barely followed along with the actual words. As such, it wasn’t until the other Mortifiers started filing out that she realized it was very much time to leave. She turned away, already planning on giving the armour right back to Firelock and checking on his breathing again.

“Pavlova.”

Pav froze mid-step. The Mortifiers around her kept leaving, passing around her like a river diverting around a boulder. They seemed to be intentionally ignoring her presence. She turned slowly, very slowly, back to the Octoboss. The look he was giving her simultaneously made her want to freeze solid and run for her life at the same time. Maybe Firelock was correct about the rabbit analogy.

“Come here.”

Pav walked slowly and stiffly towards Dragomir. She stopped a safe distance away.

“I said: come here.”

Heart pounding and cheeks burning, Pav stood in front of the Octoboss. He reached over and yanked Firelock’s helmet off her head, so that her hair fell back down around her shoulders in messy waves. Pav pushed some tangled locks out of her face and tried to avoid eye contact. There was no explaining her way out of this one, and Dragomir knew it. He seemed to be trying to burn her alive with his gaze.

“Do you have hearing problems?”

“No, sir.”

“Short-term memory loss?”

“No, sir.”

“An obstinate and unflappable need to piss me off, specifically?”

Pav didn’t respond immediately, eliciting a huge sigh from the Octoboss.

“So, unless I tie you up, I’m very much stuck with you when it comes to this diving bell, aren’t I?”

The idea of Dragomir tying her up was promptly stuck in Pav’s mind. The mental image of him with his hands wrapped around her wrists, pressing them to a mattress as he bent over her... She didn’t keep up mentally with the rest of his scolding, although she was able to nod when prompted.

“… at any rate, you’re in luck. The town’s seemingly abandoned. Might even be safe enough to send you in. I said might- don’t get excited,” he snapped after her eyes lit up. “Now, where’s my Mortifier?”

“Sleeping off the excess,” Pav answered quietly.

“And water is wet.” The Octoboss grumbled and returned the helmet to Pav. His hands brushed against hers as he did. “Be up at dawn, in case you’re sent out. Now get.”

Pav looked down at the helmet, at his hands, and then back up at the Octoboss. “Erm… you’re not going to punish me for what I did?” There was audible disappointment in her voice.

“Firelock was stupid enough to drink on the job I gave him. The punishment will be his.” Suddenly the Octoboss smiled coldly, eyes flashing as he looked down at her. “Did you want me to punish you?”

It was the first time she’d been so close to him in days, and her body felt like it was alight. A slew of images of creative punishments that the Octoboss would have in store passed through Pav’s mind. He wasn’t just grabbing and pinning her wrists to the mattress now, but restraining her arms, her legs, completely caging her so she couldn’t escape. Would he have that exact look on his face when he did it? Where would he kiss her first? The word just left her mouth without her meaning to.

“Yeah…”

The cruel smirk and flashing eyes disappeared. Dragomir stared at her in shock. The entire façade of the cruel, sadistic warlord was replaced by a man who was absolutely stunned.

“What.”

“What?”

They just stared at each other. Pav couldn’t believe what had just come out of her mouth, and her mouth was open in horror. She gripped Firelock’s helmet tightly, and then bolted out of the tent.

Chapter Text

At dawn, Pav was standing ready next to her bike in the Mortifier encampment. The Octoboss emerged from his tent, fully dressed as always. Not for the first time, Pav had to keep herself from wondering what he looked like out of that flight suit. Dragomir seemed unsurprised at the sight of Pav, walking past her and readying the Octobike. The other Mortifiers were also preparing. Metal Tail gave Pav a hot can of Dink Di filled with steaming stew, which she started eating gratefully. She counted the Mortifiers- four in total. Metal Tail, and three others she didn’t know by name. Plus, her and the Octoboss- if he had changed his mind and was letting her come along.

“We had eyes on the town all night,” said the Octoboss, putting on his horned helmet and motorcycle mask. “No movement. By all accounts, this place has been abandoned for months or longer. Dementus, in his…” he paused here, and sighed irritably. “In his kindness, has allowed us to go check the maritime museum before the Horde tears this place to pieces. In light of this…” He stopped and glared at Pav. “We are allowing a non-combatant to accompany us just this once for her expert knowledge.”

Pav’s heart skipped a beat. Expert knowledge? The fact that Dragomir valued her experience made butterflies flutter in her stomach. That feeling was then quickly replaced by a wave of anxiety. She didn’t know nearly as much about history or engineering as some of the other Diving Bells, but she had put her hand up for this mission. Pav knew the Octoboss was watching her carefully, so she kept her brave face on. After all, the museum might not even have a diving bell.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

“Don’t thank me. You might regret it. We leave in five.”

He gave riding instructions to the others and ordered them to double-check everything. Pav just kept eating, unsure of how to help. She only had the one knife and gun, with a small pouch of ammo. She would be riding in the middle, the safest place. When she finished her food, Pav put away the can and checked that her bike had a decent amount of fuel in it. She suddenly felt a presence next to her. Pav turned slowly to see the Octoboss leaning on her bike, head tilted, eyes grey and stormy against the shadow of his eyeblack. They hadn’t made direct eye contact since that embarrassing moment the previous night. He seemed serious and thoughtful now, though, not embarrassed.

“Pavlova…” he said quietly. Her name sounded wonderful when he said it.

“Yes?” She gazed up at him, nearly forgetting the other Mortifiers around them.

“Make sure we have enough potatoes.”

“I- wait. Huh?”

He shunted a sack of potatoes onto her bike seat, slapped the bag, and turned away to continue tying various objects to the Octobike. Pav was left staring at his back until one of the Mortifiers started snickering. After that, Pav tied the potatoes as requested, cheeks burning. It seemed like plenty of potatoes for a scouting mission that would take half a day at most. She took a seat on her bike, pulling her goggles and helmet down and rubbing her cold hands together. In less than five minutes, the whole team was ready to go. Pav started up her bike with the rest of them and took off.

