TheAmishPirate

Breathless Dead

There. One more advantage they had that this king did not: She’d been standing on the bridge, waiting and watching for the launch she knew was coming. She saw the Plover’s trail. She saw where it headed. She could - roughly - guess which of the wrecks it might’ve taken refuge in.

They had a shot. A long shot, but a shot nonetheless.

Vasilia dropped her hand. “Go. See that she’s well, we’ll need all the hands we can get if we’re to get to Redana first. The new crew too, they’ll need to know where engines and steering are.”

Dolce nodded once, and was off like a wooly shot. If she hadn’t been listening keenly, she might’ve missed his little footfalls. Might’ve lost track of him before he’d left the bridge. Not today. Not now.

“One more thing?”

He stopped, one foot out the door. Outside, the void tore itself asunder, and the Armada loomed large, and Dolce, precious Dolce, looked only to her.

Her heart ached treacherously.

“Return to me soon, darling. Whole, and well.” She wore her warmest smile. For him. “That’s an order.”

The salute he threw was impeccable. The earnest bleating was a blessed bonus.

[The Pair are now Working Alone.]

Breathless Dead

Vasilia!

"In a heartbeat," said Jas'o, and you realize you've miscalculated.

@Thanqol

Oh?

And when was that, exactly?

Word to the wise; don't ask a question if you're not prepared for the answer[1].

"Let me be extremely clear: you are negotiating with the voice of Imperium. Compliance will be rewarded on a scale grander than you can imagine. Defiance, however, will be punished in similar scope. Defy the Admiral and she will find your homeworld. She will shatter it with a single blow. She will find the survivors and work them to death mining the shattered ruins of their planet. She will make a wasteland of the entire sector of space you originated from as a warning to others of your pathetic kind. Everything that you can imagine as valuable is but dust and starlight before the whims of Admiral Odoacer and the Armada."

There was a long, cold pause.

"So, what do you say? Let's put those silly threats behind us and work together! Everyone will be happy that way - even the Princess! We're just taking her home, after all!"

Alexa!

You are thrown in an unceremonious heap before the feet of King Jas'o right as he finishes his speech. "What's this?" he said. "Some sort of statue?"

"Deadly, sir," said one hoplite.
"Right fearsome," confirmed another.
"Mm. Looks valuable," he said, looking Alexa over. His men exchange glances like the bloodstains and rents in their shields should be telling a more sombre story, but the King is treating this as lightly as a feather. "I think I'll take it as my prize for capturing this vessel."
"My lord, I -"
"Up-up-up-up. I'll make sure you're rewarded for bringing it to me, don't worry, Galnius," said Jas'o. "But don't you think it'd look fine in my foyer?"
"I - as you say, lord," said Galnius with a sigh.
"Get the Hermetician in here," said the king. "Bring it to compliance - and then move on. The princess couldn't have gotten far."

@Thanqol

Dolce appeared at her side, and at once she held up a hand to stay him. He froze to the spot, studiously not moving a muscle. Oh, but she felt the weight of his heart straining to push past her, as if to crawl down that pipe and rescue their Alexa single-handed. Patience, my love! Patience! You must only bear this pain a little longer. Trust your Captain.

So. It’s ‘fear the Admiral,’ then? Not ‘fear the Empress?’ Fascinating...that explains bringing the entire Armada. This was no hunt. This was a coup, with a hunt on the side, which, frankly, was an even deeper insult than before. But more importantly, when there’s a coup afoot, everything becomes chaos. The status quo is dead, and everyone - from the highest king to the lowliest hoplite - has only one thing on their minds: “How am I going to get out of this alive?”

And this fellow - whoever he was - had done her the service of letting slip some, shall we say, personal frictions among his staff?

Yes, quite a few valuable tidbits in that answer...

“You know, that sounds absolutely delightful, but you see, I’ve just remembered that Redana is a grown woman, and it would be so rude of me to speak for her. I’m afraid you’ll have to charm her yourself, and may the gods grant you luck in your endeavor.” The saddest part was his lack of charm meant he’d take that as a compliment. “I simply must thank you for your truly generous offer. Your holdings are vast and fruitful, no doubt, but to offer me your soldiers too? To gift me an army of such striking loyalty, who follow a lord who would cosign them to the void, give away their services to a total stranger, all to faithfully serve your noble mission?” Stunning. Absolutely stunning. A gift beyond price. Such a home they could have had here!”

And if...Galnius, was it? If Galnius has ears and a brain, she could hear the wink from here.

“Ah, what might have been. Still! You mustn't be too hard on yourself; better than you have tried.”

