TheAmishPirate

Breathless Dead

She didn't think. It was something she was becoming rather good at.

The hands of the divine closed in around her, lifting her up, molding her face, and her body ignited with white lightning. Whatever limbs were still hers expressed their freedom to the fullest. Squirming, twisting, pressing up against the boundaries of Olympus, straining for the tiniest gap to reach the floor again and get away, get away, get away!

The deepest sting of all was that she would only be free at Zeus’ pleasure. And whether a heap on the deck or a heap in Zeus’ arms, the end was the same; a panting, trembling lioness, heart racing out of her. “You don’t have to intervene.” The words spilled out, choked and mangled. “Because it’s going to be me. It’s always going to be me, no matter what I do or how far I run or how high the price. Sooner or later it’s. Always. Me!”

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

Oh no.

It was a test.

Were you really paying attention, Dolce? Actually, honestly, taking in what she was telling you? Or were you shirking your duties, and letting your mind wander like some loafing delinquent? Come now, speak; silence only serves as a testament to inadequacy. If you cannot help her, perhaps she will have you replaced with someone more suitable to the job; a wall, a child’s toy, or better yet, an empty room. Or maybe no one will be able to help her. The presentation will fail, the ship will never be repaired, and when the history books look back on this doomed voyage, they will all agree that things might have turned out differently had they actually brought proper help on board.

Think hard, Dolce. And be quick about it.

“Ah. Well.” It was a miracle he could still swallow his tea with her presence squeezing him from all sides. “To, start with, what are the advantages of our crew and armaments? What may be leveraged?” Yes, yes! Focus her mind on the problem at hand. This was, after all, the princess’ problem to solve. A little gentle nudging, and her own brilliance would sort out the rest, no?

Fellowship: The Heart

She could never stop thinking, could she?

Walking through a land of nots, stepping into a downpour of crows and clowns, as her mouth gasped and her heart cried out and both her paws gripped Wolf’s, her studious mind was packing it all away for later. All of it, every moment, into the boxes now. No telling when she might need these again. Musn’t go to waste! Later, she may need the word for the quiet warmth at the end of all things, and out would come their time in the Angel’s mouth. The face of a woman, not-shadowed...that would go someplace she could get at easily. Perhaps, right alongside...

My treasure is that I’m still alive.

She could never stop thinking. Even as her useless body locked up in terror, and a hundred desperate screams failed to pass her throat, her mind held onto that one, shining thought. Amid the miserable wreck of her dreams, and crumbling of her present, she held on. She held on to something she wanted more than a name. More than proof against her own uselessness.

She wanted Lucien to have one more step.

Her arms yanked. Her legs leapt. Somehow, she pulled Wolf behind an upturned donut cart, the fallen fryer hissing in defiance of the storm. “Stay.” She pointed at the ground between them. “Stay. Anchor. For me.” They were now two, again. She with too many words, and her with not enough. But there was no time, and she hardly knew what she was doing herself. Out of her infinite repertoire of better people’s magic, she reached deep into her heart, and offered all she had to Wolf, and the word was

“Please?”

[Jackdaw’s clever brain activates Let Me See That on A Victory Of Crows:
-Who made it, and why should I care about them?
-What was this made to do, and how can I use it or break it?]

Breathless Dead

Vasilia laid aside her glaive, and turned an ear to the symphony of the stars.

The bridge offered an unparalleled view of the passing travellers, and little else for her lonely vigil. A place of action, of command, of judgements, it had no use for frivolity and no space for a proper walk. She’d spread out a blanket on the floor to grant herself a place to tend to her weapons, and even this concession felt an intrusion. Wrong, somehow. Breaking some unspoken taboo. It pricked at her sensibilities, like lying down with a twisted back. Forever promising to calm down soon, soon, if only you could just find the right way to sit.

If she had no patience for her guest, then perhaps she shouldn’t have been several days fashionably late.

“You’re always bloody involved, when it’s about a throne.” Vasilia spoke to the air, the hairs on her neck bristling at the electric presence. “Why even bother with all this? One word from you, and the contest’s decided. No one on Olympus would argue.” She didn’t name who she suspected Zeus might choose. No taste, for running through that tired script again.

