TheAmishPirate

Breathless Dead

Assumptions define the form of engagement. The murder. The duel. The trial by combat.

The sparring match.

That blade is not sharp. I don’t need the heavy armor. A weave light enough to dance with, tight enough to hug skin without getting in the way, thick enough to block bruises, this is all they need.

There is nothing at stake. Everything is permitted. There are no expectations. I can give my all, and beyond my all, without fear. I can fly, I can sweep, I can bend blade and body until both might snap under the tension, then fall to floor and laugh until I cannot breath.

They aren’t trying to hurt me. I can pretend the fall was serious. I can dictate my last living will. I can school the smile from my face as they take my broken form in their arms, cursing the cruel fates that cut down such a prized flower in the springtime of its youth. I can cough my last words in a hoarse whisper. They can lean down to hear. Closer, closer, closer...

This is all a game. I tickle their ear with my breath, it is a joke. To make them laugh. Their hair falls on my face. It must be on purpose. They don’t mean to brush my cheek, pushing it away. I go along with it when I reach up to stroke theirs. We will laugh later. It is a game. It is all a game. We have stopped moving because...because...

The match will end. Alethea will come to call us for dinner. We will be seeing to our weapons. We will rise, salute, and she will say nothing of anything on the way home and neither will I.

I don’t know if she would have closed the distance.

...would I?

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

This can't be happening.

How. In the name of all that is sacred. Did she get an Auspex?!

Quickly. Quickly. What had Redana said it did? It allowed her to..."see beyond sight, from visible to invisible, and all that might be?" How was that even remotely useful?! Freeform poetry was not a suitable substitute for a tactical report! Oh, but she shouldn't be too harsh on her, it's not like she expected there to be a second bloody Auspex floating around the universe! Zeus, your sentence of silence is revoked, only if you can explain to her how this was allowed to happen! And if you can't answer that, then, what good even are you?!

steel yourself. quickly. before she notices. slow your breathing. slower, slower, but not too slow. don't make it look deliberate. it is a beautiful morning, dolce has brought you your coffee, it's perfect, just the way you like it, oh gods above no it's making it worse. it won't stop.

her heart's racing, and it won't stop

"Mm, you’re so much more...eloquent than when we last met. Is this what you’ve been using your shapeshifter for? Practicing for the day we’d meet again?” She squeezed Bella’s hand. “If you wanted a song, all you had to do was ask, darling.~"

She rose from the bow with a great sweep of her free hand, as far as the chains would comfortably allow. "Come! To all who may hear; listen!" Her voice boomed, cutting clean through song and conversation alike. "Listen! And I will tell you a tale of a land long forgotten. Of Empires and beasts, and what grew in their shadow. Of a thousand thousand tombstones that could not hold fast the fallen! For this is the tale of Praetor Bella, who stepped into the corpse of the Eater of Worlds, and walked amongst the living dead!"

She squeezed at Bella's hand again. Only, different. Fingers, alternating, in combination, in a steady rhythm, a repeating pattern. A clever invention of the Starsong, for when mouths must be silent and words must be spoken. A simple code, child's play for the Auspex to decipher:

<<Thanks for the spotlight, darling.>>

Well, Bella? You know how this particular story ends: Embarassingly. You could stop her, of course! One quick twist of the arm, and she won’t talk for screaming. And everyone will know that you feared what she had to say next. What do you suppose the Magos will do, when he knows she carries a secret that you wouldn’t bear to have out? She may not be your prisoner for very long, then!

You could let her go on! What does it mater, if everyone here knows exactly how tightly you and Redana were trussed and gagged together? You are still the Praetor, even if you teased out some fascinating noises from your former mistress. Nothing will change. But that precious Auspex of your will let you see the thought on everyone’s mind. Every bow, every scrape, they’ll remember. And you’ll know it.

But there is a third option.

<<If you want me to exercise poetic liscence on your behalf>> Vasilia squeezed. <<Then you’d better make it worth my while. Now.>>

The Auspex knows the code. It can tell your muscles precisely how to talk back to her, and no one will be any the wiser.

So, Bella. What do you do?

[That’s going to be a 6 + 4 + 1 = 11 on Talk Sense w/Blood. Paying the Price by revealing information she’d rather keep hidden: Bella, you know that you’ve gotten in her head in a big way. She legit doesn’t know if you would have gone through with the kiss, and doesn’t know what she would have done herself if you had. If you keep clawing at this weak spot, it’ll surely grow, keeping her confused. Off-balance. And importantly, pliable.]

