TheAmishPirate

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

The first battle was of Hell. The second was of Dominion ambush. Han survived a third, down in the murky depths of the barge’s dressing rooms.

She hides the scars from none of them.

The handmaidens bested her in the bath; her skin is on the right side of presentable, freed at last from mud and ichor, and soothed with the finest of soaps. They negotiated an uneasy truce in the mirror; not the royal, regal treatment of other honored guests, but an understated dusting of powders and colors, softening the features without excessive work. At their suggestion, a few glittering, red scales adorn the corners of her eyes. Her hair falls long down her back in smooth, silky waves, contrasted by the sharp collection of accessories they’ve woven through the front, where she demanded her eyes be freed. But the outfit. She had saved her strength for that last fight. A vermillion robe patterned with gold dragons hugs her body tightly - enough to keep up with her movements, without impeding them - broken up only by a sash made up of two formerly-attached sleeves. Her arms alone stand bared in the company. See the sickly, muddled bruises covering them. See the hasty bandages, and know the wounds were from demon blades. See, around her neck, an angry red line, forked and cruel. The best shot of the Dominion, and she stands unbowed.

Or maybe their best shot was yet to come.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. Give Melody her space, you rotting bastard. Filthy, smirking, Dominion snake. She can smell the stinking wine in your cup. How dare you force her to sit so close. You never even asked her. You didn’t even pretend she had a choice. She’s been through so much and now you make her a hostage without blinking. Because that’s what this is, right? It’s a message. A dare. A challenge. See where your little Melody sits. See what you can do about it. See you cause trouble now, with the deck so stacked against you.

Again. Run through the numbers again. At least twelve legionnaires she can see. There were how many, earlier? It was dark, raining, she wasn’t really looking. They have to be close, of course. Can’t be that big a ship. Time limit. A pile of time limits. How long to clear the table. How long to close the distance. Melody, there, but also Giriel, and between them-Nghh! Her lungs fill too deeply. Her side burns, threatening to come apart. Wilting wrack-dolls, curse them! She should’ve been able to endure a thousand of those thorned things. Should’ve just been a bruise. Stupid demons. Stupid Dominion. Come at her on even ground, see how smug you are then.

Gods. How long was it since she’d seen a proper bed? Since she ate something she hadn’t just grabbed off a bush? Everything smells so good…

Hold on, Melody. Just, hang on. She sees you. You’re not alone here, and she’ll figure this. Uh. She’ll. She’s gonna. Figure.

Red Wolf takes another swig of wine. Melody winces from the smell, pursing her bright lips. Even from so far away, the flickering lantern light dances across them. In Hell, there’d been the green sun, and so much fighting, she hadn’t. Noticed. Thought to notice. Red. Not red. A…better red. Deep. Smooth. Glistening. Cupped gently by precious gold. It’s, painted, of course but, then, why does it look so. So…

(Inviting.)

Wait, no, hold on, what is she doing?! She can’t, bad look! Bad look! Eyes! Look at her eyes, you stupid idiot. She doesn’t need one more person ogling her unveiled face. Eyes are safe. Gold and red and glittering every time she flutters her long eyelashes and what was she doing again? Right, right. Give her a firm nod. She can’t reach her, not yet, but she’s here. She’ll find a way out of this, little bud.

Somehow.

“Yeah. Lucky us.” The cheer is forced through gritted teeth. “Only way we could’ve been luckier is if none of you’d ever came.” She reaches for a pitcher; sobriety and sanity weren’t gonna be pals tonight. Forget dulling her wounds, she’d need it to survive the company-

A hand falls on her arm, careful to avoid the bruises and bandages. The slave girl, stopping her, looking insistently at her for some reason. What now? Is she not allowed to drink until the host is finished? Is that the wine for the third course? Is it actually butter meant for the sweet potatoes?!

Can’t she even get a stupid glass of wine today?

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

The first sensible thing Red Wolf does is get out of the way.

