>Boredom.
>If there ever was a word to describe what you felt at this current moment, it would be that.
>Pure, unadulterated boredom.
"Don't suppose you've spotted anything yet, lil' G?"
>Grubber looks away from his little spyglass and up towards you with the same bored look you had, giving you a frustrated sigh.
>"Not a thing, boss."
>Fucking shit Christ on a pogo stick.
"What about you, big guy?"
>One of your many storm beast crewmates, who was already looking your way the second you'd spoken to Grubber, only offers an apologetic shrug with the grunt to go with it.
>And that draws a long, protracted sigh of your own out.
"Sorry about this, fellas. If I'd known this leg of the patrol would've been this goddamn boring, I'd have gotten us all tacos way earlier."
>As was fitting for all Tuesdays on Fridays.
"Well," you shrug, "Keep at 'er, boyos."
>All parties give affirmative noises, going back to scanning the surrounding clouds and wide open blue skies.
>You, meanwhile, make your way back towards the steering wheel of your trusty warship.
>Now, you were no stranger to long spells of absolutely no criminal scum to bust on your patrol routes.
>Hell, even some heroic scum would have been a welcome change of pace.
>But nope.
>Here you sat, in your boredom coma.
>You, Anonymous, commander of the Storm King's army, and a bad motherfucker by all metrics known to man and horse, and several known to monkeys, were currently on your fourth uninterrupted day of absolutely no heroes, goody two-shoes, or independent bad guys to punch the everloving shit out of.
>For fuck's sake, this was going to shit all over your beating quota for the week!
>If things didn't change soon, your "villain of the month" streak would become just another statistic--
>"Boss! Boss!"
>Hold all of those thoughts.
>You all but fly away from the bridge towards Grubber's excited calls, seeing him bounce in place excitedly while pointing towards a cloud off in the distance.
>You descend right by his side in a matter of seconds.
>"I think I see something over there, boss!"
"Let's have us a look-see."
>Reaching into your very sexy and appropriately black and evil armour, your own trusty spyglass comes out, and it's your turn to play 'spot the anomaly'.
>"Right there, in the middle, right around that swirly part, you see?"
>No, can't say that you do.
>Wait.
>O-ho ho, wait a minute.
>There is something over there!
>Yeah, it's faint, but you can definitely make out part of another airship, just barely poking out of the cloud.
>"You see it, right?!"
"Oh, I see it all right. Good eye, lil' G!"
>He gives an excited, adorable little "yes", your left hand going out for a crisp high five with him without breaking your current view on the well hidden vessel.
"See how it's getting more and more visible, poking outta the cloud?"
>You point vaguely towards it for effect.
"Somebody on board hasn't tuned up their engine for drift. Keep your eyes on it, fellas. I wanna see what colours she's flying."
>The heavy footsteps of the storm beasts were heard making their way beside you on both sides, spyglasses extended and at the ready.
>Oh, please don't be a merchant ship.
>For the love of God, not a merchant ship.
>Wait.
>You think you can see the base of a flagpole.
>Come on, show daddy those sweet, sweet colours, baby!
>C'mon, c'mon...
>Okay, the flag part is finally visible, and...
>Oh.
>Ohh baby.
>Ohh, yes!
>Yes!
>You've hit paydirt this time!
>You'd recognize that Jolly Rodger anywhere!
>"No way, dude! Sky pirates!"
"Not just any sky pirates, lil' G. The filthiest of sky pirates."
>That was all you needed to see.
>Collapsing your spyglass, you look over to Grubber, both of you with massive grins on your faces.
"Get your ass on the wheel and fly us in."
>"Aye aye, commander!"
>With an excited salute, he takes off towards the bridge.
>Leaving some very excited storm beasts gathered around, looking to you for their orders.
>They aren't kept waiting for long.
"Fellas, wake the boys up. We've got a plane to crash."
>A brief chorus of excited grunt-cheers later, and your boys take off below deck to do their job.
>Leaving you to march on up to the wheel after Grubber with the exaggerated swagger of a mean green mother from outer space.
>Grubber was hard at work at the ship controls, and you'd come just in time for the ship's engines to roar to life.
>And you really did mean 'roar' to life; these ships were pollution-spewing marvels of military tech whose sound profiles were as loud as they were violent.
>Which qualified it immediately as high art, the kind of background music Tchaikovsky wishes he could compete with.
>Naturally, the sound will have spooked your mark by now, but they were already as good as yours by this point.
>Grubber kicks the ship into max throttle, forcing you to grab hold of a nearby handrail to keep from falling back on your ass as the ship rockets forward and banks towards the cloud, leaving a contrail of coal black smoke clouds behind.
>As you would have expected, the cloud was disturbed where their ship had kicked into high gear as well.
>No doubt they were gonna take cover in this big-ass cloud, using the bad visibility and the wind noises to cover their tracks and slip away.
>A plan as predictable as a house tour, and easily countered.
