08-26-2015, 11:19 PM
[spoiler]... Damn. A lot had happened in such little time.
Her palm pressed against the gooey blood, seeping from the wound, “More gauze! Come on, we don’t have all day here, his life is on the line!” Christa shouted to the nearest person, not bothering to turn her head back to see if they were still frozen in place at the sight of his blood covering her, or if they had been driven by the passionate haste in her voice.
“Hang in there.” She spoke in a low tone and her pale eyes ached with untold emotion. Not another soldier, not another friend. Christa wouldn’t accept death. Not today, not when he could be saved, and certainly not when it meant absolutely nothing.
Abner was loosing blood, and fast. In the war Christa had survived, no one ever lived to talk about how truly agonizing this kind of injury was. And yet it remained. All that pain, so much blood, and the last of the air in his lungs. A pulse continued to bring him life while the unconscious dog of the empire wore a wincing expression, nearly resembling that of a pout.
“You’re gonna live to tell me one more story.” She commanded as she pressed with all her weight into the deep wound.
Abner breathed heavily, his body convulsing beneath the blanketed darkness from his eyelids.
And then there was black. The room was dark, and the voice that called to him had ceased her siren’s song. His eyes opened to an empty room – or rather, tent – only to see fresh light streaming in.
“Ugh.” He hoisted himself up and propped himself painfully upright. “Tch..” he muttered to himself and collapsed against the makeshift pillows.
It was the infirmary. He wondered where his doctor was. The camp almost reminded him of the ones he had lived in during battle, however it was oddly lacking the scent of blood, suffering, and death.
It did however reek of, well... comradeship. Not many of these people were his friends by choice, even some of the more kindly ones would have agreed the alliance was out of necessity. So, Abner clicked his lighter and soon the fresh scent of smoke filled the room, billowing from his cigarette.
The wind gusted through and the smell of smoke woke Christa, who had fallen asleep in an unlikely location. She was roused by the taste, misinterpreting it from the contents of her dream, as smoke from fresh gunpowder.
“That’ll kill you, ya know.” She smirked in amusement at her joke and entered the room, she offered the injured soldier a water bottle, it was somehow chilled as he grasped it in his hand.
“Oh?” Abner implied the gaping wound in his shoulder, patched up by a certain pony.
“You look like hell.” Christa observed the pallor of his skin, and the youthful glow he had once had was lost due to days without eating; her comment however, creased a smile on his lips. “Nurse is out at the moment, as you can see,” the woman answered before he could ask.
"You nearly died." She stated, point-blank, and with toneless sympathy.
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Abner wiped his face of grog, trying to recount how many days he had been out and his gaze asked her wordlessly what had happened the moment he lost consciousness.
“So, the vampire and the zombie both got a little crazy when we brought you into camp, luckily though, bullets are great incentive to insure survival. Before we carried you here, I improvised a small procedure, seeming as you had gone under from the pain. You wouldn’t have made it without it. Now, though,” she paused, “You seem fine. Whiskey?” She asked and poured herself a glass. Whatever demons she was battling, they were certainly keeping her up at night.
“You look like hell.” He retorted, finally and stole the bottle. The burn splashed the back of his throat and simmered on his lips.
“Been there, done that.” Her eyes caught his, as the two veterans shared a moment of mutual understanding.
“Richtofen will be around shortly, you’d be surprised to hear he has more knowledge than I do he has stitching people up.” Her voice strummed the thin walls of fabric that trapped them in.
“How long do you think it will last?” Abner peeled back the gauss, thick with blood.
“Oh, it’ll be quite a few more days until you are on your feet again. Believe me.” She spoke from experience.
“You got hit pretty hard back there too.” Her mentioned as he noticed a trail of blood trickle down her leg and ooze through several scrapes revealed by the holes in her tattered clothes.
“I think I’ll live.” She stole his cigarette and pridefully stood up from her seat, “I’ll be taking this with me.” She kept the plastic glass of whiskey and left the bottle in his hands.
...
“Christa.”
“Clayton.”
Their eyes met as they exchanged a look. “Nice shot back there.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes held him hostage as the two marksmen enjoyed a day of recreation.
