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Zeus23Junebug explains how it went down
Penny Member
STATUS: Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad. 16 days ago
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16 days ago
Current
Ethical issues aside, AI prose is just really bad.
3
likes
24 days ago
She wanted to read, she wanted to write, but the main thing she wanted was something to fight
4
likes
1 yr ago
Make it clear that you don't need him to be reading Dante tomorrow. Also suggest it would be fun if you had a private language that you could use to mock English speakers in secret.
5
likes
2 yrs ago
Luckily history suggests an infinite ability for people to be shit heads ;)
1
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3 yrs ago
Achmed the Snake
1
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Bio
Early 30's. I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.
Most Recent Posts
Rene smiled and climbed into bed beside Solae, carefully manuevring himself so he could slide his arms around her waist without pressing on her injured legs. It felt really good to have her against him, warm, vibrant and alive. While she had been buried he hadn't allowed himself, consciously, to face the fact that she might be killed but some part of him had plunged into the black abyss of what life might be like without her. To feel her against him was an affirmation that she was real and still with him.
"Make a good impression," he mused with a smile as he brushed a lock of her gold white hair with his finger tips. He supposed that if they both survived that such a meeting was at least possible. Legally he wasn't Renard du Quentain any longer, but he remained his father's son, both in his own eyes and in Alric's. Probably in the eyes of the Empress to which might or might not complicate matters. What the Empress might have to say about a Sector Duchess marrying a common soldier was beyond Rene's abillity to predict, and it was hard to tell whether his heritage would complicate or simplify the situation. Solae was technically a vassal of the Empress, but there was limited leverage a sovereign could bring against a Duchess.
"He ..." Rene hesitated, momentarily caught between the desire to present his father in a good light and an unwillingness to speak less than the whole truth to the woman he loved. As ever he chose to be honest.
"He was distant when I was a boy, never cruel or disinterested, just kind of mentally away," he told her, thinking back to excitedly reporting some minor accomplishment of education to his father. Most often Alric had nodded and offered a few pro forma words of encouragement, but not really engaged.
"He was an Admiral before I was born, though he had retired, or been retired by the time I was born, the Emperor Phillipus was always wary of effective officers of high rank," Rene explained. That had been true, Alric had been granted the rank of Imperial Adviser as much to get him away from a military command as to get him to Capella where Phillipus and his secret police could keep an eye on him.
"I always got the impression that he would rather have been out there in space than stuck on Capella. He was away alot, he spent alot of time with the Empress when she was cloistered away as a girl. I think Phillipus thought that it would keep him occupied, an important but pointless post," Rene said. He cleared his throat.
"He did his duty though, he always does that," Rene told Solae. Noble families rarely had close and loving relationships with their children, as most of the child rearing was usually done by servants.
"And he cares about family," Rene said, a slight smile tugging at his lips for the first time since he had begun speaking.
"When I was thirteen I was fencing with another nobles son, I had beaten him several times but we were the top two in the class so we kept getting matched up. One day he made some crack about my mother being a commoner, she wasn't really but she was a scientist by inclination and it wasn't an incredible match politically. I broke his nose before the tutors broke it up. They threw me out of the competition. When my father heard about it he called me into his study, told me he was proud that I had stood up for my mother, and that if I ever did something so impulsive and stupid again he would break my nose for me," Rene chuckled.
"He said that nobility isn't something that is on the outside, that it is inside of us, and that so long as you know who you are and what you stand for, what other people say really dosent matter."
"Make a good impression," he mused with a smile as he brushed a lock of her gold white hair with his finger tips. He supposed that if they both survived that such a meeting was at least possible. Legally he wasn't Renard du Quentain any longer, but he remained his father's son, both in his own eyes and in Alric's. Probably in the eyes of the Empress to which might or might not complicate matters. What the Empress might have to say about a Sector Duchess marrying a common soldier was beyond Rene's abillity to predict, and it was hard to tell whether his heritage would complicate or simplify the situation. Solae was technically a vassal of the Empress, but there was limited leverage a sovereign could bring against a Duchess.
"He ..." Rene hesitated, momentarily caught between the desire to present his father in a good light and an unwillingness to speak less than the whole truth to the woman he loved. As ever he chose to be honest.
