Boarding Party • IX. The Lost Lenore (Patreon)

“Fritz, I’ve been thinking about something…” Leonard sighed as he traced his finger in a pile of anesthetic too small to consume. His sober moments seemed much more drab the more infrequent they became. 

“Yeees, master?” Fritz asked. He blinked one of his bulbous eyes and then blinked the other. 

“I feel that Lenore is…” the doctor began. While he searched for the right word, he violently scratched his arm from withdrawal. “Uh… not reaching her full potential.”

“Full potential, you say…” Fritz repeated. 

“Yes, I believe being cooped up in this clinic all day is part of the reason why she’s so… so, uh…” 

“Herr Doktor!” a voice cooed from the other room. “Your anesthetic is ready!”

“Oh, thank gods!” Leonard sighed with relief. “Come in!”   

Lenore shakily walked into the office—not because of the tray she held or any nervousness on her part, but because of her… uneven anatomy. She looked like a child’s crude drawing cursed to become alive. While her face was rectangular, the rest of her body was as voluptuous as Winn’s. Her eyes made up for her lack of nose, they were as humongous as they were uneven. Her skin was colored with shades of grey and large stitches bordered where they collided. She was shoved into a revealing nurse’s uniform given to her by Leonard that seemed inefficient for actual practice. 

“I’m sorry that this batch is a little late, I had—” she said before tripping on her own heel. The bowl of anesthetic flew off the tray and a fog of white powder filled the room. Leonard gasped in horror before he began to inhale as much of it as he could. Once the dust had literally settled, the doctor’s eyes dilated and—with a pleasurable groan—collapsed back into his chair.

“Lenore, sit! Fritz, leave!” he barked with a rush of newfound energy.

“As you wish, maaaster!” Fritz muttered, rubbing his hands together like a fly as he left the room. Like a trained animal, Lenore quickly took a seat in front of the doctor’s desk with her hands in her lap.  

“I don’t like leaving him unattended for long, so I’ll make this quick…” Leonard began. “For the benefit of both you and I, you’re to be put on extended leave for the rest of the month.” 

Lenore’s asymmetrical eyes turned misty and she began to heave. “I-Is this about the bowl? If so, I-I can get you another one straight away if you jus—” 

“It’s not about the bowl specifically, Lenore, it’s much more than that. I just think that you—here, let me ask you: when was the last time you weren’t here?”

She thought about it. “I… I don’t know…” 

“Leonard, what tha hell be that thing?” Cain asked, pointing a thumb to Lenore. She didn’t notice the skeleton’s presence—she was too preoccupied mimicking a seagull’s gestures as it groomed itself.

“That’s Lenore, my head nurse,” Leonard replied. “An amalgamation of past patients and people I’ve… come across here at Saint Khan’s. She’s a replacement for my last nurse—part of her is somewhere in there, I believe.” 

“I see…” Cain said, silently making sure that his pistol was still on him. 

“She’s why I had to borrow these from you…” the doctor said as he handed the caged zombie head and the Nek-Roh-Gnom-Iee-Khan back to Cain. “For the record, I looked at the Introduction and discovered that the name of the book is actually pronounced Necronomicon—Necro meaning ‘dead’ and—” 

“And why did you summon me?” the skeleton interrupted, trying his damndest to hurry the conversation along. 

“Well, as you can see, Lenore is a bit, uh…” Leonard began. He tried to remember how he phrased it to Fritz that morning, but figured that showing the Captain would say more than he ever could. The doctor just signaled towards Lenore, who was ruefully examining a now-limp seagull.

“She’s not going to learn anything if she’s cooped up in a clinic all day, so I figured that you could show her around for a week or so to help her become better acclimated to the world. Sort of like a quick course on humanity…” 

“So, ye want me ta… just have her on tha boat, which will somehow make her not have cheese fer brains?” 

Leonard began to sob.

“Oh, Fritz was right…!” the doctor moaned as he shook his head. “But did I listen to him? No! I was too stingy to care! Didn’t want to use one of my good brains!” He took out a vial of anesthetic and consumed some. “GODS! Now look at her! All that work and I decide to use a brain that’s part dog—WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?!” he said before punching through the hull of a nearby ship (which, thankfully, wasn’t Cain’s). 

The skeleton looked back at The Festering Wound and fake-chuckled. “Well, uh… we can discuss tha matter of payment after we get back, Doc. I gotta get back to tha Wound an’ make sure she be in shape—promised the crew we’d leave within the hour,” Cain lied.