Target practice. Five shots each. One of the shells clattered to the forest ground.
“Y’know they aren’t reliable.”
POW.
“Oh yeah?” She shook the ringing from her ears and the next bullet snapped into the chamber. Her eyes swept a glance from their makeshift target and she imagined she heard the rattling of old cans in the breeze, each remaining can hung from thin lines of thread. “Next one’s for keeps.”
“I mean it though. You have to admit, not everyone in that group is your friend.”
POW.
“Oh, you mean mister zombie? What makes you say that, is it the whole, ‘I’ll eat your brains’ thing? Or is it just the fact that he loves my personality.”
He clicked another round in and centered his final shot.
POW.
“It’s true. How long do you think some of them will last? They lack experience, they lack knowledge. And when it comes down to it, how many do you think will have your back, or are willing to pull the trigger?” Every word, carefully selected. Hopefully, she would take the bait.
“I’ll admit, some of them are lucky. But their skills are useful. Some more than others.” Christa held off on her final round as her eye looked carefully down her scope.
“Some of them have use. Sure, and that’s great until it costs you a bullet to the head.”
“Your point, Clay’n?” Her eyebrow raised and her attention seemed to stray from the shot, however her finger still hovered near the trigger.
“I’ll just say, when the time comes, I’ll have your back.” He spoke as she turned her attention to the final hanging can, two hundred cluttered yards away, held up by a dirty thread. With an exhale, her finger gently touched the trigger.
POW.
...
The two women had spent the day together, checking their route to the final destination. It had been long, and both of them needed a little girl talk. It was hard to find anyone relatable in camp, plus Klaud and Christa had plenty in common. Conversation strayed away from the town, away from it all, and finally it gently touched on the past.
Klaud nodded, “What about you, are you missing someone?”
“How’d you guess?” Christa offered a retaliating smile, her eyes chilled the room.
“It’s written on your face.” Klaud read her worry, “Don’t worry, the others can’t see. Only those in the same boat.”
“Who did you lose?” Christa seemed curious as her interest minutely grew.
“He was a friend - a partner - close, we were. It’s hard to find people you trust.. How about you?” Klaud prodded.
“My sister.”
They shared a moment of silence.
“Sorry to hear that. Sucks to be pulled away from our world, away from everything we ever knew, and for what? Seems purposeless, but you just have to keep in mind that they are probably still living on, without us.”
“I was sorry too, when it happened.” Christa fiddled with the gun in her hands, while Klaud offered some mutual sympathy. Kind words. That of a friend.
“Sometimes it’s sad how loss can make us grow.”
...
Madness.
Untamable, unquenchable, and she could see it plainly in the good doctor’s eyes. He had aided Abner’s injury and nursed it to a recovering state, and for this, Christa was oddly grateful. They sat down together and listened to the man ramble a bit.
The two were both veterans of war. Both lost, both had regrets, and both... German?
“Ve careful where you aim her,” Richtofen motioned to the weapon in her hands. It wasn’t like she had flagged him, but she shrugged and holstered it after sizing him up. She could take him, if she had to.
Both erred on the side of caution. Instinct, reflex, and perhaps just plain experience weighed into both their opinions of one another. Christa was a tactful soldier, a skilled strategist, and a master marksmen. Of what she knew of Richtofen, he was a scientist, she deduced his era as from World War II. It seemed like where they both came from, war was sensationalized. Lucky them.
He was the most useful one here, what with his extensive knowledge of human anatomy, and his application of it didn’t necessarily matter.
“Do you not remember?” his question beckoned her back to their one-sided conversation.
“Remember what? That time you almost killed me?”
“It vas only an experiment.” He corrected her with a coy, satisfied smile.
“Yeah yeah, oh great and mighty doctor, I remember you saying that a million times too. You ZAPPED me with LIGHTNING. You’re lucky I didn’t die, or I would’ve killed ya.”
“It vas not luck, darling. To someone oo’s body vas unaccustomed to torture, it vould have killed them. I ‘uppose your experience saved you zat time, did it not?”
“How did you...” Christa’s eyes narrowed at his immediate deduction as her voice didn’t pronounce the last word and her lips still mouthed, know.
