Posting this to show work in progress painting of post post apoc Blackburne. I just started painting it, it's nowhere near done.
8.8.09
OOC ~ Painting
Posting this to show work in progress painting of post post apoc Blackburne. I just started painting it, it's nowhere near done.
17.5.09
In Memoriam
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
I feel it when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam, Canto 27
A Collection of Nostalgic Photos In Memory Of Blackburne Downport
Imrhien Fargis on her first day in Blackburne Downport, taken by Nack Barnes
Mod Yokosuka accidentally sets Blackburne aflame!
The Blackburne Militia takes guard duty VERY seriously!
Lorie Lilliehook and Imrhien Fargis supervise Nack Barnes and
Lauralai Toland building Blackburne's new landing pad.
Tdstraitjacket Manamiko, Belize Carver, and Imrhien Fargis on
The Truck in Firefly's Bar in Blackburne Downport
A Collection of Nostalgic Photos In Memory Of Blackburne Downport
Imrhien Fargis on her first day in Blackburne Downport, taken by Nack Barnes
Mod Yokosuka accidentally sets Blackburne aflame!
The Blackburne Militia takes guard duty VERY seriously!
Lorie Lilliehook and Imrhien Fargis supervise Nack Barnes and
Lauralai Toland building Blackburne's new landing pad.
Tdstraitjacket Manamiko, Belize Carver, and Imrhien Fargis on
The Truck in Firefly's Bar in Blackburne Downport
((to be continued...))
Then echo-like our voices rang;
We sung, tho' every eye was dim,
A merry song we sang with him
Last year: impetuously we sang:
We ceased: a gentler feeling crept
Upon us: surely rest is meet:
"They rest," we said, "their sleep is sweet,"
And silence follow'd, and we wept.
Our voices took a higher range;
Once more we sang: "They do not die
Nor lose their mortal sympathy,
Nor change to us, although they change;
"Rapt from the fickle and the frail
With gather'd power, yet the same,
Pierces the keen seraphic flame
From orb to orb, from veil to veil."
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam, Canto 30
14.5.09
They Say You Can Never Truly Go Home... (Rest In Peace Blackburne Downport)
Well, considerin' I came upon my true home for the first time when I was 28 years old, that statement was sorta flawed. Yeah, once I'd left my childhood home, I couldn't go back there, not just 'cuz I'd changed or cuz my family'd changed, but 'cuz the situation'd changed, and it wasn't somewhere I could go back to. And since movin' my family off Persephone to keep my Ma and sister Petra outta the Alliance's paws, I sure as hell couldn't go back to the farm I'd grown up on ever again. But with Blackburne? I reckoned I'd always be able to go back there, no matter how long I'd been gone, no matter what happened in my life...
I was at drill with the 12th when the wave came through. We'd heard rumors 'bout there bein' a force of reavers massin' and makin' their way through the Murphy system. I'd made plans to run the drill with my unit, then take off for Blackburne just in case those smelly bastards decided to make a pit stop. Too late, though, as everything came to a crunchin' halt and the 'nnouncement was made that my home was under heavy attack and that the citizens there were abandonin' the Downport and evacuatin' with everyone and anything they could get in Osprey II and any other available transport ship.
I've made my fair share of stands with the Blackburne Militia 'gainst Reavers, Raiders, Feral Mutants, Bots, and any other scum that came lurkin' into town with a mind to harm folk. I never for a second doubted that the Militia could hold off a pack of Reavers without me. Livin' in Blackburne, you sorta had to develop razor sharp survival instincts and fightin' skills to keep from endin' up just another unmarked grave in a sea of unmarked graves out in the Wastes. So to hear't they were retreatin' and evacuatin' shook me to the core. In all my time there, in all the horrible battles we'd struggled to win, even when the prospect of survivin' seemed bleak, we'd never once given thought to fleein'.
The order went out to launch a counter attack 'gainst the Reavers, maybe to hold 'em off and save the Downport, or to cover the civilians as they evacuated, and everybody scrambled into a ready state, all of us shellshocked. We'd all been waitin' to hear 'bout the 'lliance Loyalists launchin' an attack and havin' to meet 'em in battle on the ground or in the sky, we'd all been so focused on that particular threat that we hadn't been expectin' anything like this.
In the cockpit of my stryker, I waited, weapons strapped to me from head to toe in case I had t'opportunity to land and fight on foot. It was the waiting, the not knowing, the wondering if my friends were safe, if the people I loved had survived. I was plagued by ghastly images the whole trip... I'd seen what Reavers did to folk, the horrors that made suicide and an eternity in hell for it seem downright pleasant in comparison, and I kept seein' the faces of Blackburne citizens on the bodies of Reaver victims. It was like to drive me insane.
And then, we were there. And it was all smoke risin' from the town, obscurin' everything. Osprey II had made her escape with many of the Downport's citizens, and Seana'd shown up with Wave Equation, got thirty-one more. That was all I heard on my comm. That and a lotta curses. I don't reckon I made a sound as I flew in formation over the little town, now burnin', soon to be ash and rubble, cuz I was hit by memories, all so real I felt as though I could reach my hand out and feel everything there.
My first time in the Downport. I'd come in a transport ship I'd been barterin' work for passage on for a little over a month, thinkin' it'd be another quick stop in a long line of quick stops. Just another quiet little town alone in the night, strugglin' to get by, just like all the other hundreds of settlements on the rim. And I ran into Nack, who was warm and welcomin', tellin' me 'bout the moon's history and invitin' me to their shindig that night. I was standin' there, and he pulled out a camera and took a picture of me, just cuz he said it was gonna make a good picture. And it did. I still got the picture, too. Just me in front of a tree with a bird mindin' its own business off in the background.
That particular memory stuck in my mind, cuz it was then't I'd realized there was somethin' different 'bout this little town in the middle of God's nowhere. For some reason, I felt... well, I dunno, safe there. Accepted. Liked. It was a haven for folk like me, who were runnin' away from their pasts. Nobody asked too many questions, everybody helped out, and despite the hardships, it was all smiles and laughter, seemed like. So I'd decided to stay on there for a bit. Years in space tend to leave you hungry for land, for open spaces, for fresh air. Maybe Blackburne didn't have the freshest air, bein' green-tinged and radioactive and all, but it certainly qualified as land and had plenty of open space.
Mod settin' half the town on fire one night after the bar'd closed. Him and me were testin' out weapons, and he had this one that sent out... I dunno what it was, a fireball or somethin'... But half the gorram town was lit up with flames, and he was hollerin' 'bout how Nack was gonna kill him and kick him outta town as we spent the next hour runnin' 'round to put out all the gorram fires.
The bank stakeout with the Militia. We were bein' plagued by the gorram Wasteland Raiders, and recently, they'd scouted our bank. Ain't rightly sure what for, but after the theft of all our produce, includin' our turnips, we weren't 'bout to get caught with our pants down again. It started out with me and Amyla in bikinis, sunglasses and guns sittin' in lawn chairs in front of the bank to make damned sure no Raider'd get the drop on us. And it turned into a full blown party, with many townsfolk comin' out to join us. Someone even brought a grill and a bug zapper, which Archer managed to electrocute himself with more'n several times, much to our general amusement. Raiders never did show up for the party, but it was a good gorram day, full of laughter and friendship and love.
The buildin' of the new landin' pad. I remembered sittin' in lawn chairs with Lorie, "supervisin'" Nack and Lauralai as they worked on the new, bigger landin' pad, and watchin' as Nack landed his firefly on it for the first time. The look of pride on his face as he stood back and admired the way it all looked was priceless. Him and Laur'd worked tirelessly to make sure Blackburne was nothin' short of amazin' for so many years.
The many, many uncountable hours sittin' back on the porch of the bar, relaxin', socializin', gettin' to know folk, welcomin' newcomers, keepin' watch for trouble...
All the laughter in the bar...
Just a billion, billion memories of one place... And now, that place was gone.
