[Moosh da Outlaw]

Sorry it took so long. Updating two fics at once turned out to be harder than I thought.

And its not all made up as I go along; it actually does have a story, a complicated, long one, it just has a ton of mini-plots in the middle. The mini-plots I came up with are in my opinion awesome, and I think everybody who actually reads this fic will really, really like them. ^^



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“Well?” Shandock asked anxiously as the steef nurse closed the door behind her. She attempted a smile, with little success.

“He should be fine,” she said carefully. “He had some minor head trauma and gashes around his back, nothing we couldn’t handle.” she fidgeted slightly. “But I’m worried.”

Shandock rested an elbow on the windowsill behind him, frowning. The weather outside was dark and dim, pleasant by his standards. “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” she began, worriedly rubbing her hands together. “You may have noticed he’s a bit strange.”

“Go on.”

The nurse regained composure and took a deep breath. “Well, for one thing, he has no horns; at least, not any more. It appears that he had them filed down somehow so that they’re just plates. And,” she raked a hand through her hair, “his wounds have appeared to have already healed. Not like he has any extraordinary healing abilities; more like they were stitched shut at first, then the stitches were removed too early.”
Shandock pondered this for a moment. The nurse continued unsurely. “And he was alone, with no bullet wounds or scratch marks. If he had been shot at, somebody would surely bring back his head, and if it had been a spyider attack, well, there wouldn’t be anything left of him to heal.”

Shandock stiffened slightly. “What do you believe this means?” he asked, as though he had already come to a conclusion.

“Well,” the nurse said quietly, leaning in closer, “I don’t mean to judge people, and we don’t know who he is, but...” she locked eyes with Shandock. “...I think he might be a lurker.”

“A lurker?” Shandock snorted, as though amused. “We’ve made a lesson of lurkers. Nobody would dare resort to such low levels.”

“But what other options do we have to consider?” She pleaded, sounding convinced with her own suspicion. “We have no way of knowing who this guy is Shandock, I’m afraid we might be in grave danger---”

“He’s not a lurker!” Shandock snarled unexpectedly. The nurse flinched back, crestfallen. “There are no more lurkers! I won’t hear any more of this from you, or anybody!” He marched up to the exit. “Or else.”
Shandock slammed the medical hut door behind him, unaware that somebody else had been listening in.

Cyren shuffled slightly from where he was crouched, peeking into the window. His mind was spinning with shock and exitement.

‘A lurker!’

---


Charlotte’s head pounded. She opened her eyes hesitantly, wincing as her vision swirled over her head. The room she was in was small and dark, but cozy. Soft morning sunlight glowed through a little round window to her right, open to let the fresh air in. In the distance Charlotte heard a soft clinking sound, but she didn’t stop to wonder what it was; all she wanted to know was what she had missed.

Charlotte forced herself out of the small round bed where she had lay, her mind clouded. Suddenly she gasped and fell back, her head throbbing painfully. She reached down slowly and felt bandages around her waist. She winced; the injury felt deep down into her stomach, and she feared that her insides had been damaged. Despite the fear of fainting, Charlotte rose shakily to her legs and grabbed her clothes from a nearby shelf. She pulled them on slowly, adjusting her shirt so that the bandages weren’t terribly noticeable, and headed for the door. She forced it open and peeked warily outside.

The hallway was bright and inviting; an entire wall of it was windows, allowing sharp sunlight inside. Faint traces of dust filled the air as Charlotte stepped out.

“Hey!” A grubb said, spotting her. Her ears perked, and she instantly put on her ‘innocent’ eyes.
The grubb was wearing a shock-white medical apron; Charlotte guessed he was a nurse of some sort. “You should keep resting.”

Charlotte played along. “Oh, I s’pose you’re right... I do feel a little dizzy...” She stepped back and closed the door, flopping down on the bed.

