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Feb. 11th, 2010 04:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
in_the_blueToday, I wrote a story.
Title: Dark of Night
Fandom: Last Exile
Characters: Alex Row, Euris Bassianus, Arthur Campbell
Word Count: 1782
Rating: G
Warnings: Spoilers through episode 15. (Nothing my fellow RPers haven't already heard.)
Vision clouded red, he turns to stare in horror at the empty seat behind him. Flecks of blood rain down on it but he can't take the time to think about where they're coming from, though on some deep inner level he knows the blood is his own. All he can do is look on helplessly as the one word forms on his lips. It escapes and takes flight on the wind, so loud for such a simple word.
Euris!
There should have been more. There should have been more time for more words, more thoughts: Euris, are you there? Are you safe? Talk to me, talk to me. By the time he turns to see the thing that will haunt his nightmares for years, he doesn't even know how long it's been since he last heard her voice on the angry too-strong winds, can't remember the last time the vanship lurched with a boost to its engine. They move at one with that ship, the both of them; it's their silent and much-needed partner. The three of them make up their own small universe within this world-at-war of theirs.
Euris!
It can't go on without her. He can't go on without her: they're a team. They do things together. They do everything together and without her he and this vanship will continue to be as useless as they are now, buffeted about on the winds in the Grand Stream. Exile was supposed to be the stuff of dreams, not of reality. Just an old story, a legend. Yet here it is in front of his very eyes, larger than he could ever have imagined, all the more intense for its sudden appearance.
And then he sees her just standing there, a bouquet of roses in her hand as if she's just come in from an engagement party. There she is, Delphine Eraclea, standing on the... is that the bow of the ship? He doesn't know, but no one should simply be able to stand there in winds like this, smiling like she knows the secrets to life and death. Her face is burned into his memory more fiercely than if her image had been branded onto his very skin and in the moment, as the wind grabs his vanship and casts it aside as if it's no more than a child's toy (Euris!), he knows that no matter how long he lives, this is something he'll never let rest.
♚ ♛ ♞
Eyes long since healed from the brutal winds open with a start; he sits up in his chair. It's been years since he slept through the night and he's stopped trying. Some things in life are just pointless and he can no longer remember the last time he went to sleep in his bed. After all this time it's far too lonely a place; the emptiness of it calls and mocks where it should relieve and comfort. The wobbling glow of lantern-light tells him the ship is rocking gently, the clouds its cradle. Taking only a moment to close the log-book, he stands and straightens his jacket, dons his gloves and cloak, takes his cane in hand. The ship runs with a skeleton crew at night as it should; all his officers are good and competent or they wouldn't be aboard the Silvana in the first place. Still, there's a sense of urgency as he walks onto the bridge: backs straighten, faces turn forward peering through windows that show nothing save clouds by moonlight and the occasional star above.
"Captain!" It's his second, Campbell, at the ready.
"As you were." With a wave of his hand he takes his seat, resting both hands heavily on the cane's handle. He's relieved the night crew rarely bothers with the whole Captain on the bridge! protocol. It's unnecessary; he's as much a part of this crew as they are, for all that he's here. "All as it should be, Mr. Campbell?"
"All as it should be, Captain. If I might say so, sir, you should try and get some sleep. There's an exercise scheduled for 0700."
So very slightly, he shakes his head. "Your concern is noted." Glancing over just in time to see the edges of a smile on his Second Officer's face -- they share the same sense of humor -- he relaxes back into the captain's chair now, one leg crossed over the other, eyes wanting to close. More than anyone else on the bridge crew, Campbell is privy to his ship's captain being up and about at odd hours. "The time?"
"02:43, sir."
"Wind speed?"
"Seven knots, sir. Steady as she goes."
"Engines at rest?"
"Yes, sir. Engines at full stop."
"Thank you, Mr. Campbell." The echo of his voice comes back to him like an unwelcome stranger and as he lets his eyes close, a memory of Euris floods his thoughts. It's the night before the peace treaty mission; she's been fussing and straightening things all evening. Books on shelves, papers on the desk, fruit in the basket. Every now and again he catches her stopping to admire the ring on her finger.
