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erstwhile25 · 7 years

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Skin of the Teeth Part 5: Wherein We Find Finality.

(( So there’s a lot of text here...I’m not apologizing for that. I was tempted to mince this into even more parts but Skin of the Teeth needs to come to a close, just so I can bring everything to current events. As of the end of this passage Kail and the crew of the Ashen Rook will be set for going East...see ya’ll there)) Most of the crew was up on the deck, with the exception of those tending to the wounded below. There was little to no talk amongst them, the tension in air seemed to choke any words into clipped statements from the grim faced lot. They had all been able to see what was coming for the past hour, there was no need to talk about it. Mazie chose a spot on the railing next to the Miqo'te Isral, who was one of the few that didn't look like he was attending his own funeral. Rather he was smiling as if nothing was wrong with the world, though Mazie noted he stared straight ahead, and never once glanced in the direction of their pursuers. He turned his near manic grin on Mazie as she approached. "Little Mazie come to join us! Good! We were worried you'd miss the show!" Mazie frowned at his "little" comment, she was taller than him by a few inches at least. Still she didn't rebuke him, rather something even odder than his grin struck her. "Yer not armed?" Isral continued to grin, showing very white and pointed teeth to this observation "If this comes to fight, Lady Luck shall provide." "Well while she's lookin out fer yer arse, could ye ask iffin she's got a few cannons tucked away fer the Rook as well?" "She's no need to fret for the Rook little Mazie, this boat isn't without teeth." Mazie was about to ask what he meant when she saw the captain come up from below decks, she almost didn't recognize him. Never once in the months at sea had she known Kail to wear anything but silks, leathers, and vests. While she had seen (much to her distress) him in various states of drunken undress around the ship, nothing prepared her for the sight of him in full armor. To call it simply armor was perhaps a disservice to its creator though, this was artifice, a wizardry of craftsmanship. A brown hooded coat of leather with the strange oiled sheen of chemical fortification wrapped around the torso and hung about the knees. Each limb but the left arm was clad in a lobstered metal that gave off a slight brass sheen in the noonday sun. Throughout the whole affair, veins of the same brass metal ran in stylized runic rivers, all tracing it seemed to the small of the armor's back, where hung a cylinder along the belt roughly the size of a man's thigh. "I've been told if one stares too long, their eyes fall out of their head." Chided Isral. Mazie goggled, she couldn't help but. "What is that?" "I believe they call it a Spriggan Suit." "They?" "R'haji..the Captain and Laloquer. Apparently they've been working with the Goblins of Idyllshire on the design for some time, and are quite pleased with the result." Isral rolled his eyes and adjusted the collar on his immaculately tailored coat. "I think it looks like a scarecrow fucked a steam engine, but apparently it can match the magitek armor that Garlean legionaries are so fond of." Mazie had never seen magitek in her life, but then she had been but a child when the last of the Garlean conflicts had taken place, and had spent most of her life on the Limsan docks. She'd heard all sorts of horror stories, ranging from great ridden steel beasts that spewed aetheric fire, to shells of armor that made men as strong as titans and nearly as indestructible. The Spriggan Suit looked impressive to be sure...but she had her doubts about it standing up to such nightmares.

As if the gods had been listening in on her thoughts, the gunship behind them put on a burst of speed that sent tongues of cerulean flame curling out from behind it, it drew even with the Rook, close enough that Mazie could read the name carved into the metal of its prow. The Arbiter was larger than the Rook by at least half, and she wore her bulk well. Draped in Garlean colors from head to toe, she left no doubt as to her allegiances, and she was every inch a machine of war. Where the Rook was trimmed in metal, she was plated in it. A score of cannon ports along her side were open, and from each peered a steel maw that promised death and fiery destruction.

Mazie felt her breath catch in her throat as a lengthwise bay door on the side of the Arbiter opened, and a row of Garlean soldiers stood fully outfitted for war. They were ramrod straight in a tight and trained formation that made the crew of the Rook look lopsided and clumsy by comparison. At the head of their number stood a demon. It took her a moment to realize her mistake, but as the light played across the the creature standing there, Mazie saw that it was simply armor designed for that very effect. Horns twisted out from the silver mask’s forehead, and tusks curled down from its grimace of a mouth, red eyes glowed in the shadows of the shell-like helmet that it framed its ghastly face. The rest of the armor was tailored in the stark reds and blacks of Garlemald, lacquered plates at the shoulders and hips gave the already large figure of the armor an even more imposing profile. Like the Spriggan suit, this was a wonder of craftsmanship, and by the red glow that emanated at it's joints, Mazie suspected a result of magitek. The Arbiter hung there in the air, keeping pace easily with the Rook as she raced with the winds, neither side made a sound over the splash of waves or the hum of engine. Mazie hissed through the side of her mouth at the still smiling Isral. "Why aren't they opening fire?" "They aren't firing because we have something they want, they'll try to board us first. Whoever that is behind that mask is trying to show us they can do that without much fuss, hoping for a surrender from show of force. Patience little Mazie, we haven't gotten to the good part yet." The wearer of the demon armor took a step forth to the edge of the bay, raising a gauntleted hand to it's throat. There was an audible click over all other noise, and a tinny, distorted, but definitely male voice blasted out towards the Rook. "ATTENTION INTERLOPERS! YOU STAND ACCUSED OF TRESPASS ON GARLEMALD TERRITORIES, COLLUSION WITH HER ENEMIES, AND OFFERING HARBOR TO HER CRIMINALS. BRING YOUR SAILS TO REST, SURRENDER YOUR ARMS, AND OFFER UP YOUR LEADERS. COMPLIANCE WILL BRING LENIENCY, THIS OFFER WILL NOT BE REPEATED." It was a voice that rang with authority, clear and sharp, with the clipped tones of someone who wasn't born to the language, yet had mastered it nonetheless. Mazie had heard the numerous Doman refugees speak the Eorzean tongue in such a fashion. The crew of the Rook turned to look at Kail, who had strode up to the Rook's railing. A sardonic smirk draped over his features he spread his arms wide to the crew and yelled for them all. "The Garleans want a taste! What say ye!?!" They stamped feet, they rattled sabres, they yelled, and sang, and even howled in response. It was such cacophony that for the briefest of moments Mazie forgot that they were but twenty facing a small army. She felt as if she had legion on her side and before too long she found herself yelling her throat horse, and banging her crowbar against the railing of the Rook. Eventually it died down, Kail reached back and drew the leather hood of the Spriggan Suit over his head. The cylinder at his back began to hum and whine, and a silvery light shot through the veins of the suit. Two brass plates snapped out of the hood and over his face, sealing with a hiss of steam, the same silvery light as the veins poured from two sets of eye slits in the plates. Kail's voice shot out this time amplified a dozen times over. "THERE'S YER FECKIN COMPLIANCE!" If there was disappointment on the demon warrior's part, it didn't show in his manner, rather he took to a knee and held up one fist. Mazie suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder, dragging her back from the railing, as the Garlean soldiers began leveling rifles to their shoulders and taking a knee next to their commander. Behind them she could make out pairs of robed magus, moving their hands in coordinated synchronization around summoned orbs of aetheric energy. As the Arbiter hovered in the air, she gave her crew a clear shot down onto the deck, it was one of the many advantages that airships held over naval vessels. Mazie closed her eyes and waited for the end to come.

Only it didn't. She felt herself being shoved down, and from near her feet came the groaning shriek of metal moving on hinges. A thunderclap of simultaneous rifle fire tore through the air, and it was only when the whine of ricochets died down that she allowed herself to open her eyes. All along the starboard side of the Rook, plates of metal had sprung on hinges from deck, angling away from the railing and forming lean-to's of sheltering steel. The plates were two ilms thick at least by her guess, and from the look of where she and Isral crouched safely on one side, hadn't taken so much as a dent from the firing line. "Wh-what is this?" She spluttered, gaping not only at the shielding walls sudden appearance, but at the contents slung under them. "This..." said Isral as he coolly unstrapped a rifle from the shield's underside. "..is the good part." Mazie looked down the line the other crew were doing much the same. "LAY ON LADS!" Came Kail's voice from somewhere on the line, on his signal the crew of the Rook poked their rifles over their respective shields, and returned fire. The crew of the Arbiter had never experienced a return volley after their first terrible shred. The advantages of height, superior numbers, and well coordinated marksmanship, made the task of fighting pirates at sea almost as bothersome as a chore. It was shooting fish in a barrel…at least it was until the fish started shooting back. Mazie saw men and women on the Arbiter's firing line fold up and over like dolls disturbed from their resting place. They'd had none of the cover of the Rook, and with the front line kneeling shoulder to shoulder, they had no way to seek the cover they didn't have. Each shot took a toll in sprays of blood and forms going limp for the life snatched out of them.

