Fic: Engulfment Ch 2
ENGULFMENT CHAPTER TWO
by SlwMtionDaylite
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing. Paramount, et al. own all. I really wish they would let me borrow Spock for a while though.
Rating: MA/NC-17
Genre: Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure
Characters/Pairing: Spock/Uhura, Uhura/McCoy (past)
Word Count (Chaper Two): 2283
Beta: jlneveloff
Warnings: violence, language, sexual situations.
Summary: Steampunk/Pirate AU. The dirigible lurched to one side, caught on a light breeze. She clung to the edge, the ropes providing such little protection against the fall into the ocean below...Beside her, a man approached. The Vulcan. Regal. Elegant. He was one of the last of his kind.
Author's Notes: It's a little shorter than I'd like. I'll work on making these chapters longer in the future. :)
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
2 ~
The Khosaar floated across the water, slicing through the waves. Above, the sky was sodden and gray, covered in clouds. Across the water, the shoreline was rugged, lined with crabgrass and pale ferns. It looked worn and cold. Fishermen lined the shore, preparing their small dinghies. They stopped and watched the rickety ship. They resembled the rocky hills in the distance: hard, dirty, unforgiving.
Nyota leaned against the porthole, pressing her forehead into the cold scratched glass. She'd been looking out the window for several hours. She folded her arms under her breasts and sighed. She'd remained in this tiny room as she was instructed by Captain Robau. But she was so terribly bored. It felt like a prison, looked like a prison. She was only allowed out once a day to visit the mess hall and only then, under the watchful gaze of either the captain or his men. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about this temporary arrangement. It was something made in haste, in fear as she ran for her life. But she supposed it was no matter as she had no choice in the matter. If she didn't want to face the wrath of Prime Minister Nero or his Militia, she needed to run.
She sighed, a light breath of air escaping her lips. Stepping away from the small porthole, she took a seat at the small desk at the foot of her bed. She was thankful that the captain supplied her with ink and paper when she requested it. When she didn't stare out of the porthole, longing to return to dry land, to return home, to the past where she wasn't fearing for her life because she fell in bed with a man who later proved to be unhinged.
She'd been writing this, for lack of a better word, letter since she arrived onboard. The lines and sentences and paragraphs were arranged like diary entries, with dates in the corners. She used different languages: Klingon, Denobulan, Andorian, the extinct Vulcan. She knew no one would be able to read it, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t for anyone to read anyway. It was for her and her alone. She reached for the quill and opened the ink well. She dipped the quill into the ink.
Veh'gad, 26th of Re'T'Khuta, aboard the Khosaar
It's been nearly two weeks since we set sail from Dzhaya'an'Kahr and one week since we left the port of Kwil'inor. I was enthralled by the city and repulsed. I've never been away from home, you know. But how I've dreamed it. How I've wished for it. To explore the other cultures, to see their homes. It is a wonderful dream. I only wish I wasn't running for my life. But Kwil'inor is violent, dirty. I was not sad to leave it behind. Have you been there? I don't know if you have or not. There's so much about you I don't know.
Kwil'inor is a place of prostitution and piracy. Of shipyards and train yards. Railroads crisscrossed the streets, passed buildings barely standing. The captain allowed me to join him on shore, on the condition that I didn't leave his side. Kwil'inor isn't the place for a lady, he said. What does he know? He assumes I am a lady, but I'm not. I don't want to be this lady he feels the need to protect. I'm not weak.
But I digress.
Captain Robau took me with him as he negotiated with the pirates and the shipbuilders. And the prostitutes. He gained new passengers, new cargo. And we returned to the ship. It was a short trip.
I've stayed in my cabin as the captain ordered me. But it is so dreadfully boring. The walls feel as though they're closing in, as if I'm going to suffocate in this cabin. I want out. I want to explore the ship. But there are things and people the captain doesn't want me to see. He doesn't think a "lady" should see certain things. I want to punch him.
Where are you? Why did you release that terrible creation? Why? They came for me. Did you know that? Did you care what would happen to those who associated themselves with you when you did it? Did you care? I don't think you did. I should hate you for it. I haven’t thought about you since the last time we saw each other. And now, you’re seeping to the surface of my mind like the caustics of a septic pool. I want to be rid of you. I don’t want to think of you anymore.
A hushed whisper interrupted her writing. Setting her quill down, Nyota looked across the tiny cabin, where her roommate sat, her legs tucked underneath her, her hands clasped together and held near her chest, knuckles white. Nyota didn't know much about this woman, or anything really. She was a pickup from Kwil'inor. The young woman did not move from her spot at the foot of her bed, did not cease her prayers until she was retrieved for dinner. She didn't speak to Nyota. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure the woman even knew she was there.