>But first things first.
>You make your way up behind Grubber, and he, already knowing the routine, had pressed a few buttons and had gotten a pedestal with a big red button on the top to rise up out of the ground nearby.
>The always efficient storm generator control, complete with the Storm King's logo on top of the button.
>Because of course it was.
"You got things up here, lil' G?"
>"Yeah, I got this!"
"Sweet, sweet."
>Once you pass into the cover of the cloud, you slam your hand down onto the button.
>A ring of lightning shoots down the button, through the pedestal, and into the bowels of the ship.
>The bowels of the ship rumble like a man's bowels after taco night, and the ship's mast begins to glow blue, charging with that special blend of magical lightning.
>After the charge builds up to the point where the lightning arcs violently and the mast glows bright as the sun, the mast fires a hose of lightning off into the cloud with a deafening KRACK.
>The stream continues for a solid three seconds, sending other smaller bolts splintering off into the cloud's depths as it flies before detonating way off in the distance with an unnaturally deep thundercrack.
>The storm generator, as it's name would imply, was already starting to do it's thing.
>The cloud cover all around you twisted and darkened almost immediately, taking on the order of seconds to transform this dormant cumulonimbus cloud into it's proper, violently stormy counterpart.
>Rain was already beginning to precipitate out of the cloud, even from this high up in the anvil of the cloud, and a flash of lightning was visible way off to the side.
>Perfect.
>Hand dug back into your armour, you exchange your conventional spyglass for a very different one, one made of a cool magical metal with an unpronounceable name and a lens of a rough, totally opaque green crystal.
>Useless to most people, but not to a stormy boi like you, since this little doohickey has a very neat party trick that makes this part of your job infinitely easier.
>Peering through said doohickey, it doesn't take long for it's effect to kick in.
>The next flash of lightning off in the distance was a brilliant, bright green bolt in the viewfinder of the otherwise totally empty view, and a similarly green wave of light radiated out from all directions, covering the whole area of the cloud in a matter of seconds.
>The wave stopped dead at the edges of the cloud, the entire structure visible and slowly fading in intensity like an old CRT display.
>What was also visible was the outline of the pirate airship.
>Cloud cover was no match for the handy-dandy storm radar.
"Gotcha."
>Your pointer finger shoots out, your radar eye trained on your mark.
"Two o'clock, and down a bit."
>Grubber readjusted the ship's trajectory with the help of your directions, putting you on a solid intercept course.
>Each flash of your radar brought you closer and closer towards the target with greater and greater accuracy.
>All the while, you could hear the footsteps of your crew of storm beasts mustering up behind you.
>You didn't need to see them to know how excited they were for some action.
>And action they would have, because your target was now close enough that you could see their lights through the cloud cover.
>Stowing the storm radar, you give Grubber a little nod, and be begins flipping more switches and pressing more buttons as you turn towards your squad of tall, musclebound and armoured up ass-kicking machines.
>This wasn't going to be a fight with the pirates, you already knew.
>It was going to be a massacre.
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls."
>You clap your hands together for that delicious dramatic effect.
"We have ourselves a code 10-91a in progress."
>Yep, there's the chorus of evil chuckles and excited mumbling you were expecting to hear.
>Your voice lowers to match your growing evil smile.
"And you know what we do to lawbreakers in these woods, don'tcha?"
>They all cheer in their usual adorable grunt-voices.
"Oh come on, you boys can do better than that."
>They don't disappoint, complete with a raise of fists into the air.
"That's what I thought."
>Never one to waste dramatic effect, those hands of yours wave out across your crew.
"Saddle up, boys."
>Turning your back on your cheering and laughing squad of proto-badasses, you position your hand above another big red button pedestal that Grubber had so kindly deployed for you during your pep talk.
>This time, it was the controls for the ship's front-firing grappling hook.
>The kind of hookshot that could punch through half an airship and reel them in like a big, floating wooden marlin.
>Any time this bad boy got use was a good time in your book.
>And that time was coming right up.
>Grubber's hand was up in the 'wait for it' position as he sighted in the hookshot on his end, complete with the customary squint and tongue hanging out.
>The airship was kicking up more speed, yelling audible through the noise of engines as their crew figured out you had them dead in your sights.
>It's too late for them, though.
>They're done.
>Grubber's hand shoots forward in the 'ready to fire' position.
>And your button mashing hand was born ready.
>The button depressed with a light 'click'.
>The frontmost part of the bow flips open to reveal the hookshot's barrel.
>And the hookshot rockets out of the bow with a loud BLAM, sailing through the air as gracefully as a gazelle before finally reaching it's intended target.
>With a loud, extra crunchy CRASH, it crashes right though the ass end of the fleeing pirate ship.
>The engines could be heard grinding unnaturally and stalling out, the sounds reverberating through the chain stuck in the ship, and by the time the hookshot's claw extended and hooked your target proper, their engines had shit the bed completely with one last BANG, smoke billowing out of the hole the hookshot had made.