The doctor reached into a pocket and retrieved a folded-up piece of paper. “HERE’S HOW TO TAKE CARE OF HER,” he yelled for some reason, “IF YOU HAPPEN TO FIND A FULL, LIKE-NEW BRAIN, SAVE IT AND LET ME KNOW!” 

Cain winced—fresh brains usually didn’t last long on the Wound. “I’ll, uh, I’ll keep an eye out!” the skeleton said as he took the instructions and Lenore’s arm, silently leading her down the dock and towards the Wound. The doctor huffed some more of his anesthetic and continued to yell to no one in particular. 

“What the hell is even that!?” Majel asked.

“It be a list of instructions I want ye ta read an’ follow,” Cain said, motioning with the folded-up piece of paper Leonard gave to him. 

“No, I’m talking about THAT,” the cat yelled as she pointed to the undead nurse beside Cain.

“Oh! This be Lenore, Leonard’s new nurse we be watchin’ over ‘til the end of tha month…” Cain said as he further motioned for Majel to just pick up the damn paper already. 

The cat took it from his bony hand and looked at Lenore’s revealing costume. “His ‘nurse’? You don’t think she’s… eh… a little bit more than that…?” 

“Maybe. I dunno. I tried to not think about it,” Cain said with a shiver. 

After looking the list over, Majel’s brow furrowed. “It says here that she just runs on that damn anesthetic and some sort of nondescript ‘meat’…”

“He means ‘flesh.’ Lenore here be a zombie, just a… uh, custom made one…” Cain grimaced as he gave the nurse’s costume a once-over.  “Do ye have any of that anesthetic on ye?” he asked her. 

“Nope! The Doktor said he didn’t trust you guys, so he made me eat a bunch before we left!” the zombie smiled. 

“Ah. Well, that solves that…” the skeleton said as he clapped his hands together. “D’anna! Why don’t ye show—I think it’s—Mrs. Picardo here to the Navyman barrel below deck?”

“Aye, aye, Captain…” the elf said. She looked at Lenore. 

Lenore looked back at her and giggled. “Your ears are cute…”

“Thank you!” D’anna cooed. She wrapped her arms around Lenore’s and led her down the ship’s staircase.

Majel turned her attention back to the ship’s rigging, trying her hardest not to think about a hypothetical Picardo honeymoon. Cain took his place at the helm and noticed that his undead crew were a little distracted at that moment. He sighed, rolling his skull the way someone would roll their eyes. 

“And the rest of ye—QUIT STARIN’ AT HER AN’ GET BACK TA WORK!” 

Cain stood at the docks of Saint Khan’s, watching as his crew unloaded their spoils from the previous day’s pillaging. Zombie after zombie carried various valuables, weapons, and excess supplies from the Wound in their arms as they shambled down the ship’s gangplank. Lenore stayed next to the captain, watching the parade of the undead march from one end of the wharf to the other.

“See, these items are ta be sold fer a profit,” Cain explained to the nurse. “Ye know how tha Doctor’s job is ta help pirates what need patchin’ up?”

Lenore nodded. 

“Well, our job here on tha Wound is ta steal things an sell ‘em. Here…” he said before ushering her along. They followed the horde, shuffling through the streets of Saint Khan’s, heeding Cain’s directions without incident. After several attempted robberies and their resulting funerals-at-sea, everyone in the area knew to stay clear of Sawbones’ boys. 

Cain continued his lesson. “Everyone gets a lil’ piece of tha plunder—everybody. Me, Majel, D’anna, the shipwright, Fontaine…” 

He paused. “Well, actually, almost everybody. Tha zombies get paid through other means…”

The macabre procession slowed down as they reached a tall, narrow building deep in the city. The large sign on the front read “FONTAINE’S.” A group of sailors lined around the block, (im)patiently waiting for their turn to come in. Faint music came from within the building, music that Lenore had never heard before.

Two hulking guards stood in front of the entrance, suspiciously eyeing everyone while chomping on cigars. They wore matching bunny ears and leotards, complete with fishnets and heels. Cain walked up to them and performed a secret hand signal (an index finger poking through a thumb and a finger in the shape of an “O”).  Of course, it wasn’t that necessary—they knew who Cain was, and there are only so many walking, talking skeletons in the sea who travel with a worm-ridden posse. One of them nodded and escorted them around the building—much to the chagrin of the sailors in line, who believed that the crew of the Wound were being led to some sort of exclusive lounge.

