TheAmishPirate

Breathless Dead

“Come on, Vas, open the door!”

“Vasilia isn’t here! You disturb the seal of a tomb, and the rightful rest of the dead!”

“Who knew the dead would be so talkative?”

“Maybe they’d be at peace if robbers and tresspassers could leave their sepulchres alone! Oh, that the family of the deceased had only paid her grave the proper respects, that Lord Hades would keep watch over her eternal sleep personally!”

“Clarisa, move.”

“Alright, fine, you try talking to her.”

“Vasilia. There are five other ways I can get into that room, and I know you haven’t seen to at least three of them. I have my pick of the lot, and if you don’t stop this at once, I’m going to choose ‘through the front door, with a battering ram’, and you can explain the mess to your father later.”

“...”

“....”

“...Alethea?”

“Yes?”

“If I unlock the door, could you break it down just a little? Without scuffing the paint?”

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

“How was I to know everyone in the ring was in his pocket?” A Vasilia-shaped lump of blankets bemoaned to her guests. “How could I have even prepared for that?! For all I know, he paid off the bloody referee, and Zeus too! To...to look the other way!” She fell hopelessly into a fresh bout of sobbing.

“There, there…” Clarisa said, patting at the lump absently. “I think our fallen champion could do with some more tea. With extra sugars.”

Aletha stood from the bed, but glanced back before taking a step. “Would you like that, ma’am?” Vasilia nodded through the tears and a ferociously quavering lip.

As Alethea left for the kitchens, Clarisa pulled the miserable bundle of blankets to her lap, where she could smooth the errant hairs and shoosh the tired sobs. “It’s just-” Vasilia sniffed. Quieter, now. Smaller. “It’s just not fair.”

“Oh, Vas...” Clarisa sighed, taking her tearstained face in both hands.

“Life isn’t fair.”

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

Any Hermetic in the room who had made a study of post-Directive linguistics might learn a few new, fascinating adjectives in the hodgepodge tongue of Lakkos. Everyone else hearing the jagged edges of Vasilia’s vocabulary could get pretty close to the meaning anyway.

What a place of learning this was turning out to be! So many valuable lessons! Chief among them, that Zeus’ fabled protections didn’t apply to hosts zapping their guests with bloody eccentrics, apparently! Forget to update the rules for this millennium? Or were you too busy critiquing her social life?!

And don’t you dare answer any of that, Thunderer. If she hears one word. One. Word. Out of your mouth, she will rip these chains apart and beat you all the way back to your bloody useless Olympus! Then, once you’ve been beaten within an inch of your eternal life, then you can start telling her how bloody sorry you are!

Stop.

The chains strained to hold her chest at every furious breath.

Stop it, now.

A low growl built in the back of her throat, a snarl curling her lips.

You are Captain, Vasilia. Captain of the Plouseious, on a quest from Hades, your crew is watching, and we will not go to pieces before she does!

And then, it died. Her fangs retreated. Her breathing slowed, slowed, slowed.

When Bella finally turned her attentions to her, she did not return the favor. She sat tall, proud, unbowed by her chains, as if she’d chosen to be inconvenienced this way. The very picture of injured, (re)composed dignity, proud in the face of cruel fate. And cruel cats.

Only...less cruel than expected? A flicker of surprise broke through her mask, a slight arching of the brows, before all was still again. With everything going her way, she rather expected the cur would be making a meal out of this. Well, a bigger meal than she already was. Curious...

Vasilia resumed looking vaguely off in the distance, at more important things than this moment. She did not look at either Bella, nor away from either Bella, even as one Bella grabbed her chin and forced away most of her vision. Either would be an acknowledgement, and she was not prepared to surrender even that much.

“Given your track record,” Vasilia sniffed. “I look forward to seeing how this chapter of your life falls apart.”

Fellowship: The Heart

The word is wanting.

The mirror must be broken. That is, of course it’s not right, obviously that’s not her, but more than that, it can’t be her. It just can’t. Do you see? Right there! There! When she folds her arms, and you can see, see! The muscles rippling across her frame. You could hit her with a train, and the train would shatter into a thousand thousand pieces. No timeline, no road not taken, no past gone a little better could ever turn her into that. Right? It wouldn’t be too hard to find out, just, just find a mirror here that does work, estimate her proportions, come back here, trace the breadth of those shoulders, those proud, unbowed shoulders, strong, and brave, and, and, so strong…

This other mirror! It was broken too. And she’d get to that thought just as soon as the rest of her caught up, because how! How did it know? She hadn’t shown that stupid little sketch to anyone. Not even Ailee! Yes, of course, it was the Heart, and rules were different here, but it shouldn’t! It couldn’t! It wasn’t fair! How dare it make her look so much better than her clumsy paws could ever draw? Where did it get off, making her eyes so pretty? They never looked that clear and bright, even when she wasn’t...squinting. And. And. That tail…

Jackdaw hugged her ragged robes tight around her. And beneath them, her scraggly, dusty, pathetic excuse for a tail wrapped around her even tighter. Recoiling from this image of fluffy perfection. Unfit to even show itself. Her paws patted at the sad lump beneath her cloak, on instinct.