>They were right and proper fucked now.
>Just how you liked it.
>The mechanisms below deck kicked into action right away, winding your catch in with the speed and efficiency you were all too familiar with.
>With their engines disabled, Grubber was careful to slow the ship down to match their now crippled speed, making sure nobody went flying on account of all that G-force.
>Your troops flock towards the front of the ship, cracking their knuckles and ready to jump down, kick ass, and take names.
>And now that you were close enough, you could finally confirm what you had always suspected.
>That Jolly Rodger wasn't just any old piratey flag.
>That particular one belonged to a very specific band of sky pirates you were all too familiar with.
>And that very specific band just so happened to be of a very specific race.
>Said race now being visible with cutlasses at the ready and in various states of readiness themselves, ranging from pants-shitting terror to mildly shaken up.
>This was Captain Celaeno's band of anthropomorphic bird people, complete in tacky pirate get-up.
>Now, you had no idea what the name of their race was here, nor did you care to learn, but you knew them all too well by their name back home on planet Earth.
>Furfags.
>Hideous, ugly, disgusting fucking furfags.
>Your knuckles do some cracking of their own, your smile from before briefly replaced with a sneer of righteous disgust.
>Far be it from you to ask why this part of the big, wide world was full of the taint of these /things/, but you liked to imagine that every time you and the boys punched the shit out of one, a furfag back on your world had themselves a Twitter meltdown.
>That and it was really, really fun.
>And at the end of the day, isn't that all that matters?
>Speaking of fun, the boat was getting within jumping range for your troops, waiting for your word to strike.
>No point in denying them now.
"Sic 'em."
>Your boys leapt down onto the enemy deck, yelling like Spartans and football tackling those silly bird pirates, just like you'd taught them.
>The birds that didn't piss themselves in fear and run screaming found out pretty quickly that their shitty little cutlasses were about as useful against their black metal armour as Australians were useful against emus.
>And thus, they were summarily punched square in the face and knocked the fuck out with picture perfect form.
>Almost brought a tear to your eye.
>But, not all was well in the land of fursecution.
>Your boys were cleaning up down there, but there was one glaring omission from this picture.
>The lack of a captain anywhere.
>Meaning there was some fuckery at play here that needed unfucking posthaste.
>But what manner of fuckery would be at play, you wonder?
>Actually, come to think of it, you remember Celaeno's crew having more members than were currently above deck.
>So, were they below deck?
>Hiding wasn't her style, you knew that, so it had to be...
>Oh.
>Wait a goddamn second.
>That's her plan, isn't it?
>Shit, that's actually pretty clever for a furfag.
>But not clever enough.
"Lil' G?"
>"Yeah, boss?"
"Open the cargo bay doors."
>Grubber blinks up at you, clearly confused, but many flights together have taught him to never ask questions whenever you ask him to do weird, wacky shit.
>So he does as you ask, opening up the big floor doors a ways behind you.
>Yep, you hear squawking.
"Celie. Honey. I know you're down there. Come on up and say hi."
>A moment passes before she, and the rest of her pirate band, leap up through the open bay doors and onto the deck.
>Of course, you have dramatic effect to enforce, so you continued looking forward instead of turning to face them, holding your hands behind your back.
>Aight, count the thumps to get a headcount...
>One, two, five and more...
>Damn, she fit twelve plus her in?
>Not bad.
"Not bad at all, baby girl. Sneakin' those boys on board through the hookshot hole like that? Love it!"
>"Figured you would. You always were a fan of backstabbing."
"Backstabbing?"
>And now you turn to face her for dramatic effect, hand over your heart in mock hurt.
"Aww, that hurts, Celie."
>"Nowhere near as much as you're about to hurt, greenie."
>Mmmhm, she hasn't changed at all.
>Still the same sassy little bitch she always was, though with those cute little faces she makes when she's angry, the effect was rather limited.
>Her team of birdmen were all present and accounted for, and they were definitely the more swole ones of the lot, with the biggest curved swords.
"You're not still upset about my career change, are 'ya?"
>"Career change?! You sold us out!"
"Goddamn right I did, other guy had a dental plan!"
>"He's pure evil!"
"And has a great starting salary for commanders!"
>"Wh--"
"Seriously, you know any other guy that pays that well for being an asshole?"
>"It's not about the pay!"
"Bullshit, it ain't! What do you call all that plundering you do?"
>"We don't plunder, we liberate!"
"Exactly! You're the worst pirates I've ever met!"
>She somehow looked even cuter with that angry little scowl and her cutlass waving around.
>"How's /this/ for the worst pirates you've ever met?! Get him!"
>Grubber, bless his heart, did his best to stand his post, but was forced to take cover behind the wheel with a little yelp.
>The whole band of bird pirates, sans the cap'n herself, all jumped at you with swords extended, ready to try and fuck your shit up.
>Operative word being 'try'.
