fic: the lamb & the dragon|megan, shia, lorenzo|pg-13
I watched Jennifer's Body again last night for the first time since I saw it in the theater, and it was creepy as hell (still) but still really good! Megan Fox continues to be someone I really appreciate.
The commonwealth is blizzarding today, which is particularly fortuitous for me, since I woke up at noon and spent most of the day bumming around my house. When I wasn't doing that, though, the sisterthing and I braved the weather to go send some things (did you know there are 24-hour post offices, and you can go and do your business any time of day or night? It blew my mind) and now I'm hanging out again, appreciating the weather because I don't have to be outside in it.
Months and months (and months) ago, gigantic and I talked about a universe (sort of ripped off from Firefly) where Megan Fox was a navigator for a spaceship, originally from a planet that was comprised entirely of beautiful women. We didn't get very far in the story, but the idea started kicking around in my head again when I noticed my Megs icon was next to my Mal Reynolds one. So, uh. I sort of wrote the intro to that. I hope you like it, Ceej! &hearts
For reference, this is the dress I imagined her in, just in black.
|the lamb & the dragon|megan fox, shia labeouf, lorenzo eduardo|pg-13|1118 words|
They find her on a planet no one remembers the name of, later. She's sweeping trimmings off the ground of a stall in a marketplace, dressed down in rags, hair scraped back away from her face. There's a tracker attached to her neck, heavy and gray, blinking every time she skirts the perimeter of the stall.
The Captain sees her first, notices the regal slope to her shoulders, the fact that she doesn't look down when she speaks to customers, meeting their eyes, even as they're staring at her body, at the tracker attached to her limbs. "How much for the girl?" he asks the stall owner, an older man that's grizzled, gray stubble fuzzing his cheeks. He looks as though a gust of wind will knock him to the ground and he reeks of spirits. The Captain can probably take him if it results in fisticuffs, but he holds off, not wanting to cause trouble if there's nothing to warrant it. They don't need any extra attention brought to them.
"Oh, this?" The owner asks, barely flicking a glance in the girl's direction. The Captain takes a look at her, and she looks right back at him, not dropping her gaze at all, eyes the color of cobalt. "It was a gift." He reaches for her, the stall small enough that his palm connects with her arm, leaving a smudge of dirt and god-knows what else on the pale skin of her shoulder.
"Suppose I want to buy it off you," The Captain says, his voice even. In his pocket, he flicks his lighter, even though the kerosene is out and has been for longer than he can remember. "How much would," he pauses, letting the words settle and the girl's gaze never slips off his face, not once. "How much could I take it off your hands for?" He pauses again, letting his eyes rove over the girl's body, on display in a filmy white robe, open to the waist and barely containing her breasts. "Clearly it's been marred. The value's dropped."
"Marred?" The owner says, eyes narrowed as much as they can be with the amount of drink he's consumed and the brightness of both suns in the sky hitting his eyes. "It ain't nothing but a gift," he says. "To use as I like."
The Captain shrugs, looking to the girl again, noticing how she's mumbling something to herself under her breath. She notices when he notices, but she doesn't stop. "I could use a new plaything aboard my ship," he continues, and without speaking the words, he tips his head back, gesturing toward the ship hovering in the horizon behind them. It's the king's ship, it's got nothing to do with them or their mission, but they're all dressed finely enough that an assumption could be made. A thread.
"The king?" The owner asks in awe, voice low, and The Captain smirks, something quiet playing around his mouth for just a second before it's gone. "The king wants this?"
"Some things are prized more highly than others," The Captain says, meeting the girl's eyes, almost startled into laughing because she's rolling her eyes at him, doing a perfect job at seeming docile and obedient until he actually looks into her eyes.
"How much?" The owner asks, his hand pressed against her shoulder again, fingers digging in and leaving marks, even if they're just dirt instead of bruising. "I ain't letting her go for less than 500. Maybe six. The king can spare it."
The Captain raises a brow and pauses for entirely too long before saying, "Ah, forget it. Such disrespect from a servant of this country is heinous. We'll find another gift somewhere else. Something less ..." he finds it in himself to sigh and then adds, "Distasteful."
The ensuing scramble would be comical if The Captain hadn't seen the bodies at the trash heaps, tens of girls, hundreds, pale and lifeless with the same markings on their wrists and once great beauty etched away from their faces. "Four hundred," the owner says, tugging at his collar and swaying forward, almost losing his balance over his wares.
