Chapter 8
Tavryn
Idesperately try to ignore the way my heart is still pounding from seeing that stupid Celix pull a weapon on Banjo.
Out of all the things that could go wrong on Qauvela, this should be the least of my worries.
That miniscule dagger probably wouldn’t have harmed Banjo much anyway, even with his soft, squishy human body.
He’s perfectly safe here. There’s no one in Qauvela that I can’t intimidate into leaving us alone.
If for some reason intimidation doesn’t cut it, fighting is always an option.
Although I’m skilled in long range weapons and passable in close combat, my real expertise lies in manning the guns on my ship.
I try to avoid any kind of violence other than that.
Shooting or punching someone isn’t as fulfilling as blowing up their ship and potentially destroying their home and livelihood all in one go.
The thought of all that chaos has my heart rate slowing a bit.
Banjo lives up to his promise, and we weave our way through Qauvela without any more run-ins with the other patrons. I still jerk on the leash at random intervals so he doesn’t forget who's in control. He doesn’t complain. Not once. Turns out he really can be a well-behaved boy after all.
Maybe I’ll do a little more shopping here than I anticipated and purchase some new garments for him.
Him constantly doing laundry is impacting my ability to wash my own clothes whenever I want.
The first time, he’d had the nerve to suggest we put our clothes in together, like his pitiful Earthly garments wouldn’t absolutely ruin my finely crafted attire.
Yes, it would be much more convenient for me if Banjo had more clothing options. That is definitely the only reason I was considering the idea. It had nothing to do with the fondness toward him that’s growing in my empty chest. It’s probably some kind of heartburn.
I stop in front of the massive elevator that leads up to the Despot and Oliver’s private quarters. There’s a guard standing in front of it, a hulking Bosquad called Mass who has far more muscles than he does brains.
Banjo is so busy staring at Mass that he runs right into me. Luckily for him, I’m far more forgiving than the Celix he bumped into. I don’t even consider pulling a weapon on him. Hm. Maybe I’m getting too soft.
“You better not have gotten any of that oil on my coat,” I hiss, glancing back at him over my shoulder.
“I swear that’s the biggest spider I ever seent,” Banjo whispers, apparently deciding to ignore my threat. He’s so close I can feel his breath on the tip of my ear, which twitches in response.
“Don’t ever let him hear you call him a spider,” I mutter just loud enough for him to hear before taking a step forward.
Mass realizes I’m here for him and not just wandering by and straightens to his full height.
He towers over me and Banjo, forcing me to tilt my head back to make eye contact.
“Hello, Mass. Your employer is expecting us, so if you’ll be so kind as to let us up, I’m sure the Despot will appreciate it. ”
Mass gives me an unimpressed look that uses four of his six eyes. The other two are focused on Banjo. There’s a reason Bosquad are so frequently hired as guards. Not only are they huge, fast, and terrifying to look at, but they can see in nearly every direction.
“Name,” Mass grunts, unmoved by my earlier statement. My chest puffs out in protest.
“Mass, you know who I am!” I insist. How dare he embarrass me like this in front of Banjo! Not that I care what Banjo thinks about me, that’s not the point. All six eyes blink lazily at me, completely lacking recognition.
“I might know who you are,” Mass admits, though he doesn’t look certain.
“But he ain’t ever been ‘round here before.” He motions to Banjo with one of his four giant arms. Banjo takes a subtle step to stand halfway behind me again, smartly deciding not to say anything.
“Now, you got an appointment or something?”
If I could get my hands around Mass’s thick neck, I’d throttle him.
He knows I have an appointment. “Yes,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“You’ll find it under Tavryn and Banjo.” Mass pulls a tablet out from under one arm, turning it on with a flick.
I wait impatiently as he looks at it for several long minutes.
Finally, Mass nods and steps out of our way.
“Thank you, Mass. You’ve been delightfully helpful, as always.” I don’t attempt to hide the sarcasm in my voice. Mass won’t pick up on it anyway. As expected, he smiles and nods as Banjo and I step into the elevator.
“That guy was like ten feet tall!” Banjo exclaims as soon as the doors close and we begin our ascent. “And he had four arms! Seriously, what does anyone even need four arms for?! Do you think if I had four arms, I could play two guitars at the same time?”
