"...FLAGS THAT FUCK THE SKY? I don’t think that’s a slang any proper nation wants to be known by, however small. Or perhaps it is a deterrent to pirates, no?"

Thyra voiced her concerns to the genius of the harem, wiping at the corners of her mouth with a soft towel. Kambili was off in the corner, sulking, "I can’t believe I just threw up," she made a face. She always had to be the strong one. Inaia—the genius—told them. "Colony is not a nation. It is not autonomous. And what if the people there are not proper per se, we’re about to find out I guess. But seriously, are you guys good?"

"Ugh!" Kam made a worse face. "My mouth tastes off."

Thyra had shaken off the worst of the effects of literally space-jumping. She still needed to sit and have a glass of water. "You coulda told us we’d feel like shit that’s all." She mumbled. "The goddamn stories need to be corrected. You need a tough stomach for a [Divination]." She drank more water. "Fuck. I feel like my face is all odd angles." Thyra looked to Inaia, "is my face all odd angles?"

"Never." Eotigan’s timbre answered. "You couldn’t look like shit if you tried."

He refilled Thyra’s cup with a smile. Kambili and Inaia were staring. This was why they loved this demon. Eotigan made a joke out of it, before it turned into some deep moment, "see, I can be corny too."

PUUUH-PUUUUUHHHHH!!!

The landing horn blew loudly from the docks, shaking the group up. Eotigan focused yonder with the girls. He noticed first that unlike El Cabana, Colony had no natural beaches. It was all patch here and patch there of ugly earth that refused to grow shit. The trees looked like they fed on diet compost. No real evergreen lustre. Inaia echoed his thoughts: "magic must be involved here somewhere. Look at her gray shores. For a land surrounded by water, it sure doesn’t look it."

As the ship pulled into the docking, expensive wood met with that bleached earth in long lines of small tents where cargo and travellers were processed. Colony might have got shit soil but their architecture was proud.

The warship got extra attention as she coasted in and was anchored. She had to be roped too because she was a big mama. Eotigan and the girls were ready in their regalia; one look at him and everybody watching assumed he was a very, very rich pirate Captain. But then his insignia was the dark Raven of the [Empyrean] and his seal that of Her Majesty. So the spectators were confused. So, they began to place bets.

"Watch her guns!" Eotigan leveled with the porters, making the smaller men part with their fear and smile for two second. He walked down the gangplank in company of the hottest women the hustle of Colony had ever never seen. One stocky handler with a single lens of looking goggles regarded Eotigan, murmuring, "first time I’ve seen a ginger that big."

Eotigan did hear him twenty steps away. He chuckled within. ’First time you’ve seen a demon, you sissy.’

There was a long line at the Holds—the rectangular buildings where every vessel was processed, but that line evaporated the moment a sweet pair golden boots embellished in real alligator skin stepped through. Eotigan had on his midnight doublet. Head to toe, he was custom dressed. His apparel woven of gold silks from Beihu, the far eastern kingdoms of the Nine Realms.

Click! Click! Click! Click!

His boot soles raptly captivated the room, soles so clean they reflected light. All conversing had stopped at his entry, wisping out like a drizzle. People did not know where to look. As mighty as he was dashing, he also had the loveliest doves behind him. And one of them wasn’t wearing a dress—but breeches and a waistcoat.

Eotigan grinned his signature panty-dropper, like he’d just had Nyx kiss him. He knew whom had mouths slack behind him. Kam had made her choice with the silver tights. And he really did love staring—and smacking—her sweet, fair butt, imagining her out of them and filling his palms, so he let her wear it. Also he’d like to see who’d tell the avatar of Suratani, no. The girl ate giant 12ft tarantulas like fish. Good, luck.

"—the name of your vessel?" A sharp twang of a voice hit. The group had come up to the stocks table. It was the dwarf behind it that’d spoken. Eotigan detected immediately: a bitch hater. This fucker had voice like a dying train, freckles he initially thought was eczema, and his legs dangled up the seat. A hating, bitch dwarf.

The imp raised his ratchet uni-brow. His writing feather paused. "Did a roomful of passengers just make way for four deaf-mutes?"

"Her name’s Hippolyta, IMP!" Thyra stepped around to Eotigan’s side, "and make sure you put in the double p’s. You don’t look like you can spell."

The dwarf’s feather dropped from his little hand. His tub of ink toppled, spilling inventory and scrolls. He gasped. All over, mouths were agape. Eotigan smirked at the humbled man. ’In your face, bitch! That’s my girl.’ His hands burned to grab and devour Thyra. He’d trust her to put the leprous shit in his place. She was the mistress of roasts. Eotigan leaned what seemed as three hundred miles to be eye-level with the dwarf—his taller assistants struggling to save the monthly financial statements from ruin by the spill. Eotigan said in a terrible, confident whisper. "Please allow me to introduce myself..."

In a minute Eotigan had the man shaking on his high stool, looking like he had shit his pants and everyone could smell it. The assistants had cleared up the mess and had a fresh sheet, tub, and feather before the imp. The dwarf looked down and began to journal, like a freshly graduated scribe all he had heard in the last minute: names, rights, destinations, occupations of the weird people who had just embarrassed the fuck out of his existence.

