blupilot
05-27-10, 09:00 PM
Closed.
"Dearest brother...I owe to you an explanation long coming. We keep no secrets, as we promised. I will not cheat myself into believing that this has not been hurtful, but know I had no other choice than to continue my deception.
Hear me. That night as I was returning home, whilst you were away. I could see the harbor lights on the water, the sleeping ships. There was a thunder crack as if heralding a stormhead, Steph. But it weren't no storm. There was wintry light cutting the blackness astern, from sky or sea...I couldn't tell. I know what you're thinking, dear brother, with that look of yours you must be wearing. You have the rational mind, like our mother, rest her soul. But, it weren't no dawn. I was blind. A great shock followed...great enough to stir the swells and throw the rigging into a dither. She nearly tipped her side, Steph, and all the bells was ringing.
The sea opened beneath me..."
Mal Anne d'Brogue awoke slowly. Coarse, moist texture pressed sharply into her cheek and through the sodden fabric of her tunic. She lay on her side, grappling vertigo and a perplexing lack of recall. Waves lapping...somewhere. It occurred to her there was a very strong bouquet of dead salty things. She needed to move. Gingerly, yes, but into the sun, because it was cold in the shade. She shifted, then cried out as the bones in her shoulder ground together.
A soft hand rested momentarily on her forearm, hardly discernible through the heat of pain. Quieting her with a gentle application of pressure, then lifting.
"It is advisable you remain still," spoke a calm male voice. "I am preparing to realign your left glenohumeral joint, as you taught me fifteen months, five weeks, three days, seventeen hours, eleven-point-six seconds ago from this moment in time, during the mandatory Crew Preparedness Conference. You run a risk of damaging the soft tissues further until I am able to stabilize the injury."
"...What?" she muttered weakly into the icy sand. Brackish grit between her lips, knifelike, pushing under her tongue, scraping raw tissues. In her ear canal, her scalp, deep in her clothing.
"As you may recollect," the voice droned on, "I had underestimated the output of my primary servomechanisms and snapped the practice mannequin's torso in half."
Two strange hands on her again, ready. As cold as the sea.
"But you need not worry. The Avatar's body is now thoroughly under my control. This may...hurt."
The pressure of hands braced against her back and shoulder, tightening.
"Wait," Mal stammered. "Wait-"
It was quick. A pop, a flare of agony, dashing embers against her eyelids. Fading.
"I am sorry, Captain Hall," apologised the voice, distant as a familiar void rushed to greet her once more.
"Dearest brother...I owe to you an explanation long coming. We keep no secrets, as we promised. I will not cheat myself into believing that this has not been hurtful, but know I had no other choice than to continue my deception.
Hear me. That night as I was returning home, whilst you were away. I could see the harbor lights on the water, the sleeping ships. There was a thunder crack as if heralding a stormhead, Steph. But it weren't no storm. There was wintry light cutting the blackness astern, from sky or sea...I couldn't tell. I know what you're thinking, dear brother, with that look of yours you must be wearing. You have the rational mind, like our mother, rest her soul. But, it weren't no dawn. I was blind. A great shock followed...great enough to stir the swells and throw the rigging into a dither. She nearly tipped her side, Steph, and all the bells was ringing.
The sea opened beneath me..."
Mal Anne d'Brogue awoke slowly. Coarse, moist texture pressed sharply into her cheek and through the sodden fabric of her tunic. She lay on her side, grappling vertigo and a perplexing lack of recall. Waves lapping...somewhere. It occurred to her there was a very strong bouquet of dead salty things. She needed to move. Gingerly, yes, but into the sun, because it was cold in the shade. She shifted, then cried out as the bones in her shoulder ground together.
A soft hand rested momentarily on her forearm, hardly discernible through the heat of pain. Quieting her with a gentle application of pressure, then lifting.
"It is advisable you remain still," spoke a calm male voice. "I am preparing to realign your left glenohumeral joint, as you taught me fifteen months, five weeks, three days, seventeen hours, eleven-point-six seconds ago from this moment in time, during the mandatory Crew Preparedness Conference. You run a risk of damaging the soft tissues further until I am able to stabilize the injury."
"...What?" she muttered weakly into the icy sand. Brackish grit between her lips, knifelike, pushing under her tongue, scraping raw tissues. In her ear canal, her scalp, deep in her clothing.
"As you may recollect," the voice droned on, "I had underestimated the output of my primary servomechanisms and snapped the practice mannequin's torso in half."
Two strange hands on her again, ready. As cold as the sea.
"But you need not worry. The Avatar's body is now thoroughly under my control. This may...hurt."
The pressure of hands braced against her back and shoulder, tightening.
"Wait," Mal stammered. "Wait-"
It was quick. A pop, a flare of agony, dashing embers against her eyelids. Fading.
"I am sorry, Captain Hall," apologised the voice, distant as a familiar void rushed to greet her once more.