“It’s true. There was nothing more you have done.” Dolce agreed.

And before they could stall for more time - or needle this fellow’s pride further - the rumbling she’d been hearing from the Hangar’s pipe resolved into the roar of engines, and the game was well and truly up.

***

[1]: Well...unless you have a very good reason to. Or. Perhaps, a very selfish reason.

***

[Rolling to Talk Sense with Galnius, 5 + 4 + 1 = 10 Unsure if this was Sense or Grace, but it's a 10+ either way. In all the hubbub of the chase/retreat, I would like her to take Alexa and her unit to Vasilia, and defect to a side that'll actually value them.]

Fellowship: The Heart

No pressure, right?

It’s funny, though. There should be pressure here. Their journey, their quests, their lives, all of it’s riding on her, and a conversation with a god. But, in the moment? Right here and now? She’s just a fox, on a raft, floating in the middle of an abyss, having a talk with her reflection. No eyes on her. Nobody talking back. Just her. And her.

Jackdaw took a deep breath. She pictured...well, it’s a little silly to admit, but she pictured her stories. The ones she’d carried within her for years, ever since she first heard them. Tales of daring, clever heroes, enduring incredible trials, facing impossible odds, and never ever being at a loss for words. She thought about what one of them would say if they were here, right now.

And - in the company of herself - the voice of another spilled forth.

“I read about you, you know.” She whispered to the waters. “Back in town. I read of you. I read of your eyes for the lonely, and your arms for the loveless. I read of a love that never ran dry, and a heart that never let go. It was...it was beautiful. I haven’t been able to get it, to get you out of my mind since.” She clutched her chest. Oh, how it ached, even now. “I didn’t understand why, at first. But now? Now I think I see what I was missing.”

She reached a paw out over the water. Slowly, haltingly, willing herself to just keep the trembling to a minimum? For a moment, please?!

“Your body is not your own. You make it of the things that you’ve taken. And you take in everything you can, everything that stirs a feeling in your heart, but it’s never enough. You have to have more. It’s been this way for so long, you...you don’t ever think that the next one will satisfy you. You just know that it won’t. You are lonely. You are empty. And...

“...you are me.”

She rested her paw on the surface, rested it on her own reflection.

“If you take us, if you drown me, you won’t ever be able to speak with me again. But if you let us go...then we may speak a while, and when we next meet, we may speak again. And again. And again. A lifetime of happy meetings. That’s what I offer you.”

A pause. A silence. An uncomfortable silence, that reminded her she was less alone than she pretended.

“I...the only name I have is Jackdaw. What’s yours?”

[Rolling to Talk Sense with Wisdom: 1 + 6 - 1 = 6]

Breathless Dead

The two of them shared a look. Dolce quirked an eyebrow. Vasilia gave a wry smile and a shake of the head.

And then, she laughed.

Perfectly composed, utterly delighted, thrilled, amused beyond words! Hear it echo through the length and breadth of this wreck. Hear it mingle in a mad duet with Poseidon’s rage. See, king! See how she finds a song for you after all!

“How about your title?” She countered. “Your crown, your holdings, your people, everything you own. Would you give it all to me, if I gave you the princess? Wouldn’t that be the bargain of a lifetime? I’m sure your handlers wouldn’t hesitate to restore your fortunes.”

Breathless Dead

Dolce sat before the raging god. Not so prideful to offer further words or attempts at sympathy. He simply sat, listened, and wept in his heart. It was a terrible thing to mourn alone, too.

Meanwhile, Vasilia flicked open the communication pipes. “Attention, unasked-for guests: My deepest apologies our ship carried no song to greet you. The pride of the Privateers is truly diminished.” She paused, pointedly, letting Poseidon’s vengeful oaths fill every corner of the ship. “As you will soon be aware, we are experiencing a little turbulence due to the raging storms of the void. If you wish to capture your prize intact, then I would recommend retreating to your ship, and continuing your visit once we’ve led you on a delightful little chase. Otherwise, I’m afraid I will have to sabotage our doors and engines, leaving all of us to perish at Poseidon’s hand, and your prize forever lost. Not the most shameful end, but I daresay you’ll have your work cut out for you finding a decent eulogy.”

“Crew? Do hurry our guests along, and give me a status report at your earliest convenience.”

Fellowship: The Heart

Too fast! Too fast! Everything happened far too fast. By the time she was done looking and listening, Lucien was in the water, then Ailee was almost in the water, now nobody’s in the water, but the boat’s not moving fast enough, it won’t get moving until Lucien gets back, but Ailee’s too slow, and she’s no good, and, and…

...Three. Three people, to save two. Math looking somewhat more tenuous on that one. Jackdaw, please make the sensible choice here? You like the train, right? You enjoy curling up on a smokestack with a good book?

