TheAmishPirate

Fellowship: The Heart

And the mockery just became too much effort to maintain. A bad thing just happened in Wormwood Station. That is literally what’s supposed to be happening, all the time, forever. Why is this concept so hard for everybody?!

Whatever. The Fool would be a Fool. Let him dance in his frivolities and jape in his wordplay. He would do what no one in this blasted world seemed capable of doing; the smart thing.

At least the Fool understood the logic of this place. And, logically speaking, while only one of them needed to be alive to pull the lever, the odds of him staying among those living increased when with a group. So, the smart thing, of course, would be to stay close by. Not because he cared! Because he didn’t. Carinadir didn’t care one whit. He never cared one whit. How else did he build this horrible place? How else could he hope to endure the ceaseless torments of the unthinking rabble? And now, the ceaseless disappointments of his son, to boot.

“Show away, Fool.” Carinadir sighed heavily at the impending doom of drills and death. “You’d do it regardless, best to get it over with.” Once, twice, thrice, he struck the ground around him with his staff. Three bricks, just like any other, and wouldn’t it be just the station’s luck if those three were particularly load-bearing, in just wide enough of an area for one Carinadir to fall through?

That’s the trick with becoming self-aware. Once you get past being a pile of steel and bricks, and start getting into plans to chop your father into tiny pieces, then things can start going wrong for you too.

[Rolling to Get Away: 5 + 4 + 2 = 11, Carinadir gets there quietly, drawing no attention, and also without taking harm along the way.]

Breathless Dead

“Given our current logistical situation.” Vasilia did not, could not let up, even as Zeus sounded the retreat. “I’d said the invitations have about as much chance as arriving as you have of waiting on something for a change. But I’m prepared to be surprised.”

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

No! No, no, no, it couldn’t be over yet!

He stood, helpless as the luncheon drew to a close all around him. Personal effects found their way back to their owners. Bags returned to shoulders, a little lighter and easier to pack now. Goodbyes filled the air alongside parting shots. Feet turned, roads stretched onward, and the parting was nigh.

The extent of his profit: A few lost scraps, and some interesting trivia about Hermes. Fine material for a voyage to Gaia.

“It was an honor to serve you, Lord Hades.” The goodbyes fell from his mouth. How he wished to hold them back, just a few moments longer, but, but his Captain, Zeus, the cleanup, he couldn't, “I hope it will not be long before we may serve you again?” he offered, holding his breath.

Breathless Dead

The whole of Vasilia’s thoughts came to a terrible, crashing halt. Which was no reason to stay silent and let Zeus think for a moment she’d won.

“I, wha, well, well I never.” Her canteen groaned in her iron grip. “Of all the impertinent, unimaginable, altogether rude - as if you were there! As if you bothered to ask how they really felt. As if you ever.” Fine. Fine! Zeus didn’t want a civilized talk, she should have just said so from the start. “If all I am to you is another chance to pat yourself on the back, then why don’t you start with your joyously servile brother. I believe he wandered off first chance he got, smart fellow.”

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

Ahhh, of course. He’d been wondering why Hades had bothered with them when he had Hermes at his disposal.

...wait, what?

“So.” Down, voice, down! We do not get over-excited in the presence of Lord Hades. And squealing was simply out of the question. “Hermes has been giving up of her movement? That must be valuable, given her line of work-”

To his credit, he tried his very best not to grimace when the dinner conversation grew loud enough to spill over into their game.

Breathless Dead

Vasilia treated Zeus to a witheringly polite smile. “Ah, good, you heard. That saves me the trouble of repeating myself more bluntly.” An ocean could dry up at her tone. In spite of the shameless cheek-pinching. “Will you graciously grant me another portion of your all-seeing insight? I’m afraid I’ve over-indulged on sandwiches, which you must know, affects the senses so dreadfully.” Zeus ought to know, given how she doubled the intake of even the starving Liu Ban. “Could you remind me; what, exactly, is my curse?”

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

So he wasn’t the first! Didn’t that bring a little smile to his face, to know that it wasn’t so outlandish a thing for one of his station to catch the eye of Lord Hades. Except, when one considered the rate of successes of those chef(s?) and the implications for his own chances…

Dolce did not win that hand. Or the one after that. His heart was too busy curling into a tiny ball and hiding away where it was quiet and safe.

