TheAmishPirate

Breathless Dead

For the entirety of his piracy career, Dolce has operated in the shadows of brighter heroes. An unseen hand, ever-vigilant, ever-careful, possessed with an impeccable sense of timing and a nigh-unnatural ability to slip from awareness, his was the role to elevate others to greater heights, with hardly anyone noticing what he’d done, and that suited him fine. But today he leads a war, as a Captain, and it will not suit anyone to search long for him on the field.

Ahead of the host he stands, clad in a thick suit of densely-woven material, dyed stormcloud-grey against the pale sands. No one on the field wears its like, for only he knows the ways of shearing and spinning. The wool of the Manor can, in the right hands, turn to purposes other than luxury. Do not rub your eyes, oh Lanterns, you have not been blinded by Apollo’s light. Sparks dance within the depths, static charges swirling about him, guided by slight nuance of step and gesture. No blade or shot will be stopped, but many will find their blows frustratingly turned aside. Vital points hidden in a maze of fabric, body obscured by purposeful asymmetry. Atop his head, he wears a matching cap, adorned with his badge of office, complete with earflaps tied around his chin to better spare his ears from the cacophony of battle.

And beside the stormcloud, stands the lightning.

Where her husband stands solemn and sure, Vasilia seizes eyes and demands their full attention. See her body, powerful, strong, wrapped in countless tiny links of sparkling mail. Trace the thunderbolts around her chest, colored in shining gold; the pride of pirates everywhere. No scarf or cape to tangle her limbs. She is free, to fly, to draw any of the numerous weapons hanging from her belt and back, and strike devastation wherever she lands. Steel your hearts, o foes, that when the glittering whirlwind bursts forth from the poisonous smoke, you might not be instantly annihilated.

Together they stand at the fore. Together they are among the best skirmishers to grace the Starsong Privateers. Together they sweep the enemy lines, and neither of them see the one they are looking for.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Why should Red Wolf mind the challenge of this upstart dragon? She sits, on the other end of a high-class banquet, and any threat to her seat must first contend with this phalanx of high society. Han has hardly taken her first step forward, and already the waters rush in to swallow her whole.

Which startles her more; the soft, but firm touch of Emli on her wrist, or the discovery that the extra forks weren’t just spares? What is she to say to place-setting drills and pouting faces and, and, certain? Phrasings?! She mumbles out her thanks, and instinctively knows she’s done something wrong. (No one will tell her what, but they’ll make her pay for it.) The meal offers little refuge. Nothing here looks familiar. Some dishes ask for forks. Some dishes ask for hands. Others are not dishes, they are garnishes, and only some of those are edible. It’s anyone’s guess which is which. Cups of sauces surround platters full of savory meats, and perhaps they are the table’s, or perhaps they are for pouring. A small plate orbits her larger one, and that may be hers, or it may not be, and everybody here already knows but her, and the only way she can find out is by watching everyone else, intently, but not too obviously, and her stomach rumbles at the smell of it all, but she has to wait, she has to look, she has to, she has to, she has to.

(She has to. If it is to happen, for her, she has to do it.)

Unless, food should happen to be on her plate already. Unless, somebody were to keep her wineglass full. Unless, the person sitting next to her (so close to her) seemed to always be having what she was having, and slowly, so that she can watch how it is meant to be eaten. Unless, somebody were to fold up her pancakes into tasty little bundles, with just the right blend of flavor and texture so that every bite is crunchable and perfect. With every dish, pour, and touch of the hand, Emli plucks a little weight off of Han’s shoulders, and only when it is gone does she realize she was carrying it in the first place. Only by the overwhelming relief a full glass brings her does she realize she was worrying about fetching more, and now she doesn’t have to.

It’s. Nice. Unusual, but nice. So unusual that, moments later, she will mindlessly reach for the pitcher again. When the tray of those scrumptious pancakes passes through, she’ll try to grab some without thinking. Patience, Emli, patience. She has not snapped at you yet for your forwardness. Her eyes flash surprise, confusion, the barest hint of alarm, but then she relaxes, pliable in your expert hand as you guide her back where she belongs.

