Étude

[Tearen Wover]

Angry shouts came from inside the town's meeting house. The long, teakwood structure was spilling orange firelight through its windows, along with the tension and fury of the dozen or so islanders who hadn't gone home yet. It had been two days since Myla had given birth to the tiny child dozing on her breast. Assul and Nesheika had carried her via what amounted to a glorified wheelbarrow over to the square. The Underverse native had been there for several hours now, and despite her porcelain skin, had no signs of sunburn. It was clear enough evidence that there was still at least a trace of infernal power in her; a fact which was readily evident by the baby's limp, dangling tail.

The tiny baby girl was not doing well. Despite the midwive's best ministrations, she had yet to show more than just the basic reflexes. Her appetite was almost nonexistent, and she was rather frail and thin looking. Myla, despite consciously knowing better, was nauseous with a sense of guilt. Guilt that she hadn't taken better care of herself, and thereby the baby, during her pregnancy. Guilty that, now, she could not immediately make the whole world right for her.

Despite Assul's constant badgering, Myla hadn't named the child yet, either. Succubus culture didn't really have conventions for that sort of thing. Newly imagined flesh toys were usually given their names by their first owners, which was a cultural convention that Myla simply did not want to imagine for the girl. The succubus breathed slowly, disembarking that train of thought, as several more islanders stormed out of the longhouse. They cast scornful glances at her before bustling away. Myla held their furious stares as long as they were willing to throw them at her. She had no excuses for them, nor did she feel the need to make any.

Obviously, Myla had always been an object of some fascination on the nameless island. Delivered here by some of Omni's angels, they had revered her as an honored guest. But, in the course of delivering the child and discussing her maladies with Assul, it had come to light that Myla was, in fact, a native of Diablo's realm. The villagers did not take kindly to her, or this infernal freak she had shit out of her womb.

...in so many words.

Either way, she was taboo, and the villagers wanted her gone. Fine. Whatever. Myla was used to being passed around, and if the damn savages couldn't even extend any compassion to her baby, then good riddance. The big debate, however, was whether or not they should help the newborn and her still-recovering mother reach the nearby Cinnabar Island or not. One of the drawbacks of living on a communal island was that everybody had equal say in resource allocation. If the islanders set Myla up with their best catamaran, medical resources, and food, then there was a complete guarantee that those would simply be burned.

Myla waved away a particularly persistent moth as Assul and Nesheika were shooed out from the interior of the building by the remaining council. The succubus waved at them in a nonchalant manner, and was not surprised when she was given bad news.

"Little help. Some food. Water. Canoe...but..." Assul said, shrugging slightly. Her face was full of pain; the old midwife blamed herself for Myla's plight. When she had first informed the island chief of Myla and her child's true nature, she hadn't expected this kind of backlash. Myla simply wished Assul had run the idea past her first, as the mother. She could have told the well-meaning lady what she could expect. Still, Myla had been roughing it in the Salt Flats for years and years; how much more difficult could an ocean journey be?

"Alright, and I'm supposed to know where I'm going...how?" Myla said simply. She gazed down at the baby girl, fast asleep. Under different circumstances, it may have been adorable. As it was, there was a constant avalanche of panic rising in the demonic mother's gut that filled to overflow at any moment.

"Map." Nesheika said softly, waving a pack of weathered paper in her hand.

"When?" Myla sighed. Assul and Nesheika exchanged a conversational glance.

"Tonight." said a gruff voice. It was the island chieftan. Tall and hoary, with pillowy white chest hair and skin the color of coconut husks. He looked every bit like the type of guy who could harpoon a sportfish like it was taking out the trash. Good for him. Myla snorted.

"Gather things. Boat will be ready." he grunted, before turning on his heel and slamming the rickety door behind him. To Assul and Nesheika's immediate dismay, Myla hauled herself out of her chair, wobbled slightly, then squared her shoulders.

"Well then, ladies. Thank you for slicing open my taint and pulling the demon baby out of me." Myla said in a stiff tone. She immediately chastised herself for her abrasive treatment of the women. They had been her absolute saviors over the past several months. At the same time...her anger needed an outlet, and she didn't want to antagonize the people responsible for her exile, lest they try even harder to send her to her death.

About half an hour later, Myla had packed together a bag for her and the baby and marched down to the shoreline. Indeed, there was a boat on the sand for her, with a small basket of food and supplies. The demon mother shuffled down through the cool sand and tossed her rucksack into the keel of the ocean-worthy hunk of wood, where it landed with a dull clang. The baby girl, slung to her hip in an improvised pouch, was asleep again. Most of the time spent in her hut had been trying to encourage the drowsy creature to eat. The girl had taken a small helping from Myla's aching breasts, but probably not enough, before falling asleep again.

