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Topic: Day 09 [15:30 hrs,] Once Upon the Island  (Read 11941 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.

“I…”

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.

“…YOU!!!”

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.”

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

Reply #56 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Harhev | Pirate vessel qu'DuHSum | BIQ'a'bIng Ocean | Qo’Nos] Attn: @Ellen Fitz‍

It took the Vulcan an embarrassingly long time to find the galley, but given just how sparse it truly was, Hathev might have been surprised she had found it at all.  At first look, the space was functional though seemed to be lacking in certain necessities.  Barrels of blood wine had been stacked in just about every corner, and she found a refrigeration unit chock full of live gagh.  But she could not find any real source of clean water.

She did, however, find the replicator. 

A Klingon replicator. 

Programmed for Klingon food and drink.

Which did not include water.

Every child within the Federation knew the molecular composition of water and, after a few missteps, mostly due to errors in translating Klingon into Federation Standard, she had programmed the replicator for the beverage.  She was not, however privy to the conversion ratios from the Klingon temperature system to Federation Metric so after a few educated guesses, she finally replicated a tankard… yes a tankard…of water she deemed cold enough to be refreshing.

When she returned to the stateroom where she had left Cross, she found him sitting up, wearing the pants she had instructed him to leave off.  At first she felt a sense of frustration, but as he spoke to her, she calmed and deflated knowing he was right.

“Would you believe me if I told you I had to program the replicator from memory to get you this water,” she asked as she handed him the tankard.

Cross offered no reply other than to watch her, his eyes insisting she address the topic he had chosen.  Again, it frustrated her.  Why must their conversations on this trip always be on his terms?

Yet, she knew he was right and for as much as she wished to not discuss what had happened, she knew, if only from counseling her own patients, that it did no good to hide from that which she found unpleasant.

“I got angry,” she admitted in response to Cross’s prompting.  “More than angry.  I became enraged.”

With that she proceeded to detail to Cross exactly what she had done to the Klingon Captain on the deck.  She did not shy away from the detail of the brief but brutal encounter, but as her eidetic memory worked against her wish to avoid the conversation, she did what she could to be as detailed as possible without becoming unnecessarily graphic.

By the time she finished her brief narrative, she found herself sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her legs which were, themselves, tucked tightly against her chest.  The fabric of the Klingon body suit pulled tight around her, and the metal armor segments clinked against themselves gently.

“I am not proud of my actions, Cross.  I know they were necessary, but I question whether such an extreme response was warranted.  I can not say that I believe it was, nor do I think any reasonable person would believe it warranted either.”

She paused and took in a breath to calm herself.

“You once asked me why every Vulcan treated emotions like the plague.  There," she motioned above her towards the deck, “is your answer.  Emotion runs deep in our psyches.  They are ingrained in our being, and were it not for logic and mental discipline they would rule over our species and consume us just like any medical plague.  We would be little more than savages.”

As she said this, another realization occurred to her.  Like so many similar moments with her own patients, Hathev recognized that moment when something new and unexpected occurred to her, when understanding dawned.

“I…” she stopped short as uncertainty gave her pause. “I am afraid,” she said.  “Afraid because with my emotions not fully under control, I am a danger to both myself, and those around me.”
 

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

Reply #57 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Pirate vessel qu'DuHSum | BIQ'a'bIng Ocean | Qo’Nos] Attn: @P.C. Haring

Cross accepted the water with a nod of gratitude. "At this point, I'd believe just about anything, Hathev. And my thanks. Screaming obscenities at Klingons does a number on one's throat."

Sipping at the refreshing liquid, Cross listened and observed as Hathev spoke of the events leading up to and immediately after his injury. In truth, nothing she spoke about surprised him, nor did it horrify him. Certainly not the way it seemed to disquiet her. It was perfectly "logical" for her to react as she did, and no doubt, had he been Bajoran and she human, or any number of species, she would've felt the same protective rage surge through her body at seeing him attacked and rendered immobile. Where she doubted a reasonable person would've acted the same, Cross had observed enough crewmates in crises to attest to that yes, a reasonable and rational person could be capable of that much and more if circumstances were just right.

He waited until her voice died away before he shared exactly that, detailing a few missions where various crewmates had done as much if not more than Hathev in an effort to secure the mission or save an ally. All acting on training and instinct, with some displaying a type of enjoyment in the process. But even then, the displayed enjoyment at vanquishing an enemy or achieving a mission success had never bothered Cross. From his experience, Cross mused it was only logical to gain an iota of pleasure for success regardless of if bloodshed was involved.

"The more we make an enemy of emotions, the more victimized we'll feel whenever we do feel. That's how I see it at least. And what the hell is wrong with a savage? What makes a savage, eh? I mean we, or rather, Vulcans, sit in their lofty towers of logic and decry anything that twitches with emotion as being akin to a savage. But in every society I've encountered that was supposedly savage you want to know something I've noticed? They never had to wonder where they were at with their neighbor or their friend, they knew who was an enemy and who was a foe. They freely expressed their desires and if they were rejected they either fought until they were no longer rejected or, culturally dependent, they adjusted to someone or something new. What's so wrong with that?" Cross gave a mirthless snort, shaking his head vehemently. "I have always found the Vulcan definition of 'savage' as being a cop out for not wanting to do the hard work of managing emotions. Emotions are fucking hard, Hathev, and it takes resilience and grit to get through them, but what do Vulcans do? They make the excuse that their emotions are oh so much more powerful than any other species, and they must shut them all down or else their society will spiral out of control again. For fuck's sake, Hathev, what evidence is there that Vulcan emotions really are THAT much more powerful than a Cardassians? Or a Ferengi?"

Cross clamped his mouth shut, willing himself to shut the fuck up. Hatheve didn't ask for or need a lecture on his personal opinion regarding Vulcan cowardice practices. They were having the conversation because she was vulnerable and new to the whole feeling process and, poor creature, she had him as an emotional guide.

"I'm sorry, Hathev, you didn't need all that." He set aside the now empty glass and swiped a hand over his face. "You fear is a good thing. I mean, when we're afraid of something we're more cautious and spend more time thinking about stuff before we act, right? If you weren't afraid of these new emotions and just went balls out feeling all over the fucking place, that'd be a far worse scenario. So, from my perspective, as long as you keep a hold of a smidgen of that fear you'll be less likely to cock up than if you felt no fear at all. Hell, I've always had a type of...concern about spewing shit and making a situation worse and I've been in the 'feeling' game my whole life. And as far as I can tell, every other emoting species is the same. If they aren't making an effort to pay attention to how their actions or words impact others, they're just assholes, plain and simple. You may be uptight sometimes, and come across as arrogant, and both very much connected to people's presuppositions regarding Vulcans, but that doesn't make you an asshole. Between the two of us, I'm the bigger asshole." He smirked. "I've had more practice."
 
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