The road was paved, and was a much smoother ride than Pav was used to. She only needed to duck and weave to avoid the pot holes. She looked at the skeletons of old signs and towers as they entered the town limits, the sun rising behind them. The first buildings appeared, which Pav gazed at in complete fascination. She had never seen so many buildings of the Old World before. She kept craning her head to look at the grids of buildings, the crawling alligators of old and winding streets. She wondered what it must have been like- people walking up and down those streets, no weapons in sight, food for all. It must have been so joyful- or had they not realized how wonderful it must have been?

The Mortifiers around her seemed dead set on the road in front of them, and Pav had to keep pulling herself out of her reverie to not crash into one of them. The Octoboss was right in front with another Mortifier next to him, gripping the map that had belonged to Fang. Pav held tightly onto the handlebars, and felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time- excitement. And pride- she had talked the Octoboss into this, after all. She was in a new place, exploring. Even if there was no diving bell here, when was the last time she had experienced the joy of something new without panicking about survival?

Eventually the Octoboss held up his hand, and the six bikes stopped. Dragomir leaned over to the Mortifier next to him, pointing at the map. Pav couldn’t hear their conversation over the hum of the engines. She looked at Metal Tail, who was peering around himself warily. She smiled at him, and he gave her a quizzical look. She supposed this was just a day on the job to them, and that these old towns were a dime a dozen. Pav wasn’t sure who she could tell these wonderful feelings to.

Suddenly the Octoboss took off again, and the group followed closely. The buildings gradually became larger, and old, abandoned cars appeared on the road- ancient vehicles half-filled with sand. Pav caught a scent of something on the wind above the smell of motorcycle exhaust, one she recognized immediately. Sea salt. Her heart pounded in her ears as they turned down an old street and headed towards the smell of salt. There was not a soul in sight. Everything around them looked abandoned for years, or decades.

The closer they came to the smell of the ocean, the more sunken the buildings appeared- like they were slowly being claimed by the desert sand. Eventually, the Octoboss held up his hand again in front of one building that looked to be on the verge of disappearing completely. He switched off his bike, and everyone else did the same. Without the sound of the engines, the dead silence of the town hit Pav like a truck. For the first time, she realized how eerie it was- a place made for people, without them.

“Pav!” called the Octoboss.

Pav immediately dismounted and rushed up to Dragomir, pulling up her goggles. He removed his own motorcycle mask, poring over the map. He pointed at the image of the maritime museum, and then looked up at the sad building in front of them. He wanted confirmation, but Pav was confused.

“That’s it?” said Pav, surprised and disappointed. “I know it’s been years, but… it’s so small.”

Dragomir sucked his teeth and pointed at the building. “That there is the third floor. The rest is underground now.”

“We’ll have to enter from the roof, rappel in.” The Mortifier next to the Octoboss removed his helmet. He had cauliflower ears. “One entry, one exit.”

“For us,” growled the Octoboss. “We don’t know who’s squatting in there.” He looked sharply at Pav. “You ever rappelled before?”

He seemed surprised when she nodded. “Sometimes we had to do it to get around the rig.”

“Good. First, we’ll hide the bikes underneath that overhang.”

The group moved the bikes to an odd slanted structure that Pav couldn’t identify, and hid the bikes in the darkness there. Equipment and weapons were picked up, heavy ropes placed over shoulders. Pav took the food with her, feeling rather useless as the hulking Mortifiers carried everything off. They made their way to the museum roof, which was so close to the ground that everyone was capable of simply hurdling onto it. The Octoboss walked towards a large pane of glass on the roof, peering at it.

Pav also looked at it, mainly in wonder. It had been so long since she had seen real glass. Even dusty and marked as it was, she wondered at how it caught the early sunlight- and then jumped backwards in shock when one of the Mortifiers smashed a huge stone through it with a whoop. The glass shattered, and the Mortifier stomped on the remaining bits, sending them tumbling to the dark abyss below. Dragomir loaded his gun while Metal Tail shone a flashlight, peering. Pav heard the glass striking the floor, so at least it didn’t seem too far down. And there were no other sounds.

“If they’re here, they heard us. Who wants to take point?” asked Dragomir.

Pav was surprised he didn’t order anyone to do it.

“I’ll go,” said the man with cauliflower ears. He tied the rope around his hips and took Metal Tail’s flashlight. Another Mortifier acted as the belayer as he was lowered down into the museum. Pav held her breath and glanced around the empty town again. She couldn’t shake the eerie feeling, now that it had replaced her initial excitement. So many buildings, any of which could have eyes in them. The silence stretched on, and Pav realized everyone was holding their breaths.

“Clear!” shouted the Mortifier down below, after what felt like an eternity.

One by one, the Mortifiers started sliding down the rope. Once three were below, the Octoboss motioned for Pav to go next. She was lowered down into the museum, peering at the soldiers beneath her. It wasn’t actually as dark as it seemed from up above- other windows still let in some light. It looked like some kind of old cafeteria, with metal tables and chairs. One of the Mortifiers was already rooting behind the bar for any trace of food. Once Pav had landed and disconnected herself, the Octoboss and the final Mortifier joined them all in the cafeteria. Dragomir glared up at the rope they’d left hanging there, then surveyed the room before his gaze landed on Pav.

“Pav, you always stay in the middle, is that clear? No getting distracted and wandering off.”

Pav was a bit embarrassed that the Octoboss would call attention to her tendency to get distracted in front of the group, but just nodded. She took her position and followed them out of the cafeteria. Her hand was on the pistol in her pocket, heart pounding so hard she thought it would stop. By all accounts, it looked and felt empty. But if there was even one person waiting for them, watching them from the darkness… Pav’s blood felt chilled. She was certainly not the scavenging type.

But then they were in the museum proper, and Pav’s fear was once again replaced by wonder. The place had been ransacked- as was everything else in the Wasteland- but some things that looters had clearly deemed useless remained. Paintings of great old ships battling fiercely against storms, maps of shipwrecks along the old coast, nautical instruments. Sometimes the glass windows of displays were broken, so Pav could reach in and touch the objects. There was even a small-scale model of an oil rig- just like the one that she had once called home. The one she had been born on, now gone forever.

Her eyes filled with tears as the Octoboss called out to his men. “Do a sweep of the area. In pairs.”