What was this place?

“W-wolf…?” Jackdaw called out uncertainly, backing away from the two mirrors. “I think we should, um, stay close…”

She blindly reached behind her, grasping for her friends’ paw...

Breathless Dead

“And may our offering of skill and blood be pleasing to the great Empress Nero, first among mortals, who sits upon Tellus, first among worlds, ruler of the Empire, first among civilization. Let all who join blades in glorious combat forget not the most worthy names for which they strive and bleed for.”

Vasilia raised her blade, and dipped her head reverently to her opponent.

“To Tellus, the Empress, and the Empire.”

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

Tellus was a planet of fools, ruled by an idiot, and only a stupid person would ever want anything to do with it.

I mean, her? A praetor?! What a marvelous idea; vest all the power of Imperial authority in a petty, spoiled, ill-tempered, mangy-

“Dolce? Darling?” She breathed out a low purr. “Tell our friends not to worry. I’ll just be a moment.”

(Moments later, Alexa would feel a tugging at her finger - because the whole hand was asking a little much of him - and a soft voice would whisper, “Please don’t be alarmed, or make any sudden moves. The Captain will handle this.”)

Vasilia glided forward, feet finding the gaps of open deck between the prostrated forms. A quick ruffle of her coat, and a sudden weight in a pocket, spoke to her Dolce's efforts.

“Praetor, was it?” Vasilia lightly smacked her lips, as if trying to recall an unfamiliar word. Or as if trying to banish a foul taste from her tongue. “You must be mistaken, of course.”

About a great many things, but who had the time for such exhausting detail? Certainly not her. She was much too busy, making a trussed-up stray wait for her to climb the dais before she continued. Click. Click. Click went her unhurried step on the polished floors.

“The Magos cannot speak to matters that the Magos knows nothing about. His Pilates carry such scintillating conversation, that I simply did not have the opportunity to introduce myself or my party properly.” She bowed graciously, a single fluid motion that notably did not stray into an inappropriately servile curtsy. Imagine the embarrassment, making a mistake like that. While she was there, she laid before the dais an ornate vase, collected on their travels. (Made of a material that, in a pinch, could be shattered into a most excellent substitute for caltrops.) An offering to their host. “Would you care for me to remedy the situation, Magos?” And if he took her to be speaking of any other pressing, uncomfortable situations, well! She couldn’t be blamed for it.

[Rolling to Speak Softly: How can Vasilia get Birmingham to focus his efforts against Bella instead of herself and her crew? Result: 5.]

Fellowship: The Heart

The word is countdown.

Painted faces watch their every move. Painted minds judge their every sin. Paths clear one moment, only to suddenly fill with hideous bands wielding unfathomable instruments playing a respectable rendition of Pop Goes the Weasel, almost drowning out the screams of the weasel. Everywhere she looked, Jackdaw saw only danger, and danger that had yet to appear. No rhyme, no reason, no patterns, no timing, no matter how hard she looked or how hard she tried to hold the entire carnival in her head at once. They had to go. They had to go now.

“Hey!”

Jackdaw waved her arms furiously. Had to keep her attention. Focus on her, Wolf, focus on her!

“...no clowns?”

She pointed to the mirror house. And kept pointing. And kept pointing. Oh please let this work let this work let this work

“No...hunters?”

Yes! No other hunters! You’d be the only one! All the food there, yours! No one would bother you! Safe! Good! Go now? Please???

Breathless Dead

“Thunderer, who crowns the mighty with glory and victory, hear us this day.”

Zeus’ temple was paved with none other than the shining hull of an Armada flagship, bestowed by the grace of the Empress for the good of her allies in Baradissar. Every day, servants wrapped head to toe in cloths polished its surface to a mirror sheen. No one was permitted to step upon it without a rigorous foot-washing, and to be anything but barefoot was to hurl yourself into the servant’s pits. When you knelt, no cushion or carpet came between you and the bond that knit together an empire, the Empire.

Vasilia touched her forehead to that cold metal floor, and at once nearly nodded off.

“Smile upon your servant, let all who stand in her presence know they stand before one who holds your favor.”