To the Garlean's credit none of them panicked, a few were quick to take what cover they could behind the corpses of their fallen companions, and those who didn't continued to unload their firearms at the crew of the Rook. The magi behind the firing line must have finished their casting, for among the shots raining down, there sailed two beads of aetheric fire. Isral yanked Mazie down beneath cover once more as the two missiles struck the side of the Rook with a force equal to any siege engine. Light and fire flared over the lip of the shield as Mazie did her best to make herself as small as she could. She could feel the rush of the scalding winds around her, the smell of burning hair assaulted her nostrils, and close by someone screamed. She opened her eyes to the scorched deck of the Rook, tongues of flame clung where they could, but by some miracle the sails hadn't caught. One of the crewman, an Elezen she had known as Gaston, was flailing about as his shipmates clung to him, wrestling to keep him down as Noyra beat away at him with a piece of tarp. He was still on fire. The blue and green flames were still licking at the charred flesh on the side of his face and chest. By some feat of hysterical strength he managed to throw off his crewmates to make a mad dash for the water, his path however took him from behind the protection of the shields, where he was cut down by rifle fire. He hit the deck with the dull thump of meat on metal, not but a few hand spans from where Mazie crouched, so close she could see the light go out in his eyes. It was so quick she was dumbfounded, the retreat of life from the flesh. She could have had barely enough time to snap her fingers between the moments when Gaston was flailing, screaming, fighting, everything that was alive, to when he was still, his normally ruddy cheeks now the color of pale clay. Unbidden to her mind sprang everything that he had been. An uncle, according to his stories, half his pay went to his sister and her ever growing brood in the lower docks, where he returned once every few months to let his favorite nephews and nieces practicing tying knots in his handsome long auburn hair. He liked to play cards even though he was terrible at it, and he always saved some portion of his meal for the seagulls, he said it was good luck. It frightened Mazie that so much life and vitality could be snuffed out so quickly, it frightened, and it angered her. It wasn't a sudden onset of rage, but rather as her grief at these inglorious ends raced through her veins like ice water, in its wake her temper kindled to warm her. This was being inflicted upon them, by some poncy stiff necked gits in starched uniforms who expected them to just lay back and let it happen. Well she had a crowbar that said otherwise. As her fingers tightened about the cold length of steel Mazie began to notice that there was a change in the chaos. The sporadic exchange of fire was beginning to die down and rifles were being discarded by those crew members who were still standing. In the distance she heard the engines of the Arbiter suddenly rise in pitch. Chancing a peek around the shields she saw what was happening. The Arbiter was closing the distance between the two ships, the Garleans were going to board them. As the giant metal frame began it’s slow but graceful descent, Mazie saw the soldiers aboard suddenly part, and from behind their ranks the red and black form of the demon warrior blurred out into the open air. It was an impossible jump, fifty yalms if she was any guess, yet the warrior’s path arced him though the air and into a graceful tumble aboard the deck of the Rook. His tumble brought him up to his feet, facing the crew of the Rook with a razor sharp curved sword drawn and ready for any who dared. There was a beat of hesitance from the Rook’s crew as they chewed on the implications of a commander willing to dive in head first where his soldiers had yet to tred. Mazie heard a word muttered among those crouched behind their shields, and immediately she knew what to call this man. This was a samurai. It was Syf that put them all to shame, the blind woman snaked forward from the ranks, the charms in her hair rattling a song. Her fishing spear was a blur as it fetched the man a blow across his blade that rang out even among the the whine of the Arbiter’s engines. His was an economy of movement, letting the blow glance off to his side as a single step brought him within an intimate distance of his attacker. He struck a shearing cut that would have removed the head of someone slower, Syf only found herself less a few dreadlocks, skittering back to once again to put her spear’s blade between herself and the samurai. She dipped and stabbed in rapid succession to cover her retreat, the spear head pecking out like some metal shrike, searching for weakness and gaps in the samurai’s defense. It found none. He was faster than someone in armor had any right to be, and the curved edge of that blade seemed to always be there to guide away the worst of what Syf had to offer. With infuriating patience he followed her retreat along the deck, one armored foot taking purchase after the other. The sight of the two blade masters trading blows held Mazie enthralled, she had never seen steel exchanged at such a rate, even in the violence laden lower docks of Limsa. Oh she had seen puffed up sailors draw steel and drunkenly brawl, she'd even been in a scuffle or two herself, but this was as comparing the breeze to the hurricane. She was so drunk on the sight she nearly forgot that their boat was being boarded, fortunately for her the tromp of boots on the deck snapped her attention back to the other side of the Rook. If the samurai had intended his entrance to serve as a distraction, it had worked beautifully. The Arbiter had been allowed to approach the Rook unmolested, and now her remaining soldiers were leaping off in coordinated lines. Mazie was saved by reflex more than anything, out of the corner of her eye she saw an armored leg dash around her side of the shield. She had already been holding her crowbar at the ready, and in a spasm that was equal parts nervous energy and surprised elation, she took to a knee and twisted a blow straight into the joint of the armor. She heard, she felt a meaty thud almost imperceptibly twisted around a dry branch snap followed by the high shrill scream of a woman in immense pain.

Mazie would never forget that sound as long as she lived, guttural and unbidden. It was nearly as painful to hear as it was to see the leg bend outward at a wrong angle and fail to support the weight of its owner, bringing the Garlean down in a moaning and swearing heap. The woman’s scream seemed to suddenly wake a new sort of chaos on the deck of the Rook, as the ship's defenders left the cover of their shields to meet the Garleans head on.

It was a seeming eternity of bedlam squeezed into the suddenly too small confines of the Rook’s deck. Sparks flew as steel whined against steel, there were the fleshy thuds of impact, blood curdling screams heaped upon gut wrenching yells and swears of a dozen different languages. Close to her Mazie heard the hiss pop of one of Isral’s flintlocks and felt a hot spatter upon her cheek. She looked up to see what looked like the body of a young male Hellsguard who had tried to scale the shield to get at the people behind it. At least, she thought he was young, Isral must have shot him point blank because his neck ended at a fragment of his jawline.

Further down the line Mazie heard an almost bestial howl of unrivaled fury. Noyra, sweet, kind, and gentle Noyra, who Mazie had once caught feeding biscuit crumbs to rats in the hold, had the head of a soldier encased in her giant hands. Two of man’s comrades were attempting to pry her off him, but she ignored them both, cords standing out on her neck and bulging arms as the man’s helmet and skull both crumpled as paper between her fingers. It was a scene repeated tenfold along the railing of the Rook, fantastic violence being done by her friends, to her friends. In the swarm of faces she saw frantic fear, terrible anger, and even in some a type of manic joy that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. What truly ate at her though, what would keep her up in the nights she found she couldn't sleep, was that she didn't recognize anyone in these moments, not even herself.

Mazie felt her gorge rising, and where once reflex had saved her, now it was the urge to vomit. She dropped her eyes to the deck to give vent to her breakfast, when she saw she was staring into the double barrels of a Garlean flintlock. In her witness to the battle she had completely forgotten the woman whose leg she had crushed, who through the pain of her injury, had found the discipline to draw her side arm. Mazie found herself looking past the wavering gun barrels and into the eyes of her would be murderer. She was a Highlander, with what Mazie was sure had once been winsome features, now blunted by a broken nose and a ruddy complexion. In her startlingly blue eyes through tears of pain there had been a resolution to shoot, but that faltered when Mazie made eye contact with her. As Mazie felt her urge to vomit crawl back inside of her, the two of them stared at one another, the world seeming to fall apart around them. She wasn't sure what passed between the two of them in that moment, Recognition, acceptance, or perhaps they were just both scared out of their wits. Mazie never got to find out. One of the soldiers that had been harrying Noyra flew through the air and hit the edge of the shield next to the Highlander at a wrong angle, snapping his neck and killing him instantaneously. The girl’s attention swung to the sudden movement and her gun barrel drifted off to the side in her confusion. Mazie found herself bringing her crowbar around and smashing the girl’s gun and wrist both. She swung down again ignoring the girl’s screams and adding in screams of her own as she kept swinging, her previous thoughts swept away by a single strata of fear. She didn't want to die.

