TheAmishPirate

Breathless Dead

Noise. Heat. Chefs at their stations. Stews bubbling away. Foodstuffs for a small campaign. These, traditionally, belonged in a well-run kitchen. Soft, tasseled pillows? Not so much. Especially not soft, tasseled pillows, tucked into empty flour sacks, and secreted away in the back corners of the pantry for when they were needed. But no matter. Honorable souls belonged in Captain’s uniforms, and yet, here she was.

“The Starsong hoplites never sang songs like these.”

And here he was; perched on her lap, head resting against her chest. Didn’t he fit so well here? Wasn’t he just the right size, to wrap up in her arms and press him close? See his eyes grow heavy, half-lidded, as he drifts through warmth and memory. Here, dreamy little cloud. Precious, dear heart. Stay awhile. Be hers, for a while longer.

“Mmmm. They wouldn’t give you a moment’s peace either,” she breathed into his wool. Soft, impossibly soft curls, tickling her lips. “Never would you find a more unruly band of clowns and scoundrels. And may the gods help you if they set their collective heart on irritating you. Thick as thieves indeed…”

“I liked them too.”

Vasilia raised a questioning eyebrow. “I don’t recall asking for libel with my lunch. Insubordination is a serious charge, little chef.~”

She nipped at his ear, and thrilled to feel him jump. Thrilled that she could still catch him by surprise. It was rare; some days she could hardly hide a thing from him. A blessing, a miracle all to her own. His pulse rose beneath her claws, and she knew it was her handiwork. He tensed, so startled! So surprised! Now feel him melt anew in her arms as she traced a lingering line of kisses down his jaw. Soft nuzzles, worshipful pecks at her neck and chin, all he could reach, scattered raindrops of joy. Muted, happy bleats, so careful and quiet, all for her. For her.

She committed all of him to memory, and no draught of this world or the next would ever steal this moment away from her.

Fellowship: The Heart

“You should’ve kept the stones; who knows how long before we’ll see another down here?” Jackdaw was not a good liar in the best of times, nevermind the emotionally vulnerable cooking times. So where did she get the right to say that with a straight face? “It’s a...good thought. Good to remember,” she admitted. “But if I stopped, or if we stopped, would Coleman? Would Ailee?” That’s assuming she’d even Jackdaw stop in the first place. “Even if I wasn’t going for me, I couldn’t leave her to go on her own. It’s just...”

She faltered, searching for a word that could hold a lifetime, and found her vast collection wanting.

“...I just can’t.”

Fellowship: The Heart

The word is incomplete.

Look at that tiny list. Look at all that it’s missing. Where’s the way her stupid voice cracks? Where’s her awful, mangy coat? What about the neverending avalanche of bungled words and improperly delivered lines that poured out whenever she opened her mouth? (Worse than unoriginal, she couldn’t even steal right.) Lost, cowardly, slow, ugly, hapless, useless, they’d need a much bigger piece of paper to get it all down.

...but. What of Lucien’s additions? Did any of those negate what he’d already written? If there were items in conflict on, which had the stronger case?

Hrmmmmm. It was a good question. A curious question.

“That’s...something I’ll have to think about,” she said honestly. But she was smiling, did that count for anything? For nothing? Either way? “Anyhow, you see why I can’t stop now. Whether I’ve forgotten, or starting over,” and that was a question she knew all too well already. “I have to know who I am. If I stop now, I’m just...I’ll just be an empty list.”

Someone worth remembering...

“Well. Not quite an empty list.” She buried her face in her mixing, which - according to The Rules - meant nobody anywhere could see her cheeks flushing bright red. (And any mention of her delightedly swishing tail would be just plain rude.)

Breathless Dead

Behind. Behind. Always behind.

The palace crumbled in fire and smoke. Every rumble of the earth signaled another volley from Ares of stone, furniture, and ash. Dolce had to notice the threats before they could crush him. He had to keep hold of the Undersecretary, and guide him on the safe paths. He had to hold fast the direction in his mind, always. That way was forward. Never lose it. Keep moving. And when the two of them burst from the palace wreckage, they were the last aboard the shuttle.

Through the ship. Running after the Princess. No, not running. Walking fast, fast as he could, but the Undersecretary needed directions, and Galnius would not go to any of the systems where they’d be needed, and he had to ask so many times in so many ways before they finally relented. Poorly done. Too slow, by a long shot. He was last to the bridge.

Vasilia had already taken the helm. He had to walk - shame-faced and stained with soot - before Alexa, before Redana and the Ceronian to take his place. Two paces behind. Just two paces behind. A step, and he could touch her. Put his hand upon her back, trace the taut muscles, feel the knots he knew must be growing. Take her hand, do not let it go, not for a moment. A step more, and he’d be at her side. Nestled close, her arm about his shoulders. Her Chef Mate. Her Dolce. Here to soothe the hurt, at last. Here to listen. Here to hold and be held amid the wonders of the void, just the two of them…

“Everyone: All ahead full. Top speed, before they can spot us. Except for you, Redana. Get yourself patched up.”