Breathless Dead

A yawn worked its way out of Vasilia, and she offered little resistance. The chains clinked only a little as it rolled up her back. Her eyes nearly closed as it peered into the room. A hand did the bare minimum to stifle the noise, but let no one say she hadn’t tried, whereafter she resumed her busy work of magnanimously presiding over the party’s going-ons.

Which was more than could be said for other guests of honor, who were far more concerned with slopping as much wine as possible down their throat in as short as time as possible. Oh, by all means, don’t let her stop you. We wouldn’t want you not to enjoy yourself, would we? It’s a party! Cut loose! No one will tell that you’re drunk. At least until you’re out of earshot.

She offered no resistance to the entirely unnecessary manhandling she received, and drank the wine in slow, graceful sips, even as it was poured down her mouth. Not a gulp or a gag to be heard. “Ah, thank you darling, I was getting rather parched.” She sighed contentedly. “The Magos’ hospitality has left much to be desired.” Oh, and the Praetor had counsel to give her too! What good fortune! She’d better listen attentively now, wouldn’t want to miss any of the precious pearls cascading endlessly out of her stupid mouth.

Had she not already committed to the placid, regal smile, she might have ruined the entire look with a devastatingly undignified yelp as she was flung bodily around the room. As it stood, she landed before Bella, the music reached her ears, and instinct took over from there. Her hands found their way to her partner’s body. Her back arched until her hair dusted the floor. And they were off.

Ah! So! Bella was rather strong for her build! Marvelous! Yes, yes, very...yes. Alright then. Of course. No, no, it’s fine. She’s fine. So what if the gods saw fit to bless her with titanic strength too? Life wasn’t fair. She wasn’t even surprised at this point.

If Bella wanted to put on a show, a show is precisely what she got. Every step she was pushed into, Vasilia performed with extravagance and relish. Together, they formed a symphony of motion, exulting in the sheer pleasure of movement. So transcendent, one could hardly notice the chains. At every group they stopped at, Vasilia shone as brightly as her partner, at least. And still found time to greet the Hermetics by name and station.

Do you see, Bella? Do you see the way they greet her back? The way their eyes linger, as you twirl her away before she can say more? Even now, despite the chains, they remember her, and wish a little more of her company. See all the people who actually like her? And yet Zeus hasn’t stopped by to mock your life, has she? Why hasn’t anyone, for that matter? Surely waiting for nature to take its course wasn’t the most efficient way to go about things, was it?

She did not look away from Epestia’s plight. She did not speak of it. Nor did she look away when Alexa came whirling onto the dance floor. She did not speak of that either, but her eyes glittered merrily. Isn’t this fun, Bella? Are you having fun, yet? You indulgent, pissy, wreck of a soul, are you happy now?!

(Of course she wasn’t. Not in any way that mattered.)

“Are Praetors capable of such feats? I had no idea.” She mused, twirling into the other Bella’s arms. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?~”

She traced a finger up the length of Bella’s shirt, counting each button in turn. Skirting perilously close to her neck, before gliding to her shoulder.

“Does Nero know you’ve been a bad girl? Losing your collar without permission?”

Breathless Dead

“Come on, Vas, open the door!”

“Vasilia isn’t here! You disturb the seal of a tomb, and the rightful rest of the dead!”

“Who knew the dead would be so talkative?”

“Maybe they’d be at peace if robbers and tresspassers could leave their sepulchres alone! Oh, that the family of the deceased had only paid her grave the proper respects, that Lord Hades would keep watch over her eternal sleep personally!”

“Clarisa, move.”

“Alright, fine, you try talking to her.”

“Vasilia. There are five other ways I can get into that room, and I know you haven’t seen to at least three of them. I have my pick of the lot, and if you don’t stop this at once, I’m going to choose ‘through the front door, with a battering ram’, and you can explain the mess to your father later.”

“...”

“....”

“...Alethea?”

“Yes?”

“If I unlock the door, could you break it down just a little? Without scuffing the paint?”

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

“How was I to know everyone in the ring was in his pocket?” A Vasilia-shaped lump of blankets bemoaned to her guests. “How could I have even prepared for that?! For all I know, he paid off the bloody referee, and Zeus too! To...to look the other way!” She fell hopelessly into a fresh bout of sobbing.

“There, there…” Clarisa said, patting at the lump absently. “I think our fallen champion could do with some more tea. With extra sugars.”

Aletha stood from the bed, but glanced back before taking a step. “Would you like that, ma’am?” Vasilia nodded through the tears and a ferociously quavering lip.

As Alethea left for the kitchens, Clarisa pulled the miserable bundle of blankets to her lap, where she could smooth the errant hairs and shoosh the tired sobs. “It’s just-” Vasilia sniffed. Quieter, now. Smaller. “It’s just not fair.”