@Balmas

Oh, Coleman. It’s one look in her eyes and you know she’s going anywhere but sensible.

“Keep Sasha going!” Jackdaw shouted, making a run for the water. “And...and...sorry!”

But Jackdaw did not jump in. Oh no. She was much too foolish a fox for that. She slid to a stop on the edge of the raft, pulled herself up tall - and immediately hunched back down a few inches - and called out.

“Flood! I come to you with that which you do not own, and which you shall never have if you take us!”

[Rolling to Keep the Flood Busy: 2 + 6 + 1 = 9]

Breathless Dead

“You know, I’m beginning to think they’re not taking us seriously.”

Dolce’s ears flicked; they ached terribly under the lamentations of a god, but he didn’t dare stop them up. Nor did he take his eyes off his teapot. Listening and watching. Both were too important. Forty-eight seconds until properly steeped.

“They go through all the trouble of bringing a fleet of a thousand thousands, and they send one ship to apprehend us. One!” Vasilia’s boots marched a slow, sulking track across the bridge behind him. “It’s not even the biggest. There’s a dozen at least that dwarf it. Like their flagship over there, too busy twiddling its thumbs to lift a finger to help.”

“It must have been very difficult to move so many ships here at once,” he observed. Thirty-four seconds until properly steeped. Receiving saucer for infuser: Ready.

“Precisely! A quarter of this would have sufficed to hopelessly crush us. Send a gang of them in for the kill, have the rest running a tight patrol screen. Nowhere to run, overwhelming odds, end of story. Look at them! A scant few circling the perimeter - and doing a terrible injustice to the concept of circles in the process - while this one, measly ship comes to do battle with us. It’s like they’re not even trying.”

Dolce did not look at the ships. Looking at them was not conducive to making a cup of tea, so he did not look at them. “Perhaps they’ve decided they don’t need to try.” Fifteen seconds until properly steeped. Ingredients: Ready. Teaspoon...

“Perhaps they have. Perhaps they’ve decided chains aren’t good enough, they have to spit on us on our way down too.” She slid into her captain’s chair with a miserable sigh. “Enough effort to bring a gaudy show of force, too little care to wield it properly. We ought to track one of them down and lodge a complaint.”

Teaspoon?

Eight seconds.

Dolce rooted around his personal kitchenette, not daring to breathe until he had the silverware drawer open and eyes on the small legion of spoons he knew were there. How strange! How very strange. To forget such a critical tool, whyever would he do that?

Out came the infuser, onto a waiting saucer. Slowly, slowly, he poured the tea, filling the cup with just enough room to spare. Shake, shake, shake, in went the seaweed. In went flecks of scrapped hull. In went shards of shattered window. All stirred together, not spilling a drop.

Done.

Balancing cup, saucer, and teapot on a tray, he waited by his Lady’s side. Watched her stare, unflinching, into the Grand Armada, and the corpse of the nightmare they’d slain. No fear on her brilliant face.

How did she do it? It just didn’t make any sense. The skies were full of foes, the odds were impossible, he could still feel the clap of thunder that’d rang through the ship, and here she sat. The fearless Captain. His Captain. Finding the way that no one else could see, and walking it with the composure of a Queen. Unconsciously, he stepped closer. Her hand found itself in his wool, and gently stroked his heart calm.

He wished - oh, how he dearly wished! - that he had more than a cup of tea to offer.

“We are not the ones with the strongest complaint this time,” he added quietly, glancing to their guest.

“No. No I doubt that we are.” She turned in her chair to the mourning god. “Earth Shaker, Outer Dark, Space Between, hear our prayer: Turn your storms upon our foes. Drive back their boarding parties, make slow their pursuit. And we shall break the remains of the Lupincas that disgraces your child’s end. No more shall it be a trophy to the Armada’s triumph, but a reminder of their own folly.”

Without a word or gesture of order, Dolce stepped forward, and offered up his humble tea set.

“And tea, brewed to your liking, for it is a terrible thing to mourn thirsty,” he added.

[Rolling to Talk Sense, with Sense, with Hope: 6 + 6 + 1 = 13]

Fellowship: The Heart

Ailee was the first to laugh.

It was hard to figure out if they should, you see. A bunch of students (and one assistant who’d been roped into the trespassings) huddled together in a service tunnel, a hermetically-sealed door behind them standing firm against the perils of the Conservatory. Not a usual day for any of them! When they’d finally caught their breath, and realized they were still alive, what on earth were they to even do?

