Post by goufcustom on Dec 25, 2009 23:44:21 GMT -5
Christine stood alone the headquarters in New Amsterdam, gazing into the distance. She was well wrapped in a furry parka. It was only September, but it was already snowing heavily. She shivered, but even so the cold could only distract her thoughts so much. She was worried about Jarvis. He was intolerable, anti-social, and even very good at verbally shutting people off, but... well, something hadn't quite been right lately.
The Gilfaethwy patroled through the waters in front of her. Even though the setting sun was to her back, it still caused the sea to shimmer gold, reminding her vaguely of the fields of wheat back home. As the Hillock did its rounds, her eyes wandered to the Himalaya-class carrier. Everyone made fun of the names they'd been given, and not long ago, she'd asked Jarvis about them.
"My dear Ms. McNeil," he'd answered. "Mythology all over the world is respected and used as a source of inspiration to men. We name things after Thor, or Zeus, or Mars, and people love it. We can even go more obscure, name a fast little ship after Odin's horse Sleipner; call one after Gawain, Lancelot, Galahad; or even name a ship after bloody Japanese gods with their impossible names, and people think it exotic. But everyone's in a tizzy over mine. And that, my dear, is because no cares about the Welsh anymore. For no particular reason, they've faded to near obscurity.
"And I... I've always felt a connection to one of the stories, of a man named Lleu Llaw Gyffes. His mother cursed him three times. First that he would never have a name until she gave him one. Her brother Gwydion tricked her into naming him Bright With A Deft Hand. Admittedly loses something in translation. Her next curse denied him weapons, unless given by her. Again, she's tricked into breaking it herself. The last prevent him from finding a human wife, and so he and Gwydion make one for him from plants.
"My mother is rather passive. No trouble there. But my father, Lord Ackart... the man means well, but I feel like Lleu at times. Like I'm never to have something unless he gives it to me. And so looking out to that ship that bears his name... I have hope that I might someday stand up, and lay claim to manhood, to a life not given to me by my father..."
He had never opened up to her like that. It was unsettling in a way. She turned her gaze to the west, where Jarvis was somewhere looking to find the mysterious White Base. He'd left the fleet behind on purpose, saying they'd never make it past the patrols with so large a force, that it wouldn't be safe.
That she wouldn't be safe?
She offered up a prayer. That Jarvis wouldn't be reckless searching for his own path. That he wouldn't put the White Base crew above his own life.
That he would come back, safe.
The Gilfaethwy patroled through the waters in front of her. Even though the setting sun was to her back, it still caused the sea to shimmer gold, reminding her vaguely of the fields of wheat back home. As the Hillock did its rounds, her eyes wandered to the Himalaya-class carrier. Everyone made fun of the names they'd been given, and not long ago, she'd asked Jarvis about them.
"My dear Ms. McNeil," he'd answered. "Mythology all over the world is respected and used as a source of inspiration to men. We name things after Thor, or Zeus, or Mars, and people love it. We can even go more obscure, name a fast little ship after Odin's horse Sleipner; call one after Gawain, Lancelot, Galahad; or even name a ship after bloody Japanese gods with their impossible names, and people think it exotic. But everyone's in a tizzy over mine. And that, my dear, is because no cares about the Welsh anymore. For no particular reason, they've faded to near obscurity.
"And I... I've always felt a connection to one of the stories, of a man named Lleu Llaw Gyffes. His mother cursed him three times. First that he would never have a name until she gave him one. Her brother Gwydion tricked her into naming him Bright With A Deft Hand. Admittedly loses something in translation. Her next curse denied him weapons, unless given by her. Again, she's tricked into breaking it herself. The last prevent him from finding a human wife, and so he and Gwydion make one for him from plants.
"My mother is rather passive. No trouble there. But my father, Lord Ackart... the man means well, but I feel like Lleu at times. Like I'm never to have something unless he gives it to me. And so looking out to that ship that bears his name... I have hope that I might someday stand up, and lay claim to manhood, to a life not given to me by my father..."
He had never opened up to her like that. It was unsettling in a way. She turned her gaze to the west, where Jarvis was somewhere looking to find the mysterious White Base. He'd left the fleet behind on purpose, saying they'd never make it past the patrols with so large a force, that it wouldn't be safe.
That she wouldn't be safe?
She offered up a prayer. That Jarvis wouldn't be reckless searching for his own path. That he wouldn't put the White Base crew above his own life.
That he would come back, safe.