Post by Cid on Jun 2, 2010 21:28:51 GMT -5
Darkness reigns at the foot of the lighthouse.
~Japanese proverb.
---
Starlines streaked past.
They'd returned to the moist womb of deep space and left a boatload of turmoil in their wake. "They," as it were, was not everyone, and that still sent quick shrills up the good cap'n's spine every time he found himself alone and with a moment to himself. The Wraith's heart was not whole, and if he could fashion a patch made of hate, and cover that gash 'til it stopped spewing emotions, he'd do it. But it wasn't hate that drove him anymore--not even greed or lust or envy or any of the fine sins the lord crafted for men--no, it was much harder to quantify.
Maybe it was because he was doing what was right. Just now, in the midst of his morning gruel, the captain choked and grabbed for his napkin. All alone at the head an enormous table, he tried to right himself.
Good?
Why, the thought was nefarious. The Wraith doing right by someone--no longer he and his own? Why, it curled his nose hairs to consider such a bizzaro reality. The crew, if they were to ever discover such a thing, would have a fine laugh. Everything they did, they assumed, was out of pure malice and need for cold, hard currency. No one stopped to consider an ulterior motive.
But he was doing it for Sonja and Addie. He was getting them their justice that he knew, deep down, they so gravely deserved. Maybe he was fighting for all those who died young in the cold, vastness of space without a pathetic fool like himself to remember. Everyone deserves there own bookmark in history, whether is be a simple "last words" or their very own chapter with headers and fancy fonts. So many perished without a single utterance or purpose, a single memorable line. So many died quietly amid the roiling chaos of screams and explosions. It broke his heart.
Riley knew he'd have his own chapter, though, and it'd definitely include that inglorious Lighthouse. That wretched place where men went to slowly die. A rotunda of useless beings, going about their useless lives as though it meant something. As if they were doing right by Him. Yes, Him. Why so many beings cared about a fluffy, floating head like Him, was something the Wraith found infuriating. What they should be worrying about was him, and his righteous vengeance and long, long memory.
He was about done his nasty porridge, and the rest of the men were beginning to file into the mess and fill their plates with the works. He took the time to memorize all their faces and smooth the ridges out of his mustache.
He was glad he no longer had a moment to himself.
~Japanese proverb.
---
Starlines streaked past.
They'd returned to the moist womb of deep space and left a boatload of turmoil in their wake. "They," as it were, was not everyone, and that still sent quick shrills up the good cap'n's spine every time he found himself alone and with a moment to himself. The Wraith's heart was not whole, and if he could fashion a patch made of hate, and cover that gash 'til it stopped spewing emotions, he'd do it. But it wasn't hate that drove him anymore--not even greed or lust or envy or any of the fine sins the lord crafted for men--no, it was much harder to quantify.
Maybe it was because he was doing what was right. Just now, in the midst of his morning gruel, the captain choked and grabbed for his napkin. All alone at the head an enormous table, he tried to right himself.
Good?
Why, the thought was nefarious. The Wraith doing right by someone--no longer he and his own? Why, it curled his nose hairs to consider such a bizzaro reality. The crew, if they were to ever discover such a thing, would have a fine laugh. Everything they did, they assumed, was out of pure malice and need for cold, hard currency. No one stopped to consider an ulterior motive.
But he was doing it for Sonja and Addie. He was getting them their justice that he knew, deep down, they so gravely deserved. Maybe he was fighting for all those who died young in the cold, vastness of space without a pathetic fool like himself to remember. Everyone deserves there own bookmark in history, whether is be a simple "last words" or their very own chapter with headers and fancy fonts. So many perished without a single utterance or purpose, a single memorable line. So many died quietly amid the roiling chaos of screams and explosions. It broke his heart.
Riley knew he'd have his own chapter, though, and it'd definitely include that inglorious Lighthouse. That wretched place where men went to slowly die. A rotunda of useless beings, going about their useless lives as though it meant something. As if they were doing right by Him. Yes, Him. Why so many beings cared about a fluffy, floating head like Him, was something the Wraith found infuriating. What they should be worrying about was him, and his righteous vengeance and long, long memory.
He was about done his nasty porridge, and the rest of the men were beginning to file into the mess and fill their plates with the works. He took the time to memorize all their faces and smooth the ridges out of his mustache.
He was glad he no longer had a moment to himself.