Tears were streamin' down my face and I didn't even know it. The sense of loss was so profound, so palpable, that I felt it suffocatin' me. And my rage was intense. I wanted to fly down there and kill every last one of those bastards. But I knew I couldn't. Wouldn't be no point. And I'd be endangerin' the lives of my squad if I went on a rogue Reaver killin' spree. So I looked out the window of my cockpit and I silently said farewell to my home, now in flames, and I retreated back to base, feelin' useless and helpless and empty. It was as though I'd lost one of my best friends, and grieving' would be long-lived and hard.
But Blackburne Downport is worth all the anguish and the grief I'm feelin', that I know many, many countless others're feelin'. She was home to so many of us for so long, and she was a good home. And she'll always live on in our hearts and our memories.
I was at drill with the 12th when the wave came through. We'd heard rumors 'bout there bein' a force of reavers massin' and makin' their way through the Murphy system. I'd made plans to run the drill with my unit, then take off for Blackburne just in case those smelly bastards decided to make a pit stop. Too late, though, as everything came to a crunchin' halt and the 'nnouncement was made that my home was under heavy attack and that the citizens there were abandonin' the Downport and evacuatin' with everyone and anything they could get in Osprey II and any other available transport ship.
I've made my fair share of stands with the Blackburne Militia 'gainst Reavers, Raiders, Feral Mutants, Bots, and any other scum that came lurkin' into town with a mind to harm folk. I never for a second doubted that the Militia could hold off a pack of Reavers without me. Livin' in Blackburne, you sorta had to develop razor sharp survival instincts and fightin' skills to keep from endin' up just another unmarked grave in a sea of unmarked graves out in the Wastes. So to hear't they were retreatin' and evacuatin' shook me to the core. In all my time there, in all the horrible battles we'd struggled to win, even when the prospect of survivin' seemed bleak, we'd never once given thought to fleein'.
The order went out to launch a counter attack 'gainst the Reavers, maybe to hold 'em off and save the Downport, or to cover the civilians as they evacuated, and everybody scrambled into a ready state, all of us shellshocked. We'd all been waitin' to hear 'bout the 'lliance Loyalists launchin' an attack and havin' to meet 'em in battle on the ground or in the sky, we'd all been so focused on that particular threat that we hadn't been expectin' anything like this.
In the cockpit of my stryker, I waited, weapons strapped to me from head to toe in case I had t'opportunity to land and fight on foot. It was the waiting, the not knowing, the wondering if my friends were safe, if the people I loved had survived. I was plagued by ghastly images the whole trip... I'd seen what Reavers did to folk, the horrors that made suicide and an eternity in hell for it seem downright pleasant in comparison, and I kept seein' the faces of Blackburne citizens on the bodies of Reaver victims. It was like to drive me insane.
And then, we were there. And it was all smoke risin' from the town, obscurin' everything. Osprey II had made her escape with many of the Downport's citizens, and Seana'd shown up with Wave Equation, got thirty-one more. That was all I heard on my comm. That and a lotta curses. I don't reckon I made a sound as I flew in formation over the little town, now burnin', soon to be ash and rubble, cuz I was hit by memories, all so real I felt as though I could reach my hand out and feel everything there.
My first time in the Downport. I'd come in a transport ship I'd been barterin' work for passage on for a little over a month, thinkin' it'd be another quick stop in a long line of quick stops. Just another quiet little town alone in the night, strugglin' to get by, just like all the other hundreds of settlements on the rim. And I ran into Nack, who was warm and welcomin', tellin' me 'bout the moon's history and invitin' me to their shindig that night. I was standin' there, and he pulled out a camera and took a picture of me, just cuz he said it was gonna make a good picture. And it did. I still got the picture, too. Just me in front of a tree with a bird mindin' its own business off in the background.
That particular memory stuck in my mind, cuz it was then't I'd realized there was somethin' different 'bout this little town in the middle of God's nowhere. For some reason, I felt... well, I dunno, safe there. Accepted. Liked. It was a haven for folk like me, who were runnin' away from their pasts. Nobody asked too many questions, everybody helped out, and despite the hardships, it was all smiles and laughter, seemed like. So I'd decided to stay on there for a bit. Years in space tend to leave you hungry for land, for open spaces, for fresh air. Maybe Blackburne didn't have the freshest air, bein' green-tinged and radioactive and all, but it certainly qualified as land and had plenty of open space.
Mod settin' half the town on fire one night after the bar'd closed. Him and me were testin' out weapons, and he had this one that sent out... I dunno what it was, a fireball or somethin'... But half the gorram town was lit up with flames, and he was hollerin' 'bout how Nack was gonna kill him and kick him outta town as we spent the next hour runnin' 'round to put out all the gorram fires.
The bank stakeout with the Militia. We were bein' plagued by the gorram Wasteland Raiders, and recently, they'd scouted our bank. Ain't rightly sure what for, but after the theft of all our produce, includin' our turnips, we weren't 'bout to get caught with our pants down again. It started out with me and Amyla in bikinis, sunglasses and guns sittin' in lawn chairs in front of the bank to make damned sure no Raider'd get the drop on us. And it turned into a full blown party, with many townsfolk comin' out to join us. Someone even brought a grill and a bug zapper, which Archer managed to electrocute himself with more'n several times, much to our general amusement. Raiders never did show up for the party, but it was a good gorram day, full of laughter and friendship and love.
The buildin' of the new landin' pad. I remembered sittin' in lawn chairs with Lorie, "supervisin'" Nack and Lauralai as they worked on the new, bigger landin' pad, and watchin' as Nack landed his firefly on it for the first time. The look of pride on his face as he stood back and admired the way it all looked was priceless. Him and Laur'd worked tirelessly to make sure Blackburne was nothin' short of amazin' for so many years.
The many, many uncountable hours sittin' back on the porch of the bar, relaxin', socializin', gettin' to know folk, welcomin' newcomers, keepin' watch for trouble...
All the laughter in the bar...
Just a billion, billion memories of one place... And now, that place was gone.
Tears were streamin' down my face and I didn't even know it. The sense of loss was so profound, so palpable, that I felt it suffocatin' me. And my rage was intense. I wanted to fly down there and kill every last one of those bastards. But I knew I couldn't. Wouldn't be no point. And I'd be endangerin' the lives of my squad if I went on a rogue Reaver killin' spree. So I looked out the window of my cockpit and I silently said farewell to my home, now in flames, and I retreated back to base, feelin' useless and helpless and empty. It was as though I'd lost one of my best friends, and grieving' would be long-lived and hard.
But Blackburne Downport is worth all the anguish and the grief I'm feelin', that I know many, many countless others're feelin'. She was home to so many of us for so long, and she was a good home. And she'll always live on in our hearts and our memories.
10.5.09
Can Curses Be Broken?
Guess you could call me superstitious. Cuz, well, I am. Broken mirrors are seven years bad luck. Walkin' under ladders? Not a good idea. Black cats I could handle. But drinkin' Blackburne's green water was outta the question. I wouldn't even touch it, let alone drink the stuff. And marriage? Considerin' I'd lost Chris Barnett, Aeon Voom and Tdstraitjacket Manamiko to engagement or marriage, I'd come to the conclusion I was cursed. Newest superstitions? Touchin' the plaque on the wall in the briefin' room of the Elindor and wearin' my lucky drawers and the bracelet Duncan'd given me the night of the Ants in the 'Verse ball whenever I got in the cockpit of my stryker to fly her. Call me silly for all of it, but it's how I am.
So, poor Duncan's gotta deal with all my crazy superstitious crap, and I gotta say, he's been a champ 'bout it. I don't even reckon he snickers when I change my stride to miss cracks in the floorin'. But he's made it more'n clear to me that he'd like to marry me, despite my track record and fervent belief't gettin' engaged's the quickest way to end a relationship with me. Don't get me wrong, he said he's perfectly content just havin' me in his life, and I'm inclined to believe him. Neither one of us expected to end up together, and it was sorta miraculous that we did, given everything that'd been goin' on at the time, and given the situations both of us'd been in.
