Special mention to that last one. Sams do a ton of girl kissing and the demographic is suspiciously queer. If you asked ninety nine of them what their favorite color is, odds are the results would be a three way tie between orange, purple, and white.
- Samurai Trigonometry, 2053
Scurvy turned out to be the hero of the day, saving both me and Miss Vengeance from our self-inflicted bout of awkwardness, as she walked onto the top of the deck near the captain’s wheel with a mic in hand. We heard her before seeing her. ”This is your captain speaking, can we get a status report everyone?”
Cheers of different volumes and energy piped up from across the ship’s deck. Weirdly, it was her own skeletal crew that brought the most, lighting up the air with a merry, raucous roar. The actual Samurai present seemed less interested in letting their voice be heard, although a few did their best.
Kevin, it was Kevin who was doing his best.
The pirate queen gave a laugh, slapping her knee and having vaulted onto one of the wood railings in the brief commotion. “I’ll take that as ‘having a good time’, then. Before we shove off to our main event of the day, I’d like to take a moment to wax poetic, if you’ll humor me.”
“Some of you may ask the question, be it either to me directly or deep in the recesses of your mind, why I’m here in the middle of this blasted desert, partying and drinking like it's my last day alive. Why ain’t I out there like usual blowin’ thirties and forties? And I don’t mean the on the knees type a’ blowin’. I’m a civilized lass after all.”
That earned some mild laughter.
“Well aside from it being my own life and I’m allowed to spend it however I please, I find it important to remind ourselves that before we are Samurai, we are human.
“The Protectors put a lot on our plate the moment we’re chosen as their Vanguard, and expectations form about what we have to do to earn that honor. So many times I’ve had the displeasure of witnessing a sort of tunnel vision with what we have to do, focusing so hard on slaying Antithesis, even at the expense of everything else falling to the wayside, because we feel obligated to do so as Samurai. Because that’s what everyone is telling us to do. That one message, said so, so bloody often. By society, friends, family, even other Sams on occasion, and after a while it’s the only thing you start to believe. Such a lifestyle isn’t sustainable, and you’ll reach a breaking point sooner or later. Many Sams, younger ones usually, hit that breaking point and…never get a chance to get out of it.”
The air had turned dour before any had realized it, and I don’t think I imagined a very conflicted look on Miss Vengeance’s face. Scurvy’s lips pressed into a thin line and she let that final statement linger, before taking a deep breath.
“But that’s not why we’re Samurai. The Protectors didn’t choose us to be soldiers, uselessly throwing ourselves at the endless alien horde like lambs to the slaughter. No purpose was given for what we should do with our newfound powers. No concrete one at least. Only the request to help the world for the better.
“That’s our defining trait. Freedom. The freedom to sail forward in whatever direction we so choose, helping whoever we find along the way. You don’t have to be egregiously kind about it all; there are many Sams out there who I would gladly throw half-dead into a hungry pit of xenos if I could get away with it. But at the end of the day, they are still here doing their damndest trying to make the world a better place for everyone.”
“This party is here to remind you that you are allowed to be more than a Samurai, because being more than a Samurai is the best thing to help you be a better Samurai. Don’t let whatever pastor or politician or corporate suckup spew their bollocks about not doing enough, because what you are doing is exactly enough as it is. You were chosen for being wholly yourself, so don’t let anyone else try and dictate what is and isn’t the correct way to be a Samurai.”
Those words stewed in my head. I had asked myself those uncomfortable, demeaning questions several times in the detached solitude of my own mind. Was I really doing enough? Could I even call myself a Samurai for fucking around in a desert doing whatever I please? Scurvy’s speech was a brief reassurance in support of it, even if it was the opinion of just one.
A grin crept up onto the pirate’s face, growing increasingly wide by the second. “But let’s cut all the sappy nonsense, shall we? I think it's about time we get a little bit of blood flowing.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
A grin of my own popped up to match. I had a hunch as to where this was headed.
“Some of you may have heard of a small little tradition I like to partake in here during my little soiree as it’s come to be known. One to bring us all together through a little bit of trial by fire. Rubbing shoulders is a little easier to do once some blood has been shed to wetten each one, as I like to think.”
I rolled my neck and slowly began to walk towards the center of the ship. The curious stares of Chloe and Miss Vengeance didn’t go unnoticed, although it was far from my highest priority. I thought I heard a soft “good luck” from one of them.