She felt a little better after she finished throwing up, tucking herself against the shielding as the fighting raged on about her. Her chest hammering with a fire she hadn't been aware of while she’d been…defending hersel…no, killing that girl. Call a spade a spade, a nasty little voice hissed in her head, you wanted a life at sea, welcome to the price of admission. “Stoppit!” She spat at herself, thumping a hand against the deck in frustration “Ent no time fer that.” Indeed there wasn't, no sooner than she had spoken than did she hear a shrill cry from the other side of the deck. Syf was scuttling away on her rear from the samurai, clutching her left arm tightly to her chest while scarlet rivulets trickled down it, staining her leathers and leaving bloody spots in her wake. In her free hand she still clutched the haft of her spear, it had been sheared down the middle during her exchange with the eastern warrior, but it’s hooked blade still served to turn away blows from the samurai. The demon samurai stalked towards her with all of the patience that he had begun the fight with, content with the knowledge that when he took her life it would be at his leisure. Mazie looked over to where Isral was clubbing a man over the head with a pistol. “Isral! Help we need to help Syf!” Isral looked up from his work and turned to frown at Syf’s plight. He tossed the pistol aside before casting a glance at the bodies around them. Finding what he was looking for, he plucked a Garlean flintlock from the belt of the man he’d been beating. “These…” he said to Mazie “…have two shots. Against that…” he nodded towards the advancing samurai “…it’ll make a decent enough distraction. After that though all bets are off. Get her below decks.” Mazie bit back on an acid comment about at least trying to be optimistic.

Instead she grabbed up her crowbar and kept low as she began climbing the stairs to the quarter deck, where she could see the whole of amidships and still be unseen if she crouched. She tried to make herself as small as possible, all the while peering over the edge to gauge when her moment would be. Isral strode out until he couldn’t have been more than ten paces from the samurai, who held his sword above his head in a prepared final blow against the blind woman. With the casual nature of picking up a piece of fruit at the marketplace, Isral leveled the flintlock at the samurai and fired, a plume of fire and smoke blooming from one of its barrels. At first Mazie’s eyes didn't follow what had happened, she saw the samurai’s sword flash down as he twisted into a blow against someone who wasn't there. She held out an insane hope that one bullet was enough to bring the man down, when instead of faltering, the samurai drew his blade over the bridge of his left thumb and sheathed it with a neat snap. That was when she saw the two smoking pockmarks in the railing to either side of the man, and her mind came to grips with what had happened. He had cleaved the bullet in two. Her mind reeled at the sheer nonsense of the idea, and that small nasty voice spoke up in her thoughts once more. What was she doing on this side of the sea, where men throw their allies overboard, and demons cut bullets in half? All the while the samurai kept his stance facing Isral, his right hand hovering over the pommel of his blade. There wasn't a hint of surprise on Isral’s features at the failure of his first attack, in truth he looked almost bored with the detail. His casual nature unflagging, he cocked back the hammer on the second barrel and even brought his other arm around to brace the pistol in the crook of his arm. The samurai and his terrible patience, waited. Mazie saw her moment, and though that little voice (not so little any more) was screaming in her ear to stay put and let the adults have it out, she found her feet pumping against the thrumming of her heart. She barely felt the deck under her feet, and later would only remember the sensation of floating as she vaulted the railing to land next to the cursing and spitting Syf. Mazie woodenly ignored the woman’s thrashing and almost feverish insistence that she could still fight. Grabbing Syf by the straps of her jerkin, Mazie began to drag her away and towards stairs to the hold. She heard Isral’s shot ring out, and nearly missed the samurai drawing and sundering the air before him in a glittering arc. This time she couldn't deny the man’s ability as she felt one of the bullet halves buzz by her cheek like an angry hornet, a burning sting left in its wake. As she continued to drag her still struggling cargo, something with the situation seemed off to her, but it was hard to tell what with the adrenaline rushing through her. The samurai then flicked his sword to the side, and the arc of blood that sluiced off of it told Mazie what was wrong. Isral, still the span of a long boat away from the man, suddenly clutched at his chest where a thin line of claret began to seep out from under the cloth of his fine clothing.“Oh…” he gasped, examining his now blood stained fingers with murky wonder “..that’ll never come out will it?” His eyes seemed to focus far away, and then rolled into the back of his head, the Miqo’te slumped to the deck, another limp form among the many. Syf suddenly let out a shriek that would give a banshee pause, and strangely enough went bonelessly limb in Mazie’s arms. Suddenly it was as though Mazie was dragging a bag of wet sand with fifty stone on her. Though the woman had been fighting her before, she had still been holding herself upright. Now with her head lolling on her shoulders, she didn't move one wit, and threatened to drag Mazie down with her to the deck. All the samurai had to hold onto was his terribly sharp sword, and it was perfectly willing to follow him as he closed the distance between himself and the two hapless women. Mazie couldn't help but find that terribly unfair, and for a moment she was sorely tempted to simply let Syf go. She had few illusions now that if the samurai got to them he would cut through them both, and it would probably only take him one cut. Just as it had with Isral. She had liked Isral, among the crew he had been the most approachable. Among the pirates who's stock and trade were growls and glares, the capricious Miqo’te seemed to live to tease smiles out of anyone that was near him. Whether it was with barbed quips or inane tunes on his shepherd's pipes, he had always found Mazie an easy mark. Now he was dead. Again Mazie felt that anger fuse with her almost desperate need to survive this…this miniature hell she found herself in. She was tired of watching people die. Gritting her teeth, she set her feet, and hauled back with all she could bring to bear. One step, then another, ignoring the creaks she both heard and felt throughout her body, ignoring the dull whine that came from the samurai’s strange armor, and how it was steadily growing closer. She was nearly to the stairs, only a few more steps, when the world suddenly went out from under her. Mazie felt the deck come up and connect with her back in a dull meaty thud that promised her pain to come if she lived long enough to meet it. The air was driven from her lungs, and suddenly the limp form of Syf felt all the heavier as it kept her pinned to the deck. She was faintly aware of where her hand made contact with the deck, and how it felt wet, warm…and sticky. Dumbly she stared at her own hand and saw what it was that she had slipped in, Syf’s blood. As she struggled under the unconscious woman, she saw as the samurai walked up the last few paces between them. His masked helmet tilted to the side, and it was with some indignation that Mazie realized the bastard was simply watching her struggle. Pointedly, she ignored him and clawed at the deck to inch herself from beneath Syf’s body. Finally when her hips came free she stood, shaking from both fatigue and naked fear of the figure that towered over her. The expression of the metal mask remained unchanging, all glowing red eyes, teeth, and tusks. Yet still there was something in his stance, the way he cocked his head, that translated to amusement. “I commend your struggles, you nearly made it.” Came that voice that sounded like it was coming through a pipe. It was no longer amplified, and sounded at this volume, almost reasonable, if mildly laced with the interest one pays a strange piece of foliage. Despite the dull ache that was coming through the pins and needles of her back, the sudden onset of fatigue that was racing up her limbs, and the acute sense of fear she felt twisting her stomach into knots, Mazie found her voice coming out in unwavering tones. “Thanks. Ye goin t’kill me then or what?” “It is possible for you to surrender.” She considered it for a split second, there was that option of course. It was seductive in its simplicity, give up, that's all she had to do. Oh she’d take a few knocks she was sure, but there was something about the samurai’s manner that told her if she stood aside, he would honor her choice. She’d just have to swallow her pride, and right after she found it too… Looking back up to that mask, the corner of her mouth turned up into a rueful smirk. “Honestly I don't think I have that in me..” “Then I shall make it quick.” said the samurai, as he lifted this sword, and brought it down with the lazy skill of a farmer scything wheat. Mazie had expected a lot of things of The End. She had hoped to die fat, in bed, and suffering from acute suffocation of too much wealth, perhaps with a husband who wouldn't know where to start without her, maybe children. Death by samurai certainly hadn't rated among her expectations when she had started off on this voyage, but she was finding herself adapting rather rapidly and expanding her horizons. What would never have crossed her mind, under any circumstances, would be a bolt of indigo lightning rending the air to the side of her head. That took her a moment to come to grips with. It was the sound mostly that devastated her senses, she had to work her head around the fact that she had never heard lightning before, only thunder. While the great basso rumbles of the sky were fearsome in their own right, they had nothing on the furious hornet buzz of raw electricity ripping its way through ozone by shear force. Through the disorienting haze of that terrible noise being only a few scant inches from her ear, Mazie came to the realization that with the exception of the ringing in her ears, she was relatively unharmed. The bolt had been meant for the samurai. He had not been expecting it to her estimates, but that hadn't stopped his speed and training from saving him. His sword was held at the ready, the steel edge now glowing a cherry red, residual static pops of electricity flicked along the gaps of his armor. Mazie was starting to wonder if there was anything this man couldn't cut in two. “Stand aside dear.” Came a gentle voice over her shoulder. It was slightly muted under the ringing, but it was concise, clear, and carried an edge of steel under it. “I've a few choice words for our guest.” Mazie stood aside promptly, hooking a hand under Syf’s arm and dragging her with, because that is what you did when a Magus of Norah’s caliber took to the field. The Highlander woman stepped up from the top step of the hold access, gathering her skirts and apron hem in one hand to keep from tripping over them. Mazie had noticed Norah to be one of the few who had stayed below decks, and her labors therein were apparent in her appearance.

