RP Between Sand and Stars

Maybe her uncle was, but her father… He was much harder to please.

"Tell me about your happiest memory.”

Klaire knew what he was doing, trying to keep her distracted while the venom consumed her. She went quiet for a moment, because despite simple, a question such as that didn’t come with an immediate answer. She wanted to give him an honest one, and that required looking way back into her memory.

“I don’t remember how old I was… Ten? Maybe nine…” She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the rock behind her. “It was a summer festival, I was supposed to look after my little brother. I got distracted for a second and had to look for him, when I found him there were two older kids messing with him, trying to take his toy away. I ran towards them and told them to give it back. They said no, and that’s when I threw in the first punch.” A soft giggle left her lips, because she knew up until that point it didn’t sound like a happy time. She could feel the taste of blood in her mouth like she did that day, but it was just that vivid of memory.

“I got his toy back and my brother, who had hidden under a cart, came out unscathed. We ran back to our father afterwards and he saw how injured I was. And then he asked… ‘who won?’. I said I did. He picked me up and sat me on his shoulders… It felt like the highest I’ve ever been. Not even flying could match that.”

It was getting colder and harder to see. It was comforting to know Ishaan was still there, and would still be if she managed to make it through the night.

“What’s yours?”
 
As hard as he tried, Ishaan felt a sadness wash over him. It wasn't his memory, it wasn't his right to judge another's happiness, and yet he couldn't help himself.

There was another dimension to her, more than just a Captain and a fighter, more than the tenacity and loyalty she exuded.

He sighed and shifted again, eager to find a comfortable position against the rock.

It was bittersweet now, his happiest memory. And although circumstances and feelings had changed since then, he remembered the way he'd felt that day.

"As hard as it is to believe, I had a girl, back in the day." He chuckled, hand running over his sand-ridden cheek. "Probably the day I proposed to her. I took her to the meadow, not far from her family home. The wildflowers were in bloom and the sky was blue, and she'd said yes. We celebrated with her family and our closest friends that night." He thought of the picnic, and the flutes of white wine that awaited them when they returned, the food, the laughter, the music. The companionship, the sense of belonging.

He cleared his throat, continuing. "Focus on how you felt. Like the highest you've ever been."
 
It wasn’t hard to believe at all. Ishaan was kind and handsome, and apparently modest. Klaire tried to picture it, him, surrounded by friends and family, with a beautiful woman by his side. Despite him asking her to try to think of that happy feeling again, it was hard when his happy memory sounded a lot happier than hers; but just like hers, it came accompanied by hurt. As far as she knew, that engagement never turned into a marriage.

“What does it feel like?” She asked, her face heating up even more than it already was. “To be in love with someone, and… You know.”
 
Shadows concealed most of her face now, making it difficult to find her eyes. Ishaan searched for a moment, wondering if he should breach a topic of conversation he never imagined to have here, with her. But she was a dying woman, and if it eased, or at the very least, distracted, he'd do it.

"I think it's different for everyone. For me..." He paused, searching for the right words to describe something so indescribable. "It was like my mind and body were buzzing whenever I thought of her or was around her. But love is more than just a feeling. It's an action - it's wanting to make sure that she was safe and happy and appreciated." That'd been his downfall, the reason why she'd returned the ring. And he'd known it, even then.

"And what?"
 
The feeling she was familiar with, it was what came after that was uncharted territory. The action, but not the kind Ishaan was referring to.

Klaire couldn’t tell if it was the subject or the substance that was making her heart beat faster. Certainly it was the latter that made it harder to breathe and move her toes.

“And what?”

She wanted to know. Know the things she’d never experience in this life, things she might have had had her choices been any different. Klaire tried to look at Ishaan in search of any discomfort or judgment, but it was too dark to see his eyes across from her. Perhaps it was for the better.

“And…” What does it feel like to be kissed? Despite being sick and nearly dying, she couldn’t bring herself to ask the question. So instead, she asked: “Why didn’t you get married?”
 
"I love my work," Ishaan responded quietly. "And at some point, those actions became less frequent. Because of work, and my passion for it." Before it'd happened, attempts at compromise had been scarce, whereas the arguments grew more and more frequent. "I couldn't find a balance with her. Or a balance that was enough for her."
 
“That…” was not what Klaire had expected. It was getting colder in the cave, and her teeth began gritting as she continued saying: “... S-sounds like a silly reason not to m-marry someone you love.”

Not that she knew a lot about love, but she knew all about being passionate for her work. If she had a fiancé and had to choose, she couldn’t picture herself choosing to give it up.