>Time seemed to slow down for you as they sailed through the air towards you.
>Fresh air is sucked into your lungs through your nose, the smell of ozone as delightful as ever.
>Your arms casually rise into a halfhearted fighting position.
>And the dance begins in earnest.
>You allow them to finish most of their flight through the air, and then deftly step to the side at the last minute, causing them to collide with one another in a big pile.
>The ones who weren't knocked to the floor spun sword-first towards where you had stepped, and one of them made contact with your armour.
>Barely even felt that weak ass shit.
>Your reply to that one bird-man's strike came in the form of a powerful, meaty uppercut to the jaw, connecting with an oh-so-satisfying CRACK and sending him sailing into the air.
>He flies a good five feet before colliding with the deck, his sword clattering to the ground.
>A second one jumps into action with another leap attack.
>You answer by clotheslining his sorry ass right out of the air, sending him flying back further than he had actually jumped.
>The third one was a real character, some crazy-eyed, goggle wearing parrot thing whose eyes were no doubt full of insider knowledge on griffon foal sacrifice cults.
>His /very/ unique approach of crawling at you while swinging was answered with a football kick to the dome, booting him halfway across the deck like a sack of potatoes.
>And now for the rest of these fumbling dipshits.
>You could almost smell the fear coming from the remaining attackers, all now afraid of what they had gotten into but committed too far to back out now.
>They knuckle down on that commitment and come right at you again.
>And you answer each one in succession.
>Weaving through attacks and birdmen alike, you proceed to wipe the floor with your remaining nine assailants, eliminating them with blindingly fast, powerful blows that send them careening off across the deck like ragdolls.
>You don't even think the fight lasted for a minute.
>In fact, was it even fair to call that a fight?
>Who cares, it was fun.
>After delivering the last concussive lullaby to the nearest spawn of Furaffinity, you hold the pose on purpose and slowly look towards Celaeno.
>For her part, she was now pursuing a career of standing frozen with her jaw hanging open in utter shock at what she'd just witnessed.
>The only correct way of opening up is with some tut-tutting.
"Celie. Baby girl. What the hell kinda performance was that?"
>You slowly and menacingly turn to face her, her pupils shrinking and her sword shaking now that the fear had caught up to her.
"Seriously, did you guys train at all since the last time we had this talk?"
>Chuckling, you start your menacing walk towards her.
"I mean, you had to have known I was gonna find out when you got back into this shit, and you didn't even prepare?"
>The sword was trembling in her hands.
>Talons.
>/Things/.
"Shameful. Real, real shameful."
>Your arms extend in mock welcome, your face wearing the most aggravating and patronizing smile you can summon.
"Which is why I'll offer you, and only you, the chance to surrender right now. Just drop your weapon for me, m'kay?"
>You guess that won't be happening, since it looks like she's finally found her balls and snapped out of her terror coma.
>With a yell of her own, she comes right at you.
>A mock sigh and the accompanying eyeroll is your opening attack.
>Already, her form is better than the other twelve birds she'd sent your way, but it wasn't going to be of much help to her.
>She swipes at you with her sword, and you weave out of it's way with barely any effort.
>The second swipe ends the same way.
>But the third swipe, you made a move on.
>She always went for an overhead strike on her third attack, and this time was no exception.
>Your hands come out.
>CLANG
>And the sword stops dead, caught between both of your hands.
>Panic ignites in her eyes anew as she tries to pull her sword free of your grasp, to no avail.
>Oh hell, you can't help but laugh at it.
>And laugh you do.
>Not that mandatory evil villain chuckle from before, but a healthy, sensible chuckle that slowly turns malicious.
"You fucked up, Celie."
>SNAP
>You break the sword in half, the sudden force causing her to fly back and land on her ass with a yelp.
>Your half of the sword clatters to the ground, set to the music of your own laughing.
"Oh you fucked up so bad."
>And there she goes, right on cue, digging into her coat for that shitty little flintlock she keeps on her.
>Why she didn't just use it in the first place, you have no idea.
>You're guessing 'dishonourabruu combat' or some gay shit like that.
>But while your armour was plenty suited to taking that sub-peashooter's hit without any issue, it would also leave an ugly-ass mark that you'd have to spend some time cleaning up.
>And in the grand debate between more showboating and having to perform actual personal maintenance, sadly the good looks won out.
>So over you go to disarm.
>Or at least you would have, if you didn't notice a little someone holding a big wooden paddle creeping up from behind her.
>THUNK
>Well shit, that was an even better outcome than you'd hoped.
>Grubber had gone and laid her the fuck out.
>Right in the back of the head!
>"Oh yeah! How do ya' like that, bird-brains?"
>Aww, you're so proud of him!
>He /had/ been taking your pep talks to heart, after all!
>"Ha-ha-ha! Who's the man?! I'm the man!"
>He even kicked her while she was down?
>See, you knew he had potential!
