Rosestein Stone (stone_solid) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-08-22 04:35:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, !narrative, rosestein stone |
A sigh escapes from Heaven, and worlds end.
Who: Stone and NPCs.
What: The escape from the city.
Where: The Aerodrome.
When: Around 9:00 AM on Thursday morning.
Rating: PG-13, for old time’s sake.
Status: Complete and final.
The young woman held her younger brother’s hand pensively. Several items were packed loosely inside her old burlap cloak—the remainders of their shattered life. Some dried fruit, simple rations she might offer as a welcoming gift. Several outfits for the two of them, to be sure that they showed they were prepared. She wore her new light armor, and Audren wore his; it would take some time for the boy to become accustomed to wearing it. Her mythril dagger was on her left thigh, her steel dagger on her right waist, and the blond boy’s flute had been dusted and slung across his back. And to be sure, some potions bought from Odds & Ends.
Then there was the rest of the gil she had saved from buying the armor… and the presents. What was store-bought in the packages that were sent out, she had actually bought herself. She didn’t know why—perhaps it was to show herself and everyone she had come to know in this Faram-be-damned city that she did care, at least somewhat. Even though the merchants would offer her no job, even if it’s their fault she and her younger brother stood there, his head mostly healed from the visitation to the healer on Burglandt Way—she couldn’t make herself do ‘one last heist.’ It was affection that made her go the distance to spend hard-earned gil on those trinkets, and damned if she didn’t trust that it was the right choice.
The attendant finally returned. “Miss Stone? Young Mister Stone? This way, if you please.” Not sparing to look at one another—it would be too much, there would be too many second thoughts—the two finally made their way forward, led by the man who, unbeknownst to him, was shaping their destiny. “That’s the Floating Eyeball. Take care,” the attendant offered, and was off. Hands still interlocked, the brunette and the blond walked forward, where a woman and an older gentleman were conversing. ‘This is it,’ the girl thought, ‘They’re our future.’ She looked at Audren and smiled, as if to say, ‘Everything’ll be fine, buddy.’ Breaking their grip, she approached the mistress of the airship.
“Excuse me,” she began. “Miss Armande? I’m the one Ari talked to you about. It’s nice to meet you.” Turning, the woman glared first at the youth, then at the boy, as if sizing them up. Her first thought of Armande was that she was an imposing woman—muscular in stature, wearing clothing to fit the season, her hair cropped sensibly for her profession. In a way, the pale youth was at once frightened and exhilarated, knowing her life was going to be on this woman’s crew.
After a short silence, the taller woman spoke. “…’n what makes ya bastards think you can be on my crew? This ain’t a damn daycare. Ya look more like you belong in a fruit stand, peddling your damn rotten produce.” Her nose crinkled after she said this; the young woman couldn’t help but balk. She wanted to scream and demand that Armande take them in, that they had nowhere to go, that she would threaten the corsair’s life if they didn’t go on her shitty floating bucket named for a pus-dripping eye-with-wings.
Instead, she took a deep breath, crossed her arms, and began to speak. “I get that you people don’t operate on niceness. In the Guild, I was told to respect my elders, whether it’s their actual age or if they’ve just been in the business for longer than I have. If that doesn’t work for you, then my apologies, you salty bitch.”
Armande raised her eyebrows and laughed, and the young woman continued, a small smile forming on her lips. “I know I have what it takes to be on your ship. We don’t puke at the smallest sign of turbulence, me and him do our chores well enough, I know how to fight, he can learn, and it’ll all be good. You think cleaning up an airship is hard work? You think being surrounded by happy, well-meaning drunks—even though I hate drunks of any sort—after a good haul, or being cussed out in some fucked-up form of ‘encouragement’ is worse than what I’ve been through?” The smile had fallen at this point, a look of seriousness formed on her brow. “I survived Hell to protect him,” at this she jerked her head in Audren’s direction, “And sure as Faram lives in the Heavens am I gonna let anything less be what throws me down.”
