RVA: The Red Vixen at Sea, Old Pain
Mar. 20th, 2015 08:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalFor a few seconds Melanie could only sputter. Then she slapped her palm down on his shoulder, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from Rolas as she shouted, “That’s not funny! I thought you were dead!”
Rolas winced and cried out, “Ow! Milady, please!”
Oh, Mother Goddess, maybe he really wasn’t joking. “Rolas,” she said carefully, willing herself to be calm. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Er....” Rolas furrowed his brow, eyes narrowing in sudden pain. “I was sailing…. with you… I suppose.”
“And?” Melanie prompted.
“Storm must have come up…” He hissed softly in frustration. “It… it doesn’t make sense though. Windskimmer is my boat. I don’t bring people on it. Who are you anyway?”
“Rolas, look at your right wrist. Then look at mine,” she said.
He raised his arm, looking like it hurt to focus his eyes as he examined the silver and gold commitment band around his right wrist, the intricate inlay design identical to the one around her own. It had stayed firmly on his arm even as the storm had thrown him from the Windskimmer, the lock holding it in place. The key to it as sitting in her jewelry case back at the manor, as he held the one to hers. His gaze went from his band to hers, noted the matching designs. Then Rolas let out a surprised “Huh!” and let his arm drop down.
“I’m Melanie. Your wife,” she said. She worried a fang with her tongue briefly, feeling her stomach churn again. “You really don’t remember?”
“I believe you, I think. I don’t have any reason not to.” Rolas looked at her again, without any sign of recognition. “How did we meet anyway?”
“Um…” Now, she quickly realized, was not the time to start explaining that entirely too complicated story. “Look, we can worry about that later. I’m sure…. I’m sure everything will come back to you soon. For now we need to get you back to your sailboat and check you over, all right? The com system is out, but I’m sure someone will be looking for us soon.”
Rolas nodded carefully. With Melanie helping he was able to get to his feet, and she was able to keep him steady for the brief walk back to the Windskimmer. Getting him back aboard was more difficult, requiring her to clamber back into the boat and then pulling for dear life until Rolas was able to swing a leg over the edge. She was able to help him down into the cabin and then the tiny shower cubicle to scrub the salt from his fur and the blood seeping from his cuts.
After perhaps twenty minutes Rolas was cleaned, dried, dressed in fresh shorts, and sitting up very patient-like in his bunk. From his nest of pillows and blankets he watched her as Melanie consulted the first aid kit’s database on head wounds. There wasn’t much there aside from tips on stopping bleeding and a strong recommendation to call Emergency Services immediately. On amnesia there wasn’t a blessed thing. I have to get him to hospital soon, Melanie thought with worry. The lump on the back of his head was substantial, and she didn’t like the idea of it remaining untended.
Almost as upsetting was the way Rolas looked at her with passive curiosity. Occasionally he glanced at the band around his wrist and then to hers, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was married. But mostly he was silent, aside from thanking her politely as she pressed a cup of fresh water on him to drink to make up for the salt he’d been swallowing. It was so entirely different from the passionate, sometimes frustrating, husband she knew that it was almost frightening.
“Alright,” she said cautiously, “you’ve taken a pretty big blow to the head. So I want you to take it easy. I’ll take care of everything for you, okay?” She sat on the bunk opposite his, the fear induced adrenaline rush she’d been operating on since spotting his body floating in the water completely dissipated. Now Melanie just wanted to lay back on bunk and sleep. A deep lassitude ran through her, making her feel as if the planet’s gravity had suddenly doubled.
“Alright,” Rolas said, his curious but passive expression not changing. Melanie felt the ruff on the back of her neck rise up. He wasn’t arguing with her. Not insisting that he could take care of himself. Not shaking off any attempts to help him. She actually let off a brief mental prayer of thanks to the Mother Goddess when he finally asked, “How long have we been at sea?”
“About three days,” she replied. Melanie then gave him the coordinates to the island they were beached on, which made Rolas frown.
“This is a restricted area under the Natural Habitats Law,” he said. “We shouldn’t be here.”
“I didn’t have any choice,” Melanie said, grateful for this brief moment of querulousness from him. “I don’t know anything about sailing, so I set the boat’s computer to head towards the nearest piece of land to get out of the storm.”
“Have you called for help?” he asked.
“The rectenna got torn off the mast in the storm,” Melanie told him. “We can receive nav data from the planetary GPS system, but that’s about it.”
He grunted. “Coast Patrol will find us after a bit.”
“That’s what I thought,” she replied. Melanie clasped her hands in front of her. “Now has anything else come back to you?”
“No. I’m sorry, milady.” Rolas replied. A quick verbal quiz while she’d been helping shower had determined that he could remember his own name, date of birth, and the names of Salli and his parents. But Melanie’s own identity had remained a blank for him.