Call me crazy, but've you ever just known when somethin' was right? I mean real right? Like, so right that the entire 'verse seems to've gone way outta its way to line up so somethin' could happen? It's how I feel with Duncan. I ain't got a doubt in my mind 'bout him, and honestly, it's been that way from the beginnin'. I almost feel like my curse, the one where every time I got engaged or married, it'd fall apart and I'd end up losin' the person, was sorta God's or destiny's way of intervenin' on my behalf so't when Duncan and I crossed paths, we'd both be in positions to be together.
And now, I keep thinkin' 'bout what's fair and right. Ain't fair for him to not get to marry the woman he loves just cuz she's superstitious as all hell. I feel like I'd be deprivin' him of somethin' hugely important, and also myself, by denyin' him my hand in marriage. Maybe the curse still scares the hell outta me, but it's cuz I can't imagine a world without him in it anymore, and I couldn't bear the thought of losin' him... but somethin' tells me this time'll be different, cuz this time it's right.
And then there's this war. One of us may die tomorrow, or both of us. And I can't let that happen, 'least not without givin' him my eternal commitment. Maybe I'm wrong, or maybe I'm bein' silly. But it's what I believe.
So, given all that, I got a wild hair up my ass and decided one night that I was gonna propose to him. We were out on this little island in the middle of God's nowhere, deserted but for a couple little beach houses and docks and a millionbillion birds, standin' on a rise above the harbor entrance watchin' the sun go down. I got down on one knee, takin' his hands in mine, and I asked him if he'd do me the real great honor of marryin' me. Funnily enough, or maybe not, given that it happens to us all the time, he'd had the same notion in his head at 'zactly the same moment I did, and his response was to propose right back to me. 'Course I said yes.
We've kept it on the downlow since it happened, mainly outta respect for certain other peoples' feelin's, but there comes a time when you either make it public or walk away from it entirely. Me, I've wanted to shout it from the mountaintops since the second it happened. I'm done feelin' ashamed for feelin' the way I do 'bout him cuz it didn't suit someone else's feelings, and I'm ready to lift my head with pride knowin' that I'm with the most wonderful, most amazin' man I ever have met, that I love him entirely, and that I'm blessed to have him love me entirely back.
And I believe my curse's been broken. And one day soon, once we figure out how we're gonna do things, I'll have the honor of marrying the man who's become so close to me that I ain't rightly sure where I end and he begins, who's become my best friend, my confidante, my lover, my ally, my comrade in arms, my voice of reason, my rock of stability, my better half. He'll be my husband.
Now, the only question is whether or not we'll have kids.
Just kiddin'.
Sorta.
And just for the record... I AIN'T PREGNANT!
So, poor Duncan's gotta deal with all my crazy superstitious crap, and I gotta say, he's been a champ 'bout it. I don't even reckon he snickers when I change my stride to miss cracks in the floorin'. But he's made it more'n clear to me that he'd like to marry me, despite my track record and fervent belief't gettin' engaged's the quickest way to end a relationship with me. Don't get me wrong, he said he's perfectly content just havin' me in his life, and I'm inclined to believe him. Neither one of us expected to end up together, and it was sorta miraculous that we did, given everything that'd been goin' on at the time, and given the situations both of us'd been in.
Call me crazy, but've you ever just known when somethin' was right? I mean real right? Like, so right that the entire 'verse seems to've gone way outta its way to line up so somethin' could happen? It's how I feel with Duncan. I ain't got a doubt in my mind 'bout him, and honestly, it's been that way from the beginnin'. I almost feel like my curse, the one where every time I got engaged or married, it'd fall apart and I'd end up losin' the person, was sorta God's or destiny's way of intervenin' on my behalf so't when Duncan and I crossed paths, we'd both be in positions to be together.
And now, I keep thinkin' 'bout what's fair and right. Ain't fair for him to not get to marry the woman he loves just cuz she's superstitious as all hell. I feel like I'd be deprivin' him of somethin' hugely important, and also myself, by denyin' him my hand in marriage. Maybe the curse still scares the hell outta me, but it's cuz I can't imagine a world without him in it anymore, and I couldn't bear the thought of losin' him... but somethin' tells me this time'll be different, cuz this time it's right.
And then there's this war. One of us may die tomorrow, or both of us. And I can't let that happen, 'least not without givin' him my eternal commitment. Maybe I'm wrong, or maybe I'm bein' silly. But it's what I believe.
So, given all that, I got a wild hair up my ass and decided one night that I was gonna propose to him. We were out on this little island in the middle of God's nowhere, deserted but for a couple little beach houses and docks and a millionbillion birds, standin' on a rise above the harbor entrance watchin' the sun go down. I got down on one knee, takin' his hands in mine, and I asked him if he'd do me the real great honor of marryin' me. Funnily enough, or maybe not, given that it happens to us all the time, he'd had the same notion in his head at 'zactly the same moment I did, and his response was to propose right back to me. 'Course I said yes.
We've kept it on the downlow since it happened, mainly outta respect for certain other peoples' feelin's, but there comes a time when you either make it public or walk away from it entirely. Me, I've wanted to shout it from the mountaintops since the second it happened. I'm done feelin' ashamed for feelin' the way I do 'bout him cuz it didn't suit someone else's feelings, and I'm ready to lift my head with pride knowin' that I'm with the most wonderful, most amazin' man I ever have met, that I love him entirely, and that I'm blessed to have him love me entirely back.
And I believe my curse's been broken. And one day soon, once we figure out how we're gonna do things, I'll have the honor of marrying the man who's become so close to me that I ain't rightly sure where I end and he begins, who's become my best friend, my confidante, my lover, my ally, my comrade in arms, my voice of reason, my rock of stability, my better half. He'll be my husband.
Now, the only question is whether or not we'll have kids.
Just kiddin'.
Sorta.
And just for the record... I AIN'T PREGNANT!
4.5.09
Wild Hairs, Whiskey, and Wings
We all know I'm impatient as hell. And we all know I'm sorta prone to doin' my own thing, despite... advice, rules, or orders to the contrary. Really, I ain't so opposed to rules as a whole, so long as they ain't stupid and the situation don't call for 'em to be broke.
Duncan discussed it with me, whether I really wanted to enlist in the military, I sorta didn't get his trepidation when he asked me, then explained, given how I am, that I could well spend a goodly 'mounta' time in the brig. My reply? "You've seen me fly Merkabah. They'll pull me outta there when there's action. And as long's I'm allowed conjugal visits, no problem." Yeah.
I sorta see his point now. But on the other hand, I was right, too.
See, after enlistment, us nuggets were taken 'round and shown the ropes, then went in to qualify on flight and marksmanship. But 'fore any flyin' and shootin' actually took place, the flight instructor took us all out on the flight deck to go over the Stryker specs with us so we weren't totally blindsided our first time in the cockpits of 'em.
Well... I'm a sorta hands-on kinda gal. I learn best by doin'. "Kinetic learner" is what they call it. Some stuffy flight instructor dronin' on at me 'bout specs just don't do it for me so much. So, as he was leadin' us 'round the flight deck, I was bored to near tears, and got a wild hair up my ass. I climbed into one of the strykers to check out the controls and figure things out for myself. Nobody even noticed I was gone.
The class wandered away, and I thought there'd be no harm in seein' what she could do. The strykers're sleek, elegant little planes, sexy and menacin' all in the same breath, and ever since I laid eyes on 'em, I been itchin' to get in the cockpit and try 'em on for size. So, I started her up and took off. Sorta discombobulatin' at first, there was a good three minutes after I cleared the Elindor's hangar of panic on my part, tryin' to figure out what did what. Good deal of spinnin' in twenty-seven directions at once, but given the way Merkabah handles, that part didn't get me. All hell'd broken loose on the flight deck and in CIC, though. I had forty different folks screamin' at me over my comm.