Two paces behind. Always, two paces behind.

Dolce turned, and...and the exertion of the day must have finally caught up with him, hadn’t it? The first step, it was so, so heavy. And the second. And the third. When he stopped beside the Princess, he feared he might not be able to move again. “Please, this way; let me show to you to the infirmary.” His bow to the Ceronian was perfect. His face, the picture of cordial hospitality. Miracle of miracles, he could keep walking. He had to keep walking.

The work was not done yet.

Behind. Behind. Always behind.

Fellowship: The Heart

Jackdaw jumped. Ears, tail, fur, all of it, standing on high alert. Panic! Shock! Unknown laughter! Unknown joke! Red alert!!!

Was it a bad laugh? No? No, sounded genuine. Good laugh? Good laugh! Probably good laugh. So she probably hadn’t said the stupidest thing imaginable. So she could laugh, confusedly, herself. She got to the real thing when he tried in vain to salvage his poise. Even her tail decided that was a smile worth trusting, and settled back down under her cloak. “Alright. Alright, that sounds good. Yes. Here:” She rummaged about in her pockets, and offered him a folded-up scrap of paper with a nervous grimace. “Trade you for the eggs?”

Unfolded, the paper held a hastily-drawn outline of a plan. A two-step plan (and a one-step warning) to beating the antisirens. Simple, evidently effective, and captured quick enough before she could forget her own idea. Not too shabby, under the circumstances.

“Flip it over.” Jackdaw’s eyes didn’t leave the mixing bowl. “That...that wasn’t the first thing I wrote down.”

On the other side were another set of pictures. Little more than lightly-sketched figures with minimal features, but there was no mistaking it; it was their little group. There were Ailee’s ears, Coleman’s tail, she even got the smokestacks right on Sasha. Next to each of them, she’d written their names, and some brief notes:

-Ailee: Friend for life, best at magic, never gives up.
-Coleman: Loves Sasha, rock of good sense, patient and kind
-Sasha: Good train egg, here's the best spot to perch, likes pats here, here, and here
-Lucien: Done everything, been everywhere, good stories, best advice, always happy to talk with you

In the few, desperate moments of lucidity she’d had left, she’d written a record of their entire group. The things about them she couldn’t bear to forget, the things that made them who they were to her. She’d tried to save a little something precious of everyone.

Everyone, except one.

“...maybe, I got the idea to beat them before I had a chance to finish.” Her voice cracked; she couldn’t even pretend to believe that. “There wasn’t much time, after all.”

Breathless Dead

She had a gun. She had the distance. Her opponent was emotionally unstable and easily needled.

And Vasilia was losing.

The common spectator might not even notice it. She fired her pistol, Bella took her swings, neither of them landed the blows they needed. Surely a stalemate, at least? But no, look again. Look again, boorish public. See how Bella keeps advancing, and she can only sidestep. See how her shots always land wide, denying space rather than seeking victory. See her work the trigger as fast as it will fire, faster than it ought to fire. It won’t hold. She won’t hold. If the rabid cur was in any more control of herself, if she possessed the ounce of sense required not to telegraph her every move…

Unbelievable. That such raw physical ability should be given to such a stupid, hateful creature.

[Rolling to Overcome: 5 + 2 + 1 = 8, spending 1 Ammo to upgrade to 10+]

And then: Quiet. Not from Bella, she kept making a fool of herself, but the field. A pause. A moment to catch her breath, thanks to Alexa finally making her move. She stood by, pistol hemorrhaging toxic smoke, and waited.

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

“No.”

And Captain Vasilia stepped between Redana and the retreating Bella, not once turning her back to the foe. “She’s chosen to leave, and we’re leaving too. All hands; form up around Redana, and make for the shuttle. Dolce will meet us along the way. Move!”

Fellowship: The Heart

Jackdaw opened her eyes, and chewed her spoon thoughtfully. “...I could use a refresher on the eggs.” She admitted.

Watching him work gave time for stew and thoughts alike to settle. Stopping was...there were a lot of words for it, but none that she wanted to think about for long. If she didn’t think about them, she didn’t have to settle on one, and so long as she didn’t settle on one, she could pretend it wasn’t there. Or, try to, anyway. That’s how it worked some days, to keep herself moving. Only, they weren’t moving right now. And he broached the subject. Which. Maybe that meant it was alright to…?

Jackdaw bit her lip in concentration as she carefully cracked an egg - so lightly, she had to pierce the shell with her finger - and watched the clear fluid pour out. “Peaceful would be nice,” she sighed. “But I can’t stop now. It’s. Well…”

You’re going to remember, every time you look at me.

You won’t talk to me like you talk to everyone else.

You’ll ask me to do the easy things, from now on.

You’ll know. You’ll know. You’ll know.

Her shoulders hunched over with the weight of doubt, and she frowned into her mixing bowl. “...Lucien? Can you keep a secret?”

Breathless Dead

As if that was even a question! “The Starsong Privateers welcome anyone with a song in their hearts, sir.” Dolce shook a tentacle in his hand and grinned. “Welcome aboard.”