Pav reached out and touched the small model. Could it be a model of the exact one that had been her home? Where three generations of her family had lived, and where she had been born? The place that was supposed to be her home, and the home of her children’s children? She barely noticed the other four Mortifiers leaving as tears spilled from her cheeks. The sadness felt even more powerful, compared to the joy she had felt only minutes ago. And to think- she should consider herself fortunate to have ever had a home at all. Most people in the Horde could never have dreamed of such a thing. But it was hers, and it was gone, and- had she really had a chance to even grieve it?

“Pav?”

Pav abruptly turned away. The Mortifiers were gone, and it was just her and the Octoboss now. She had already cried in front of him once, and she didn’t want to do so again. She wiped her tears away with the backs of her hands and walked away from him, rubbing her arms.

“I know, I know- focus on the mission. I’m sure there has to be a floor map somewhere, I-”

“Stop.”

She froze, still rubbing her face and not looking up. To her surprise, a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder. She turned around to look at Dragomir, and found him looking down at her with uncharacteristically soft eyes. He squeezed her shoulder, gently. Pav opened her mouth, but no words came out. He rubbed her shoulder soothingly. He said nothing, but there was no judgment in his eyes. Pav found herself reaching out to his own arm, running her hand along it. She rubbed it for a few moments before suddenly stepping forward and pressing herself against him, her breath shuddering.

Dragomir hugged her tightly, and it felt like Pav was meant to be there. His arms enveloped her so perfectly, and her face was buried in his shoulder. Her whole body trembled, like there was this great pain that had been buried so deeply that letting it out would tear her whole body apart. She tried to pull herself together, and in Dragomir’s arms, it was surprisingly easier to do so. She had hugged him twice before, but he hadn’t reciprocated. Now he had fully wrapped his long arms around her, and it seemed he wouldn’t let go. His head rested gently on top of hers, his long hair tickling her cheek.

As soon as Pav felt certain she wouldn’t burst into tears, she pulled away slowly. She looked shyly up at the Octoboss as they released each other, embarrassed of how emotional she was.

“Sor-”

“Stop apologizing all the time. Makes you seem a bigger pushover than you already are.”

His voice wasn’t nearly as cutting as usual, despite the fact that his words were clearly an order. Pav wanted to explain herself, but found she had no words. She gestured with her hands, made some odd sounds, but there was no way she could explain her feelings without feeling very stupid. Dragomir just shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Hey. I understand.”

He pressed his gloved hand to her cheek, and Pav pushed her face into it, sighing.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded silently.

“Good. Now, what were you saying about a floor plan?”

Chapter Text

Drago followed behind Pav as she walked around the room, her eyes scanning the many faded and yellowed papers stuck to the walls. His eyes roved over her back as his fingers twitched. It had taken a significant amount of self-control to not kiss her when she’d been in his arms. It was even harder to hold back knowing she would have kissed him back. She always became so pliable in his arms, so willing to submit. He’d had to force those feelings down, because it hadn’t been what she’d needed then. At any rate, this was not the time to be so distracted and feel so warm underneath his flight suit.

“Here,” said Pav suddenly.

Drago squinted at the paper she’d pointed to. It was so faded and the writing so tiny, that he would have struggled for some time to make sense of the squiggles. But Pav moved her finger over the words at lightning speed before suddenly gasping and pointing at one part of the map. She managed to slide her fingers underneath the dusty glass panel protecting the map and scrape it out with her nails, eventually pulling the whole thing free. She showed it to Drago, smacking one symbol excitedly.

“’Historic diving bell’ – the floor beneath us!”

Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but the newfound delight was clear. Drago supposed she felt the same way about this diving bell as he felt about airplanes. He smiled at her elation. She took his wrist gently in her hand and led him towards the exit, her fingers finding the bit of skin exposed there. She had pressed the pads of her fingers to it, and Drago momentarily found himself lost again in fantasies before stopping himself. He cleared his throat.

“If there’s anything you want from here, you should take it now.”

Pav stared at him for a moment and then scurried off to the displays. She bent to look at some, stood on her tiptoes to see others. Drago felt his smile widening as he watched her eagerly search through the museum items. Eventually, she selected a few objects, one of which was a small contraption that he couldn’t identify. She placed them in one of her suit pockets. At that moment, he heard his four Mortifiers chatting as they approached from down the hall. Drago straightened. If they were so casual, that meant this place truly had been long abandoned.

“Report,” he said plainly, when the four of them emerged.

“Nothing alive,” said Metal Tail bluntly. “No one’s been in here for years.”

“Hey, Pavlova,” said Vendetta. “You lived on the ocean, right? Surrounded by water?”

Pav nodded, evidently still very shy around them.

“So, no one in your gang ever died of thirst?” he asked.

Pav looked confused. “Well- no. You can die of dehydration quite easily in the ocean.”

Vendetta squinted. “Die of thirst while surrounded by water? Sounds fake.”

Pav opened her mouth, took a little breath, and then seemed to have steam coming out of her ears as she attempted to figure out how to explain it to Vendetta. Drago, however, knew it wasn’t worth it. He shoved Vendetta- not roughly, but pointedly- towards the door.

“You see any stairs?” he asked.

“Ah, yeah, to the right of this hallway.” Metal Tail pointed the way.

Now that the threat of immediate danger had passed, the Mortifiers were much more relaxed. Drago was happy to let their nerves have a break. They’d been extraordinarily fortunate- maybe a little too fortunate. But that was for him to worry about. He took up the rear of the pack with Pav just in front of him. She was fully distracted by everything in the museum, head twisting this way and that like an owl’s. Sometimes, she came to a complete halt to look at something. At one point, Drago had enough, so he took her by the shoulders and steered her towards the stairs.

“We can go first, boss, just give us the go,” said Vendetta.

Drago looked at Pav. “You need to tell us where to go after the stairs.”

“Right.” Pav analyzed the map. “C1… you need to go right, around the corner, there’s a hallway, and there should be a door to the left that leads to a large room.”