The woman wore white robes, soft and fluttering, a long simple shawl draped across her left shoulder, pinned in place by a simple broach. Wrapped around her, just below her breasts, a delicate sash with red and white woolen ribbons. Upon her head, obscuring her hair and her ears, a veil, white. Nyota didn't know the woman's name but her garments identified where she hailed. She was a reldai, a priestess. A Daughter of Valdena the Maiden from the Kul'Cha'Vir Temple, in the northern province of Tat'sahr.
But the Daughters of Valdena were supposed to remain within the Temple walls and never venture passed them without the escort of a Temple guardian or monk. This woman had neither. Nyota could only assume why.
She was disgraced, exiled.
The gentle swell of her belly underneath her robes. Yes, Nyota could assume why. The Daughters of Valdena were supposed to remain virgins, having taken a vow of chastity upon entering the service. And this priestess was pregnant.
Fallen from grace, succumbed to the sensual pleasures of the body, this woman clung to her religion, praying, as if she thought that prayer could save her from her sins.
Nyota wasn't sure if she should be sad for the young woman or disappointed. To become a Daughter of Valdena was a great honor, bestowed only upon eighteen women at any given time. And this woman turned her back on her calling and spread her legs for a man.
The woman's hands dropped in her lap and her eyes closed. She took a deep breath and slowly rose to her feet, her actions slow, affected by the baby.
Nyota remained silent, watching the woman from behind her tiny desk. She was curious. The priestess had never removed herself from her prayers before.
She approached the small armoire against the wall between their beds and reached for the water jug. She poured water into a small bowl and grabbed a washcloth from the drawer. She took the bowl and cloth back to her bed, setting the bowl on the floor by the foot of the bed. With her back turned to Nyota, the priestess reached for the pin securing her shawl and released it. The shawl tumbled down her shoulder into a heap on the lumpy mattress. She reached down and wet the cloth in the water. Sitting up, she loosened her robes and let them slide down her shoulder, catching on the crook of her arms.
She brought the cloth over her shoulder, reaching in vain. Angry, oozing, green gashes marred her back.
Nyota gasped, her hand coming to her mouth.
The priestess reacted quickly, dropping the damp cloth and pulling her robes over her shoulders. She turned her head to the side, her eyes searching for the source of the sound.
Nyota stood, pushing the chair back. It squealed against the wooden floor. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
The woman turned her head forward, wrapping her arms around her chest.
Nyota approached her, stepping softly and slowly. The priestess was distressed, attempting to fold in on herself. Nyota sat on the bed beside her. "What happened to you?"
The priestess shook her head, refusing to look at her. "It is no concern of yours. My punishment is mine and mine alone to bear."
"Punishment?"
The woman turned her head away from Nyota.
"The guardians and monks of the Temple did this to you?" She was surprised, her eyes wide. Those of Kul'Cha'Vir Temple were supposed to be peaceful, serene. This act of violence against a priestess of their ranks didn't sit well with her. She looked at the priestess for the first real time. She was thin, much too thin for a pregnant woman. Her breathing was erratic. Perspiration dotted her face and wild eyes stared at the wall in front of her.
Nyota moved on the mattress, moving behind the woman, and pushed the robes down her shoulders. The priestess didn't fight her. Seeing the wounds up close--swollen, oozing, inflamed--Nyota fought to suppress a gag. "These are infected."
The priestess pulled her robes up once again. "It is none of your concern." She looked straight ahead, her face a careful mask of indifference.
"You'll die if you don't get these cleaned."
"Then that is the will of the Gods."
Nyota sighed. "Let me help you, Priestess."
"I am no longer a priestess of Valdena. It would be unwise of you to refer to me as such."
"Forgive me. What should I call you? We've been cabin mates for a week now and I still don't know your name."
The priestess was silent was a moment, then-- "My family called me T'Pring."
"T'Pring." Nyota tested the name on her tongue. It was a unique name, one she hadn't heard before. "That's a lovely name."
"Thank you. Now, please let me be. I must return to my prayers."
"But you need help. You have a child to look after. You need to remain healthy for the baby."
The priestess' head dropped and her shaking hands hovered above the swell under her robes, but she dropped them to her sides. "Thank you for your offer, but your help is not needed." She looked away, her hand swiping at her face.
Nyota moved off the mattress and knelt in front of the woman. She was struck by the ethereal beauty of the woman, even in her weakened state. Flawless skin, gorgeous dark eyes. Alluring upswept eyebrows. "You'll die. And your baby will die."
