[sycallander]

A Moment Apart

[sycallander]

there’s never been a time that ephraim’s had to make extra because there’s a new person on board and he hadn’t counted on it. he’d thought he knew better by now, people coming and going all the time, it’s something he should be used to. but then there’s a new face, and one less plate than he’s supposed to have, so he makes just enough for this new person, stumbling over an apology, bowing his head because this is his job and how could he fuck up so bad?

no one had said anything to him about it, none had given him looks. everyone seemed to understand, and even if they didn’t, they knew not to say or do anything. he’s thankful for the quiet this time, heading back into the stove area to clean the plates of the ones who’d already finished their meal. he keeps his head bowed, cursing at himself, sometimes in his head and sometimes a whisper from between his lips.

when meal time is over, ephraim wipes down the table, the counters, the sink. he’s done in the kitchen and he reaches to turn off the light when something catches his eye. the packet he’d used to make issa’s meal, but the date is wrong. he knows it’s not right and he knows he’s not the smartest member aboard (he’s more among the least educated), but he see the date and how off it is. “shit.”

he tosses the packet away and heads down the hall, searching for issa. he hadn’t taste-tested the food – how could he screw up a second time in one day? but, of course, he’s ephraim – disappointment to his parents, more than likely, why not be a disappointment aboard serenity as well?

knowing full well what expired food can do to one’s body, ephraim heads straight for the small lavatory, the one with only a couple of stalls, because the cabins had toilets themselves, but there’s always the uncertainty of one giving out, so there’s the extra toilets. barely anyone uses them, prefering their private toilets over the ones in the small, almost forgotten room.

and there’s issa; face down on the tiles, breathing heavily, and smelling of sick. “issa? it’s me, eph… t-the chef.” he doesn’t deserve the title, not now. he gets on his knees and helps the poor guy sit up, hands steadying his shoulders. “h-hey. you’re gonna be okay, i’ll – uh, i’ll help. where’s your room?”

It takes Issa a moment or two to register the fact that someone is talking to him, and that the chef is the one who’s in the room with him. He feels a pair of hands on his shoulders, propping him up to a sitting position. The room spins like a merry-go-round. He’s not sure which way’s up and which way’s down. A shadow looms in his peripheral vision. Has Death come to finally greet him? There’s so much he hasn’t done yet, so much he still needs to experience. He’s not finished just yet.

“I-I think…” His throat feels dry and papery, his tongue thick and sluggish. The clogs in his mind move at a glacial pace, struggling to get the words out to Ephraim. “N-no, not my room. The medic… I need…” It occurs to Issa then that he has no bloody clue who wants him off this ship, and that Ephraim is a suspect just like everyone else. He eyes the cook suspiciously. Why is he even here? Checking up to see if he needs to finish the job?

Issa closes his eyes, completely drained. He might as well know the truth before he goes. He opens his eyes just a slit and looks at the chef. “You’ve poisoned me, haven’t you?”

[syxjaewon]

‘riptide’

[sycallander]

jaewon slides the whetstone across the thin edge of his knife, the slicing sound filling up the atmosphere of the mess hall. it’s a familiar sound, a warm sound, something that bites and scrapes but is still somehow akin to the sharpness of his heart, enough to set him at ease. oftentimes he cleans his weapons as a means of relaxation, and maybe that speaks volumes to the type of monster he’s become, but at least he knows he’s not alone in that regard. it seems his ship is all kinds of infested with monsters as of late. he intends on rooting that out right about now though.

it’s evening and only a few stragglers wander through the hallways of his ship, but he waits for only one of them to make an entrance, knowing he’ll come this way eventually, if for no other reason than to get to the quarters section. he doesn’t stress about the other’s arrival, confident in himself and in his capabilities to neutralize any threat he might pose, because he always does, he always has, he always will. he’s unsure about issa’s level of combat, has never really seen him be anything other than a fucking floozy, but even if he does fight back, jaewon has more at stake than issa does, has fought longer and harder and bloodier than he could ever imagine, and the guy is on his boat. he’s got the home advantage.

when he does finally step into the room, gold eyes shift up and lock onto his form, his brow still set, his chin tilted downwards slightly. “issa,” he calls before he passes him on his way through, using the tip of the knife to point towards a chair one or two spots on down the table. everything in his countenance declares tense danger and intent, no room for arguments or playful banter tonight. his tone is clipped and heavy, and if issa’s not careful in the next few minutes, he will split his body from navel to nose, spill his blood across the carpet and throw his corpse out the air lock, no hesitations, no hold-ups. he can already picture it, already smell his blood, feel his weight. “sit.”

