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Topic: Day 09 [15:30 hrs,] Once Upon the Island  (Read 9641 times) previous topic - next topic
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Re: Day 09 [15:30 hrs,] Once Upon the Island

Reply #50
[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Pirate vessel qu'DuHSum | BIQ'a'bIng Ocean | Unnamed Island | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev found herself in the rare position of being caught off guard when Cross took her and kissed her.  She felt the sense of being dipped and the even more welcome sensation of his strong arms supporting her.  Despite the danger she almost…purred…under his touch before he fell on top of her, when the Klingons opened fire over the rail.

“We survive this,” he whispered at her, “and I’m going to fuck you.”

He pulled away from her but she grabbed him and pulled him back on top of her.  “We survive this, and I’m going to hold you to that.”

As he scrambled away, they fired at him.  Their shots had no chance of finding their target given the angle, but it did provide Hathev the opportunity to make crawl to the deck gun and pull herself into position.

The weapon was as old as the rest of the ship, but it’s age also made it a bit easier to figure out.  Throwing the switch, Hathev heard the weapon hum to life.  The hand controls were somewhat intuitive, a logical design choice given the intended usage.  Even so, they took a little finessing before the turret responded as she desired.

One of the Klingons on shore took notice of the movement on the deck and turned, his disruptor raised.  Hathev squeezed the trigger, opening fire the first round missed, exploding on the beach, but Hathev kept the trigger depressed while she adjusted the aim and before the fifth round fired, the first Klingon exploded.

She continued firing, strafing the beach line as her targets either fell under her fire, or retreated back inland.  Vengeance, she knew was illogical but she also had no desire to allow them to regroup so she continued her assault, using the deck gun to chase her would be attackers back.  Only then did she cease her attack, all the while keeping the weapon trained on the path they had used.  Occasionally she fired another volley to discourage anyone from trying to charge again.  She had them well pinned, but even so she continued to watch the entire shoreline to make sure they did not try to circle back around and hit her from a different angle.

All she needed to do now was make sure no one else tried to advance and wait for Cross to get the engines on line so they could get the hell out.

Re: Day 09 [15:30 hrs,] Once Upon the Island

Reply #51
[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Pirate vessel qu'DuHSum | BIQ'a'bIng Ocean | Unnamed Island | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Although he’d been trained in the basics of engineering and could fly a shuttle, Cross found himself scowling at the inner workings of this Klingon pirate vessel. It was far from intuitive and offered more than a few levers and buttons to throw and pull, though in what order he’d be damned if he knew. Turning away from the engine itself, Cross eyed the various sails and ropes attached, and deduced how they worked far more rapidly than the contraption they considered an engine.

There was a wheel for hoisting the anchor nearby, which he did, thankful that the button attached to the wheel was for an automatic retraction. Next, while Hathev did a fantastic job of holding off the ruffians, Cross darted along the deck, readjusting the sails and poles to catch the breeze that was steadily leading away from the island. Moving by sail alone would not be enough to get them out of the range of fire, but it would buy them some more time while he figured out the engine.

The sails fluttered, whipped, then unfurled with a snap, the whole ship lurching as the breeze caught it. Cross’ lips pulled back in a smirk as he moved back toward the engine. Suddenly, however, his steps faltered, and his vision grew blurry. Reaching up to touch the arm liquid coming down his face, Cross frowned when he spotted the green of his own blood. Wavering gaze traveling along the deck, Cross reached out for Hathev before crashing to the deck unconscious.

Captain Ruz Bollix spat on the Vulcan at his feet. Now it was the bitch’s turn to feel the brunt of his war hammer. Although he’d been the only one geared up for a site-to-site transport back to the ship, he doubted the female would prove to troublesome, and soon enough, they could benefit from this almost fuck up.

Re: Day 09 [15:30 hrs,] Once Upon the Island

Reply #52
[ Lt. Cmdr. Hathev | Pirate vessel qu'DuHSum | BIQ'a'bIng Ocean | Unnamed Island | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

Hathev had lost count of the Klingons on the beach as she had been both gunning them down and creating a literal line in the sand that dared anyone to cross.  She thought she had seen one of the Klingons disappear.  She could not immediately determine whether it had been under her fire or some kind of transporter beam.  So when the ship pulled away from the beach and it became apparent that their Klingon pursuers could do so no longer, she stepped down from the turret and froze.

In the briefest of moments, Hathev saw Cross laying on the deck, blood oozing from a head wound and a Klingon approaching her, a blunt weapon dripping in green blood in his raised hand as it swung down towards her own skull. 

Time continued to move at a standstill to her perception.  She saw the site to site transporter beacon on his belt, the adornment of his armor and she knew this was the Klingon commander.  The one who had led the raid, the one who had ruined their vacation, who might have killed Cross, and who wanted to kill her now. 