“...so, who do you put in your bets with? And what do you wager?” His curiosity found an opening in the space between hands, and nosed its way back into the light of day. “Surely by now, you would have cleaned out anyone’s coffers with your winnings.”

Fellowship: The Heart

“Why the devil should that matter? As if this station required anyone’s understanding to function. Bah! Can you imagine?!” It would cease to operate the moment he stepped away, for starters. “That lever will be pulled because it is the worst and only mishap that can possibly happen to King Dragon here. I won’t waste my time on the particulars, but once that lever is pulled, every scrap of bad luck that’s been captured here will be funneled into the largest, most meaningful individual here. He will become an avatar of disaster, at least for as long as he can survive the ordeal, which I would estimate to be, oh, somewhere south of a minute? I’d say two if he’s lucky, but, well. I know he won’t be.”

Genius, no? No prison, no matter how well-designed, could hope to hold onto all the bad luck of the line since its creation. There had to be a means of controlled release. Why not incorporate it into the station’s own defenses? Other aspects of the Heart would surely worm their way in with time, and when they did, and when they died, they would take all the accumulated misfortune with them. Child’s play, if you knew what you were doing.

“Nothing else in this station can possibly threaten him. It is, absolutely, the only thing that could go wrong for him. Someone would have to reach the heart of Wormwood Station amid this chaos, and throw the lever by hand. Completely unfathomable. Thus, it will surely happen.”

You may applaud whenever you like, Fool.

Breathless Dead

Zeus is unignorable by nature. She’d just finished telling a story louder than she’d needed to, and covered most of her audience’s reaction with her own booming laugh. Like she’d not told it a hundred times over. Vasilia hid her smile in a sip of her beverage, which was why you couldn’t find it on her face. Pah. No drink bitterer than a forced one. “Anyone can see what an honor it is to host such a host, Thunderer.” And now she was sitting next to her. When did that happen?! She specifically remembered at least a two-seat buffer not five minutes ago… “Of all the Captains of all the ships in all the universe, whyever should you dote on me so? After all, there’s no end of brave souls with the necessary...ambition to seek glory.” Why not bother one of them for a change? Jas’o certainly seemed your type.

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

Dolce had been idly tracing patterns in the ash with his foot. Little swirls and whorls turned into swirling nebulae, and soon he had a few ships in to see the sights. He didn’t remember adding the face-down cards on top of them, but they were there to greet him when he turned away for a moment to address a call for refills. But, well, they were here, so he might as well pick one, no?

Thus began the Lord Hades' subtle exit from the table, and entry into a spirited game of cards with the chef. They had little to play with, only a few crumbs leftover from the cooking, but it didn’t seem to matter; the Lord of the Dead played as if they were priceless diamonds, and Dolce was not about to disappoint him with a poor showing.

“I was wondering,” Dolce asked, as Hades silently shuffled the cards for another round. “With all that’s still before us, and all that might be, are you...betting on our voyage? That we would succeed or fail?”

Fellowship: The Heart

Wrong! Completely wrong! To follow his eyes is to wind up on the ceiling, how he rolls them at your idiocy.

“No, obviously not. The lever, Fool! The lever that’s only to be pulled in case of emergency. The lever that occupies two-fifths of the station’s central control panel, and whose warning label takes a third. The lever that’s so easy to accidentally nudge, that of course it’s not been accidentally nudged.” This was Wormwood Station, after all. The failsafes couldn’t rely on straightforward countermeasures. “But it will be pulled. It must be pulled. Somebody in this station is going to pull that lever, Fool, and do you know why?”

Breathless Dead

When Dolce had first doled out the field rations for this trip, all of the hoplites had refused to take any, which he hadn’t ever realized was a possible outcome of that exchange. Usually, most people would rather not go hungry, and yet they were adamant in their refusal. Somewhere in the midst of insistence and counter-insistence, Galnius asked why it was so important to stop for a meal when they were due to launch any moment. What he had called rations, they’d taken for an entire meal.

Can you imagine? What must the Imperial chefs be doing over there in the Armada? How badly could they be mangling their food that it didn’t even look like food anymore? If this was their first time with decent food in the field, oh, they would be in for a treat.