A large, empty patch of space laid behind Fontaine’s, an unusual sight for the cramped Saint Khan’s. The building’s backside had two doors that faced the lot—one small and narrow, one extremely tall and wide. An iron fence kept trespassers at bay, although the row of guards (all of whom were just as buff and leotard-sporting as the others) lined against it ensured that nobody even came close. 

The guard from the front opened the smaller of the doors and turned halfway back to Cain. “I’ll go get The Boss, tell your guys to gather up the goods in the meantime. If he likes what he sees, we’ll load everythin’ up inside and go on from there.”

“You heard her!” the skeleton yelled out to his crew. All the zombies obediently shuffled into the lot— except one, not realizing that his panoramic painting would fit through the gate’s entrance if he just rotated ninety-degrees.

Lenore looked at the horde of shamblers. “Where’s D’anna and Majel?” 

“They be on shore leave at tha moment,” Cain said. He sneered. “Knowing them, they probably be raidin’ Tha Beheaded Navyman fer all she’s got with what be left o’ their shares…” 

The smaller door opened, and out walked a pale man with a pencil mustache and slicked-back hair. He wore a smoking jacket and carried a Martinez in his off-hand. He was tall in thin—not as thin as Cain, but still. There was a smoky aroma about him that was penetrated by a not-so-good cologne. 

“Sawbooones!” the man reverberated, holding out his arms as he walked towards the captain. 

“Fontaine!” Cain smiled. He turned to the nurse. “He be me marketeer—he buys me plunder that isn’t already gold and then sells it again ta some sucker.”

Lenore tilted her head to the side. “But wouldn’t it be easier if you just sold it yourself?”

Fontaine chuckled. “Cain knows how to gather, I know how to collect. We each play an integral role in the system…” the pajamaed man explained, holding out a hand for Lenore to shake. She looked down at it, unaware of what to do. He awkwardly retracted it after a few seconds. 

“Now! Let’s get to business, shall we…?” he asked, looking at the zombies. “This is all from a… Kodos raid, you say? Yes, I could tell… So drab! Of course those fascists wouldn’t know what complimentary color schemes are…”

As Cain and Fontiane looked over the treasures, Lenore stared into space. They might as well have been speaking in a different language—talking about things like “resale value,” “conditions,” and “decor trends.” This tedious conversation dragged and dragged but, out of the corner of her eye, Lenore noticed something—a seagull scurrying down the sidewalk, carrying flapping sardine in its beak. She giggled to herself and followed it. The guards watched as she chased after the seagull—they were paid to stand guard, and standing guard they shall.  

Lenore chased after the seagull until it, getting tired of the chase, flew away to finish his sardine in peace and shit it on some roof somewhere. She waved it goodbye, and turned around. She was back at the front of the building, getting so many daggers stared at her from the waiting sailors that it would’ve put down an Ancient General. 

The bouncer lifted his eyebrow. “Ain’t you with Sawbones?” he asked. 

“Those things the Doktor uses to amputate limbs?” Lenore asked. “No, those are all the way back at his clinic!”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “‘Sawbones’ Sawyer Cain, the skeleton you were just with.” 

“Ooohhh! Him, yes, I am!”

“Does he know you’re here right now?” 

Lenore paused and looked back. “Uhh… I don’t think so? He’s talking to Fontaine right now.” 

“I think it would be best if you get back to ‘em…” the bouncer said as he opened one of the front doors. “You can reach The Lot faster by cutting through inside. Just keep straight, it’s the left door on the back wall.” 

“Thank you!” Lenore smiled, walking through the doors and into the nightclub.

As Lenore’s red heels walked into the nightclub, her eyes had to adjust to its dark interior. The brightest light in the room was pointed at the stage, where a skunk was strutting around in a tight, red dress and singing…

Do you… or do you not… want to be my lover…?

Boy, I’m giving you a one-time offer…

This sale won’t last forever…

So are you… 

Are you going to be the one?

As the skunk began to dance, the music started to bolden—slowing down from a breezy mid-tempo to a punctual one that took advantage of a sassy-sounding trombone. The skunk began flaunting herself around, much to the enjoyment of the wooing audience. Lenore turned away as the skunk started to swing herself around a pole. Why did she avert her gaze? She couldn’t articulate the feeling—that… alien feeling of warmness that spread itself throughout her dead, stitched-together body. 

