TheAmishPirate

Breathless Dead

Vasilia turned away. It wasn’t surprise, pain, nor cowardice that made her breath hitch. Apollo Silverbow could show her nothing that she’d not seen a thousand times over. But that’s the trouble with eyes, isn’t it? No way to tell what another sees. What hidden thing another might...notice. The god could hear her just fine, whether she spoke to his face or to the ceiling.

“Yes, yes, the Admiral. Working overtime to chase after us with an unwieldy Armada full of disloyal backstabbers. And if she succeeds, she’ll never set foot on her ship again, except to give awful parades.” No one with a shuttle that gaudy could ever hope to organize a decent party. “And then there’s your former employer, Galnius. If I’d handed over the Princess, he’d be enjoying his early retirement in a private galaxy all to his own. Every last one of them works so hard to leave their posts as fast as possible. And me?”

She traced a finger over the rough, cutting edge of her Captain’s medal.

“I am Captain now, and I will be Captain when our journey ends.” She said quietly. “So tell me again which of us is taking this more seriously.”

Breathless Dead

Oh no. Oh no. Was there something he’d forgotten? He’d triple-checked her schedule for today, and he could have sworn her lunch hour was free. Had there been a last-minute shift? Was there a message he’d failed to pass along? Everyone on the ship had been accounted for, he’d not crossed paths with anyone, no one ought to have crossed hers, was it the pipes? It must have been the pipes. It’s so hard, to hear them when he wasn’t in the bridge. “If offense has been given by the Captain’s schedule, you have my deepest apologies.” He bowed to Galnius. “I am responsible for its keeping, and I-”

“It’s alright, Dolce. You’ve done nothing to apologize for.” Vasilia sighed, and a terrible weight seemed to settle on her shoulders. No, a weight she accepted onto her shoulders. Guilt gnawed at his heart. “Right. So we’re doing this now.” She muttered, just beneath a breath, before raising her head and her voice. “Galnius, let me ask you a question; does a good Captain loathe their post? I’d give you permission to speak freely, but...well, it seems we’re quite past that, aren’t we?”

Fellowship: The Heart

The word is appraisal.

Jackdaw looked down at her weathered, patchwork cloak, and its varied contents: Dusty old tomes. Journals, scraps of journals, minus necessary context. A stick that could turn into a slightly bigger stick. Dried-out herbs that would probably still disinfect a wound. And a tasteful variety of crunchable midnight snacks.

Jackdaw looked back to the wand pointed up her nose.

“...are you sure?”

Breathless Dead

“Darling, we have got to do something about these trust issues of yours.” Vasilia sagged against her cushions, worn down by the cruel barbs of her own crew, and coincidentally giving her the last few inches she needed to flick her tail at Dolce’s ankles. “I’ve neither reason nor time to lie to my own crew. If you don’t believe me, at least believe the Princess. And if you don’t believe either of us, you can ask Hades and believe him instead.”

“Gambling’s no fun if you know you’re already going to lose.” Dolce paused, then frowned. “...probably.”

“Perhaps the gods do it differently than we? We ought to ask them sometime.” She mulled it over another long sip. Gods, she was parched today. She’d have to get Dolce to secret the bottle away before long, but oh, how she’d rue its absence. Perhaps a little longer… “But there you have it; Hades tasked the Princess with this trip to Gaia, and the lot of us along with her. Satisfied?” And leaving, perchance? Some of us had more important things to get back to.

Breathless Dead

Dolce’s movement were so slight, they bordered on imperceptible. A proper wine pour needed a steady hand, no? His one hand tilted gently, letting the wine fill Vasilia’s waiting glass. The other held a cloth napkin, whiter than his wool, standing ready to intercept errant drops before they stained her throne of cushions. (It was a formality. There would be no spills on his watch.) He poured a splash or three extra - just how she liked it - set the bottle aside, and waited by her side with an artful array of cheeses, meats, and crackers. The model of a loyal servant, waiting on his Lady.

Minus the lightly wrinkled clothes, lightly bitten ears, and lightly flushed cheeks he was willing back to white. If these constituted a breach of duty, then please direct all complaints to the Captain.

Or...perhaps not. Not today, please? He was used to schooling his face calm, less so the icy hands that gripped his heart and froze his blood. Oh, how he could do without those today. First he’d thought she actually intended to write him up for insubordination (She was joking! Of course she was, how could he have not seen it?) and now this? Please, oh Aphrodite, let Galnius be on their way soon…

Vasilia swirled her wineglass, basking in the aroma and hiding a pout. “Is that what you think? That the Princess of Humanity needs the invincible legions to wage a bloody civil war across Telos?” She took a sip of the glittering red. Did she enjoy it? Did she notice her favorite vintage? He’d picked it out especially for today. Her lips parted with a contented sigh, and he all but fainted with relief joy. “You really haven’t spent much time with her, have you?”

“The Princess doesn’t wish to hurt her mother.” He added, offering her the tray. “Not if she can help it.”

“Mmm. Indeed. She’s a kind soul, our Redana.” Her eyes went distant. What was she thinking about? Who was she remembering? Was that a grimace, before she found her easy smile again? “We’re on a slightly different course. One given to us by Hades, along with the ship.” She dabbled in one of the offerings from the tray. She did love a creamy cheese when she fell into her blacker moods. And the crackers! He’d made sure they had a good crunch to them, she liked her crackers with character, as she said. The smile she favored him with was enough to make him forget his worry, for a few precious moments. “Excellent, my dear. Simply marvelous. Yes, we’ve been tasked with a journey to Gaia. You may well be one of the first humans to see it in quite some time.”

Fellowship: The Heart

The word is...incident.