"Then that is how it shall be." She turned her body so that she sat completely on the bed, her legs tucked underneath her, and brought her clasped hands to her chest, closing her eyes. A mantra of words tumbled from her lips.
Nyota released a slow breath and stood. She wasn't going to be able to reach the fallen priestess anymore. She looked around the small cabin, at the dirty walls. She needed out. She moved to the door and opened it.
A man stood on the other side, an officer of Robau's. He was one of the men assigned by Robau to protect Nyota's cabin, to ensure that no one dangerous neared the door. "Can I help you, Miss?"
"Can you take me to Captain Robau?"
He nodded.
Nyota inhaled deeply, breathing in the salty sea air. She stood on the deck of the Khosaar, gripping the iron railings with both hands and staring out at nothing but water for the first time in her life. The sun was high in the sky, warming the air around her, dousing her in a delightful warmth. This sun was something else she rarely saw within the city limits of her home of Dahhana'Kahr. There was far too much pollution from the factories. The smog could block the sun or obscure it for days.
“You wanted to see me?”
She turned around and saw Captain Robau standing before her, hands clasped behind his back. He smiled kindly at her.
She nodded. “Do you have any medical supplies on board?” She was going to help T’Pring whether the priestess wanted it or not.
An eyebrow rose. “Are you injured?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s not for me. It’s for-“
A man yelled from the crow’s nest, shouting to the captain below. Robau and Nyota looked up. The man pointed off the starboard bow. There was a dirigible, a former seaworthy ship tethered to a massive patched balloon with countless ropes.
“Shit!” Robau yelled. He turned to Nyota. “You need to get back to your cabin.”
Nyota’s eyes moved from the dirigible to the captain, her heart racing. “Why? Who are those people?”
“Armada.”
The dirigible floated above the Khosaar and a rope was dropped to the deck of the sea vessel. Robau shouted orders to his men, telling them defend the ship, to fire if needed.
A svelte man, his waist fused with powerful hind legs of an antelope, sailed down the rope above. He landed behind them, graceful and composed. Robau and Nyota spun around to look at him. Nyota gasped.
The pirate held a pistol out. Above him, his comrades began their descent onto the ship. "You the captain?" he asked Robau.
The captain stepped forward, placing himself in front of Nyota. "What the hell are you doing on my ship?!"
The antelopian pirate fired the pistol--Nyota screamed--and Robau flew back, falling to the deck. Bullet wound to his head.
by SlwMtionDaylite
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing. Paramount, et al. own all. I really wish they would let me borrow Spock for a while though.
Rating: MA/NC-17
Genre: Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure
Characters/Pairing: Spock/Uhura, Uhura/McCoy (past)
Word Count (Chaper Two): 2283
Beta: jlneveloff
Warnings: violence, language, sexual situations.
Summary: Steampunk/Pirate AU. The dirigible lurched to one side, caught on a light breeze. She clung to the edge, the ropes providing such little protection against the fall into the ocean below...Beside her, a man approached. The Vulcan. Regal. Elegant. He was one of the last of his kind.
Author's Notes: It's a little shorter than I'd like. I'll work on making these chapters longer in the future. :)
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
2 ~
The Khosaar floated across the water, slicing through the waves. Above, the sky was sodden and gray, covered in clouds. Across the water, the shoreline was rugged, lined with crabgrass and pale ferns. It looked worn and cold. Fishermen lined the shore, preparing their small dinghies. They stopped and watched the rickety ship. They resembled the rocky hills in the distance: hard, dirty, unforgiving.
Nyota leaned against the porthole, pressing her forehead into the cold scratched glass. She'd been looking out the window for several hours. She folded her arms under her breasts and sighed. She'd remained in this tiny room as she was instructed by Captain Robau. But she was so terribly bored. It felt like a prison, looked like a prison. She was only allowed out once a day to visit the mess hall and only then, under the watchful gaze of either the captain or his men. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about this temporary arrangement. It was something made in haste, in fear as she ran for her life. But she supposed it was no matter as she had no choice in the matter. If she didn't want to face the wrath of Prime Minister Nero or his Militia, she needed to run.
She sighed, a light breath of air escaping her lips. Stepping away from the small porthole, she took a seat at the small desk at the foot of her bed. She was thankful that the captain supplied her with ink and paper when she requested it. When she didn't stare out of the porthole, longing to return to dry land, to return home, to the past where she wasn't fearing for her life because she fell in bed with a man who later proved to be unhinged.
She'd been writing this, for lack of a better word, letter since she arrived onboard. The lines and sentences and paragraphs were arranged like diary entries, with dates in the corners. She used different languages: Klingon, Denobulan, Andorian, the extinct Vulcan. She knew no one would be able to read it, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t for anyone to read anyway. It was for her and her alone. She reached for the quill and opened the ink well. She dipped the quill into the ink.
