Puel, Wrongsexual (puella_nerdii) wrote in roads_diverged, @ 2007-12-05 01:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | firefly, puella_nerdii:firefly, theme 27: desert island |
Stranded: Being a Collection of Excerpts from the Journal of Simon Tam (Firefly AU, Cast)
Title:Stranded: Being a Collection of Excerpts from the Journal of Simon Tam
Author: puella_nerdii
Fandom: Firefly
Pairings: Simon/Kaylee and Simon/Mal if you stand on your head and squint
Rating: PG
Warnings: Relentless semicolon use; blatant theft of late-eighteenth/early-nineteenth century literary devices
Theme: World Tour: 27. desert island
Notes: *insert self-flagellation re: puncutality and lack thereof here*
19th September, 1801
The date I have written is the best approximation I am able to make—the position of the constellations and the length of the day indicate that we stand somewhere near the fall equinox, but my estimation has a margin of error of at least five days.
My sister River and I appear to be the only survivors of the Sister Mary’s capsulation. A storm battered us for a day and a night before it impaled the poor ship on a jetty. I cannot say why so many valiant sailors perished while River and I survived, but I must thank Providence for this miracle even while I mourn the lives lost. It is true that River, perhaps owing to her name, has always had a curious affinity with water (or perhaps she was named thus because of her affinity; I can hardly ask my parents now why they bestowed such a name on her), but I don’t think it enough to explain our survival.
I write this in one of the leather-bound journals I managed to scavenge from the ship’s wreckage; the pages appeared in fairly good condition, though I had to lay the journal flat on the sand for an afternoon or so to air it out to dry. I have always believed it important to record my thoughts, as later examinations of them prove to be most interesting insights. Should I meet with misfortune on this island, this journal may serve as a record for those attempting to retrace my footsteps, or as a warning for any other souls unfortunate to set foot here. I’ve encouraged River to do the same, but she seems more interested in gamboling about the foliage. I had so hoped that a sea voyage would restore her senses—the curative powers of sea air have been well-documented—but I fear that in a situation such as this, her wild tendencies will only increase.
Tonight we shall seek shelter farther inland. Perhaps we can fashion bits of flotsam into a lean-to of some sorts. There ought to be some plants on the island safe for consumption. I managed to salvage one of my botanical encyclopedias from the ship, which ought to prove useful in that venture.
I must pause here. It seems River has discovered the matches.
The same day, at dusk
I must keep this brief, for night will be upon us soon, and I dare not keep the fire burning too long.
River and I attempted to walk the perimeter of the island after I took the matches from her, but we were forced to double back as the sun dipped below the horizon for fear that we had strayed too far from the wreck. The island upon which we find ourselves is a sizable one, bordered by a fairly wide white beach. The sand gradually gives way to more dense vegetation; I will undoubtedly need a machete to cut through the vines and leaves preventing passage to the island’s centre. Flecks of obsidian in the sand indicate we find ourselves on a volcanic island, and indeed I believe I can detect a peak jutting out from somewhere amidst the dense foliage. River has taken up the task of sampling the trees’ fruits and has found most of them pleasing, though she spat out one large maroon-colored berry and proclaimed it “all wrong.” She later dispatched a curious creature—larger than most rodents I have encountered, but with fur and teeth that recalled a mouse or rat—with little more than a sharpened stick and her wits to aid her. “I heard it rustling,” she told me. “Like this. Swish. See? Oh, listen to me, Simon.”
They say the mad are driven so because they see further than we mere mortals are meant to, and I wonder at times if this is true for River. She has always been an uncanny child, but it has reached new heights of late.
Later on our walk, River capered off towards a throng of trees, holding her finger to her lips all the while. I followed her as best I could, but her small stature allowed her to slip behind broad leaves and wide trunks; in doing so, she passed out of my view far too often for my comfort. I took her to task when she returned with twigs knotted into her hair and a thick cake of mud clinging to her shoes.
“But I heard something,” she endeavored to explain.
“You heard a beast moving through the underbrush, surely,” I told her, “and you ought not have moved closer to it.”
“It didn’t move in fours,” she said. “It moved in twos. And it never—it trod, it never padded. You and I trod. A very heavy sound. Pushing everything aside. Rude, isn’t it?”
I’ve grown somewhat better at deciphering my sister’s speech. “River,” I said, taking care to speak slowly, “do you mean to say you heard a human?”
I have missed my sister’s smile on this voyage. She so often confined herself to her cabin, curled up on a miserable little bed and rocking back and forth with the ship. But she treated me to her smile now. “Like us.”
Though the thought clearly brought her an element of comfort, I must confess it chilled me to hear her recount it. I know not what sort of heathen customs the natives of this island practice. Perhaps they parade about unclothed, or copulate with beasts, or, God forbid, have acquired a taste for human flesh. We must be cautious, indeed.
