TheAmishPirate

Breathless Dead

It had been ages since Dolce had a good cherry blossom.

They didn’t taste like cherries, you see. No, they were far milder. A speck of sweetness, a fancy of the flower’s scent, yet it did not hurry away from you. A single petal could stay on the tongue for minutes. A whole pile of them? Well! For that many, you’d better have a comfortable place to sit, a nice tree to lie against, and a friendly river to listen to.

He was in good company; a particularly fluffy barnacle among his peers. They weren’t sure where all the water’d gone, and they weren’t inclined to believe his wild tales of a sythe made of sunlight and a Princess out for a stroll. What were they to expect? Soft and silly all the way through with this one. Though, he seemed to know something of proper patience. Perhaps his wasn’t a completely lost cause. Some time, some quiet, maybe he’d amount to something yet.

To their deep satisfaction - though they’d never admit it out loud - Dolce heeded the wisdom of his elders. He had time, quiet, and quite the pile to work through. He let the world come to him, drifting in a steady, uninterrupted current. Trimmed riverbanks, yet unharmed barnacles. A winding path, yet squared banks. Flowers! Fresh flowers. Bright and colorful and wonderful. Wouldn’t Vasilia like a bouquet when she awoke? Wouldn’t she love a picnic here? Beautiful, purposefully beautiful. Maintained meticulously, within limits.

A building. Standing alone.

An open door.

Breathless Dead

The lower decks! An entire half of the ship he’d not explored yet, recently occupied by an empire of space crabs! There’d been so many fires to put out after the incident with the Princess last week, he’d only been down there for to accompany Vasilia for a brief, entirely professional inspection. To walk those halls with Hera herself-!

The bed shifted beneath him. He thrust out a hand to steady himself, slowing it at the last minute before he slapped the bedspread noisily. The mound of quilts shifted restlessly, to and fro. Vasilia’s eyes screwed shut, wincing tighter under some invisible torment. Her breathing accelerated, and each exhalation was a pained prayer beyond any mortal tongue.

Hush, dear Lady, hush. You are not alone this long night. Feel the whisper-softness of your Dolce against your cheek. Can you hear him? Can you hear him humming a lullaby, all for you? He’s holding you close. You will not slip loose into those dark dreams again. Breathe. Breathe easy. He is here. He is by your side. All is well, and all will be well. Sleep, and be at peace…

Only when many silent minutes had passed, did Dolce dare speak again. “I would love to walk the lower decks with you, Hera. But, Vasilia, she…” He smoothed away an errant hair from her now-still face. “...she dearly needs her rest. Could you keep her sleep peaceful, until we return?”

Fellowship: The Heart

A kobold? Like Coleman? What would she be like, as a kobold? Would she get a new coat of scales? Would she be built strong like a conductor? And the tail, what about-

No. No, the tail would be different. And she’d be different. And if she was different - really, truly, permanently different - would her own name recognize her? She couldn’t say for sure, but the risk? Too great. Much too great. Nevermind the bit about being a bug.

It’d...been some time since she’d heard that argument. Had to make that argument, to be precise. But hearing it again, her feet settled on two solid facts: She could not let this silly, stuffed-up, mouse turn her into a kobold, or a bug, or whatever struck its fancy. And she could not let go of all her precious things. Not yet.

“Alright,” she said, kneeling down to their level. “I’ll tell you what I know. Here, come closer, I can’t be too loud...”

She told them of every night they’d ever sat alone in the dark, and wished in their secret heart for the sound of another soul. She breathed to life the memory of cold, digging through skin, through bone, through sense and reason. She spoke the words of comfort they kept only for themselves, and they pierced all the more to hear them on another’s tongue. Ached, for the sea of storm surrounding them, forever around them, until at last they go to where they will never feel the wind and rain again.

She spoke the name of the Flood to a heart unprepared.

“It’s...not a matter of wanting and taking.” She said quietly, tears flowing freely down her own face. “You have to want it, yes, the original want is quite important. But, you’ve got to want to hold onto it once you’ve got it.”

“...do you still want to hold onto the rest?”

[Rolling to Finish the Grand Squeaker with Grace: 3 + 6 + 2 = 11]

Breathless Dead

Dolce’s whole body stiffened. His hands clutched the sheets until his knuckles turned whiter, and if his grip had slackened for a moment they would’ve flown to cover his mouth.

Hera!!!

You can’t just say those things!

Or...maybe Hera could say those things. Hera was allowed to say those things, but, but, you couldn’t possibly expect him to agree with you! Vasilia was sleeping right there! What if she was to hear?!

He followed her gaze out the window. Silently stargazing, as his thoughts hurried themselves back in order. His eyes flitted over the wreck, idly sizing it up. Incomplete, yes, it must have been enormous when it was whole. Comparable to their own, even. They had a decent view of the inside; the hull had been peeled back in great, jagged sheets. There’d have been no hope of sealing that damage. Not fast enough to matter.