"He was distant when I was a boy, never cruel or disinterested, just kind of mentally away," he told her, thinking back to excitedly reporting some minor accomplishment of education to his father. Most often Alric had nodded and offered a few pro forma words of encouragement, but not really engaged.
"He was an Admiral before I was born, though he had retired, or been retired by the time I was born, the Emperor Phillipus was always wary of effective officers of high rank," Rene explained. That had been true, Alric had been granted the rank of Imperial Adviser as much to get him away from a military command as to get him to Capella where Phillipus and his secret police could keep an eye on him.
"I always got the impression that he would rather have been out there in space than stuck on Capella. He was away alot, he spent alot of time with the Empress when she was cloistered away as a girl. I think Phillipus thought that it would keep him occupied, an important but pointless post," Rene said. He cleared his throat.
"He did his duty though, he always does that," Rene told Solae. Noble families rarely had close and loving relationships with their children, as most of the child rearing was usually done by servants.
"And he cares about family," Rene said, a slight smile tugging at his lips for the first time since he had begun speaking.
"When I was thirteen I was fencing with another nobles son, I had beaten him several times but we were the top two in the class so we kept getting matched up. One day he made some crack about my mother being a commoner, she wasn't really but she was a scientist by inclination and it wasn't an incredible match politically. I broke his nose before the tutors broke it up. They threw me out of the competition. When my father heard about it he called me into his study, told me he was proud that I had stood up for my mother, and that if I ever did something so impulsive and stupid again he would break my nose for me," Rene chuckled.
"He said that nobility isn't something that is on the outside, that it is inside of us, and that so long as you know who you are and what you stand for, what other people say really dosent matter."
Jessica was an old hand at moving in zero gravity. Lacking electronics, the suit she wore had no power assist or maneuvering jets, but she propelled herself by a series of taps and jabs at the bulkheads and walls, correcting spins and tumbles as instinctively as a fish navigates the currents of the sea. The task was made somewhat more difficult by the constant collisions with small pieces of debris. The taps were comforting after so long aboard the Abortion where the only sound had been her breathing and the beat of her heart.
The thought that Neesa might be leading her away from her crew to ambush her did occur, but it was hard to see what the alien could hope to accomplish by killing her. Taking her hostage would be a better plan, but the leverage would still be on the side of the crew who were the only ones with a plan for getting off this hulk alive.
Luminesce now seemed to be raditating from the Starborn, soft by obviously no natural glow. Jessica wondered if Nessa could turn the light off at will.
"How did they capture you?" she asked as she caught up with Nessa, catching the edge of the hatch combing with her fingers to arrest her freefall.
"YOu seem like you can take care of yourself."
The thought that Neesa might be leading her away from her crew to ambush her did occur, but it was hard to see what the alien could hope to accomplish by killing her. Taking her hostage would be a better plan, but the leverage would still be on the side of the crew who were the only ones with a plan for getting off this hulk alive.
Luminesce now seemed to be raditating from the Starborn, soft by obviously no natural glow. Jessica wondered if Nessa could turn the light off at will.
"How did they capture you?" she asked as she caught up with Nessa, catching the edge of the hatch combing with her fingers to arrest her freefall.
"YOu seem like you can take care of yourself."
Emmaline glared daggers at Markus as she dropped the Sigmar stone back into the basket. She avoided stamping a foot by a colossal effort of will before stalking back to the cabin. Slipping inside she latched the door and pulled off her clothing, swabbing herself down with a sponge, making no effort to hurry. Once she had cleansed herself of the mornings labor she took a comb and began combing her hair, patiently delivering the one hundred strokes until it regained something of its bounce. Finally she changed into the silken dress she had worn when she had first been captured. The dress was not better for having some of its stitching plucked out as improvised sucher. Even so it qualified as finery in Sartosa. Her palms were red from pushing the heavy sanding stone, though for a miracle she had managed to mostly maintain her nails. For sheer spite she waited a few minutes more before finally emerging from the cabin just as Morgan was reaching for the latched. The senior privateer gave her a frustrated glance which Emmaline did not deign to notice.
"Ten minutes?" Markus asked acidly as she joined him on the gangplank.
"It takes as long as it takes, if you like I can go back and put on makeup," she returned testily. Realistically she didn't have any makeup, though there were supplies on board with which she thought she could make a serviceable rogue and perhaps lip powder.