Seconds ticked by. Her ears rotated, and her eyes flashed briefly in the dim light. In an instant she rushed to the door and opened it a crack, looking eagerly outside. The snooty grubb was gone. Grinning, Charlotte closed the door behind her, grabbed her rifle (just incase), and crept down the hall, careful to avoid making a sound. She knew that it would be best to rest and heal, but she couldn’t do that; she had to know how the fight had turned out, and why she hadn’t died in the explosion, let alone gotten away with just a stomach wound.

She finally came to the main entrance of the temple, and frowned; she had no idea that she had been there all along. She shrugged and pushed open a window, thrusting her head outside. Charlotte smiled slightly. Already, repairs from the battle were being made; new wood posts were being hammered into the broken battlements, huts were being pushed back up into position, and, as far as Charlotte could see down the wetland, rocks were being quarried. All the outlaw and grubb bodies were gone; all that was left were broken rifles and bent spears, a sad reminder of the bloodshed.

She trotted over to the wide oak doors of the temple and forced them open, glancing around quickly. She took a careful step outside...

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” A voice behind her asked. Charlotte turned slowly. Ophelia was standing near the spiral staircase, arms crossed, foot tapping, eyebrow raised.
“I’d say so.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

“Dunno.”

Ophelia frowned. “Well can you at least tell me,” she demanded, her voice rising in pitch. She stomped over to Charlotte and glared at her. “...why in Odd’s name you ran into an explosive mine seconds before it went off?!”

Charlotte growled defectively. “I was tryin’ to kill that thing that was chasing me!”

“That was your brilliant plan?” Ophelia said shrilly. “You almost died! You know how long it took to pry your mangled hide outta that tunnel?”

“My hide’s not mangled!” Charlotte said with a faint whine. “And I knew exactly what I was doing!”

“Sure you did!” Ophelia stomped out of the temple. Charlotte followed behind, aggressively shoving the door out of her way. “How can I trust you after that? If you’re willing to throw your life away over something so stupid and ruin everything me and my grubbs have worked for...” she swung around, glaring at her. “Thats why I’ve decided that you won’t be going on any more trips any time soon.”

“Huh?” Charlotte asked, startled.

“Sorry,” Ophelia said, crossing her arms smugly, “but you won’t be going with Stranger or Mola to find the next steef.”


---


The upper floors of the temple were cool and comfortable; most grubbs like to spent time there when the weather outside was too hot. The walls were light, yellow sandstone, contrasting to the dark marble floors; it made the already-dim hallways seem even darker.

Stranger stopped at the bottom of the staircase leading to the attic. He had been up collecting boombats and bolamites, ammunition he would need plenty of for the upcoming trip. Ophelia had kept the details sketchy, but she had mentioned their next steef target being the one in the marshes. It sounded easy enough, but Stranger didn’t get his hopes up. All of their tasks so far had been tough, and he doubted this one would be any different.

Stranger sauntered on his way, pausing for a moment by the door leading to the elder’s chamber. They had avoided everybody after the events two days ago. Stranger had to admit he didn’t blame them.

He stepped down a flight of stairs and came to the temple’s entrance, only to be nearly knocked over by a familiar voice.

“WHAT THE HELL!” He heard it scream. “YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

Stranger snorted. Charlotte. What was she bitching about this time?

Stranger ambled over to the door and pushed it open. He instantly regretted getting involved.

“I HAVE TH’ RIGHT TO DO WHATEVER I DAMN WELL WANT TA DO!” Charlotte yelled. Boy, did she look pissed.

Ophelia stood on her tip-toes to try and reach Charlotte’s height. “I’M THE LEADER HERE, AND YOU’RE GONNA DO WHAT I TELL YA TO DO!”

“Catfight!” Mola cried, springing out from behind a squashed hut. He had a satchel on his shoulder and a freshly-woven hat on his head; he was ready to go.

“Shut up!”

“What’s going on?” Stranger cut in, raising an eyebrow.

“But you ain’t my leader! I don’t take orders from YOU!”

“Oh, I forgot! You take orders from scummy OUTLAWS, who, might I add, DESTROYED OUR VILLAGE IN THE FIRST PLACE!”

“HEY!” Stranger barked in a voice that would silence a spyider. “Shut yer’ mouths! This ain’t the time to be screamin’ at each other!”