“What’s the last thing you have a clear memory of?” she asked.
“Um…” Rolas rubbed the side of his head in frustration, his face turning down into a frown. “I was arguing with… someone… White pelt. Always in good shape. I know his face. I do know it.” He bit his lip, then his face lit up in comprehension. “Dack! Dack Cannonloader! I was arguing with him, I remember that now.”
Melanie felt some her tension ease. “Yes, that’s right. He visited us at the dock, just before we set sail. I wouldn’t call our conversation an argument though.”
Rolas’ brief expression of triumph faded. “At the dock? No, this was aboard the cruiser we were assigned to. Jen was there too…” His face turned stricken. “Oh, Jen…”
“Who is Jen?” Melanie prompted.
“Jen was… a friend. Like Dack.” He tugged at the commitment band around his wrist again. “That’s why this thing was such a surprise. I figured if I was going to marry anyone it was going to be Jen and Dack.”
“Jen and Dack…?”
“Well, yes. I know it’s unusual among Nobles, but not unprecedented.” Rolas’ frown deepened. “I… why I can remember this when I can’t…” He pressed his paws to his temples, looking like he was in deep pain. “It was…. last week of my Service tour. Yes. Jeneia and Dack were both Military caste. Once I’d finished my mandatory three years, I’d likely never see them again. So I had to ask them, both of them, if they’d stay with me.”
"But that was just recreation, with no commitment implied or desired," Rolas had once said to her. Rolas, you are such an utter, complete, pathetic liar.
Knowing that the next part was going to hurt, she asked, “What did they say to you?”
Her husband’s expression was bleak. “Jen loved me. I loved her. Dack loved me. I loved him. The problem was: they didn’t love each other. Which they told me together, when I was too thickheaded to believe their individual answers. I.... didn’t want to accept that. Couldn’t. I argued with them. Pleaded. Shouted.” Rolas rubbed his palms against his eyes. “I was such an ass.”
Melanie could just see it. Poor Rolas, all of twenty-two or twenty-three, if he was doing his mandatory three years of Service, with all the young anxiety normally felt by somewhat that age. Never mind his deeper sense of inferiority when it came to competing with his sister’s accomplishments. He opened his heart to them both, she realized. And they both stomped on it. My soul hurts.
Rolas winced and cried out, “Ow! Milady, please!”
Oh, Mother Goddess, maybe he really wasn’t joking. “Rolas,” she said carefully, willing herself to be calm. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Er....” Rolas furrowed his brow, eyes narrowing in sudden pain. “I was sailing…. with you… I suppose.”
“And?” Melanie prompted.
“Storm must have come up…” He hissed softly in frustration. “It… it doesn’t make sense though. Windskimmer is my boat. I don’t bring people on it. Who are you anyway?”
“Rolas, look at your right wrist. Then look at mine,” she said.
He raised his arm, looking like it hurt to focus his eyes as he examined the silver and gold commitment band around his right wrist, the intricate inlay design identical to the one around her own. It had stayed firmly on his arm even as the storm had thrown him from the Windskimmer, the lock holding it in place. The key to it as sitting in her jewelry case back at the manor, as he held the one to hers. His gaze went from his band to hers, noted the matching designs. Then Rolas let out a surprised “Huh!” and let his arm drop down.
“I’m Melanie. Your wife,” she said. She worried a fang with her tongue briefly, feeling her stomach churn again. “You really don’t remember?”
“I believe you, I think. I don’t have any reason not to.” Rolas looked at her again, without any sign of recognition. “How did we meet anyway?”
“Um…” Now, she quickly realized, was not the time to start explaining that entirely too complicated story. “Look, we can worry about that later. I’m sure…. I’m sure everything will come back to you soon. For now we need to get you back to your sailboat and check you over, all right? The com system is out, but I’m sure someone will be looking for us soon.”
Rolas nodded carefully. With Melanie helping he was able to get to his feet, and she was able to keep him steady for the brief walk back to the Windskimmer. Getting him back aboard was more difficult, requiring her to clamber back into the boat and then pulling for dear life until Rolas was able to swing a leg over the edge. She was able to help him down into the cabin and then the tiny shower cubicle to scrub the salt from his fur and the blood seeping from his cuts.
After perhaps twenty minutes Rolas was cleaned, dried, dressed in fresh shorts, and sitting up very patient-like in his bunk. From his nest of pillows and blankets he watched her as Melanie consulted the first aid kit’s database on head wounds. There wasn’t much there aside from tips on stopping bleeding and a strong recommendation to call Emergency Services immediately. On amnesia there wasn’t a blessed thing. I have to get him to hospital soon, Melanie thought with worry. The lump on the back of his head was substantial, and she didn’t like the idea of it remaining untended.