“Usually I’d take a pick of the Sams who chose to show up, with the first in line being whatever new blood has appeared within the last year or so. Luckily for all of you, one of those newcomers has already called dibs on our little pissin’ match.”
I swerved through the crowd of skeletal staff and a few onlooking Samurai before reaching the main deck, strutting towards where Scurvy was currently presenting.
My presence wasn’t missed by her. “And it looks like Death Punch is indeed ready to walk that walk.”
A sharp snap of her fingers, and a perfect square of deck that both of us were currently standing atop on slowly rose out of the deck and began to ascend into the sky above. I briefly found myself disoriented and stumbled at the motion, nearly falling forwards. While embarrassing, I think I was justified in my reaction, considering there was exactly zero indication that this ship could suddenly spawn a flying fighting ring.
With a quick spin in her hands, the microphone Scurvy was holding slipped into her pocket. “Mic’s off, lass. Like the setup?”
“Emphasis on the up, I guess. Didn’t realize you let your combatants so blatantly fall to their deaths.”
“Not a chance that’ll happen. There’s a big ol’ anti-grav bubble around the platform that’d catch you long before you hit the ground.”
“Of course you have one of those.”
Rummaging around in a sack I only just realized she had carried with her, she fished out a pair of boxing gloves that she tossed over to me. Their black color with a jolly roger on the back of the hand I found to be quite amusing. “Throw those on. They’ll help even the odds a bit. If you were fighting me straight, that wouldn’t be much of a show now would it?”
Right, Tier Four Samurai. Her sunburns could probably run laps around me at that level. “How did you know I’d want gloves?”
She gave a snort, slipping on her own pair while also exchanging out her prosthetic hand for a more rudimentary one. “Your name is Death Punch, lass. Don’t need a rocket scientist to figure out what you like to do. If you were more fond of kicks, it wouldn’t shock me if you got called something like Death Foot or Hoppy.”
Once again my Samurai name became the subject of goading, and I was left grumbling like a troll. “Wasn’t exactly my first choice.”
“It never is. Did you know I was nearly called Blackbroad when I first initialized?”
Oh, that would have been awful to be stuck with. “So, how are we doing this? KO? Forfeit? Guessin’ since you mentioned that anti-gravity bubble thing ring outs are a thing as well.”
“That’s an aye to all of those, though the way I tend to phrase it is ‘survive’. Even with those gloves you’re fighting an uphill battle.”
“Scary words for someone who’s about to learn what those planks taste like.”
“Ha! I like to see you try, lass.”
“That is why I’m here.”
Scurvy placed herself opposite me on the platform, but instead of shifting into a fighting stance, she kept herself completely open and relaxed. “Well, since you’re so adamant about wiping the floor with me, how about I give you a free shot here? Consider it a mercy, before I stomp your ass.”
A part of me wanted to say I didn’t want her sympathy and for her to put up her dukes, but I’d be stupid to ignore the chance. Scurvy was right; the gap in power I’d have to close here is vast, and I may never get an opportunity to land a solid blow again. “Your funeral.”
I brought my arms up into stance, just as the entire platform settled into position above the crow’s nest. Haste would get me wiped out, so I stood still and silently watched Scurvy, looking for any particular reaction or less obvious opening on her vast frame. None was given, just that easy posture she had carried the entire time so far.
I moved, closing the distance as fast as I could. With her being so tall, the logical course of action would be to strike at the gut, and with my comparatively smaller stature it’d probably be harder for her to entirely defend against. My bet was that she was anticipating this, however, and would probably clench her abdomen, voluntarily or otherwise, as soon as the hit connected, reducing the damage I could deal. Instead, I needed to surprise her a little.
My gloved fist went skyward, striking directly under the Samurai’s jaw with all the momentum of the quick move forward. Even from beneath the glove, hitting her chin felt like punching a wall. The hit did have an effect, though, as she stumbled backwards a few steps closer to the edge of the platform. Scurvy unfortunately planted herself far before she could risk careening off the edge.
She caressed her jaw for a second, less out of concern for the hit and more in intrigue. A downright malicious smile appeared on her face, traces of blood visible in her mouth and directly confirmed by the wad of blood she spat out directly after. “Oh, you’re gonna be a fun one. Let’s dance, lassie.”