Drago nodded at Vendetta, and let him lead the way. The stairs were metal, and thankfully not rotting as they made their way down. However, after a few steps, a distinctive odour reached Drago. Like rotting vegetables. He wrinkled his nose and pulled up his respirator. The History Man had described the rot that took over these abandoned places. It hadn’t used to be lethal, like so many other things, but he’d seen scavengers die from inhaling too many spores.

“Masks up.” He looked at Pav to make sure she was pulling hers on, since thus far she hadn’t been particularly good at following orders. She pulled her shawl up over her mouth and nose.

Now in the smothering darkness beneath the sand, their torchlight was the only thing that illuminated the lower level. Green spores and dust hung in the air, and their footsteps were softened by the sand that had encroached inside. Drago’s eyes flickered over the ground and saw no hint of recent footprints prior to theirs. He was suspicious that such a large building with so many objects would have been abandoned for so long, but he supposed there was no food or fuel to be found here.

He hadn’t expected the route to the diving bell room to be as simple as Pav suggested it, and he was correct. There was evidence of fighting that had been done in years past- whether it was the old wars that ended the world or raiding scuffles shortly afterwards, Drago couldn’t say. Some sections of wall had collapsed entirely, and even through the mold, he could still see evidence of bullet holes and blasts from even larger, heavier weaponry. It set his teeth on edge as Pav found another path around.

As they moved forward, Drago started to see objects that could only have some sort of religious significance. They were much newer than the artifacts of the museum, and haphazardly constructed out of patchwork materials. Wires dangled from the ceiling, with small bags hanging from their ends. There was an unspoken agreement to not touch the items. Drago wasn’t a superstitious person, but he had seen what sorts of things were usually placed in these objects of worship.

“What are they?” asked Pav, sounding too loud in the silent hallway.

“What did the History Man call it? A bit of… iconolatry,” said Drago. He suddenly leaned down to look at Pav with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Probably full of teeth or eyeballs.”

“Ew,” she said. He leaned in a little closer, but backed off when she started smacking his shoulder.

Charcoal, who was superstitious, suddenly exhaled sharply multiple times and spun in a circle.

The large room that awaited them was the darkest yet. The flashing torchlight made it seem like shadows were moving along the walls. Drago and the other Mortifiers were used to the way that darkness and discomfort could trick the mind, but Pav was starting to get jumpy. Drago was about to grab her shoulders again when she suddenly screamed, the sound only slightly muffled by her shawl. All lights turned to point at what had made her scream. Three skeletons, still wearing dusty clothes, were piled up in the corner. Pav had stepped on one of their hands.

“Sorry,” gasped Pav, trying to catch her breath.

Spiderweb, a mostly mute Mortifier, crouched down and started rifling through pockets automatically. A rat emerged from the piles of clothes and scurried off, back towards the hallway. Drago wondered what there was down here for the rat to chew on. He took Pav firmly but gently by the arm and led her away from the corpses that were clearly distracting her. Those skeletons were probably as old as he was, and she was going to have to get used to the sight of dead bodies sooner rather than later.

“Is that it?” he asked, shining his light on a large object at the far end of the room.

Pav looked ahead. She went stone still and silent, staring up ahead. Then she scampered with surprising speed towards the object at the end of the room. Drago illuminated the diving bell as he took it in. It was, as he’d somewhat expected, a massive hunk of metal on a raised platform. The metal alone was probably useful for scrap, particularly if it was strong enough to endure the pressure of the deep ocean. If this museum hadn’t been buried, it certainly would have been hauled away for that. Pav started flitting around the platform, suddenly possessed of an energy that was nearly exhausting to watch.

“It’s old, some external repairs need to be done here and here… but it’s an open bell, the exact kind that we need! Older model than I’m used to, but overall looks fine… based on the size, it would last two hours, maybe one if we have multiple divers… you know, if we had the scrap, we could build our own! It’s really just an inverted container, kept open at the bottom to-”

As she spoke, Vendetta started doing robotic movements with his hands and mimicking Pav’s movements while rolling his eyes. When he finally met Drago’s death glare, he shrugged and grinned mischievously. Vendetta was a very short man, and had skillfully dodged swipes from Drago before.

“We should do a test run and shore up the outer shell, but… it should work.” Pav sounded absolutely stunned. “I… can’t believe we found a diving bell in good condition.”

Drago inclined his head towards the exit. “Let’s go. We’ll need to discuss with Dementus how we’re going to drag it out of here.”

He walked ahead of the rest, his eyes already starting to sting from the poor lighting and the spores from the foul growths on the walls. Drago felt something in his chest loosen, like there was a knot of stress he didn’t know he’d been carrying. He didn’t like places like these, deep beneath the earth. One of his greatest fears was to be entombed somewhere like this, dead or alive, trapped here for centuries or millennia until eventually his bones were spit out of the earth.

In the hallway once again, Drago was alerted to movement. He shone a light on the little religious fetishes that hung from the wires. The rat he’d seen earlier had crawled onto one of them, and was chewing through the little bag, making it swing. It started to climb up towards the wire, looking for a better grip. Drago looked at the torchlight reflecting from the wire, and at once thought how much it resembled the tripwires that the Preppers used. As soon as the thought occurred to him, he spun around and slammed the door closed with a bang.

Charcoal was walking directly behind him. “Boss-”

Drago launched himself at Charcoal, sending them both to the floor. Not a moment later, the loudest explosion he’d ever heard deafened the room. The door he’d only just shut was sent flying like it weighed absolutely nothing, slamming into the wall adjacent. The wall collapsed, sending sand, dust, and fungal spores up in a wave. Pure adrenaline made Drago launch himself back up immediately, grabbing Charcoal by the arm and yanking her up to her feet. Their mouths and noses were covered, but now they had effectively been blinded by everything in the air.

“Sound off!” he shouted. “Sound off now!”

He heard the rumble of the aftershock of an explosion being set off in such a small space, and distinct moaning. Drago blindly moved towards the moaning and bent down to where Spiderweb was lying. He’d been struck by a glass display that had fallen on him from the force of the blast. In the dim light, Drago couldn’t see if any had gotten into his eyes. He grabbed Spiderweb and hauled him to his feet with all his strength, supporting him as he struggled to find his balance.