“Oh, zee same way I knew zhat the twenty tousand vatt bolt vouldn’t kill you directly. However, as you noticed, it eliminated zee target, and zhat is all zhat matters, no?” Richtofen’s voice prodded her awareness, of the threat he could soon pose to her.
“Ah, well, I guess I should thank you for killing those zombies then?”
“It vas nothing dear. Now back to my story, zee youth can learn from some of zee experiences I ‘ave had during zee third war. Now un’to my discovery of zee element one ‘undred and zixteen.”
...
“Good morn’n, Top-Man here, documenting yet another day in the wilderness. T’day we are following Christa, one of the huntresses into the forest, in hopes to capture some footage of the marksman in action.” He paused as the camera zoomed in too close to her face, as the audience and viewers got a nice glimpse too close to her ear. “No no, pan out, pan out! Here we see-”
“Get the camera out of my face, unless you want it to end up like the Goblin King.”
“Oi, fine, just say hi to the viewers first.”
“Alright then,” She breathed, “Hey there, if any of you know where to find Omni, please tweet the Man here. If not,” She held up the snout of her gun toward his camera, but added a playful wink to the live feed.
“See ya.”
...
“Fancy a drink, Cap’n?” She smirked as she revealed a bottle of the coveted ale that had only been mentioned in rumors around the camp. And now he had met its source. The only thing to note, was her angle... And well, there was no time to ponder that.
“Another!” The savvy seaman shouted, appealing to her amusement.
Christa liked the Captain, and they had formed an unlikely friendship. He told stories of the sea, happy, sad, and in every single one, their ship rolled on the waves, sails tattered, masts broken, but a smile always remained in the hearts of the spirited sailors.
Pirate stories, just like out of the children's books she used to read to her sister.
"The winds were howling louder than a kraken! And then, nothing. A slimy silence filled the air, which was thick with fog, so dense ye could cut it with a butter knife!
Alas the scallywags heard the sirens, and some of 'em dove off the edge! Beautiful, beautiful, mermaids. What was I to do, the Captain, when all me men were walking the plank? O'course I jumped in after them, but that was when m' leg got pulled under and water clogged my ears! After that, their illusion melted and I saw what truly awful creatures they were. Serpent-esque, with daggers for eyes!–Not to mention bloody gross and leaking with green slime!
And ye know what I did?" His voice beckoned her response as she guzzled her drink and raised her brows ever-so-slightly.
"I sliced 'er head off!" Laughter filled the night, and the Captain's hearty amusement was joined by Christa as they clinked their glasses together, enjoying the merry old times.
Crow's cheeks were cherry red, his eyes glowed vibrantly in the firelight, so Christa whispered a secret, "You know the best thing about Pirate Stories?"
The Captain responded with a curious smile.
"They are told with such good fun that it sets even me away for a good time. Like I'm at sea, cast adrift, part of the crew, seasick, or meeting the enemy's swords at the faint promise of treasure. I say... It's a pirate's life for me."
...
“Today’s the day.” She held two plastic cups into the air. “Well, tomorrow.”
“Just like old times.” Isaac smiled and welcomed a share of her secret stash.
“Old habits.” Two words.
Two more. “What kind?”
“High quality stuff, as you can imagine,” she brandished the label, it was the cheapest brand on the market. “Just like the good old days.”
“Where’d you get that?”
“Secret stash.” She muttered to her friend.
Ha. “I knew it.” He smirked and she placed the glass in his empty hand.
“Hit me.”
Bartender Christa filled their glasses. They kept watch of the camp in pairs; tonight it was cold, dark, and they could only see their drink by the dim moonlight.
“Y’know you haven't mentioned her once. But I can tell you miss her.”
Christa held her tongue. They had each downed three glasses, but there was not enough booze in the world to drown her pain. She wasn’t going to lie to her first ally, so she merely remained silent.
“Nothing to be ashamed of. I miss mine too.”
“My sister, her name was Katia.” She murmured, taking her eyes from his.
Isaac knew better than to ask what had happened, the grief drenched her expression and the alcohol’s potency barely touched her eyes.