“Oh, Vas...” Clarisa sighed, taking her tearstained face in both hands.

“Life isn’t fair.”

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

Any Hermetic in the room who had made a study of post-Directive linguistics might learn a few new, fascinating adjectives in the hodgepodge tongue of Lakkos. Everyone else hearing the jagged edges of Vasilia’s vocabulary could get pretty close to the meaning anyway.

What a place of learning this was turning out to be! So many valuable lessons! Chief among them, that Zeus’ fabled protections didn’t apply to hosts zapping their guests with bloody eccentrics, apparently! Forget to update the rules for this millennium? Or were you too busy critiquing her social life?!

And don’t you dare answer any of that, Thunderer. If she hears one word. One. Word. Out of your mouth, she will rip these chains apart and beat you all the way back to your bloody useless Olympus! Then, once you’ve been beaten within an inch of your eternal life, then you can start telling her how bloody sorry you are!

Stop.

The chains strained to hold her chest at every furious breath.

Stop it, now.

A low growl built in the back of her throat, a snarl curling her lips.

You are Captain, Vasilia. Captain of the Plouseious, on a quest from Hades, your crew is watching, and we will not go to pieces before she does!

And then, it died. Her fangs retreated. Her breathing slowed, slowed, slowed.

When Bella finally turned her attentions to her, she did not return the favor. She sat tall, proud, unbowed by her chains, as if she’d chosen to be inconvenienced this way. The very picture of injured, (re)composed dignity, proud in the face of cruel fate. And cruel cats.

Only...less cruel than expected? A flicker of surprise broke through her mask, a slight arching of the brows, before all was still again. With everything going her way, she rather expected the cur would be making a meal out of this. Well, a bigger meal than she already was. Curious...

Vasilia resumed looking vaguely off in the distance, at more important things than this moment. She did not look at either Bella, nor away from either Bella, even as one Bella grabbed her chin and forced away most of her vision. Either would be an acknowledgement, and she was not prepared to surrender even that much.

“Given your track record,” Vasilia sniffed. “I look forward to seeing how this chapter of your life falls apart.”

Fellowship: The Heart

The word is wanting.

The mirror must be broken. That is, of course it’s not right, obviously that’s not her, but more than that, it can’t be her. It just can’t. Do you see? Right there! There! When she folds her arms, and you can see, see! The muscles rippling across her frame. You could hit her with a train, and the train would shatter into a thousand thousand pieces. No timeline, no road not taken, no past gone a little better could ever turn her into that. Right? It wouldn’t be too hard to find out, just, just find a mirror here that does work, estimate her proportions, come back here, trace the breadth of those shoulders, those proud, unbowed shoulders, strong, and brave, and, and, so strong…

This other mirror! It was broken too. And she’d get to that thought just as soon as the rest of her caught up, because how! How did it know? She hadn’t shown that stupid little sketch to anyone. Not even Ailee! Yes, of course, it was the Heart, and rules were different here, but it shouldn’t! It couldn’t! It wasn’t fair! How dare it make her look so much better than her clumsy paws could ever draw? Where did it get off, making her eyes so pretty? They never looked that clear and bright, even when she wasn’t...squinting. And. And. That tail…

Jackdaw hugged her ragged robes tight around her. And beneath them, her scraggly, dusty, pathetic excuse for a tail wrapped around her even tighter. Recoiling from this image of fluffy perfection. Unfit to even show itself. Her paws patted at the sad lump beneath her cloak, on instinct.

What was this place?

“W-wolf…?” Jackdaw called out uncertainly, backing away from the two mirrors. “I think we should, um, stay close…”

She blindly reached behind her, grasping for her friends’ paw...

Breathless Dead

“And may our offering of skill and blood be pleasing to the great Empress Nero, first among mortals, who sits upon Tellus, first among worlds, ruler of the Empire, first among civilization. Let all who join blades in glorious combat forget not the most worthy names for which they strive and bleed for.”

Vasilia raised her blade, and dipped her head reverently to her opponent.

“To Tellus, the Empress, and the Empire.”

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

Tellus was a planet of fools, ruled by an idiot, and only a stupid person would ever want anything to do with it.

I mean, her? A praetor?! What a marvelous idea; vest all the power of Imperial authority in a petty, spoiled, ill-tempered, mangy-

“Dolce? Darling?” She breathed out a low purr. “Tell our friends not to worry. I’ll just be a moment.”

(Moments later, Alexa would feel a tugging at her finger - because the whole hand was asking a little much of him - and a soft voice would whisper, “Please don’t be alarmed, or make any sudden moves. The Captain will handle this.”)

