TheAmishPirate

Fellowship: The Heart

“Here. For friend.”

Jackdaw held out a fresh - well, as fresh as fair food got - caramel apple to Wolf. Near enough to be offered. Far enough to make a run at her coleslaw tins impossible.

“Still warm.”

This was a trap in three parts. First, it got a little more fruit into Wolf’s diet, which was rare enough down here that neither of them could pass up the opportunity. Second, it was absolutely impossible to store for later, and best enjoyed immediately. Third, it occupied an entire hand and more than an entire mouth. No one, not even Wolf, could scarf one of them down quickly. Good for the digestion. And, well, for not careening towards the line of bad manners with respect to coleslaw tins.

She looked over Wolf’s coat again. Pockets were holding, which was a relief. It’d been a miracle to find enough material to fix up the worst of her ragged old coat. And. Well, that was something, wasn’t it? At least they had her to mend clothes when they went poorly.

Well. Those of them that still needed that sort of thing.

Without looking at Ailee, without looking at their guide, and definitely without looking at poor Coleman, Jackdaw quietly nodded her assent, and padded along in the back of the group. As silent and small as she could make herself.

Breathless Dead

“In other words,” Vasilia continued her place at the helm. “They’re only a military force if we approach them as a military force. Resist their efforts openly, and enough will unify to swat us out of the way. And so, we shall approach them as nothing of the sort.” A brief meeting of eyes told Galnius to mark it well. A more pointed stare, that Epestia would mark it thrice. “They are priests of mystery and cunning, off for a holiday on a planet that cannot hope to oppose them. We too shall be from, ah, out of town, here to mingle amidst all the excitement. A fated meeting of the gods, yet another mystery on the path of mystery.” How could they possibly resist? “And once we have a better lay of the land, well! Then we shall see what opportunities present themselves.” It would take a subtle touch, yes. A very subtle touch. And, at last tally, Alexa might be able to spell subtle. Redana, she may have skipped that lesson too. But the plan was far more preferable than discovering, exhaustively, what all those eccentrics did to a body.

Dolce, meanwhile, stood at her side, staring out at the Yakanov, brows sternly furrowed, as if he could shame the great ship into quietly packing up its things and leaving.

Breathless Dead

Later That Night

The hours weighed heavily on Vasilia. More heavily, it seemed, than they did on Dolce, which was a trick she’d yet to figure out. What she had figured out were several delightful ways to make up the difference, which was why he was fast asleep in her arms, and she was awake to savor it.

Rest, dear heart. Rest at last. You’ve worked so hard today, haven’t you? She couldn’t turn her back without you finding another five things to add to your list. Did you think yourself so stealthy, she wouldn’t see? Did you think, for a moment, that you’d slipped from her notice? See where that hubris has brought you! How the mighty have fallen into a warm, smiling, wispy lump of bubbling joy. You are defenseless - defenseless! - as she teases that one curl that droops across your forehead. You are hers, to have and to hold, to kiss and to cuddle, for now and forever.

Defenseless.

You are...you are hers. Forever.

He didn’t know.

Sleep. Sleep, dear heart. She will join you soon.

You gave him the wedding oath. You made him say it.

Just. Just let her look at you a while longer. Yes?

He didn’t know any better.

Let her see you happy, for a while longer.

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

The morning greeted Dolce brightly. More brightly, it seemed, than it did Vasilia, which was a problem he’d yet to crack. Always had to factor in a little longer for waking up and, ah, extricating himself. The edge of the bed was fiercely guarded, and he would not be suffered to pass lightly. Which suited him well.

Sleep, Lady. Sleep. Enjoy this gift of time he’s made, just for you. Soon the day will begin, and you will fight your thousand battles all over again. You will take your next steps into the stars, to do the impossible. But here, there will be no fight. No struggle. Take him in your strong arms, and hold him close. You have him! You have him, and he is yours, and for now, that will be enough.

The chef’s love is to be his art.

Hold him, Lady. Take hold of what’s yours.

And his love will be complete in it.

The day comes later. This moment is yours.

The chef has no designated partner.

Please. Let that day come later.

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

Days Later

The steady tread of Vasilia’s boots echoed down the long corridors, passing by the doors she had yet to open. Rooms she had never seen before, but already knew what they would hold. Here, she stopped. Took hold of the door mechanism in both hands, and with one powerful yank threw it open.

The sight was the same, and the task unchanged. Rows upon rows of bunks, flanked by lockers, divided by walls into smaller groups. All of them, empty. All of them, to be counted. If she assumed this room to be the same as all before it, then, naturally, it would be the first to break the pattern. Again, she began the circuit.

Hundreds now. Hundreds to go.

Not for the first time, and not for the last, her hand drifted to her coat pocket. One she had her Dolce tailor special, just above her heart, where now lay a little metal talisman. Her fingers caressed the edges, the needle-sharp point of the arrowhead, and the promise that it bore. The arrow that flew straight and true accomplished all that it set out to do, without fail. So said the Hunter.