>"I'm a bad man!"
"How bad?"
>"Real bad!"
>He earned his double high-five today.
"I give that ten points on the ten-point-oh scale of badness."
>While he was busy cheering and happy-dancing in place, you heard your boys jump back on deck, no doubt hearing the commotion and trying to provide some backup.
>'Course, everyone knew you didn't need it, but hey, it shows that they care, and that's all your little black heart needs to know.
"Pack 'em like kippers, boys. 'Cept for the cap'n. She's mine."
>Said boys do as they're told, dragging all of the mooks you'd taught a lesson to out back onto their ship to be tied up.
>"So what's the plan, boss-man?"
"Well we can't just let 'er go a third time, otherwise she might actually be a challenge! I'm thinking, hmm..."
>What /were/ you going to do with her, anyways?
>Hmm.
>Ho-hum.
>Mmmmm...
>Man, you want to think of something dastardly to inflict upon her and her crew, but all you can think about right now is having yourself some delicious fucking tacos.
>You should still have plenty of gas for a trip to Klugetown and then back to base, plenty of flying room to treat you and the boys to a whole damn Mexican banquet.
>Klugetown.
>The tiny little UV lightbulb just lit up in your head, heralding your idea.
>Your awful idea.
"You know what? I think I know exactly what I'm gonna do to them, lil' G."
>...

>Oh thank the Lord Jesus Christ, you're finally back home.
>Once the docking clamps come down on your airship, you give the signal to drop the gangplanks and allow your boys to disembark.
>Normally, you'd congratulate them one last time for a job well done before letting them go, but given what you had all just eaten, you decide to skip that step for the more colonically challenged among you.
>Sure enough, half of your storm beasts charge off down the ramp with what has to be the fastest poopwalk you've ever seen in your life, while the other half was waving goodbye to you and grunt-chatting with each other, their arms still full of 100% authentic Mexican cuisine.
"Aight, lock her up, lil' G."
>"Gotcha."
>Grubber does as he's told, taking the key out of the ship's ignition, stashing it in his little mohawk, and following after you as you make your way down the gangplank yourself, his own little arms full of leftover tacos.
>"So what now?"
"What do you mean, 'what now'? Time for the boring part."
>"Boring part? Try the scary part!"
"Well, scary for /you/, maybe."
>Ah, there's the elevator.
>On you go with your little partner in tow, up towards one of the many skybridges.
>"Try scary for everybody! I dunno how you and Tempest do it!"
"Tempie's got something to prove. Me, I just don't give a damn."
>The elevator opens to the docking tower's skybridge, with two storm beasts guarding it.
>Grubber tosses the two guards some of his Mexican bounty, giving a little thumbs up at their happy grunts.
>See, he's learning so much!
>"Speaking of Tempest, you seen much of her around lately?"
"Can't say I have, homie."
>You walk out onto the skybridge, an enclosed metal thing with plenty of windows on the walls and ceiling, allowing you a great view of Isla de Storm King's evil lair.
>The base was a complex of massive, spiky towers, the designer clearly channeling whoever Sauron's designer was, with blue windows pockmarking their walls and lighting up brightly whenever lightning struck, which was very frequently.
>Every tower was connected to one another via skybridges just like this one, with a few of them extra large and with cable suspensions whenever heavy cargo was involved, like the skybridge you knew was directly below you by a dozen stories or so.
>The whole complex looked like some kind of black metal spiderweb from a bird's eye view above, with some of the taller towers set aside for the express purpose of acting as hubs for all of the other towers to connect to.
>All of this, built into a massive caldera that had zero sunlight and was constantly filled with water courtesy of the 24/7/365 storm that raged overhead, the sole waterfall's telltale mist visible in the distance only when the lightning illuminated the air.
>Honestly?
>It was bitchin'.
>"Boss?"
"Huwhat, sorry?"
>"I said, you know where she'd be?"
"What, Tempie? Probably doing scout work."
>"Just scout work?"
"Or something like that. Hell, anything to distract from the whole hippogryph debacle."
>Grubber cringed a bit at the mention of hippogryphs.
>"Yikes, don't remind me."
"I keep saying this, but I coulda taken them myself! Could've just dropped on in like a meteor, kicked all the asses, and taken all the names!"
>"I'd pay to watch that."
"I'd pay to set it up!"
>"Anyways."
"Anyways."
>"Wonder when she'll be back?"
"Aww, miss her?"
>"She's super scary, dude!"
"That's not an answer."
>"Ehh... kinda?"
"You totally do."
>"Do not!"
"Do too."
>"Do not!"
"Do too."
>"Do not!"
"Do not."
>"Right, do not."
"Dang."
>"That one worked better the first three times, boss."
"Touché, lil' G."
>"She's still super scary."
"And you still miss her."
>He just narrows his eyes at you, shoving another taco into his cakehole.
>Hah, what a goober.