Veh'gad, 26th of Re'T'Khuta, aboard the Khosaar
It's been nearly two weeks since we set sail from Dzhaya'an'Kahr and one week since we left the port of Kwil'inor. I was enthralled by the city and repulsed. I've never been away from home, you know. But how I've dreamed it. How I've wished for it. To explore the other cultures, to see their homes. It is a wonderful dream. I only wish I wasn't running for my life. But Kwil'inor is violent, dirty. I was not sad to leave it behind. Have you been there? I don't know if you have or not. There's so much about you I don't know.
Kwil'inor is a place of prostitution and piracy. Of shipyards and train yards. Railroads crisscrossed the streets, passed buildings barely standing. The captain allowed me to join him on shore, on the condition that I didn't leave his side. Kwil'inor isn't the place for a lady, he said. What does he know? He assumes I am a lady, but I'm not. I don't want to be this lady he feels the need to protect. I'm not weak.
But I digress.
Captain Robau took me with him as he negotiated with the pirates and the shipbuilders. And the prostitutes. He gained new passengers, new cargo. And we returned to the ship. It was a short trip.
I've stayed in my cabin as the captain ordered me. But it is so dreadfully boring. The walls feel as though they're closing in, as if I'm going to suffocate in this cabin. I want out. I want to explore the ship. But there are things and people the captain doesn't want me to see. He doesn't think a "lady" should see certain things. I want to punch him.
Where are you? Why did you release that terrible creation? Why? They came for me. Did you know that? Did you care what would happen to those who associated themselves with you when you did it? Did you care? I don't think you did. I should hate you for it. I haven’t thought about you since the last time we saw each other. And now, you’re seeping to the surface of my mind like the caustics of a septic pool. I want to be rid of you. I don’t want to think of you anymore.
A hushed whisper interrupted her writing. Setting her quill down, Nyota looked across the tiny cabin, where her roommate sat, her legs tucked underneath her, her hands clasped together and held near her chest, knuckles white. Nyota didn't know much about this woman, or anything really. She was a pickup from Kwil'inor. The young woman did not move from her spot at the foot of her bed, did not cease her prayers until she was retrieved for dinner. She didn't speak to Nyota. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure the woman even knew she was there.
The woman wore white robes, soft and fluttering, a long simple shawl draped across her left shoulder, pinned in place by a simple broach. Wrapped around her, just below her breasts, a delicate sash with red and white woolen ribbons. Upon her head, obscuring her hair and her ears, a veil, white. Nyota didn't know the woman's name but her garments identified where she hailed. She was a reldai, a priestess. A Daughter of Valdena the Maiden from the Kul'Cha'Vir Temple, in the northern province of Tat'sahr.
But the Daughters of Valdena were supposed to remain within the Temple walls and never venture passed them without the escort of a Temple guardian or monk. This woman had neither. Nyota could only assume why.
She was disgraced, exiled.
The gentle swell of her belly underneath her robes. Yes, Nyota could assume why. The Daughters of Valdena were supposed to remain virgins, having taken a vow of chastity upon entering the service. And this priestess was pregnant.
Fallen from grace, succumbed to the sensual pleasures of the body, this woman clung to her religion, praying, as if she thought that prayer could save her from her sins.
Nyota wasn't sure if she should be sad for the young woman or disappointed. To become a Daughter of Valdena was a great honor, bestowed only upon eighteen women at any given time. And this woman turned her back on her calling and spread her legs for a man.
The woman's hands dropped in her lap and her eyes closed. She took a deep breath and slowly rose to her feet, her actions slow, affected by the baby.
Nyota remained silent, watching the woman from behind her tiny desk. She was curious. The priestess had never removed herself from her prayers before.
She approached the small armoire against the wall between their beds and reached for the water jug. She poured water into a small bowl and grabbed a washcloth from the drawer. She took the bowl and cloth back to her bed, setting the bowl on the floor by the foot of the bed. With her back turned to Nyota, the priestess reached for the pin securing her shawl and released it. The shawl tumbled down her shoulder into a heap on the lumpy mattress. She reached down and wet the cloth in the water. Sitting up, she loosened her robes and let them slide down her shoulder, catching on the crook of her arms.
She brought the cloth over her shoulder, reaching in vain. Angry, oozing, green gashes marred her back.
Nyota gasped, her hand coming to her mouth.
The priestess reacted quickly, dropping the damp cloth and pulling her robes over her shoulders. She turned her head to the side, her eyes searching for the source of the sound.