Her normally tightly coiffed hair was in disarray, with stray strands escaping the pony tail at odd angles. Her eyes were puffy, lacking the benefits of makeup or a decent night’s sleep, but they were hard. There was blame in those cyan slits, focused with utmost intensity upon the man before her. Blame for all the gore that spattered her leather chirurgeon’s apron, blame for much, much worse. Norah’s other hand came up, and in it, she held what Mazie at first took to be cane. A second glance however revealed it to be an umbrella of all things, a stark black affair with a silver handle in the shape of some sort of yowling cat. The handle seemed to glare along with it’s wielder at the samurai. “I did not…” said Norah in crisp wintery tones “…sail across wretched salt waves, wallow in the sty you and yours have made out of my country, and wrench lives from the jaws of the Empire just so you could take them back only to hang them.” As if to punctuate her statement, another lance of lightning boiled up her arm and through the umbrella, striking the samurai’s sword with such force as to push him back a few feet. The samurai grunted from behind his blade, his stance shifting not one wit in any direction despite his displacement “Those are citizens of the Empir…” “They are people! They are mothers, they are fathers, they are sisters, and sons!” More lightning tore through the air from the fanged mouth of the silver cat. This was no flash or bolt, but a sustained fan of plasma that flickered and twined about the samurai’s blade, pushing him back further all the while. Mazie felt a dull pain in her mouth and realized she was biting the inside of her cheek as she watched Norah. The magus was striding towards the man, howling over the terrible humming whine of her own lightning, and the tortured screams of the sword’s steel. “They are beaten, they are broken, and still that is not enough! You insist they stand at attention while you grind away at their very selves, chipping away at anything humane they could hold onto! You shout your filth in their ears about how they’re animals, and that you’re trying to elevate them! When really all you’re doing is turning them into some poor pack of miserable creatures too busy gnawing at each other to realize that YOU’RE THE ONES KILLING THEM!” Onward she pressed, and for a moment, when the forks of scintillating lightning drove the machine samurai to a knee, Mazie nearly let herself believe it was all over. She saw however that as the violet shower poured forth, Norah’s face was beginning to lose some of it’s color, her steps shorter, and the silver head of the cat drooped lower. Finally she stopped a handful of paces from the man, her breath heavy, and sweat beading from her brow. At last the flow of electric power stopped. The samurai looked up, his sword glowing hotter still, his armor scorched and smoking. The glow from it’s joints was now flickering and spitting blue sparks. With an agonized whine of metal, he stood up, and reasserted his stance. “Impressive for a magi, however as an assault, ultimately fruitless.” Norah, look more annoyed than off put however, and blew a stray strand of hair out her face. “I guess then it’ll have to do as a distraction.” The gods, Mazie decided, had their own twisted sense of humor. Because it wasn't but a heartbeat later, with a shrill scream and a sickening abrupt crunch, that the body of an Imperial Magus struck the deck of the Rook between the pair of them. High overhead, smoke could be seen pouring out the bay of the Arbiter, and from that smoke a speeding form of sliver light and brass launched itself into the air. Spreading its limbs, it seemed to catch the air, and launched itself straight into the sails of the Rook, where the fabric held, billowing out and allowing the form to slide down to the deck The captain looked as chipped around the edges as the samurai. There were several tears in the leather, and scorching on the face plate, but the spriggan suit had held apparently. Wearily he looked about the ship. The last of the imperial foot soldiers were being cut down, or shoved into the briny deep. The fight on the deck had gone in favor of pirates, however it had been a costly victory, less than half of the original twenty still stood. He turned to the samurai, who stood as stoic as ever, sword at the ready. The faceplate on the spriggan suit divided, and retreated into its hood, revealing a face that was drawn from fatigue and exasperation. “Yer men have lost, the fight’s over.” Said Kail. “My ship is still in the air.” The samurai shot back cooly. “They would fire on a ship while their commander twas aboard it?” “They have specific orders to do so if I fail to take the prisoners alive.” Kail blinked at that, and gave a low whistle beneath his teeth. He hunkered down into a crouch, taking out his old battered flask, and took a long drought before speaking. “Ent no way I could talk ye into surrenderin eh?” Of all things, amusement found it's way into the samurai’s voice. “As one of your crew put it, I don't think I have it in me to surrender. You shall remove me from your ship by either my death, or handing over the prisoners.” “That’s a very black and white view oh things.” said Kail, as he curled his fingers into a notch in the deck, and pulled. As it turned out, there were two sets of the fantastic metal shielding on the Rook, one for each side of the ship. Mazie later learned the spring loaded plates had a dual purpose, as many of the Rook’s little tricks did. They weren't just shielding from oncoming fire, they were also perfect for launching boarders onto other ships, or for launching armor clad samurai out into the unforgiving sea. Out over the waves he soared, with a splash of finality, and a few final billowing clouds of bubbles, the machine samurai sank beneath. “Second arsehole I've had t’throw off my ship t’day.” Muttered Kail, as he glanced in Norah and Mazie’s direction. “The two oh ye alright?” Norah kept a lingering glance on where the samurai had disappeared from sight, her hands twisting and worrying at the umbrella. Closing her eyes she finally turned away, looking to Kail with steel once more in her gaze “As an adjective ‘alright’ falls a little short of how I'm feeling, but I am whole, there are others who are not. We should see to them.” It was at that point that Mazie remembered her charge, and looked down. Syf was no where to be seen, there was simply a smear of blood where she had been at Mazie’s feet. How in the hells had she lost a spear woman with at least a foot in height on her? “Uhhh Captain…” she began to say, but the thought died in her throat. Kail was currently shouting out orders to the few crew that were still standing, and either didn't hear, or didn't bother to reply. Despite the fight’s end there was still a fair bit of chaos. There were the wounded to look after, triage was the word that was being passed around by the grim faced. The Rook was still floating but she had taken damage from the mages’ assault, there were fires to put out, and repairs to be seen to. More importantly, the Arbiter still hung in the air nearly a hundred yalms above, and the smoke that had been billowing from her bay was bringing to abate, her crew was already getting repairs underway. When they got their affairs in order, they would turn their guns on the Rook. Not seeing any use in bothering the captain about it, she resolved to find the wayward Syf herself. As it turned out it was just a matter of following the blood. The smear of scarlet that was at her feet streaked towards the stairs to the hold, Mazie bit her lip and followed. At first she was beginning to feel relief, perhaps Syf had reasonably come to the conclusion that her injuries needed tending to. That little voice she had come to hate told her that was too much to ask for, sense in her companions.

The streak had now become a set of erratic foot prints with the occasional spatter, and it fact turned away from the part of the hold that had been sectioned off for Laloquer’s ministrations to the sick. Instead the trail led straight to the armory. She was there, hunched over a locker, rifling though it’s contents. Syf’s injured arm was no longer bleeding, a hastily tied leather tourniquet had seen to that, but it hung down limply at her side as she wrestled with the contents of the chest. “Syf..” said Mazie as she cautiously walked up behind the woman, she felt like she was about to grab a tiger by the tail “…yer hurt.” Syf grunted and tossed a padlock over her shoulder “So you are not blind. Good, I wouldn't recommend it.” “Ye’ve lost a lot of blood.” Mazie tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. “Lalo should take a look at ye.” There was a click from inside the chest, and another padlock sailed over Syf’s shoulder and landed in a small pile in the corner. That was when Mazie saw what was giving Syf so much trouble, there was a second set of locks inside the chest, holding a sizable metal plate in place over it’s contents. “That mincing mustache of a lalafel has enough bodies at the moment.” Syf gave a grin that worried Mazie, and with a crow of delight she yanked up the metal plate. Inside the chest, an icy blue glow emanated. Mazie hazarded a glance inside.

The walls of the chest were lined with velvet, a rich red material that was turned purple by the strange blue light. The velvet was so raised off the sides, Mazie was almost certain it was stuffed to capacity, as though the box was meant to carry something fragile. The light emanated from what Mazie thought to be short swords. The blades themselves were superbly wrought, even to her untrained eye. What made them a wonder however was the spiraling tubes of glass that seemed to be woven through the steel of the blood channel in the center of blades. These tubes braided down towards the hilt, where a strange amalgamation of clockwork artifice sat, it reminded Mazie of a bellows in miniature. Further still where the blade ended were fastened two vials on either side, the liquid therein was the source of the blue light, and it shone with an intensity that wasn't natural. Suddenly Mazie knew why the box was padded and sealed as it had been. It was liquid ceruleum. “Is that…?” began Mazie. “Yes.” Finished Syf. Almost reverently Syf drew out one of the blades, and affixed it to a pole she held clamped between her knees. It was then that Mazie saw that the blades weren’t short swords, but spearheads. Syf snatched up the completed weapon and balanced it on her palm. The heavy haft of wood was as still as stone on her hand, and while her face looked drawn, her limbs did not tremble. She nodded once, and rose heading back the way she came with Mazie on her heels. “Syf, what are ye goin t’do with that?” “Kill our enemies.” Mazie blinked “All of them?” “Someday…but today I'll just have to settle for the ones in front of us.”

