Fic: Altered Trajectory (cont.)
Feb. 16th, 2010 07:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalStill rolling along...
“Yes,” Rufus said, trying not to growl. Goddess, he didn’t need paranoia over Hazel’s understandable observation on top of everything else he was feeling. “The question is what he’s doing out here playing pirate? Is he working undercover for External Affairs? If that’s so, why have they been so keen on contacting the Galapagos when one of their agents already has apparently?”
“If that’s so, why did he shoot you in the first place?” Hazel asked. “Maybe he really is a pirate.”
“Impossible. From what I know of his personal history he’s the last person to become a freebooter. He was actually captured by an infamous Vulpine pirate about six years ago and had to be ransomed by his family with the help of the Softpaws.”
“Weirder and weirder,” Hazel said. She gave him an appraising look. “How’s your stomach?”
“I’m hungry, but the idea of eating prison rations makes me want to vomit. Again.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that at least. Let me help you up and show you the rest of our quarters.” Hazel got her shoulder underneath Rufus’ and helped him through the door of the bedchamber. To his surprise, he found the rest of their quarters resembled a family suite on a Vulpine liner, with several doors leading to other bedchambers and one to a spacious fresher. The central room was occupied by comfortable looking conversation pit built around a sophisticated holographic entertainment center, while to one side a dining area equipped with a complete autokitchen.
“Are we prisoners or honored guests?” he asked, dropping down into a seat in the dining area while Hazel punched up a tea and a hearty breakfast for them both.
“Prisoners,” Hazel said. “The door leading out of here is locked down tight and I’ve been told that even if we could crack it open our collars would stun us the moment we walked across the threshold.”
“Air vents?” he asked, looking down at his omelet with trepidation. He wished he could find an excuse for Hazel to turn down the lights. For some reason their brightness wanted to make him shut his eyes and cover his head, despite his headache finally disappearing.
“Mac tried that yesterday. Apparently the vents are actually trapped. They brought him back here in heavy shackles and gave a polite warning to not try it again.”
Rufus felt himself grow a bit more hopeful. “I don’t suppose they muzzled him?”
Hazel laughed. The sudden sound almost made him jump. “No such luck.”
Rufus took a breath and put his reaction aside. Instead he concentrated on digging into his meal, nearly two days without food overriding the lingering cramps from being sick earlier. By the time he finished off the dish of bacon and pancakes that Hazel had only partially eaten, he was feeling a bit calmer and considerably stuffed.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Better,” he confirmed.
“I was hoping getting a good meal into you would. When was the last time you took your meds?”
He grimaced. “The morning before the second time we went down to Bolt Hole.”
Hazel looked like this just confirmed what she already knew. “How are you holding up?”
“Badly,” Rufus admitted. “I can feel the Need in my gut, and I’m ready jump at the slightest sharp sound or other harsh stimulation.”
She frowned. “That doesn’t sound like the effect of Juno withdrawal.”
“No, it’s my PTSD I think.” He gritted his teeth. “I hate being in the thrall of something I bloody well know is an irrational reaction.”
Hazel nodded and reached across the table to clasp his paw in her own. He held onto it tightly
TBC
“Yes,” Rufus said, trying not to growl. Goddess, he didn’t need paranoia over Hazel’s understandable observation on top of everything else he was feeling. “The question is what he’s doing out here playing pirate? Is he working undercover for External Affairs? If that’s so, why have they been so keen on contacting the Galapagos when one of their agents already has apparently?”
“If that’s so, why did he shoot you in the first place?” Hazel asked. “Maybe he really is a pirate.”
“Impossible. From what I know of his personal history he’s the last person to become a freebooter. He was actually captured by an infamous Vulpine pirate about six years ago and had to be ransomed by his family with the help of the Softpaws.”
“Weirder and weirder,” Hazel said. She gave him an appraising look. “How’s your stomach?”
“I’m hungry, but the idea of eating prison rations makes me want to vomit. Again.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that at least. Let me help you up and show you the rest of our quarters.” Hazel got her shoulder underneath Rufus’ and helped him through the door of the bedchamber. To his surprise, he found the rest of their quarters resembled a family suite on a Vulpine liner, with several doors leading to other bedchambers and one to a spacious fresher. The central room was occupied by comfortable looking conversation pit built around a sophisticated holographic entertainment center, while to one side a dining area equipped with a complete autokitchen.
“Are we prisoners or honored guests?” he asked, dropping down into a seat in the dining area while Hazel punched up a tea and a hearty breakfast for them both.
“Prisoners,” Hazel said. “The door leading out of here is locked down tight and I’ve been told that even if we could crack it open our collars would stun us the moment we walked across the threshold.”
“Air vents?” he asked, looking down at his omelet with trepidation. He wished he could find an excuse for Hazel to turn down the lights. For some reason their brightness wanted to make him shut his eyes and cover his head, despite his headache finally disappearing.
“Mac tried that yesterday. Apparently the vents are actually trapped. They brought him back here in heavy shackles and gave a polite warning to not try it again.”
Rufus felt himself grow a bit more hopeful. “I don’t suppose they muzzled him?”
Hazel laughed. The sudden sound almost made him jump. “No such luck.”
Rufus took a breath and put his reaction aside. Instead he concentrated on digging into his meal, nearly two days without food overriding the lingering cramps from being sick earlier. By the time he finished off the dish of bacon and pancakes that Hazel had only partially eaten, he was feeling a bit calmer and considerably stuffed.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Better,” he confirmed.
“I was hoping getting a good meal into you would. When was the last time you took your meds?”
He grimaced. “The morning before the second time we went down to Bolt Hole.”
Hazel looked like this just confirmed what she already knew. “How are you holding up?”
“Badly,” Rufus admitted. “I can feel the Need in my gut, and I’m ready jump at the slightest sharp sound or other harsh stimulation.”
She frowned. “That doesn’t sound like the effect of Juno withdrawal.”
“No, it’s my PTSD I think.” He gritted his teeth. “I hate being in the thrall of something I bloody well know is an irrational reaction.”
Hazel nodded and reached across the table to clasp his paw in her own. He held onto it tightly
TBC