Vasilia glided forward, feet finding the gaps of open deck between the prostrated forms. A quick ruffle of her coat, and a sudden weight in a pocket, spoke to her Dolce's efforts.

“Praetor, was it?” Vasilia lightly smacked her lips, as if trying to recall an unfamiliar word. Or as if trying to banish a foul taste from her tongue. “You must be mistaken, of course.”

About a great many things, but who had the time for such exhausting detail? Certainly not her. She was much too busy, making a trussed-up stray wait for her to climb the dais before she continued. Click. Click. Click went her unhurried step on the polished floors.

“The Magos cannot speak to matters that the Magos knows nothing about. His Pilates carry such scintillating conversation, that I simply did not have the opportunity to introduce myself or my party properly.” She bowed graciously, a single fluid motion that notably did not stray into an inappropriately servile curtsy. Imagine the embarrassment, making a mistake like that. While she was there, she laid before the dais an ornate vase, collected on their travels. (Made of a material that, in a pinch, could be shattered into a most excellent substitute for caltrops.) An offering to their host. “Would you care for me to remedy the situation, Magos?” And if he took her to be speaking of any other pressing, uncomfortable situations, well! She couldn’t be blamed for it.

[Rolling to Speak Softly: How can Vasilia get Birmingham to focus his efforts against Bella instead of herself and her crew? Result: 5.]

Fellowship: The Heart

The word is countdown.

Painted faces watch their every move. Painted minds judge their every sin. Paths clear one moment, only to suddenly fill with hideous bands wielding unfathomable instruments playing a respectable rendition of Pop Goes the Weasel, almost drowning out the screams of the weasel. Everywhere she looked, Jackdaw saw only danger, and danger that had yet to appear. No rhyme, no reason, no patterns, no timing, no matter how hard she looked or how hard she tried to hold the entire carnival in her head at once. They had to go. They had to go now.

“Hey!”

Jackdaw waved her arms furiously. Had to keep her attention. Focus on her, Wolf, focus on her!

“...no clowns?”

She pointed to the mirror house. And kept pointing. And kept pointing. Oh please let this work let this work let this work

“No...hunters?”

Yes! No other hunters! You’d be the only one! All the food there, yours! No one would bother you! Safe! Good! Go now? Please???

Breathless Dead

“Thunderer, who crowns the mighty with glory and victory, hear us this day.”

Zeus’ temple was paved with none other than the shining hull of an Armada flagship, bestowed by the grace of the Empress for the good of her allies in Baradissar. Every day, servants wrapped head to toe in cloths polished its surface to a mirror sheen. No one was permitted to step upon it without a rigorous foot-washing, and to be anything but barefoot was to hurl yourself into the servant’s pits. When you knelt, no cushion or carpet came between you and the bond that knit together an empire, the Empire.

Vasilia touched her forehead to that cold metal floor, and at once nearly nodded off.

“Smile upon your servant, let all who stand in her presence know they stand before one who holds your favor.”

Focus, Vasilia, focus! Don’t falter now. Fill your mind with something - anything! - to keep from going still and stupid. Anassa. Anassa was visiting from Skollis. The first to make the journey in two generations. Guest of honor. Pay her your respects. Interests included raising goats, floral arrangements, and - rumor had it - local beverages of high renown and higher proof. Keep that last one in your pocket, wild card if you need it. Theonymphi and, and… (Sunlight Reflects Rivers Flowing North) Narcissa! Were no longer speaking. Direct them at each other for instant comedy and diversion.

“I offer to you an outpouring of finely aged spirits, and an outpouring every night until the moons are three once more, if you will grant her victory this day.”

You could not walk a block without seeing Markos’ face. His was the name on everyone’s lips and the face of their dreams to boot. He might fear loss, and turn to desperation if backed into a corner. He might think loss impossible, and any defeat a minor misstep from which he would soon recover. He might not think at all, and a greater gift he could not give her.

“And could you grant her a reprieve from Aphrodite’s charms, that she would stop trying to court her glaive? Honestly, she could do so much better.”

You! What! Clarisa!!!!!

The tigress in question (utterly unrepentant of the blasphemous lies she spouted in Zeus’ own temple!!!) finished her prayer smiling, and retrieved the beloved glaive from the shadow of Zeus’ altar. She threw it to her with an easy toss.

“Knock ‘em dead, Vas.”

Vasilia caught it with a single hand, and a grateful smile of her own.

“I’ll try not to; I still need an undersecretary.”

Half an hour to showtime. Time enough to drill the forms one last time. No matter what the riffraff thought of their love.

