Andromeda, Telemachus Rhade, Unravel My Latest Mistake, #93 crisis
Title: Unravel My Latest Mistake
Fandom: Andromeda, general series
Author: karrenia
Character: Telemachus Rhade POV
Rating: General Audiences
Words: 680
Prompt# 93 crisis, table 3
94/100
Disclaimer: Andromeda belongs to Tribune Entertainment and Fireworks Productions. It is not mine
Set during the events of Season 4 and 5)
"Unravel My Latest Mistake" by karrenia
From the very first instance that we met it was like two weather fronts colliding; one burning hot and cold at the same time, and I welcomed the burn because I needed that intensity. Perhaps you felt it too, did you?
Even now, after everything that has happened, the fire is banked low and I realize that should have let you know much sooner that you meant so much more to me than just a comrade in arms; more than just a friend. However, we all know what hindsight does to one’s perspective. It gives one perfect clarity of vision when it is far, far too late to do anything to change what is.
That’s the intensity of the fire that burns within both of us, but much like the mythical sword of the ancient Greek’s, Damocles, those who live by the sword are often fated to die by it. I loved the fire, I loved you and your intense yet sincere passions, ah, Beka, I wish
I wish I had told you that I loved you, for all that you are, all that you’ve been, and all that you could be.
I realize that you think that it’s only an empty compliment, meant to flatter your vanity, when it was discovered that somewhere in your genetic makeup is the ancient matriarch of the Neitzchean race and I was acting, taking advantage of that knowledge like a typical alpha male.
Truth be told, a part of me did so, but in this remove from our time aboard the Andromeda Ascendant, I’ve come to realize that it’s not the way I intended it to be.
Perhaps it’s the nature of this place, this place with its gray and black, and dirty brown grittiness, the knowledge that seeps into one’s blood and bones with a gradual ebb and flow that you don’t even notice that its happening, until it’s there, calmly licking its chops. I would not call it lassitude, because the natives are restless, all the various factions on Seefra fighting, squabbling to carve out their own niche, their own way of how things are, or should be.
Dylan, ever the eternal optimist, thinks we can all find a way out of this place, and I wish well in that endeavor, because what else do we have to cling to, if not hope and faith. I have never been an optimist, or even its polar opposite, a pessimist. It’s not in my nature, not in my genetic makeup. I am a realist.
I am well aware that everyone from Dylan on down thinks that I’ve taken to drinking too much, and perhaps I have. I do so not in order to drown out the pain, or to prove a point.
In fact, it’s almost become a habit. I still recall, quite vividly, the time, after a hard night of drinking, lying awake in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, you came in and picked me up, brought me back to myself.
You could have said then that I had gone too far, that the look in your bright blue eyes was disgust and disappointment for one who had once ascended to such heights could have fallen so far.
And I would not have argued with you, would not have disagreed with you one bit. It was only the cold harsh light of a truth that burned with a cold fire.
The drink hardly ever clouds my judgment or slows down my reactions during a fight, and it’s another kind of intensity that I bring to whatever I do.
I wish that I could love you in the manner that I feel that you deserve. I wish I could get out of this place and feel the fire rising within me once more, the fire can carry one forward like a great molten stream of lava. Perhaps it can burn away the regrets, the sorrow and the and what might have beens with a cleansing heat.
Or it can it burn out, and leave behind nothing but ashes.
Until then, let me burn. Just let me burn.
Fandom: Andromeda, general series
Author: karrenia
Character: Telemachus Rhade POV
Rating: General Audiences
Words: 680
Prompt# 93 crisis, table 3
94/100
Disclaimer: Andromeda belongs to Tribune Entertainment and Fireworks Productions. It is not mine
Set during the events of Season 4 and 5)
"Unravel My Latest Mistake" by karrenia
From the very first instance that we met it was like two weather fronts colliding; one burning hot and cold at the same time, and I welcomed the burn because I needed that intensity. Perhaps you felt it too, did you?
Even now, after everything that has happened, the fire is banked low and I realize that should have let you know much sooner that you meant so much more to me than just a comrade in arms; more than just a friend. However, we all know what hindsight does to one’s perspective. It gives one perfect clarity of vision when it is far, far too late to do anything to change what is.
That’s the intensity of the fire that burns within both of us, but much like the mythical sword of the ancient Greek’s, Damocles, those who live by the sword are often fated to die by it. I loved the fire, I loved you and your intense yet sincere passions, ah, Beka, I wish
I wish I had told you that I loved you, for all that you are, all that you’ve been, and all that you could be.
I realize that you think that it’s only an empty compliment, meant to flatter your vanity, when it was discovered that somewhere in your genetic makeup is the ancient matriarch of the Neitzchean race and I was acting, taking advantage of that knowledge like a typical alpha male.
Truth be told, a part of me did so, but in this remove from our time aboard the Andromeda Ascendant, I’ve come to realize that it’s not the way I intended it to be.
Perhaps it’s the nature of this place, this place with its gray and black, and dirty brown grittiness, the knowledge that seeps into one’s blood and bones with a gradual ebb and flow that you don’t even notice that its happening, until it’s there, calmly licking its chops. I would not call it lassitude, because the natives are restless, all the various factions on Seefra fighting, squabbling to carve out their own niche, their own way of how things are, or should be.
Dylan, ever the eternal optimist, thinks we can all find a way out of this place, and I wish well in that endeavor, because what else do we have to cling to, if not hope and faith. I have never been an optimist, or even its polar opposite, a pessimist. It’s not in my nature, not in my genetic makeup. I am a realist.
I am well aware that everyone from Dylan on down thinks that I’ve taken to drinking too much, and perhaps I have. I do so not in order to drown out the pain, or to prove a point.
In fact, it’s almost become a habit. I still recall, quite vividly, the time, after a hard night of drinking, lying awake in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, you came in and picked me up, brought me back to myself.
You could have said then that I had gone too far, that the look in your bright blue eyes was disgust and disappointment for one who had once ascended to such heights could have fallen so far.
And I would not have argued with you, would not have disagreed with you one bit. It was only the cold harsh light of a truth that burned with a cold fire.
The drink hardly ever clouds my judgment or slows down my reactions during a fight, and it’s another kind of intensity that I bring to whatever I do.
I wish that I could love you in the manner that I feel that you deserve. I wish I could get out of this place and feel the fire rising within me once more, the fire can carry one forward like a great molten stream of lava. Perhaps it can burn away the regrets, the sorrow and the and what might have beens with a cleansing heat.
Or it can it burn out, and leave behind nothing but ashes.
Until then, let me burn. Just let me burn.