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

Finally. She was beginning to think that she’d never put her down. Do you know how hard it is to graze a link in a chain when somebody won’t stop jerking it around? Now if she could just...a little lower now, and-no, no! Lower that hip at once, do you hear her?! Stop-Ugh. Still couldn’t get a clean shot. Why did everything have to come hard today?

Vasilia marched a slow, easy arc around the room. Never getting closer, no. That would be just too satisfying for the poor dear, wouldn’t it? Not an inch closer. If she wanted to continue this tantrum, she’d just have to move herself. “Oh? Don’t fancy me saying Redana? That’s quite alright, we can talk about someone else, Bella.”

A light, lazy smile stretched across her face. “It is you, isn’t it? Don’t look so surprised, we know alllllllll about you. You should have heard the things Redana said about you. She couldn’t talk about Tellus without bringing you up. Her beloved maid. Her faithful servant. Her best and only friend. Never in so many words, of course, but why else would she have gone to you that night?” As if there was any other night she could be speaking of. “Out of everyone in the palace, all those people at her beck and call, she chose you to share in her plans. She trusted you.”

“And you betrayed her.”

Alexa? Anytime now? There’s a wonderful distraction here for you to take advantage of, whenever you’re ready?!

“Did you ever think about what that night meant to her?” She covered her mouth, and yet somehow, the laughter still bubbled out. “What am I saying, of course you didn’t; all you had to do was be there for her, and you couldn’t even manage that. Gods forbid you should have to think.” Her footfalls rang out in the empty throne room. Over the sound of engines, they sang, they echoed! Fool! Traitor! Brat! “Allow me to pick up your slack.”

“It’s simple, really. Redana must be a stupid child. Redana must not know what’s best for her. How else can you feel good about yourself when you tear her heart out? You get to pretend that what’s best for Bella is what’s right, and if anything tries to soil your comfortable, selfish life? It certainly won't be your fault.”

She bared her fangs, and from the vitriolic depths of her stomach, she growled like the coming thunder.

“Wake up and smell the ashes, darling; you’ve already lost her.”

Fellowship: The Heart

Gone. Gone a little too soon for her to work out how to say thank you. Not for the soup, no, she’d already messed that up, but for the everything else. The chance for some quiet. The fact he was glad she’d not disappeared forever. (That’d gotten a crooked smile out of her.) The camaraderie. Unless...unless she could use this quiet, and work out how to say thank you, and she’d have it ready to go for when he came back! Yes! Good thinking. Good use of time. As she set herself to thinking, she carefully navigated a spoonful to her mouth and-

Didn’t let it go.

It was the secret, last taste. She’d licked the bowl clean. She’d gotten the bits stuck to her nose and whiskers. There wasn’t any left, none left at all, but the spoon tasted like soup, so, so, there had to be some soup there too, right?

“Eh, what’s this? Do we have a spoon-grubber on our hands? Planning to eat up all our good cutlery?”

The matron of the stew towered over her, wielding the great Ladle of Authority. But Jackdaw was tough! She wouldn’t be cowed into confessing false spoon-grubbery. She shook shook shook her head furiously.

“So you say...” A wide grin split her face. “But I’m not gettin’ my spoon back, am I?”

A shake shake shake of her head, and a happy kick of her paws.

“Ha ha ha! A tough negotiator! Well, what do you say for a trade? A story for a spoon?”

A nod! Many nods! So many nods!

“It’s a deal, Jackie.” She sat herself down with a laugh and a pat to the ground beside her. “Best get comfortable, this is a long one. Told to me by my mother’s mother mother, it was. This was long ago, when the seas could be kind and the moon knew the way of words…”

Jackdaw nestled up close, resting her head against her as she listened. The matron touseled her fur and hugged her without even breaking stride. Soon it would be dark. Soon, she’d have to find her way back to her hidey hole, when no one else could see her go. Soon, she’d have to sleep, to be awake before the dawn, when the carts came in from port and treasure could be found by the loose cobblestones. But for now? For right now. She was warm. She was full.

She was safe.

Jackdaw set the bowl down with trembling paws. Clutched the spoon still held tight in her mouth. Screwed her watering eyes shut. And just

didn’t let it go

Breathless Dead

Vasilia’s response was a single, raised eyebrow. “Charming. You share his wit, too.” She did not stretch herself out. She did not puff herself up. Today, what you saw was what you got, and if you were uncomfortable to be in her presence, then that was entirely your own problem.

...one of your own problems, as the case may be.

“Just listen to yourself; the two of you read from the same script. ‘So sorry her highness involved you in her stupid misadventure. Her highness needs to be tied and gagged for her own safety. Her highness is a silly little girl who doesn’t know what’s best for her.’” The high-pitched imitation voice wasn’t strictly necessary, but it was polite to make clear when you were quoting someone. “What, pray tell, is best for her? Only the Admiral, only the Empress, only the people more important than you know that. And both of you will run yourselves ragged to make it so. Loyal dogs, sent to fetch your princess.”

She sniffed, profoundly disgusted. “She has a name, you know. And Redana can make her own decisions.”