The rooms would not be empty for long. She would see to that. So, it did not bother her to walk through empty room after empty room. The silence would break, and so it was not worrisome. What reason did she have to feel lonely, when their ship would soon be full to bursting? And maybe they could all get a little rest for once? That would be fine by her. Just a little longer now, and it would be smoother sailing again.

Hundreds now. Hundreds to go.

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

Dolce could not keep the smile from his face as he laid his dish before Hera’s altar. He wouldn’t dare demand that she appear to take it in person, and yet...how he wished he could see her face! It’d taken a healthy bit of experimenting, to make something out of their limited supplies that carried a hint of her favored flavors, but oh, it had been worth it. And, see! While the dish was still fresh, he’d drizzled the sauce in the shape of a peacock feather! He knew that would make her happy.

He was dawdling. Again. Far easier to imagine Hera’s delight than to think of why he was here in the first place. When he closed his eyes, he saw the Armada. When he bowed his head, he felt the heat of Molech’s terrible machine. When he opened his mouth, he was silent in the face of the infinite tragedies that might await them on their next stop. How could he wish them all away? How could he pick just a few to pray against? Had he the time to go through them all, he would have done so in a heartbeat.

In the end, he prayed for hope. The hope that they might, finally, leave better than when they arrived, with neither scarred bodies nor scarred hearts to remember the passing.

Please, kind Hera. Just this once.

Breathless Dead

It only lasted a moment. But, nowhere did it say that surprises had to last long to touch a heart. Or a head, as the case may be. Dolce’s eyes widened, and a knot of tension worked its way down, down, down, leaving behind a wearied, but warm, blob of wool. “Thank you,” he said with a grateful little smile, and didn’t he wish all the more he knew what sort of treat Iskarot might like?

Vasilia had slightly less gratitude or hypothetical treats to give. “That’s hardly fair, isn’t it? We don’t even know if any such marriages exist, and we’ve no useful means of finding out.” She did not glare at Aphrodite. Deafening, the way she did not glare. “Our journey is dangerous enough without going on a wild goose chase around the galaxy. Every day we delay is another day the Armada might find us and swat us out of the skies.” So you see? There was no sense at all to searching for something that would they definitely never find, and so, logically, the only thing to do was to press forward and forget any of this ever happened.

“Actually...”

It was, perhaps, the worst thing she could’ve heard Dolce say.

“If there is someone out there I’ve unintentionally married, and they do remember me, then won’t Aphrodite put them in our path sooner or later?”

Vasilia decided to stop breathing. The ice in her chest left no room for air anyway.

Fellowship: The Heart

Caranadir would not have the time or patience to argue with a mouse who insisted on hurling gasoline into a raging fire. The moment the way was clear, he lifted her clear off the ground and took a sprinting leap for the train-egg.

I can’t leave her behind. I won’t let her down again. Not again.

Caranadir would not understand what had gone wrong. Because it couldn’t have gone wrong. Everything had been designed to an exactness bordering on the unreasonable. The station collapsed around them. The station couldn’t be collapsing. They were in terrible danger. Everything was according to plan.

It begged me to help. I didn’t listen. It was scared. I killed it.

Caranadir would not wrap their arms around Ailee, and pull her close until the world got quiet again.

Jackdaw would.

Breathless Dead

“Yes, Mister Dolce.” Vasilia ground out through a gritted smile. “We’re all rather busy here, so please. If you would. Tell the good Hermetician you were joking.”

Dolce blinked away some visions of deeply unprofessional social dynamics, and unfortunately found himself precisely where he’d been a moment ago. “Well. I would, yes, I would. Very much love to say that...”

“And what. Exactly. Is. Stopping you?”

He took the longest breath of his life. “I don’t know-”

“How can you not know?!"

“It’s - oh. No. Please, it’s, it’s a little complicated, but-”

“I fail to see how it’s complicated, dear. Either you tell me you’re joking, or you tell me who you’ve failed to introduce me to. Which is it?”

“I don’t know if I’ve married anyone else!”

Divine fury crashed into incomprehensible chaos, and the entire room lurched to a screeching halt. “You...what?” It was Vasilia’s turn to be at a loss for words. “How could you not know you’ve married someone? I would think that would be hard to miss.”

“It wasn’t covered in our education. None of it was. We were never taught anything about courtship, or marrying, or harems, or anything of the sort. I,” He stared straight through the deck, to the distant, confusing past. “I never thought of it before you brought it up, but, I’ve had a long service with the Starsong. I only met you partway through. And, I know now there are many ways to court and marry, but. There was such a long time before, I met so many people...it’s entirely possible somebody married me, and I would never have known.” To think; you could marry the love of your life, begin a bright new chapter together, and then wake up one day and they were just. Gone. Without ever honoring the oaths you swore together. He shivered and hugged himself tightly. Horrible. Simply, horrible to think about. “It was never anything to think about before. You came of age, you had your assigned partner, and that was that.”