When they finally came back to the deck, Mazie was surprised at how quickly the deck was being cleared, but then she supposed it really didn't take that much effort to toss a body into the sea. Their fallen comrades were being lined up in a strangely neat row of sheeted figures next to the stairs, piled up like logs Mazie thought. She was glad to see there were a few that were on top of sheets instead of under them, waiting to be ferried down below for Lalo’s ministrations no doubt. They were outnumbered however by the forms that were forever still, and she noted numbly that Isral’s form was not among those with life in them still. “Ho Syf!” Came Kail’s voice from above. He was at the wheel, compass in hand while Norah held out a map for the pair of them to look over. “Heard ye were hurt. Ye aught be in the line fer the hold.” Syf shrugged, as though someone had just commented on the direction of the wind. “Hold this.” Said Syf, and she tossed the spear and it’s more certainly explosive payload to Mazie. Despite her knees suddenly feeling like jelly, she managed to catch it. Mazie watched curiously as Syf began to swing her good arm around and around in circles. She twisted at the waist, then sharply brought up her knees in wide sweeping arcs that Mazie saw to be stretches. Finally from her belt, Syf removed a slender stick. At least Mazie thought it was a stick, on closer inspection she realized it was in fact a piece of whale bone, a part of the rib if her time on the docks had taught her anything about it. It was worn smooth and lacquered, with a strap of leather wound round one end to make a handle. There were small carvings wrapped in a spiral up it’s shaft, Mazie squinted and thought she could make out the shapes of whales, otters, and seals. Stranger still the end of the stick curved into a small notch…just big enough to fit a spear butt in. “Fit it t’here.” Said Syf indicating the notch. Mazie hesitated and looked back to the captain. “Syf…” said Kail, with an edge of caution in his voice. “We ent tested those yet.” “Twill work, or it won't.” The woman rasped. “ They’ve taken from us, worse yet they've seen us. You so keen t’leave enemies t’our aft?” Kail frowned, staring back towards where they had left the Arbiter. The Rook had made good time in disengaging from the Arbiter during Mazie’s time in the hold. They had put at least three hundred yards between them and the airship, which simply hovered where they had left it. Occasionally one of it’s engines gave a half hearted sputter of blue fire, the only evidence that there were still crew aboard. Something played over the captain’s face, to Mazie he suddenly seemed older than the lines on his face suggested, exhausted beyond measure. Then his eye flicked to the pile of bodies stacked by the stairs, and that strange yellow eye became flint. “Do it.”

There was something in that voice that Mazie didn't dare to argue with, she slotted the butt of the spear in the notch, and Syf took the spear’s weight onto her shoulder and knuckles. As is settled there a sort of languid ease overtook the spear woman. Mazie hadn't noticed before but without a weapon in her hands, Syf had looked incomplete, deformed to an extent. Now she was in her natural state, a beached shark back in the water. “Give me bearings little Mazie, and I'll show you a wonder.” Syf purred. Mazie snorted, and brought out her compass, sighting the Arbiter. After a few quick calculations, she spoke. “She’s four point’s off dead astern, soon t’be three-hundred and eighty yalms off. Want me t’tell the captain t’bring the ship round?” “Don’t bother.” Syf stood, took in a breath, then let it out with agonizing slowness. Mazie frowned at her. “Ent no one can make that throw…hell I don't know anyone that can make that shot! 'Tis impossible!” Syf let her head fly back, and she gave a throaty laugh that seemed aimed more at the gods than it was at Mazie. “Hear that captain?? I'm impossible!” “Don't I feckin know it, quit yer crowin and get on with it.” Growled Kail, Needing no more encouragement, Syf charged down the length of the ship. It wasn't a jog, or a sprint, it was a full tilt run along the deck. Mazie was amazed the spear didn't jostle loose from it’s setting in the stick, yet somehow, even with her bare feet slapping on the deck and propelling her forward at breakneck speeds, Syf kept the spear balanced on her shoulder. As she approached the end of the deck her shoulder began to dip back, but she did not slow. It wasn't until she was a scant few yards from the aft railing that she threw her left leg out before her and slammed it down on the deck before her in an impact that Mazie felt from her side of the ship. The spear woman’s body twisted and undulated under the spear, in a motion that seemed as much exultation as it was violence. For a split second Mazie had a hard time seeing where the woman ended, and the spear began. Then they separated as Syf vented a raw throated howl to the seas.

The spear soared up, higher than Mazie ever thought possible, high enough to where it looked like it might cleave through the clouds themselves. Then the world retained it’s hold on the weapon, and with a glint the weapon reached it’s peak and sheared downwards almost lazily for the Arbiter. Mazie lifted her spyglass in just enough time to see the spear strike the airship’s armored side. Only there was no explosion. Oh the spears blade bit into the metal of the ship alright, the metal around it even dented inward to give testimony to the force with which it struck. There was no earth shattering boom however, no fire from what she could see. “Did it hit?” came Kail’s voice from over her shoulder. “Aye…somat’s wrong though, it didn’t explode. Must be a dud.” “Wait for it..” he returned, a little too grim for her liking. “Ye’ll know it when it happens.” True to his word, after a few more seconds of nothing through her spy glass, something began to happen. There was a bright blue light that seemed to emanate from the hilt of the spear, and the ship’s armor around the spear blade, began to glow yellow, then orange, then finally violently vibrant red. Smoke started to drift up from the top deck of the ship, and then the Arbiter then began to belch indigo fire. It came from vents, it came from hatches, it came from cracks and crevices, and when it had no where to burst from inside the ship it made such exits itself. The escape of inferno started around the compartments nearest to the spear, but it was clear to Mazie that it was spreading like..well…wildfire.

The bay doors of the Arbiter suddenly lurched open, and if Mazie had any illusions as to the airship being free of occupants, they were dashed to ashen bits. In a chorus of screams that bordered on animal, the remaining crew scrambled in a mad dash to escape the flames, even as the flames ate at them. They pushed, shoved, even bit and tore at one another for the privilege of the flinging their own charred not yet corpses towards the briny waters below. A fall that most assuredly would kill them just as swiftly as the flames. Some were trampled underneath their fellows, others made it, their descent marked by trails of greasy smoke. Mazie saw as the final crew member to make it to the bay door managed to grip the handle, just in time to be consumed wholly by the blast of flame that shot from the corridor behind him.