Isaac responded in the like, “Her name was Carter.”
A few shots later, Christa exhaled a sigh, it seemed her wallowing had turned to relief. Isaac knew it wasn’t from the booze, so his gaze fixed on her curiously as she stated with her strong voice, determined and hardened by hardship and strife.
“I have to make it tomorrow. For her.”
...
The rattling of a bell starkly sounded through the mass of folded up tents. Camp, the closest thing she had to a home; each of her allies gathered in the clearing while Christa stood on a flattened stump, about to speak the only truth she knew. Facts.
"As you well know, we leave tomorrow at dawn. The Swamp of Sadness will be our greatest endeavor, yet together we will overcome... Everyone will carry their own weight." Christa assigned the others' their roles during the expedition they would soon embark on.
"We have lost people–friends, and we will lose many more before our trial is over. Fate never told you what I will speak now, that we have the power to choose life or death. The root of our willpower originates from our hope, and though we haven't always known the choice was easy, it has always been there and it always will be."
A small pause, while Christa effortlessly summoned the passion to warble with her voice while the inspirational fire in her eyes continued to blaze. "Each of you is here for your own personal reason, each of you seeks Omni. I can only hope that you all find what you are looking for. And I wish you the best of luck, and infinite courage when you are given the choice to fight fate as I once was."
"I wield my gun for you all, and the fallen lift their swords high with our own in spirit, so that we may succeed; so that we can finally track down that bastard, Omni."
"And I, with you." A friend from the audience clicked his rifle.
"Aye, and my sword!" A pirate-y voice responded.
More shouts of the crowd followed until the entire camp had joined the ample fervor.
It was a small speech, more words needn't follow. Short, sweet, inspirational, and perhaps even the enigmatic Christa seemed a little compromised by her own torn emotion..
Soon, she stepped down after she was rewarded by the united cheers of her motivated peers. Yet Christa entered the infirmary tent, saw Abner's eyes closed, and immediately assumed him to be asleep. She turned on a dime, only to have his grated voice call her back through the fabric of the tent.
"Nice speech." His hoarse voice commented.
A pained smile hid on the angle of her turned face, "Live or die?" She spoke as she gulped at the words she had heard before during times of war, it was motivating enough. But the woman didn't dare look at Abner in the condition he was in. She wondered if anything was that simple anymore. Once, she had cursed a gruesome demise to the Empire, death to every dog, and now it all had faded to gray.
"Oh and the part about fate." Abner spoke only as someone who had been to war could have, "Looks like fate got me good then. Why is it always the hot ones?"
Even in his condition, she admired before responding, "Oh, that was priceless. As if fate even exists."
"Some say the same about Omni." He commented, they both harbored unspoken words.
In the silence, she knew that her hope was worth dying for.
In contrast, her sister was worth living for.[/spoiler]
...
The thick, smokey fog was as gray as her judgement had become. Upon certain instances in her endless trudge through the muck, she could have sworn she tasted the smoke from Abner's cigarette.
A glance back affirmed her suspicion –that she had been separated from her group. This of course, was no surprise in such a dismal place of gruesome despair.
The Swamp of Sadness.
Christa waited for it to hit her. The rumored hopelessness, she expected the myths of enchantment that foretold revelation of feeling and being truly empty inside. And yet, nothing was felt.
Cold as ice, number than frost, motionless as stone. Christa felt absolutely nothing for the longest time as she stood there. Solitude had never bothered her, nor that she could barely see beyond three feet in front of her face. The ache of anticipation had set in as she braced herself for the challenge ahead and craved to face this obstacle head-on as though it were just like all the others.
Her pants had been raveled up and tucked into her boots and with each slopping step she convinced herself that she grew closer.
Temptation haunted her mind with the soundless whispers of doubt. Closer to what? Some illusion that a higher deity would take away her greatest regret? And for what? So she can live without the pain she deserved?
Oh what tempting thoughts, forlorn hope, and despairing willpower would soon come for Christa who had only just begun her journey through the swamp of unforgiven sorrows.
