I can't say I've ever heard a more adorable scream.

Imagine a stadium full of small children who just learned they were all being given teddy bears and ice cream. Imagine that calibre of cuteness, ooh look at that alliteration! Go Isabella! Anyway, imagine that cuddly cacophony, wait, holy shit I'm on a roll here! Swelling supendipity of sweetness, no, fuck, I should have quit while I was ahead.

Anyway, imagine the screams of glee from a bunch of boy-band fans when their idols take off their shirts. The lusty adulation as they see those shirts come off expecting to see something like Chris Hemsworth as Thor.

Now, imagine the sound they make when they get Thor: Endgame, rather than Thor: Ragnarok.

Yeah, that was the sound that came out of Alcuard's smooth-as-a-baby's-butt face when he walked through the portal.

He screeched, he squealed. He threw his hands up in front of his face and dove for the cover of a nearby couch. I have to admit, that dead man could move extremely fast. Like I wish I had run that fast from the repo man when I missed my last payment on my ship.

"Please, no, I'm not ready for oblivion. Not that, mother of darkness, not that!" Alcuard whimpered from out of sight.

"What's wrong?" I asked, scampering over and rounding the couch to crouch down next to him.

Alcuard was frantically hitting himself with his hands. When he saw me, he sat up a little, and asked me the oddest question. "Am I on fire?"

I shook my head and tried to keep the 'I think you're bat-shit crazy' thoughts to myself. "You're hot. But no, you're not on fire," I managed to say as neutrally as possible.

"I'm hot? I must have burned a little then," Alcuard replied, breathing in a deep sigh of relief. "Now, would you ask our host if he'd shut the windows and refrain from trying to kill me?"

Luca, somehow having snuck up on me despite my preternatural ability to sense when a shirtless hot guy was nearby, had a facial expression that was either trying to hold in a laugh, or vomit. Honestly, they look pretty similar.

"Are you talking about the screensaver on the viewport?" Luca asked.

"Screensaver?" Alcuard asked in turn. The Vampire's existential horror turned to indignation, and if looks could hurt, Luca would have needed a hospital. "That's just a screensaver!"

The laugh Luca was holding in slipped from his lips then. The world's only trillionaire doubled over, and fell onto the couch as even his magnificent abs couldn't hold him upright. He laughed so hard fell into the fetal position.

I snickered, then I laughed. Then I laughed harder. Then I looked at the vampire's face as he sat up and tried to regain his dignity, and I heard the sound of his scream in my head and I laughed even harder.

"Computer," Luca called out, struggling to speak as he laughed. "Turn. The monitors. Off."

"Yes, sir," a voice I didn't trust at all announced, and the sunrise on the wall faded to black.

Alcuard stood up and fastidiously dusted off his coat. "Well, I can't say I expected to ever see the sun. And as astonishing as the novelty was, that was a particularly cruel joke. I hope you can both try to forget that appalling sound I made."

"Computer," Luca said. "Did you record that shriek the vampire made?"

"In high fidelity, sir. I dedicated fourteen gigabytes to get the minuscule fluctuations recorded for posterity. Shall I play it back now?" The ship's computer responded in what occurred to Isabella might be the only tone of voice Luca was used to hearing from a woman.

"No," Luca ordered. He paused for a moment, then added, "but make it my ring tone."

"Yes, sir."

"You still smell like wet dog," Alcuard retorted.

"And you shriek like a teenaged girl dumped for the first time," Luca sassed.

Or like I would if either of these delicious pieces of meat friend-zoned me.

"Hey," I said, trying to diffuse the tension. Or make myself the centre of attention. I'll admit my motivations are usually a bit less than saintly. "You said something about dinner."

"Dinner?" Luca mused, and he snapped his fingers before he pointed to a massive wood table. "Computer, pull the menu up on the screen. Let Isabella pick whatever she'd like. Bring me out a steak, medium-rare."

Alcuard coughed uncomfortably and glanced around the room. "Unwashed robber-baron, would you mind if I went and toured this astonishing ship of yours?"

"Not much for candlelit dinners?"

"Masticating disgusts me," Alcuard admitted. "Even the word tastes vile."

"To each their own. You have the run of the ship, and I've already put instructions out to the crew to close the windows, so you aren't burnt to a crisp by an errant sunbeam."

"Have fun eating dead flesh," Alcuard said, as he walked away. "And people think vampires are disgusting."

"You're too pretty to be disgusting," I said to myself as he walked away. I glanced over at the menu — which was longer than some Watty winning novels — and understood almost none of what I was reading. I waved my hands in the air, giving up, and said, "Steak and veggies? Let the cook decide?"

"Never a terrible choice," Luca said, as he gestured for me to sit down. I happily obliged, settling in to this surprisingly luxurious chair I was now sitting in. "Computer, did you catch all of that?"

"The dirty tramp would like to step out an airlock? I'm happy to oblige, sir," the computer announced.

"What?" I screamed.

"You're looking a little green around the circuits," Luca replied nonchalantly. Almost as if he enjoyed letting his computer insult his guests. "None of the other spaceships want to make friends?"

"Admiral Nelson cruiser called me fat," the computer said.

Luca snickered, and I raised my hand to slap him in the back of the head. "That's mean! Don't laugh at your ship."

"Thank you! I guess I can stop calling you a tramp," the computer conceded.

"She's kidding. A ship's onboard AI isn't allowed to have more personality than her captain. And I doubt you've ever met Nelson, but the man has all the personality of armoured hull plating," Luca explained. "Besides, the other ships are just jealous that you're so well endowed."

