OOC | WORLD | BESTIARY | TROUPE | PÆDAGOG
“The tenacity of life is mind-boggling. We keep finding it where no one thought it could be.”
Neil deGrasse Tyson, Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey
PROLOGUE
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. It was the struggle to maintain beliefs when sensuality drove one to cast them away. So, too, was it the spring of hope and the winter of despair. They had everything before them, and yet nothing at all, and all were going direct to Heaven, or else all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. But it was fleeting, and Fate has the bad habit and good humor to change her mind on a whim.
Max said nothing as he received his shirt. Esma had washed it. The blood was gone. His fingers brushed against her own as the still-damp material met his palms, but he let the moment fade. She was raw in emotion after whatever transpired (or obviously didn’t transpire) between her and the Tinkerer. She didn’t need more baggage.
“I’ll be at the rig,” he solemnly ventured while tucking the shirt’s tails into his trousers. The implications remained undefined. He’d be there if she needed to talk some more, and that was where he’d be if she needed to avoid him.
The door’s latch caught, the sound itself much too loud in the still apartment. The Rom’s fingers pulled her shawl more tightly against her body. Things had gone wrong; guilt plagued her despite a solid hour crying against Max’s shoulder.
Perhaps the friendships, still so brittle in their infancy, were unsalvageable? Her eyes roamed the dark room to settle on Temir, the momentary subject of her scrutiny.
It was difficult to say if he was asleep or not. He hadn’t stirred yet, not even when the shower hissed to life. Keskin’s dark form had curled itself into a spiny ball near one end of the couch, perhaps anticipating Temir’s gentle touch. The paddelus harbored no ill will towards him; Esma, a woman deeply intertwined with both the creature and the nature he stemmed from, took that as a hopeful sign. Her protective companion would not be so relaxed if Temir was inherently deceitful or bitter towards her.
She took Max’s advice, approaching the couch quietly to lay a hand on the Tinkerer’s shoulder.
“Time to go,” she gently roused him, “Max wants to head out early to scout. But you have time for a shower. Aubrey still isn’t out of bed.”
Temir grunted in response. Esma’s smooth voice rolled over him and he felt the urge to rouse himself at once and apologize for his prior behavior. His body - subject to enough torture for one week, let alone a day without sleep - refused, however, and he waited until she departed the room before stretching and getting up from his troubled sleep.
What had gone wrong? His body still felt the heat, though it dissipated. It was a burning sensation, a rising urge that began in the tips of his fingers and toes. It crawled up his arms. It flushed his cheeks. It consumed his senses until he was totally unaware of what was going on. He’d nearly broken his vows - though he had almost broken them to Esma, and if that counted for anything then he might’ve nearly - rather blasphemingly - said it was worth it.
It was this moment of weakness that the tinkerer pondered as he let the water run over him in the shower. As he soaped his tired muscles and paid careful attention to his greasy, blackened knuckles, it was this he pondered. Even the grunts of pain that he let out as he scrubbed his tender face, still swollen from the earlier fight with Esma’s cousin, could not dissuade him from thinking about what he’d done.
Well to be fair, they’d both done it, hadn’t they? I mean it’s not like Esma had been telling him off before, and he was fairly certain when she did that had been more for his benefit than her discomfort with the whole situation. She must have been enjoying it, right?
He wished he knew more about women. A few minutes in a club or talking to someone in a bar would’ve been worth his time.
And what of Max? This question, even more forbidden and blasphemous than the last, was pondered as the tinkerer dried his hair and combed it. It buzzed through his brain as he donned his still-dirty clothes, grimacing at the squishing of oil and grease against just-cleaned skin.
The question remained with him as he returned to the living room to grab his gear and walking stick, and saw Esma kneeling to press her forehead against Keskin’s soft neck.
“I’m sorry,” was all that Temir could muster, followed by an awkward scratch of the cloth obscuring the back of his head.
The fellowship moment between Tengrist and being dissolved, and the paddelus’ quills lifted in greeting.