Focus, Vasilia, focus! Don’t falter now. Fill your mind with something - anything! - to keep from going still and stupid. Anassa. Anassa was visiting from Skollis. The first to make the journey in two generations. Guest of honor. Pay her your respects. Interests included raising goats, floral arrangements, and - rumor had it - local beverages of high renown and higher proof. Keep that last one in your pocket, wild card if you need it. Theonymphi and, and… (Sunlight Reflects Rivers Flowing North) Narcissa! Were no longer speaking. Direct them at each other for instant comedy and diversion.

“I offer to you an outpouring of finely aged spirits, and an outpouring every night until the moons are three once more, if you will grant her victory this day.”

You could not walk a block without seeing Markos’ face. His was the name on everyone’s lips and the face of their dreams to boot. He might fear loss, and turn to desperation if backed into a corner. He might think loss impossible, and any defeat a minor misstep from which he would soon recover. He might not think at all, and a greater gift he could not give her.

“And could you grant her a reprieve from Aphrodite’s charms, that she would stop trying to court her glaive? Honestly, she could do so much better.”

You! What! Clarisa!!!!!

The tigress in question (utterly unrepentant of the blasphemous lies she spouted in Zeus’ own temple!!!) finished her prayer smiling, and retrieved the beloved glaive from the shadow of Zeus’ altar. She threw it to her with an easy toss.

“Knock ‘em dead, Vas.”

Vasilia caught it with a single hand, and a grateful smile of her own.

“I’ll try not to; I still need an undersecretary.”

Half an hour to showtime. Time enough to drill the forms one last time. No matter what the riffraff thought of their love.

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

Bolin was their ticket in. At first, they did little more than hang about by his side, listening politely, making introductions where they could, and learning every name that passed back and forth. Sooner or later, there came the mutual topic. The knowing remark. The fellow appreciation. The timely joke. And they were no longer just at Bolin’s side.

One by one, Dolce marked off the priests they’d spoken with. One by one, they learned rank, they learned position, they learned respect. Symbols turned to information. Information turned to patterns. Patterns turned to currents.

In the right hands, currents turned to waves.

[Rolling to Look Closely: 6 + 3 + 2 = 11. How might Vasilia win the hearts of all (or most) present?]

Breathless Dead

“It would be our honor to attend, Pilate Borin. What unforgivable waste of fortune it would be, to pass by another so well-studied in the Azuran ways.”

It’s games everywhere, isn’t it? Never so simple as one rung above the other.

“I have always wondered on the nature of chess; was it created for the harems, or were the harems created for it? Had there been no chess, would there be harems? Or would they have settled on another activity to satisfy their interests?”

How would you keep your subordinates in line? Wouldn’t you run games of your own?

Breathless Dead

It had taken all of five minutes for the cloaked and clanking enigma to scuttle back to the depths of Lakkos from whence it came. Leaving behind a pouting young lioness, and a not quite as young lizard, his dignified chin pouch wobbling as he shook his head in sympathy.

“Ahhh, you mustn’t take it to heart, young one. On the contrary, I’d say you did rather admirably, for a first try. You can’t expect those walking science experiments to understand pleasantries so easily.”

“Hmmph.” Vasilia drew herself up indignantly. “If that’s how you really feel about her, then I shan’t invite you to our teatime next week.”

“Can you imagine! What would you even serve them?”

“I’d tell you, but I’m afraid that would breach a sacred trust. Sworn to secrecy. Can’t say.”

Every passing moment he stared in silence made it harder to school the satisfied smile from her face.

“...wait, you’re serious?”

“Don’t look so shocked, darling. They’re really quite the pleasant sort, once you learn to speak their language.”

“But, I, just now - you were speaking our language...?”

“Oh please, you’re too much!” She giggled, patting him on the back. “I’ll only say this; you don’t walk around so obviously covered, head to toe, day in and day out, if you don’t enjoy the game of it at least a little~.”

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

“Ah, the winds! Who among us can count them, much less name them. Where they come, and where they go, only the gods know, and yet! We are all of us carried along by them. Never understood the saying myself, if I must be honest. Would we not find where the winds go, if we only kept following? And yet, there is always a stopping. Curious, don’t you think?”

We venture from unknown to unknown, farther and further into the Frontier, further than any have gone before.

“You know who I would ask if I could? Hermes. Obvious answer, I know, but that doesn’t make it any less right. Unless...no, if I really wanted to cheat, I’d say the gods, but really, I like to think we’re better than that. You hear tales of the poor fools who ignore the gods, but how many are there of those who think of them too much? There’s a literary niche there just waiting to be filled, mark my words.”