"Tell me, Alex. Why did you give this to me now?" She holds her hand up, not unhappily, admiring the sparkle of the stone. "Not that I mind: I'm thrilled. It's beautiful. But why not wait until we get back?"
He knows what she's thinking, that they have enough on their minds. Nerves are high, but if any two sets of vanship pilots can navigate the Grand Stream it's the pair of Row and Bassianus, Valca and Head. Everybody knows that. The Emperor knows it; the Prime Minister knows it although he doesn't wish to see his daughter put into such danger. But everything will be all right: they'll make it to Disith, deliver the treaty, and make their way back. It's just flying
(through dangerous and uncharted territory)
and they're the best there is. With a smile more genuine than anything, he rolls up the map of wind currents and moves to her side. "I gave it to you now because we're going to spend the rest of our lives together and I want you to know it --"
"I do know it," she protests as he holds up a hand to indicate he's not quite done.
"-- and because it brings the future closer. It gives us both bragging rights. And it just might serve to convince the Disith that we're absolutely earnest about the peace treaty, and that we live our words."
"Always the strategist." Euris laughs, and her laughter is like the sound of a thousand sparkling chimes, a veritable cascade of illuminated beauty crashing down from its waterfall origin. Oh, he loves her and they might be cheating on spending the rest of their lives together by stealing this one night in advance, but he doesn't care. He'll gladly trade this night for one down the line, sometime well into the future. His hands find the sides of her face and he draws her toward him. And now it's time for his kiss to do the talking, and it does so beautifully.
♚ ♛ ♞
A complicated jolt of the Silvana surprises him into opening his eyes. The ship's bell is audible but muted; it's still dark outside. Campbell turns back to the viewing windows quickly, almost as if he's been caught stealing red-handed. How many times has his Second seen him sitting upright in his Captain's chair with eyes closed and said nothing? He's grateful for the silence; they understand one another and trust each other as far as a captain and his second officer can and should.
"What's the date, Mr. Campbell?" The question might seem like it's designed to cover up the fact that he's been asleep on his own bridge, but that's not why he asks. He asks because he feels surrounded by ghosts tonight, or at least by one ghost in particular.
"It's the 14th, Sir."
Weary, he rubs his right eye, the one he nearly lost to the Grand Stream. "Thank you, Arthur." It's easy to lose track of the calendar up here and as he suspected, it's an anniversary. Not of the mission, but of the night he asked Euris to be his wife. Fresh out of the Officer's Academy and well-steeped in protocol, he sought Marius' permission first. The Prime Minister was only too happy to grant it; they already loved one another like father and son, mostly because the Row family was never far from the Emperor. There's nobility and then there's nobility; he comes from the second sort. Old noble blood, old political insider blood, practically royalty. Those circles are small and people tend not to step too far away from them. It's comfortable there, and elite and privileged.
Look at how far he's come.
Getting to his feet, he moves over to Campbell's side. "I think she would have approved."
"The Vice Captain, sir?"
"No." He lets out a harsh little laugh. "Not the Vice Captain."
"My apologies, Captain. Euris, then. Yes, she would have approved."
The thing about old comrades is this: one doesn't always need to explain. Whatever Campbell thinks Euris would have approved of is all right. It's definitely not what he's thinking, but that's irrelevant. Euris would have approved of all of it, and she would have been here with him aboard the ship, and he wouldn't have been too restless to sleep on a night when the ship was in air dock. No, if Euris was here by his side he would gladly welcome the night and his bed would never be empty, and it would be a place of love and of repose instead of an open invitation to ghosts.
"The time, Mr. Campbell."
"03:26, Sir."
If I might say so again, Captain, you really should try and get some sleep. The words are expected; it's almost like playing a game of chess. He knows when this repeat move is going to happen. It's strictly old routine, strictly habitual.
"Captain, Sir. Might I suggest--"
"That I try to get some sleep. I know, I know. I'm going. Thank you, Mr. Campbell. You say 0700 for maneuvers?"
"0700, Sir."
"And when do you sleep?" There's no malicious intent in the question; he actually allows himself a small smirk, seeing as how most of the crew is absent.
"When the Vice Captain is awake, Sir."
"Good. You have the bridge. I'll be in my ready room."
"Yes, sir." Campbell salutes briefly as the Captain leaves the bridge, the sky's loveliest ghost -- as always -- just out of reach at his side.