“Temir,” the Rom’s cloak rustled as she rose to address him. No heavy opinions. Max had cautioned her about them. He had to know, though. He shouldn’t blame himself. “Temir, I-”
“Morning folks,” Aubrey greeted with a warm, morning smile, filled with more optimism than anyone had a right to have as he closed in on the two. He was going to comment on the lovely daybreak chill and what lied ahead for the afternoon, but a yawn caught his words and he closed a fist to hide his gaping maw. He mumbled an ‘excuse me’ right after, and instinctively combed his sandy blonde hair through his fingers.
Losing track of what he was going to say, Aubrey took quick notice that he might have interrupted something private. The Rom’s blush clouded her cheeks a crimson shade. He hesitated to inquire, feeling as though it was better to move ahead rather than shadow them. If it was concerning the job, likely Devine or someone else would fill him in later. Not letting the moment get awkward, Aubrey’s smile widened and looked to Esma, “Thank you for inviting me into your home. I don’t have anything of equal to repay you, but I’ll get us some coffee on the way to the lot, so see you guys there.”
“Oh,” Esma attempted a cheerful expression, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Y-yes. Coffee would be a lovely exchange.”
The smile never wavered and Aubrey gave a curt nod to them both and set off ahead with a hum. The moment’s spell had broken, however. Awkward silence filled the space between Temir and Esma.
“Temir,” she made another attempt to alleviate his tensions. “Last night. It was-” Wonderful, of course. A beautiful exchange that surely delighted her god. “-Thank you. I mean that. You-”
“No, no it was amiss of me to-” Temir began, attempting to dispel any notion of what he’d done last night as noble. It was nothing but selfish and he certainly hadn’t her best interests in mind when he’d begun to explore the finer points of her neck and mouth.
Before either party could explain themselves, despite their best efforts, another intrusion - this one unexpected - thwarted attempts to soothe. It arrived in the form of a small boy’s infectious energy as he threw open the apartment door. His ebullience stilled as he beheld his mother, but he wasted no time in seeking her embrace.
“Sener!” Laughter bounded after his name as Esma’s arms enveloped him. “For Tengri never burdens the heart with sorrow without offering double the joy!”
The tinkerer took a step back at the little intruder, offering an involuntary laugh that sounded as tired as he was. It was nice seeing a child, though - someone not yet ground down by the harsh realities of Rigel.
“So when one departs, know that the spirit is twice lifted when they return,” the boy’s face rose from the cloak’s swaddling material as finished the verse for her. Deep brown eyes opened wider once he caught sight of the Tinkerer.
A prophet? A shaman! Yes, the man looked like one. But it wasn’t the tinkerer’s garb that captured the child’s fancy. Temir’s scarf revealed his eyes and patches of his wind-burned cheeks. To Sener, a child forever marred by the flames of a raider’s attack, he seemed a kindred spirit. Sener’s hand snaked from his mother’s cloak but hesitated just short of his temple. Scar contractures made their home there, the taut skin pulling the surrounding healthy tissue towards them. The flames had claimed a portion of his eyebrow, but they’d never stolen away his dignity.
“There’s a shaman here,” he whispered.
“A devotee of the Cult of the Great Khan,” she corrected. She set the boy free, although not without a stern maternal caveat. “This is Temir Talgat. You will address him as Mr. Talgat, or Sir, if you address him at all. Which you shan’t, unless your advice is requested.”
By this, she meant Don’t make a pest of yourself. The boy bowed and worked his face to an appropriately respectful smile.
Temir raised an eyebrow at the boy’s deference toward him. He certainly hadn’t earned the right to be called anything but his first name, even by Esma’s son. Still, it was nice to know that, even in a land populated by raiders and vagabonds, there was something resembling civility that still grew. Even if it was sparse, rough, and scrub-like.
“Get your things from Uncle’s rig. We leave shortly. South Gate in ten minutes. No questions. Do not be late.”
Though he was no older than ten, Sener understood exactly what was required of him. He proffered a soft acknowledgment, and a polite “good morning” to Temir, before slipping out the door again.
“He comes with us,” Esma wouldn’t hear any protests. “That bad mother’s brat will need someone to help keep her alive. Sener ceased to be a child when his father died. He’s a skilled hunter, and follows in my footsteps as an experienced guide.”
The Rom cast a smile at Temir as she hefted her bag. “He’s also fascinated by your ship. If he annoys, shoo him away.”