The Arbiter drifted for a moment or two more still spitting flame, a child's firework given gross proportions. Finally the terrible heat of the fire must have boiled the ceurleum tanks within, for the explosion that Mazie had been watching for, finally came. A bright blue light flared in the sky where the Arbiter had been, leaving afterimages dancing in her eyes, even after she closed them. There was an odd silence before the sound of the blast ripped it’s way to Rook, and Mazie felt a pressure like a hand on her chest, nudging her back. It would have sent her to the deck if the captain hadn't caught her and held her up. “They’re called Drake’s Teeth.” He said, not looking away from the falling bits of smoking debris that marked the Arbiter’s final destination. “They’re ship killers. Use one of those on a wooden sailing vessel, she’ll be ash in a few minutes. Use it on a steel clad airship? The metal corridors and vents direct the fire, contain it within. Turns the whole ship into an oven.” Mazie gaped at him, he spoke as if he was rattling off a recipe from a book .Some part of her wanted to slap him. “Those were people…” Kail’s eye snapped to her, and for a moment she felt a heat behind it, as searing as the flames she’d just borne witness to. The heat was gone as just as quickly as it had appeared, and trailing in it’s wake was a sadness focused solely on her, a type of pity. Oh child, all fire burns, it said. “They tried t’burn my home down around me.” He said, no anger in his voice, just a statement of fact. “I have t’set folk down on their final waters tonight, and after that I have t’take their back pay t’their families and explain that they died followin my orders. Those feckers were lucky we sent them t’the other side quick, and anyone that comes lookin fer their pound oh flesh can expect more oh the same.” Mazie opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off with a sharp motion of his hand. “Afore ye say somat ye’ll regret, let me remind ye I am the captain oh this vessel, and as such am above explainin meself t’deckhands. Sort yerself out, and then help with the wounded and dead, that's an order.” With that, he turned sharply on a heel and headed for the wheel. Mazie’s cheeks burned with a contingent of rage, embarrassment, and fatigue. She bit her lower lip, and went about the business of helping the rest of the crew, ignoring the itch to talk back. She had heard the captain give orders like that only a few times, and knew that to test him on the matter, was utter folly. The sun was dipping into a crimson horizon by the time they floated the last of their friends into the seas. No other airships were seen on the approach, so Kail decided to see to their dead before they made the final push back. Bodies were given a plank to float upon, a candle to hold, and their clothing was soaked in lamp oil. This was so that when the candle burned down far from the ship, fire would take care of the rest. Little ships with sails of fire, was what they looked like to Kail. Twelve little ships, twelve sailors, twelve times he had failed to be clever enough to be captain. He supposed he should have had words for them, but they simply weren't coming. Norah must have seen his spirits flagging in time, for it was her to speak up when they began lowering the first of the fallen pirates into the calm sea. “We are here but for a short time, mere gasps for breath in the eyes of the gods. Yet we are tasked with bringing meaning to our brief lives, and in their haste to do so many rate their own lives more valuable than the multitude. I see before me twelve testaments as to how backwards and wrong that thinking is. These men and women sold their lives for something that they or their children will never hold in their hands. They fought for people they will never know, and I can't help but see them as richer for it. Though I may go on to see knights, kings, queens, or emperors…I will never know anyone more noble than those that died protecting my countrymen today. I will not forget them, and neither should you.” She lowered her head, as did the rest of the crew, there was a murmur of surprise to her words. Pirates were unused to such praise, they still expected to be paid at journey’s end, but someone's respect was a nice bonus. They were good words, Kail decided, better than any he could have given. He watched the others from the wheel of the ship as the last of the bodies floated away, each dealing with their grief or relief in different ways. Noyra and Laloquer both went back to work, though the small surgeon did so with a comparatively large bottle of wine in his hands. Kail couldn't fault him that, he had done the work of ten doctors today, and was no where near seeing everyone out the woods. Noyra was silent as always, though there was a fervor with which she lifted sail and tied knots that spoke measures as to what was going on behind that stoic mask. Syf had disappeared down into the hold, Kail had made sure to send a crewman to relocate the Drake’s teeth to his cabin. He trusted Syf, but he didn’t trust her demons. Little Mazie leaned against the railing of the stern, watching the small bonfires go out to sea. Kail felt a set of fingers intertwine though his over the wheel of the ship. He let out a small sigh of contentment to match the touch, and dug out a small smile for Norah. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and followed his eyes towards Mazie. “You were a little hard on her at the end.” She murmured. “I had to be, she’s seen me at my best, but naer at my worst.” “Why should that matter?” Slipping an arm about her waist, he partook in her warmth as the chill of the night sea began to set in, and ordered his thoughts. “This is her first voyage, so she’s still an outsider. When we return to Limsa she’ll have a choice to make, iffin she wants to join the Rook and it’s family. That ain't an exaggeration either, this twill be her family iffin she comes back. She needs t’see it, warts an all iffin she’s goin t’gamble her life with it.” “Mmm so you’re laying all your cards on the table.” She said, smiling a little. “Exactly…and I still have one more card t’show.” He had to try hard to keep the grin out of his voice, as he twisted on one of the spokes of the wheel.

Kail never told new crew any of the Ashen Rook’s secrets for many reasons. Spies were one, there was no shortage of espionage among the captain's of Limsa, even the legitimate ones. He felt that trust was better when earned than when it was simply given. Second was that he believed there was no better teacher than experience, crew gave better respect to the ship when she surprised them. His final (and most important) reason was a personal one, he never got tired of the look on their faces when the Rook spread her wings. There came a great timber creaking clank from within the recesses of the Rook’s hull, and the unmistakable hum of aetheric energy being routed to the crystals lining the interior of her frame. Her sidelined sails, slowly but surely leaned even further outward, until they were parallel with the deck. With a whine, the ceruleum engines hidden belowdecks fired up, her vents below the water giving the Rook the lift she needed to begin her ascent.

The chemically treated canvas of her sails-now-wings snapped tight as they grabbed air, and those of her crew began to grab railing and support lines. Her hull creaked and groaned in the protests of a giant, but with an almighty spray of salt water and roar of the engine, the Ashen Rook cleared herself of the salt waves, taking to the air. For all the grace she exhibited on the waves, the Rook was that much more nimble on the wing. Her lack of plating made her more fragile in a fight, it was true, but her light and flexible wooden frame allowed her to swoop and dive, where the garlean metal giants lumbered. Kail brought her out of a climb that made the pit of his stomach feel five fulms deeper, and while she hung beneath the clouds, he spared a glance for Mazie. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates as she clung for dear life to the railing. Her mouth hung agape as she attempted to take in what had just happened.

The shock was slow to leave, but eventually it was replaced by something else, wonder. When she got her feet under her and looked out over a landscape she would have only otherwise seen in her dreams, the smile that split her face rivaled any sunrise in Kail’s memory. She turned her face into the wind of the Rook’s passage, where it blew her brown ringlets each and every way. Kail knew she would be staying. There was no going back after that first rush, that first exaltation of being free of the world’s grasp.

He knew just as certainly that they would be returning to Ala Mhigo. They had been chased too fiercely, hounded too savagely, and it was obviously a trap. You didn’t set a trap like that for a few half starved slaves, there was someone or something important in the holds of his ship with those pitiful few. That was a conversation he would have to have with Norah, and he suspected that of their shouting matches, this would be one to remember.It really didn’t matter though in the end, Kail and his crew were in this to their eyeballs. Now, just as with Mazie, there was no going back for them. Worse yet, this was no fight where twenty stood against fifty, this was a nation they were setting themselves against. Depspite their recent setbacks the Garleans still had armies, fortifications, spies, and resources to support all those things. The Ashen Rook had a beat up crew and a few tricks up her petticoats. It would take more to even consider survival, never mind any sort of victory. It would take allies. Fortunately, Kail knew where he could find a few of those.

The End...for now.

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notbecauseofvictories · 7 years

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What do you think it'd be like if one of the Rogue One members had survived? How would that effect the original trilogy and how would they cope with everything?

Cassian didn’t talk, at first. There didn’t seem anything else to say.

Mothma came at some point. Cassian woke up and she was at his bedside, sitting ramrod-straight, so very tall and white, even moreso washed out by the lights of the medbay. (She made him think of the columns on Imenthe—natural salt deposits like spires, like teeth ringing the great and violent sea. He killed a man there, got blood on all that white, white salt. And afterward he had sat in the sand, watched the tide come in and wash it all away.

Mon Mothma always made him think of Imenthe.)

She was studying his face now, and Cassian raised his eyebrows at her. She smiled a little. “Ah, Captain. I—have spent the last half-hour trying to decide what I would say.”

She was quiet a moment, then the smile turned rueful. “I’m still not certain whether there is anything I could say.”

Cassian snorted, shut his eyes again. After a moment, he felt a very cool hand pressed to his forehead. “Cassian,” Mothma said, and there was something almost human in her voice, a thing like kindness. “Cassian, you saved us. How will we ever repay you?”

The meddroid had been very clear, he wasn’t supposed to move unassisted. Cassian risked it to turn his head away, screwing his eyes so tightly shut that he could see those little floating stars flare to life behind his eyelids.

Mothma drew her hand away.

He heard her stand, the chair scraping a little as she did. “Bodhi Rook was released from bacta suspension last night,” she said, and her voice was cool again, impersonal. “He is expected to make a full recovery. The technicians are still working to fully recover K-2SO’s backup, but…I believe this means you were more than just successful in your mission, Captain. You brought everyone home.

“I thought you might be interested to know,” Mothma added after a moment. Her boots made a sharp, clipped noise on the stone floor, and then she was gone.

Cassian went back to sleep.

(He only vaguely remembers what happened after Scarif. The adrenaline wore away quickly after Krennic was dead, and in its place came a rising pain, pain like the firestorm that engulfed Jedha. By the time they stumbled from the lifttube, Jyn was the only thing holding him upright; Jyn was telling him, cassian cassian c’mon, just a little farther, okay? just a little—it’ll be over soon, you can rest, I’ll let you rest, just—just—

But the rest is a scattered succession of images, half-memories: the sound of a ship’s engine overhead, and Jyn shouting here, we’re here!, a heavy weight on Cassian’s chest and screams he couldn’t make out (was that him screaming?) too much pain—he thinks he passed out once or twice; someone asking for his medical history and Cassian slurring, ask kaytoo, he keeps my records, before remembering—

I can’t feel my legs, he said at one point, he remembers that. Jyn’s face swimming into his vision, the red of blood streaked across her cheek. I can’t…that’s not good, is it, if I can’t…

Flickering lights, medical jargon he couldn’t understand. Someone saying spine, and spine again. (Every time he shut his eyes he could feel himself falling again, the whip-bang of the metal landing—) His spine again. Jyn’s voice, high and tight, saying yes, okay, yes. do whatever you have to.