The gods, plural, have taken heed of our journey.

“The ant stores for the colony, the bear for the winter, the home for the homecoming, and what does Hades store away for? What notes did he write for the great Daedalus’ eyes only? If they found their way to pockets familiar, whose eyes would they reach next?”

Our away team seeks architectural curiosities from the time of Molech, or even earlier.

And if you’d like to join in this dance, I could do with a partner.

[Auto-success on Speak Softly: Vasilia wants to get to know Borin better. What’s their place on the ship’s hierarchy, and how do they feel about it?]

Fellowship: The Heart

What? Oh, no. No, that’d be ridiculous. Wolf survived for _ages_ in, um, well, you know. It was hard, but she’s alive, so, she knows what she’s doing. Besides, could you imagine it? Wolf - Wolf, of all people! - following after her - her, of all people! - like a little puppy. Trotting along at her side, growling at anyone who got too close, taking treats right from...her...paws......

Oh.

Oh no it was all her fault.

Oh no she brought her to the clown festival?! What was she thinking?

Answer: She wasn’t thinking. As usual.

Okay, well, start thinking! Now, Jackdaw!!! Before they stick her in a fryer, or paint her face with bad dreams, or worse, and if you could leave it at ‘or worse’ for once maybe you’d be able to find a way out of this mess! Remember every book you’ve ever read about clowns. Look at everything you can see, and imagine everything you can’t. Check, double check, triple check, where’s the safe places? Where can you run? How can you get a malnourished wolf out of the clutches of one or several clowns?

Think, Jackdaw, think. Before it’s too late.

[Rolling to Look Closely. 5 + 3 + 2 = 10. Jackdaw wants to know two things: Where here could they be safe? And how could she get Wolf there, in a pinch?]

Breathless Dead

Well-spoken, acolyte! Well-spoken indeed. You bring honor to this crew just as you bring a smile to your Captain’s eyes. Just be sure you bring back that uniform in one piece, yes? It would be a shame to lose such a fine piece of craftsmanship.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I’m afraid there will be no volunteers this time. Not when we’re spread as thin as we are.” But your enthusiasm has been noted, and gladly. “Alexa, you are with me, and Epestia, you are with Alexa. You have free reign to break off from the retinue as you see fit, but do not let yourselves be separated. We don’t know what we’ll be walking into there, so be on your guard, and keep your eyes open for opportunity.”

Do you notice, Alexa? Do you catch the half-step missed as she turns to you? Do you spy the price of the miles she’s bought you, in the pause to catch a breath? And when she speaks, do you hear how she’d pay it all again, without question? “I’m counting on you, Alexa. We’re outnumbered, and we need every able body who can navigate one of the Order’s functions.”

Breathless Dead

The Chef Mate dipped his head without looking from the viewport. “Thank you, sir, for that gracious assessment. I will be sure to keep it close to mind.”

Which earned him a loving ruffle of his wooly ears from the Captain.

Six place settings, two tables. Near-infinite combinations to choose from, and nevermind what Dolce might tell you about figures and combinatorial claptrap. Practically speaking though, how many decisions did she have to make?

Just one, as it turned out. All the rest had been made for her.

Iskarot could not go the Yakanov without causing a scene. He must go to the planet.

She was the Captain of the Plousios. To not visit the Yakanov would be to deliver a grievous insult, and raise questions of their true motives here. She and Dolce must go to the Yakanov.

Galnius and his hoplites would provide stability and respectability - and it was proof positive of their dire predicament that they needed them for the latter - and they numbered far too few to make a difference on the surface. They would accompany her to the Yakanov.

Epestia and Redana were problems in the making, but Redana might be capable of keeping a lid on it so long as she didn’t fall in with a bad crowd. Or over-eager Ceronians with more scythe than sense. The two of them must be kept apart.

Alexa was sensible, capable, reliable, and already got on well with Epestia. A grounding force that would stick close by her side. The two of them needed to be paired up, for all their sakes.

Which left one decision, upon which all the others hung:

Would Redana be better off by her side, or apart?

Vasilia took Redana’s measure; tone of voice, sharpness of stance, consistency with time, state of dress, so on, and so forth. She would not be rushed to speak. “You will accompany the good Hermetician to the surface. From a distance, you will be just another priest with their acolyte, and no one will be any the wiser. You are to explore the planet, make contact with the Alced, and lay the groundwork for taking them onboard.” And if there was a hint of fondness in her eyes as she sent Redana off on the adventures she so craved, well! Then take it as you may. “Am I understood?”

In the end, hardly much of a decision at all.