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

Bolin was their ticket in. At first, they did little more than hang about by his side, listening politely, making introductions where they could, and learning every name that passed back and forth. Sooner or later, there came the mutual topic. The knowing remark. The fellow appreciation. The timely joke. And they were no longer just at Bolin’s side.

One by one, Dolce marked off the priests they’d spoken with. One by one, they learned rank, they learned position, they learned respect. Symbols turned to information. Information turned to patterns. Patterns turned to currents.

In the right hands, currents turned to waves.

[Rolling to Look Closely: 6 + 3 + 2 = 11. How might Vasilia win the hearts of all (or most) present?]

Breathless Dead

“It would be our honor to attend, Pilate Borin. What unforgivable waste of fortune it would be, to pass by another so well-studied in the Azuran ways.”

It’s games everywhere, isn’t it? Never so simple as one rung above the other.

“I have always wondered on the nature of chess; was it created for the harems, or were the harems created for it? Had there been no chess, would there be harems? Or would they have settled on another activity to satisfy their interests?”

How would you keep your subordinates in line? Wouldn’t you run games of your own?

Breathless Dead

It had taken all of five minutes for the cloaked and clanking enigma to scuttle back to the depths of Lakkos from whence it came. Leaving behind a pouting young lioness, and a not quite as young lizard, his dignified chin pouch wobbling as he shook his head in sympathy.

“Ahhh, you mustn’t take it to heart, young one. On the contrary, I’d say you did rather admirably, for a first try. You can’t expect those walking science experiments to understand pleasantries so easily.”

“Hmmph.” Vasilia drew herself up indignantly. “If that’s how you really feel about her, then I shan’t invite you to our teatime next week.”

“Can you imagine! What would you even serve them?”

“I’d tell you, but I’m afraid that would breach a sacred trust. Sworn to secrecy. Can’t say.”

Every passing moment he stared in silence made it harder to school the satisfied smile from her face.

“...wait, you’re serious?”

“Don’t look so shocked, darling. They’re really quite the pleasant sort, once you learn to speak their language.”

“But, I, just now - you were speaking our language...?”

“Oh please, you’re too much!” She giggled, patting him on the back. “I’ll only say this; you don’t walk around so obviously covered, head to toe, day in and day out, if you don’t enjoy the game of it at least a little~.”

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

“Ah, the winds! Who among us can count them, much less name them. Where they come, and where they go, only the gods know, and yet! We are all of us carried along by them. Never understood the saying myself, if I must be honest. Would we not find where the winds go, if we only kept following? And yet, there is always a stopping. Curious, don’t you think?”

We venture from unknown to unknown, farther and further into the Frontier, further than any have gone before.

“You know who I would ask if I could? Hermes. Obvious answer, I know, but that doesn’t make it any less right. Unless...no, if I really wanted to cheat, I’d say the gods, but really, I like to think we’re better than that. You hear tales of the poor fools who ignore the gods, but how many are there of those who think of them too much? There’s a literary niche there just waiting to be filled, mark my words.”

The gods, plural, have taken heed of our journey.

“The ant stores for the colony, the bear for the winter, the home for the homecoming, and what does Hades store away for? What notes did he write for the great Daedalus’ eyes only? If they found their way to pockets familiar, whose eyes would they reach next?”

Our away team seeks architectural curiosities from the time of Molech, or even earlier.

And if you’d like to join in this dance, I could do with a partner.

[Auto-success on Speak Softly: Vasilia wants to get to know Borin better. What’s their place on the ship’s hierarchy, and how do they feel about it?]

Fellowship: The Heart

What? Oh, no. No, that’d be ridiculous. Wolf survived for _ages_ in, um, well, you know. It was hard, but she’s alive, so, she knows what she’s doing. Besides, could you imagine it? Wolf - Wolf, of all people! - following after her - her, of all people! - like a little puppy. Trotting along at her side, growling at anyone who got too close, taking treats right from...her...paws......

Oh.

Oh no it was all her fault.

Oh no she brought her to the clown festival?! What was she thinking?

Answer: She wasn’t thinking. As usual.

Okay, well, start thinking! Now, Jackdaw!!! Before they stick her in a fryer, or paint her face with bad dreams, or worse, and if you could leave it at ‘or worse’ for once maybe you’d be able to find a way out of this mess! Remember every book you’ve ever read about clowns. Look at everything you can see, and imagine everything you can’t. Check, double check, triple check, where’s the safe places? Where can you run? How can you get a malnourished wolf out of the clutches of one or several clowns?

Think, Jackdaw, think. Before it’s too late.

[Rolling to Look Closely. 5 + 3 + 2 = 10. Jackdaw wants to know two things: Where here could they be safe? And how could she get Wolf there, in a pinch?]