20th September, 1801
River and I fashioned a fishing net out of whatever parts of the ship’s rigging we could salvage. A crude way of going about it, but it proved effective nonetheless; we caught five brightly-scaled fish, salted four of them, and feasted on the last for supper. I don’t think the fish will keep long in such a clime, but they should keep long enough for our purposes.
I fear a great many things. I fear we will have to move farther inland soon, and I fear what may await us there. We have heard nothing today from River’s natives, but undoubtedly such men would be skilled at moving through the jungle unheard. I fear what will happen when our meager supplies run out. River and I have little in the way of clothing and even less in the way of tools, and I’ve no knowledge of how to create new ones or repair the old. I fear what will happen in the event of another storm. Our current shelter can hardly withstand winds the likes of what the Sister Mary endured.
But night falls fast, and so I must conclude my account. I need sleep if I am to face the challenges tomorrow will bring.
25th (?) September, 1801
I am no longer certain of the day—I believe five days to have passed since I last wrote, but it may have been a greater (or lesser) interval of time than that.
And what a five days have passed! I cannot begin to recount all of it, but I shall do my best. River’s natives are not natives at all but men and women much like ourselves, trapped on the Isle of Serenity (for so they have named it) by storm and misfortune.
Four or so days ago, I left River by our campsite while I ventured deeper into the underbrush in search of a source of fresh water; our canteens were running perilously dry, and I feared death by dehydration. She clung to my knees and sobbed, begging me to remain with her and shouting about knives and guns and snakes and all manner of things. I do not profess to understand all of what she said, and admonished her to make no further sound, but I don’t want you to think me unmoved by her wretched state. On the contrary, it was with a heavy conscience that I left her. I held my machete tight in my fist and sawed through the greenery in my path, listening for the sound of running water, looking for any brooks or creeks. It was arduous and tedious work, and I found myself drenched in sweat, the sun resting on my back like a tangible thing. Still I was no closer to my goal.
A sharp sound cut through the air—a woman’s voice! Was it River’s? I straightened, brandishing my machete, and—I am reluctant to disclose this part, but honesty forces me to admit that I had no knowledge of the dark-skinned woman behind me until she rested her hand on my shoulder. I started. She bore herself like a great cat; the same sinuous I muscle rolled under her skin as she twisted my arm behind my back. I attempted to summon the last vestiges of my dignity and questioned her as to where I was and what she intended to do to me. I spoke as slowly and clearly as I could, though I did not expect her to have any knowledge of my tongue.
What a surprise when she answered! “You are on the Isle of Serenity, outside the captain’s headquarters. One of our number’s wounded and delirious. You’ve knowledge of the medical arts, haven’t you?”
“Y-yes,” I stammered.
“Then heal her, if you can.”
“And if I cannot?”
“That,” she said, “is for the captain to decide. Hold out your hands,” she instructed me as she produced a woven thong from a pouch by her side. I saw that she wore attire which, though clearly designed for a man, was nonetheless Continental in origin. Twice the fool I for thinking her a native.
“Why?”
“We cannot trust you so easily,” she said. “Too many other men on this island have proved treacherous.” And with that, she secured my hands in front of me. I thought to test the knots; they proved unyielding. She then tied a blindfold around my eyes. I started at first, then felt her hands at my shoulders, steering me.
She lapsed into silence as she marched me through the jungle. So fearful was I that I did not note the sounds of my surroundings as I should have. “My sister,” I thought to ask her. “What have you done with River?”
“She’s safe, and will remain so.”
“Even if I should fail in my task?” I asked, growing querulous.
“That’s for the captain to decide.”
“Who is this captain?” I demanded.
“You’ll see him presently.” She undid my blindfold and guided me towards the yawning mouth of a cave. The cool air was a wave of relief as it washed over my skin, and I fancied I heard water dripping. I would have laughed, but my captress prodded me onwards.
It was not long before I stumbled across a young girl lying in a bed of blankets and leaves. She was quite fair of face, but her skin was ghastly pale, pale enough to trace the veins on her arms, and a reddish-purple blotch marred her upper arm. (I have enough practice in my field not to look away when a comely girl bares part of herself to me.) A tourniquet rested snugly above the wound, placed there to block the flow of what I assumed was poisoned blood to her heart. Three men stood over her—one broad-shouldered and brown-haired, with a fearsome musket slung across his back; one shorter and fairer, chewing on a fingernail; but it was the man in the center to whom the woman looked first, and so I followed her lead. He was not so tall as the man with the musket, but authority settled around his shoulders like a cloak. I felt my back straighten in his presence.
“What have we here?” the captain (for he could be no other) asked. I could not trace his accent; it seemed to me a patchwork of every country whose shores I’d graced, supplemented by cadences I had never heard before in my life. “Can he help Kaylee?”
“He’s a doctor,” the woman said. “He has a better chance of it than we do.”
“Free his hands, Zoe.”
She cut the thongs wrapped around them, and I massaged my wrists.
“Ought we let him walk around like that?” the burliest man enquired. “The last outsider we let walk around unbound tried to do us all in.”