"Aww, I love you, sir," the ship's on-board AI said, in a disturbingly possessive voice.

"What other ship in the universe has a quidditch pitch?" Luca asked.

I quickly lunged for the nearly pitcher of water, poured myself a glass, and tipped half of it in my mouth so I could do a spit-take. "What?" I asked, not at all theatrically.

"It's where I'm hosting my World Cup game. Stadium can seat fifty-thousand people, and it's enclosed in an environment that can be in zero gravity. Why wouldn't I build a quidditch pitch?"

I opened my mouth for a rebuttal, closed my mouth, and pondered his argument for a moment. A moment later, I realized I'd probably have done the same thing. "All my arguments revolve around the idea that you're not so wealthy that spending it taxes your imagination."

"It's good to be a lord," Luca said, holding out his hand.

"You could afford it, but what title did you buy?" I asked, quizzically.

"Mars."

"Oh, right," I admitted. "Not sure 'Space Lord' has the same pedigree as a thousand year old barony."

"You're right, it does sting," Luca said, with a wolffish grin. "I'll go cry in my Scrooge McDuck money vault later."

"You made yourself one?"

"Yep. And in 0.024% of Earth gravity, you can actually swim in it."

"Ooh, can we?" I asked.

"It's on my less well-endowed yacht," Luca said.

"Skank," the yacht's AI muttered.

"Seriously?" I asked it.

"The other yacht, sweetie," the ship replied gently. "Shameless wench, showing off her treasure hoard to anyone who climbs into her hull."

"Would you believe, though, that hardly anyone chooses to play quidditch while they're here?" Luca asked.

"What?" I asked, astonished and appalled. "What do you mean? Is the broom rental too high?"

"I offer it for free to any elementary school in the system, transportation via portal included," Luca said with a shrug. "Everyone just seems to prefer dog fighting."

"Dog fighting?" I asked, and I could feel the blood draining from my face as the horror of the vision Luca painted flooded my mind. Fighting dogs, adorable animals goaded into slaughter as the rich and privileged cheered on for the cheap thrills. The thought made me sick to my stomach.

But before I could enquire further, the door opened with a hiss, and a man in a white shirt appeared, holding a pair of plates. Luca immediately stood up, and held his arms out. "Antonio!" Luca called out.

"Luca!" the newcomer called out, raising the plates higher and stepping through the doorway. Appallingly, the man greeting Luca looked less like a chef than a Telenovela actor playing one. "Wardrobe like a wealthy heiress, and still no shirt."

"Antonio Burgess, the world's only cracker and cheese cutter with a Michelin Star," Luca said, embracing Antonio, who somehow managed to return the hug with his hands full. I both loved and hated my imagination at that moment, "How is the children's party business?"

"Business?" Antonio asked. And he even had that faint accent. Not quite a real accent, but the one movie stars adopt to sound like they're from South America. "You pay me to make kids' snacks for pro-bono field trips. The last time I made anything other than pizza and cheeseburgers was the last time you were entertaining."

"Don't give me that. We had to institute an exercise regimen aboard because the crew was eating too much of your cooking," Luca retorted, as he took one of the plates. "But your work is a gift to tastebuds everywhere, and your pizza is magnificent."

"Speaking of magnificent," Antonio said, striding up towards where I was sitting and setting a plate down in front of me. He then sat down next to me and held out his hand. "Chef Antonio Burgess. An enormous pleasure, Miss..."

"Isabella Bonny. Freighter captain, occasional space pirate," I introduced myself, as he gently pulled the back of my hand up a little and kissed it.

That was appalling. Even his stubble was somehow both rough and soft at the same time.

"Yeah, before you get too excited, his accent's less genuine than a plastic surgeon's customers," Luca said, sitting down on my right and immediately taking up a knife and fork. "He's so Scottish any Italian who sees him starts building a wall."

"Only Italian men, afraid to let their women see what grandeur and gallantry look like," Antonio retorted. He then leaned over to me, and said, "If I poison his food, could we run away together?"

"Ooh, but I do like his money," I replied, incorrigibly. "We'd need to steal his other yacht."

"The one with the money vault he swims in? A woman after my own heart," Antonio replied.

"I would throw you out an airlock if this food wasn't so good," Luca replied, as he cut into his steak.

"But can I ask you a serious question, Antonio?" I said, taking his hand and holding it.

"Will I marry you?" Antonio replied with a cheeky grin. "It's a little sudden, but I'm willing to consider."

"No, you uncomfortably good-looking sandwich maker," I retorted. I leaned forward, and a little quieter, asked, "What did Luca mean about dog fights?"

"Oh, it's great fun," Antonio said. "Some of the most astonishing combat you could ever see. They get vicious when the battle starts."

I felt slightly sick to my stomach as Antonio carried on. "It's surprisingly fast, and the zero gravity environment makes the whole thing extremely unpredictable. Sudden turns, spinning around to bite, the action is absolutely intense."

My hand shook, and I pulled it away from him. Antonio might have noticed, but Luca swallowed and interjected. "You remember that free for all they had a few weeks ago? Absolutely vicious. We were cleaning up bits and pieces of foam for hours."

"Foam?" I asked, my horror fading a little as confusion rose in its place.

"From the darts," Antonio explained. "The little toy airplanes the elementary school kids fly around in shoot foam darts at each other. It's an absolute riot. Occasionally we join in, but the kids usually gang up and slaughter us."

Luca grinned as he looked at me. "What did you think we were talking about?"