Markus seemed on the verge of reprimanding her further but glanced up at the sun and then walked down the gangplank. Emmaline followed as they made their way through the streets. Pirates in various stages of post-inebriation groaned and lamented their lots in life, most more ore less laying where they had fallen when their money or capacity had given out the previous night. There were no bodies actually visible, though Emmaline suspected that might be because they had been picked clean and tossed wherever was coinvent and out of sight. They moved up to a series of rickety looking warehouse that were built close to the dock but high enough to avoid the moisture from the harbor.
The spice merchants warehouse was near the outskirts, and was in somewhat better repair of the structure doubtlessly reflected the high price of the good stored within. Across the square stood a stockade of spaced timbers which had been woven with rope which looked to be discarded rigging from ships. The resulting cage was not particularly sturdy, but the several dozen captives inside had little incentive to go anywhere. Beyond the five or six bored looking guards with coach guns and halberds, there literally was no where for them to go. Emmaline gave them a curious glance and caught sight of a strange figure. Slipping away from Markus she crossed the square to the cage. A couple of the guards made half hearted proportions, but they seemed more interested in nursing their sore heads. The prisoner who had caught Emmaline's eye was a rangy man in his late forties. His skin was a dark mahogany and he was naked save for a loin cloth and a strange head dress that seemed to be a woven towel. He was sitting cross legged by the fence with his palms pressed together. As she watched he opened his arms and moved his hands through a series of graceful motions. It wasn't magic, though it clearly had the appearance of ritual.
"Are you looking for anything in particular madam or do you just wish to watch and old man do yoga?" he asked, his dark brown eyes cracking open.
"Who are you?" she asked, gripping the rope that separated them. He chuckled.
"That is not really your question is it?" he replied, continuing to move through his ritual. Emmaline considered it.
"Are you from Ind?" she asked, earing herself another chuckle.
"I am Rajad Singh," he replied. One of the guards took a concerned step towards Emmaline but she held up a hand in bar. The guard paused. He didn't know who Emmaline was, but she was dressed well enough that she might be someone.
"Right but that wasn't my question," She returned. Rajad chuckled again, the sound coming easily and naturally to his lips.
"Gracious lady I am from Salan, which is not Ind to me, but is to you," he replied equably. Emmaline turned to the guard, catching sight of Markus across the square looking none to pleased. His hand rested on the butt of one of his pistols and though it would have been a long shot she wouldn't have bet he couldn't hit the guard if he had to.
"I wan't this man out of here," she told the guard. The pirate goggled at her, the fellow probably would have been less shocked if she slapped him.
"Look here miss, these slaves are waiting to be sold, you can bid on them like everyone..." he trailed off as Emmaline lowered her hand into a pouch and produced a pair of gold coins. The guard licked his lips nervously and glanced at his fellows.
"I.. err suppose, if you squared all of us, its possible that this slave might have died of a fever," one of the older guards said, glancing around at the rest of the guard detachment to ensure his fellows were in agreements, which judging by their hungry looks they enthusiastically were. Emmaline produced a handful of gold and passed it out. Once the coins were distributed they pushed the slaves back from a gate with their halberds and then escorted the unresisting Rajad out before sealing it once more.
"Right now bugger off before anyone else sees you," the spokesman for the group declared. Some pirate captain had just been cheated of his fee, though possibly he would be squared by the guards for his trouble. Emmaline guestured to Rajad and walked back across the square towards Markus.
"You are to be my mistress then?" he asked in his thick accent.
"Yes, no, sort of," she replied, uncertain of how exactly to procced. Rajad's face cracked into an unsettlingly white smile.
"Thank you for clearing that up," he mocked. Emmaline, already not best pleased with how her morning was going shot him a hard look.
"If I am not a slave, then I could go anywhere I suppose, I don't need to follow you," he pointed out. Emmaline snickered.
"Those coins I gave the guards were counterfeit, and when they figure it out they will probably try to recapture you if they don't string you up by your wedding tackle. Your best bet is to get out of port as quickly as possible," she explained.
"Ah," Rajad said bobbing his head in acknowledgement, "In that case I believe I will follow you as you direct."
"Ten minutes?" Markus asked acidly as she joined him on the gangplank.