For any other dumb traveler the imp would just tick off invisible boxes on an aged scroll, right before bringing down a tax on their goods so big they’d be better off trying to convince a shark to show mercy.

"...so, SIR," the dwarf was saying, still scribbling hard at it, a new respect in his voice, "just to be clear please, the ladies Kambili, Inaia, and Thyra are all your mistresses. And bear your surname. Thus, shall be licensed to any and every goods taken stock of on your vessel, in u-uh...the event of a passing. Not that I’m saying any of y-you should die—"

Kambili joined Thyra in front of the table. She banged her fist on the planar surface. "You better PRAY and hope not."

The dwarf shook harder. He was barely writing legibly—and he’d had the best cursives in three dimensions five minutes ago. The man cleared his throat, "ahem...just to finish up please, if I understand correctly, you, Sir, Lars Eotigan are a naval officer in Her Majesty’s fleet, which is how you have come to be in possession of Hippolyta: a colossal warship worth a whopping six million [solidus]. Thousands of ingots more expensive than the rare Marina Ruby."

"At least he knows math." Thyra gave a dry laugh. "We’ve had enough questions."

Kam nodded, turning back to Eotigan and Inaia, the silent ones. Eotigan opened up his left palm and Inaia produced a weighty bag of gold from her fashionable purse. The other travelers in the room keeled for a better lock, unsure how such a measurable currency could fit in such minute quarters. In truth, Inaia’s purse was a [Helpocket].

People had seen her open the zipper and put her hand in, but really, she was reaching down into a literal universe of darkness where all the wealth and weaponry of her [Host] were banked.

CHINK!

Eotigan dropped the bag on the table before the imp. "That should cover the tax for everybody in here." Dead silence reigned. The freckled dwarf looked from the gold to the tall stranger, and at the gold again. Inaia calmly zipped up her purse once more. "What’s the best hotel here?"

Her voice was very distinguished. No one could place her accent. Not even Eotigan, and she was his [subservíena]. He liked it though. The world needn’t understand every little thing. The imp tax-maester thought he’d bought the warship. No. He’d starved a royal fae into building the entire 200ft from scratch. How very devilish? How very natural to him?

Snap! Snap!

Thyra clicked her fingers in front of the imp’s irregular face. Her painted nails flashed. The other females in the docking room could see the elusive, auburn-haired gentlemen was clearly taking very good care of mistresses. They ignorantly thought his wife must be on a throne. Eotigan had no wife. Before his separation though, his ex did rule a kingdom underwater. Their assumptions weren’t fully wrong in that regard. Thyra looked like she wanted to smack the imp over his large head next, so he briskly chased down the saliva forming in his mouth, and answered Inaia,

"M-Mayflower. The best hotel here is the Mayflower. Welcome to COLONY, sir. . ."

But Eotigan already was on the move. His spin was so fluid his tunic actually fanned out in the air behind him. Thyra and Kambili shared a knowing look; no creature could be as nonchalantly sexy as their sire. And pull it several times. No one could claim to have seen his aura – as the [Apollyon] of the underworld he was afforded certain attributes that prevented his harm as a kid, and now all of the evil bastards actually strong enough to look at him and see his aura, aka his extended family, were all floating dust or in eternal prison, put there by him – but Inaia had given some gossip to the other girls about how his aura was surprisingly more heavenly.

If Eotigan was sleeping—his gold serpent eyes shut—and someone looked upon him they would never think he was a demon. Much less the prince of devils.

"Why are all the buildings here tall and shaped like penises?" This was several minutes later in a [shuttle wagon] speeding around the rise of luminous towers. It was Kam asking. The flying cab was long and its interior ultra-nice. Just as the Freelands, [mecha] culture had apparently made its way across the Cold Sea. The glass walls of these towers didn’t even have curtains.

Thyra made hot eye contact with Eotigan, knowing he’d catch her drift. He did. In front, the driver of the shuttle swerved expertly around needle-shaped scrapers, the obvious normal of Colony, with tippy tops hidden in passing clouds; he headed west for a bright, bigger, fancier tower. "It has nothing to do with penises," Inaia came forward with a reply to Kam. She explained since her [Host] too appeared intrigued. "Colony has a stipulation of only tall, long buildings because of its unfair seismic situation. This island is made of unsteady earth. Plates are prone to shift and break away. To circumvent this each structure is made phallic, against wide. When the earth breaks, buildings shaped like needles are more likely to still be standing."

"And you know all this the twenty minutes we’ve been here?" Kambili’s eyes had a glint of pride.

Eotigan delivered in smooth, smoky, country baritone, "it’s what she does—making my life easy."

Though he was complimenting only Inaia, Kam and Thyra pinkened too. "The Mayflower, sir." The chauffeur announced from his seat. The tints on the shuttle’s windows slid away. A mighty scraper whooshed in front of them, larger than life. Unlike the other tall, long buildings on Colony, the Mayflower wasn’t shaped as a penis. Rather, a dagger.