Quote:(Emails sent during the time passed)
Quote: Christa, Abner
Her palm pressed against the gooey blood, seeping from the wound, “More gauze! Come on, we don’t have all day here, his life is on the line!” Christa shouted to the nearest person, not bothering to turn her head back to see if they were still frozen in place at the sight of his blood covering her, or if they had been driven by the passionate haste in her voice.
“Hang in there.” She spoke in a low tone and her pale eyes ached with untold emotion. Not another soldier, not another friend. Christa wouldn’t accept death. Not today, not when he could be saved, and certainly not when it meant absolutely nothing.
Abner was loosing blood, and fast. In the war Christa had survived, no one ever lived to talk about how truly agonizing this kind of injury was. And yet it remained. All that pain, so much blood, and the last of the air in his lungs. A pulse continued to bring him life while the unconscious dog of the empire wore a wincing expression, nearly resembling that of a pout.
“You’re gonna live to tell me one more story.” She commanded as she pressed with all her weight into the deep wound.
Abner breathed heavily, his body convulsing beneath the blanketed darkness from his eyelids.
And then there was black. The room was dark, and the voice that called to him had ceased her siren’s song. His eyes opened to an empty room – or rather, tent – only to see fresh light streaming in.
“Ugh.” He hoisted himself up and propped himself painfully upright. “Tch..” he muttered to himself and collapsed against the makeshift pillows.
It was the infirmary. He wondered where his doctor was. The camp almost reminded him of the ones he had lived in during battle, however it was oddly lacking the scent of blood, suffering, and death.
It did however reek of, well... comradeship. Not many of these people were his friends by choice, even some of the more kindly ones would have agreed the alliance was out of necessity. So, Abner clicked his lighter and soon the fresh scent of smoke filled the room, billowing from his cigarette.
The wind gusted through and the smell of smoke woke Christa, who had fallen asleep in an unlikely location. She was roused by the taste, misinterpreting it from the contents of her dream, as smoke from fresh gunpowder.
“That’ll kill you, ya know.” She smirked in amusement at her joke and entered the room, she offered the injured soldier a water bottle, it was somehow chilled as he grasped it in his hand.
“Oh?” Abner implied the gaping wound in his shoulder, patched up by a certain pony.
“You look like hell.” Christa observed the pallor of his skin, and the youthful glow he had once had was lost due to days without eating; her comment however, creased a smile on his lips. “Nurse is out at the moment, as you can see,” the woman answered before he could ask.
"You nearly died." She stated, point-blank, and with toneless sympathy.
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Abner wiped his face of grog, trying to recount how many days he had been out and his gaze asked her wordlessly what had happened the moment he lost consciousness.
“So, the vampire and the zombie both got a little crazy when we brought you into camp, luckily though, bullets are great incentive to insure survival. Before we carried you here, I improvised a small procedure, seeming as you had gone under from the pain. You wouldn’t have made it without it. Now, though,” she paused, “You seem fine. Whiskey?” She asked and poured herself a glass. Whatever demons she was battling, they were certainly keeping her up at night.
“You look like hell.” He retorted, finally and stole the bottle. The burn splashed the back of his throat and simmered on his lips.
“Been there, done that.” Her eyes caught his, as the two veterans shared a moment of mutual understanding.
“Richtofen will be around shortly, you’d be surprised to hear he has more knowledge than I do he has stitching people up.” Her voice strummed the thin walls of fabric that trapped them in.
“How long do you think it will last?” Abner peeled back the gauss, thick with blood.
“Oh, it’ll be quite a few more days until you are on your feet again. Believe me.” She spoke from experience.
“You got hit pretty hard back there too.” Her mentioned as he noticed a trail of blood trickle down her leg and ooze through several scrapes revealed by the holes in her tattered clothes.
“I think I’ll live.” She stole his cigarette and pridefully stood up from her seat, “I’ll be taking this with me.” She kept the plastic glass of whiskey and left the bottle in his hands.
...
Quote: Clayton and Christa
“Christa.”
“Clayton.”
Their eyes met as they exchanged a look. “Nice shot back there.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes held him hostage as the two marksmen enjoyed a day of recreation.
Target practice. Five shots each. One of the shells clattered to the forest ground.
“Y’know they aren’t reliable.”
POW.
