#jesterplatoon

“You’re somewhat lucky, pup.” Sharp teeth glinted behind the Captain’s playful grin, making the short hairs of Lieutenant Famillion’s neck prick uncomfortably. He was never quite settled around the Captain, no matter how much he trusted and respected the man, especially when he bore that expression and used that tone. It usually meant he spoke of equivocations whilst holding some sort of cleaning tool behind his back, readying to spring chores upon his crew unexpectedly.

“What do you mean?" He asked, nervously eyeballing the closet, which held all of the maintenance equipment. Surely not, his Captain wouldn't be so cruel as to- "It means you have less time in the sun, no chance of becoming a hot dog.”

The Captain’s amused voice brought the Mimic’s attention back to him, but the Lieutenant didn't hold his gaze for very long. The rest of the crew’s giggles, most prominently Jaylin’s, died out steadily; Cpt. Skewlls’ wicked grin fading with them as they all turned back to their stations. The mood which they’d labored so hard to lift fell muted once more, just like all previous attempts. The shadowy Captain drifted over to his Lieutenant from the central station, silent like a ghostly mist creeping over the deck. Silent enough that Canis started when he felt a hand on his shoulder, head snapping around to see the Captain holding out a sponge and grinning a bit too toothily. The Lieutenant’s nose scrunched and his lip curled at the biting smell of vinegar-soap emanating from the sponge, and he looked up to meet Cpt. Skewlls gaze with wide eyes and furrowed brows. When his superior’s grin only widened with amusement, he understood- face falling into a grimace. 

“What, really? Now? I thought you were just joking!” 

“Of course not,” The Captain’s eyes glimmered a merry, mischievous green at Canis’ tone of sheer desperation. “Now, now, don’t worry. The rest of the Jester’s will be at it as well.” The others groaned, collectively slumping at their stations. Cpt. Skwells merely rolled his eyes. 

“Come on now. Chip-Chop.” He clapped. “We’ll be arriving shortly and I want this cabin shining so much that I can see my non-existent reflection in the breaker-boxes.” The Captain made sure to stand there and watch until they’d gotten up to gather supplies, then simply turned away and let them get on with their distraction. That’s what it was, and most realized it even as they happily settled down into the routine of cleaning. Joe stood at the closet and passed out the equipment- a broom to Ezio, a mop to Jaylin, and finally, the "dust-sticker stick" was handed to Canis- along with a bucket of vinegar-based product for the polishing sponge later. 

And clean they did, until the call to get back to their stations and initiate Ramp-Landing procedures came over the high speaker. Despite the distraction, the cabin remained muted. Canis went through the motions, calling out positions and checking conditions on the outside of the locomotive as if he were merely watching from afar as someone piloted his movements. He tried to satisfy his aching chest by recalling all the good times, all their accomplishments- and all the tough times that brought them ever-closer. It failed miserably and only made his heart hurt more, a bitter taste spoiling his tongue. The Lieutenant didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave his ridiculous crew and his questionable-but-kind Captain. He knew the others wanted him to stay too, they kept glancing his way and he could tell exactly what they felt about this separation, even as they made their last descent. 

"So… I guess this is it.” Once the jostling of a smooth, ramp-assisted landing ceased, and the elegant Casino Royale was parked in her bay, the crew sat in telling silence. The Mimic looked quickly away from his station’s screens, away from the shifting hot-red world outside that made his eyes water, and let his gaze sweep through the cabin to meet the eyes of his four other crewmates. He cracked a small grin, hesitant, biting his lip before he spoke again. “After you lot buy me a drink of course."

"We'll send you off with a nice swig o’ milk." Cpt. Skewlls smirked after another moment, teeth glinting as sharp as his eyes as he spoke. “After all, wouldn’t want our doggy officer getting poisoned with his last drink with the Jesters.”

"Ahah! Milk is as bad as alcohol for dogs, because, dogs! Again! Unlike Mimics! Again! Are lactose intolerant!" Canis huffed in mock annoyance, cheekily tutting as if disappointed in the Captain’s refusal to remember. “I am a Mimic, therefore, bring on the booze bitches.” He spread his arms wide, daring the Captain with a sheepish grin. 

In the meantime, the crew had moved towards the door. Ezio stood in the corner, already anticipating the eminent jaunt into the infamous Trader City. He followed the conversation with slight bewilderment, eyebrows hiking ever further up as, finally, he looked to Jaylin, then to Joe for an explanation. The Tobitoan saw Canis' smug-looking face, wondering if all of these facts were meant to confuse, or were indeed legitimate. To the short Commander standing at his left, he leaned over and stage-whispered behind a raised hand, “Have we been… feeding our Mimic poison? Is synth-milk really that bad for him??”