I got it though, control, figured out where everything was and went on a short trip loopin' the Elindor 'fore I headed back in to be clapped in irons and possibly shot multiple times. It was exhilaratin'... the speed, the maneuverability, the sheer strength it took to control her. I was in love with this plane. And I got the feelin' she was likin' me, too, cuz she handled like a dream as I tried to put the old girl through a few paces.
My trip back in the ship was what ya might call excitin'. I was used to just landin', none of this catchin' a trap business. But the principle wasn't rocket science, so I managed to catch it and land her without killin' myself. Mighta been a few seconds in that cockpit where I was nervous, even. But I'll never admit it to to anyone.
The flight instructor was heated. I mean, yeah, I can sorta see why. If I'd gotten myself killed, it woulda been his ass. Prol'ly'd still be his ass that he wasn't payin' attention and let one of his nuggets pull a stunt like that. Ooh, he yelled, started yellin' the second the cockpit opened up and didn't stop for a full forty minutes. While he was yellin', I happened to glance up and noticed Admiral Leitner standin' there watchin'. I wonder how long he was watchin'. I wonder how much of my stunt he saw. It was weird, wasn't til I saw him that I started regrettin' what I'd done. For some reason, the idea of disappointin' him was more dauntin' to me than the threat of bein' tossed in the brig for a month.
And I did get tossed in the brig. When the flight instructor lost his wind, he had me report to the brig for insubordination and reckless endangerment. So I got to sit my happy little ass on a slab in a cell and cool my heels. While I was in there, all I could think 'bout was how sweet it was to fly that stryker. Also wondered how mad Duncan was gonna be that I got my ass tossed in the clink my first day in the service. Prol'ly more amused than mad. Man knew me too well to be surprised at all, really. I just hoped I got to see the look on his face when he found out what I did.
About three hours after I made home in my cell, I was told the Admiral wished to speak with me, and I'd be escorted to his quarters. Now, I don't wanna say I was terrified, cuz it wasn't like he was gonna shoot me or torture me, but I won't deny there wasn't some anxiety as I made my way down the ship's corridor, flanked on either side by an armed guard. My heart was poundin' so hard I was scared I might drop dead from a heart attack 'fore the admiral had a chance to chew me a new asshole.
He didn't look at me when we got there, just told the guards to remove my cuffs and leave us. Then he turned his back and walked behind his desk and told me to have a seat. I didn't say a word, just did as asked and stared at a point on the wooden surface of his desk, suddenly feelin' wooden myself. There was just somethin' bout this man that commanded respect. And hearin' a lecture from him, hell, gettin' the boot from the service by him was prol'ly the worst punishment they coulda given me.
"Major Cooperstone warned me that you were a pistol, Ms. Fargis. Not that he needed to. I saw that the first time I laid eyes on you." He still wasn't lookin' at me. He was shufflin' through some papers, like he either had more important matters to attend to or like he didn't want to look at me. But he kept talkin'. "I knew you'd be a troublemaker when I brought you on my ship. I figured you would have at least waited a few days before you started raising hell, but I've been wrong before."
My mouth started talkin' 'fore my brain could catch up. "Well sir, I ain't one to waste time."
'Round here they call him 'the Old Man' with a sorta mix of pride, affection and reverence. Reckon right 'bout then I knew why as his brown eyes found me over the steel rims of the glasses he wore. "There's a reason why we follow routine, procedure, orders," he began as he leaned back in his chair. "We're at war. For many on this ship, this war has been going on many years, and others have joined us more recently. To serve isn't the same thing as fighting. Those who serve put their lives in the hands of each other because we believe we're part of something greater than just the individual. That's where the routine, the discipline becomes important... When the battle rages, we have to commit entirely to a single moment that defines each and all of us." Without waiting for me to respond he drew a dark velvet box from a desk drawer and took out whatever was inside.
I knew what he was sayin'. There was a good damned reason I shouldn'ta gone off on my own half cocked just for shits and grins to prove I could fly a stryker, if even only to myself. If there'd be an actual good reason to do it, like protectin' someone or somethin', it woulda been justified, but what I did wasn't, and I was gonna have to learn to be a bit less impulsive so't my fellows in arms could trust me when the time came to get into the shit.
But insteada' continuin' to lecture me, he chuckled. What I saw etched into the lines of his aged face and in his eyes shocked me. Amusement and pride. What the hell? The old man wasn't even a little mad. He was impressed.
"Miss Fargis, in my experience, there are three types of soldier. Leaders, followers, and hard chargers. From what I've been able to dig up about you, I already know which one you are. You've scorned the opportunity to become a leader at every turn, even though there are plenty who would gladly follow you. And God knows you aren't a follower. What you are is a hard charger - a soldier who knows that sometimes it's better to throw the rulebook out the window and do what needs to be done, who follows their own orders and answers to no one."
I didn't say a word, cuz honestly, I didn't know what there was to say. Sounded like he was payin' me a hell of a compliment. And he wasn't finished. "The thing is, I know I can't control you. Trying to control hard chargers is about as effective as trying to herd cats. But I can find a way to use you. And that's what I'm going to do."
At that point, he pulled out two glasses and poured a healthy shot of whiskey into each one before picking them both up and continuing. "To be a stryker pilot, you have to have deadly sharp instincts and brass balls. Those ships aren't easy to pilot, and going into combat in one takes a very specific type of soldier. In all of my years in the military, I've never seen anything like the stunt you pulled today. And that tells me that you've got the skills, the instincts, and the balls to be a stryker pilot." He held one of the glasses out to me, and I accepted it with a quiet "Thank you, sir." I looked down at it, not sure what to say beyond that. And when I did, I saw the wings at the bottom of the glass.
"Congratulations, Lieutenant. And welcome to the 12th." The old man smiled. Somethin'd told me he had a soft spot for hell raisers, and I'd been right. By all rights, I shoulda been tossed overboard after rottin' in a cell for a year. But he promoted me to an officer and gave me wings 'cuz he recognized who I am and that if used right, my attitude could be advantageous. The old man knew how to lead, how to turn what most folk'd see as a problem to an asset. After that, I think I woulda followed him into battle armed with a spoon.
I followed suit as he raised his glass "The 12th Cavalry! First in the field and last to leave it." As the Old Man drained his glass, what I took for a look of pride and pain drifted across his wrinkled features. "And never truer words spoken," he gravelled quietly.
Duncan was gonna laugh like hell. Shit, he prol'ly planned the whole thing out with the Admiral. While the two showed no signs of recognition to anyone else, while it was all business 'tween 'em in public, I could sorta sense camaraderie 'tween 'em, like they were old friends behind closed doors.
Everyone else was either gonna stare at me in disbelief or hate me, thinkin' I got some kinda special treatment 'cuz my fiance's an officer. I sure as hell hope it wasn't special treatment. But no matter what, people were gonna sit up and notice the cocky nugget who stole a stryker without trainin' to fly it without killin' herself.
Boy, was the flight instructor gonna be pissed, though.
Duncan discussed it with me, whether I really wanted to enlist in the military, I sorta didn't get his trepidation when he asked me, then explained, given how I am, that I could well spend a goodly 'mounta' time in the brig. My reply? "You've seen me fly Merkabah. They'll pull me outta there when there's action. And as long's I'm allowed conjugal visits, no problem." Yeah.
I sorta see his point now. But on the other hand, I was right, too.
See, after enlistment, us nuggets were taken 'round and shown the ropes, then went in to qualify on flight and marksmanship. But 'fore any flyin' and shootin' actually took place, the flight instructor took us all out on the flight deck to go over the Stryker specs with us so we weren't totally blindsided our first time in the cockpits of 'em.
Well... I'm a sorta hands-on kinda gal. I learn best by doin'. "Kinetic learner" is what they call it. Some stuffy flight instructor dronin' on at me 'bout specs just don't do it for me so much. So, as he was leadin' us 'round the flight deck, I was bored to near tears, and got a wild hair up my ass. I climbed into one of the strykers to check out the controls and figure things out for myself. Nobody even noticed I was gone.