Laugh, as a matter of fact. And so they did, emptying their lungs just as soon as they could fill them, leaning on each other to keep themselves upright, going mad with the relief of a frantically salvaged perfectly executed scheme.

Jackdaw was the first to stop.

Her sharp ears picked out the low, bassy rumble, echoing through the tunnels, long before anyone else did. She understood what it was saying, before anyone knew it was speaking.

It’s not over yet.

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

Jackdaw was not going to get a closer look at these things, not with Ailee keeping them at bay, and handling them perfectly with no mistakes whatsoever. So instead of a closer look, Jackdaw took a wider look. Out, beyond the teeming waters and immediate peril. Because deep down? She feared the word wasn’t pack, or swarm, or even a fry. After what they'd just done, the Flood wouldn't use weak words like that.

She strained her eyes and ears, looking for the tell-tale signs of prelude.

[Rolling to Look Closely: 6 + 6 + 2 = 14! Anxious fox peepers are not to be underestimated.
-What is going on here? What do her senses tell her?
-Tell me about The Flood. What are they doing? What will they do next?
-What will happen if she gets in (or falls in) the water?]

Fellowship: The Heart

Rafts are nice. Rafts are simple. You can figure out what you need to do with a raft without making a complete fool of yourself. And since Jackdaw was really rather sick of feeling like a fool, she silently reviewed the raft's ability to remain a raft, doing her best not to wince visibly when Ailee kept making everything worse.

And, in that sense, it's not really worrying. That's not the word for it. It's business. Something useful to occupy her paws with while she ducked away from everything else for a little while. There's knots to test, oars to inspect, seals to make watertight (it won't do any good if they lose thrust around the smokestack) and a hundred other little tasks.

As to her perch, there's really no other place but Sasha. Maybe in the crook of one of her arms? It's always nice and warm there, and it'll keep her from getting too many errant splashes.

Fellowship: The Heart

Ailee, Jackdaw!

Coleman’s talking to a Wet Trash Homunculus. Behold, a god(‘s avatar). You can smell it from here.

Jackdaw, how blissfully ignorant of the Flood’s capability of taking your anxiety from you are you?

@Tatterdemalion

Jackdaw is entirely ignorant of the possibility. How could she know? Its roots run deep, and she cannot see how it could simply be gone without taking away the rest of her.

Ailee had been cupping her hands over her mouth in readiness to yell something over at the direction of Coleman and the trash god before Lucien begins begging for restraint. She looks back and forth between him at the sentient garbage with a look on her face that clearly communicates how little she appreciates being made to think about what she's going to say before she says it. Then she shrugs and starts tracing a finger through the air, leaving trails of fire in very readable cursive. It's neat and refined, the kind of handwriting that might be formalized into a font on a printing press for religious works.

The content of the writing is itself less elegant. It starts with LOOK JACKDAW! I HAVE UNCOVERED THE SECRET OF WHERE THE FISHMONGER'S SEWAGE OUTFLOW IS and it goes downhill from there.

Ailee looks at Lucien expectantly, hopefully, with wide eyes and an innocent little mousy smile upon her face.

@Thanqol

Wrinkling her snout at the smell, Jackdaw produced notebook and pencil from her cloak. She wrote. She scratched out. She wrote some more. She thought. She scribbled bits out. She ran out of space. She turned the page. She gagged and coughed. She frantically wrote, and held it out to Ailee.

NO! BAD!

Do I even need to say that the second Ailee's finger has started glowing he's already put his entire, much taller body, between Ailee and the trash god? Hopefully the Flood can't read backwards letters easily.

"I'm going to have to shoot her, you know," Lucien sighs to Jackdaw, "One day, I mean. There's going to come a point where shooting her is either going to be the nicest thing we can do for her, or the only way we can get out of something alive." Grimace.

@Count Numbers

...she made a slight addendum, and held it out to Lucien.

NO!!! BAD!!!

The wrench hits the floor of the raft like the gavel of judgement. "I have neither shame nor guilt to give you," he snaps. "And I value suffering too much to exchange it for the soporific stupor of false life. This journey will end either in glory or death, and I'll hang before I let Sasha down! I have a duty!"

@Balmas

*flip*

*scribble scribble scribble*

She held out her notebook. A little doodle of Coleman, standing brave and strong and heroic atop his dear Sasha, stared back at them.

A pause.

*scribble scribble scribble*

She held out her notebook. Some additions: A skull, complete with X’s over the eyes. Three more arrows, one pointing to each of them. Question marks, by the arrows, with more being added by the second.