“I said sound off!”

Drago heard two bleary grunts from Metal Tail and Vendetta, but not Pav. He looked around in a panic and made for the diving bell, nearly tripping over the skeletons laying in a pile. He saw Pav lying on her back against the platform, eyes tightly closed, hands out in the air as if to shield herself from another impending explosion. He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her to her feet, dragging her towards the exit. He made sure he was the last to leave the room before shouting at everyone to stop.

“But the whole thing could come down!” said Metal Tail.

“Keep moving, but look for tripwires!”

"There should be an emergency exit... opposite side..." Pav's voice was shrill.

The building rumbled, as if threatening to come down around them. Drago clasped his arm with Pav’s to ensure they were both holding on to each other as the group moved through tumbling dust towards the other end of the hall. The stairway had crumbled, but Drago thought he saw a shaft of light from the opposite direction that Pav had indicated. He shouted at the five of them the entire time, making sure no one lost their footing, trying to see through the veil of haze as the building groaned.

They emerged on the other side, where a hole in the side of a dune had emerged from the explosion. Only then did he allow his Mortifiers to collapse on the ground, collecting themselves. He also let go of Pav, who promptly lay down in the sand and let out an enormous breath. Drago now realized the sharp pain in his back, and went to Spiderweb immediately to assess the damage that the glass had done. He found a pair of scissors in one of his pouches and started cutting his shirt off, while Vendetta fumbled with a set of pliers and a yellowed roll of bandages. Drago looked back up at his people.

“From now on, we assume all the buildings are trapped. Nobody goes inside.”

The damage to Spiderweb from the glass seemed shallow, but his head was bleeding from where it had taken a knock. Glass had gotten into one eye. Once his head was wrapped, Drago checked the others, and was relieved that any wounds were also superficial. When he got to Pav, he put one hand on her head and checked her over. She had been the farthest from the blast, so she seemed to mainly be in shock. He pulled her up to her feet again to snap her out of it, his voice rough.

“Come on, mila moja, you couldn’t have expected this to be easy.”

“That was…” she sounded aghast. “Whoever put those tripwires was really trying to kill us!”

Drago grinned at her, despite himself. “Exciting, isn’t it? Now go help Spiderweb.”

Chapter Text

The next few days were a flurry of activity for the Horde. With the town confirmed abandoned- except for those pesky traps- it became a scavenging free-for-all. The biggest threat to the Horde wasn’t the traps, but rather each other as they squabbled over the new curios. More than a few Horde members were bloodied and bruised as they proudly wore their new finds. Drago received first pick for anything the Mortifiers found, but there was never anything black enough.

The diving bell was painstakingly dragged out of the museum by the Preppers and set up in the center of camp, where Pav’s group flitted around it, checking how feasible the structure was. As curious as Drago was, he didn’t get much chance to look at it. The excitement meant that Dementus was keeping him busy, in case any members of the Horde got any clever ideas or found any heavy armaments. He also didn’t get any time with Pav, which meant his mind wandered more often than not.

Eventually, it was time for the Horde to move on. The town wasn’t livable by any means. Even beyond the land mines and other presents left behind by previous inhabitants, the town itself was sinking into the dunes. A few more years, and it would be gone forever. It also wasn’t fortifiable and far too exposed. The decision was made to move on, and go farther north towards the coast, to the wreckage.

But then Dementus did something rather unusual- he sent Drago out of his tent, and when he left, Pav was being walked in by Mr. Harley. They’d exchanged equally confused glances as they passed one another. Drago had gone back to his tent rather irritable and worried for her sake. At least Harley was with her. He’d asked a Mortifier to keep an eye out, and then crawled into bed for some much-needed shut-eye.

Drago wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when he was suddenly awake and alert. His hand wrapped around the pistol under his pillow as the tent flaps swished and a dark figure emerged. It was oddly silent, with even most of the Horde sleeping in preparation for the long journey tomorrow. As such, when Drago cocked the hammer, the sound was incredibly loud and made his intruder give a familiar squeak.

“It’s me! It’s me!” Pav tripped and stumbled into the tent.

“What are you doing?” hissed Drago, leaning up on his elbows. “I nearly gave you another hole in your head!”

“I asked Metal Tail and he said 'yeah go in'! Now, scoot over.”

Her dive suit jingled as she came closer. She looked around suspiciously, as if there was someone else in the tent who was listening in, and then she started taking off her boots. Drago opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but then his heart jumped into his mouth when Pav suddenly unzipped her diving suit too. When she shrugged it off, she was wearing some nondescript cloth underneath. Nonetheless, Drago had only ever seen her in that dive suit, and all his blood had rushed downwards.

His hand shook as he released the grip of the pistol. Drago just stared like a rabbit in headlights as she sat on the bed and pulled the covers up over her, settling down next to him. His heart was thundering in his chest as he inched backwards to give her more room, almost terrified to touch her. Her skin would electrify him, surely. He had no idea what was going through Pav’s head. Once she was settled, she was just leaning up on her forearms and looking at him shyly, her eyes glittering in the dark.

“Um… I really want to tell you what happened, and I think this is the only place no one else will listen. Although, Metal Tail is right outside.”

Metal Tail was going to get put on dog shit cleanup for a week.

“So… you saw that Dementus wanted to speak to me without you there.”

Drago was attempting to direct some blood flow back to his brain and struggling.

“He heard some rumours about a tribe whose territory we’re going to be passing through, and he wanted me to confirm them. Wait, let me walk it back first.”

Drago wondered if Pav had noticed just how hot and bothered he was. If so, he debated just how far of a height he would need to fall for it to kill him.

“There’s three ways we could go, that wouldn’t involve driving for weeks on end and going miles and miles around. So to the northeast, we have the razor-sharp karst I mentioned. It’ll cut tires like glass cuts skin. Nothing lives there.”

She was getting more and more comfortable as she spoke, her head now on the other pillow. Her hair spilled across it like a river.

“The northwest has those sulfur springs. Boiling hot and toxic. There is a tribe there, the Solfatara, who worship the springs, and they use whatever is in the springs to make… these… colourful fogs? You go into these fogs, and they make you crazy, start seeing things. My friend Rockjaw knew this guy, who knew this guy, who thought he saw his dead wife and followed her right into a boiling spring. Not even bones were left.”