The class wandered away, and I thought there'd be no harm in seein' what she could do. The strykers're sleek, elegant little planes, sexy and menacin' all in the same breath, and ever since I laid eyes on 'em, I been itchin' to get in the cockpit and try 'em on for size. So, I started her up and took off. Sorta discombobulatin' at first, there was a good three minutes after I cleared the Elindor's hangar of panic on my part, tryin' to figure out what did what. Good deal of spinnin' in twenty-seven directions at once, but given the way Merkabah handles, that part didn't get me. All hell'd broken loose on the flight deck and in CIC, though. I had forty different folks screamin' at me over my comm.
I got it though, control, figured out where everything was and went on a short trip loopin' the Elindor 'fore I headed back in to be clapped in irons and possibly shot multiple times. It was exhilaratin'... the speed, the maneuverability, the sheer strength it took to control her. I was in love with this plane. And I got the feelin' she was likin' me, too, cuz she handled like a dream as I tried to put the old girl through a few paces.
My trip back in the ship was what ya might call excitin'. I was used to just landin', none of this catchin' a trap business. But the principle wasn't rocket science, so I managed to catch it and land her without killin' myself. Mighta been a few seconds in that cockpit where I was nervous, even. But I'll never admit it to to anyone.
The flight instructor was heated. I mean, yeah, I can sorta see why. If I'd gotten myself killed, it woulda been his ass. Prol'ly'd still be his ass that he wasn't payin' attention and let one of his nuggets pull a stunt like that. Ooh, he yelled, started yellin' the second the cockpit opened up and didn't stop for a full forty minutes. While he was yellin', I happened to glance up and noticed Admiral Leitner standin' there watchin'. I wonder how long he was watchin'. I wonder how much of my stunt he saw. It was weird, wasn't til I saw him that I started regrettin' what I'd done. For some reason, the idea of disappointin' him was more dauntin' to me than the threat of bein' tossed in the brig for a month.
And I did get tossed in the brig. When the flight instructor lost his wind, he had me report to the brig for insubordination and reckless endangerment. So I got to sit my happy little ass on a slab in a cell and cool my heels. While I was in there, all I could think 'bout was how sweet it was to fly that stryker. Also wondered how mad Duncan was gonna be that I got my ass tossed in the clink my first day in the service. Prol'ly more amused than mad. Man knew me too well to be surprised at all, really. I just hoped I got to see the look on his face when he found out what I did.
About three hours after I made home in my cell, I was told the Admiral wished to speak with me, and I'd be escorted to his quarters. Now, I don't wanna say I was terrified, cuz it wasn't like he was gonna shoot me or torture me, but I won't deny there wasn't some anxiety as I made my way down the ship's corridor, flanked on either side by an armed guard. My heart was poundin' so hard I was scared I might drop dead from a heart attack 'fore the admiral had a chance to chew me a new asshole.
He didn't look at me when we got there, just told the guards to remove my cuffs and leave us. Then he turned his back and walked behind his desk and told me to have a seat. I didn't say a word, just did as asked and stared at a point on the wooden surface of his desk, suddenly feelin' wooden myself. There was just somethin' bout this man that commanded respect. And hearin' a lecture from him, hell, gettin' the boot from the service by him was prol'ly the worst punishment they coulda given me.
"Major Cooperstone warned me that you were a pistol, Ms. Fargis. Not that he needed to. I saw that the first time I laid eyes on you." He still wasn't lookin' at me. He was shufflin' through some papers, like he either had more important matters to attend to or like he didn't want to look at me. But he kept talkin'. "I knew you'd be a troublemaker when I brought you on my ship. I figured you would have at least waited a few days before you started raising hell, but I've been wrong before."
My mouth started talkin' 'fore my brain could catch up. "Well sir, I ain't one to waste time."
'Round here they call him 'the Old Man' with a sorta mix of pride, affection and reverence. Reckon right 'bout then I knew why as his brown eyes found me over the steel rims of the glasses he wore. "There's a reason why we follow routine, procedure, orders," he began as he leaned back in his chair. "We're at war. For many on this ship, this war has been going on many years, and others have joined us more recently. To serve isn't the same thing as fighting. Those who serve put their lives in the hands of each other because we believe we're part of something greater than just the individual. That's where the routine, the discipline becomes important... When the battle rages, we have to commit entirely to a single moment that defines each and all of us." Without waiting for me to respond he drew a dark velvet box from a desk drawer and took out whatever was inside.
I knew what he was sayin'. There was a good damned reason I shouldn'ta gone off on my own half cocked just for shits and grins to prove I could fly a stryker, if even only to myself. If there'd be an actual good reason to do it, like protectin' someone or somethin', it woulda been justified, but what I did wasn't, and I was gonna have to learn to be a bit less impulsive so't my fellows in arms could trust me when the time came to get into the shit.
But insteada' continuin' to lecture me, he chuckled. What I saw etched into the lines of his aged face and in his eyes shocked me. Amusement and pride. What the hell? The old man wasn't even a little mad. He was impressed.
"Miss Fargis, in my experience, there are three types of soldier. Leaders, followers, and hard chargers. From what I've been able to dig up about you, I already know which one you are. You've scorned the opportunity to become a leader at every turn, even though there are plenty who would gladly follow you. And God knows you aren't a follower. What you are is a hard charger - a soldier who knows that sometimes it's better to throw the rulebook out the window and do what needs to be done, who follows their own orders and answers to no one."
I didn't say a word, cuz honestly, I didn't know what there was to say. Sounded like he was payin' me a hell of a compliment. And he wasn't finished. "The thing is, I know I can't control you. Trying to control hard chargers is about as effective as trying to herd cats. But I can find a way to use you. And that's what I'm going to do."
At that point, he pulled out two glasses and poured a healthy shot of whiskey into each one before picking them both up and continuing. "To be a stryker pilot, you have to have deadly sharp instincts and brass balls. Those ships aren't easy to pilot, and going into combat in one takes a very specific type of soldier. In all of my years in the military, I've never seen anything like the stunt you pulled today. And that tells me that you've got the skills, the instincts, and the balls to be a stryker pilot." He held one of the glasses out to me, and I accepted it with a quiet "Thank you, sir." I looked down at it, not sure what to say beyond that. And when I did, I saw the wings at the bottom of the glass.
"Congratulations, Lieutenant. And welcome to the 12th." The old man smiled. Somethin'd told me he had a soft spot for hell raisers, and I'd been right. By all rights, I shoulda been tossed overboard after rottin' in a cell for a year. But he promoted me to an officer and gave me wings 'cuz he recognized who I am and that if used right, my attitude could be advantageous. The old man knew how to lead, how to turn what most folk'd see as a problem to an asset. After that, I think I woulda followed him into battle armed with a spoon.
I followed suit as he raised his glass "The 12th Cavalry! First in the field and last to leave it." As the Old Man drained his glass, what I took for a look of pride and pain drifted across his wrinkled features. "And never truer words spoken," he gravelled quietly.
Duncan was gonna laugh like hell. Shit, he prol'ly planned the whole thing out with the Admiral. While the two showed no signs of recognition to anyone else, while it was all business 'tween 'em in public, I could sorta sense camaraderie 'tween 'em, like they were old friends behind closed doors.
Everyone else was either gonna stare at me in disbelief or hate me, thinkin' I got some kinda special treatment 'cuz my fiance's an officer. I sure as hell hope it wasn't special treatment. But no matter what, people were gonna sit up and notice the cocky nugget who stole a stryker without trainin' to fly it without killin' herself.
Boy, was the flight instructor gonna be pissed, though.
27.3.09
Freedom's Just Another Word For Nothin' Left To Lose (A Narrative)
They say time is relative. "Put your hands on a hot stove and a second can seem like an hour. Put your hands on a hot woman, and an hour can seem like a second." For Imrhien, the day she went back to Hale's Moon after smuggling her family off of Persephone was an eternity.