“Oh yeah?” She shook the ringing from her ears and the next bullet snapped into the chamber. Her eyes swept a glance from their makeshift target and she imagined she heard the rattling of old cans in the breeze, each remaining can hung from thin lines of thread. “Next one’s for keeps.”
“I mean it though. You have to admit, not everyone in that group is your friend.”
POW.
“Oh, you mean mister zombie? What makes you say that, is it the whole, ‘I’ll eat your brains’ thing? Or is it just the fact that he loves my personality.”
He clicked another round in and centered his final shot.
POW.
“It’s true. How long do you think some of them will last? They lack experience, they lack knowledge. And when it comes down to it, how many do you think will have your back, or are willing to pull the trigger?” Every word, carefully selected. Hopefully, she would take the bait.
“I’ll admit, some of them are lucky. But their skills are useful. Some more than others.” Christa held off on her final round as her eye looked carefully down her scope.
“Some of them have use. Sure, and that’s great until it costs you a bullet to the head.”
“Your point, Clay’n?” Her eyebrow raised and her attention seemed to stray from the shot, however her finger still hovered near the trigger.
“I’ll just say, when the time comes, I’ll have your back.” He spoke as she turned her attention to the final hanging can, two hundred cluttered yards away, held up by a dirty thread. With an exhale, her finger gently touched the trigger.
POW.
...
Quote:Klaud and Christa
The two women had spent the day together, checking their route to the final destination. It had been long, and both of them needed a little girl talk. It was hard to find anyone relatable in camp, plus Klaud and Christa had plenty in common. Conversation strayed away from the town, away from it all, and finally it gently touched on the past.
Klaud nodded, “What about you, are you missing someone?”
“How’d you guess?” Christa offered a retaliating smile, her eyes chilled the room.
“It’s written on your face.” Klaud read her worry, “Don’t worry, the others can’t see. Only those in the same boat.”
“Who did you lose?” Christa seemed curious as her interest minutely grew.
“He was a friend - a partner - close, we were. It’s hard to find people you trust.. How about you?” Klaud prodded.
“My sister.”
They shared a moment of silence.
“Sorry to hear that. Sucks to be pulled away from our world, away from everything we ever knew, and for what? Seems purposeless, but you just have to keep in mind that they are probably still living on, without us.”
“I was sorry too, when it happened.” Christa fiddled with the gun in her hands, while Klaud offered some mutual sympathy. Kind words. That of a friend.
“Sometimes it’s sad how loss can make us grow.”
...
Quote: Richtofen and Christa
Madness.
Untamable, unquenchable, and she could see it plainly in the good doctor’s eyes. He had aided Abner’s injury and nursed it to a recovering state, and for this, Christa was oddly grateful. They sat down together and listened to the man ramble a bit.
The two were both veterans of war. Both lost, both had regrets, and both... German?
“Ve careful where you aim her,” Richtofen motioned to the weapon in her hands. It wasn’t like she had flagged him, but she shrugged and holstered it after sizing him up. She could take him, if she had to.
Both erred on the side of caution. Instinct, reflex, and perhaps just plain experience weighed into both their opinions of one another. Christa was a tactful soldier, a skilled strategist, and a master marksmen. Of what she knew of Richtofen, he was a scientist, she deduced his era as from World War II. It seemed like where they both came from, war was sensationalized. Lucky them.
He was the most useful one here, what with his extensive knowledge of human anatomy, and his application of it didn’t necessarily matter.
“Do you not remember?” his question beckoned her back to their one-sided conversation.
“Remember what? That time you almost killed me?”
“It vas only an experiment.” He corrected her with a coy, satisfied smile.
“Yeah yeah, oh great and mighty doctor, I remember you saying that a million times too. You ZAPPED me with LIGHTNING. You’re lucky I didn’t die, or I would’ve killed ya.”
“It vas not luck, darling. To someone oo’s body vas unaccustomed to torture, it vould have killed them. I ‘uppose your experience saved you zat time, did it not?”
“How did you...” Christa’s eyes narrowed at his immediate deduction as her voice didn’t pronounce the last word and her lips still mouthed, know.