Drago had lowered himself down again, but he was still staring blankly at her.

“The third way- directly north- that’s across the Salt Flats. There’s a tribe there we call Death Angels- I can’t pronounce their real name. They live in these burrows…”

She stopped.

“Wait, are you alright? You’ve been even more quiet than usual. You haven’t even thrown anything at me.”

Drago blinked owlishly before responding. “I was sleeping.”

He could see her face crinkle with embarrassment. “Oh… this was another really stupid thing that I did, isn’t it? Should I go, before you make me chop more corpses?”

“No, no. There’s nowhere else I would rather have you.”

The words just came right out. Drago was left astounded by them, voicing a feeling he hadn’t even acknowledged himself. In the dark, however, Pav apparently didn’t notice, because she just kept rattling on.

“Okay, so, the Death Angels. We could go through their territory, but that would be days of enduring sand traps, throats being slit in the night, food reserves being poisoned… they’ll never face the Horde head on, but they will bleed us, and we’ll never even see them. But they do have a trading outpost where negotiations are possible. Dementus thinks, of the three options, that’s our best one. And um. Well. I think he didn’t want you in the tent, because… he wants me to do it. Negotiate with them.”

She fell silent. The only sound was the tent flaps rustling in the breeze.

“Um.” Pav scooched closer. “Sir?”

Drago was trying to wrangle the rage threatening to boil over inside of him, and was grateful she couldn’t really see him. Pav lifted one hand and gently touched his upper arm. He was in his light brown shift, having also removed his outer suit before bed. She squeezed his arm gently, then moved her hand further upwards until it brushed against his jaw. She lay her hand on the side of his face, fingertips along his cheekbone. It felt cool against his blazing skin, and genuinely calmed him down.

“I’m assuming he’s got some insane plan?” Drago finally asked.

As he spoke, he leaned a little more into her hand, relishing the feeling. He didn’t dare reach out towards her, and frighten her. Pav kept her hand on his face as she replied.

“Yes. He told me- his words, not mine…” she cleared her throat, and took on a high-pitched, gull-like squawk as she imitated Dementus. “I’m giving you a choice, Driving Belle! A very attractive choice! You’re going to honour this great Horde by securing our safe passage! And don’t tell the Big Stupid Octopus! Octopuses don’t even have horns! Bloody cephalopod! You know how hard it is, being surrounded by idiots all day?!”

She went quiet again. Drago thought his face was going to split open.

“Um… like I said. His words, not mine.”

Drago wheezed, then cracked up. He had to smother his cackles in the pillow as his whole chest heaved with laughter. Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes as he fully lost his composure. Pav was silent, then began to laugh in some confusion.

“What?... I didn’t think you’d find what he said funny-”

“THAT WAS-” Drago fought for air and tried to keep his voice down, “THE WORST IMPRESSION I HAVE EVER HEARD. That was awful!”

“What?!” Pav started sputtering. “It was not!”

“Dementus doesn’t sound like a songbird on helium, you fucking sandwich.”

Pav sat up and threw her pillow at him. “You knew it was Dementus, though!”

Drago slapped the pillow down onto her head and held it there, smiling smugly. “Only because you told me first.”

She started kicking and flailing rather pathetically. Not nearly enough to do any real damage, but Drago didn’t fancy a knee to the stomach, so he lazily pinned her with one arm and one leg.

“That’s it? Did that drunken lout teach you anything?”

“MMPH-MM-FF!”

He let Pav struggle in vain for a minute or so before he removed the pillow, but not his limbs. Even in the dark, he could feel her glare.

“You’re a… bad person.”

“You know that, and you climbed into bed with me anyway.”

His voice changed into a purr that made her stop fidgeting and go stock still. Now that he had control over the situation again, confidence had flooded back into Drago. He leaned down towards Pav, but was cognizant enough to loosen his grip on her in case she wanted to back away. He could smell the old salt on her clothes, the oil from her bike, and her own unique scent that made his mind buzz. She didn’t back away, but was still completely rigid. So he stopped just inches from her face, unsure if she really wanted this or was just letting him do as he wished out of fear.

“Do you want to stay here with me tonight?”

She made a tiny squeak that sounded more like terror than lust. He sighed.

“You have to tell me with your words.”

She seemed to be processing, eyes flickering to his face and then back down again. Drago rolled over to give her room to breathe, and tried to fight off the feelings of frustration. It was so easy for him, but for Pav it was apparently like trying to solve a complex equation. Was it his ranking in the Horde? Did she not find him attractive? Was she afraid of men? A combination of all of the above?

“I want to stay here,” she suddenly said. “But… with my clothes on.”

That made him crack a grin. Had he not been feeling so unsure, he would have laughed.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded.

“You are. Come here.”

Pav scooched over towards him until she was right next to him. Drago draped an arm over her, and squeezed her shoulder. Concern briefly distracted him as he rubbed it. Had her shoulder always been so bony? Was she eating enough? But then she moved even closer, tucking her head under his chin and nestling her face against his chest. A perfect fit. Drago took a breath, then placed a long, lingering kiss to the top of her head.

He was afraid she would pull away, but her whole body felt relaxed. Then, she looked up at him. “Do you think I’m playing with you again?”

“I don’t think so. You seem frightened of me.”

“No, not frightened. Well, a little. You are the Octoboss.”

“You can also call me Drago.”

“Okay. Dragomir. Drago…”

Drago’s brain was briefly fried at hearing her say his name. Pav pressed up against him again, letting out a deep, contented sigh.

“I’m happy right here in this bed with you, Drago.”

An odd feeling that wasn’t lust burned in his chest. He swallowed thickly as he pulled her in even closer, chin nuzzling into her thick hair. Like burying himself in midnight. Her arm wrapped around his shoulders and squeezed him tightly. Despite his body’s fatigue, Drago’s mind was positively buzzing, and he didn’t think he’d be able to fall asleep. When was the last time he’d held someone like this? Had he ever liked someone he’d held this much? Someone intelligent and driven and-

“Wait,” said Pav suddenly, startling Drago. He thought she’d fallen asleep. “We didn’t even finish talking about Demen-”

“Shh.” He tucked her head into his chest. “Don’t say that name. Tomorrow.”