"I don’t think he’d lie?" Jaylin didn’t know any more than he did and seemed to be just as confused, watching their Captain smirk and advance on Canis curiously.

"But… the whole… synth-milk in a saucer thing! The yogurt treats! Dogs are mammals, aren’t they?? Mammals drink milk. From their ma’s. Right?" 

The other Tobitoan Lieutenant looked back at his counterpart, who met his gaze and winked in a comically forced manner. Joe merely shrugged. “The Lieutenant is not a Dog.”

Canis, who was most definitely not of the class Mammalia, curled his lips into a grin that showed far too much tooth to be all that innocent. “See, now the whole crew thinks I’m a common mutt!” He nudged their Captain, now standing to his right, with an elbow. “Except Joe of course, because Joe is the best person here.” At this point, they had all migrated from their stations into the antechamber of the engine, waiting for one of the Sub-Lieutenants in the wagons to give the ‘O.K.’ to open the airlock. 

"I've been a bird owner my whole life, really, my family owned a Rockroc. I wouldn’t be able to tell you much." Jaylin provided with a shrug, sending an apologetic grin to a still-befuddled Ezio. 

"You don’t say?" Lieutenant-Commander Joe perked up. He’d always wondered about those birds, it had been rumored that only a handful had ever been tamed, most notably the one that’d made its perch upon the shoulder of that one infamous space pirate. Hemlock? Herlock? Something like that, concluded Joseph, who came from a small moon of an even smaller solar system, the news of which, before he’d joined the SDF, had consisted solely of the occasional old, drunk spacemen’s yarn. 

"Yes," the Cpt. Skewlls interrupted sharply, fingers snapping once to set the wandering thoughts of his crew back to the task at hand. Jaylin and Ezio straightened up so quickly from their semi-conspirative hunches that their spines cracked, and Joe, well. Joe, who’d been paying attention no matter how distant and birdish his thoughts became, only set his expression into something altogether sterner with barely a twitch of his lips. 

“Yes, the milk thing is true. Moving on now,” The Captain glared momentarily at the youngest Lieutenant, blaming him in full for this quick, albeit appreciated, digression. 

“We’re heading to the nearest pub, which I believe is the Dustdog, off-duty, and we’re getting drunk. The Sub-Lieutenants and the deckhands will join us once they finish up with things here at Royale. Catch is, we only have 3 hours or so to do it, so tab is on me.” Half the ranking officers present were near-vibrating in anticipation. Then the Captain’s tone dropped suddenly, dangerously- the antechamber became visibly darker, and green sparks- tricks of the light, they didn’t really exist, or did they?- danced in the corners of the mortal crew’s perception. “However, if one of you show any, and I mean any sign of inebriation whatsoever when we check in with HQ, you will regret it.” The oppressive darkness disappeared as abruptly as it had come, and the ‘fearless’ ones took a breath of relief. Cpt. Skewlls merely grinned something akin to a shark and clapped his hands in delight. “Perfect!” 

The call to unlock the bulkhead rung loud above their heads, timed near-perfection with the Captain, as most things were on the Casino Royale. 

“Okay humans- and Mimic- Let’s go hit the bar at a planetary hour that would shock most and completely offend others!”

~

"I'll just start off slow, I think,” hummed Canis, voice smooth and languid, almost whimsical. The Dustdog, despite the local hour, bustled with the sight, smell and energy of a couple of dozen patrons. Most either with keen business interests on the planet or simply waiting out a stop-over on their way somewhere else. Some species the young Lieutenant could recognize, while some were completely foreign and drew his gaze, eyes blown wide and sparkling with unguarded curiosity. Scents rushed to clog his nostrils, the air sweet with sweat and a pungent fruity aroma, toned with earthy malts and fermented brews. Something rancid and bitter seemed to be emanating from a couple pitchers on the bar counter, probably some sort of local drink. Lights flashed, music played a bit too loudly, the rhythm buzzing in his ears like the low, throaty yowl of a Hellcat back home. Swallowing a lump that had risen in his throat, the Mimic tore his attention away from the patrons and back to the Jesters, looking to them as they gathered around the doorway. Eventually they all stood in the entrance with matching, stupidly large grins spreading across both Jaylin and Ezio’s faces. Joe, calm as ever, scoped the bar out with a few sharp-eyed glances and then turned to his crewmates.

"Starting slow is good advice, I say we all follow it. ‘Ey Jay? Ezio?" He teasingly nudged the shorter Commander and earned a finger-flick for his troubles. It never hurt to urge the youth to be responsible, no matter how futile the effort. 