Title: Dark of Night
Fandom: Last Exile
Characters: Alex Row, Euris Bassianus, Arthur Campbell
Word Count: 1782
Rating: G
Warnings: Spoilers through episode 15. (Nothing my fellow RPers haven't already heard.)
Vision clouded red, he turns to stare in horror at the empty seat behind him. Flecks of blood rain down on it but he can't take the time to think about where they're coming from, though on some deep inner level he knows the blood is his own. All he can do is look on helplessly as the one word forms on his lips. It escapes and takes flight on the wind, so loud for such a simple word.
Euris!
There should have been more. There should have been more time for more words, more thoughts: Euris, are you there? Are you safe? Talk to me, talk to me. By the time he turns to see the thing that will haunt his nightmares for years, he doesn't even know how long it's been since he last heard her voice on the angry too-strong winds, can't remember the last time the vanship lurched with a boost to its engine. They move at one with that ship, the both of them; it's their silent and much-needed partner. The three of them make up their own small universe within this world-at-war of theirs.
Euris!
It can't go on without her. He can't go on without her: they're a team. They do things together. They do everything together and without her he and this vanship will continue to be as useless as they are now, buffeted about on the winds in the Grand Stream. Exile was supposed to be the stuff of dreams, not of reality. Just an old story, a legend. Yet here it is in front of his very eyes, larger than he could ever have imagined, all the more intense for its sudden appearance.
And then he sees her just standing there, a bouquet of roses in her hand as if she's just come in from an engagement party. There she is, Delphine Eraclea, standing on the... is that the bow of the ship? He doesn't know, but no one should simply be able to stand there in winds like this, smiling like she knows the secrets to life and death. Her face is burned into his memory more fiercely than if her image had been branded onto his very skin and in the moment, as the wind grabs his vanship and casts it aside as if it's no more than a child's toy (Euris!), he knows that no matter how long he lives, this is something he'll never let rest.
Eyes long since healed from the brutal winds open with a start; he sits up in his chair. It's been years since he slept through the night and he's stopped trying. Some things in life are just pointless and he can no longer remember the last time he went to sleep in his bed. After all this time it's far too lonely a place; the emptiness of it calls and mocks where it should relieve and comfort. The wobbling glow of lantern-light tells him the ship is rocking gently, the clouds its cradle. Taking only a moment to close the log-book, he stands and straightens his jacket, dons his gloves and cloak, takes his cane in hand. The ship runs with a skeleton crew at night as it should; all his officers are good and competent or they wouldn't be aboard the Silvana in the first place. Still, there's a sense of urgency as he walks onto the bridge: backs straighten, faces turn forward peering through windows that show nothing save clouds by moonlight and the occasional star above.
"Captain!" It's his second, Campbell, at the ready.
"As you were." With a wave of his hand he takes his seat, resting both hands heavily on the cane's handle. He's relieved the night crew rarely bothers with the whole Captain on the bridge! protocol. It's unnecessary; he's as much a part of this crew as they are, for all that he's here. "All as it should be, Mr. Campbell?"
"All as it should be, Captain. If I might say so, sir, you should try and get some sleep. There's an exercise scheduled for 0700."
So very slightly, he shakes his head. "Your concern is noted." Glancing over just in time to see the edges of a smile on his Second Officer's face -- they share the same sense of humor -- he relaxes back into the captain's chair now, one leg crossed over the other, eyes wanting to close. More than anyone else on the bridge crew, Campbell is privy to his ship's captain being up and about at odd hours. "The time?"
"02:43, sir."
"Wind speed?"
"Seven knots, sir. Steady as she goes."
"Engines at rest?"
"Yes, sir. Engines at full stop."
"Thank you, Mr. Campbell." The echo of his voice comes back to him like an unwelcome stranger and as he lets his eyes close, a memory of Euris floods his thoughts. It's the night before the peace treaty mission; she's been fussing and straightening things all evening. Books on shelves, papers on the desk, fruit in the basket. Every now and again he catches her stopping to admire the ring on her finger.
"Tell me, Alex. Why did you give this to me now?" She holds her hand up, not unhappily, admiring the sparkle of the stone. "Not that I mind: I'm thrilled. It's beautiful. But why not wait until we get back?"