You see, food? Food comes from ingredients. To make bread, you need flour. To make a salad, you need vegetables. But, what if you want croutons in your salad? Why, then you’d need bread, wouldn’t you? Bread, which was food, is now an ingredient again, and you’ve made something altogether new! With a little time, a hot surface scraped clean, some oils and herbs, why couldn’t field rations be the same way? Taking a little from everyone’s pack - and a double portion from their own, for Liu Ban had nothing to give - Dolce served up a steady supply of toasted sandwiches and freshly-sauteed fixings, enough for mortal and god alike. In no time at all, everyone had food, company, and good cheer in plentiful supply.

Incredible, wasn’t it? Crashed on a forgotten planet, hunted, without knowing how they were to carry on, a little good food made everything a little better, didn’t it? Not. Well, not perfect, but still better, yes?

...it could still be better, though. Galnius hadn’t let plate or cup so much as touch the ground they shared with Liu Ban, and some of the other hoplites were starting to follow suit. Vasilia was laughing at everyone’s jokes, so long as everyone never included Zeus. Lord Hades hadn’t laughed at all, and to tell the truth, Dolce hadn’t seen him eat even once, even as sandwiches disappeared from before him. But no matter how things were, they’d be better with full bellies. That much, he was sure of.

Now then; was anyone ready for seconds? Thirds? Refills on drinks? He had a few powders on hand that could make even a canteen of water all the more delicious and refreshing. He did not sit with the rest, nor at all really. His post was at the makeshift stove, and he would man it faithfully. Too much to do to sit, too much to do.

Fellowship: The Heart

Hrmph! Is this the...person they’ve sent to greet him? Wandering around Wormwood on the edge of indecency? You’d think he would have learned to tolerate the sting of disappointment, but life had to go and keep inventing bigger fools. Knows their title, and you might suppose that’s a lick of respect. At least that’s something.

“You’ll have to speak up, Fool. It’s difficult to hear you above all the mindless panic.” And yet, his sniff of disdain was perfectly audible. “It’s difficult to make out, but, hold on - it’s coming through, yes, yes, I’m getting something.” Cup a hand to his ear, listen, listen closely! “They’re saying...yes, they’re saying King Dragon’s loose in Wormwood Station? My Wormwood Station? He’s broken through every defense and nothing can stop him? And he’s going to pull it down into his hoard? Oh no, how horrible, how unfortunate.” The horror! The shock! See how he covers his mouth with both hands? That’s how you know he’s shocked. “How could another aspect of the Heart possibly get through the infinite defenses against intentional causality, why, imagine the odds! And that he’d have enough power left to cause this much trouble, oh, of all the rotten luck. I’m afraid we’re all doomed. What a miserable, terrible, cursed end for my prison designed to contain bad luck.”

“Clods. Can I not retire in peace?! Isn’t there a single person capable of following basic instructions? I’d settle for half a brain, but that’d be asking for rudimentary division, and I have the displeasure of knowing who I'm dealing with.” He stomped irritably, venting his spleen to the uncaring ceiling, before whirling on the Fool, impatient fire burning in his eyes.

“Well?! Has anyone pulled the lever yet?”

Breathless Dead

Vasilia was many things. Few of them were casual.

“Liu Ban may accomplish much, with effort.” She placed a hand upon his shoulder, taking great care not to encroach on the lice’s territory. “But only if he is given the chance to start right. New lives cannot be built on messy foundations. That which is ruin,” she exhaled in a hiss. “Is ruin for a reason. Whatever it once was, it is not. Whatever it once did, it does not. By all accounts?” She curled the fingers of her free hand, pondering the shape of her claws. “Best to cut it out.”

And then she patted him congenially, gracing him with a smile. “Of course, a long goodbye can just as well turn to blessing than curse. See to it that it stays the former. Dolce, will this spot do?”

Dolce licked a finger, and quickly tested it against the heated metal, nodding approvingly at the sound. “Ideal temperature for lunch.”

“Brilliant. Everyone, see to our Chef Mate for rations. Rest, tend to your wounds, and keep your spears close. We march for our companions within the hour.”