Almost as upsetting was the way Rolas looked at her with passive curiosity. Occasionally he glanced at the band around his wrist and then to hers, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was married. But mostly he was silent, aside from thanking her politely as she pressed a cup of fresh water on him to drink to make up for the salt he’d been swallowing. It was so entirely different from the passionate, sometimes frustrating, husband she knew that it was almost frightening.
“Alright,” she said cautiously, “you’ve taken a pretty big blow to the head. So I want you to take it easy. I’ll take care of everything for you, okay?” She sat on the bunk opposite his, the fear induced adrenaline rush she’d been operating on since spotting his body floating in the water completely dissipated. Now Melanie just wanted to lay back on bunk and sleep. A deep lassitude ran through her, making her feel as if the planet’s gravity had suddenly doubled.
“Alright,” Rolas said, his curious but passive expression not changing. Melanie felt the ruff on the back of her neck rise up. He wasn’t arguing with her. Not insisting that he could take care of himself. Not shaking off any attempts to help him. She actually let off a brief mental prayer of thanks to the Mother Goddess when he finally asked, “How long have we been at sea?”
“About three days,” she replied. Melanie then gave him the coordinates to the island they were beached on, which made Rolas frown.
“This is a restricted area under the Natural Habitats Law,” he said. “We shouldn’t be here.”
“I didn’t have any choice,” Melanie said, grateful for this brief moment of querulousness from him. “I don’t know anything about sailing, so I set the boat’s computer to head towards the nearest piece of land to get out of the storm.”
“Have you called for help?” he asked.
“The rectenna got torn off the mast in the storm,” Melanie told him. “We can receive nav data from the planetary GPS system, but that’s about it.”
He grunted. “Coast Patrol will find us after a bit.”
“That’s what I thought,” she replied. Melanie clasped her hands in front of her. “Now has anything else come back to you?”
“No. I’m sorry, milady.” Rolas replied. A quick verbal quiz while she’d been helping shower had determined that he could remember his own name, date of birth, and the names of Salli and his parents. But Melanie’s own identity had remained a blank for him.
“What’s the last thing you have a clear memory of?” she asked.
“Um…” Rolas rubbed the side of his head in frustration, his face turning down into a frown. “I was arguing with… someone… White pelt. Always in good shape. I know his face. I do know it.” He bit his lip, then his face lit up in comprehension. “Dack! Dack Cannonloader! I was arguing with him, I remember that now.”
Melanie felt some her tension ease. “Yes, that’s right. He visited us at the dock, just before we set sail. I wouldn’t call our conversation an argument though.”
Rolas’ brief expression of triumph faded. “At the dock? No, this was aboard the cruiser we were assigned to. Jen was there too…” His face turned stricken. “Oh, Jen…”
“Who is Jen?” Melanie prompted.
“Jen was… a friend. Like Dack.” He tugged at the commitment band around his wrist again. “That’s why this thing was such a surprise. I figured if I was going to marry anyone it was going to be Jen and Dack.”
“Jen and Dack…?”
“Well, yes. I know it’s unusual among Nobles, but not unprecedented.” Rolas’ frown deepened. “I… why I can remember this when I can’t…” He pressed his paws to his temples, looking like he was in deep pain. “It was…. last week of my Service tour. Yes. Jeneia and Dack were both Military caste. Once I’d finished my mandatory three years, I’d likely never see them again. So I had to ask them, both of them, if they’d stay with me.”
"But that was just recreation, with no commitment implied or desired," Rolas had once said to her. Rolas, you are such an utter, complete, pathetic liar.
Knowing that the next part was going to hurt, she asked, “What did they say to you?”
Her husband’s expression was bleak. “Jen loved me. I loved her. Dack loved me. I loved him. The problem was: they didn’t love each other. Which they told me together, when I was too thickheaded to believe their individual answers. I.... didn’t want to accept that. Couldn’t. I argued with them. Pleaded. Shouted.” Rolas rubbed his palms against his eyes. “I was such an ass.”
Melanie could just see it. Poor Rolas, all of twenty-two or twenty-three, if he was doing his mandatory three years of Service, with all the young anxiety normally felt by somewhat that age. Never mind his deeper sense of inferiority when it came to competing with his sister’s accomplishments. He opened his heart to them both, she realized. And they both stomped on it. My soul hurts.
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no subject
Date: 2015-03-21 02:21 am (UTC)And getting over a bad three-way relationship.
no subject
Date: 2015-03-21 08:32 am (UTC)It wouldn't be Rolas if he wasn't feeling angst about something. :)