He knows what she's thinking, that they have enough on their minds. Nerves are high, but if any two sets of vanship pilots can navigate the Grand Stream it's the pair of Row and Bassianus, Valca and Head. Everybody knows that. The Emperor knows it; the Prime Minister knows it although he doesn't wish to see his daughter put into such danger. But everything will be all right: they'll make it to Disith, deliver the treaty, and make their way back. It's just flying
(through dangerous and uncharted territory)
and they're the best there is. With a smile more genuine than anything, he rolls up the map of wind currents and moves to her side. "I gave it to you now because we're going to spend the rest of our lives together and I want you to know it --"
"I do know it," she protests as he holds up a hand to indicate he's not quite done.
"-- and because it brings the future closer. It gives us both bragging rights. And it just might serve to convince the Disith that we're absolutely earnest about the peace treaty, and that we live our words."
"Always the strategist." Euris laughs, and her laughter is like the sound of a thousand sparkling chimes, a veritable cascade of illuminated beauty crashing down from its waterfall origin. Oh, he loves her and they might be cheating on spending the rest of their lives together by stealing this one night in advance, but he doesn't care. He'll gladly trade this night for one down the line, sometime well into the future. His hands find the sides of her face and he draws her toward him. And now it's time for his kiss to do the talking, and it does so beautifully.
A complicated jolt of the Silvana surprises him into opening his eyes. The ship's bell is audible but muted; it's still dark outside. Campbell turns back to the viewing windows quickly, almost as if he's been caught stealing red-handed. How many times has his Second seen him sitting upright in his Captain's chair with eyes closed and said nothing? He's grateful for the silence; they understand one another and trust each other as far as a captain and his second officer can and should.
"What's the date, Mr. Campbell?" The question might seem like it's designed to cover up the fact that he's been asleep on his own bridge, but that's not why he asks. He asks because he feels surrounded by ghosts tonight, or at least by one ghost in particular.
"It's the 14th, Sir."
Weary, he rubs his right eye, the one he nearly lost to the Grand Stream. "Thank you, Arthur." It's easy to lose track of the calendar up here and as he suspected, it's an anniversary. Not of the mission, but of the night he asked Euris to be his wife. Fresh out of the Officer's Academy and well-steeped in protocol, he sought Marius' permission first. The Prime Minister was only too happy to grant it; they already loved one another like father and son, mostly because the Row family was never far from the Emperor. There's nobility and then there's nobility; he comes from the second sort. Old noble blood, old political insider blood, practically royalty. Those circles are small and people tend not to step too far away from them. It's comfortable there, and elite and privileged.
Look at how far he's come.
Getting to his feet, he moves over to Campbell's side. "I think she would have approved."
"The Vice Captain, sir?"
"No." He lets out a harsh little laugh. "Not the Vice Captain."
"My apologies, Captain. Euris, then. Yes, she would have approved."
The thing about old comrades is this: one doesn't always need to explain. Whatever Campbell thinks Euris would have approved of is all right. It's definitely not what he's thinking, but that's irrelevant. Euris would have approved of all of it, and she would have been here with him aboard the ship, and he wouldn't have been too restless to sleep on a night when the ship was in air dock. No, if Euris was here by his side he would gladly welcome the night and his bed would never be empty, and it would be a place of love and of repose instead of an open invitation to ghosts.
"The time, Mr. Campbell."
"03:26, Sir."
If I might say so again, Captain, you really should try and get some sleep. The words are expected; it's almost like playing a game of chess. He knows when this repeat move is going to happen. It's strictly old routine, strictly habitual.
"Captain, Sir. Might I suggest--"
"That I try to get some sleep. I know, I know. I'm going. Thank you, Mr. Campbell. You say 0700 for maneuvers?"
"0700, Sir."
"And when do you sleep?" There's no malicious intent in the question; he actually allows himself a small smirk, seeing as how most of the crew is absent.
"When the Vice Captain is awake, Sir."
"Good. You have the bridge. I'll be in my ready room."
"Yes, sir." Campbell salutes briefly as the Captain leaves the bridge, the sky's loveliest ghost -- as always -- just out of reach at his side.