She is on edge. She sits in the den of her most hated enemy, and knows not what she plans. She sits beside a loyal agent of the enemy, and knows not what to think. But she is starving. She is thirsty, for water, for strong drink, for company. She is tired, so tired, weary from toil and injury. And isn’t it so nice, to have such simple needs met, gladly, without having to do a thing herself?

Patience, Emli. Patience.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh this one? Which one?” Han blinks, peering through a whirlwind of fine dining back into the present, the person sitting next to her. “Oh. Uh, that one. Uhhhhhhh.” She rubs her neck, struggling to remember. (Her eyes had been locked on the priestess as she nibbled on a strawberry. Sitting so close, how could Emli miss the heat rising in her cheeks?) “Oh yeah, that one. Wrestled a tiger that got a taste for village livestock. Jerk got a few good swipes in, before I threw them over the nearest river. Learned his lesson after that.”

(Nobody saw her do it. The good villagers of the Flower Kingdoms had given her the cold shoulder, but not before she caught wind of their tiger problem. She could’ve stoked the fires within her, sent a surge of vitality through her body to heal her wounds, but she’d have been stuck in the wilderness afterwards, little more than a defenseless lump. By the time she’d found a safe place to crash, the wounds were too old to simply erase.)

Han follows Red Wolf’s conversation, for there still is some part of her clinging to her words, searching for the knife she’s positive must be there. And, come to think of it, who was this other guest? She was with them when they all left, but was she with them in Hell itself? Not that she could remember...

Weird. Very weird.

Breathless Dead

“Heap punishment on my head, but let us save her if we can. Lock us in cages, but set them together. Make me do penance in her name, shame and denounce me for her crimes, whatever must be done, I welcome it. Only do not make me abandon my oldest, most ill-treated friend.

“Please.”

@Tatterdemalion

"You did not let her do anything." Vasilia counters deftly. "She made her decisions, not you. You have given her more second chances than she’s deserved, and every single time she’s spat in your face. You ask us to risk all of our lives on the chance that this time could be any different. You know we cannot do that."

"And Praetor Bella saved us," she said loudly, a voice that cracked against the plastic walls of the Anemoi. "She broke a reign of shadows and cruelty, made us masters of our own house. And this is our house. You would abandon the Praetor because you fear what she will do? You should fear what we shall do if you turn your faces from the only soul who ever showed us kindness."

@Thanqol

The full weight of her attention falls on the mouse, and to her surprise, she stands unmoved. "So either we let her on board, where she can doom us at her leisure, or we leave her behind, and you’ll do it for her. Wonderful! You really do take after her."

"Did you hear about the Ikarani?" said Mynx, speaking with a dry throat into the silence. "The last time I worked with her she dropped a space station on a city to kill a single target. Millions dead. That's what they do, that's what they're like. Natural disasters and freak accidents are their tools of murder. And yet, on Salib, not a single civilian died. Who told her to care about collateral damage? Who put chains on the earthquake? Because it wasn't the Kaeri, and it wasn't the Master of Assassins."

@Thanqol

"She has two standards, now, is that it?" The laugh in her voice grows dangerously unplayful. "Why haven’t we stopped to memorialize her tale in song? Saints of her virtue don’t come along every day."

"I do not want to see her hurt. She's hurt us, yes. But I still find it hard to divorce her now from the friend she was on Tellus.

"Surely, we can afford to show her some mercy, if the chance arises?"

@Balmas

Her mouth opens. Her beat arrives. And she cannot make her cue this time. “The friend she - and how much will we put our necks out in search of that ‘chance?!’ The friend you know isn’t there anymore. She is dead. And none of you-”

Dolce rests his hand on hers, and squeezes. Enough to forestall further argument. Enough to remind her that he has heard her, and will not dismiss her. Enough. It is enough, my dear. She makes a show of straightening her jacket as she steps back behind him, taking her place at his right hand.