“I could hardly give up a chance at educating the young man,” he returned the smile through his mask, eyes crinkling. The appearance of Sener had defused the awkward atmosphere, much to his relief, “A hunter and a guide are always welcome, especially after that ambush.”
He offered an impromptu grimace as his back reminded him that it was still healing beneath Zed’s wonder-foam. Fights like that were mistakes, and the tinkerer certainly had no intention of going through those on a regular basis.
“You said we’d leave soon,” he added, unslinging his pack to check its contents while grasping at his walking stick and shouldering his rifle, “I think it’s best we get there ahead of time to make sure everyone who’s coming along is ready. I have some mechanical checks I want to do on the Bastard - if the twins will let me - before we go. Wouldn’t want him conking out in the middle of the dunes, especially with raiders on our tail.”
Devine didn’t normally smoke, but the prior night’s conversation with the old man had left the drag with more questions than answers. Futures being what they were, he wasn’t sure which direction he would go, let alone realizing he had a direction to start in. Unsettled was an understatement for Devine, but at least he was here, whatever that mean and wherever that lead to.
Everything currently felt grey for him and it was strange that for someone accustomed to uncertain futures, this morning had served a surreal quality that left Devine thinking twice about his prospects. Hence the cigarette - a Djarum - expelled a sharp and sweet scent, it’s harsh feel down his lungs was a welcomed sensation, because at least something felt absolute.
“Nothing like fiberglass in the morning,” Devine murmured to himself, tapping at the bud lightly and watched as the ashes disintegrated and floated off into the morning’s chill air. Crossed legged and comfortable in his seat, Devine had a vantage view atop the rig that was parked close by to the Bastard and the refit technical that was Eira’s.
The view of the oasis afar was almost picturesque, the morning rays that highlighted the streets had captured the silent promise of life, of things to come. It was almost believable, almost tangible, were it not for his aviators that darkened the expansive view and reflected his currently mood.
The drag queen took another inhale of the sweet scent of cloves, letting the smoke escape his cherry red lips slowly while he flicked the strands of his chestnut hair to one side. The scratchy burn that rushed through his lungs again felt good and he reveled in its fleeting absolution.
He crossed his arms, adjusting his posture to the right as he spotted Max headed toward the Bastard. Devine said nothing, being noticed didn’t matter as he knew the others would start ambling to their location any moment now.
The packed gravel under Max’s boots crunched in the early morning stillness. He glanced at the Vagabonds’ vehicles, each quietly parked and awaiting their passengers, before passing them by. Devine’s presence wasn’t lost on him, but there was work to be done before the party left. The Glorious Bastard sat at the lot’s far end.
The hatch groaned as it swung on its hinges, and a sleepy Mia answered in kind. Max snorted. His tongue prepared to take the mickey out of her. And then he noticed she wasn’t alone.
Wait.
Was that-?
Max slapped a palm to his cheek, then muttered curses as it crept upward to brush through his hair. Fuck. Well, yes, she had. And it was Zed. At least, Max presumed that’s who was kipping in the pulldown bed beside his sister. The pants and shirt certainly belonged to him.
The techhead tossed his bag in the rig and quietly closed the door. Too unreal. Much too unreal before morning coffee.
Mathias brushed the sweat off his forehead with a rough sleeve. Hours had vanished into the east, while he and Asli caught up. By the time it was done, the sun, too, had come up, and Asli had laid herself down for a few bare hours of sleep. The naturopath instead had wandered back out to watch the blue-purple-orange dawn.
The rest of the team were, as far as he was aware, still otherwise occupied back at Esma’s, or in a hotel room somewhere. No matter; he’d brought along enough spuds for all. The Bastard’s hood was already liberally festooned with some leftover peels to give the start of the trip some good luck. The rough-looking military man and the girl in the uniform had vanished, but Max and Devine had shown up, and the red-haired woman in the exotic dress was beginning to rise from the chair in which she sat.
Aubrey was the first of the dinner group to arrive, with Esma and Temir at his heels. The trio exchanged nods as they joined, then continued onwards to meet up with whoever hadn't vanished in the night, and as well as those hired to replace them.
“Good morning Max, Devine,” the Rom set her pack beside the Bastard. The guide’s nose wrinkled as she sampled the air. Brine. A storm was rolling in from the west, carrying with it the flavors of the salt flats. “We should go before the weather turns.”