>Your journey through the tower complex continues onwards until you reach the central tower, the biggest of them all and smack dab in the middle of the spiderweb of skybridges.
>It also happens to be the Storm King's tower, and has the most guards to match, all of which happily wave at you as they pass by, your very presence improving the mood of the place immediately.
>Funny, they seemed a bit on edge, more than usual.
>Hmm.
>On edge.
>Well, three guesses as to who's behind all that edge.
>Taking one last elevator, you rise on up to the floor with the Storm King's war room.
>You've only just stepped out of the elevator, and already you can hear the big guy ranting and raving.
>Man, that guy's voice and general mannerisms were just...
>No.
>Uh-uh.
>You're a goddamn professional, Anon.
>Professionals don't shit-talk their employers.
>"So ahh, you mind if I...?"
"Take cover while I cover for your no-show?"
>"Yeah, that."
"I'll do it for a taco."
>That's a trade he doesn't think twice about, tossing the scrumptious destroyer of toilets your way.
"See 'ya in two shakes."
>And off he goes, back into the elevator and off to wherever he's going.
>Probably the food court.
>Little guy was a walking garbage disposal.
>Christ, you don't envy the poor motherfuckers who'll have to clean the bathrooms.
>Lo siento no lo siento.
>Anyways.
>You make your way into the war room, and what do you know, your hunch was right.
>There was Tempest, trying to keep herself from rolling her eyes at the Storm King's raving bipolar outburst.
>An outburst that stops dead in it's tracks when he sees you walking in, munching away on your snack.
>"Well, well! If it isn't my greenest commander!"
"Creo que te refieres al más malo, amigo."
>"What was that?"
"Nice to see you too, boss-man."
>"Seriously, what did you just say to me?"
"Nothing but flattery."
>Yep, he's on the aggressive and paranoid stretch of insanity right now.
>"I don't believe you."
"Boss-man, if I wanted to insult you, I'd be speaking baguette, not burrito."
>You pause mid-bite.
"Goddamnit, now I wish I'd gotten burritos."
>The brief moment of retrospective despair is drowned in the authentic taste of Mexico coursing through your taste buds as the Storm King's eye starts to twitch.
>He'll be fine in a few seconds.
>More importantly...
"Tempie! Good to see you again, gurl!"
>Aww, she's looking away all huffy-like!
>Guess she still hates you more than she hates the boss!
>Oh yeah, he should be flipping to manic right about...
>"Yes, Tempest! Ohh, your timing is /impeccable/, Anonymous!"
>Damn, off by half a second.
>He must have gotten worse while you were gone.
>"See, she's been off doing a little... /prospecting/ for me, getting me all ready for our next conquest!"
"Who's it this time, the bird people? Because they could use an exterminatus or twelve."
>"No, my little green subordinate, I'm shooting for the top, as always!"
>That's a cocked eyebrow from you.
>"We'll be shooting for none other than Equestria!"
"Oh, Tempie's home? Sweet."
>You take another bite of your taco, then start talking with your mouth full, because table manners are for communists.
"Sho what'sch thaht about proshpechting?"
>"Well, as you /may/ know, Equestria is ruled by some very magical ponies. Very /powerful/ ponies, if you're keeping track so far."
>Oh fuck, he's in his sarcastic bitch phase now.
>"So in order to get my /very/ important staff the power it needs, we need a way to keep those ponies from causing us too much trouble."
"Ahh, so that's what you were boy-scouting it up for, eh Tempie?"
>Seeing her get increasingly angry the more you call her 'Tempie' is the perfect counterbalance to the Storm King's bipolar grinding on your nerves.
>"Well, DUH! I can't have my /important/ commanders just lazing about, now can I?!"
>There's the aggressive sarcastic bitch phase, right on time.
>The only mercy was that this phase was very brief.
>"ANYWAYS! She found a weapon that will help to make them a non-issue! Which she was /just/ about to finish explaining to me before you barged on in here!"
"Désolé pas désolé."
>"And it's the BEST. Discovery. EVER!"
>Right back to manic.
>God damn this fucker is exhausting.
>If he wasn't paying you so much, you'd have...
>No, none of that now.
>Just you, Tempie, and the Schizo King.
"Well don't keep me in suspense here, one of you fill me in on what this weapon thing is."
>"Yes, Tempest! Fill us in, all from the beginning!"
>With one big, angry scrunch in place of a sigh, she does just that.
>Actually, she does more than just that; she offers a live demonstration on the poor sunavabitch she 'liberated' the weapon from.
>She had what you could only describe as a 'cockatrice grenade', a little black orb with some green glowing crystal shit in the middle that turns motherfuckers to stone.
>And once the demo sample finishes statuing the Abyssinian furry fuck she took it from, freezing it's terrified scream in stone for all time, you offer a low whistle.
"That's some bomb-ass shit, dog."
>"Right?!" the King exclaims.
>It was Tempest's turn to speak up.
