Fancestor Week: Serendipity Prompt
((Inspired by this prompt to make this, which is funny seeing as the only ancestor I’m posting is Aluala, and yet here I am doing this for Dontoc’s ancestors. Ah well. Literally just wrote it and posted it since it’s a prompt thing, so I went with whims as opposed to anything else. So yeah. Enjoy!))
Nieche Leiniz stared at the blank wooden wall. In his rampant imagination, he admitted that being taken prisoner by ravaging pirates seemed more exciting after the fact than it was. He got to watch scores of lowbloods - and a purpleblood? Did he see a purpleblood or was that his imagination? - overtake the military vessel he happened to have passage on. Writers learn best with experience after all, and there was no better way to write the adventure novel questioning everything commonly accepted about the military without knowing exactly how the military functioned. He hadn’t forgotten piracy was seriously starting to pop-up in the waters seadwellers didn’t keep in a tight stranglehold, but he wrote it off. They were just barbarian midbloods trying to act like royalty. Nothing less, nothing more.
Then The Empress’ Majesty became overwhelmed by the singular ship to fear. The Seadweller’s Curse. The one ship even Nieche, glorified violetblooded hermit that he was, recognized and feared. Everyone knew about the terrifying Lady-O-War, even if they never saw her by face. One by one, as a yellowblood and purpleblood offered quarter to the soldiers, they lashed out. One by one, the yellowblood and purpleblood killed them. But he didn’t. He accepted becoming their prisoner, offered his arms freely to become bound, let the pirates gleefully strip him of his weapons and now sat in a miniscule empty room with wet wooden walls. Alone.
The door opened. Nieche’s gaze flitted over, watching as a tall brownblood in a long, decorated coat striped in reds and purples and fitted swashbuckler hat covered in dyed brown feathers sauntered in. She shut the door behind her, leaning on it with a cocky grin.
He didn’t know much about pirates, but there weren’t many others aside from the captain who dressed like that.
Nieche cocked his head in curiosity. “Wasn’t expecting the Lady-o-War to be a gutterblood,” he remarked. “I heard she was...what was it? Olive? Teal?”
The brownblood seemed unfazed. She shrugged helplessly. “I can’t help it you’re slow to the uptake. Nor can I help that somehow a violetblood like yourself apparently is worthless for ransom.”
Nieche gasped. “Inconceivable!”
Not that he really thought it was inconceivable. Well-established writer or not, he wasn’t much for promotion. He hadn’t even so much as shown his face in the past thirty sweeps since his first book. Nor did he write with his real name or symbol. He wished establish credibility without his status, not because of it.
“Please save the fake drama for later. I don’t have time for it. Because now, I have the singular royal fish on my ship who’s useless to me. So I’ve got a conundrum here. Cull you, or find a purpose for you. Which I’ll be fair, someone else with classic booksmarts and a pretty way of talking works well for a ship filled with escaped slaves.” She crossed her arms. “So what’s it gonna be, fish boy? Choice is yours. Death... or piracy?”
Inaeis Leiniz stared at the blank wooden wall. There wasn’t much else he could do, not really. Not anymore. Where once a glorious research facility stood, now only broken glass and bent metal existed in its wake. Ashes, all of them from books he once burned collected like grains of sand on the beach around the counters and medical equipment. He could still hear the screams as trolls got murdered. Still could see the vicious look on Fospha’s face as she was held down and violetnly culled. Could still smell the blood spilled and the distinct scent of charred paper that he never could wash out of his clothing. Once upon a time, this was his fault. But that was a hundred sweeps ago.
And in all those sweeps, nothing changed.
Aluala smacked him on the head, dragging him out of his thoughts. “Hey! Alternia to chumbucket, you dragged me to your fuckup so you wouldn’t be alone in this place. You don’t get to go all 1000 yard stare and force me to do all the heavy lifting.”
Inaeis blinked harshly, her mental voice reverberating loudly in her head. He’d never truly get used to such a mental power. “Excuse me, this was your idea after I briefly mentioned I had a fling with an actual scientist.”
“You call your fifteen sweep kismesis with a tealblood you murdered a fling? Fucking hell, what’s that make me, a casual hatetoy who you only pail because it pisses off your matesprit?”
“I don’t have to answer that question,” he sneered.
“You do if you want any help finding these books.” She scowled, letting out a guttural groan. “And how do I know you’re not just fucking with us? How do I know these books even exist?”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know! I don’t know if they really do. But whenever I started my...relations...with Carica, Fospha got insistent I was making a mistake,” he said. Inaeis shoved a hand in his suit pocket, pulling out a crinkled note written in impecable teal handwriting. Aluala snatched it out of his hand, hurriedly scanning over the thing with an increasingly large smirk on her face.
“Oh she is absolutely delightful. Shame I couldn’t meet her. Did she wink when you culled her? Please tell me she did.”
“You are finding far too much joy in this,” Inaeis said grimly. “So are you going to help or not?”
Aluala shrugged, dropping the note on the floor as she made her way out of the lab room. “I’ll think about it. Feel like I’m honoring her legacy more leaving them here instead of finding them.” She turned around swiftly on her heel, dress twirling as if its own beast, and gives a small princess-like wave. “Good luck Inaeis! I feel like you’ll need it!”
Dontoc Leiniz stared at the blank wooden wall. He seemed uncaring about the troll sitting against his back, head lolled onto his shoulder and antler-like horns right in next to his face. Her wrists were bound - he had done it himself, however loosely - and he could only describe her slight shaking and unsteady breath as distress, but hadn’t told him to stop yet. He trusted Valeba. He trusted she might also end up pushing herself too far, but they had been moirails for a few sweeps now. If she threw herself into a panic attack, he knew how to deal with it.
Still, checking up wasn’t a bad idea.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently.
She nodded. “I’m okay. How long has it been?” she said breathlessly.
“At least four minutes.” He frowned. “Are you sure you are okay? You sound stressed.”
“Oh I’m most definitely stressed,” she said. Her voice sounded strained, more so than before. “This is still freaking me out pretty badly. But at least four minutes without throwing myself into a PTSD-fueled panic attack is a huge improvement from last time.”
He knew her well enough to know she threw him a grin that was partly to convince himself and mostly to convince herself, though the extended pause in her speak told him otherwise. “I got this.” She swallowed thickly. “I...I…”
That was all he needed. In an instant, he broke away from Valeba, using the knife she gave him earlier to cut away at the ropes. She turned around herself, throwing him in a tight embrace. He could feel his the shirt of his suit go damp from her tears and could feel her body shake, but no tears came out. He let a hand go up into her hair, petting it as gently as he could.
“It is okay,” he said softly. “You are just with me, alive and well. No one else. And it was not a seadweller who did those things to you.”
He felt her nod. “I know.”
“And you said it yourself, you improved.”
She sighed as she looked up at him, eyes glassy. “Not well enough.”
He shook his head, moving the hand from her hair straight to her cheek. She shuddered again, violently, before her whole body calmed. “Valeba, you are doing fine. Some would never try to work past this.”
“You are being too hard on yourself. Think of it this way. Last time, we only made it a minute or so, and I did not catch you until you started to return to your trauma. We are both improving.”
“Mm. That’s fair. Thanks for that.”
“Valeba, you are my moirail. And certainly, you have pulled me out of more panic attacks than I can think. Doing something like this is only the natural course of events.” His fins twitched and he stroked her cheek. If it were someone else, someone who didn’t have a fear of being restrained, he might initiate the hug. But not now. Not with her. “But I suppose, if you are looking for it, a ‘your welcome’ works just as well.”
