Ashes & Mist: A Rough Landing

[x-eidolon.livejournal.com]

Essex's plan is carried out and Rachel Kinross-Dayspring arrives in the alternate dimension in a rather inconvenient manner.



The sun was hanging low in the skies of Madripoor just minutes before it took the remaining plunge below the horizon. Mothers hurried young children into houses, behind the safety of closed doors and drawn curtains. Already the moon was midway through the darkening sky, languidly urging Lowtown to abandon its daytime slumber and embrace the dark cover of the night. As always, the city’s inhabitants needed little urging to take to their bottles, petty crime and lurid behaviour.

But down by Buccaneer Bay, something out of the ordinary was happening.

A cloud of dust was kicked up by the wind and it hovered and swirled, dancing across the ground. It seemed to gain momentum as more dust particles were raised off of the ground, and to any onlooker, it looked almost like the beginning of a miniature tornado.

At first, young Billy merely watched from his perch by his father’s prone body, humming a wordless tune as he enjoyed the breeze. He had been taught from the cardboard box that had been his cradle to keep his head down and his nose out of other people’s business; to ignore and feign ignorance in the face of absurdity was a skill he had mastered before he learned how to speak. Ignorance was bliss.. Especially when it involved the rich, the powerful, and the freakish. It was the only way to survive street living with a gormless drunkard for a father and no mother in sight.

It was kind of difficult, however, to pretend that one had not noticed the way the wind picked up dust and seawater. Or the way red pricks of light started appearing, glowing brighter in intensity with every passing second, hovering around a coalescing form amidst the chaos and randomly dipping in and out of the shifting dust and water.

Boats shifted restlessly at their docks in the suddenly choppy water and bits of litter were swept across the bay. Little Billy shielded his face from the wind with his arm, eyes squeezed shut as he thumped at his father’s chest with his fist, shouting to be heard over the howling wind: “Pa. PA! OI! PA! WAKE UP!”

The lout of a man, however, had downed far too many beers, and having passed out a mere half hour ago was in no way capable of being upright or even conscious. So wee Billy curled up into a ball and huddled into his father’s side, trembling and praying that he would live to see his eighth birthday, even if his father could not seem to care less.

Someone somewhere seemed to have heard his fervent mental pleas as the wind abruptly dropped, its velocity plummeting to zero in the span of a thought as a loud thump was heard -- the sound of a body hitting the ground. Tiny Billy peered across the Bay over his father’s beer belly, wide dark eyes pausing, and then widening, as the dust settled back onto the ground. Because there on the now damp floor lay the body of a girl. A very naked girl.

Quiet Billy grabbed the gunny sack his father had been using as a pillow, ignoring the resulting grumble with practiced ease as he inched his way forward and then, giving up all attempts at stealth, ran up to the crumpled body on the floor.

She was lying on her side, face covered by a shock of vivid red hair that had been cut to rest below her jawline. Her body was marked and riddled with various scars, and while shy Billy had intended to cover her with his father’s sack, he could help himself. Squatting beside the girl, he traced with his fingers the white lines that had been carved into her side, slowly mouthing the word formed on her tan skin from the side of her chest down to her waist -- the priest at the local church taught classes on Saturdays and sometimes he could attend them.

“Berh-dern.”

Poor Billy shrieked as eyes snapped open, pinning him with a frighteningly green stare as strong fingers closed around his wandering wrist.

“SORRY! Sorry! I din mean to, Miss. Plis don’ kill me. I’m sorry!” He babbled, squirming in her grip, tears leaking from his eyes which he kept averted and scrunched closed. Tugging uselessly at his trapped hand, petite little Billy sucked in a deep breath and prepared to howl his heart out; he had developed quite the set of lungs by selling hot dogs in the stands of soccer games.

But the woman did not give him the opportunity to display his talent as she released his wrist, only to grab him around the mouth from behind him to stopgap any noise but a muffled protest.

“Hush. If you’ll be quiet, I’ll let you go,” she spoke into his ear and terrified Billy could feel the cold shiver that ran up her body from a gust of sea breeze. “Nod if you understand.”

The moment fingers were eased from his lips and jaw, the dark-haired boy scrambled away, wide-dark eyes turning back to stare at her only when he was out of her arm’s reach and then some. She had, by then, picked up the gunny sack and was holding it against her front, vivid green eyes staring at him, glancing away only for a second to his father’s comatose form before darting back to pin him in place.

“You are trained in mind protection, child?”

Stupefied Billy gaped at the woman. “N-no?”

She frowned, and seemed to stare harder at him, raising two fingers to press at her temple as she did so. A frustrated look came across her features, which hardened after a moment or three.

“Where’re we?” A blank look was her only response. She tried again. “What is this place?”

“Pirating Bay,” he said, ‘Buccaneer’ being a word his seven-year-old mind could not retain nor tongue pronounce. “Lowtown.”

“In Madripoor?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” obliging Billy nodded, his stare turning curious as he studied the strange, naked lady who had appeared before his eyes in a way he had never seen before. And trust him, he had seen a lot of weird shit that went on in his dirtbag city-country.

She met his stare with a blank one of hers.

“Think you could get me clothes, young’in?”

“Uhm. Yah,” he nodded, turning his head to survey his father for a moment before turning back to the strange woman. “But what do I get in return, huh?”

The woman laughed, and sweet Billy suddenly thought that she looked pretty, nevermind that she was scarred in odd places, dirty and strange beyond belief.

“A hot meal and a night’s rest on a proper bed.”

And very, very nice too. For an alien and all. Charming Billy ran forward to grab her arm, mindful of the sack she held tight against herself, but never once noticing the lurking figure by one of the storage containers at the side.