Issa feels his eyes beginning to droop as the words on the page blur into one another. He’s read the same sentence over and over again for the last ten minutes, too tired to function, too stubborn to move. Still, as his head begins to nod on its own, he realizes what he really needs right now is his own bed, not the steel table he’s been using to prop himself up to a sitting position. A pillow, albeit all of them being flat here on the ship, is better than a metal surface. He shuts his book with a soft thud before tucking it under his arm and slowly rising to a stand.

He misses the fluffy pillows from Londinium, the softness of the sheets in his bed at home. It’s a selfish thought, he realizes, concocted by a privileged mind, but he can’t stop himself from thinking such things each and every time something on Serenity is different to what he knows. He’s never travelled before, never seen a planet that wasn’t Londinium. It makes him realize just how sheltered his existence has been up until now, how he has no right to call himself well-read when he knows nothing beyond the comforts of his home planet.

He doesn’t notice the ship’s captain until he hears Jaewon call out his name as he steps into the mess hall. He’s never spoken to the captain before, never had any reason to. The rumours Issa’s heard of him have been enough of a reason to stay away. Now the captain knows his name. “Yes, of course… Sir.” He approaches the table, suddenly awake and all too aware of the knife in Jaewon’s hands. He sits and set his book down on the seat next to him, eyeing the steel blade as he waits for the captain to speak. He knows better than to speak out of turn.

[sycallander]

Across the Room

@syxkafka​

It had taken Issa a day or so to remember where his room was, a week or two to learn the ins and outs of the vessel, and less than a minute to realize that one did not double cross the ship’s captain. Even then, he was fairly certain that there were still countless corridors, secret hatches that led to even more obscure passageways, that he had yet to uncover aboard Serenity. The people he had met since arriving were a blur of faces and jumbled up names. He had trouble deciphering who did what, and out of fear of sounding stupid, he hadn’t bothered asking anyone to repeat their name. Instead, he waved cheerfully to those who called out to him, inclining his head in acknowledgement at their greeting as if he knew them all personally.

Today, however, Issa did not feel like socializing. He had sought the quiet stillness of the cargo bay to read one of the many books he had smuggled aboard in his suitcase. The weight of the thick tome in his hands was a familiar comfort. He had spent many sleepless nights reading in his room until the first few rays of morning light began to seep through his window blinds. The book he was reading was one of his favourites, a classic from the old Earth. The Name of the Wind. He had read the story so many times that he had broken the book’s spine and the thin pages were beginning to fray with use.

Still, Issa cherished it like it was his most prized possession. He found a spot two crates high that seemed like the perfect spot for a quiet reading nook. Heights did not bother him. He tossed the book up and climbed the cargo with relative ease, his muscles flexing as he pulled himself up to where his book had landed. Laying on his belly, he propped the book open to the last place he had left off and slowly began to lose himself in Kvothe’s story.

[sycallander]

A Moment Apart

This was not the way Issa had expected to die. Down on his knees, hugging a toilet seat. His insides felt like water, and he was fairly certain that he had expelled his weight in vomit in just the last hour alone. His throat was sore and his mouth dry. What a sight he was to behold. His auburn hair clung to his face and neck in damp clumps and his skin was covered in a thin layer of perspiration. He lay his head against the toilet seat, trying not to think about how many behinds had sat where his cheek was now resting.

His father’s words played in his mind like an old record player. Keep your eyes peeled, son. Those cowards will try to strike you as soon as you’ve got your back turned. When Issa had been a child, his father had kept a handful of trusted servants by his side to sample all of his meals beforehand. Lars had been convinced, especially in those early days, that someone was going to try to poison him one day. Issa had thought him mad then, but now, as he lay shivering in Serenity’s lavatory unit, he wasn’t so sure. Had someone aboard discovered who he was?

It occurred to Issa then that it was probably a good idea to pay the ship’s medic a visit. He had started feeling ill shortly after dinner. Perhaps someone really had tampered with his food. His insides grew cold as the paranoia began to set in. He had been aboard the ship for less than a week and already people wanted him dead. This was not good. Not good at all.

“Come on…” Issa forced himself to a crawl. His arms and legs felt like a bowl of soggy noodles. He made it about four steps from the toilet before collapsing facedown on the cold linoleum tiles.

@syxephraim