>"He didn't quite know what they were called either, but he was /very/ excited to tell me all about where he had bought it, right down to pointing out where it was on the map."
"Let me guess, a black market on some faraway ocean island?"
>"No, a temple buried in the Bone Dry Desert."
"Ah, okay. Still, I'm betting cash money that they've got a black market out there. We could probably get some sick deals out there."
>"Hah! Hahahahahahaaaah!"
>Oh boy, here comes the sarcastic phase again.
>"Selling, to us? Puh-lease! I'll be taking their entire stock, whether they want me to or not!"
>Well that's just exceedingly fucking rude in your book, but hey, not really your call.
>"Both of you, get some well needed rest! Because tomorrow, you're both going out there to take what's mine!"
>"We're /what/?!"
"Ooh, two-player mode? I'm down!"
>Tempest doesn't even get to protest further before the Storm King flips to angry.
>"Now get OUT of my war room, both of you! Out, out, OUT!"
>You were already leaving the second you saw his expression drop, and you were totally out of the room a second after he'd finished raving.
>Shoving the last bits of taco into your cake hole, you stroll into the elevator and wait patiently for Tempest to arrive.
>And yup, there she is.
>Adorably angry as always.
>Being the colossal shitgoblin you were, you stayed quiet right until the elevator began moving.
"So, you excited for the co-op campaign, girl? 'Cause I sure as shit am!"
>"Stop. Talking."
"Man, why've you gotta be like that, Tempie? I'm just--"
>"Do NOT call me that!"
"A-hem. I'm just trying to be a team player here, and you're here grumping up the whole experience!"
>She nurses a headache with her hoof.
>"Why did I even say anything."
"You still mad over the hippogriff thing?"
>That ear flop and eye twitch was all the answer you needed, but when have you ever stopped there?
"'Cause y'know, you really should blame the bipolar boss-man upstairs for that. That job had my name all over it, and we all know it!"
>Hahahah, there's the horn sparkling death glare!
>"If you don't stop talking right now, I'm--"
>ding
>The elevator door opens, and you moonwalk out of there with a purpose, hitting the door close button as you go.
"A i g h t bye!"
>She doesn't even have a chance to say anything before the doors close exactly as your words end.
>By the time you 360 spin and walk on off to your current destination, you can hear the sound of the elevator getting abused by uncontrolled magic, with Tempest's screeching audible somewhere in that noise.
>Silly horse, you had things perfectly timed in the elevator from the word go!
>Didn't even notice you'd set the elevator to get off on another floor!
>Supreme Commander Anonymous, 5D underwater rusemaster extraordinaire, strikes again!
>Oh yeah, your actual goal before bed.
>You'd gotten off onto the conservatory floor, which was basically a normal floor but with a big glass wall to the outside where a normal wall would be.
>View's pretty good, but your own tower had less towers cluttering up the view.
>Pulling up a chair, you recline at the preplanned spot, and just wait, taking in the sight of rain and lightning.
>Now this, you will never get tired of.
>Rain was always a huge favourite of yours, and just watching it fall away, hearing it beating against the glass of the window and the metal walls of the floors above and below was scratching that itch so good.
>The only thing better would be to actually get out there on the deck sans the armour, letting the rain hit you in the face with the wonderful smell of both the rain itself and the ozone in the air from all of the lightning strikes.
>Soon, Anon, soon.
>You had your tower built just for that purpose.
>But alas, thoughts of rain will have to wait, because your waiting's just paid off.
>You could hear the footsteps of two storm beasts, and you didn't even need to turn around to see who they were, their reflections in the glass being good enough for you.
"Biggs. Wedge. You ladies doing good?"
>You get affirmative grunts from both of them.
>Hell if you knew what their actual names were, but they didn't protest to the ones you'd given them.
>Biggs was the one in the sunglasses with a swagger in his step, while Wedge was the nervous looking one with the nerdy round spectacles.
"I take it you two did what I asked?"
>Another round of affirmative grunts.
"Good shit. FYI, we're heading out tomorrow, me and Tempie. Joint op, plundering some high class weapons."
>A slip of paper flicks up into your fingers from underneath your black jumpsuit.
"Doesn't change the plan, though. Just means you'll have to wait until after the op."
>Wedge takes the paper and tucks it away into his own armour without saying a word, while Biggs just chuckles, no doubt planning to squeeze in a lot of ass beating.
"Now Wedge, you know I love you and your camera work, but you've gotta promise me you'll get in at least one ass beating when we're out and about tomorrow, aight?"
>As expected, Wedge begins to whine and grunt-complain the way only a socially anxious nerd would.
"Look man, if it were up to me, I'd leave you be to do your thing. Probably even hook you up with a sick propaganda center to run, honestly. But a quota's a quota, and I don't wanna see you getting reamed, okay?"
>Wedge grunts an 'I know' before signing heavily, Biggs consoling him with a supportive hand on the shoulder and a thumbs up, grunting what you assume is 'You can do it!'.