Silence ensued; she thought, suddenly, that the monologue was the improper course of action, that she and her younger brother needed to flee now lest they face the consequences… but she noticed the steely glint in Armande’s eyes as she pretended to ignore the outpouring of the dark-haired young woman’s emotions. Instead, she turned to the older man. “Alain, what you think of the boy?”
The young woman turned, then, to Audren. “Well, go on. Don’t piss him off, buddy; he’ll be your new music teacher.” Audren’s eyes lit up. “Do I… do we really get to live on this ship, and I get to learn songs that heal and stuff?” Nodding, she turned to Alain as the young blond approached, watching her young brother take the flute off his back and, at Alain’s insistence, demonstrate the crude notes he could perform. The older man nodded, his face blank but not disapproving. Was it a good sign? Or no? Before she could think of it again, Armande began to address her. “You’re lucky Ari owed me one, you know. I could leave you here, take your shit, and never come back to Emillion.” The youth was somewhat taken aback, but recognized sky pirate humor when she saw it. “You’d have a hard time getting nanna piss for it,” was her response. “I’m not exactly a huge spender.”
“Good trait to have,” Armande offered simply. “It ain’t gonna be easy working for me. Don’t think myself particularly well-known, but my crew calls me a slave-driver. And I believe ‘em.” The girl shot back, “I didn’t think this’d be some kind of springtime picnic, lady. But trust me when I say it’s an upgrade from what I had before.”
“What kinda shithole—” the muscular woman started, but stopped, shaking her head. The youth figured that the other could imagine the exact shithole and several worse, and wrote it off, shrugging. “Lemme know what I can do to help. I could always toughen up.”
“And you will, with this class act!” Alain called from his spot with Audren. Armande shot him a glare and he resumed silence. “Let’s board. The crew’s finished preparin’ by now, I reckon. C’mon; just don’t call me miss anymore. I ain’t that old or that respectable,” and the ramp leading into the ship opened as the corsair, followed by the old bard and the new apprentice, got on. The thief followed suit, not daring to look behind her, not letting her feelings get the best of her, swearing she wouldn’t cry.
The ramp on the airship closed, sealing them off from the only place she’d ever known. After a short time, the roof of the Aerodrome opened; she could see it through the sky-roof of the Flying Eyeball. She looked out over the cityscape, the city of Emillion spreading beneath her like an intricate diorama.
Goodbye to Matthew, her first crush.
Goodbye to Peony’s cooking and advice.
Goodbye to Vivi, who helped her in a weak moment.
Goodbye to Merri’s helpful bashfulness.
Goodbye Wil’s brazen playfulness.
Goodbye to Doctor Darius’ good heart.
Goodbye to Altair’s caring, in his businesslike way.
Goodbye to Quen’s optimism.
Goodbye to Rid’s sweet shyness.
Goodbye to Juli’s tender selflessness.
Goodbye to Morgayne’s sunny disposition.
Goodbye to Ari’s inner and outer beauty.
Goodbye to The Snuggly Duckling, Odds & Ends, and The Armory.
Goodbye to Aspel, the one who had loved her when her mother had not.
‘Goodbye to my life. Goodbye to my home. And goodbye to the little girl who forged her way under her father’s surname for the sake of her baby brother.’
They were so far away from it now. The tears would come soon, but she’d fend them off as long as she could until she was directed to the place she and her brother would be staying for rest. She turned to face the captain at last, waiting for what was next. Looking up from the controls, the short-haired woman nodded. For a moment, it seemed like there would be no exchange of words between them; however, the silence was soon broken. “Welcome to the crew, Stone. Good to have ya. Don’t you slack, though, or I’ll throw you and your brother right off,” Armande offered at last, straight-faced. She didn’t seem to be joking.
At this, the other woman replied, “Fine by me. Only one condition on my behalf.” Armande guffawed, and retorted, “Oho? And who are you to make conditions for your captain? Go on, though, I could use a laugh, kid.”
“Call me Rosestein.”