Nyota stood, pushing the chair back. It squealed against the wooden floor. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
The woman turned her head forward, wrapping her arms around her chest.
Nyota approached her, stepping softly and slowly. The priestess was distressed, attempting to fold in on herself. Nyota sat on the bed beside her. "What happened to you?"
The priestess shook her head, refusing to look at her. "It is no concern of yours. My punishment is mine and mine alone to bear."
"Punishment?"
The woman turned her head away from Nyota.
"The guardians and monks of the Temple did this to you?" She was surprised, her eyes wide. Those of Kul'Cha'Vir Temple were supposed to be peaceful, serene. This act of violence against a priestess of their ranks didn't sit well with her. She looked at the priestess for the first real time. She was thin, much too thin for a pregnant woman. Her breathing was erratic. Perspiration dotted her face and wild eyes stared at the wall in front of her.
Nyota moved on the mattress, moving behind the woman, and pushed the robes down her shoulders. The priestess didn't fight her. Seeing the wounds up close--swollen, oozing, inflamed--Nyota fought to suppress a gag. "These are infected."
The priestess pulled her robes up once again. "It is none of your concern." She looked straight ahead, her face a careful mask of indifference.
"You'll die if you don't get these cleaned."
"Then that is the will of the Gods."
Nyota sighed. "Let me help you, Priestess."
"I am no longer a priestess of Valdena. It would be unwise of you to refer to me as such."
"Forgive me. What should I call you? We've been cabin mates for a week now and I still don't know your name."
The priestess was silent was a moment, then-- "My family called me T'Pring."
"T'Pring." Nyota tested the name on her tongue. It was a unique name, one she hadn't heard before. "That's a lovely name."
"Thank you. Now, please let me be. I must return to my prayers."
"But you need help. You have a child to look after. You need to remain healthy for the baby."
The priestess' head dropped and her shaking hands hovered above the swell under her robes, but she dropped them to her sides. "Thank you for your offer, but your help is not needed." She looked away, her hand swiping at her face.
Nyota moved off the mattress and knelt in front of the woman. She was struck by the ethereal beauty of the woman, even in her weakened state. Flawless skin, gorgeous dark eyes. Alluring upswept eyebrows. "You'll die. And your baby will die."
"Then that is how it shall be." She turned her body so that she sat completely on the bed, her legs tucked underneath her, and brought her clasped hands to her chest, closing her eyes. A mantra of words tumbled from her lips.
Nyota released a slow breath and stood. She wasn't going to be able to reach the fallen priestess anymore. She looked around the small cabin, at the dirty walls. She needed out. She moved to the door and opened it.
A man stood on the other side, an officer of Robau's. He was one of the men assigned by Robau to protect Nyota's cabin, to ensure that no one dangerous neared the door. "Can I help you, Miss?"
"Can you take me to Captain Robau?"
He nodded.
Nyota inhaled deeply, breathing in the salty sea air. She stood on the deck of the Khosaar, gripping the iron railings with both hands and staring out at nothing but water for the first time in her life. The sun was high in the sky, warming the air around her, dousing her in a delightful warmth. This sun was something else she rarely saw within the city limits of her home of Dahhana'Kahr. There was far too much pollution from the factories. The smog could block the sun or obscure it for days.
“You wanted to see me?”
She turned around and saw Captain Robau standing before her, hands clasped behind his back. He smiled kindly at her.
She nodded. “Do you have any medical supplies on board?” She was going to help T’Pring whether the priestess wanted it or not.
An eyebrow rose. “Are you injured?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s not for me. It’s for-“
A man yelled from the crow’s nest, shouting to the captain below. Robau and Nyota looked up. The man pointed off the starboard bow. There was a dirigible, a former seaworthy ship tethered to a massive patched balloon with countless ropes.
“Shit!” Robau yelled. He turned to Nyota. “You need to get back to your cabin.”
Nyota’s eyes moved from the dirigible to the captain, her heart racing. “Why? Who are those people?”
“Armada.”
The dirigible floated above the Khosaar and a rope was dropped to the deck of the sea vessel. Robau shouted orders to his men, telling them defend the ship, to fire if needed.
A svelte man, his waist fused with powerful hind legs of an antelope, sailed down the rope above. He landed behind them, graceful and composed. Robau and Nyota spun around to look at him. Nyota gasped.
The pirate held a pistol out. Above him, his comrades began their descent onto the ship. "You the captain?" he asked Robau.
The captain stepped forward, placing himself in front of Nyota. "What the hell are you doing on my ship?!"
The antelopian pirate fired the pistol--Nyota screamed--and Robau flew back, falling to the deck. Bullet wound to his head.