Ezio, with a hearty slap on the back which nearly knocked the Mimic lieutenant off-balance, dismissed the very notion with a careless wave of the hand. "And where's the fun in that? Use that nose of yours.” He spoke straight to Canis. “Drinks are on the captain. We either all get plastered or we all wallow in a pitcher of sadness- there’s none of this designated driver bullsh-” He cut himself off when he glanced Joe’s expression. “Look, ok, the Captain can’t even get drunk, there is no reason we can’t do this-”

"Oh, my Telyris- Is that peanut butter?" Canis distractedly interrupted Ezio’s fumbling, saving the Tobitoan from an early grave and earning his endless gratitude. Paying him no attention, Canis pardoned himself with a mumbled word and zeroed in on the scent of the delightful treat he hadn’t had since leaving the SDF’s HQ. However, he did not expect the form in which he found his favorite snack; as he not-so-subtly passed around the table where four small shots of creamy, golden liquor had been served, he slowly realized that they were the source of the peanut butter. Eventually one of the occupants of the table realized he was there, and half-drunkenly told him what they were drinking, among other things. The lieutenant, now flushed deep blue at the ears, scurried off to track down his crewmates and order the first round of what would be quite a few, not dissuaded from his goal despite the minor hiccup. 

He caught sight of the Captain first, sat at the counter sipping something strong and clear. The Dhuuma’s sharp gaze swept across the room, watching the patrons with the languid intrigue of a cat perched on a window sill, viewing that morning’s selection of finches at the birdfeeder. He met his lieutenant’s eyes, nodded, and promptly turned back to observing the bar-goers. 

Much to Jaylin’s frustration, as for the first time that night she had to admit defeat and put down her hand. The luxury cards had shown a glorious green and black, bearing not a scratch or fold. Until a few weeks ago she’d merely use the cheapest cards money could buy, however Cpt. Skwells had decided that his favorite and only card-playing crew-member could not use such a drab set. She was, in fact, the only one in the whole of the SDF who had not yet given up on the absurd notion of, one day, defeating the Demon King of Black Jack himself. Jaylin’s determination brought a faint smile upon the Captain’s face, and he put his drink down to reshuffle the cards for another game. They were going to be there for a while, and the scene brought up tender memories of the Lieutenant’s first couple of weeks on the force. He’d learned his lesson on his second night with the Jesters, and soundly beaten he’d never tried his luck at poker ever again. Ezio would try once in a blue moon or when he was too drunk to know any better, in both instances resulting in solid losses that the rest would tease the poor Tobitoan with for weeks thereafter.

Joe was the only one who ever came close to beating the Captain, though he rarely played- much to the later’s deep, continuous chagrin. 

Shaking off the creeping melancholy, the Mimic quickly searched for Joe and Ezio, knowing both would probably be together and saving a seat for him. Once he spotted them Canis quickly put in his order with the bartender, changing his mind from shots to an individual tumbler; seeing as everyone already seemed to have their drinks. That accomplished, he made his way over to the duo. 

Joe, and with him Ezio, had taken a quieter seat at the end of the booze-stained counter and altogether not too far from Jaylin and the Captain. Canis perched on the stool to Joe’s right, watching curiously as the bartender approached the small group. With a quick glance around, he realized both his companions had yet to order and a smirking grin pulled at his lips. 

“So Joe, wha’cha gonna get? Milk? Water?” The Mimic snickered, Ezio’s eyebrow curving up in what seemed like surprise. The Tobitoan seemed about to correct his younger colleague, but the bartender interrupted him, flatly asking for their order whilst simultaneously placing Canis’ drink on the sticky countertop in front of him. He took a sip of it, savoring the creamy, artificially flavored peanut-buttery delicacy as he watched and waited for Joe’s reply with mischievously twinkling eyes. 

“I would like an Argyenian Basilisk Spritz, please an’ thank ya’ ma’am.” Canis sputtered, half his drink spat back into the tumbler as he turned to stare at Joe in wide-eyed shock. “Wh-what??” Ezio snickered, in turn ordering himself a local Meldarian brandy he’d never heard of out of pure curiosity. The bartender left without sparing them a second look, and Canis was left reeling. 

"No! Seriously? Joe? What in Tyr’s nation-??”

Joe smirked, shrugging in a sort of smug nonchalance that had the Mimic even more confused and looking to Ezio for answers. He merely laughed, shaking his head in amusement and eyes glowing warm with mirth.