When he woke up in the medbay on Yavin, he was alone.)

Cassian’s dreams were confused, a muddled haze of dead sentients clawing at his skin and his mother’s face—out of focus, distant and cold as a moon; he barely remembered enough of her to dream it anymore—and then suddenly, a cool pressure on his mind, rippling outwards. He was standing at the edge of a vast ocean, breathing in the cold tang of salt and the water.

It was quiet.

He exhaled, and then he was lying in the medbay, and the sound of waves beating against the shore was just the thrum of blood in his ears.

It took him a moment to realize that it was Chirrut sitting at the foot of his cot, and not some creature of sea and sky, all strangeness. That was just Baze was pacing up and down the medbay floor, limping. His scowl wasn’t actually any deeper than usual—as Cassian looked, the ladder of scarring along the side of Baze’s face swam into focus. It made him look even more dour than usual.

(Some sort of granade, then; Cassian recognized the blast pattern.)

“I’m being serious,” Baze said suddenly, stopping to rub his thigh in an irritable way. “They measured it wrong, it’s a good two fingers shorter—”

“A master should not blame the tools when he cannot use them,” Chirrut said with a smile. “You’re overcompensating, I can hear your breathing change when you anticipate every other step. That’s not the prosthesis’s fault.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like anything new,” Chirrut laughed. "It took almost sixteen years to convince him to kiss me, you know.”

Cassian blinked when he realized that was addressed to him, Chirrut’s smile directed just over his head. Cassian exhaled, and Chirrut’s smile took on a distinctly smirk-like quality. “Oh, it’s true. Here I was, respecting my beloved’s maidenly shyness—”

“Maidenly shyness—!” Baze said in a strangled voice, and even Cassian bit back a smile at his outrage.

“—believing that we were simply waiting until the time was right to consummate our engagement—”

“I did not realize you intended to honor a promise we made at eleven standard!”

Chirrut shook his head mournfully. “I asked if I could marry you when we were of age, and you said yes, and we kissed. Any Justice will tell you, that is a marriage pact.”

Baze’s answer was a noise like a pa’owlick getting ready to charge. Chirrut grinned, opening his mouth to respond—

Cassian startled—as much as he could startle, caged in and cosseted like he was—at the sound of the siren, howling through the medbay. Baze and Chirrut both looked up, falling silent. Their expressions were so serious, and Cassian grunted in wordless question.

Chirrut looked at him, then glanced to Baze. (When he turned, his robe gaped, and Cassian could suddenly see the bacta patches, the blaster-charred skin and scars.)

Baze nodded, swallowed. “They’re launching the attack on the Death Star,” Baze finally said, and Cassian feltsomething in his chest clench, his lungs, or—he choked, coughing wildly for a minute before he could find his breath again.

“The plans made it out,” Chirrut said, and there was something reverent in his voice. No doubt he thought it was because of the Force, and not Rogue One’s blood, sweat, and struggle. (Though, even as he thought it, Cassian could almost hear Chirrut’s voice in his head saying, your mistake is assuming they are not one in the same.)

“They’re deploying several x-wing squadrons to target Erso’s exhaust port,” Baze said. He was still looking up, and it made his eyes look dark, liquid. “But I didn’t think it would be so soon—”

“The Princess made a strong argument for action,” Chirrut said, and something flickered across Baze’s expression.

“Good,” Baze said darkly, and Chirrut made a soft noise of protest. “No, it is good. It is just. She knows what it’s like to lose—everything to that unholy green fire. She should fight to avenge her homeworld, as much as we did for Jedha.”

Cassian had to swallow, to wet his lips, before he could whisper, “What…?”

Chirrut and Baze exchanged a look. “Just after Scarif, the Death Star was used against another target,” Chirrut said slowly. “A whole planet, burned from the sky. Alderaan is gone, and all its people—except the Princess. She was aboard the Death Star when it fired.”

Cassian hissed out a breath from between his teeth, thinking of Viceroy Organa. He had only met the man once or twice, and generally through the veil of polite deference a soldier offered his commanders, but—Organa had always gone out of his way to be respectful. Even of spies and assassins.

Chirrut, Baze and Cassian sat in mostly silence for the rest of the night, interrupted only occasionally by the sound of the meddroids, whenever Baze got restless and took up pacing. (His artificial leg made a certain ka-thunk against the duracrete floor, and after a while it was almost soothing. Chirrut’s breathing and Baze’s uneven steps, their soft voices.)

Cassian was half-asleep when, off in the distance, he heard the crash of a wave against the shore. The rush of gulls. He was home again, and—

It was Chirrut’s hand cupping his jaw that woke him, and the world was abruptly alive with sound. Cheers, distant. There was music playing, he could hear it drifting into the medbay. “It’s done,” Chirrut said, and there were tears in his eyes. When he smiled, they shone in the ambient light, like stars. “Cassian, the Death Star is—is done. It is gone.”

Cassian stayed awake into the very early hours of morning that night, listening to the far-off laughter and dancing, boots scuffling across the floor. All those familiar sounds of people, living.

He dreamt of golden light, reaching out and swallowing him up. He dreamt—

His sister was cooking, some sort of meat. The blood ran red into the fire, and the smoke was rubbing the inside of Cassian’s nose raw. His eyes stung. little brother, his sister said, and it was strange because she was still so young, her face as unlined and smiling as her funeral mask had been.

elder sister, Cassian said anyway, and kissed her hair. (He was taller now, and more weary. He could taste her cooking on her tongue, and how unstintingly she had loved him. When he was a boy he’d wanted to aim a blaster like her, cool and sure and sharp as sight. Now he did.

Now he wished he could take back his wishing.)

little brother, his sister said, and she kissed his forehead. wake up.

Cassian recoiled when he opened his eyes, and it took a moment to calm the racing of his heart. To spark the recognition of where he had seen those eyes before, even if they had not been surrounded by scar tissue, deep-set and full of pain. It took him longer to relax into the hand stroking his hair, though the arm extending it looked like the meat his sister cooked, ropy and reddened.

The architecture of Bodhi’s face had changed, shifted by what must have been extensive reconstructive surgery and bacta—bacta suspension, Mon Mothma had said, and Cassian hadn’t stopped to think about that, too bitter and self-pitying to consider what that meant. How many weeks had Bodhi spent unconscious, deliberately kept dreaming, just to get him to a point where he could be in the world?

“You have…nice hair,” Bodhi said quietly into the silence. He was still petting Cassian’s, and Cassian’s breath caught. He coughed, he coughed until his chest ached and Bodhi was looking at him with wide eyes.

Cassian tried a reassuring smile. That ached too.

Bodhi’s answering smile was lopsided, it clearly pained him to move his mouth. “They—meddroid says….I won’t be able to grow all of mine back. The roots…in my skin…were burned away. Ion grenade.”

Bodhi fell silent, and Cassian wanted to speak, say something, anything, but he didn’t know what to say. Apologizing seemed cruel, when Bodhi had fiercely insisted on making his own decisions. Even accepted the consequences, like the awful scarring, which reached from his hairline to his jaw, and down, disappearing into his collar.

Cassian licked his lips. “I had a sister,” he whispered hoarsely, in absence of anything else to say. Bodhi’s eyes went soft, and gentle.

“I—have a sister. I….think. Haven’t heard from her since…”

“What is she like?” Cassian asked, when Bodhi went quiet. The hand was still threading through his hair, but slower. It was—pleasant. (Cassian’s father used to do this, through the long meetings of the Separatist Coalition; it was like being small again, his head in his father’s lap and father’s deep voice reverberating in the air, speaking words of self-determination and labor, our labor.)

“Kind. And—she could….make me laugh,” Bodhi said finally said, thoughtfully. His chest heaved. “She…liked maths.”

At some point, Cassian might have fallen asleep with Bodhi’s hand working through his hair, and the long litany of Rook relatives, cousins and family friends. Mothers who loved, fathers who stayed, and no one who was dead. They fought about marks and money and whether their children would be more successful than they had, and not martyrdom. It was a beautiful dream, and Cassian slept in it.

Bodhi’s fingers raked through his hair, and he slept.

After three weeks, Jyn climbed into bed beside him. The medcenter cots were narrow, really only built to accommodate a single humanoid body, but somehow she managed to slip beside him, tucking her chin against his shoulder. It felt strange to lie there in silence, cataloging the places where they touched—forearms, hips. Her cheek, warm through the medical robe.