“Oh, zee same way I knew zhat the twenty tousand vatt bolt vouldn’t kill you directly. However, as you noticed, it eliminated zee target, and zhat is all zhat matters, no?” Richtofen’s voice prodded her awareness, of the threat he could soon pose to her.
“Ah, well, I guess I should thank you for killing those zombies then?”
“It vas nothing dear. Now back to my story, zee youth can learn from some of zee experiences I ‘ave had during zee third war. Now un’to my discovery of zee element one ‘undred and zixteen.”
...
Quote: Top-Man and Christa
“Good morn’n, Top-Man here, documenting yet another day in the wilderness. T’day we are following Christa, one of the huntresses into the forest, in hopes to capture some footage of the marksman in action.” He paused as the camera zoomed in too close to her face, as the audience and viewers got a nice glimpse too close to her ear. “No no, pan out, pan out! Here we see-”
“Get the camera out of my face, unless you want it to end up like the Goblin King.”
“Oi, fine, just say hi to the viewers first.”
“Alright then,” She breathed, “Hey there, if any of you know where to find Omni, please tweet the Man here. If not,” She held up the snout of her gun toward his camera, but added a playful wink to the live feed.
“See ya.”
...
Quote:Captain Crow and Christa
“Fancy a drink, Cap’n?” She smirked as she revealed a bottle of the coveted ale that had only been mentioned in rumors around the camp. And now he had met its source. The only thing to note, was her angle... And well, there was no time to ponder that.
“Another!” The savvy seaman shouted, appealing to her amusement.
Christa liked the Captain, and they had formed an unlikely friendship. He told stories of the sea, happy, sad, and in every single one, their ship rolled on the waves, sails tattered, masts broken, but a smile always remained in the hearts of the spirited sailors.
Pirate stories, just like out of the children's books she used to read to her sister.
"The winds were howling louder than a kraken! And then, nothing. A slimy silence filled the air, which was thick with fog, so dense ye could cut it with a butter knife!
Alas the scallywags heard the sirens, and some of 'em dove off the edge! Beautiful, beautiful, mermaids. What was I to do, the Captain, when all me men were walking the plank? O'course I jumped in after them, but that was when m' leg got pulled under and water clogged my ears! After that, their illusion melted and I saw what truly awful creatures they were. Serpent-esque, with daggers for eyes!–Not to mention bloody gross and leaking with green slime!
And ye know what I did?" His voice beckoned her response as she guzzled her drink and raised her brows ever-so-slightly.
"I sliced 'er head off!" Laughter filled the night, and the Captain's hearty amusement was joined by Christa as they clinked their glasses together, enjoying the merry old times.
Crow's cheeks were cherry red, his eyes glowed vibrantly in the firelight, so Christa whispered a secret, "You know the best thing about Pirate Stories?"
The Captain responded with a curious smile.
"They are told with such good fun that it sets even me away for a good time. Like I'm at sea, cast adrift, part of the crew, seasick, or meeting the enemy's swords at the faint promise of treasure. I say... It's a pirate's life for me."
...
Quote: Isaac and Christa
“Today’s the day.” She held two plastic cups into the air. “Well, tomorrow.”
“Just like old times.” Isaac smiled and welcomed a share of her secret stash.
“Old habits.” Two words.
Two more. “What kind?”
“High quality stuff, as you can imagine,” she brandished the label, it was the cheapest brand on the market. “Just like the good old days.”
“Where’d you get that?”
“Secret stash.” She muttered to her friend.
Ha. “I knew it.” He smirked and she placed the glass in his empty hand.
“Hit me.”
Bartender Christa filled their glasses. They kept watch of the camp in pairs; tonight it was cold, dark, and they could only see their drink by the dim moonlight.
“Y’know you haven't mentioned her once. But I can tell you miss her.”
Christa held her tongue. They had each downed three glasses, but there was not enough booze in the world to drown her pain. She wasn’t going to lie to her first ally, so she merely remained silent.
“Nothing to be ashamed of. I miss mine too.”
“My sister, her name was Katia.” She murmured, taking her eyes from his.
Isaac knew better than to ask what had happened, the grief drenched her expression and the alcohol’s potency barely touched her eyes.
