Back on deck, Labaguette is posing once more with Mouton Blanc, allowing the creature to draw him, promising that this time he will not let him down and fly away.

“You talk too much and you act irrationally.  You can’t be trusted.  My pen is only for those who deserve it.”  Mouton Blanc asserts.

“You draw me, you colour me, you make me look good.  Then, I’ll tell all, everyone, and you’ll get the artistic license you deserve.  Once I talk, and you know this don’t you? There’s no stopping the word spreading and everyone out there will know of you.  Your talent, through publicity, will be sought after and—“

“—Who’s out there?  Who’s everyone?  Does everyone exist?  And if so, why me?  Posthumous fame isn’t what I wish for, I—“

“—you’re obsessed with death.  You’re not going to die.  It’s good for—“

“—you had me condemned.  Is your memory so short?”

“C’mon now, Mouton Blanc.  Nothing is ever as bad as it seems.  Cheer up, will you?  We’ll find new pins for you, you won’t melt and you’ll regain immortality.  Look at it from my perspective, be happy, be compliant, do as I say, will you?  Also, the Captain has a wealth of knowledge, no doubt he’ll find a way.”

“You don’t give a shit, you, senseless bird.  You’re—“

“—Stop talking and keep drawing!  Soon you’ll be the toast of this whole wide web, and—“


“—I mean all universes with a thread between them.”



“Some other place?”

“Somewhere else.”

“We’re prisoners.”

Nowhere, Labaguette thinks, we’re fucking going  nowhere as he flies off and perches onto Mouton Blanc’s shoulder.

To be continued…


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