We all know about the properties of Life Fruit, especially when cooked in Ambrosia. It can extend your life…but you have to keep eating it. If you want to live forever, you have to eat it forever. But what would you say if I told you there was a way to make it permanent? I’ve had the opportunity to do some research, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it might, indeed, be possible.
The burning question is, of course: am I a world renown scientist with a break-through method of farming? A philanthropist doctor with cutting-edge human/fruit grafting techniques? No, nothing so mundane. I’m a wealth-redistribution technician, with a specialization in physical appropriations.
Yes, I steal things…but don’t mistake me for a common thief. I am an
exceptional thief. I have traveled the world, taking that which they said could not be taken. My name has been romanticized by the masses and is feared by the wealthy. My deeds are the stuff of
legends!
I am Scarlett Renard, better known as
The Crimson Fox!
WHAT?! You’ve never heard of me? Why I…ah, well…um…OK, you got me. I supposed I embellished a little bit. It kind of goes with the territory. I haven’t really traveled, and I’m not exactly legendary or even feared by
anyone. Not yet, anyways. In fact, even Scarlett Renard is nothing more than a pseudonym: I have gone by so many different aliases that I don't remember what my real name actually is. But regardless, this is how my journey began.
You see, the key to happiness is to love who and what you are. Acceptance is fine for a start, but you will never truly know joy until you are able to revel in your abilities. Mine just happens to lie in finding things that are not yet lost. I suppose it's more of a compulsion than it is a talent, and I'll admit that it used to embarrass me when I was younger. But the realization that I cannot change who and what I am has afforded me the moral leeway to turn my character flaw into a virtue.
And thanks to this virtue, I came across an old book. I won’t go into exactly how I got it, but I’m sure you can fill in some of the blanks yourself. This book is quite a tale: it’s a journal kept by a pirate captain named Skippy LePew. While he wasn’t exactly a fearsome pirate (hence the name, I can only assume), he discovered what he thought to be the key to permanent immortality.
My first thought was that if it worked, I would have gotten this book from him instead of where I
did get it, so it seemed that this was one pirate who had his timbers shivered once too often. But apparently, making it permanent a ongoing process, and poor Cap’n Skippy wasn’t able to keep up on the regimen. I did a little fact-checking, and a lot of what I found seemed to collaborate some of his story.
That’s when it hit me: I would pull off the
ultimate heist. I would steal my own soul from the Grim Reaper himself! This will make me the most famous thief of all times! Wealth and world renown will soon be more than just a silly story I tell to those I meet.
I know what you’re thinking, and trust me: the thought has occurred to me more than once today, too. But there’s a fine line between madness and genius.
Some of the details were sketchy or missing altogether, so I’d have to do some more research. But I had a good idea where to look, and if anyone could find them, I could. Besides, part of the process is to live in Barnacle Bay. I’m not sure what’s so special about this place, but since I still need to do some research, it would be best to set up there, anyways.
This made Cap’n Skippy’s old mansion the logical choice. He might have more journals laying around, and if I rip up the floorboards, I might even find some pirate treasure that the old sea dog squirreled away. And as luck would have it, it was on the market…and it was
cheap!
Yeah, I was a little disappointed with the quality of my new home, to say the very least. It seems that there was a fire a
couple hundred years ago that burnt the mansion to the ground. Funny how the real estate agent failed to mention that. He’s a bigger crook than I am. Well, at least the property has a nice view of the ocean!
Time to come up with a “Plan B.”
No house means no immortality, and since I came all this way, that doesn’t exactly appeal to me. It also means I’ll be sleeping on the ground in a vacant lot, which appeals to me even less. And to build a house, I need money. It’s time to lower myself to pulling off a confidence scheme.
Some discrete inquiries lead me to a local celebrity named Odessa Cross. While she’s not exactly rich, she has a good job and she’s artistically inclined. You see, part of the process is to maintain a museum documenting as much of your life as possible. I just need to nurture her artistic side.
As I’m talking to her, I realize she’s a nice girl, even if she is a bit on the odd side. As conning people isn’t exactly my cup‘o tea, I initially decide against it. But when I talk about my plans for a mansion, she gladly abandons her tiny little house. Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than heartless, I guess.
Her finances are meager, and we only have enough for the foundation, a single room (which will eventually be the bathroom) and the start of the basement, so were back to the sleeping on the ground thing again. Strangely enough, it doesn’t sound any better now than it did this morning. But while conning people may not be in my particular skill set, stealing things
is. It’s still early, so I look for a place to put my talents to work.
I don’t have to look far: just down the road is the Goldbeard’s estate. Born into wealth, their ancestors made their money the old fashioned way: they stole it. It’s an unspoken fact that they can trace their lineage back to famed and successful pirates (unlike my posthumous friend, Cap’n Skippy). Well, they can hardly complain if I take some of that stolen wealth, myself.
I pay them a visit, and spend some time chatting up a lady named Jasmine Noon, who happens to be spending the night. Then I slip upstairs, snag a few items from the bedroom and hot-wire their sports car on my way out the door. I’m starting to like this town already!
During my inquiries earlier, I caught the name of a lady who operates a business that authorities tend to frown on. So I go and see Doreen Slate to see if she can fence these goods. It turns out she was in the market for a Bwan Speedster, and she took the other mundane goods off my hands since I delivered it to her. It’ll be enough to buy a nice bed, so at least Odessa and I can get a good night’s sleep.
While I was there, Doreen offered me a spot on her crew, and as it turns out, I needed a job. Another part of the process is to be a distinguished professional. And with a name like “Captain Skippy LePew,” I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say that there’s where the wheels started falling off
his wagon.
So, here I am: living in a shack in an old pirate town, searching for the key to immortality. If the story seems weird to you, imagine for a moment what I think of it. More than once today I’ve thought about giving up on this silly idea, but I’m already committed to the path. No other choice now than to see what’s down at the end of the road.