Td was gone. He hadn't said where or why, but she had a fairly good notion about the why part. The loss left her gasping for air, scrambling for a foothold to keep her from plummeting into some unknown void. Td. He was her rock, he kept her grounded and real and solid. He was the Alpha male to her Alpha female. She had ached and agonized over him for so long, walked away from him as a lover to keep him as a friend, and somehow along the road, they had found eachother again, and suddenly, she had been allowed to love him. Now he was gone. Just gone.
So the curse existed. Oh, she knew it had. How could it not have? First losing her unfaithful fiance, then her distracted husband? She'd feared it with Td, a knot tightening in her chest as he'd dropped to one knee and asked for her hand in marriage. But she'd thrown caution to the wind and accepted despite that fear. And now, she'd lost him, too. Probably forever.
Then there was the wave from Belize with regard to Duncan. She'd fallen in love with him - not that it was hard to do - and they were seeing eachother. The news meant three things to Imrhien: Duncan had come back to Hale's Moon, she had truly lost him forever, as well, and Belize would finally be happy.
Standing in Fook's with some of the townsfolk, she was greeted by even worse news. Lily had died in childbirth. That loss hit her like a house dropping on her head. Lily. She remembered Lily when she first started venturing into Blackburne Downport, this skittish little hairless anthro mutant, and how slowly, she came to trust the people there. She started staying around, and oh, how she'd grown on all of them... Not just into a striped, gorgeous not-cat with a penchant for blundering familiar words like insemination (in salmon nation), anniversary (ants in the 'verse), and amniotic (annie optic), but in their hearts as an adored resident of the town. Imrhien had adopted Lily along with Td, Seana, and Sabrina, hoping to protect her and love her, since Lily was technically a child and unfit to make decisions in her own interest. It had gone very badly between Lily and Imrhien from almost the get-go, with Lily mimcking Imrhien, and Imrhien grasping the reins of motherhood with a bit too sharp of a yank. But in the end of the struggle, both knew they were loved by the other.
Poor Lily. She'd obsessed for months and months over babies - where they came from, what caused them, how they were born. First it was babies growing in pumpkins, then it was needing fish oil to make one in the salmon nation, then it was faeries bringing them in seashells. Now, she was a mother, but had died before she could experience the joy of it.
She was utterly numb. The loss of so much in so short a time was entirely devastating to Imrhien. She could barely wrap her mind around it all. So she stood there, a hair's breadth from going limp, and stared at a spot on the wall, her arms hanging heavily at her sides, utterly powerless. She didn't know how long she stood there, maybe it was a moment, maybe an hour, maybe a day, maybe a week. And she came to a conclusion.
Love was pain. Love was loss. And love was not for her, because it inevitably led to catastrophe. It was a conclusion she had come to long before, but had foolishly pushed aside in the hope that she was wrong about it. But now, it was back and it was real and it was profound, and the only thing keeping her from screaming until she was mute was that numbness that had washed over her and left her in a state of deathly calm.
Then, the Reavers came.
Screams of terror ripped through the town, echoing off buildings and getting lost somewhere out in the desert, followed by snarls and vicious howls. The town was under attack, townsfolk running around in terror to find a safe place to hide, or else with weapons to defend the defenseless.
Imrhien's body snapped into action almost without thought. She had been there and done that a hundred times before, so it was like second nature to her, running out into the fray, Fear and Pain brandished steady in position, ready for their first prey. No need to bring her tortured mind into it, it would only muck things up and get her killed.
Engaging one Reaver that was chasing after a screaming woman, she brought Pain slashing down in a blurred arc, catching the mutilated horror from behind in its shoulder and cutting a good way through its upper torso before running Fear through its mid-back, slicing her katana free through organs and bone. The Reaver dropped to the ground, its ruined body bleeding what was left of its life out, and she screamed.
It wasn't a scream of fear, but something primal, announcing first blood to the heavens, a challenge to her enemies. Reaching down, she let the fingers of both her hands sink into the Reaver's flesh, then drew them up to her face and dragging each digit simultaneously across her cheeks, leaving three bloody lines on each side. War paint. She had somehow managed to channel her deep, aching pain into rage, and was using it to fuel her will to fight.
On and on she fought, her blades blurring violently through the air as she battled to protect what she cared so deeply about. And then, she saw him. Outwardly, she gave no sign, but inwardly... Her blood pumped that much harder through her veins, and she fought on, for what seemed like an eternity.
One Reaver managed to get the drop on her, slashing her side open before she removed its head, and she was forced to retreat to the bar, where Belize was tending to the wounded, mainly so that something important, like her liver, didn't fall out, or so she didn't bleed to death before the town was safe. Belize was quick to patch her back up, but made her wait for the adhesive to dry before allowing her to rejoin the chaos.
And in the space of those few moments, the Reavers began scratching at the steel doors, their glutteral cries and growls seeping through the walls. And they who were in the bar knew they were trapped, their fates in the hands of the fighters outside.
It was what she had been waiting for. The chance to die with honor in battle. Imrhien gave instruction to Belize to take everyone in the bar down to the old shelter below the medpav. It was secure and stocked with food and supplies from the replicant revolt.
Before Belize could argue too much, Imrhien was slipping out the door, screaming bloody murder and running like hell was hot on her heels. It worked. The Reavers gave chase, as was their nature, abandoning their siege of the bar and allowing Belize and the others to sneak out to the medpav and assured safety.
Once on the run, Imrhien hadn't a clue what her next move was going to be. She dared not turn back to engage them, because they would have been on her before she'd gotten halfway around. She didn't know if anyone else was alive, she didn't know if he was still alive, but she kept on running. Some survival instinct had kicked into overdrive, willing her to live through this even though she'd known it was a suicidal plunge.
One of the Reavers grabbed her shoulder with a clawed hand, yanking her to the ground on her back, and they were on her like stink on shit, their teeth tearing at her flesh, and she knew it was over. She closed her eyes, not willing to scream, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of hearing her terror... Shots rang out. Under attack, the Reavers abandoned their meal to seek out new prey.
Bleeding heavily from missing chunks of skin, Imrhien slowly looked around, realizing where she was. The courtyard. She didn't even remember running there. But more importantly, she was just ten meters from the medpav entrance. She begain to drag herself toward the entrance, woozy, her head spinning, and tumbled down the staircase, into the medical bay.
Strong arms lifted her up and carried her somewhere. She didn't know who, and she didn't particularly care at that moment. Her vision was blurry, her body weak and unresponsive, and she lay in the hospital bed, staring at what she hoped was the ceiling as Belize did her damnedest to sew her back up.
She didn't remember much else. She didn't remember trying to get back up as the snarls of the Reavers tore through the air in the medpav. She didn't remember Belize dosing her with another tranquilizer to keep her from getting herself killed. She didn't remember Duncan walking into he medpav searching for her, or that he found her and spoke softly to her. All she remembered was the pain. The physical pain wasn't so bad. but the emotional turmoil... Td. Duncan. Belize. Lily. Their faces revolved around her conscious mind, spinning ceaselessly, unrelenting.
Standing on that hill a few days later... Her hill, the hill where she'd fallen to her knees and prayed the day of Lily's trial, where she'd run to when faced with the decision between the two men she loved, where Duncan had followed her and said goodbye... She let her grief consume her, her hot tears crashing down into the sand at her feet. All was lost. She was alone. There was no hope. This was not home anymore.
And then she saw her. The Raivenn, gleaming in the early twilight. She was there where she'd always been before, where she belonged, warm and welcoming, a beacon of hope and friendship and loyalty... to her, a quiet conversation over tea, and a comfort in her heart. Her footfalls carried her across the cool sand without her even realizing she was moving, and soon, she stood before the magnificent firefly, her face lifted up to take her in as she'd never done before, tears still trailing down her cheeks, her hair tossed wildly around her by the desert winds.