"It takes as long as it takes, if you like I can go back and put on makeup," she returned testily. Realistically she didn't have any makeup, though there were supplies on board with which she thought she could make a serviceable rogue and perhaps lip powder.
Markus seemed on the verge of reprimanding her further but glanced up at the sun and then walked down the gangplank. Emmaline followed as they made their way through the streets. Pirates in various stages of post-inebriation groaned and lamented their lots in life, most more ore less laying where they had fallen when their money or capacity had given out the previous night. There were no bodies actually visible, though Emmaline suspected that might be because they had been picked clean and tossed wherever was coinvent and out of sight. They moved up to a series of rickety looking warehouse that were built close to the dock but high enough to avoid the moisture from the harbor.
The spice merchants warehouse was near the outskirts, and was in somewhat better repair of the structure doubtlessly reflected the high price of the good stored within. Across the square stood a stockade of spaced timbers which had been woven with rope which looked to be discarded rigging from ships. The resulting cage was not particularly sturdy, but the several dozen captives inside had little incentive to go anywhere. Beyond the five or six bored looking guards with coach guns and halberds, there literally was no where for them to go. Emmaline gave them a curious glance and caught sight of a strange figure. Slipping away from Markus she crossed the square to the cage. A couple of the guards made half hearted proportions, but they seemed more interested in nursing their sore heads. The prisoner who had caught Emmaline's eye was a rangy man in his late forties. His skin was a dark mahogany and he was naked save for a loin cloth and a strange head dress that seemed to be a woven towel. He was sitting cross legged by the fence with his palms pressed together. As she watched he opened his arms and moved his hands through a series of graceful motions. It wasn't magic, though it clearly had the appearance of ritual.
"Are you looking for anything in particular madam or do you just wish to watch and old man do yoga?" he asked, his dark brown eyes cracking open.
"Who are you?" she asked, gripping the rope that separated them. He chuckled.
"That is not really your question is it?" he replied, continuing to move through his ritual. Emmaline considered it.
"Are you from Ind?" she asked, earing herself another chuckle.
"I am Rajad Singh," he replied. One of the guards took a concerned step towards Emmaline but she held up a hand in bar. The guard paused. He didn't know who Emmaline was, but she was dressed well enough that she might be someone.
"Right but that wasn't my question," She returned. Rajad chuckled again, the sound coming easily and naturally to his lips.
"Gracious lady I am from Salan, which is not Ind to me, but is to you," he replied equably. Emmaline turned to the guard, catching sight of Markus across the square looking none to pleased. His hand rested on the butt of one of his pistols and though it would have been a long shot she wouldn't have bet he couldn't hit the guard if he had to.
"I wan't this man out of here," she told the guard. The pirate goggled at her, the fellow probably would have been less shocked if she slapped him.
"Look here miss, these slaves are waiting to be sold, you can bid on them like everyone..." he trailed off as Emmaline lowered her hand into a pouch and produced a pair of gold coins. The guard licked his lips nervously and glanced at his fellows.
"I.. err suppose, if you squared all of us, its possible that this slave might have died of a fever," one of the older guards said, glancing around at the rest of the guard detachment to ensure his fellows were in agreements, which judging by their hungry looks they enthusiastically were. Emmaline produced a handful of gold and passed it out. Once the coins were distributed they pushed the slaves back from a gate with their halberds and then escorted the unresisting Rajad out before sealing it once more.
"Right now bugger off before anyone else sees you," the spokesman for the group declared. Some pirate captain had just been cheated of his fee, though possibly he would be squared by the guards for his trouble. Emmaline guestured to Rajad and walked back across the square towards Markus.
"You are to be my mistress then?" he asked in his thick accent.
"Yes, no, sort of," she replied, uncertain of how exactly to procced. Rajad's face cracked into an unsettlingly white smile.
"Thank you for clearing that up," he mocked. Emmaline, already not best pleased with how her morning was going shot him a hard look.
"If I am not a slave, then I could go anywhere I suppose, I don't need to follow you," he pointed out. Emmaline snickered.
"Those coins I gave the guards were counterfeit, and when they figure it out they will probably try to recapture you if they don't string you up by your wedding tackle. Your best bet is to get out of port as quickly as possible," she explained.
"Ah," Rajad said bobbing his head in acknowledgement, "In that case I believe I will follow you as you direct."
Pushing my pulp up to 11 from its resting 10.5
a
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