Isaac responded in the like, “Her name was Carter.”
A few shots later, Christa exhaled a sigh, it seemed her wallowing had turned to relief. Isaac knew it wasn’t from the booze, so his gaze fixed on her curiously as she stated with her strong voice, determined and hardened by hardship and strife.
“I have to make it tomorrow. For her.”
...
Quote:A "Morning of" Leader Speech, (Audience - everyone) Christa, and Abner
The rattling of a bell starkly sounded through the mass of folded up tents. Camp, the closest thing she had to a home; each of her allies gathered in the clearing while Christa stood on a flattened stump, about to speak the only truth she knew. Facts.
"As you well know, we leave tomorrow at dawn. The Swamp of Sadness will be our greatest endeavor, yet together we will overcome... Everyone will carry their own weight." Christa assigned the others' their roles during the expedition they would soon embark on.
"We have lost people–friends, and we will lose many more before our trial is over. Fate never told you what I will speak now, that we have the power to choose life or death. The root of our willpower originates from our hope, and though we haven't always known the choice was easy, it has always been there and it always will be."
A small pause, while Christa effortlessly summoned the passion to warble with her voice while the inspirational fire in her eyes continued to blaze. "Each of you is here for your own personal reason, each of you seeks Omni. I can only hope that you all find what you are looking for. And I wish you the best of luck, and infinite courage when you are given the choice to fight fate as I once was."
"I wield my gun for you all, and the fallen lift their swords high with our own in spirit, so that we may succeed; so that we can finally track down that bastard, Omni."
"And I, with you." A friend from the audience clicked his rifle.
"Aye, and my sword!" A pirate-y voice responded.
More shouts of the crowd followed until the entire camp had joined the ample fervor.
It was a small speech, more words needn't follow. Short, sweet, inspirational, and perhaps even the enigmatic Christa seemed a little compromised by her own torn emotion..
Soon, she stepped down after she was rewarded by the united cheers of her motivated peers. Yet Christa entered the infirmary tent, saw Abner's eyes closed, and immediately assumed him to be asleep. She turned on a dime, only to have his grated voice call her back through the fabric of the tent.
"Nice speech." His hoarse voice commented.
A pained smile hid on the angle of her turned face, "Live or die?" She spoke as she gulped at the words she had heard before during times of war, it was motivating enough. But the woman didn't dare look at Abner in the condition he was in. She wondered if anything was that simple anymore. Once, she had cursed a gruesome demise to the Empire, death to every dog, and now it all had faded to gray.
"Oh and the part about fate." Abner spoke only as someone who had been to war could have, "Looks like fate got me good then. Why is it always the hot ones?"
Even in his condition, she admired before responding, "Oh, that was priceless. As if fate even exists."
"Some say the same about Omni." He commented, they both harbored unspoken words.
In the silence, she knew that her hope was worth dying for.
In contrast, her sister was worth living for.[/spoiler]
...
The thick, smokey fog was as gray as her judgement had become. Upon certain instances in her endless trudge through the muck, she could have sworn she tasted the smoke from Abner's cigarette.
A glance back affirmed her suspicion –that she had been separated from her group. This of course, was no surprise in such a dismal place of gruesome despair.
The Swamp of Sadness.
Christa waited for it to hit her. The rumored hopelessness, she expected the myths of enchantment that foretold revelation of feeling and being truly empty inside. And yet, nothing was felt.
Cold as ice, number than frost, motionless as stone. Christa felt absolutely nothing for the longest time as she stood there. Solitude had never bothered her, nor that she could barely see beyond three feet in front of her face. The ache of anticipation had set in as she braced herself for the challenge ahead and craved to face this obstacle head-on as though it were just like all the others.
Her pants had been raveled up and tucked into her boots and with each slopping step she convinced herself that she grew closer.
Temptation haunted her mind with the soundless whispers of doubt. Closer to what? Some illusion that a higher deity would take away her greatest regret? And for what? So she can live without the pain she deserved?
Oh what tempting thoughts, forlorn hope, and despairing willpower would soon come for Christa who had only just begun her journey through the swamp of unforgiven sorrows.
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"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus