Even Death May Die - Cute Cthulhu Cultist! (Flying Circus Quest)

The town you were in was a lot like the others you'd stayed in on your journey north, though the buildings were getting lighter in construction and the outfits were getting lighter. It made you a little self-conscious, walking around in short sleeves, the swirling glowing tattoos on the blue grey of your forearms impossible to hide. You wished you had Arren's confidence: he was wearing a sleeveless undershirt, and as much as you appreciated the view, you hadn't seen another of your people in two weeks outside of the company. You were very nearly on the opposite side of the world from your home.

There was a bar here the pilots were piling into, but it wasn't quite like the taverns back home. It was a much smaller space than you were used to, not really a community space. It was dirty, cramped, and loud, even in the mid-afternoon, and you were pleased to see that Anny and Ronja had already claimed a table for the group. A phonograph in the corner was currently blazing out some prewar recording of a song you'd first heard a month ago, Heart in a Tailspin, which was rapidly becoming a favourite of yours, and it couldn't help but raise your spirit.

"I think it was better live, honestly." Arren said, returning with your drinks (a full sized glass for him and a half for you).

"It was pretty great." It was also the first time you'd heard a song that wasn't a work shanty. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"I think it is too loud." Minna said, staring into her drink. You shared a quick glance with Arren: Minna could get overwhelmed in places like this, so it was important to keep an eye on her.

"It's an inferior recording for sure." Heinrich opined, already sliding his portable typewriter onto the table. "The queer club had a record with this wonderful version by Madlen Elssler... she was a big prewar singer." He explained, seeing your confused expressions. "Completely incredible, total icon."

"Oh goddesses, wait..." Wulf shuffled through the oversized component pouch on her belt, hunting for something. "Is this her?"

She flattened out a small reprinted photo of a very attractive woman wearing very little, which you couldn't help but stare at a moment. The name Madlen was written in fancy script in the corner.

"Firstly, yes, secondly, Wulf, why... why do you have that?" Heinrich stumbled out.

"It's one of her spell components, Heinrich." You explained, rolling your eyes. Wulf had a tendency to collect odds and ends that might have some kind of magical significance.

"Really, what kind of spell do you cast with that?" He asked, and Wulf grinned.

"One of my favourites. I cast it whenever I have the chance."

Arren immediately spilled his beer all over himself laughing, while Heinrich just rested his head in his hands.

"That's what I thought."

"I am sorry, can somebody explain the joke to me?" Minna asked.

Anny and Ronja, your mechanic and the pilot of your transport plane respectively, returned to the table with their drinks. They were friends, from the same town down south: Anny was half-fischer, grey skinned but with pink cheeks, while Ronja was descendant of Skyborn, adopted by an inlander couple in some mysterious circumstance. They were close as friends could be, so much so that they spent more time talking to each other than the combat pilots in the company.

You all packed around as best you could. You talked shop a while, informing Anny about the damage to your plane (and the hole in Wulf's fuel tank, apparently), though you stopped her from rushing off to fix it.

"Don't worry, we're not in a rush to get out of here." You explained.

"Oh shit, that reminds me." Wulf said, standing up. She lifted her glass to the center of the table and spoke loudly, as much to the rest of the bar as to her comrades. "Somebody here made ace today, didn't she?"

An eruption of cheers came, not just from the table, but from tables all around, and you felt the chill of blush rush to your face as you tried to sink into your seat. "Come on, it's not a big-"

"To Isa!" Glasses clashed together, and a flood of drinks started heading your way from patrons across the bar. You politely declined them all: you didn't much like drinking to excess. You joked to your friends that you got all your real drinking out of the way in your first week away from home.

The cheery atmosphere dimmed a little as a new set of silhouettes appeared in the open door and the Hummingbird pilots took a seat in the corner. The observer pilot you saw before, still with a smear of somebody else's blood against the side of his face, looked almost comatose, his friends almost having to hold him up on either side. They packed around him, slide a drink in front of him, and did everything they could to be there.

"Godddesses. The poor kid." Wulf said. You tried to focus back on your half-empty glass, but you kept looking over.

"I'm gonna go talk to them." You said finally, not really to anyone in particular.

You pushed out your chair, walked across the bar, and, after a moment while they cleared some space, you sat down at the Hummingbird table.

"Hey guys."

There was a chorus of acknowledgement all around.

"Amazing run today. Put those bombs right on target. Beer's on us for the night." You said, and there was some scattered thanks. You nodded awkwardly, not sure what else to say and considering leaving, when the bloodstained pilot spoke up.

"Why weren't you there?" He asked, his voice breaking into a sort of sob. The question hit you like a hammer.

"I... we were outnumbered. We did out best. I got on them the moment I saw you were in trouble."

You watched the guy closely, mindful of your escape. He was a lot taller and probably a lot stronger than you and he was surrounded by friends that might not stop him, and the realization this might have been a real mistake crashed through your mind.

"You just... you just had to... we hired you to..." The man stumbled through his words, trying to find someething, anything to hold onto, to make sense of his world now, but nothing came but tears. He collasped into his arms, and his friends went back to their reassuring pattern and comforting touches.

"I'm sorry." You said, not sure what else you could do. "I hope you're reunited soon."

"I don't want her to be gone." He said quietly, so quietly you almost didn't hear it. You breathed in and read the table as best you could, trying to figure out if they would be receptive. They looked like people who needed something, anything, in this moment.

"She's not gone." You said quietly. "Not forever. Um... sorry. My people, um, the fishers, we live on the coast of a great sea to the south, and somewhere in there there's a place where the souls of the dead go. All of them. And when it's our time, we can go and join them."

"Come on, miss, Aayden doesn't need your religious nonse-" One of the other pilots started talking, but Aayden cut him off.

"Really? You know this?" He said. You nodded, after a moment.

"I've seen the lights myself." You said, and you had, dancing beautifully out to sea, just beyond your reach. The temptation to swim out to them had been powerful, especially in those days after your mother died.

"... I hope you're right." He said finally. "I don't... I don't want her to be gone."

"Tell me about her." You said, taking his hand.

---

Felicia Maier was born in an isolated forest village somewhere in the southeast, in the highlands of Schuckert. She was the oldest of four, a family that could never quite get enough money together to keep everyone fed, and she ran away from home to spare her parents the burden of feeding her. She stowed away on a trade balloon, found herself in a trading power where she worked in a bar and saved up whatever money she could from the generous tips of the pilots that passed through, eventually enough to buy training and equipment. Not to be a pilot, she found the act of flying terrifying, but to be useful to a company in some other way, as a gunner.

She took up a job as a gunner on a trade zeppelin, hanging from a gondola watching for pirates for hours at a time. It brought her all over the world, but the pay was terrible and the conditions worse. She and her fellows at the airship yard went on strike, and locked down the hangers to spite the fat cats who ran the place. Her bosses hired a company to break the strike, and the Circus instead turned around and helped them. That company was the Hummingbirds, where Tomas was a junior pilot.

She met him on the airfield and volunteered to be his gunner when she saw the empty spot in the back of his plane. He was totally against it, at first, not wanting the extra weight, but she badgered and insisted and they went up together for their first mission. They cleared a nest of man-hunting eagles from the edge of a cliff and flew escort for the sky-whales to spite whalers, flew from one end of the continent and back, and they never left each other's side. After a long mission, she grabbed him by the scarf and pulled him in to kiss him, and that was that. It was six weeks ago.

The gunner that was supposed to be in the front opted to switch with her for this mission, trusting her skill with the bombsight more. They went up, she caught a razor-sharp dart through the chest, and she bled out in the air, propped up and delirious. The bomber pilot said she'd asked for Tomas the whole time, but she'd died before they reached the ground.

She was eighteen years old.

---

"It's like my dad used to say. We live life to the fullest, because we're dead longer than we're alive." Heinrich said, hands fumbling with his matchbook. Finally, one struck, and within a few moments the air filled with a sickly sweet smell.

Most squadrons drank away their pain, but the hangover could be problematic. Heinrich and Wulf were enthusiasts of cannabis, however, and it had become the squadron's go-to ritual for unwinding after a mission. It took all the stress and anxiety and aching fear from the flight and it smoothed it all out, and it was a great bonding experience to share with the group.

It was well into the evening now, and the sun was just setting over the mountains. You were propped up at the edge of town, watching over the airfield and the scurrying figures as a mail carrier touched down.

"You know, I kinda always figured I'd be dead by now? Making it to seventeen was always kinda my wildest goal, so I'm ahead of the game, but.... it'd be nice to get a little longer." Wulf said. To say your girlfriend hadn't had an easy time of things would be an understatement. She took a long drag and passed the joint to you, blowing the smoke out, and with a swirl of her finger she willed the smoke into the silhouette of her plane, flying off into the sky. Show-off.

You'd gotten a lot better at handling the smoke, though it was still unpleasant when it passed through your gills. You tried Wulf's trick, willing the magic through your fingers, but all you did was make the smoke waver a little.

"I would like that too, but the enemy has a say, unfortunately." Minna added.

"Yeah, but fuck 'em." Wulf said dismissively.

"Speaking of, those clockwork things were freaky. Did you see how the move?" Arren said. There was a chorus of agreement.

"I've never seen a plane that small be that tough." Heinrich said.

"Maybe don't bring a glorified flashlight to fight them next time. Put the cannon back on that thing." Wulf said, and Minna nodded.

"They were actually somewhat delicate. A plane like mine or Isabelle's would probably have taken the hits I put into mine and... would have succumbed eventually, but not immediately."