Footfalls on gravel distracted her musings. She lifted her eyes to spot Sener at a full gallop, his bags swinging on his hips and a short staff curled in one palm. The boy’s cloak billowed behind him and he was undoubtedly drawing ragged breaths behind his red scarf. He was also late by a minute, but she wouldn’t hold that against him.
Concealed as he was, and with grave eyes seasoned by time spent in the desert, he carried an exotic air about him. “This is a secondary guide,” Esma waved a dismissive hand his way. She was in no mood to entertain complaints from Devine, either. After all, he’d accepted the bratty little girl.
Devine’s only response was a perked eyebrow. He gave a lasting glance toward the child, back to Esma, back to child again, gauging the boy’s response to the growing silent assessment. Putting those cherry lips back on the Djarum’s, he took a lasting drag of it, exhaling it slowly as the smoke streamed in a faint line toward the morning sky. Devine pursed his lips and remained quiet. The distinctive smell of coffee scented the air, mixed with the cloves, and the drag queen couldn’t help but feel a little bit better for it.
He broke his silence, but it wasn’t to greet the gathering band of misfits. “If you’re gonna bring some coffee, home fry, you’d best have one for all of us.”
Aubrey said nothing, letting the smile do the talking as he handed a cup to Esma. He sipped his own and leaned against the rig.
“Bitch,” Devine rumbled, rolling his eyes behind the aviators.
His stare went back to the kid. Another kid. Clearly this was some kind of Rom joke he didn’t understand (not that he would attempt to). Or perhaps Esma decided to throw shade his way for having a kid on board to begin with. After all, one kid was bad enough, let’s make it a babysitting business while we’re at it, right?
And a secondary guide? How could a child be a guide in this unforgiving lands? It took experience, years of it, and a pitiless attitude coupled with a healthy dose of humility to exist amid whirling dusts. Those that existed here knew the harshest realities of survival, humbled before roving bandits and marauders and greeted by the fury of the sands. Devine didn’t care to know the customs here, but whatever the kid’s usefulness was, it had to start somewhere.
Ah.
Devine quirked his lips; he didn’t need to know the exact relationship the kid had with Esma. Slave, manservant, charge, spawn. Whatever he was to Esma, it was important enough to risk having him here. And as a guide, of a sort; Devine still didn’t see how useful the child could be. He looked at Esma, reminding himself why he had hired her initially.
“Well hello, little man,” the drag queen greeted lightly and crossed his legs, leaning toward his left this time.
He took another glance out, ignoring them all for a moment and mentally took roll call, as it were. Max, Mathias, Esma, Aubrey, Temir, Mia and Zed were here as well (presumably, but Devine couldn’t say for sure) and some bombshell in a fine dress. Skank knew style. Finally, someone he could talk shop with.
“I take it you perras are ready? Although I gotta ask what’s with the midget and the dame. Where, pray tell, do they fit in this?”
“You hardly fit, yourself,” Temir broke his silence with grumbling.
“Your truck blew up, I’d shut up.”
“Enough! Thank you,” came the guide’s snarl, although she was touched by Temir’s willingness to push back against their employer’s persnarketing. “Did you not hear me? A storm is coming. We need to make the outer mark by noon.”
Sandstorms were never uncommon. Most caravans pulled to a halt to pass the time. The Bastard was rigged for the occasion, however. The group plowed onward, heedless of the sands beating against the vehicle’s paint.
The lack of conversation in the cab had lulled both Esma and Temir to doze as the dull scenery swept by. The guide occasionally lifted her heavy lashes to take in their location but, more often than not, it was catch a fleeting glance of the cab’s occupants. Sener and Keskin had secured themselves in the rig’s cargo area, keeping the coppery-haired Calani and Aubrey company, but the rest had piled into the front to take advantage of the Bastard’s air conditioner.
Her lips formed a wry grin as Max’s grumbling reached her ears. Zed sat camel between her and the twin, his knees oft intruding upon the gear lever’s path. Between the shifting fiascos and Mia’s consummate harping from the fold down seat behind him, Max had little reprieve from stress. She was positively crowded, her smaller frame trapped between Mathias and Devine. Soft snoring met her ears; Temir, fast asleep behind her, had obviously not found much rest on her couch. Her eyes darted to the side mirror to catch his reflection, noting his furled brow as his head gently rocked against the rear passenger window.