In an effort to not look at the skunk again, the nurse faltered forward a few steps with her vision focused squarely on the ground. She quickly stumbled into something solid—a countertop near the front entrance. Lenore noticed a couple stools in front of it, as well as several bottles of liquid on its surface. She recognized the bottles as Leonard’s old anesthetic—the ones he used before the discovery of the Coaca plant, before her time. She grabbed one and inspected the label: “DANSON SPIRITS.” Swishing its contents around a couple times, Lenore wondered what the appeal of these older anesthetics were. She popped open its cork and was about to take a drink before the bartender cleared his throat.

“Ahem,” he scoffed. “Drinks require a middleman around here, ma’am—me. So, do me a favor and put that back unless you’re payin’ for the whole thing.”

“Do you know where the back door on the left is?” Lenore asked. 

The bartender was about to say something for her (unknowingly unintentional) changing of the conversation, but his hostility dipped when remembering the particular room she mentioned. “Wait a minute, is that for The Boss?” 

Lenore looked at the bottle and at him. “...Yes…”

“Well…” the bartender said, turning around to look at the door. He struggled to come up with directions which weren’t just “It’s the back door on the left.” After a few moments, he pointed to it. “It’s gonna be… that one.” 

Lenore’s eyes followed his fingers. There were two doors—one against the back wall, and one against the left wall. She nodded before walking off. 

She turned her attention to the left wall, making sure to avoid the dancing skunk. She passed by a room filled with the sounds of light conversation being drowned out by the shuffling of cards, dice hitting wooden tables, and the clacking sounds of wheels being spun. She passed by another room, making brief eye contact with a high-paying customer as several of the club’s employees surrounded him from all sides like a minnow in the company of a shiver of sharks. One of the bunnies started to untie the man’s tunic as another one gently stroked his hair. The scene gave Lenore the same feeling the skunk had given her, a feeling which made her speed up towards her destination. She ran into the last door on the left wall, mistaking it for the back wall’s leftmost door.

As the nurse walked inside and looked around, she noticed that Fontaine and the Captain weren’t anywhere to be seen. The room’s air was hazy and smelt bad—even more than the rest of the club. Its layout was essentially bare—the only things inside were several couches, a large woman laying on one of them, and a table in the middle. On top of said table was a strange device that looked like an amalgamation of Leonard’s many test tubes, as colorful as it was intricately shaped. It had many tubes attached to it, resembling an octopus' tentacles. The woman held up one of the tubes to her mouth and inhaled for several seconds, only stopping as she had to cough. 

“Do you know where I can find Fontaine?” Lenore asked her. The nurse was beginning to grow nervous; she longed for the comforting presence of Cain and the zombies. She had never been alone for this amount of time and in a place like this. 

The woman wiped her mouth with a thumb. “Next door over, darling, but I wouldn’t bother him at the moment. I hear he’s busy right now…” she said with a husky voice that reflected her affinity for inhaling smoke. She coughed into a balled-up fist and leaned back, taking several deep breaths. She looked at the bottle of liquor Lenore held in her hand.

“Would you mind letting me have some, dear? The Madame is positively parched…”

Without a word, Lenore handed her the bottle. As she opened the cork, the Madame smacked her dry lips in anticipation. She held it up to her mouth and took several sips, gasping for air once she was done. She dried off her face with the back of her hand and gave the bottle (and what was left in it) back to the nurse. 

“Thank you, darling. Here, I insist on repayment…” she said, gesturing for Lenore to pick up one of the many tubes attached to the strange device. Lenore did so, but paused as she held it up to her face. 

“What is this…?” she asked.

“It’s a tube, dear. Just hold it up to your lips and inhale…” the Madame said, unhelpfully. 

Lenore followed her instructions, sucking in the tube’s air as hard as her lungs would allow. Smoke billowed from between her body’s seams, giving the appearance that some part of her was on fire. She felt a buzz starting to pierce her skull, her lips and her tongue started to dry, and her eyes began to sting. She looked back at the Madame for help, but the woman had fallen asleep. 

To help with her parchness, Lenore downed the rest of the bottle. She was saving it for a later occasion, but in that moment, she found that her current situation took more importance. She shambled out of the Madame’s room and back into the rest of the club. She felt her sense of direction blur as much as the rest of her vision had. Now effectively blind, the nurse stumbled throughout Fontaine’s, knocking into tables (as well as the people sitting at them) as she tried to find her way back to Cain. Members of the skunk’s audience started to hiss at her as she interrupted the show, drawing the eye of the skunk as she continued her dance routine after several… diminishing wardrobe changes. 