Vasilia fell back into her chair. The motion would’ve been more graceful had she been stumbling drunk. “Dolce.” She said slowly. “Did you have an...’assigned partner?’”

“Oh! Oh no, no, of course not. ‘The chef’s love is to be his art, and his love will be complete in service.’” He recited from memory. “That’s how it was for me, and the chef before me, and all the chefs before us.”

“Right. Of course.” There was. Entirely too much to unpack there, in a conversation already bursting at the seams. “Now we just have to figure out if you ever...married somebody on accident.”

“It would be closer to unintentionally marrying someone, but, yes.”

“Unintentionally married. Why not?” She closed her eyes, and quietly explored a steady path to some rather high numbers. “Aphrodite?” She finally said without looking. “On the quite likely chance you’re standing there, would you care to weigh in on the question?”

Breathless Dead

The distant roar of the engines, filtered through a hundred rooms and five decks, filled the room with a low, droning hum. So quiet, so omnipresent, you could forget that your every waking moment was bathed in the power and fury of a star. Except, in these moments when all else was quiet, and there was room to really appreciate the constant peril of your position.

It was Vasilia who spoke first. Lips straining not to curl any higher. “Well, Dolce? Don’t leave the Hermetician waiting.~”

A jolt ran through him from ear to toe, before finding a nice spot in his belly to settle. Did she..? Was she..? Oh, oh dear. Oh no. He looked to her, then to Iskarot, then back to her, then back to Iskarot, and then to the floor as room seemed to pitch and turn in the corners of his vision. A heat that had been building in his face ran out of room to grow, so it traveled southward until it met its new neighbor; that little spark of Zeus’ in his stomach. And all at once they were everywhere, fraying his nerves and burning his blood and his poor heart tried so, so hard to keep up, it drowned out even the sound of the engine. He...he needed to sit, and - and somehow, he already was sitting, which wasn’t quite right at all. He ought to be standing, but maybe it was okay to sit? Just this once? Maybe if he sat properly, that’d be good enough. Sit up, back straight, deep breaths, hands folded, oh no, was it right thumb over left? That didn’t feel right. Left over right? No, no, that wasn’t right either. And now he was out of thumbs! Oh, which was it, which was it-

*ahem!*

Vasilia politely concealed her sudden coughing fit behind a hand. “Aherm, ah, excuse me. You were saying?”

Dolce shot to attention, hands flitting behind his back where they could fidget in peace. “Y-yes, erm, well, the, the question at hand, you know,” every single word was the worst word he’d ever said in his entire life, ever. “See, I, there’s the matter of, well...”

He took a deep, bracing breath.

“...what, precisely, qualifies as a harem?”

And Vasilia’s cough vanished.

Breathless Dead

Dolce studied the drawing of their potential crew. His attentions wavered between intense scrutiny and downright forgetfulness, tracing the shape of a leg as he silently mouthed sums and figures, only to return to that spot moments later. Every inch was scrutinized thrice over, at a minimum, before he asked, “Are we sure this is what we want?”

Vasilia quirked an eyebrow. “Are we?”

“Ah. There could be a slightly more civilized planet along the way that we could visit, and still stop Birmingham from destroying their world. We should not feel as though we are forced to choose them.”

Her smirking gaze bore down on him. Unchanged.

Dolce cleared his throat quietly. “The...less familiar with the rest of the galaxy they are, there’s just so much room for things to get messy. Surely, we would want to get a crew as easily as we can, yes? We wouldn’t want to borrow any more trouble.”

Vasilia slowly closed her eyes. Pondered this wisdom. Let her mind take in the realm of the possible, the impossible, and all that lay in-between. And said, “Are you worried they’ll try to marry you off again?”

“It was one time!”

“Oh, if you say so.”

“Pardon?”

“Anyway, I’m positive it will be just fine. I’ll duel any suitors for your honor, of course.”

Dolce replied with a most expressive series of squeaking bleats, slightly muffled as he buried his face in his hands.

“I believe what my Chef Mate is trying to say,” Vasilia translated helpfully. “Is that they will do nicely.”

Breathless Dead

“Redana? Recruiting? Ugh, no thank you.” Vasilia pulled a sour face. “We’ve enough trouble already with the hoplites, can you imagine five hundred of them? We’d have a mutiny or an example on our hands, and neither helps us go any faster.” She sank deeper into her chair, posture crumbling under the weight of a thousand unjust slights. “I can’t fight my own crew every step of the way. Unity, expertise, rhythm, we can work all of that out, but I simply can’t do a thing if they’ve already decided to be difficult.”

“If it were up to me,” Dolce tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Everybody who’s here would want to be here. In space, on a long trip, on this trip, with these people...” He looked out into the dreaming distance, and smiled at what he saw. “They ought to want to be here.”

Fellowship: The Heart

Carinadir stood where he fell; on his feet, holding his staff, just out of reach of wire and rubble. The roof shook. Speakers screeched. And he looked down his nose at his own handiwork. “What is there to tell, that I don’t already know?”

He waved a hand to his help. “Fool, the lever, if you will?”