“He can hardly operate on Kaylee with his hands bound, Jayne,” the fair man said, sighing.
“What if I stood behind him and watched what he was doing up close?” Jayne asked.
“Wash is right,” the captain said. “The man needs space to work.”
“First,” said I, clenching my hands into fists, “tell me where my sister is.”
“I have her.” A comely woman stepped closer to the ring of torches, leading River by the hand. My sister stared at the flickering flames, oblivious to all else. My shoulders unknotted.
“Forgive me,” I told her. “I never should have left you behind.”
“Oh, Simon,” she said, blinking. The torches gave her pupils a catlike glow. “That’s quite all right. I’ve always been smarter than you.”
Jayne snorted. I glared at him, but it had as little effect as a mayfly’s scorn of an elephant would.
I knelt by Kaylee and rested my hand on her brow; it was feverish and clammy to the touch, which boded ill. “How long has she been like this?” I asked.
“Not long. I told Zoe to fetch you when Kaylee first told me she felt dizzy,” the captain said.
I lifted my fingers from her forehead—they came away damp—and pressed them lightly to her wound. She rebuked me: “Ought to show more care.”
“How far down does the pain extend?” I asked her.
“Just above my elbow or thereabouts,” she says. “And it stretches to right below my shoulder—ah, there.” She could not move well, but a small twitch of her head seemed to indicate that her pain ended where the tourniquet began.
“It looks to be snakebite,” I told her. “I’m astonished to find you still alive, frankly.” Those assembled above me assumed grave expressions.
“Well,” she said, “it wasn’t a very big snake. I thought it was a little vine at first. Then it bit me.”
“The venom would act more slowly, then,” I mused. “You are likely a good deal larger than its typical prey.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “But I can still be fixed?”
“I believe so,” I said. “The venom has not reached your heart. With any luck, I can suck out the poison.”
She smiled. “I can think of worse things than a young man’s lips on my arm.”
Well, I did blush at that.
I mopped my brow with my sleeve. “Have you clean rags?” I asked. “I’ll need them to bind the wound once I lance it and remove the poisoned blood.”
“I can fetch some,” the comely woman offered.
River seemed to blink with her whole body. “Boil,” she declared.
All assembled turned towards her.
“The rags,” she said. “Get them hissing hot.”
My sister really is an uncanny child. Her periods of lucidity seem to come and go as they please. She and the comely woman left. I cradled Kaylee’s arm with the greatest care; I detected little mobility in it, which boded ill, but I sensed the arm could still be saved. I felt more muscle in it than what I had originally anticipated—indeed, a good deal more muscle than I typically encountered when tending to my female patients—and wondered at the life this woman must lead. Taking my knife, I made several quick cross-cuts through the ugly wound to allow the blood to course freely. It welled up thick and sluggish at first, then began a steadier trickle.
“How does it look?” Kaylee asked; I detected a certain tremor in her voice.
“You should pull through,” I said. “You appear quite strong.”
“She is,” the captain said.
I lowered my lips to the cross-cuts and began to suck. Copper, thick and hot, filled my mouth, with what I imagined was a trace more of a bitter taste than usual; I turned my head aside and spat the blood on the ground, then repeated the process. Her skin was tender under my lips, and I took care to keep my teeth clear of the wound, as I did not intend for her to experience any additional pain during this procedure. When I felt the taste of blood too thick, I called for water, which a dark-skinned man with wild gray hair handed to me, a blessing on his lips as he presented me with the cup.
At last I judged my work near-complete and asked for the rags. River herself gave them to me; they had indeed been boiled, and I thought I saw Kaylee’s brow loosen as I tied them about her arm. I told them I would need to sterilize the knife I had used to make the incisions, and Wash took the blade away to do as I had instructed him to.
“And she’ll recover?” the captain asked.
I nodded; indeed, I saw spots of color returning to Kaylee’s cheeks even as he spoke.
“It seems we’re in your debt, doctor,” he said.
“I only did what I vowed to do long ago,” I replied, but he held up a hand.
“You and your sister may stay here, provided you do your share of the work, and you keep her from—” He stared at River. River stared back, her head cocked at a quizzical angle.
“She isn’t a violent lunatic, is she?” Jayne asked.
“No!” I cried. “But I assure you, I will keep her from acting indecorously.”
“I don’t much care about her acting indecorously,” the captain said. “I care about her endangering my crew.”
“She shan’t do that,” I said. “You have my word.”
He held out his hand, and I gripped it. His grasp was strong enough to break my fingers, but he refrained from doing so; strange how his hand seemed to encompass mine so easily. I wondered at it for perhaps a moment too long. Then Jayne clapped me on the back, I strove not to fall face-forward on the cave floor, and the group had a good laugh at my expense; River’s laugh was perhaps the loudest of all.
I do not know what living with these men and women will bring, but it looks to be a thoroughly interesting experience.
27th September, 1801
A thoroughly interesting experience indeed.