Klaire pulled her knees close to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as her eyes closed once again.

“I’m c-cold.” She said, as if it wasn’t obvious by her curled up position. It was so cold her bones hurt, but she could feel the sweat on her forehead contradicting it. “Did we bring any b-blankets?”
 
Not knowing what to make of her comment, Ishaan merely nodded - as if it even mattered.

The wind rattled against him, causing his body to constrict. His own arms wrapped around his chest, fingers digging into the folds of clothing beneath his armpits. His eyes closed as he braved the burst, opening only after it'd settled. "No," he whispered. His thoughts drifted to his bed, the one back upon the Dragonfly, the one that creaked slightly whenever he moved. He'd come to miss that little luxury.

Another gust came and went. They were lucky they'd found this shelter; without it, their chances of freezing to death were tenfold. They were lucky to be together, for what little time remained.

His eyes drifted back to the blackness that she occupied. Slowly, he rose to a half crouched position - knowing that he couldn't fully stand within the confines of their shelter - and moved closer towards her. "Shit - sorry," he muttered, knee bouncing off what had to be her shoulder. He kept going though, taking a seat beside her so that their arms were touching. "Is this okay?"
 
Without a blanket, their body heat would be the only thing to keep them from freezing, Klaire knew that.

“It is.” She whispered, leaning closer to his arm, at first reluctantly and then fully, when she realized how warm it was. She couldn’t see, but she was quite sure her head had landed on his chest, which moved up and down as he breathed, his chin lightly brushing over her hair.

“I won’t make it, Ishaan. But I really want you to.” Klaire said quietly, with her head lowered. “When I die… Keep going to the mountains. With one less mouth to feed it’s possible that you’ll make it. Look for the commander. Tell him captain Byrn requested they take you back to Costa Duba.”

Underneath her desert attire, Klaire reached for her pocket and found a badge she’d removed from her uniform, left at the dragonfly’s wreckage. In the darkness she searched for his hand, placing it in his palm.
 
Cold metal pressed into his hand. Ishaan's thumb grazed over the edges, and then the tiny needle-like attachment in the middle. A pin? Her badge? Whatever it was, he couldn't reject it. She was a dying woman - a dying Captain. He couldn't insult her either. In their case, hopeful words were empty promises. And so he slipped the pin into the pocket on his thigh and then draped that very same arm across her shoulders, pulling her in closer. Running his hand gently up and down her arm. "Is there anything else I can do, for you, Captain?"
 
Despite it all, it felt nice being caressed that way. She didn’t remember the last time she had experienced something like it, but she knew it’d happened at least a decade prior.

What else could he do, besides comfort her in that moment? A question kept lingering in her mind, the one she hadn’t been brave enough to ask.

Fuck it Klaire, you’re about to die. She was right, and perhaps a bit delirious at that point. Her hand cupped Ishaan's jaw and the captain lifted her head, pressing her lips against his for one, maybe two seconds.

It felt… Soft. Warm. She lowered her head again without a word, resting her head and her hand on his chest.
 
A jagged edge dug into his back. After she'd kissed him, a silent stillness had fallen over them, fatigue and poison slowly taking over. Ishaan thought about it, of course. Had it been a thank-you, one last moment of shared closeness - one she'd have shared with anyone, or an act on desire? In the end, he supposed it didn't matter.

And that's what scared him. He didn't want her to die. And selfishly, he didn't want to die alone.

As hot, fearful tears began to blur his vision, the fae looked up at the cavern ceiling, willing that they stayed within the confines of his dark eyes. He exhaled shakily, feeling her weight rise and fall with his chest. Feeling her own shallow breathing. One last desperate attempt.

Slowly, he rose, shifting her weight so that she was pressed against the wall and not his chest. "I-I'm sorry..." He stuttered out quietly, unsure if she was still conscious or mercifully dreaming. Unable to fully stand, Ishaan grabbed both of their bags and stumbled for the exit. He hadn't yet left the confines of their safety when he felt the chill - felt it move past him and towards her. He turned back momentarily, standing and watching. "I'm sorry... I'll be back." And then he was gone.

A lone figure in the vast desert. He felt like the last man alive, feet sinking and sliding on the dense sand. His teeth began to chatter but he continued, walking far enough until a patch of desert brush became illuminated in the dull moonlight. This was it. This is where he'd try. Dumping the contents of their belongings onto the largest bush - everything except for one bag containing their remaining food and water. He knelt to the ground, lighting one of the candles and laying out his map before him. He allowed himself a moment to study his markings, study the landmarks, engrave the image into his mind. Paper wouldn't fuel the flame for long, but perhaps those two seconds would make a difference. When he was done, one hand holding the candle, the other holding his bottle of rum, he let it all burn. Used dried branches to spread the flame amongst the brush.

