Eysin: The Giggling Curtain | Ch. 12 En Route: Adalsysla → Vegas-B (and a different kind of Lighthouse appears)
A gonzo boat-trip comedy on spontaneous Bliss: Rapid Ascent. A sudden lighthouse beam where lighthouse beam shouldn't be, threatening bison or Baltikon rampage on a herd hauler.
Manifest: 20 passengers, 60 bison, one very naked curtain riding the bowsprit like a drunk figurehead.
Kotermen sighted: zero. (Thank fuck.)
The corvette growls through grey dawn like an old wolf that refuses to die.
Rain came two hours before sunrise—cold, petty, the kind that finds every gap in your wraps. Everyone’s got something wet now: socks, sleeves, the back of the neck where hoods don’t quite reach.
Inside, the hold is dark, warm, smells of wet wool, bison breath, and the last dregs of mulled wine.
Bodies lie tangled on the floorboards: Baltikons snoring in their black rags, Bartel curled like a question mark, Sylrissa using Bartel’s pack as a pillow, muttering curses in her sleep.
Pond and Lily—finally, finally—are asleep in a nest of blankets near the bulkhead, curled together like kittens who’ve discovered warmth for the first time.
Only the engine and the rain keep talking.
Eysin can’t fall asleep. She’s fiddling with the third ring.
The metal is warm, humming, impatient.
“What if I do that…” she whispers to no one.
She lifts the ring to her eye like a tiny porthole.
White.
Not light—explosion.
A silent sun detonates inside the circle and pours straight through her pupil into the marrow of the world like a cosmic lighthouse.
The hold flashes gold for one heartbeat, long enough to bleach every shadow.
Three bison in the forward pen jolt awake with panicked bellows.
The nearest one rears—massive, terrified, hooves slamming wood.
Then—
Cassius’ laugh.
Deep, rolling, delighted—the kind of sound that comes from a man who’s seen the cosmos sneeze and decided it was hilarious.
He’s sitting up near the pen, one hand raised, and the animals settle like someone just turned the volume down on the universe.
His laugh keeps going, loud enough to startle every Baltikon who wasn’t awake.
“What—where—Hey SHUT UP! What’s so funny?” Someone bolts upright, weapon half-drawn.
“Startled!” Cassius manages to catch his breath.
“For Baal’s sake, we’re on a boat!” another voice hisses. “Put your toys away!”
Sylrissa’s voice cuts through, low and dangerous: “Shut. Up. The girls just fell asleep.”
Everyone freezes.
All eyes flick to Pond and Lily, still miraculously unconscious.
Silence descends like a threat.
Cassius is still grinning, shoulders shaking, one hand glowing faintly with whatever spell keeps the bison calm.
He catches Eysin’s eye across the hold and winks.
She’s clutching the ring to her chest, shoulders shaking with silent, hysterical giggles that have nothing to do with funny and everything to do with being suddenly, impossibly alive.
Gold light keeps leaking from her zerk beneath the black rags—thin threads curling around her wrists like liquid laughter.
Arkion tightens his hold around her.
“What was that?” he asks, voice low.
“I don’t—” She’s breathless, trembling. “I don’t know. It was a blast…”
“From the past?”
She presses both hands to her chest.
“Something so good, Arkion. Joy like—like I’ve never—” Her voice cracks. “And now, I think it’s bleeding into this from the future. The bliss from a day I haven’t lived yet.”
The gold threads flare brighter.
He leans in, voice dropping low, half mischief: “So you’re coming, but backwards?”
She chokes on a laugh—delighted, scandalized—and shoves him.
“Shut up—”
But she’s grinning, pulling him back immediately, tucking herself against his side.
The laughter fades. Her breathing becomes uneven.
“What’s happening to me?” she whispers into his shoulder. Gold threads crawl under her zerk—the suit responding to commands she isn’t giving.
“Rapid Ascent,” Arkion humms. “Suits do this sometimes when we switch gears. Higher capacity functions and so on. A sudden ascent will have you leaking light, turning gold—” He pauses, considers. “Other hilarities might help it along.”
“Help it along?” Her voice is small, uncertain.
“There’s a fix for it when we get to Vegas-B. Until then—” He pulls her closer, wraps both arms around her. “Just let it settle. You’re not breaking. You’re leveling up.”
She nods against his chest.
Around them, the hold settles back into sleep.
The engine hums.
The rain drums.
The corvette carries them all toward morning.
Destination: Vegas-B
ETA: whenever the moon feels like it
Dress code: howling mandatory
From somewhere beyond the hull, riding a wave of gold light and anomalous windows, the collective voice of every liberated curtain in the Baltics rises in chorus:
Behold, dumplings: our favorite garden-variety saint-zerker is about to trip spectacularly into the world’s wildest floating libertaria—complete with dumplings that could convert sinners, grappa baptisms, and nightly howling rituals that rattle the moon.
Don’t touch that dial.
Vegas-B is ready to crown its seventh spontaneous shiny gold saint this week… and this one’s bringing her own lightshow.
Continue reading:
Eysin: The Giggling Curtain | Ch. 13A - Vegas-B: Population – Whoever Showed Up and Stayed
A carnival of joy takes an absurd turn that isn't quite so absurd. The world’s first nomadic armada society with a russo-italian mayor, disco saints, pirate dumplings, and an evening of good deals.
E-pub/book: Aiming for 2026 February.