The arguments have been made. Now it is his turn. All he really had to do was put up his sail, and surrender to the popular result. But was the right choice always the popular one? Should his mind always be changed, if enough people spoke out against him? Would Vasilia accept that there was nothing he could’ve done?

No. No, it was his turn. Or else why even have a Captain?

“When our journey started, I recognized Bella not for who she was, but for the position she found herself in. One with a task assigned to her, and punishments awaiting her should she fail. Punishments worse than those she had already received. What a shame, I thought, that we were all at cross purposes. In those days, I prayed for the opportunity to meet her in a moment of quiet, before the fighting could have a chance to start. Maybe I could, in some way, make her burden a little lighter. Wouldn’t that have been something?” He smiled, wistfully, to remember such bright days. “But that is not what’s happened. To simply say she was thrust, unfairly, into this conflict, and acts only out of hurt, excuses the decisions she’s made. Does a…terrible disservice, to those she has hurt.”

“But, as it so happened, my first impression was entirely wrong. I was wrong about her choice in the matter. And I was wrong about the circumstances she’d found herself in. ‘Unfair’ hardly begins to cover it. I have seen a _glimpse_ of the darkness hanging over the Empire, and I very nearly did not survive it. That she has taken a step - any step - out of line, cannot be understated. She has stayed her hand, even a little, when the consequences for failure are impossibly high, and I cannot ignore that.”

“Which brings us to the present: We have no guarantees that she will take any escape we can offer her. All we have is a chance that she might. All we can do is decide whether we will extend our hand. We are under no obligation to offer her another chance. If we were to turn aside, we would stand well within our rights to do so. The choice is ours, to make as we see fit.”

The breath catches in his throat.

“...I have thought long and hard. I have asked all who could tell me about her, and listened to their stories of the Bella they knew. And yet, if I had her here, and could ask her any question, and know that she would tell me the whole truth, I cannot begin to imagine what she would say if I asked her 'why?' Why wasn’t it enough, to have my wife in chains? Why did your mission need you to take her…” To his shame, he could not stop his eyes from watering. Please do not think less of your captain, oh noble crew, if his sleeves are stained. “...why? Why did you have to hurt her so much?”

“I can’t see any benefit to it. I can’t see any sense in it. If I cannot find an answer. If there is no answer. What do I make of her, then?”

“If Redana were here, she would make of her an old, ill-treated friend, still terribly close to her heart. Jil makes of her the one, good Captain she’s ever served under. Mynx makes of her one who still feels mercy, in spite of the peril it could bring her. Alexa makes of her an old friend, who may yet still live. I cannot make myself believe any of it like they do. I can’t ignore my own feelings, my own sight, in favor of theirs. But. Maybe I don’t have to.”

“When the Starsong first found me, huddled in their ventilation ducts, all they knew is that I was a cook and a stowaway. And yet, they welcomed me in. All that I am today, I owe to that one offer of kindness and mercy.” All the way up to the chair he now occupies, the one that demands he choose. “I cannot see why Bella deserves mercy. But I can see what it’s done for me. I can see that my crew, my friends, those that I love, wish to show it now. What answer of Bella’s can change that?”

The choice was his, in the end. To make as he saw fit.

“I. Don’t know what this attempt will cost us. I hardly know what I would do, if I were to see her every day for the rest of this voyage, but we will deal with one matter at a time. If the attempt would cost us our mission, our lives, then there is nothing to be done. Such is the fate we are dealt, and we must find a way to press on. But if the chance exists, then by the name of Zeus I swear, we will not leave Bella in the hands of the Master of Assassins.”

So as the Thunderer hits her mark, so too will they all return in triumph, or not at all.

“We leave in half an hour. Prepare yourselves.”

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?’”