Work on The Shoebill proceeds as planned. Tabitha has set up a large, wooden box on the front of the boat that she refuses to let anybody inside of. It takes up the entire foredeck and makes navigating difficult whenever Fenrir takes the crew out for some fishing practice.

If having difficulty navigating isn’t enough of a concern, the sounds that come from within the wooden box concern any who hear it.

Every time Tabitha comes out of the box, she has a massive grin and maniacally giggles to herself.

Fenrir is the only one who isn’t worried. He has faith in her and The Shoebill in contrast to everybody else.

“Fen,” Serra says, tugging on the back of Fenrir’s shirt.

“What’s up?” Fenrir asks, turning around to face her.

“We need a flag.”

Fenrir looks up at the top of the mast. Stinky Garlic’s flag used to be up there, but now there is nothing to represent the crew. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

But what to use? He could use the Divine Brigade’s old flag, but as hard as it may be for some people to believe, he really wants to leave that all behind. Using the old flag would just draw even more attention than he wants. There is also the fact that people would either assume they are wannabe fakes of the real thing if they have ever heard of the Divine Brigade, or they would assume that they are a fragment of the old Divine Brigade and hunt them down.

“We need a new name and flag,” Fenrir says.

“The Divine Brigade,” Serra suggests.

“No. They’re not being brought back.”

Serra pouts. “But I read stories about what you used to do and it sounds cool.”

“Trust me, they’re always romanticized and not actually that interesting. We just messed with people. Besides, I’d rather us not all get hunted down and doxed.”

“The Divine Fish.”

“That’s just silly.”

“The Divine Rod.”

Fenrir looks down at her and sees her usual snerking expression. “I’ll show you a divine rod,” he says in a teasing voice that sounds as if he’s annoyed with her.

“When?”

And that’s when she wins. As small and innocent as she looks, Fenrir has no doubts that her ability to sexually tease people is on par with Oleander’s ability. The main difference is that they use their abilities in different ways. Oleander is chaotic evil with his sexuality, whereas Serra is just… Serra. Oleander throws his sexual jokes and references to anybody who will listen to them—though, he has toned them down since he’s started suddenly dating this new guy—while Serra requires a bit more paying attention to in order to really pick up on what she’s saying.

Ever since Fenrir realized that Serra is, in fact, a subtle pervert, he has been noticing her teasing words and expressions on a regular basis.

He can’t even look at her hands anymore to check and make sure that she’s holding the fishing rod properly whenever he hands it to her. The way that she gently traces the tips of her fingers along its shaft before teasingly rubbing them downward is too much for him.

Fenrir may not know if Serra is lawful, neutral, or chaotic, but she is definitely evil alongside Oleander.

He isn’t the only one who suffers from Serra’s teasing either. Cassiel is victim to Serra’s teasing just as much now! Of course, since Cassiel is dense, Serra has to be more assertive with her.

Serra never passes up on the opportunity to sneak up behind Cassiel and blow into her ear or onto her neck.

The excited and surprised noises that Cassiel makes every single time Serra does this has various effects on him. Her noises are amusing and make him laugh, but at the same time, they excite him and make him want to tease her himself so that he gets to hear more of those borderline-erotic sounds.

Unfortunately for both Fenrir and Serra, Cassiel has begun being much more careful when around them. She is always peeking over her shoulders to make sure that nobody is sneaking up on her, stands as far away from them as she can when on the boat together, and has been wearing her hair down just to cover up her ears and neck.

Serra is the most disappointed.

Another couple of days pass by.

Cassiel has finally joined the group’s Fiscord server as has Tabitha, Tabitha’s secret construction on the front of the ship is nearing completion according to her, and nobody knows what to name the crew.

Bonekraka would normally be the first one to suggest naming themselves the Divine Brigade again, but he stays silent.

Fenrir is beginning to believe that this might truly be the last thing he does with his friend. Oleander is realizing it, too.

Fortunately for Fenrir, rather than stand around and try to figure out what to do regarding their identity situation, there is something else that he can do to procrastinate.

Sell his trophy. Sure, he originally wanted to keep it as a trophy, but: one, it looks really stupid; two, it can probably be sold for a few gold which would be great since he has none; and three, The Shoebill is already a far better trophy than any garlic-shield could ever be.

He still has the large, garlic-shaped shield with a golden trim that he stole from the leader of Stinky Garlic.