I lean back against the wall, letting him get it all out of his system now. He deserves it, I suppose. He shakes his head as he paces the small space, pushing his hands up into his hair.
“I thought that squid critter was gon’ be the craziest alien I saw, but I think spider guy is…” He trails off, his hands returning to his side. His cheeks are flushed such a pretty pink color that I almost miss what he says next. “Is it bad I thought he was kind of hot?”
I bristle at that, though I manage to pull myself together before Banjo notices.
“If your type is beefy and stupid, then no, it’s not,” I tell him gruffly.
One of those things is my type, apparently, if my unwilling attraction to Banjo is any indicator.
Even under the terrible lighting in the elevator, his glimmering skin pulls my attention.
Yes, I have decided to blame it on the oil, even though I have a similar reaction every time I catch a glimpse of him shirtless. My hands ache to touch and claim, but as always, I push those urges as far down as they can go, reminding myself that it’s never going to happen.
Banjo’s brow furrows, a clear indicator that he didn’t like something I said.
“Maybe he was just doing his job?” he suggests, his voice taking on that same, hesitant tone used to soothe a potentially violent animal.
I find I don’t mind the comparison. I want Banjo to think I’m far scarier than Mass could ever be.
“Maybe,” I concede, straightening as the elevator slows to a halt. “Come along. It’s about time I introduce you to my two dearest friends.” Or more like my only two friends, if I don’t count Stells.
The throne room, as Oliver affectionately calls it, is a huge foyer that holds only a single large chair at one end.
The ceiling, which Banjo is fixated on at the moment, gives the illusion of looking out into the void of space.
Black, inky tendrils writhe at the edges, adding a nice layer of aberrational horror to the room.
Two closed doors in the back lead off to the Despot’s private chambers, a place I’ve only had the pleasure of being invited into once.
I’m sure it’s much different now that Oliver has had the chance to human it up back there, given the large amount of human junk I’ve been bringing him.
That would be my absolute worst nightmare.
I’ve never been more thankful Banjo lacked the foresight to bring much with him.
One of the doors slides open, revealing a very ordinary human man with messy brown hair that curls around his ears.
He’s wearing a basic sleeveless shift under a full length, pink sheer gown with some sort of feathers around the ends of the sleeves and hem.
I’ve always thought Oliver was the most average looking human I’ve ever seen, but even I can admit the eccentric clothes fit him.
It’s impressive how much he’s come into his element here.
“Tavryn!” Oliver exclaims, heading towards us. “Thanks for getting that delivery to us so soon. Oh, and you brought a friend!”
Banjo, who gapes at Oliver in shock, rushes around me so quickly he manages to pull the leash right out of my hand. “Oh my gosh!” Before I can stop him, Banjo envelops Oliver in a crushing hug. “I didn’t think I was ever gon’ see another human again! And you speak English like an American!”
Oliver lets out a pained little squeak that’s more surprise than anything. The floor immediately begins to tremble. The temperature drops. I lunge forward to tug Banjo back to safety, but the lights flicker out before I can.
We’re not left in the dark for long. The lights reveal Banjo dangling far above the floor, his feet kicking helplessly as he finds himself face to face with the Despot.
The giant beast has one clawed hand around Banjo’s throat, his finger and thumb nearly touching as he chokes him.
The way Banjo’s eyes are bulging sends alarm bells ringing in my head.
Before I can do anything that will probably lead to us both having our souls ripped from our bodies, Oliver speaks.
“Des, sweetie, put the poor boy down,” Oliver chides, playfully swatting at the enormous beast’s arm, since that’s as far up as he can reach. “He was just being friendly. It’s a human thing, you know. Hugging.”
The Despot drops Banjo with a grunt, and I rush over to brace him before his legs give out.
“He should learn to keep his hands off of what’s mine,” the beast growls, smoke curling from the empty nostrils of the giant, animalistic skull that comprises his head.
The rest of him is what can only be described as a mixture of bone and neon green slime, all conglomerated together to create the most terrifyingly powerful creature in the galaxy. “Or I will rid him of them myself.”
The Despot’s deep, bone-chilling voice echoes throughout the mostly empty room to bounce off the ceiling.