"Three," The Captain says, looking down at his pocket watch. "Two fifty if this conversation continues much longer."
"Three, uh." The owner's eyes flash but The Captain just stares him down. "Three," The owner repeats, finally, and The Captain allows himself a small smile.
"Three," he says and within a few moments, the girl is shoved toward them. It must hurt, the force with which the man pushes her, but she doesn't say a word, she doesn't even utter a sound.
When they're further away from the market, away from the stalls and the smells and the bustle, The Captain stops, and Eduardo behind him. "What's your name?" he asks, and she just stares at him.
"Your name," Eduardo says too, and the girl rolls her eyes, finally turning her gaze away from them.
With a sigh, she says, "On my planet, they called me Megan," quietly.
The Captain nods and they continue on their walk. Their boat is docked on the outskirts of the village, hovering just above the ground and Eduardo jogs ahead of them, running up the ramp and conferring with Efron and Jonas, both of whom have wide eyes at the sight of the girl, staring openly.
"Megan," The Captain says. "I'm Shia."
She nods, once, letting out another sigh, something smaller, not intended for him to hear. "Gift from the Gods," she says drolly. "Praise be." She looks back at him, their gazes meeting and then she says, "We've walked too far," and, "You're not really an emissary from the king." It's not a question so he doesn't respond, just shrugging his shoulders in an almost-perfect mirror to her own posture.
"I won't use you, either," he says, and for the first time in an hour, she actually looks surprised. "We have no need for a courtesan on this boat," he adds. "And I--"
"And you aren't tempted by the flesh of ladies," she finishes. It's a crude statement, she could be beheaded for less, but she stares at him, just willing him to disagree.
"No," he says quietly. "But even those who are," he gestures up the ramp to where Jonas and Efron have moved further inside the hull, working on something else but still managing to throw glances down at the two of them, still on the ground. "They won't bother you. We'll get you somewhere safe, Megan."
She arches a brow, heading up the ramp when he gestures for her to proceed. "Why should I believe you?" She asks. Shia shrugs and she rolls her eyes again, shrugging back. When he doesn't immediately answer, she continues with, "There's nowhere safe for me anyway." She pauses. "My planet was destroyed."
The commonwealth is blizzarding today, which is particularly fortuitous for me, since I woke up at noon and spent most of the day bumming around my house. When I wasn't doing that, though, the sisterthing and I braved the weather to go send some things (did you know there are 24-hour post offices, and you can go and do your business any time of day or night? It blew my mind) and now I'm hanging out again, appreciating the weather because I don't have to be outside in it.
Months and months (and months) ago, gigantic and I talked about a universe (sort of ripped off from Firefly) where Megan Fox was a navigator for a spaceship, originally from a planet that was comprised entirely of beautiful women. We didn't get very far in the story, but the idea started kicking around in my head again when I noticed my Megs icon was next to my Mal Reynolds one. So, uh. I sort of wrote the intro to that. I hope you like it, Ceej! &hearts
For reference, this is the dress I imagined her in, just in black.
|the lamb & the dragon|megan fox, shia labeouf, lorenzo eduardo|pg-13|1118 words|
They find her on a planet no one remembers the name of, later. She's sweeping trimmings off the ground of a stall in a marketplace, dressed down in rags, hair scraped back away from her face. There's a tracker attached to her neck, heavy and gray, blinking every time she skirts the perimeter of the stall.
The Captain sees her first, notices the regal slope to her shoulders, the fact that she doesn't look down when she speaks to customers, meeting their eyes, even as they're staring at her body, at the tracker attached to her limbs. "How much for the girl?" he asks the stall owner, an older man that's grizzled, gray stubble fuzzing his cheeks. He looks as though a gust of wind will knock him to the ground and he reeks of spirits. The Captain can probably take him if it results in fisticuffs, but he holds off, not wanting to cause trouble if there's nothing to warrant it. They don't need any extra attention brought to them.
"Oh, this?" The owner asks, barely flicking a glance in the girl's direction. The Captain takes a look at her, and she looks right back at him, not dropping her gaze at all, eyes the color of cobalt. "It was a gift." He reaches for her, the stall small enough that his palm connects with her arm, leaving a smudge of dirt and god-knows what else on the pale skin of her shoulder.