"Yeah. One of mine exploded as soon as I tapped it. Just came to pieces." You said.

"Musta been the mainspring." Anny added. "Their planes are like... they've got a big spring in the middle that winds down and that gives them power. I was talking to the head mechanic about it, he knows a lot about them."

"Why? Little freaky, don't you think?" Wulf asked.

"When he was a kid, he was apprentice to one of the guys making the things." Ronja explained, letting the joint pass her by. "Anny and I talked to him while you were gone, he said... well, he said they ought not work, best he knew. There might have been more too it, but the war ended before he got to learn."

Out on the edge of the airfield, the Hummingbirds were moving as a gaggle. A funeral party, You'd asked if they wanted the Minnows to attend, but they'd declined. They were heading out a ways into the Wild outside the town: Felicia had been born in a forest and deserved to go back.

"If I die..." Minna started, sighed, and started again. "If I die, and you recover my body, I would like to be cremated, as fast as you can. I do not like the idea of having my body around without me in it."

Nobody really acknowledged it, as if afraid doing so would make it so.

"If it's me, don't make a big deal out of it." Wulf said quietly. "I'd hate that. Don't do any of that black tie shit. Move on. And, uh... you can take everything else, but let me keep my boots, okay? I'm taking these with me."

You gripped her hand as hard as you could, as though it could maybe anchor her here.

"I don't know what I want." Ronja said. "Just don't fuss."

"I wanna be buried properly. Like how the fishers do it. I just... dunno how that is." Anny said.

"My body to the waves, my soul to the gods..." Arren started.

"... and my earthly goods to the living." You finished. "Let the body drift out into water and weight it down with something."

"Personally, I plan on never dying." Heinrich said simply. "You all are just planning for failure."

That got some laughs, breaking the morbid spell over the group. You talked a while about happier things, and one by one the Minnows drifted off to bed until it was just you, Arren, and Wulf. You settled against Arren's chest and pulled Wulf in close, enjoying their warmth and their arms around you, basking in it for a few moments longer.

---

That night, you asked your patrons about Felicia. It was a long and frustrating process, clarifying who you meant. They didn't really understand things like hair colour or personal histories to well, still being somewhat detached from ideas like space and time, and you hadn't known her so you couldn't draw on your personal connections. It was frustrating and difficult, and you nearly broke your trance trying to get them to understand.

You didn't think they did, quite, but they did know when you were hurting, and they came to reassure you. No matter who it was, even if they couldn't really remember or figure it out, they had them. They were safe. You were safe.

---

The Hummingbirds were gone the next morning, continuing south, your pay waiting for you with the bartender. You didn't leave for a few days yet, as there was no big rush. There were repairs to the engines of the Pioneer, the massive three-engine cargo plane that carried your team's helicopter and support personnel (currently, just Anny), and the town was a nice little spot. On the third night of your stay there was some sort of dance in the town square and you managed to rope most of the team into it, and while you didn't know the dance proper it was a good opportunity to squeeze up close to your loved ones and sway with them to the music.

There was also a shop in town that did tattoos, and had their own electric pen, and after shoving sufficient money at the problem, the owner let Arren take over one of his seats. Ever a stickler for neatness, Arren promptly cleaned and sterilized the entire section before sitting down and breaking out the glowing bottles of coloured inks he'd brought from home. Your people inked big life events into their skin, and making ace was one of the biggest so far. In blue and purple and rare and expensive red, Arren inked in stylized representations of your first five kills in a circle: the eindecker over a swamp, the Goth raider in the mountains, the triplane strafed on takeoff, and the two little clockwork birds. In the center, a playing card, the Ace of Crosses.

It was right next to the one you got for the team which he'd done three week ago, with little stylized icons for each of your fellow pilots.

"Proud of you." He said, planting a kiss on you as he finished.

"You done? I've got next." Wulf said, rolling up one of her sleeves. Arren winced.

"Wulf, you're so pale, I don't think this is going to show up." Arren said, looking over his inks. "Why don't you use inlander ink?"

"Because it won't glow in the dark, duh. Now come on. After the wolf sleeve, I want a big skull right on my chest."

Arren talked her down to something more reasonable, and it wound up being surprisingly cute. Two little fish on her upper arm, just above the line tattoo of a Gotha spade.

"I can fix that, you know. Turn it into something else." Arren had said, cleaning his tool. Wulf clearly thought about it a moment, then shook her head.

"Nah, this hurt more than enough already. I don't have your thick skin, remember?" She said. You sensed that wasn't the whole truth, but you didn't push. Wulf needed her space about this stuff.

---

Eventually, though, it was time to move on. The planes were taxied along the runway in takeoff formation, the massive bulk of the Pioneer first. It rose into the sky with the roar of nearly a thousand horsepower, and the other planes followed in tight formation. You still had a ways to go.

Where to next?