Logic told her how to react, what movement she should make, and the most efficient way to subdue the attacker.  But none of that mattered as something else happened to her.  Something she did not expect…

Hathev got angry.

As a Vulcan, Hathev experienced the deep and intense level of rage and anger that had almost destroyed her people.  She had learned to control it through logic and discipline.  Since her mind meld with Cross, her ability to exercise that control had been compromised and while she had been able to more or less keep it in check until now.  Even so, she needed to acknowledge and accept that her emotional self would never again be fully silenced.  But in this moment, this blink of time, anger and a growing sense of rage boiled her own green blood.

Her right hand shot up, catching the wrist wielding the war hammer and stopping him cold.  He seemed surprised by her defense but even as he pushed against her with increased force, she immobilized his attack.  Her elbow locked, her leg kicked back bracing her.

“Klingon P’tahk,” she spat, her eyes narrowing

He reached for the dagger at his belt, his hand barely gripping it before the closed fist of her free hand smacked it away, sending the blade overboard.


The Klingon tried for a head butt but he telegraphed his movement too clearly and the Vulcan side stepped the attack.  The Klingon’s momentum worked against him and he stumbled forward.  Hathev held her grip on the captured wrist and twisted the arm until the joint gave a satisfying pop and the Klingon growled in pain as his hand released the war hammer.

“...have had…”

His bad arm hanging limp at his side, the Klingon tried to swing wildly at her.  Hathev ducked and caught eye of the transporter beacon on his belt.  He lunged for her again as her hand clamped down on his collar bone and squeezed.

“…enough of…”

The nerve pinch was not as effective on Klingons as it was humans, but it was enough to slow him down long enough for her to tear the beacon from his belt and throw it to the deck behind her.  He found enough strength to bat her arm away.  The motion turned Hathev in her place momentarily putting her back to him and giving him the time he needed to recover and come at her again.


In the motion of her spin, she had come around, her hand gripping the handle of the Klingon’s fallen war hammer.  She continued the circular motion using her momentum to her advantage as she swung upward at him.

Metal and flesh collided with a sickening crunch as the hammer smashed through the Klingon’s jaw sending flesh, blood and bone flying.  Hathev followed through with a second strike.  His head recoiled with another crunch as he staggered back, his momentum taking him the rail and overboard. 

He did not scream or call out as he fell.  Hathev surmised he might have been dead from the broken bones in his jaw and neck before he hit the water.

She stood there, her chest heaving, as she forced herself to push the anger and rage back into its proper place.  Red Klingon blood mixed with the green Vulcan blood on the hammer in her hand turning both into an ugly shade of brown.

The weapon fell to the deck with a loud thunk and she remembered that Cross had been injured.  Calm control returned to her and she rushed to his side and checked him.  As they did with humans. Vulcan head wounds bled far worse than almost any other and so it was difficult to assess just how badly he’d been hurt just by a visual assessment.  He was awake and groggy, and she was able to assess that his upper spine had not been injured so she deemed it safe to move him.

Even so she was not cavalier as she lifted him in her arms, carried him into the on deck cabin, and set him gently down on the bed which, much to her surprise, actually included a mattress.

She found some old garments in the wardrobe which she was more than happy to tear apart to use as a wipe to staunch the blood and give her time to find a medical kit. 

Rudimentary by Starfleet standards the kit contained a medical tricorder and what looked to be the proper tools to put her first aid skills to use.  The tricorder indicated no concussion.  Training kicked in and she found the Klingon equivalent of the medication needed to stabilize him.  She dosed the medication and then applied the dermal regenerator to the wound to close it.

She set the tricorder to a continuous scan while she washed herself up and ruffled through the wardrobe.  She pulled out a piece, a black body suit with silver armor across the front.  It was sized just smaller than her preference, but she suspected it would fit well enough and she slipped into it while waiting for Cross to wake.

Re: Day 09 [15:30 hrs,] Once Upon the Island

Reply #53
[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Pirate vessel qu'DuHSum | BIQ'a'bIng Ocean | Unnamed Island | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

The world was rocking, and at first, Cross attributed it to the fact that a Klingon troll had hit him in the head. But then, in quick succession like a holovid, the events leading up to his injury played out in his mind’s eye, leaving Cross to guess as to why he was now lying in a bed and not still sprawled on the deck of the Klingon pirate vessel.

“Hathev?” Hand instinctively going to his head, fingers brushing over the still tender skin of where the wound had once been, Cross sat up. Looking around the small room, spotting the woman didn’t take long. Seeing the confiscated clothing covering her flesh, Cross smirked. “It suits you. Now, did you carry me here, or did that oaf of a Klingon captain drag my ass in here to have his way with me when you intercepted him?” He doubted his effort at humor would be correctly interpreted by the woman still working to connect with her emotions, but he offered it nonetheless to let her know he was himself and recovering. “Did you get a chance to check our heading? If we head back towards the pier where we left in this old bucket, we should get there by tomorrow morning.”