The claw that would have crushed body and blade alike catches only air. The kidnapper shoots to the ground, and the storm is on her heels. Slash and bite and stab and whip and again, faster, and faster. The devastated earth splits into yet-smaller pieces. The air clogs with mud. Above it all, the piercing howl of pain and rage.

Yet the Red Wolf does not fall or falter. She finds the bits of solid ground moments before they are obliterated. Her blade screams! And the blow meant for her side slices a fallen tree clean in two. Dodges. Fancy tricks. Lies! She cannot take victory with these weak weapons. How will you carve through her hide with such a weak blade? Your precious footwork will only grow slower as the wounds mount! You are small! You cannot beat her! Flee! Fall! And never come back!

A tiny scream pierces night and heart alike.

Sparks dance in eyes gone wide in terror. She clutches the Red Wolf’s arm with both her hands. She winces - an almost-imperceptible shudder - to ask this much of her burned wrist. She clings on tighter.

In a flash of molten light, in a tidal wave of Essence, the Vermillion Beast of Lanterns vanishes, leaving behind nothing but a small girl; battered, bleeding, broken. Only her eyes still burn. Gripping her junk sword in numb fingers, she surges forward with a hoarse cry…

[Han reduces her Feral to 3 for feeling she's hurt someone with her bestial nature, thus ending her Transformation. Han also rolls to Fight Red Wolf: 3 + 6 + 2 - 2 (for Frightened) = 9. Han will:
-Inflict a Condition
-Take a String on Red Wolf]

Breathless Dead

Alexa slips through the crowd in the periphery of Dolce’s vision, and he offers up a silent prayer of thanks for his friend and her enormous heart. A Captain sees much. A Captain is only one person. And, still, everyone is waiting on him…

“Wisely said, your Highness.” He speaks louder than even he prefers to. Commanding eyes back to himself, and away from Mynx. “As puzzling as the situation is, this, we know these things to be true: One, we must get our ship back. Two, we must, ah, ensure that Molech comes to no harm by the machinations of the Master of Assassins.” A phrase that had been delicately hammered out with Alexa through the discussion of many hypotheticals. “And third, in order to accomplish these first two goals, we must face the Master of Assassins herself. Whatever she may have planned, I see no benefit in reserving our strength. On the contrary, we outnumber her, both in terms of individuals, and in capable officers. I imagine she would be delighted if we removed one of our chief advantages in the name of caution.”

He could end the briefing there. But to refuse to conduct did not mean the absence of a song.

“Before we depart, there is one final piece of our mission we must address. We cannot afford dissent and confusion once underway; not if we hope to survive this. I ask you, all of you, to consider the question carefully, and whatever my decision be, know that I make it in no less than the light of Zeus herself.” A decision that will not be recanted. An objective that, once set, will be struck without fail, as Zeus hurls her lightning. Nothing less will do.

The little Captain folds his hands in his lap. Allows himself one, final breath, before the leap. When he speaks, he will not shame she whose authority he wields. “Bella has, until Salib, led a force of Imperial troops and assassins against us. Though we have faced many troubles, she alone has hounded us wherever we go. Many times, she has hurt us gravely. Many times, she has nearly brought our voyage to ruin. On Salib alone, she relented, abandoning an Ikarani’s master plan and…and in the fighting, she was taken by the Master of Assassins. We will find her on the planet below, though in what state, none can say. I ask you, my crew: What is our mission’s stance as it concerns Bella?”

There is silence. There must be silence. Only a fool would leap to speak under the consideration of Zeus, and no fool would have survived this long.

It is Vasilia who steps forth first. She, who now knows a little more of her heart, and has spent a lifetime in the practice of wielding it. “With all due respect, Captain, why is this even a question? You have said it yourself; Bella has tried to kill or imprison most of the people in this room. If she has had an opportunity to hurt us, she has taken it more than willingly, she has taken it gleefully. I alone have fought her in pitched battle. I have seen the mindless bloodlust that lives in her. Why should we treat her any different, now that she has found a line she is not willing to cross? Give her another Salib, with an hour more on the clock, and she would pull the trigger without hesitation.”

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

This is a new peril.