“Mmkay.”

Drago placed some more kisses to the top of her head, quick and heated, then down the side of her head, across the shell of her ear, and finally on her jawbone. He stopped, lest he start placing open-mouthed kisses down her neck. And then on her collarbone, and then he’d have to tear her shirt... His breathing was quick and shallow. Pav hummed and moved her hand so that she could run her fingers through his hair. She twisted them through the silvery locks, brushing against the back of his neck. Drago’s whole body thrummed. Eventually her hand slowed, then stilled.

“Drago?”

“Hmm?”

“... what’s a sandwich?”

He snorted. “Always flapping your gums, huh?”

Pav grumbled something into his shirt, then rolled obstinately so she was facing the tent instead. But she stayed pressed up against him, so he held her tightly. She fell asleep first, her breathing deep and even. As sleep took Drago, he realized he owed Metal Tail a great debt.

Chapter Text

Pav was, as usual, woken by someone shaking her shoulders. But this time, when she opened her eyes, there was a tall, dark figure looming over her. The Octoboss was fully dressed, war paint immaculate, hair pulled back and resting over his shoulder. Pav squinted, realizing it was light outside. She had slept much later than usual. She sat up in bed, taking a moment to adjust and realize where she had just slept. As she did so, Drago pressed a tin of some kind of bean stew into her hands. Pav murmured a sleepy thanks as she begin to eat, processing her current situation.

This wasn’t the first time she had slept next to the Octoboss, but this time had certainly been different. She had only meant to tell him Dementus’s plans, then leave. Or had she? Had Pav secretly, plottingly, climbed into bed with him, knowing he’d want to keep her there? The idea of her secretly planning a tryst made her head spin as she ate. Drago had gone back to the tent entrance, discussing with the Mortifiers. She realized that the tent probably had to come down, so she had to get it together. Pav ate quickly, then set down the tin and swung her legs off the bed, pulling on her dive suit.

Once she had zipped it up, she bent to do up her boots. Drago walked back over to her, and stopped, his large combat boots right in front of her. Pav didn’t look up, feeling shy.

“You’ll be riding with the other Diving Bells, same as before.”

“Okay.”

When her boots were laced, she had no choice but to look up- from his boots, up miles and miles of long legs, his slim torso, his broad shoulders, until she was craning her neck to look up at his face. It was, as usual, unreadable. The familiarity relaxed Pav somewhat, and she stood from the bed, pulling her hair out of where it had caught in her suit. When she had fixed it, Drago suddenly reached forward with bare hands and trailed his fingers through the black locks. Pav stopped, holding her breath.

She could see his long fingers in the corners of her vision, the pale blue veins on the back of his hand. His hands were coarse- like everyone’s- but his palms and fingertips didn’t feel as rough as sandstone, like most of the manual workers. Pav let out a long breath as she reached out for his other hand, entwining his fingers with hers. At this, Drago leaned down and kissed the top of her head again. Then down her scalp, her temple, her jawbone. His lips were soft, the hairs of his beard rough yet comforting.

She didn’t quite let him get to her mouth, tilting her head, but let him place kisses all around her face. Each one made her tingle. Pav had never been showered with kisses in this way. They were so light and chaste, but each one made heat rise in her belly. She squeezed his hand as his other moved to cradle her head, burying his face in her hair. Pav had not expected such affection, nor for him to be so patient. She wanted to kiss him- had wanted to for a while- but was frightened that the spell would be broken.

He pulled away, leaving Pav feeling disappointed. She found herself following him, looking up at his eyes, at his lips, before pressing her face into his chest. She knew they had to leave- knew the tent around them would soon be pulled down- but she wanted more. She had been dreaming about him for so long, that she was afraid he would disappear now. He would lose interest, or something terrible would happen. She slid her hands up his back, feeling desperate and pathetic.

He went very still. “We ought-”

Despite herself, she whined. The Octoboss became very tense, like a trap about to spring, and then he grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her backwards. Pav’s legs flew out in front of her as she landed on the old, springy mattress. He was on top of her before she could right herself, hands pinning her wrists and slamming them back over her head. His legs caged hers, and he pressed his forehead against her, breathing hard. Pav tried to move, to even turn her head away, but she was trapped, and excited. She looked up into Drago’s eyes, at the thin line his mouth was set into.

“That is playing.”

He kissed her forehead- more brusquely this time- and got up off of her, leaving Pav feeling like a turtle on its back. She still didn’t have time to process when Drago pulled her back up to her feet, steadying her. He steered her out of the tent and gently pushed her out of it. Pav was out in the light, hair rumpled, eyes wide, surrounded by dark-clad Mortifiers as they finished packing. Her shoulders had risen nearly to her ears as her gaze flickered around them all, heat creeping from her body to her face.

Then, a low voice in her ear. “You owe me an apology.”

Pav gasped and whipped around, nearly smashing into Firelock. He looked affronted.

“Oh, please try not to get a heart attack at every little thing! I’m not about to be the one to tell the boss that you died like a hamster whose cage got rattled.”

Pav hadn’t seen Firelock since she’d stolen his gear and left him slumped out in the open. Drago also hadn’t told her the punishment he’d planned for him…

“Piss.”

“Huh?”

“You know those dogs piss all over those fancy rugs Dementus has? Not to mention chewing on various bits of viscera on top of them?” He leaned forward to look her in the eye. “You know who had to scrub them like a scullion?”

Pav realized why she hadn’t seen Firelock with the other Mortifiers the past few days, now. He reached one hand towards her and started rubbing her hair, aggressively, mussing it up even more than it already had been. Then he fixed it, so it wasn’t blocking her vision. He seemed to be eyeing her rather judgmentally.

“I think a haircut would do you good.”

Pav sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said graciously. “Nonetheless, I’ll be calling in a favour, soon.”