Backing away from it all, the nurse tumbled back out through the club’s main entrance. She fell flat on the floor and stood there. She felt her throat start to burn, her head was throbbing, and her stitching needed tightening. The front bouncer looked down at her and raised an eyebrow as he noticed her spinning eyes. He kneeled down to the ground and offered out a hand.

“Did you ever find it?” he asked as he helped her up. 

Lenore’s knees immediately buckled as she stood upright again. On her way back down to the ground, she threw up on his heels. He exhaled a deep sigh through his nostrils as he lifted his leg up and inspected the red gunk currently covering his feet. Grumbling underneath his breath, he picked up the now-passed-out nurse and carried her back to Cain and Fontaine. Lenore twitched again, and he heard a wet plopping noise hit the ground behind him. The bouncer started to make a mental list of what he needed: A mop, two buckets, a rag, a shower, and a new uniform. 

“There we go… get it all out…” D’anna cooed, rubbing Lenore’s back as the nurse heaved up the last bits of seafaring fascist meat from her belly. The nurse, the elf, and Majel all sat in The Festering Wound’s lower deck, the latter two having their shore leave cut short for babysitting duty. 

“Lenore, you never, ever wanna cross-fade…” Majel lectured as she peeled potatoes. “Pick your poison and stick to it—your body can get used to a vice, but any more and it can’t keep up…” 

“And if you don’t want any vices, that’s good, too…” D’anna offered. Being the straight-edge of the two, the hardest thing D’anna liked to drink was a frothy glass of milk.  

Lenore couldn’t focus on much at the moment, but even she knew how much of a burden she was being at that moment. She wiped off her chin and gave a meek “Danke…”

“You’re welcome…” D’anna smiled. She picked up the bucket and dumped its contents out of the nearest porthole. “Do you think you’ll be able to sup with me and Majel later? We’re having Shepard’s Pie!” 

“I…. I don’t know,” said Lenore, “I’ve never had shepard…” 

“Herr Doktor?” Lenore called out as she walked through the clinic’s front door. “Where are you?” 

The doctor peeked his head out from his office’s door. “Lenore,” he acknowledged. He stepped out and walked towards her, taking her up hands in his. “Did you enjoy your… little holiday?” 

“I did!” she smiled. “I had Shepard’s Pie and threw up and saw many people get killed!”

“I see…” the doctor squinted. He realized that—in retrospect—a group of pirates probably weren’t the prime candidates when it comes to enriching someone. “Do you… feel any different at all?” 

“Yes, I feel much better than I did last night, especially now that I’ve learned to not cross my fades…” 

“I see… well, I should be getting back to surgery now…” the doctor said, looking back at the half-opened man lying on his table. “We can talk more about it later. But for the moment, can you fetch me my hacksaw?” 

The nurse looked up to the pegboard hung next to the operating table. Her eyes glazed through its many instruments, scanning for something that looked like it would be called a “saw,” since she wasn’t really sure what it was. After finally deciding on one, she picked up a drill and handed it to him. 

The doctor took it and almost used it before noticing what it was. “A saw,” Lenoard emphasized. “This is a drill.” 

“Ohh!” the nurse said, looking back to the board. “And… which one is the saw?” 

The doctor’s eye twitched, although it was unclear whether it was because of Lenore or from withdrawal. “The-the-the… flat one! With the lines and sharp bits!” he sputtered. 

The nurse put the drill back and replaced it with a jagged scalpel. She handed it to the Doctor. 

“Ah, for fuck’s—I’ll go get it!” the doctor seethed. He picked up a large hacksaw from the board and began to amputate a leg. The open wound began to spurt red on anything facing its direction—including Lenore. Now covered in blood, the nurse shook herself dry like a dog, splashing it everywhere the leg had originally missed.

The doctor punched down on the operating table. “Lenore! Get Fritz!” the doctor yelled as he began to bandage up the wound with a dirty cloth. “And clean this place up now!” 

The patient’s eyes opened from the yelling. He shook around in shock for a couple seconds, noticed the crime scene around him, and began to scream. 

“And bring us some more anesthetic!" the doctor yelled. 

“Yes, Herr Doktor!” the nurse smiled. She left for the clinic’s greenhouse to gather up a batch—but not before swiping a bottle of old anesthetic from a shelf, popping it open, and taking a swig.