The Fourth wall breaking of DEADPOOL meets JANE AUSTEN meets MAGICAL WEIRDNESS
When a mysterious new boy comes to town, seventeen-year-old odd ball, Peneloper Auttsley, must confront the secrets of her past in order to save her present.
...
Peneloper's still asleep and the story progresses; they can do that, you know, continue, no heroine required. Captain Ire Stormholden, dreamboat of the written word, has been plucked from his story and pushed into the Refinery by none other than future antagonist, Gideon Darquish.
They're an odd pairing, most definitely- one towering and sun-kissed, muscular, limber and calloused, aesthetically appealing to a large swath of the female demographic (ages 16-56); the other is shorter, spindly and hunchbacked, with pitch-black skin, greasy black locks, and bird-skull adornments. His appeal is limited and niche.
Together they traverse the dusty landscape of the Refinery, heading for the lone building in the distance. They exchange nothing but glowers and silence. Gideon occasionally laughs while Stormholden finds nothing funny about the situation he's now in.
He follows Gideon's lead anyway, for what else could one do when finding oneself in a new world?
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
• Invisible Touch •
The dirt ran on for miles and Stormholden felt like he'd been walking for years, when the pair finally spotted a building on the horizon. He was relieved at first, but as they approached it and the sign over the door read Dead Man's Song, the churning in Stormholden's stomach returned.Depicted below the name was a sloppily painted pint expelling a skull.
No man in their right mind would name a pub something so nefarious. Immediately, Stormholden's hand swung down to his hip, his fingers tracing the lines of his hilt, his eyes on the horizon, scouring it for potential enemies.
"Don't worry, Cap. No one's going to harm you in here," Gideon said, peeling back the Song's door. A splash of rust-hued light colored the captain's boots. Shadows caught on the sharp edges of Gideon's face. Like an inkblot on night silk, they disappeared into the boy's greased pallor, becoming yet another sliver of Gideon's all-black whole. "Unfortunately the proprietor's a bit of a lame ass." Stormholden's brows arched. Gideon blew out. "You know, a real stickler for rules. One of which happens to be no killing on the Song's grounds. Only thing you'll find in there is the Refinery's best liquor." He grinned, holding open the door for Stormholden. "Contains the least amount of grit. Perfect for curing mild dehydration."
The captain refused to move, standing instead, just outside of the door, light splashing over the toes of his boots. Again, Gideon nodded for the captain. "Come on, captains first."
Stormholden was all trepidation and nerves as he clenched the hilt of his saber and ascended the few creaky steps to the Song's front entrance. Gravelly laughter and rushed speech filled his ears. Smoke and musk and the acrid scent of soured spirits rushed up his nostrils.
Though these were all things Stormholden had grown familiar with—frequenting such establishments found at any port worth its place on a map—he found he gave pause, hesitating to go forward, as Gideon was at his back and the words he'd uttered offered little in the way of assurance.