And then he knelt a step away, watching the night sky, savouring the heat, feeling the pin she'd given him against his thigh. One last attempt.
 
“I’m sorry.”

Klaire heard those words, and then she could no longer feel his heartbeat.

Was she dead already, or did Ishaan assume she was before leaving? Did he get tired of waiting? Her chest hurt at the thought, and so did her head and every bone in her body, which started shaking uncontrollably.

***

Twig regretted letting his captain know of the little sparkle in the desert, for he had been hand picked to climb out of the ship to examine it's source. As he approached the lone person who’d started the fire, he felt no need to remove the knife he had attached to the back of his belt.

“Look what the sandstorm dragged in!” The tall but skinny fir bolg said, smiling devilishly. “Don’t you dare move, there are dozens of guns pointed at your head as we speak. Who are you, and what are you doing alone in the desert?”
 
The sinister smile didn't register, nor extinguish the hope and relief that pulsed through his aching body. Knees still plunging into the cold sand, Ishaan remained still, just as he'd been told. "My name is Ishaan. Please help us - me and my..." His mind was racing, his words quick and desperate, yet he still found enough sense to pause. "We crashed, and she's dying. Please, she was bitten by snake. Let me take you back to her."
 
Perhaps it was a trap, or really just a lost wanderer in the sand and his partner, about to die. Twig sighed, tapping his foot over the pathetic fire until its final spark, gesturing for the man to lead the way.

“I'm feeling good today Ishaan, so I'm gonna help you. No funny business or I'll cut your head off, if no one shoots you first." He said, touching the handle of his knife. While they walked, Twig took note of Ishaan’s appearance. The ears were too pointy for a human, but too small to belong to an elf. A fairy? Those were in high demand lately.

“What brings you two lovebirds to the desert? Be careful now boy, I’m pretty good at spotting a lie.”
 
The last of the flame slowly disappeared, casting a hazy darkness over them, illuminated only by the moonlight. After unsteadily rising to his feet and stepping closer, Ishaan finally noticed the man's stature. Tall, but thin and somewhat malnourished-looking.

There was no turning back now, despite the threats. Desperation clung to him like a fever - anything was better than slowly dying alone. So he nodded in understanding and lurched forward, back towards the cave he'd left behind.

"I- we..."

Not lovebirds. But if not lovebirds, then what? A Captain and her crewmate? A fae Captain?

"She wanted to travel the world," he responded quietly. Not a total lie.

"I shouldn't have let her. I shouldn't have agreed." Also not a total lie.
 
Twig laughed.

“Only a fairy would be stupid enough to fly the deserts by themselves!” His hand fell down on Ishaan’s shoulder, giving it a tap and sliding down his back to have a feel of the wings hiding beneath the fabric. “Where did you come from? Goswick? The Floating Isles?” Is your wife also a fairy? He’d hit the jackpot if there were two. Perhaps he could charge his captain for a commission, or at least bargain for a better hammock, further away from Engine-Mouth-Eugene.
 
The air from his lungs momentarily vanished, body instinctually tensing. A hand had brushed down against his covered wings and just as quickly, vanished. Ishaan swallowed, choosing to ignore the comment and the touch. This was their only chance, and angering their only chance wasn't an option. "Costa Duba."

As they grew closer, his steps became faster, more eager. "Here, she's here. Please." Sand turned to harder stone and suddenly he was crouched beside her, one hand steadying her shoulder, the other brushing back a lock of hair that had covered her face. "She's still breathing." He said to his new companion. And then to her, voice lowering, "I'm back, everything is going to be fine."
 
Last edited:
Twig looked down at the crouched fae and the person convulsing in his arms. Definitely not a trap.

“Snake bite, huh?” Twig kneeled by his side, preparing to toss the woman’s body over his shoulder. “Was it a horned snake? And how long ago did you say it happened?” He was pretty sure they had an antidote for it at the ship’s infirmary, but it’d be up to the captain to decide if she was worth being saved or not.
 
Drawing her forward, away from the jagged rocks, Ishaan's hand slid and cupped the back of her head. His eyes had grown wide as he watched her helplessly, unable to help beyond that thin layer of protection.

Though the fir bolg's question easily drew his attention away. "Yes. 8 hours ago," he replied almost instantaneously. "Do you have an antidote?"
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top