---

The next days of travel seemed to pass very quickly. Pav had no more time to train with Firelock, as she and the other Diving Bells were busy with their new find. Lizzard was doing much of the repairs, cleaning up the rust and checking for stress fractures. Cut-and-Run, the divemaster, was making an inventory of everything that would be needed. Deadrise was collecting and melting down scrap for the diving bell repairs. Pav and the group had long discussions- who would go to the rig? What would be prioritized? Nobody knew what the situation was, or if it had any air pockets left.

Pav also found herself longing for the Octoboss more than ever before. When she read her romance novels, she imagined the male lead to look like him. Then she’d put the book down and her mind would wander, thinking about him. Her body’s reactions were absolutely feral. She wanted so badly to climb into bed with him again, have him kiss her whole head, wrestle with him on the sheets. But a warning in her mind told her to wait, to hold back, not throw herself at him like a wild animal. So, she slept alone.

The first sign of the Death Angels’ territory was the one and only warning they gave. It was fairly innocuous, to those who didn’t know what they were looking for. Huge mounds of dirt, some twenty meters high, dotted the landscape. One intrepid group in the Horde dug into one, then quickly covered it back up after much retching. The desiccated, nude remains of intruders were within, their bodies sucked dry of moisture.

Pav was unnerved. Everything she knew about the Death Angels was hearsay, only. They had never come for trading with the rig, like the other tribes in these parts. She knew Dementus liked to toy with people, but it seemed odd for him to put such an important task on her shoulders. The Horde set up camp well away from the mounds, and Pav herself was summoned to Dementus’s tent with haste.

When she arrived in the tent, she was surprised to see two of Dementus’s… serving girls? Concubines? A bit of both? Ordinarily, there was only ever one inside during meetings, to serve drinks to the Horde bosses. They were both looking at Pav expectantly. Dementus strode up to Pav, and began his whole routine of sizing her up. Grabbing her jaw, poking her ribs, inspecting her like livestock. Pav was beginning to realize this was an intimidation tactic, but it was one that worked.

“As I suspected. This won’t do. Won’t do at all.” His voice was, as usual, too loud.

Pav was hoping that meant he had selected someone else for the negotiations. But Dementus wasn’t looking at her, but at her dive suit. He was tutting, pulling at the thick fabric. Pav looked at the two women for any help, maybe some female solidarity, but their faces looked as cold and impassive as ever. Pav wondered how Dementus treated his women. It probably wasn’t anything like how the Octoboss treated her.

“No, it’s as I knew! This is why I didn’t understand Ock’s rager for you. You call this thing feminine?” He plucked roughly at the dangling ornaments on her suit. “But luckily for you, the Great Dementus knows exactly what you need.”

He snapped his fingers at the two women, who approached Pav and dragged her out of the tent. They went to a smaller, nearby tent, where Fang was sitting with a shotgun, looking bored. The women brought Pav in and began promptly unzipping and removing her clothes. They were so quick and efficient that she barely had time to protest before she was stark naked in the tent. Not used to being seen nude, she shyly began to cover herself, but then was subjected to a sponge bath.

Pav was well and truly tired of being a passive contributor to her own life. Everyone pulling her this way and that. She fumed as she was cleaned up, then winced as her hair was brushed through. A third woman entered the tent, carrying some of the most colourful green cloth Pav had ever seen. She looked on in astonishment as the cloth was wound around her newly-cleaned body. Pins held it in place, ties wrapped around her belly. When it was done, she looked down at herself.

Her midriff and arms were bare, and her legs were clad in what looked like trousers but was actually a very complicated skirt. A slit down both sides exposed her legs when she walked. She didn’t know what the cloth’s make was, or how it had stayed so colourful in the Wasteland. But her admiration faded when Pav realized she was being dressed up like a show pony. Her stomach dropped. Was Dementus trying to sell her?

Much to her relief, a dark green cloak was tossed over her, providing her some modesty. Then the women shoved Pav out of the tent, stumbling out into the bright daylight. Dementus was waiting outside, clapping excitedly. He walked over to Pav, grabbed her hands, and spun her around. Smeg was circling them like an excited dog, crawling on his hands and knees. Pav wanted her dive suit back. Her gun, her dive knife, her things… she craned her head to look back at the tent, but Dementus was gripping her like a vice.

“Marvelous! You see, Driving Belle, this tribe- what are they, Dark Angels? They’re going to see you, and they’ll think- crikey! This Horde is rich indeed, if they can dress their sheilas like that! They won’t be able to resist a trade! All you have to do is show up, ask what it’ll be for unimpeded passage, and Squint’ll bring you back right quick!”

Pav was suddenly shoved backwards, and a rough pair of hands caught her. When she looked up, she recognized Squint immediately by his neck brace.

“I don’t… I don’t have any weapons. They’re in my suit,” she protested.

“What, you think Squint and the MFP can’t protect you? Do you hear that, boys?”

Hooting and hollering from the nearby former MFP, and their partnered prisoners. Pav was sure her face had turned vermillion by this point. She looked around desperately. No Octoboss, no Diving Bells, no Mortifiers, no Harley. Fang was still there, staring at a piece of cooked meat on the tip of his knife like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Pav fought to stop tears from spilling out of her eyes.

“They’ll take me more seriously if I’m armed,” she insisted.

Dementus tilted his head and leaned down, so she could see that terrifyingly blown-out pupil. He reached into his leather chaps- which were incredibly tight, so Pav was shocked anything could fit in there at all- and pulled out a small knife. It had a very unique handle- a carved bear, made out of some sort of fine material. He unsheathed it. The metal of the blade was unremarkable, but polished and sharpened. Dementus then grabbed Pav’s hand, forcibly uncurled her fingers, and sliced across her palm.

She gasped- more from fear than pain- as Dementus bent and laved his tongue over the blood pooling there. Then he took her wrist and dragged her bloodied hand across his face, sighing in contentment as her blood stained his brow, his cheeks, his beard. Pav shuddered the whole time. Once he was satisfied, he wrapped the knife in Pav’s trembling hand, then folded her arm against her chest. When he leaned down to her again, her dentures rattled as his hot breath spread across her face.

“There. You’ve gone and twisted my arm, little Octogirl.”