“Exactly,” Ophelia said, face flushed. “We can handle this in a civilized manner.”

“Right.” Charlotte said, adjusting her shirt. “Yes, yes we can.” She paused. “I’m goin’.”

Ophelia sighed. “How do I know I can trust you?”

Charlotte perked up. “I killed that chuggler, didn’t I? That was a selfless act of courage ”

“That was you trying to save your own ass.”

“Same thing.”

Ophelia crossed her arms, biting her lip. She seemed to be weighing her options. Finally, she muttered, “One more chance.” before Charlotte could get exited she added, “Just one. Fail this, and I swear I’ll keep you on a leash so tight you can’t even breathe.”

‘That was easy,’ Stranger thought, scratching his head.

“Okay ” Charlotte said, grinning. She clapped her hands together. “Right, what’s th’ game plan?”

Ophelia frowned. She didn’t seem to like her elaborate missions being referred to as ‘game plans.’ “Follow me and I’ll show you.” She said, face still slightly flushed.

She led them through the damaged fortress and past the shattered battlements, averting her eyes from the damage as though it were too much to bear. Stranger looked around slowly, frowning. After all the grubbs had been through; having to live with no water and having Last Legs destroyed by Sekto; the last thing they deserved was this, to have their fortress, their pride and joy, crushed by a bunch of outlaws.

“Here we are.” Ophelia said, stopping.

Docked against the wetland’s shore was a large log boat. It was roughly the size of a ferry and painted dark green, with a broad gold stripe running along its width. The word ‘BARRACUDA’ was printed on either side in tall white letters, and a single cream-colored sail stood in its middle. The bottom of the craft, Stranger noticed, was stained dark brown, probably from years of scraping through muck.

“The plan,” Ophelia said, walking up to the ship and rapping on its side, “is to try and find the steef hiding in the marshes. The marshes are dark and complicated, not to mention dozens of miles wide, so to help you navigate, I’ve asked an expert to help.” She grinned. “Mola’s uncle, Boon!”

“NO!” Mola screamed in anguish, pulling on his hat. “Anybody but him!”

The craft shook slightly as something stepped up on deck. Mola sank to the ground. Charlotte raised her eyebrows. Stranger was unconcerned.

Standing on the deck with one hand against the mast was a grubb. He was surprisingly tall and gangly, with unusually dark skin and glowing amber eyes. On his head was a strange metal hat that looked like an upside down strainer, on his hips was a brown loincloth, and around his neck was a thin black cord with what looked like a chuggler’s tooth. The grubb caught sight of Mola cringing in the sand, and grinned.

“Heeeey there nephew!” Boon said. He sounded like a hick. “Yew ready tah go steef huntin’? Well, not literally huntin’, we’re hear to save em’, not kill em’...”

“Kill me now.” Mola whispered.

Stranger grabbed Mola and hoisted him to his feet. “Quit complainin’, its not so bad.” He growled.

“Now Boon,” Ophelia said, sounding as though she were at her wit’s end with the guy, “You sure you know your way to the marshes?”

“Uhuh,” He said, planting himself down on the boat’s deck.

“Sure?”

“Yup.”

Ophelia shrugged towards the small group. “I guess you’d better go, then.”

With a lot of struggling and a great deal of noise, the three managed to haul themselves up onto the deck. Stranger winced when he realized the practically dececript condition the ship was in, and he glared at Ophelia as though saying ‘this is the best you could do?’

She merely shrugged.

Boon stood up and unfurled the ships sail, humming to himself. Then he took a long wooden pole with a hook on one and pressed it into the wetland’s shore, kicking off from the sand and into the water. Stranger was surprised. For a grubb, he was exceptionally strong.

The Barracuda’s sail caught on a breeze. It fluttered slightly and the ship was pulled along, creating a clear, deep wake in the water. A few fish skittered across its bough and glittered in the morning light, as bright as golden dew.

Ophelia watched as the boat glided effortlessly downstream before turning on her heel and marching back to camp.