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Cross took his time to stand. Although whatever treatment Hathev had given him had taken the edge off the pain and sped up the healing process, he’d still lost enough blood to feel woozy until he could get some food and water in him again.

“Have you seen if they have any food? Water?” Glancing down at his nude state versus her dressed one, he smirked. “Any trousers?”

Re: Day 09 [15:30 hrs,] Once Upon the Island

Reply #54
[ Lt. Cmdr. Harhev | Pirate vessel qu'DuHSum | BIQ'a'bIng Ocean | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍ 

A wave of unexpected, though not unwelcome, relief washed over Hathev when Cross came to.  Immediately he complimented her on her choice of wardrobe, which seemed at first odd since there were very few options for her on this ship.  But at the same time she welcomed the comment and decided that she would likely keep this when they returned to the ship.

“That ‘Klingon Oaf’” she started “Is currently making his way to the bottom of the sea.”

There was a far more sinister undertone to her words, and she shied away from it, as a sense of shame and guilt over took her.  She had killed him… had been brutal about it if she were being honest.  It was logical and prudent, of course to have defended herself and Cross.  But there were far less violent ways to do so. 

In that moment, she understood all to well why her people had suppressed their emotions and the danger in which she now placed everyone around her. 

She considered what, if anything she should tell Cross grateful for his questions that allowed her to avoid talking about what had occurred and worried about the inevitable time when she would have to confront her actions.

“I have not taken a precise heading, no,” she commented, as she began rummaging through the wardrobe looking for pants that would fit him.  “But given our general direction of travel when I carried you down here, we are heading west southwest into open water.”

She produced a pair of black pants that, looked to be made of some sort of leather, and showed them to Cross.  Hathev was about to hand them over to him, but then as her memory of what they had been doing before their interruption on the Island returned to her, a different idea crossed her mind.

“While I believe these will fit appropriately, I do not think it appropriate for you to put them on quite yet.  I do believe that as the humans say ‘turnabout is fair play’.  So,  while I go and see if I can locate a galley, I want you to lay there thinking about all the things I might do to you when I return.  Do you understand me, Mr. Cross?”

She heard his response as she departed to search the ship.


Re: Day 09 [15:30 hrs,] Once Upon the Island

Reply #55
[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Pirate vessel qu'DuHSum | BIQ'a'bIng Ocean | Unnamed Island | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

“Yes, I understand.”

Cross’ eyes narrowed as he watched Hathev leave to search the rest of the ship. There was a new edge in her voice that matched the new firmness in the lines of her face and the quality of her movements. She’d admitted to dispensing of the Klingon pirate captain in a fashion that had been far less logical and borderline emotional.

Despite her request that he remain nude, Cross still prowled about the cabin until he found a loose-fitting tunic and a pair of trousers that, while they’d need a belt, would work. Nearby, he likewise found a pair of boots and socks. Satisfied that they wouldn’t be putting into port with him entirely in the nude, Cross padded on silent steps over to the port side window. The sea was calm, a welcome change to the chaos they’d just lived through, and the weather seemed to promise fair seas for the remainder of their journey. Cross knew better than to trust the weather or his luck, so he made a mental note to see if the ship had any weather scanners they could use to prepare for the worst and if it would come for them after all.

There was no telling if the surviving pirates had comrades still lurking out here they could contact to get a second go at them. Just as there was no telling if other unsavory things were lurking above or below the waves between here and port. As much as Cross desired Hathev, and a part of his mind and body burned at the thought of resuming their intimate caresses, there were still so many unknowns about their circumstances. Before he could get to the business of thoroughly fucking her the way they both wanted him to, Cross knew he’d need to dot all their survival i’s and cross all their safety t’s.

Then there was also the emotions business.

Cross replayed some of the conversations between them from before the Klingons attacked, then fast-forwarded through the action sequences of their harrowing escape. Again, there was something about the clipped manner of her voice when she’d spoken of the captain that tripped the wire in his mind. It reminded him of the mind meld that’d gotten them into this mess of a sort. Not that being with Hathev was a mess but…

Cross groaned. Even in his own mind, he was an expert at digging holes in regards to romantic, intimate thoughts.

Hearing her footsteps on the wooden planks, Cross pushed away from the window and returned to the bed. Instead of lying down, he perched on the end of the bed and quickly caught her gaze when she re-entered the room.

“You asked me to guide you through your connection with your emotions, Hathev.” He patted the mattress beside him. “And what we just went through, what you went through while I was unconscious, merits a conversation before we get back under the sheets.”

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