"That a promise?"
>Yep, out comes his pinkie.
>You seal the promise with your own pinkie.
"Good. Now you ladies get some sleep, we've got a busy day tomorrow."
>They grunt their goodbyes, but Biggs doesn't leave without his fist-bump, as was his custom.
>Once you heard their elevator close and take off, you get up and head over towards the elevator yourself.
>A few minutes of skybridge travel later, and you were back home at your own personal tower.
>The storm beasts on guard there, all of them your boys, were super excited to see you back, but you only offer a tired wave as you ride the elevator up to your presidential suite.
>Man, was this a long day.
>Debriefings always suck the life right outta you, and you'd squeezed in one hell of a beating quota to boot.
>Think you'll skip the rain experience for tonight.
>Stepping off the elevator, you finally hit your room.
>You being you, you went all-out on this place, turning it into a baller penthouse apartment.
>One of the benefits of working for the Storm King for so long.
>As much as you'd like to just sit out in the rain, or use the indoor pool, you had some much-needed bedrest to catch up on.
>So you make your way up to your killer bedroom, featuring the kingliest of king-sized beds.
>Stripping your armour off piece by piece, you don't even bother taking off the black jumpsuit underneath it all, opting to just flop down onto the bed.
>A quick flick of a nearby switch cracked open the windows just enough to let the sound of the rain in, the chill of the outdoors and it's stormy smells following in it's wake.
>Absolute perfection.
>Sweet, sweet sleep doesn't take very long to catch up to you.
>...

>"You can't do this to us!"
"Kinda sorta already did."
>The merchant leader of this weird, underground black market wanted to say more, but one of your boys shoved him face-down onto the ground, right on schedule.
"Listen dude, I really don't give one squirt of piss about whether or not you're selling knock-off merch, spice, or princess Luna's bath water. Doesn't bother me in the slightest."
>"Then why are you even here?!"
"I'm here for the shifty Abyssinian fucks. Seen 'em?"
>That gets him to look up at you, with a noticeable reduction in agitation.
>"Wait, you're just here for them?"
"I'd have told you that if your guards hadn't jumped down our throats, man."
>He just gives you a sigh of relief.
>"They're off in the back caves. Fifth tunnel to the left."
"Sweet, thanks."
>Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Tempest already moving out towards the caves, her own crew of storm beasts in tow.
>Normally you'd join them, but...
"How bad are they, doc?"
>This poor fucking merchant's lip begins to quiver for a few seconds, his eyes starting to water.
"That bad?"
>He just nods.
"I am so sorry."
>"Please get them out of here, commander!"
>Hmm...
>You /could/ do that for just the principle and philanthropy.
>But...
"I'll do it for a discount."
>"You'll do it for what, now?"
>A snap of your fingers later, and the merchant leader, some lanky stallion with a colour scheme you don't care to memorize, is finally allowed to stand back up.
"I've got some /personal/ business needs that've gotta be met. Discretionary, you understand."
>It was like you flipped the merchant switch in his brain back to 'on', his personality changed so quickly.
>"Oh yes, sir. Completely discretionary."
"Good. You do deliveries and everything?"
>"Absolutely, good sir! Anything you need. I'll even waive the shipping costs as an apology for our rough introduction!"
>Now, to be absolutely, transparently fair, this dude's guard team wasn't attacked by your crew, and his team looked pretty chill.
>But he doesn't need to know that.
"More than acceptable. Got someplace quiet we can talk--"
>Oh wait, one of Tempie's storm beasts is grunt-hollering for you.
"Oh sorry, duty calls. Where can I find you?"
>"Just over there, sir. Take whatever time you need."
>Always nice to work with a professional.
>Ending the conversation with a nod, you head on over towards the beast in question, some of your own falling into formation around you.
>It was easy to tell which commander these guys rolled with at a glance by the streak of coloured hair up front.
>Your boys in green, and her boys in purple.
>Now, your boys were well trained, laid back, total fun to be around, and still managed to crush the beating quota performance reviews.
>Hers, on the other hand, were all no-nonsense.
>Still good at their jobs, by all means, but...
>Man alive, would it kill one of them to look at least a little bit excited about something?
>Shit freaks you out sometimes.
>But anyways.
>These caves were set up like a shopping mall, just carved out for each individual black market vendor to use as a storefront.
>Cool system, even if they were all closed up with the merchants cowering in fear behind their stalls.
>And sure enough, the fifth tunnel to the left was being ransacked, shit flying out of the cave mouth and landing in the middle of the hall.
>Dodging a stray book, you enter the tunnel proper, greeted with the sight of Tempie's crew turning the place inside out.
>And there she stood, in the middle of the room, waiting impatiently with an unamused glare.
>"Wasted enough time back there?"
"Time spent doing business is never wasted, girlfriend."
>She doesn't answer, instead turning to walk further down the length of the tunnel.
>Already, you could see the problem with this area.