The palm trees rustled and glinted under the waxing moon that hung auspiciously in the sky. Myla became aware of another presence on the beach, and turned to see the shawl-covered form of Nesheika. Her face was covered, buy Myla had custom tailored clothes for almost every lady on the nameless atoll. She knew her work, and who was wearing it, when she saw it.

"Hey Nesh–" Myla started, attempting to apologize, but the young woman shook her head furiously. She held a silent finger to her lips, and Myla nodded softly. Nesheika gestured for Myla to get into the canoe, and after the ex-succubus clambered inside, Nesheika pushed the whole boat into the surf and vaulted in, the hem of her shawl dripping with saltwater. Myla reached for an oar, but it was snatched out of her grasp by the eager young lady who tutted her tongue impatiently. The mother contented herself with hugging the baby girl close to her once more, and let Nesheika navigate the boat out through the breakers. Once things had quieted down, and the only noises were the intermittent, slushy strokes of the island girl's paddling, Myla spoke up.

"Sorry." she said. It was an apology for several things, but Nesheika simply offered one of her musical, lilting laughs.

"Need help. Have baby. Need map." Nesh said, a mirthful tone in her voice. Myla turned around in the darkness to peer at the midwife, and grinned sheepishly. The folded wad of papers was sitting on Nesheika's lap. In her rush to be rid of the xenophobic tribalists, Myla had forgotten to take the map from her younger midwife. They shared a moment of bonding laughter before Nesheika recommended Myla to rest, and the mother took the suggestion.

---

Two days passed, and on the third night, much to Myla's delight, the baby girl shit all over her. The mother's delight was not so much out of being excited by such filth. Granted, she wouldn't have cared if that was the case. There were a lot of things wrong with the Underverse, but you would be hard-pressed to find any form of kink shaming there. But no, the mother's happiness was due to the very evident fact that, at least to some degree, the tiny baby girl's body was working. Beneath the constant napping, ghostly appetite, and utter silence, there was a living, growing body attached to the serene face. As Nesheika and Myla took turns washing the mother's clothes in the quiet surf, the conversation of a name was struck up again.

"Just easier!" Nesh said, wringing sea water out of Myla's skirt. The almost-nude mother had just finished swaddling the baby again when she stood up and stretched her back in a luscious manner. For better or worse, the desert-dweller was starting to get her sea legs. As Myla sat back down, in no hurry to dress again, she glanced back at the diligent young woman and sighed.

"Oh for fuck's sake. You name her then." Myla said, a curious grin on her face. Nesheika looked as if she had just been stung.

"Me? Name?" Nesheika said in mild bewilderment. Myla laughed in spite of herself.

"Shit yeah, girl! She and I owe you at everything, seems like a good start to me." Myla said, her auburn hair glittering in the pure sunlight. Nesheika looked around, as if the solid blue horizon could offer her insight into this sudden crisis. Just as Myla was beginning to consider rescinding the offer, just for Nesh's own sake, the midwife spoke up.

"Elise." she said softly. Myla was taken aback. She had been expecting some sort of verbose, tiki-ass name.

"Elise?" Myla said, her surprise evident in her curious pitch. Nesheika back down at the damp garment in her small, but strong, hands.

"Y...yes. I like piano, and...if you don't like it..." she started, but Myla had already picked the napping baby girl up and held her out for Nesheika to see. Elise's eyes were closed, but Myla pretended that wasn't the case.

"See there, Elise? That's your godmomma! That's Neshie! Say hi!" Myla said, having genuinely no clue what a godmother was. She placed her mouth against the back of the baby's swaddling and imitated a tiny, adorable voice.

"Hi Neshie! I'm Elise!" Myla chirped, making the baby's bundle bob up and down in pantomime. Nesheika blushed happily, just as the still ocean water was shattered by a staccato blast of small arms fire. The two women ducked pointlessly behind the runners of the canoe, as more bullets whizzed overhead, plopping softly into the water behind them. Distant, echoing cries came from some distant point, and Myla peeked her eyes over the edge of the canoe just enough to see a small cadre of human figures hopping onto various pokémon and beginning to ride them out into the surf.

They had been passing by what they had assumed to be yet another, nameless sand bar. They had even considered camping there for the night, but decided that Cinnabar was close enough to reach by daybreak. How the pirates on the grottoed islet had seen them in the twilight was unknowable, but what Myla did know was that they were in deep shit. Myla swore several Underverse exclusive curses under her breath as she propped Elise up against a bench and began rummaging through her rucksack. Nesheika was already beside herself. That was fine. She had been paddling them across the fucking ocean for half a week. Myla could do this.

She could do this.

"I can do this." she growled, pulling several red shells and a literal SPAS 12 tactical shotgun out of her bag. She racked them in and gave the black boomstick a satisfying pump before ducking back out of sight.

She could hear the jeering voices getting closer and closer...