For as much choice as she had in the matter.

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

Dolce did not blink. Had not blinked. For a while. How long?

Well, how long since he’d blinked, or how much longer could he go without? The first one, it’s been...well, he didn’t quite mark the start, it was after she’d pulled out the notebook, which meant at least a minute fifteen, give or take some. The second one, it’d been so long since he’d tested himself in this way, he couldn’t possibly guess what his limits were. It’d been years since he’d had to do blinking drills, and he did somewhat regret stopping, in hindsight, because there was nearly too much Princess for him to keep track of. There were drawings, detailed drawings with lots of figures to remember, and an errant teacup holding something between fluid dynamics and a time bomb, which he could not apply a napkin to until it was about to explode. While his eyes managed that, his ears were in charge of listening. His hands had to drink his own tea, at appropriate intervals. Put it all together, and his mouth needed to come up with useful advice, when asked for, or when the conversation lapsed sufficiently, which was proving to be a rather squirly metric today!

No, no, no time for blinking at all.

“I think,” Dolce said, slowly, testing the waters in case he was about to be swept away again. “Maybe we ought to...compensate, for the factors we don’t choose?” Oh, wonderful, brilliant observation Mister Dolce, no possible way that the Princess slash Senior Mechanic hadn’t thought of that one already. “That is to say, there are other factors, yes? In our composition of crew and armaments that could be used to our advantage. And, perhaps the decision can be made in light of those, ah, other factors, such that the factors - of the ship - can be adequately balanced in light of threats...unknown?”

The too-long sip of herbal tea proved remarkably un-soothing.

Breathless Dead

Dimly, some part of her lamented her lack of foresight. She ought to have brought paper and pen. She could have written an apology to the serv- to the slaves. They would have to clean up after her, long after she was gone. They’d be forced to restore Zeus’ temple to its former glory. If it were even possible. No amount of polishing could repair the gashes in the floor. By the time anyone came to check, the blood would be long dried. Miserable to scrub out, that. Hard...hard to erase...oh Clarissa....

She stopped. Her glaive fell to the ground, digging a new scratch into the once-perfect mirror floor.

She’d learned a precious lesson, today. After everything, after a lifetime, there were yet parts of Clarissa she hadn’t seen. The truth coursed through her veins, staining memories until she could recognize them no longer, but it had not stopped her. She’d entered the temple, sure of herself, sure of her reasons, and in the face of her they’d all turned to doubt and darkness, but that had not stopped her. The last plea. A blade drawn. Gasping, as glaive found flesh. The sounds clawed into her mind, but even they had not stopped her.

Vasilia looked out from the temple of Zeus. She saw the stairs she had yet to descend. She heard the distant hail of SP fire, and the roar of plovers that heralded the Starsong’s doom. She smelled the iron bite of her heart’s blood, and knew the offering was not enough, and she had no breath to scream, and she could stand no longer.

But neither could she fall.

She felt, more than saw Zeus, the prickling on her fur that kept her too alive to die just yet. Somehow, holding no grudge for the desecration of her temple. Or maybe this was her idea of reparation. Reminding her that her cause was no less just, no less necessary for her shattered heart. And that to stop before it was finished would mean it all was nothing more than the trash their world was built upon. Years of blind folly, and moments of sacrifice alike. All coming to nothing.

So, she rose. To join battle, at the opportune moment. For a last, great treachery, against the few souls of Lakkos she had yet to deceive. To the Starsong, she would give life from certain death. To herself?

Dreams of burnt ash, and a heart of cold iron.

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

Vasilia would not see the autosurgeon for some time.

When the Alced came, they beheld a conquering champion, faithful to her wing and flush with the rightful spoils of victory, and they rejoiced to serve under one who held such honor.

When the Coherents came, they beheld a simple exercise in logic. Where there ought to have been many Coherents, there were now none. Of the enemy, they counted a dozen. Of the dozen, one was untouched, ten showed signs of a scuffle, and the one currently giving them orders held weapons of Zeus and more injuries than they could count. To the credit of Hermes, they quickly solved the puzzle, and gave her their effusive obedience.

Through the pleas of her crew and her husband, Vasilia would not see the autosurgeon for some time. Not until her work was finished, and finished right.

Breathless Dead

The station was emptying. All fled, and those who didn’t shortly regretted their lack of foresight. Vasilia flew down the corridors of the Yakanov unimpeded now, accompanied only by the crashing, shattering chaos of an army in full retreat.

Then, amid the noise: Downbeats, to an unconventional time signature. No machinery ever broke so clean, if you had the ear to catch the pattern. A sign of the Starsong. A call for allies. Which meant-!

Vasilia snagged a pipe to send herself tearing down the corridor, towards the rhythm, towards the sound, towards,

“Dolce!”

She careened down the hallway, and a flash of white streaked towards her, and when they met it was with all the force of a soft summer breeze. At last. At last! Alive! On his feet! Hardly a hair out of place! Let her bury her face in that precious wool. Let her check, let her count the curls, let not a one be missing. Against her bare stomach, she felt him. His mouth, straining to form words. Hands, gentle, insistent, pushing away. Giving him room to see. And stare, mouth agape. “What...what happened? Are you alright?”

“Fine now, darling.” She wouldn’t let him go. Not yet. Her one good arm snaked around his shoulders and pressed him close to her, heedless of how it stung her or stained his vest. “Fine now. Are you in danger? When did you last see Alexa? We’re not safe here-”

“I know, but-”

“Good, good, less time to explain.”

“We don’t have to-”

“I’ve fought this far, I can manage farther. So tell me; what’s the situation?”

He said nothing.

“...Dolce? Darling?”

He reached up, and stroked her arm gently, the most priceless treasure he’d ever been tasked with caring for. “Everyone’s safe now.” He soothed, in his warm, crackling fireside voice. “We won. We don’t need to do anything more.” He turned his eyes on her, and for the first time she noticed them glistening. “Vasilia...what did she do to you?”

Aphrodite. Who knows the secret voice within us all. Nothing and no one hides from your sight. Hear her, now, when no one else will believe her. You who have drawn her heart out as drawing a dagger from her chest. Let her testimony stand that she gave no thought to her actions. No motive, no scheme, no shameful plot crossed her mind. She ached. She acted. He did nothing wrong. And she drew away from him, only because she could not bear feeling him beside her a moment longer. Not when her neck drowned in steaming memory.

And her prayers were answered.

Dolce’s eyes flashed wide, shocked, but only for a moment. Blessedly, only for a moment, before they drew softer. Before he took her hand in his. Before he fought through a waking nightmare to offer his most battered and patient smile. All for her.

And her prayers were answered.

“Come.” He said, and already he’d teased the first finger loose from the pistol. “We ought to regroup with Alexa and the others.” He took the divine weapon in his own hand, leaving the other to clasp hers. “It’s over, now. We will get you to an autosurgeon. All will be well. I promise.”

And her prayers were answered.

Her Dolce did not leave her. Alight with insight and no way to know any better, he walked for the both of them. For the Captain whose strength had all but left her. For the one he swore to be ever faithful and true. And all the marvels of Hermes, the spite of Demeter, and the plans of Artemis combined did not wound her deeper than the gentle hand of Aphrodite.

Fellowship: The Heart

She was too full of words for just tears, and before long they spill forth from her too.

“I never remembered any other name.” She clung tighter. Wolf didn’t complain Or even noticed. She could’ve squeezed with all her might, and she doubted she could bend her an inch. “And, it couldn’t be right. Jackdaw isn’t a fox’s name. Jackdaw’s the name of, of,” Funny, how the words clawed to stay in her heart, when it was just the two of them, without a thing more to lose. But it was much too late for anything less than honesty. “A...cruel little bird. A thief. Who steals away treasured things it has no use for, and preens itself up like it owns them. Like they make it special. And, important.”

“I just thought...it couldn’t be right. If I had my real name, I could, somehow, know who I really was. Except that wasn’t it. That wasn’t really it.”

Why did you come down here, Jackdaw? What would bring you to this awful place?

“I wanted to know I wasn’t that. I wanted a name I could hold up as proof.” No great quest. No real prize she was after. She just...wanted to know she wasn’t trash. That she was something. And not just a stupid pile of other people’s treasure. And now that she’d said it out loud, she could truly appreciate what a vain, horriblereason she’d risked her life for.

Wolf didn’t complain. Or even noticed. She sat and stroked her head with the same care as when she didn’t know Jackdaw was a wretched, pitiful thief. Which was wrong of her, of course. Mistaken. Confused. Blinded. Deceived. Tricked. Duped. Fooled. On the cusp of regret.

Instead of saying any of those or other equally suitable words, Jackdaw put her paw on top of Wolf’s, to stop her, and.

Left it there.

Maybe...she did have one more thing she wanted. Or, rather, seeing the miserable wreck of her dreams, she wanted something more than that. Wanted to want something more than that. It didn’t feel fair, in this moment, to moan about her own troubles exclusively.

So. She left it there. And waited for Wolf to take her turn.

[Rolling to Speak Softly with Wolf: 5 + 5 - 1 = 9. What is her treasure? What is it that she wanted, all this time?]

Breathless Dead

The Plousious wanted for two things: Crew, and raw material.

With a fraction of the wealth arrayed in the cargo hold, raw material would no longer be a concern. And the crew, they’d have sorted out momentarily.

She had her prize. But her priority was her people. And so Captain Vasilia flew deeper into the station…

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

Ah. He was afraid she’d say something like that. Or run off. To receive both was...regrettable.

“I’m sorry, Mynx.” Dolce bowed his head, speaking to the empty air. “Would that the gods have arranged it any other way.”

He had little time to mourn; the Master may be after him at any moment, and while they were no longer together, Mynx’s idea had been a good one. Perhaps he could lose his pursuer amid the Magos’ defenses, or find some way to aid his friends from afar. He receded into the background, and padded silently to the central bunker.

Fellowship: The Heart

Nothing.

Silence.

The audience awaits.

Like a puppet without strings, Jackdaw slid down the wall until she collapsed to her knees. “What did I do wrong, to me instead of them?” She asked the Heart, and left no room for an answer. “They weren’t older than me! They didn’t have anything I didn’t! They were generals, lovers, heroes, Archmages! So why am I still sitting here on a useless pile of words, just, still me? Why?! Is it something I’m doing right now? Did I mess it up a long time ago? Is that why-”

Why what, Jackdaw?

Why your memory runs clean as a fresh river, until one day it just stops?

Why your earliest moment was spent alone?

Why no one ever came for you?

She fumbled through her pockets, fishing out a precious scrap of folded-up paper. A list, started by a friend. With a recent addition, in a shaking hand.

Jackdaw: Worries about a lot of things, but her friends will do anything to help and protect her. Worries a lot about what others might think, because she cares very deeply. Good listener.

Ruined the Vermissian Line.

“...is that why every name I try ends up a disaster?”

She cast her tearful eyes to the waiting darkness.

“Please. Just. Tell me what I’m doing wrong...”

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

Metal on metal. Blade on blade. Heroism on Dominion.

“Oh, so I’m broken without you, is that it? I'm only whole if I waste my life under your heel?” Her blade dances through the air, catching yours at every turn. “Gosh, I almost forgot what a piece of work you were. Couldn’t just tell me to leave, so you wake me up every morning with a fake gun in my mouth? Who does that?!”

“Getting away from you was the best decision I ever made. And your Jackdaw? Your Jackdaw’s a fool for giving up all this to stick around with a dumpster fire like you."

Breathless Dead

Dolce went limp as she shook him, his wool bouncing to and fro. It felt like she needed that. Like she needed to say what she was saying now. Wasn’t it nice, to be useful?

A servant, being outside all other social standing, and bound by a sacred trust, is the most ideal listener in the world. Do not waste the opportunity. Always seek to better fulfill your duty.

“I can’t say for sure.” He lightly patted her jagged exoskeleton as if it were the softest cotton. “I can say, at least, her judgement was sound as far as it concerned you. She was fortunate to have you as a friend.” Not a coworker or a bodyguard either. The Princess rarely described her as such, so neither would he. “Her heart is strong though, and I tell you before the gods that it has not broken yet. Perhaps, if it would help put your mind at ease, I could look help after it in your stead? For until she returns.”

He rummaged about in his pockets. “I could swear it on an oath, if you like.” And if he could find the right material; another candle, a few bits and bobs, surely there had to be something in here that would please a god?

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

The unloading bay belonged not to the Anemoi, but lived for the honor and glory of Demeter. Here gathered her attendants, in the inevitable march of life enduring. None were wasted in a fruitless chase. A phalanx of bonsai, planted immovable in the gate. Grasping roots to line every surface of the passage. Bouquets of flowers, dripping with intoxicating aromas, swollen to bursting at a breeze. Here her rightful prize would come. Here, she would be halted. Life would persist. Life would renew. For it was the glory and right of Demeter, Lady of Seasons, for whom all things were bound.

But Captain Vasilia did not come unprepared.

A line of violet lightning carves an arc through the room. Plants do not so much burn as instantly turn to ash, their toxins and thorns vaporizing harmlessly. Vasilia parts the smoking clouds, flying by her grav-rail down towards the exit, but the work of Demeter cannot be halted! Already, the bonsai are growing thicker hides. Vines spring forth from the ash to grasp at her limbs, to pull her down and hold her tight. She is forced into a wide, corkscrewing turn away from the exit, burning away vegetation as fast as it could grow, but no faster. To blast the arm from one bonsai gave three more the chance to heal back stronger. Again and again, she sallies the exit, and again and again she is turned back. The seconds tick away to Demeter’s victory; the engines of the Anemoi are almost firing. Soon, they will be away, far beyond hope of rescue or escape. Demeter will not be denied! All living things are bound to the Lady Demeter! Her victory is assured!

One. Two. Three.

And the bonsai are all but gone. Gone in a volley of perfect shots. Herded, by careful approach, by tantalizing opportunity, baited into changing in their formation just so, until a clean line could destroy them completely. Destroy them faster than even Demeter can mend them. Her legion is only one. It drops to the deck, roots shooting desperately outward, spreading with all haste. The engines ignite, the whole ship rises from its mooring, gathering the impetus to hurl itself across the stars. Vasilia grips her pistol in her teeth, draws the glaive from her belt, hurls towards the exit and strikes the hammer-blow! As through mere air! The bonsai is not cloven in two, it is annihilated. And Demeter’s servants are no more. For the price of precious seconds, Vasilia buys the Lanterns safe passage to the stars. No abomination of life will remain to threaten them.

But how precious those seconds! Already, they pull away from the Yakanov! She cannot stop. She will not stop. There is no time to worry about missing. She dips her flight low, tucks her legs to her chest, and kicks. Her feet find the bare edge of the exit ramp, closing, as the ship accelerates away beneath her. She is off! She hurtles towards the hangar, and no wave of Poseidon will set her off her course!

Ah! Within the hangar, a welcome awaits! Two Coherent phalanxes, drunk on their battle-song, wait to catch her. Space distorts around twin MRUs, charging to full. All they have to do is wait to catch her, but the Coherent philosophy does not abide waiting. The air howls with SP fire, and crackling chunks of spacestuff. Vasilia weaves a tight spiral around a bolt of molten light, and every scar on her body burns in remembered agony. She finds the SP fire when she rams straight into it, a hundred stringing blows striving to push her back. She bends. She flips. She corkscrews so violently she nearly snaps in two but she does not return fire. She does not turn away. Her direction is down. Her mass is unstoppable. The grav-rail screams at the strain, driving heavier and heavier, and she does not intend to land gracefully.

She hits the deck, and the deck loses.

The beat accelerates to a rapid staccato. The Coherent line dances back and forth, ready to spring. The smoke clears, and instead of a victim there is a great gaping hole in the deck. They’ve lost her! The music shifts to a marching tune; find her! Do not let her escape! But my dear coherents, you will not have to look far. The ground bulges and breaks beneath their feet as she soars through deck and air alike. With one motion, she hurls her glaive like a meteor, with gravity to match, and it pierces through both MRUs. Technicians scramble to escape the smoldering wrecks, only some remembering to pull out the power tethers before they can catch fire.

Now, she draws her pistol.

Now, she is close enough to place her shots.

How kind of you, Coherents, to display your bodies so proudly! To adorn your additions with gold and silver inlaid, bright glowing lights, thumping bass! How could she miss? You race ahead to keep time with the music; did no one teach you how to dance? Have you never had to improvise the steps? You stumble! You fall! You are predictable. The music is your master, and you have mastered nothing. See what the Starsong have made, in the centuries you spent in contentment! Above the thunder and screaming, Captain Vasilia sings. She sings the notes your music begs for. She takes lead in a dance of hundreds. She twirls, and her pistol finds the soldiers leaping at her the beat their feet leave the ground. They fire, ten steps behind, and she is already gone. Their comrades litter the dancefloor, screaming and clutching the smoldering remains of their pride.

What greater defense could they muster? Eccentrics behind phalanxes, on their own ground, every flank protected? What more could the Yakanov bring to bear against a single skirmisher? But no philosophy, no tactic, no intelligence borne of mortal imagination could withstand her. The Coherent line shatters. The music that once spurred them onward now drives them ahead in madness and terror. Run! Flee! Flee the coming wrath! We came with song, and she wrested it from our hearts! We came with bodies born of the Path, and broke against the broken! All is lost! All is lost! The Yakanov hears their cries, and their hearts fall to despair. Rallies go ignored. Messages go lost. Souls scatter to the winds, struck by fear beyond their understanding.

So lands the first battle-stroke of Captain Vasilia, honored of Zeus, bearer of the Starsong.

Woe to those who dare remain for the second!

[Overcome: 3 + 4 + 1 = 8, damaging Blood to upgrade to 10+.]

Fellowship: The Heart

“See, Leelee? I got tough! Just like you wanted!” Evil Jackdaw cackles with your hands tight around her throat, and you are confronted with the terrible possibility that you have not hurt her in any way that matters. “Alllllllllllllllll your lessons worked! The long nights, the early mornings, the skipped classes, the missed opportunities, the wasted years, it was allllll worth it in the end.” She says two words at once. She’s says the dumb boring words to you. She says a Name. It turns her coat’s collar into a hundred piercing spikes that only grow sharper the harder you squeeze, and she says it all in the same breath. “Aren’t you proud? Come onnnn, let’s see that smile!” Her hands shoot for your face and she squishes your cheeks in the rough approximation of a grin and she is drowning in the deepest satisfaction you have ever seen her enjoy because the word is cruel.

Did you think that Jackdaw could ever grow to be cruel, Ailee?

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

Jackdaw let out a panicked yelp, gunshots and Angels and claws pressing into her all crashing in at once. She squirmed in Wolf’s arms, flailing with what little freedom she had, but for naught. She could breath. She could try not to whimper under Wolf’s claws. She could realize where they were.

It didn’t stop her from springing to the nearest wall as soon as she was let free. “Coleman? Coleman!” She hammered at the substance with both her scrawny arms, for all the good it did. This was all the world they had now. Dim light. No sound, past these unspeakable walls. And yet, they could be heard, the two of them. A listening ear was waiting, and would not wait for much longer, so would she be so kind as to carry on?

And the word was ad-lib.

“What do you want me to say?” Jackdaw spoke, her forehead falling against the wall. “Is there something I’m supposed to say here? Please, genuinely, I know that sounds like I’m being difficult, but, I don’t know what my lines are. Honestly, I’m trying! I’ve been trying! I’ve always been trying, but it never comes out right! Or, no,” Now? Of all times, now, Jackdaw?! “It’s not, the delivery isn’t the problem - well, it’s not always the problem - it’s that I don’t say the right thing. I never pick the right one. I’ve spent all my years memorizing, and when the time comes there’s a hundred hundred choices and I never pick the right one, and if you could just tell me! Tell me, and I’ll say it! Please! There’s no time!”