“I dunno what sand dune ya’ll crawled out from, but if it swirls like sand, blurs your vision like sand, motherfuckas we be in the fucking sand in bumfuck nowhere!”
Devine’s proclamation – the third such one in the last hour – was met with a myriad of groans. Zed unfolded the map and lifted it for all to see, forcing Max to stretch to see outside the windshield, much to his annoyance.
“Because that’s going to help our situation. We’re not even on the right direction, are we?!” Devine’s voice had raised another decibel to shrill harpy level.
“Yes, we are,” Max could feel the hard surface reflected in the rig’s steering.
“You have no idea where we are!”
Zed lifted the map higher.
“Oh great… a sandstorm. A Rigel sandstorm. Imma haunt you bitches.”
“Look out!” Esma’s hand slapped down the map obscuring the windshield to reveal a field of dunes and bitter, wind churned sands dominated by a the dark figure of a man standing squarely in the road
The Bastard’s inhabitants were granted a fleeting glimpse of a jagged scar running across the bridge of the man’s nose before Max’s boot stomp on the brakes roughly lurched their bodies forward. The pedestrian’s icy blue eyes opened wide as the rig’s skull-adorned cattle catcher bore down on him.
“Dibs on his liver!” Mia’s psychopathic delight outweighed her social façade.
Max braced for an impact that didn’t come. The road’s sandy surface offered little traction as the massive vehicle swept into an uncontrollable skid. He felt the Bastard's mass shift, left hand tires briefly thwarting gravity’s pull as they departed the roadway. The driver grit his teeth and stared out the windshield to find the stranger somehow pressed against the glass and obviously screaming. It was only then than Max noticed his own screams mingling with those of the cab’s occupants’.
The rig continued its roll and, although the storm thwarted any view of the horizon, Esma’s stomach told her they were about to tip over. Her hands pressed against her window as Zed slid into her. White sand grains yielded to reveal the road’s dark surface, but the view became occluded by a fine mist. Esma blinked and yelped as something green slapped the window, then another, and another, until the truck’s entire body seemed to ring from the assault of the heavy – fronds?
“Look out!” she gasped.
Max instinctively mashed the pedal. “Holy fucking sh-“
The rig’s anti-lock brakes squealed in protest as its tires sloshed through thick mud. The vehicle’s tail swung from behind it, pivoting them in a full circle. Rain streaked the windows, bathing the hapless pedestrian and cleansing the Bastard of its outward traces of home. Creatures alien by Rigelian standards hooted and growled at the intrusion of the massive metal beast upon their territory, clearly foreign to it. Tires dug into the soft mud made mushy by constant humidity and heavy storms, and the Bastard lurched to a burbling stop as it found itself deep in the middle of a heavy rainforest.
The trunk's engine grumbled and shivered to a stop. Multiple sets of eyes stared over the human hood ornament beyond the glass, their owner's brains uselessly grasping for any possible explanation. Whatever mystical thing had moved them had also seemed to keep the stranger safely upon the rig's hood, but the spell broke and the uninjured man's body painted a long, brown smear as he slid away to land in the filthy water below.
It was well that Max’s reflexes had tripped at that point, as he turned the switch for the truck’s headlights. Unveiled before the tires was a brackish mini-lake at the bottom of an embankment. Palm trees and vines crisscrossed the area, with a small copse of mangroves behind the lake. Behind and beside the rig, the fronds swayed heavily, some broken and hanging limply.
One thing was certain: this was not Rigel-III anymore. The pitter-patter of water, dripping from the long fronds of a tree whose trunk stretched far into the heavens, woke Temir up. Water - that substance worth its weight in gold - or even more, really - was everywhere here. For a moment, the tinkerer thought perhaps he had died. Yes, he was dead, and this was heaven now. Although, why he would be plucked and placed with these Vagabonds - who he barely knew - and not with his deceased friends and family perplexed him.
PROLOGUE COLLABORATORS: Cerillium, Highfort, Mincaldenteans, Swith Witherward, Tiltjuice