His nose wrinkled, and he bowed his head. Shut his eyes from the sight. As much as he’d learned, he never knew how to pray for the shipwrecked. Only that he couldn’t bear to be silent. Whatever had happened to the crew...there was no god or goddess who could step back in time and grant them a more merciful end. He’d still set out an offering for Poseidon, just in case there’d been any survivors. But it was too late for anything else.

If you wanted to help a shipwreck, you ought to pray while the ship’s still whole.

“There’s all sorts of ways for a ship to fall apart, isn’t there?” He wondered quietly.

Breathless Dead

Dolce scooted respectfully to the edge of the bed. Facing Hera, even sitting apart from her, he felt the gentlest sunbeams brush his face with warmth. A memory of pleasant, homey spices he could not hope to identify filled the air. He did not touch her - it would be rude to approach first - but her presence still seemed to wrap him up in a soothing hug. Be at ease, little one. Lay the troubles of your heart bare. What danger would dare intrude here?

Yet, when he spoke, it was to his hands, lying open in his lap. To speak of such heavy shame, he could not lift his eyes any higher.

“All you say is true, but...I’m just a chef who learned a little swordplay. I’m not strong like Alexa.” The only callus he had was from the flat of the knife. The only scars, from peelers and mistakes. “I’m not clever like the Princess.” His palms were spotless, without a hint of grease or smoke. “I can’t command like my wife.” He bit at his lip with concentration, but still his hands trembled. “There’s so few of us, you see, and the journey is so long. Eventually, a time will come when it will all depend on me. When we face disaster, and I’ll be the only one who can try to stop it, and, and...” Please, wise Hera. Kind Hera. Do not make him say it aloud. Not tonight. Not here. Let this wish be enough.

“How can I carry their darkness when I can’t even carry them?”

Breathless Dead

“‘Guest’ he says! After all that bother, the best he can do is a...a….A-CHOO!!!”

Dolce offered up a whole pile of clean handkerchiefs to the bemoaning mound of quilts. A hand snaked out from under the mass, patted about blindly, paused fondly when it encountered his wool, then snatched up a handkerchief and darted back under the covers.

“Hmph! Was ruining our date not good enough for you, miserable guest? Fiend? What’s the use of fawning over Apollo if you won’t put in a good word for your Captain? What have I ever done to you that you’d wish me ill of the plague? Maybe Jas’o was onto something. Maybe I ought to have you carry Alexa about the ship for a day. No, a week! A week for the rude guest to rectify extreme moral turpitude, and then-”

Her plans for Galnius’ labors withered beneath a terrible fit of coughing. Dolce hauled himself up atop the wide, soft bed they shared, and sat beside her pillow. All he could see of her was a wrinkled nose, a pair of red, watery eyes, and a disheveled fan of hair. All she’d let him see of her. He felt her brow, and grimaced; still feverish. “Shhhhhhhhh. You can figure out what to do to Galnius tomorrow,” he gently shushed her, hand moving to stroke through her hair. “You need to rest.”

“It’s just, the injustice of it all.” She managed a pout with only half her face. But. Still leaned into his touch. “I can’t figure...I can’t abide it. I just can’t, I…” Her gaze grew distant, and oh, what he would have given to see what she could see. But she merely sighed bitterly, and nestled in deeper. All she’d let him see of her. “You deserved a better day than this, darling. So many better days…”

He leaned over, and gently kissed her brow. “We’re still together,” he murmured. “How bad can it be?”

A low purr rumbled in her throat, even as her watering eyes screwed shut. “You’ve locked the door, yes?”

“Locked and bolted.”

“No one will try to get in?”

“I’ve informed the crew you are not to be disturbed until further notice.”

“And you’ll be here?”

“Always.”

“...promise?”

He gently nuzzled at her head.

“Always, my Lady.”

********************

Despite it all, she did not sleep easily. Dolce counted the minutes until she settled down. Until her breathing slowed. Until the whispered moans and pleadings stopped. All the while, he stroked her head, gliding his fingers through her hair without the slightest tug to disturb her.

Only when she was quiet, and deep in the grip of fevered sleep, did he open his mouth to pray.

“Hera…” He pleaded beneath his breath. “Please, visit me again. I will make you a feast as before. I will lay it out in the ways that you like it. I will do all I can to make it pleasing to you, but please,” His eyes fell on his sleeping wife, and his voice cracked. “Please. All I can do is no longer enough, and I...Hera, I cannot fail now. I cannot.” Was it disrespectful to wipe away tears while praying? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t risk it. “Tell me what I must do. Tell me how I can serve and save my friends. Please, Hera…”

Fellowship: The Heart

The word is on hold because ow!!!

Jackdaw gently rubbed at her stinging snout, a rare flash of irritation bubbling in her belly, lending her spine some strength. “How can I give you something I’ve forgotten I even have? And…” Her brow furrowed. “...for that matter, how can you know that I have something I don’t know I have?” It didn’t make any sense! Even by the Heart’s esoteric standards, it was just...the absolute, complete…

No, no, you know what? The word is hogwash.

“Do you know the law? Does it have something to say about this?” Because, genuinely, she would like to know.

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?”