"Wait, do you mean strong-flavor or strong-strong?" Jackdaw looked at the humble conction in her hands like it was a lit bomb. Her eyes darted to Ailee, outside. Chatting away.

Unaware.

"Lucien? Lucien!!!"

Breathless Dead

Noise. Heat. Chefs at their stations. Stews bubbling away. Foodstuffs for a small campaign. These, traditionally, belonged in a well-run kitchen. Soft, tasseled pillows? Not so much. Especially not soft, tasseled pillows, tucked into empty flour sacks, and secreted away in the back corners of the pantry for when they were needed. But no matter. Honorable souls belonged in Captain’s uniforms, and yet, here she was.

“The Starsong hoplites never sang songs like these.”

And here he was; perched on her lap, head resting against her chest. Didn’t he fit so well here? Wasn’t he just the right size, to wrap up in her arms and press him close? See his eyes grow heavy, half-lidded, as he drifts through warmth and memory. Here, dreamy little cloud. Precious, dear heart. Stay awhile. Be hers, for a while longer.

“Mmmm. They wouldn’t give you a moment’s peace either,” she breathed into his wool. Soft, impossibly soft curls, tickling her lips. “Never would you find a more unruly band of clowns and scoundrels. And may the gods help you if they set their collective heart on irritating you. Thick as thieves indeed…”

“I liked them too.”

Vasilia raised a questioning eyebrow. “I don’t recall asking for libel with my lunch. Insubordination is a serious charge, little chef.~”

She nipped at his ear, and thrilled to feel him jump. Thrilled that she could still catch him by surprise. It was rare; some days she could hardly hide a thing from him. A blessing, a miracle all to her own. His pulse rose beneath her claws, and she knew it was her handiwork. He tensed, so startled! So surprised! Now feel him melt anew in her arms as she traced a lingering line of kisses down his jaw. Soft nuzzles, worshipful pecks at her neck and chin, all he could reach, scattered raindrops of joy. Muted, happy bleats, so careful and quiet, all for her. For her.

She committed all of him to memory, and no draught of this world or the next would ever steal this moment away from her.

Fellowship: The Heart

“You should’ve kept the stones; who knows how long before we’ll see another down here?” Jackdaw was not a good liar in the best of times, nevermind the emotionally vulnerable cooking times. So where did she get the right to say that with a straight face? “It’s a...good thought. Good to remember,” she admitted. “But if I stopped, or if we stopped, would Coleman? Would Ailee?” That’s assuming she’d even Jackdaw stop in the first place. “Even if I wasn’t going for me, I couldn’t leave her to go on her own. It’s just...”

She faltered, searching for a word that could hold a lifetime, and found her vast collection wanting.

“...I just can’t.”

Fellowship: The Heart

The word is incomplete.

Look at that tiny list. Look at all that it’s missing. Where’s the way her stupid voice cracks? Where’s her awful, mangy coat? What about the neverending avalanche of bungled words and improperly delivered lines that poured out whenever she opened her mouth? (Worse than unoriginal, she couldn’t even steal right.) Lost, cowardly, slow, ugly, hapless, useless, they’d need a much bigger piece of paper to get it all down.

...but. What of Lucien’s additions? Did any of those negate what he’d already written? If there were items in conflict on, which had the stronger case?

Hrmmmmm. It was a good question. A curious question.

“That’s...something I’ll have to think about,” she said honestly. But she was smiling, did that count for anything? For nothing? Either way? “Anyhow, you see why I can’t stop now. Whether I’ve forgotten, or starting over,” and that was a question she knew all too well already. “I have to know who I am. If I stop now, I’m just...I’ll just be an empty list.”

Someone worth remembering...

“Well. Not quite an empty list.” She buried her face in her mixing, which - according to The Rules - meant nobody anywhere could see her cheeks flushing bright red. (And any mention of her delightedly swishing tail would be just plain rude.)

Breathless Dead

Behind. Behind. Always behind.

The palace crumbled in fire and smoke. Every rumble of the earth signaled another volley from Ares of stone, furniture, and ash. Dolce had to notice the threats before they could crush him. He had to keep hold of the Undersecretary, and guide him on the safe paths. He had to hold fast the direction in his mind, always. That way was forward. Never lose it. Keep moving. And when the two of them burst from the palace wreckage, they were the last aboard the shuttle.

Through the ship. Running after the Princess. No, not running. Walking fast, fast as he could, but the Undersecretary needed directions, and Galnius would not go to any of the systems where they’d be needed, and he had to ask so many times in so many ways before they finally relented. Poorly done. Too slow, by a long shot. He was last to the bridge.

Vasilia had already taken the helm. He had to walk - shame-faced and stained with soot - before Alexa, before Redana and the Ceronian to take his place. Two paces behind. Just two paces behind. A step, and he could touch her. Put his hand upon her back, trace the taut muscles, feel the knots he knew must be growing. Take her hand, do not let it go, not for a moment. A step more, and he’d be at her side. Nestled close, her arm about his shoulders. Her Chef Mate. Her Dolce. Here to soothe the hurt, at last. Here to listen. Here to hold and be held amid the wonders of the void, just the two of them…

“Everyone: All ahead full. Top speed, before they can spot us. Except for you, Redana. Get yourself patched up.”

Two paces behind. Always, two paces behind.

Dolce turned, and...and the exertion of the day must have finally caught up with him, hadn’t it? The first step, it was so, so heavy. And the second. And the third. When he stopped beside the Princess, he feared he might not be able to move again. “Please, this way; let me show to you to the infirmary.” His bow to the Ceronian was perfect. His face, the picture of cordial hospitality. Miracle of miracles, he could keep walking. He had to keep walking.

The work was not done yet.

Behind. Behind. Always behind.