“That’s right, we never brought you to a bar before- My man here, Joe-” He clapped his partner on the shoulder, grinning, “-can hold his liquor like no one’s business. He doesn’t look it cuz he gives everyone the impression of a man who dines with his grandma every Sunday.” Joe’s harrumph at that had Ezio backpedaling, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Look, not that that’s a bad thing Marge is the nicest woman I know-” the Tobitoan turned back to Canis, “point is, don’t judge a book by its cover eh? Joe may look like the goodiest two shoes you ever did meet but he did some crazy sh-”

“That’s enough o’ that there now,” Joe warned, but he had a look in his warm brown eyes that had Ezio rolling his eyes and sighing. “Fineee. One day Joe, one day…” Pondering over what that could mean with a bemused half-smile, Canis turned to check in on the other two just in time to catch them making their way over. In lieu of greeting, Captain Skwells jutted his chin at the tumbler in front of the lieutenant. “What do you got there Lieutenant Famillion?” The tips of Canis’ ears warmed, and he just knew they were flushed blue in embarrassment. 

“It’s a Reeses Meeses.” He muttered, much to everyone’s delight. They shared a laugh, Ezio cackling as he answered, “Peanut butter eh? That’s a start of a bad joke right there, ya know. Dog goes to a bar, followed by a cat and a Dhumma-” he jutted a thumb at the Captain mischievously, “Dog orders peanut butter, cat gets milk and the Dhumma orders a can of gasoline-” 

Canis interrupted him before the Captain could, blowing the dark-haired Tobitoan a raspberry. “I’m not a dog! Again! Can’t relate.”

“You’re canine-like, and you have this weird fixation on peanut butter- that’s enough for me.”

A firm cough disrupted the argument before it could start in earnest, the Lieutenant biting his tongue to hold back his rebuke and glaring at Ezio’s smug grin before all attention was directed to the Captain. Simultaneously, the bartender arrived with Joe and Ezio’s drinks, darting away just as quick to serve a group of rowdy patrons who had just come in. 

The corners of Cpt. Skwells’ eyes crinkled as a pleased grin spread across his face, and with an approving nod at the new refreshments took up his own glass and held it in front of him. The rest of the seated crew took the cue and grabbed their own, waiting anxiously for whatever their beloved Captain was about to say. 

“Well, while I would have liked to be able to get properly plastered with you all- not that these words will ever be repeated, mind you, in a professional setting-” he met each of their eyes carefully, and as that bright, swirling green gaze passed over him, the young Lieutenant felt the small hairs at the back of his neck prick up warily, on instinct.. “-It is to my great displeasure that I am forced to announce this round- our first- must also be our last. We do not have as much time as initially thought, so let this speech be brief.” The Captain’s attention turned solely to the Mimic, grin shortening into his everyday smirk. “It was a pleasure to work with you, Ltn. Canis  Lycaon Latran Lupis Famillion. You worked hard and played hard, fit right in with this band o’ misfits. Your first few years were hilarious, best entertainment I’ve had since Joe and Ezio began to crush on each other.” 

Both parties sputtered, but the dhuuma’s teasing grin was enough for them to keep their complaints unspoken. The Captain continued without acknowledging them, his expression schooling into something more solemn, smirk tightening into something more mature. Canis’ back straightened, and he stood taller. He was now being addressed by The Captain. Not Cpt. Skwells, not even Ethan- but one of the most respected and infamous captains of the SDF. 

“You are, and forever will be, a valued member of Jester Platoon. Call on us and we will be there, I will be there. You will always have a place with us, Lieutenant.” 

The young mimic’s eyes stung, but he could not discern whether it was due to the pungent odors in the air or the assurances given to him by his Captain. He did not want to know which it was, either. He only managed a nod back, unable to speak. 

From the sidelines, there came a snort and suddenly Jaylin barreled her way forward to fasten herself around the Lieutenant. 

“Group Hug!” She proclaimed, quickly being followed by all the crew with the exception of the Captain. They remained like that a moment, Canis holding on to his friends, cheeks mysteriously wet as the others pulled away to reclaim their glasses. Cpt. Skwells waited for them to be ready before lifting his own tumbler with a sharp grin. “To Lieutenant Canis! May we many more successful missions together, and may he finally find his beloved peanut butter!”

~

Somehow, one round turned into three before the Captain, the only one still and forever sober, wrangled his crew towards the docks. Canis had followed them, the good-byes had been long and tearful until finally, all that was left for him to wave at was the dark-red smudge of the Casino Royal ascending through the atmosphere. 

Not that he would remember much, as he stumbled off to find shade during the hottest time of the Meldarian day. As it was, Canis found an alley to crash in and nap- mind fuzzy and body heavy from alcohol, until his thoughts were clear enough to explore and find his bearings. Propped against some building’s wall, the mimic felt his eyelids droop, his last wistful thoughts wondering about the crew that he had just left behind...

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 (You are here)