She didn't expect him to be there. She didn't expect him to come down to greet her. But the ramp slowly lowered, the mechanical sound doing nothing to revive her from her reverie. And suddenly, he was there. Duncan. Standing in the mouth of his ship, wearing only a cotton shirt, trousers and boots, his eyes fixed on her, and without a word, she rushed at him like a moth to a flame, the world taking a moment to stand still until they collided, arms locked around eachother in a fierce embrace.
After a hour, or perhaps just a minute, Duncan lifted Imrhien in his arms and carried her on board, closing the ramp on his way inside to take her home.
Td was gone. He hadn't said where or why, but she had a fairly good notion about the why part. The loss left her gasping for air, scrambling for a foothold to keep her from plummeting into some unknown void. Td. He was her rock, he kept her grounded and real and solid. He was the Alpha male to her Alpha female. She had ached and agonized over him for so long, walked away from him as a lover to keep him as a friend, and somehow along the road, they had found eachother again, and suddenly, she had been allowed to love him. Now he was gone. Just gone.
So the curse existed. Oh, she knew it had. How could it not have? First losing her unfaithful fiance, then her distracted husband? She'd feared it with Td, a knot tightening in her chest as he'd dropped to one knee and asked for her hand in marriage. But she'd thrown caution to the wind and accepted despite that fear. And now, she'd lost him, too. Probably forever.
Then there was the wave from Belize with regard to Duncan. She'd fallen in love with him - not that it was hard to do - and they were seeing eachother. The news meant three things to Imrhien: Duncan had come back to Hale's Moon, she had truly lost him forever, as well, and Belize would finally be happy.
Standing in Fook's with some of the townsfolk, she was greeted by even worse news. Lily had died in childbirth. That loss hit her like a house dropping on her head. Lily. She remembered Lily when she first started venturing into Blackburne Downport, this skittish little hairless anthro mutant, and how slowly, she came to trust the people there. She started staying around, and oh, how she'd grown on all of them... Not just into a striped, gorgeous not-cat with a penchant for blundering familiar words like insemination (in salmon nation), anniversary (ants in the 'verse), and amniotic (annie optic), but in their hearts as an adored resident of the town. Imrhien had adopted Lily along with Td, Seana, and Sabrina, hoping to protect her and love her, since Lily was technically a child and unfit to make decisions in her own interest. It had gone very badly between Lily and Imrhien from almost the get-go, with Lily mimcking Imrhien, and Imrhien grasping the reins of motherhood with a bit too sharp of a yank. But in the end of the struggle, both knew they were loved by the other.
Poor Lily. She'd obsessed for months and months over babies - where they came from, what caused them, how they were born. First it was babies growing in pumpkins, then it was needing fish oil to make one in the salmon nation, then it was faeries bringing them in seashells. Now, she was a mother, but had died before she could experience the joy of it.
She was utterly numb. The loss of so much in so short a time was entirely devastating to Imrhien. She could barely wrap her mind around it all. So she stood there, a hair's breadth from going limp, and stared at a spot on the wall, her arms hanging heavily at her sides, utterly powerless. She didn't know how long she stood there, maybe it was a moment, maybe an hour, maybe a day, maybe a week. And she came to a conclusion.
Love was pain. Love was loss. And love was not for her, because it inevitably led to catastrophe. It was a conclusion she had come to long before, but had foolishly pushed aside in the hope that she was wrong about it. But now, it was back and it was real and it was profound, and the only thing keeping her from screaming until she was mute was that numbness that had washed over her and left her in a state of deathly calm.
Then, the Reavers came.
Screams of terror ripped through the town, echoing off buildings and getting lost somewhere out in the desert, followed by snarls and vicious howls. The town was under attack, townsfolk running around in terror to find a safe place to hide, or else with weapons to defend the defenseless.
Imrhien's body snapped into action almost without thought. She had been there and done that a hundred times before, so it was like second nature to her, running out into the fray, Fear and Pain brandished steady in position, ready for their first prey. No need to bring her tortured mind into it, it would only muck things up and get her killed.
Engaging one Reaver that was chasing after a screaming woman, she brought Pain slashing down in a blurred arc, catching the mutilated horror from behind in its shoulder and cutting a good way through its upper torso before running Fear through its mid-back, slicing her katana free through organs and bone. The Reaver dropped to the ground, its ruined body bleeding what was left of its life out, and she screamed.
It wasn't a scream of fear, but something primal, announcing first blood to the heavens, a challenge to her enemies. Reaching down, she let the fingers of both her hands sink into the Reaver's flesh, then drew them up to her face and dragging each digit simultaneously across her cheeks, leaving three bloody lines on each side. War paint. She had somehow managed to channel her deep, aching pain into rage, and was using it to fuel her will to fight.
On and on she fought, her blades blurring violently through the air as she battled to protect what she cared so deeply about. And then, she saw him. Outwardly, she gave no sign, but inwardly... Her blood pumped that much harder through her veins, and she fought on, for what seemed like an eternity.
One Reaver managed to get the drop on her, slashing her side open before she removed its head, and she was forced to retreat to the bar, where Belize was tending to the wounded, mainly so that something important, like her liver, didn't fall out, or so she didn't bleed to death before the town was safe. Belize was quick to patch her back up, but made her wait for the adhesive to dry before allowing her to rejoin the chaos.
And in the space of those few moments, the Reavers began scratching at the steel doors, their glutteral cries and growls seeping through the walls. And they who were in the bar knew they were trapped, their fates in the hands of the fighters outside.
It was what she had been waiting for. The chance to die with honor in battle. Imrhien gave instruction to Belize to take everyone in the bar down to the old shelter below the medpav. It was secure and stocked with food and supplies from the replicant revolt.
Before Belize could argue too much, Imrhien was slipping out the door, screaming bloody murder and running like hell was hot on her heels. It worked. The Reavers gave chase, as was their nature, abandoning their siege of the bar and allowing Belize and the others to sneak out to the medpav and assured safety.
Once on the run, Imrhien hadn't a clue what her next move was going to be. She dared not turn back to engage them, because they would have been on her before she'd gotten halfway around. She didn't know if anyone else was alive, she didn't know if he was still alive, but she kept on running. Some survival instinct had kicked into overdrive, willing her to live through this even though she'd known it was a suicidal plunge.
One of the Reavers grabbed her shoulder with a clawed hand, yanking her to the ground on her back, and they were on her like stink on shit, their teeth tearing at her flesh, and she knew it was over. She closed her eyes, not willing to scream, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of hearing her terror... Shots rang out. Under attack, the Reavers abandoned their meal to seek out new prey.
Bleeding heavily from missing chunks of skin, Imrhien slowly looked around, realizing where she was. The courtyard. She didn't even remember running there. But more importantly, she was just ten meters from the medpav entrance. She begain to drag herself toward the entrance, woozy, her head spinning, and tumbled down the staircase, into the medical bay.
Strong arms lifted her up and carried her somewhere. She didn't know who, and she didn't particularly care at that moment. Her vision was blurry, her body weak and unresponsive, and she lay in the hospital bed, staring at what she hoped was the ceiling as Belize did her damnedest to sew her back up.
She didn't remember much else. She didn't remember trying to get back up as the snarls of the Reavers tore through the air in the medpav. She didn't remember Belize dosing her with another tranquilizer to keep her from getting herself killed. She didn't remember Duncan walking into he medpav searching for her, or that he found her and spoke softly to her. All she remembered was the pain. The physical pain wasn't so bad. but the emotional turmoil... Td. Duncan. Belize. Lily. Their faces revolved around her conscious mind, spinning ceaselessly, unrelenting.
Standing on that hill a few days later... Her hill, the hill where she'd fallen to her knees and prayed the day of Lily's trial, where she'd run to when faced with the decision between the two men she loved, where Duncan had followed her and said goodbye... She let her grief consume her, her hot tears crashing down into the sand at her feet. All was lost. She was alone. There was no hope. This was not home anymore.