"Suppose I want to buy it off you," The Captain says, his voice even. In his pocket, he flicks his lighter, even though the kerosene is out and has been for longer than he can remember. "How much would," he pauses, letting the words settle and the girl's gaze never slips off his face, not once. "How much could I take it off your hands for?" He pauses again, letting his eyes rove over the girl's body, on display in a filmy white robe, open to the waist and barely containing her breasts. "Clearly it's been marred. The value's dropped."
"Marred?" The owner says, eyes narrowed as much as they can be with the amount of drink he's consumed and the brightness of both suns in the sky hitting his eyes. "It ain't nothing but a gift," he says. "To use as I like."
The Captain shrugs, looking to the girl again, noticing how she's mumbling something to herself under her breath. She notices when he notices, but she doesn't stop. "I could use a new plaything aboard my ship," he continues, and without speaking the words, he tips his head back, gesturing toward the ship hovering in the horizon behind them. It's the king's ship, it's got nothing to do with them or their mission, but they're all dressed finely enough that an assumption could be made. A thread.
"The king?" The owner asks in awe, voice low, and The Captain smirks, something quiet playing around his mouth for just a second before it's gone. "The king wants this?"
"Some things are prized more highly than others," The Captain says, meeting the girl's eyes, almost startled into laughing because she's rolling her eyes at him, doing a perfect job at seeming docile and obedient until he actually looks into her eyes.
"How much?" The owner asks, his hand pressed against her shoulder again, fingers digging in and leaving marks, even if they're just dirt instead of bruising. "I ain't letting her go for less than 500. Maybe six. The king can spare it."
The Captain raises a brow and pauses for entirely too long before saying, "Ah, forget it. Such disrespect from a servant of this country is heinous. We'll find another gift somewhere else. Something less ..." he finds it in himself to sigh and then adds, "Distasteful."
The ensuing scramble would be comical if The Captain hadn't seen the bodies at the trash heaps, tens of girls, hundreds, pale and lifeless with the same markings on their wrists and once great beauty etched away from their faces. "Four hundred," the owner says, tugging at his collar and swaying forward, almost losing his balance over his wares.
"Three," The Captain says, looking down at his pocket watch. "Two fifty if this conversation continues much longer."
"Three, uh." The owner's eyes flash but The Captain just stares him down. "Three," The owner repeats, finally, and The Captain allows himself a small smile.
"Three," he says and within a few moments, the girl is shoved toward them. It must hurt, the force with which the man pushes her, but she doesn't say a word, she doesn't even utter a sound.
When they're further away from the market, away from the stalls and the smells and the bustle, The Captain stops, and Eduardo behind him. "What's your name?" he asks, and she just stares at him.
"Your name," Eduardo says too, and the girl rolls her eyes, finally turning her gaze away from them.
With a sigh, she says, "On my planet, they called me Megan," quietly.
The Captain nods and they continue on their walk. Their boat is docked on the outskirts of the village, hovering just above the ground and Eduardo jogs ahead of them, running up the ramp and conferring with Efron and Jonas, both of whom have wide eyes at the sight of the girl, staring openly.
"Megan," The Captain says. "I'm Shia."
She nods, once, letting out another sigh, something smaller, not intended for him to hear. "Gift from the Gods," she says drolly. "Praise be." She looks back at him, their gazes meeting and then she says, "We've walked too far," and, "You're not really an emissary from the king." It's not a question so he doesn't respond, just shrugging his shoulders in an almost-perfect mirror to her own posture.
"I won't use you, either," he says, and for the first time in an hour, she actually looks surprised. "We have no need for a courtesan on this boat," he adds. "And I--"
"And you aren't tempted by the flesh of ladies," she finishes. It's a crude statement, she could be beheaded for less, but she stares at him, just willing him to disagree.
"No," he says quietly. "But even those who are," he gestures up the ramp to where Jonas and Efron have moved further inside the hull, working on something else but still managing to throw glances down at the two of them, still on the ground. "They won't bother you. We'll get you somewhere safe, Megan."
She arches a brow, heading up the ramp when he gestures for her to proceed. "Why should I believe you?" She asks. Shia shrugs and she rolls her eyes again, shrugging back. When he doesn't immediately answer, she continues with, "There's nowhere safe for me anyway." She pauses. "My planet was destroyed."