The hide of the Vermillion Beast has stood proof against sword and bow, tree and stone, enlightened fist and hellish wrath. What technique is this? Why do the muscles that withstood a demon greater than the mountains yield at so light a touch? So unbelievably light a touch. Be wary, daughter of dragons. Let not your guard falter. Watch her. Find out what she’s up to. Sink to the depths of those soft, inviting eyes, and find your answer. Search the mysteries of those warm, rose-blessed cheeks, and find your answer. Behold the shining, unveiled lips for but a moment, before she-

The Vermillion Beast of Lanterns bellows forth a warning to the cursed denizens of Hell, spoken in the ancient tongue of Heaven that none can decipher. The specifics are far too terrible to repeat. But they are very serious. And very real.

(Do not bother asking Melody for a translation later. She will be too busy laughing to tell.)

Why? Why do you do this to her, oh flower of Heaven? Don’t you know? Didn’t you see? A Beast is for destruction. A Beast is here, to break the things that need to be broken, because nobody else will do it. A Beast does not. A Beast couldn’t. So how was a Beast to prepare for gentle, soothing fingers, caressing her horn? How was she to know that was a place dragons ought to be held?! None of this. None of this! Why. You. Y-you…

She purrs.

Her awful voice hid, in the deepest places of her heart, and there it shook and it shook and the soft rumblings flowed through her body and set her tail to flicking about the wastes. She presses her head the barest bit closer, pressing into her, and the rumbling passes through her too. She sinks into the rain-soaked garden. Her thoughts float on the wind. Melody is close. She is so close she could just…if she maybe…parted her lips…does she have, no, maybe…how…

Too late. Melody is close. The Beast’s jaws part. A long tongue flicks at her ear, and a rich breath of fragrant fire washes over her, and the delight of her giggles is the most precious treasure yet.

For a moment, everything is. And it is, by a miracle, enough.

Breathless Dead

This night, the papers have departed, taking with them maps, memos, and missives alike. They leave only questions to linger around the shoulders of a sheep and a lioness, sitting apart on the same bed. His heart races to pump the Thunderer’s lightning through his body, and any moment he will burst from the strain. He must talk. He cannot talk. But he must. He must go first.

She is waiting, still.

“That night, when you told me about what had happened between you and Bella, I’d thanked you for being honest with me. And, I did mean it. But when I said that you didn’t need to apologize anymore, that I wasn’t hurt, I don’t think I did mean that. I hadn’t really given it much thought; how could I have meant it? But I thought I did, and I thought it was enough, and I couldn’t explain why it wasn’t so. You kept asking, too, checking in to see if my answer had changed. And every time, I told you the same thing. I was fine. I’d accepted your apology. Everything would be fine, now. But nothing felt fine, and I didn’t want to burden you with nothing more than vague feelings.”

Amazing, how such a sensible plan sounded like rubbish when he had to speak it aloud.

“Do you remember when you offered me your post? Just earlier, that day, Hera had told me that I could, perhaps, learn more about what was the matter if I found something new to work for. It couldn’t have come at a better time. Even though…” He quietly promised to make Hera a nice snack. “I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea. I was just a chef. What business did I have, putting on a fancy hat and telling people what to do? How badly might that go?”

Unconsciously, his hand drifted to his chest, and rubbed at soft wool that only yesterday ached to the touch.

“It. Hasn’t gone perfectly, yes. Ah, no, that’s beside the point. We’re here, and we’re alive, and we have the Lanterns now, and that’s more than I thought we’d get. It’s more than I thought I could do, even though it nearly all went wrong. After…after I got hurt, it got me to thinking; if I could do this much, then perhaps I could think a little more about what I wanted? If I’m at least this much more than a chef, then, maybe, I could ask a little more?”

“And I realized I wanted you. Vasilia, I want you so badly. I don’t want to travel, or do any of this, if it’s not with you. But when you and Bella…” A hundred words offer their services. None feel up to the task. So they burn, restless, in his throat.

“Dolce…” She looks so worried. At him. At his chest. At his face. “If you don’t-”

“Please. Please listen, I have to get through this part. I can do this.”

“Very well. Just. Just be careful. We can speak more tomorrow. It doesn’t have to all be tonight.”

Wouldn’t that be nice? But he cannot rest on the thought of retreat too long. If the momentum is gone, then…! “I thought about losing you, Vasillia. I’d always worried, maybe one day, you’d realize I was just a silly little chef, but never, I’d never actually lived in a world where it might happen. And that hurt. It hurt terribly. Losing you, that would hurt more than anything, ever. I kept thinking about what I could do to make the feeling go away. There must be something I could do to make sure this would never happen again. But all this? Being Captain? Made me realize I didn’t just want you. I want a life with you, Vasilia. Not just any life. Not a life where I serve you in fear of losing you. I want a life where I serve you because I’d burst if I couldn’t. I want to wake up, and know that you’re there as sure as I breathe. I want to make your meals, find you treasures, plan such adventures with you, and hardly be able to think straight for how much I’m looking forward to your smile. And I can’t see your smile if I’m too busy worrying I’ll lose it.”

She does not smile, now. Where a smile might live is broken, and her eyes are anguished longing, and her hands tremble not to hold him, and through the pain she manages a slight, questioning nod.

The words are exhausted, now. Let whatever may come, come. He nods back.

And at once she gathers him up and sits him on her lap and wraps her arms around him tight, so tight. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, darling. My darling. Whenever, wherever you fear, you must tell me. If you’re able, please, tell me. I thought I could see you hurting, but when I asked you, you always said you were so fine, and, and! I didn’t know what to think anymore. If I’d known, I would have told you, in any way you needed me to say it, that you were my most precious treasure. And nothing would ever, ever change that. My dear heart. My dear, dear Dolce.”

Of all the terrible futures he might have brought about, somehow, he never thought to really anticipate the one he was hoping for. “Vasilia…” Now, he trembles. Now, the tension locked tight in his heart releases, and he holds onto her for dear life.

“Shhh. Shhh, it’s alright, darling. It’ll be okay. I’m here. It’ll be okay.” She whispers into his wool, brushing the terrifying thoughts aside like so much dust. “I want to know how I can keep from hurting you again. You don’t deserve to face that from me, ever again.”

“I think…in the future, we shouldn’t do a plan like that, even if we’re out of options. Where we play with hearts, I mean. It doesn’t feel right, and, even if I know it’s for the mission, I don’t think I can keep from breaking apart.”

“Of course. Of course. Where should I draw the line? Touching another’s arm? A clever line to throw them off-balance?” When he grew quiet, to think, she added. “Whatever answer you give is okay. I don’t want to win a victory at your expense.”

“I think, if it were just teasing, perhaps? And you yourself were out of reach? I don’t know…”

“We’ll start there, then. If we need to move it, you can signal me. Cough loudly, or, I don’t know, do something attention-grabbing. We can work on it. Together.”

He feels, rather than sees, the thought approaching. The tensing of her shoulders. Her chest swelling with a sharp, bracing breath.

“Here. Just so you know, I don’t tell this story out of guilt. Well, okay, there’s guilt, but it’s not the motivating factor. You’ve not, forced this out of me, even though it is a rather big exercise in trust, but, ugh!” Pouting lionesses were difficult to take seriously. Fortunately, he had a lot of practice. “Look. It’s a story that I wish I had told you a long time ago. It’s a story you ought to hear, one that very few people in the universe know. And I want to trust you with it. I want you to hear it, and see me. As I am. Not…not as I might pretend to be, at times…”

Fitting, that the telling should begin how it would end; in each other’s arms. As gaps were filled, and a hundred questions answered, he nestled up in the crook of her arm, where he’d always fit. Her hands found their homes in his wool. Their heartbeats slowed, as one. There was much to learn, for the both of them. Too much to fit into a single night. They had thoughts to turn over, experiments to try, questions that would only come in time. But all must begin somewhere.

They were together again. Let that be enough to start.

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

“She means to kill the Princess.” Dolce says from his seat. “It was her aim on Salib. I don’t think she would give up so easily.”

“Not on treachery of that level, no.” Vasilia added, standing by his side as she surveyed the scene. “If she means to kill the heir, then she most certainly won’t stop with that. All of us are loose ends she must tie up, and this will be her best chance.”

“Indeed.” He nodded, then raised his voice over the collective murmuring. “Mynx? If you are listening, you have the best insight of all of us into her plans. What do you think?”

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

The blade demands one arm. It will not serve her here. So she cradles Melody’s tiny frame in the crook of the one arm she’s got left. Do you strain to reach her? To hide away? Don’t. Don’t you move a muscle. She’ll hold you closer. Sneak one, solitary finger behind your head, and keep it from falling limp. (She cannot feel the wave of hair, cascading over her claw. No silk ever looked so soft.) She’s got you. Rest in the shade of her body. Her scales can endure a hundred suns. You are safe. You must be safe.

The fearsome head of the Vermillion Beast of Lanterns dips low to the Priestess, then freezes. What…what does her head look like? She’d seen glimpses, in rivers, on posters, but in the hoards of her memories not one face belongs to her. She senses no spike or ridge along her neck, as she swallows great lungfuls of stinking air. Nothing below her jaws either. So. Perhaps? Perhaps she can descend, slowly. By inches. By the breadth of hairs. Freeze, when she feels the slightest pressure. Listen, for cries of pain. Feel, for agony. Then, with barely a twitch of movement, back and forth. Brushing against her forehead.

Her jaws part hardly at all, keeping rows of fangs hidden. The Beast does not talk. The Beast is not made for talking. The Beast roars and thunders. Rips and tears. From the corners of upturned lips rumbles forth a crude, discordant avalanche of a voice. Feel it echo through her body, straining to break forth in horrible violence. Feel it, if you do not wish to hear it.

“liTtLe........bUd.”

No more. Any more, and. She’ll break it. She’ll break her. She’ll break the most precious thing she’s ever been allowed to hold.

Please. Just let that be enough.

Breathless Dead

He stands, today. Did you expect otherwise? Did you intend to visit him at his sickbed, deliver the news when he was too ill to shout at you? Unfortunate; now you bar his way. He waits there for you to finish, dressed in his sharpest coat, hat perched proudly atop his fluffy head. You cannot escape his clever gaze. He sees you. He hears you. He takes you in like you are the only other soul aboard this vessel, his vessel, and then? And then?!

He stumbles to close the distance. He throws his arms around you, and gathers you up in a soft, squeezing hug.

“You’ve come back to us.”

He chokes.

“I was so afraid…you’d lost yourself and your way. And we’d never see you again…”

If there is more to say on the matter, let it not be heard. If there is more to say, let it be said in the language of tears leaking from eyes squeezed shut. Of hats fallen to the deck, forgotten in the light of things far more important. Of arms trembling as they burn through precious reserves of strength to keep a once-lost friend from ever leaving again.

“If this is what you want.” How does such a small voice sound so steady? “If you think that a new desire might help you find your impossible dream, if it will help you build the language that show the shape of your heart, then I will find a new post for you at once. But please. Please. Don’t make a punishment of this.”

A last bit of strength. One last, little squeeze.

“Not when I’ve not asked for one.”

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

“Redana. Darling. Do you know what else is cool?”

A single paw strains, reaches, and desperately pats at her back.

“Inside voices. Please.”

This isn’t real. No. No. Don’t let him see. Isn’t it enough that she told him? He knows enough. Don’t. No. He can’t. Don’t make him see. He can’t see her. No. No. No. No. No.

“I, ah, it’s quite alright, no one asked you to find out. Not your duty, not by a long shot.” Who’s here? Who’s listening? Leave! All of you! Before she makes you! ”I didn’t think the full details of that day were worth wide dissemination. Certainly not a concern to you.”

Then, only then, does she face those big, unfairly precious eyes of yours. The one that stabs her through the heart. The one that lays her thoughts bare.

“...so. How. Exactly. Did you ‘see the whole thing?’”

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

She got distracted.

She got distracted by the kidnapper, and could not save Melody from this terror. She should never sound like this. It is not right.

And she will burn the world until it is so.

She reaches a claw behind over her shoulder. Her sword flows off her back, sparks flying between blade and ridge, and as she takes hold it flashes to its full might. Keen of edge. Unbreakable, even with her might. Holding her as tightly as she holds it.

Before her are two identical demons. But of the two of them, one of them has hold of Melody. And so, it is no decision at all.

Down she falls. Down, leaping from the falling rain of Kingeater castle, a jagged, blurring missile, and at the last step she turns on the width of a reed and her blade howls at the speed of her strike. Through coat, through carapace, through wrongness beneath, they are all damp paper. The demon’s rantings turn to enraged screaming. A dozen arms, thick as tree trunks, descend upon her. A dozen arms fall severed. She does not slow a step.

One. One arm reaches through the rain of its brothers. One arm gets close enough to touch her. She catches it - no, she punches it with her own free fist. Her scales are undented. The Generals’ knuckles are bruised. But she slows, just a step. An opening. One becomes many. From all directions, the unholy things grasp at her, to bury her twice and for good.

And all of them burn.

Hotter. Hotter. Hotter! Until the air melts around her! Until she turns from vermillion to blazing white! Until her scales cry out, straining to contain a sun! Until every leap and lunge is an explosion pushing faster, faster than the infinite arms of Hell’s own General! See them languish in her wake! See them turn to ash and recoil in twitching agony! See the blazing comet circle the general, and if your eyes are not equal to the task then follow the trail of burning gashes up his body! Up and up, tighter and tighter, and for a moment she is a roaring halo above his head, bathing all of Hell in her light!

The whip cracks.

The lightning falls.

A hammer-blow of the heavens, condensed into a single stroke, pushes back the eternal clouds of Hell. And in the light of that baleful sun, a General is made to kneel.

A silken rope falls from his hands, and the blade of Heaven takes it in her claw. A snap of the wrist. One last, dizzying twirl. Melody is safe, bundled up, and clutched tightly to her still-warm scales.

The world is made right again.

[Rolling to Fight: 2 + 4 + 2 = 8. Marking Frightened to pick another option with Ferocious:
-Inflict a Condition
-Take something from him (Melody)
-Create an opportunity for an ally (Fengye, for only an imposter would kneel so easily)]

Breathless Dead

He sits upright, today. His wool curls marvelously, all creamy softness and no memory of blood. Vasilia wasted no time in cleaning him up properly. She’s laid out charts and papers before him, close at hand, and he’s made a valiant dent in the pile today. There will always be some matters easily resolved.

Alexa’s arrival heralds the start of a much-needed break, for the answer of 'when you are ready for tea' is a resounding 'five minutes ago.' Do not take it for an insult, She of No Arms, when the infirm Captain unscrews the thermos and pours a perfect cup without spilling a drop. He takes but a little sip, enough to warm his belly, and curls up with the cup hugged in both hands.

It is here, where you ask your question. As heart and body warm, and troubles are naturally coaxed free.

“...it is odd, being Captain.” He stares at his own reflection in the cup. “Everyone looks to you for direction, so naturally, I assumed the job would come with a great deal of scrutiny. And, it has, yes, it very much has. And yet, when I ordered a pursuit, no one noticed I gave no instructions for when we catch up.”

Sitting here, you can see the papers more clearly now. Trajectory through the warp. Estimations of relative speed. Interior of the Plousious, as best as could be remembered. Notes, in tiny, scrawling hands, of intel overheard from duct and shadow. Compiled into a rough list of opposition: A Master of Assassins. A number of Kaeri warriors.

A single name, accompanied by a question mark.

“I keep expecting someone to come in at any moment, and ask for me to fill in the gap. I’ll have to, soon. But I hope they give me a while longer. Not because I’m trying to stall, no. I know there’s no one else but me to make this decision, or else why have a Captain? There’s just, oh, there’s so much to consider, and every bit, I have to go over with a fine-toothed comb, and wonder if I’m just seeing what I want to instead of what’s right.”

Dolce heaves a miserable sigh, and slumps his shoulders, and the motion upsets a delicate equilibrium of documents. A star chart slides aside. A freeform, sprawling list, written in his own hand, sits ready beneath it. His eyes draw to it. They cannot help it. It is where they rest, when there is nothing else. When there is not something more pressing to hide it.

“I’ve also been, trying, to record things. Whenever I can, when they come to me. It’s not - it doesn't work if I try to, it’s like there’s a great cloud over those minutes, and only, sometimes, I see something, and it’ll remind me, and then. I write. As best as I can. It’s not for the mission, really, but.”

He shrinks around his cup of tea.

“I don’t know if I can remember it all. I think that might be a little horrible of me.”

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

“Apart from the odd laugh, and the air of mystery, I thought there was no use for the past. That the sooner I could be rid of it, the better.” Vasilia takes the vacant spot on the rail beside her, and the opportunity to continue. “But without it, what then is your present? How do you find a future? With no foundation to build on, you simply…are. And such you will remain.”

She watches the stars in vain. Her eye finds the blazing trail for a moment, before it is lost in a sea of its fellows, and all is blinding, intoxicating swirls of color. She stares. She follows. She blinks, again.

“In case you’ve misplaced your present, dear Alexa.” An impish smile tugs at her lips. “Currently, you are on a ship, hurtling towards your father, after winning the respect and honor of the forces he himself raised up, puzzling out how to subvert his every command to you, in hopes of discovering how to 'rescue' him away forever so he will do no harm to himself or others.”

“Is that really how the old bastard raised you?”

Breathless Dead

He’d seemed smaller than she’d ever remembered. A pale, wispy thing, held in place by heavy blankets, or else he would surely dissipate at the slightest breeze. Perhaps the king-sized bed didn’t help matters, but! But! See the bandages! See his wearied, labored breaths! Didn’t he need this kind of care? Dear Dolce. Dear heart. Forgive her. Forgive her.

So she was caught off-guard when the woolen lump leapt to her arms hard enough to make her stumble. And when her shocked, laughing introduction was so rudely interrupted by overjoyed kisses. And, she couldn’t recall if she pushed him down, or those tiny arms pulled her in, but she did distinctly recall a whiff of cigarette smoke as her mind turned to deeper concerns. A week was a long time, after all. They had a litany of kisses to perform.

For greeting, for surprise, for dispelling worries both real and imagined, for every night of absence, double for every lonely morning, for indignation at now, of all times, to be so full of cheek, and you must be quiet now or else, for the way you speak when you must finish your thoughts even when you are melting to uselessness, for the love of your wool, for the love of your fur, for love, and always for love. And when they’ve both lost their breath, they cannot be close to halfway done. She clutches him tight to her chest, and presses fond, lingering kisses to his forehead whenever she thinks of him absent, and he pecks at her cheeks with contended little bleats whenever he thinks of a world without her.

“I thought-”

“Shhhhhhhhh. Shhhhh, darling. No more thinking. Not tonight.”

“I’m allowed a little thinking. Captains have to think”

Unassailable logic. She yielded the point, but it cost him dearly in nibbled ears.

“I thought I might never see you again. And. Now, I think I know what to say. What I should have said, but I didn’t know how to say it. That I even needed to say it.” He does not name the time. He does not have to. They are in her ship, after all. The space is theirs, the light is theirs, the warmth and the safety is all of their own making, but it remains her ship.

“Ah.” She adjusts. Her arms close tighter. “Is it…?”

“It may not all be pleasant. But. I think, we ought to go over it, all the same. For us.”

For us.

Could she have imagined him tackling so directly that which he’d evaded and excused before? Just how had her little chef - no, her little Captain spent this week?

“Yes. Yes, I know, darling. I. There are some stories I must tell you as well. Old, old stories.” She hears him gasp. “Stories that I should have told you long, long ago.”

“...but not tonight.”

“Not tonight.” She lifted his chin, and marveled that such a face could be his. Could be hers.

“Not tonight…”