She breathed. He breathed.

“You smell like shit,” Cassian finally said, his voice rough even to his own ears. Jyn was warm, and she did smell like she hadn’t had a sanisteam in a while, sweat and skin and that particular human sourness that came with it.

“Didn’t want you feeling self-conscious about how badly you stink,” she said, and he felt her elbow him in the side, but—very gently, like she was afraid of shattering him. Cassian’s breath caught at the touch of it.

He coughed, and Jyn flinched, pulling away. It took her a long moment to settle back where she had been, and even then her touch was gentler, as though she was afraid it would set him off again.

His chest ached, but he wasn’t sure for what.

“They have you doing missions?” he asked instead, because that was easier.

“Yeah,” she admitted, after a long moment. “Dead drops, mostly. Some speeches, which I’m still terrible at. I keep stealing your words.”

“You—you don’t have to,” he said shakily. “You know that, right? You—the Death Star is gone, your father’s name is cleared.”

“Did they tell you about Alderaan?” she asked. He nodded, and he felt her twitch. “I wasn’t—I didn’t move fast enough. Jedha and Scarif and Alderaan…I have to. Isn’t that what…”

She fell silent, and he felt her breath puff against his shoulder.

“Isn’t that what?”

She curled more tightly against his side. “What you would do,” she muttered, and she was so warm, buzzing, every muscle he could feel taut.

“Don’t know if…I’m an example,” Cassian said, and he saw her face fall out of the corner of his eye. “Look at where it got me.”

She exhaled, and then she was pushing her face against his shoulder, and Cassian felt his whole body go warm, every nerve-ending on fire and every blood vessel suddenly pounding. “A hero,” she mumbled against his skin. “A hero, with—a lot of people who care about him.”

(It wasn’t the first time in three weeks that Cassian had wished that all the metal and bandages would vanish, and let him move, damn it, but it might have been the time he wanted it so much. He wanted to wrap his arm around her shoulders, he wanted to say, no no, if you knew what I’ve done—he wanted to—)

They talked of nothing much, until the sun was low enough to slant through the narrow windows and into Cassian’s eyes. The whole medbay was bathed in golden light, and when he asked if she didn’t have anything else to do, she shrugged. (She was still so warm.) It was only when he mentioned Mon Mothma that she groaned, and levered herself up onto her hands.

“Fine, if you want me to go…”

(She stood, and the light caught on her hair, which he had not realized had coppery-brass in it, her eyelashes, her mouth, which was—)

“Oh,” she said, turning back suddenly. She fished around in her pocket, and eventually drew out a durasteel cube, which she sat gingerly on Cassian’s chest. It was heavy, and there was a light on the front. It blinked.

on-off. on-on-off.

“What…?” Cassian asked, glancing up at her.

“They haven’t been able to find Kaytoo new hardware,” she said, and he detected the barest hint of a smirk. “So until they do, he’s stuck with the datacube containing his downloaded memory and software. Hope you know Galactic Emergency Transmit Code,” Jyn said cheerfully, patting the cube.

Cassian did. The cube vibrated, blinking out something crass and unrepeatable, and Cassian couldn’t help grinning. “Kay,” he whispered, and the cube blinked, H-E-L-L-O-C-A-S-S-I-A-N.

I-A-M-G-L-A-D-Y-O-U-A-R-E-N-O-T-D-E-A-D.

“Yeah,” Cassian laughed, his chest aching again, sharp and good. (What had his father always said? You know you are alive, because it hurts.) “Yes, me as well.”

On the morning of the thirty-second day, the meddroid came to his bedside and chirped its surprise when it found Chirrut, Baze, Jyn, Bodhi, and Kaytoo—blinking his displeasure at being so manhandled—at Cassian’s bedside.

“Come on,” Jyn said, shifting from foot to foot. Kaytoo vibrated in her hands, and she scowled. “Get a move on.”

The process of separating Cassian from the durasteel casing which had kept his spine straight and his body immobilized was slow. From his perspective, it felt like a perverse sort of unshelling, as the meddroid peeled back metal arms, flat casing, and snipped the ties that had kept him bound. Jyn’s face was carved from stone, but Bodhi kept making soft noises, every time the droid said shit like, “Tissue around the distal radius still bruised—”

All the same, there was nothing quite like having an audience for when you first sat up under your own power; your first, wobbly steps. Mostly because they all broke out into cheers at once, and Jyn kissed Bodhi’s cheek with a loud smack, and he blushed, and Chirrut was blessing the Force, and Baze was grinning, quick to swoop in and loop his arm under Cassian’s shoulders when he faltered.

“There you are, my brother,” Baze said lowly. “We’ve got you.”

F-I-N-A-L-L-Y, Kaytoo blinked, buzzing in Cassian’s hands. (It felt good to touch something again, and Cassian grinned.)

Afterwards, Cassian was gingerly putting on his shirt—everything happened more slowly, took more muscles than he remembered, with all the low aching he would expect from disuse—when someone cleared their throat behind him. He managed to finish the excruciating process of pulling on his shirt before sighing, and turning to face the door.

He had a vague memory of the woman standing there—pale and short, slim, with a crown of braids. Her eyes were dark and clever, and fixed on his face; she wore white, like Mothma, and there was something in his air that reminded him unmistakably of Organa, but—he couldn’t place her. “Can I help you?”

“Leia Organa,” she said, and he stiffened despite himself. The hot ache it sent through his muscles almost made him double over, but Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan (the dead, the gone, because he hadn’t been smart enough, swift enough to save it) was already stepping forward, guiding him to sit back on the medbay bed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as he struggled to steady out his breathing. “I only meant to come and thank you for all you did, in helping us destroy the Death Star.”

He met her eyes tentatively. She had such dark eyes, like her father, but—they couldn’t be related, could they? She was about as brown as Jyn, and while Cassian hadn’t known Organa that well, any child of his would have been darker than this woman.

“What?” he rasped.

Leia Organa looked at her with her dark, couldn’t-be-inherited eyes. She was unflinching, and Cassian wondered if she’d inherited that instead. “I was there, just beyond atmo during the Battle of Scarif. What you—did, what you sacrificed…You couldn’t have known you would survive. You were willing to give everything to the Rebellion.”

“We—had to get the plans out,” Cassian said. It was all he could think of.

“I know,” Leia Organa said “I do, I know, and I am grateful. But—you did so much more. Did you know my father? He used to say—”

“Are you coming? They’re serving actual organic protein in the mess tonight—” Jyn said as she breezed through to Cassian’s room, stopping dead when she saw the Princess sitting there on the edge of the medbay bed beside Cassian.

“Oh,” she said simply.

“No,” Leia Organa said with a taut smile. She was standing again, slim and all in white. “No, I just—wanted to thank you. Captain Andor, and you. And truly, thank all of Rogue One for what you did. I was just telling Captain Andor that my—my father used to say that there was only one human destiny, and it was liberation. I cannot think of any who have so exemplified that credo.”

Cassian felt something warm, reassuring, spread through him, like a bath or a drink of hot xotil. There is only one human destiny—but Jyn’s face went still, frozen between something like flattered and something else, which was scorn. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she said stiffly, and Organa-the-Younger went stiff too, her spine suddenly very straight and her shoulders taut.

“Thank you, Princess,” Cassian said before either of them could add another word, forcing some of the warmth and gladness he was feeling into his voice. (there is only one human destiny and it is liberation.) It must have worked, because Leia Organa relaxed a little, smiled.

“That’s all I wanted to say,” she told him quietly. “Captain Andor.”

“Princess,” he said, bowing his head a little.

“Do you know her?” Jyn asked, once the princess had swept out of the medbay, leaving the scent of arallute blooms in her wake.

“No,” Cassian said. “I’ve never met her before.”

Jyn shrugged, and lent him her shoulder to lean on as he stiffly hobbled toward the mess hall. (They only stopped twice, to let him catch his breath, he was very proud of that.) When he leaned against the doorframe—breathing hard and winded, stars dancing behind his shut eyes—he heard a shout. “Captain Andor!” Bodhi said, taking him by the wrist and drawing him forward. Cassian could feel Jyn at his back, radiating heat like a broken hyperdrive, and they all were there together, standing before the table laid out with uninspiring greyish somethings.

“We tried,” Baze offered.

N-O-W-E-D-I-D-N-T, Kaytoo blinked.

Cassian’s whole back ached, and his teeth, and his eyes. Everything hurt, and this meant he was alive. They were alive, and home. “No,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “No, it’s perfect. It’s perfect.“

#lurkeymclurker #star wars #rogue one spoilers #the warry stars #long post for ts #this is a thing I made

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