“Hey, Corwin,” Fenrir calls out to their newest crewmember.

“Yes, captain?” Corwin replies.

“I told you before, just call me Fenrir or something else. You don’t need to be so formal.”

“A-ah, my apologies. I am used to strictly following rules and properly addressing my superiors.”

“Don’t worry about it. Anyways, I was thinking about something.”

“What is it?”

“Know of a place where I can sell this thing?” Fenrir asks, holding up the shield.

“That looks to be a very high-quality shield, cap— Fenrir. Are you sure you wish to sell it?”

“Yeah. Never was a big fan of garlic.”

“Very well,” Corwin says with a smile. He may not be the most expressive man, but he’s a kind one. Fenrir is amazed that Oleander appears to have settled down for somebody as straight-laced as Corwin. Furthermore, he’s even more amazed that Corwin is able to keep up with Oleander given how timid he behaves.

Wait.

Fenrir feels as if he’s missing something important here.

Looking Corwin over with enough of a scrutinizing eye that it concerns the man being examined, Fenrir realizes why Oleander likes him so much.

As egotistical as it makes Fenrir to believe that this is the reason, he is confident in it: Corwin looks and sort of acts just like Fenrir does in reality – like Ryouta. The only real difference between Corwin and Ryouta is that Corwin is blond and taller. He also speaks respectfully and stays to himself just like Ryouta does when he’s sober.

His theory also has evidence supporting it in how Spencer once confessed to Ryouta after the first few times they met up in reality.

If this Corwin is the one to replace him and finally help Spencer move on, Ryouta is happy for them.

“Fenrir?” Corwin asks.

“Sorry, was lost in thought. Anyways, you know of a good place to sell this?” Fenrir asks again.

“I do. Follow me.”

Fenrir does as requested. Right now, only he, Tabitha, and Corwin are in-game. Tabitha is almost always online and running either around The Shoebill or running around the city for The Shoebill. Corwin is on just as much as she is.

Fenrir figures that neither of them have lives, but that’s the only similarity they share. Tabitha is a gearhead obsessed with mechanics while Corwin is a roleplayer-lite who just makes himself useful however he can.

“You’re a cool guy, Corwin. I approve. Don’t hurt Olly, got that?” Fenrir says, sounding like a protective father. Rock, who is walking beside them, barks to back up Fenrir.

“No worries, Fenrir. Oleander – I may not have known him for long, but he truly makes me feel special, and I wish to make him feel the same,” Corwin explains.

Fenrir gives him a heavy smack on the back which almost sends Corwin stumbling forward. “A-ah, sorry, my Strength must have gone up from carrying so much stuff around for Tabs and dueling Cass.”

“No… no worries,” Corwin says, his voice struggling as if all the air has been knocked out of him.

Corwin leads Fenrir, and Rock, to what looks like a high-class blacksmith’s shop.

A man wearing bright pink armor covered in colorful feathers walks out just as they arrive. He looks extremely tacky. Fenrir assumes that his tactic is to wear armor so horrendous that his enemies can’t see him coming because they refuse to look at him!

No matter how realistic a game may be, given the option to look ridiculous, at least some players will always choose to do so.

Corwin holds the door open for Fenrir as they enter.

“Welcome! What can we do for you?” a man polishing some armor says.

Everything in the shop looks expertly made and very – well, fancy. Everything looks great as far as quality goes, but the intricate designs and colors make Fenrir think that this has to be the type of place where players with too much money go shopping when glamor is their endgame content.

It definitely doesn’t look like the kind of shop that should be in the middle of a pirate city, but given that it is a player-owned-and-ran pirate city, it makes sense.

“Hey, could I sell this here?” Fenrir asks, holding the garlic-shield up.

The salesman cringes when he sees it.

At least somebody else agrees with Fenrir that this shield just looks stupid.

“Four gold sound good to you? Nobody is going to want to buy that for its design, but I could melt it down and turn it into something… much better than what it currently is,” the salesperson says.

“That’s good enough for me. Oh, and I got this off of some asshole I killed up north,” Fenrir says. He doesn’t want the merchant believing that Fenrir likes this thing.

“Right. Anyways, let me grab your gold,” the merchant doesn't sound convinced.

Fenrir cringes from how awkward that sounded.

Great, now the merchant is going to believe he’s obsessed with garlic.

He hopes that no weird rumors start because of this.