And then she saw her. The Raivenn, gleaming in the early twilight. She was there where she'd always been before, where she belonged, warm and welcoming, a beacon of hope and friendship and loyalty... to her, a quiet conversation over tea, and a comfort in her heart. Her footfalls carried her across the cool sand without her even realizing she was moving, and soon, she stood before the magnificent firefly, her face lifted up to take her in as she'd never done before, tears still trailing down her cheeks, her hair tossed wildly around her by the desert winds.
She didn't expect him to be there. She didn't expect him to come down to greet her. But the ramp slowly lowered, the mechanical sound doing nothing to revive her from her reverie. And suddenly, he was there. Duncan. Standing in the mouth of his ship, wearing only a cotton shirt, trousers and boots, his eyes fixed on her, and without a word, she rushed at him like a moth to a flame, the world taking a moment to stand still until they collided, arms locked around eachother in a fierce embrace.
After a hour, or perhaps just a minute, Duncan lifted Imrhien in his arms and carried her on board, closing the ramp on his way inside to take her home.
26.3.09
Departures
This time, I wasn't gonna get myself frakked. I showed up armed to the teeth, and I do believe my dear old Pa mighta shat hisself when he woke to find Fear and Pain 'cross his throat and his eldest child standing over him at the offended ends of 'em.
"Look," I said, and he just stared at me. Ma'd gotten up outta bed and was backed up, watchin'. Wonder if she knew I wasn't out for his blood. Didn't have time to go gallavantin' 'bout in her head to find out, though. "Given the last time we met up, it didn't end so well for me, I brought my katanas. Just know that I ain't got no intent to kill you, or even hurt you, but so help me God, if'n you so much as think 'bou tryin' to cause me trouble while I'm here, you will know Fear, and you will know Pain, and then, you will die. Just so we're perfectly clear."
I gave him a minute to process that 'fore goin' on. "Now, it occurred to me that the Feds might show up here with a sorta interest in Petra, maybe even Mama, cuz of me. And I'll be hanged 'fore I see either of 'em hurt when I can do somethin' to prevent it. So, I'm gettin' y'all outta here. It can either be all of you, or it can be just Mama and Petra, or it can be Jacob, Robert and Thomas, too, but it's happenin', so don't even bother arguin' with me."
And that was how my family ended up on a transport ship off of Persephone. I'd made a call 'fore shippin' out from Hale's, asked Cap'n Card to swing by and pick 'em up and take 'em somewhere safe. Didn't get into details with him. Reckoned he'd have a better notion of where was safe than me, cuz the only places I knew well enough to trust were Blackburne and Hale's Moon, and had it just been my Ma, my brothers and Petra, one or the other woulda suited. But my Pa was with 'em, and I couldn't trust him further'n I could throw a piano.
I advised 'em to change their names and lose their past. Start fresh. Reckon Pa had no misgivin's 'bout that. From what I could tell, he was in debt up to his eyeballs and sure'n there'd be more'n a few debtors out for his hide soon as they realized he'd jumped planet. Man actually thanked me for helpin' them as he stood on the ramp of Lone Reverie. Didn't apologize for shit, but I figure that I got a "thank you" outta him's 'bout as miraculous as ya get.
Mama had a message for me, though. Weren't so much a message as it was just... lettin' me know somethin't prol'ly wasn't ever intended for me to know. She told me 'bout the man who came 'round the day after I'd escaped Federal custody, and how he'd paid Pa off to stay the hell away from me. She described him. Tall. Muscular. Brown coat. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Moustache. Duncan. So he'd figured it out. How the devil he managed that one was beyond me, but I honestly wasn't too surprised. It gave me a pang. Hell, pang. More like a deep, profound sense of loss. No point in openin' that door again, though. He was gone, and that was it.
Petra just looked at me. Wasn't like how my brothers looked at me, with so much fear and awe in their eyes, starin' at a big sister who had enough weapons strappd to her to wage a small war. No, she looked at me, and she wanted me to take her with me. But I couldn't. So I told her, in her head, where she could find me when she was grown, or if she needed help.
And that was it. They were gone. I'd promised Card that we'd get together sometime to shoot the shit, and I'd told my Pa in no uncertain terms that if he did to Petra what he'd tried to do to me, he'd live to regret it. A lot. I reckon that man walked away with a whole new perspective on life. Or, maybe not. He wasn't famous for bein' wise. More for bein' a fool.
I wondered if I'd ever see any of 'em again. Hell, weren't like I even knew any of 'em. They weren't part of my life now. But there'd always be a part of me that'd wonder how they were gettin' on. And when I was done thinkin' my nostalgic thoughts, I went and got Merkabah so I could go home.
And when I got there, I found that everything had changed.
"Look," I said, and he just stared at me. Ma'd gotten up outta bed and was backed up, watchin'. Wonder if she knew I wasn't out for his blood. Didn't have time to go gallavantin' 'bout in her head to find out, though. "Given the last time we met up, it didn't end so well for me, I brought my katanas. Just know that I ain't got no intent to kill you, or even hurt you, but so help me God, if'n you so much as think 'bou tryin' to cause me trouble while I'm here, you will know Fear, and you will know Pain, and then, you will die. Just so we're perfectly clear."
I gave him a minute to process that 'fore goin' on. "Now, it occurred to me that the Feds might show up here with a sorta interest in Petra, maybe even Mama, cuz of me. And I'll be hanged 'fore I see either of 'em hurt when I can do somethin' to prevent it. So, I'm gettin' y'all outta here. It can either be all of you, or it can be just Mama and Petra, or it can be Jacob, Robert and Thomas, too, but it's happenin', so don't even bother arguin' with me."
And that was how my family ended up on a transport ship off of Persephone. I'd made a call 'fore shippin' out from Hale's, asked Cap'n Card to swing by and pick 'em up and take 'em somewhere safe. Didn't get into details with him. Reckoned he'd have a better notion of where was safe than me, cuz the only places I knew well enough to trust were Blackburne and Hale's Moon, and had it just been my Ma, my brothers and Petra, one or the other woulda suited. But my Pa was with 'em, and I couldn't trust him further'n I could throw a piano.
I advised 'em to change their names and lose their past. Start fresh. Reckon Pa had no misgivin's 'bout that. From what I could tell, he was in debt up to his eyeballs and sure'n there'd be more'n a few debtors out for his hide soon as they realized he'd jumped planet. Man actually thanked me for helpin' them as he stood on the ramp of Lone Reverie. Didn't apologize for shit, but I figure that I got a "thank you" outta him's 'bout as miraculous as ya get.
Mama had a message for me, though. Weren't so much a message as it was just... lettin' me know somethin't prol'ly wasn't ever intended for me to know. She told me 'bout the man who came 'round the day after I'd escaped Federal custody, and how he'd paid Pa off to stay the hell away from me. She described him. Tall. Muscular. Brown coat. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Moustache. Duncan. So he'd figured it out. How the devil he managed that one was beyond me, but I honestly wasn't too surprised. It gave me a pang. Hell, pang. More like a deep, profound sense of loss. No point in openin' that door again, though. He was gone, and that was it.
Petra just looked at me. Wasn't like how my brothers looked at me, with so much fear and awe in their eyes, starin' at a big sister who had enough weapons strappd to her to wage a small war. No, she looked at me, and she wanted me to take her with me. But I couldn't. So I told her, in her head, where she could find me when she was grown, or if she needed help.
And that was it. They were gone. I'd promised Card that we'd get together sometime to shoot the shit, and I'd told my Pa in no uncertain terms that if he did to Petra what he'd tried to do to me, he'd live to regret it. A lot. I reckon that man walked away with a whole new perspective on life. Or, maybe not. He wasn't famous for bein' wise. More for bein' a fool.
I wondered if I'd ever see any of 'em again. Hell, weren't like I even knew any of 'em. They weren't part of my life now. But there'd always be a part of me that'd wonder how they were gettin' on. And when I was done thinkin' my nostalgic thoughts, I went and got Merkabah so I could go home.
And when I got there, I found that everything had changed.
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