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Shaking with laughter

So, this is what happens when you shoot me an ask. You see, admin-fritz sent an ask, which I have yet to fill out, for an AU and how it would work. Me being myself, I got on skype and we talked about this AU. And talked. And then I decided to write an entire story about it and call it a ‘drabble.’ This is a long fucking drabble.

Basically it sums up to this- I liked a thing, the character liked a thing, and so I wrote a giant story for an AU that isn’t going to happen on tumblr but I still very much want it to be a thing and I like these two characters and their interactions way too much to be healthy and yeah. Moral of the story: if you even allude to being okay with me writing things about/with/concerning your character, I will probably do so and do so with vigor and enthusiasm that is intense. Oh, and give you stories like this.

So, here’s a rotg Golden Age Au. Things of note: This takes place after an rp coloneldahana and I plottted out. In that Rp, Michelle made some rather glaring mistakes involving fearlings, darklings, and her children. The ship ended up in dry docks for weeks. Phoenix ended up in the infirmary for days, and several men and women lost their lives. Michelle was one of them. The official report says ‘fearling accident’ but in truth, she was killed before she did something truly stupid involving human sacrifice and getting her kids back. However, because Phopho has some interesting magic of her own, Michelle didn’t stay dead very long, and woke up on an abandoned planet some years later. This is what happens after that.

When she first saw him, it was outside the great berths of the spaceport. She was young, living as a thief and charlatan and just barely escaped from her most distressed of situation. She saw him briefly- paraded about by the upper royals and all the fancy bigwigs of the government. He glowed with magic, glowed with the ethereal shimmer of space that originated deep within space. At his side was a younger boy-child, just barely hovering above the ground in a rather relaxed, almost playful manner.

She knew from gossip on the streets that this boy was the childlike beam of light given human form, and the young man next to him was the creation borne of his light. She was surprised to see that the rumors were true, although it was a pity that they were less elaborate in reality than they were in tale. She had been rather looking forward to seeing a beautiful, awe-inducing monstrosity- there weren’t nearly enough of them at the spaceports. You usually just got great ugly monstrosities who were less awe-inducing and more gag-inducing.

This first meeting, and it was only barely considered a meeting as both parties only saw each other from a far distance and both deemed it unimportant. Both parties had forgotten about it, one entirely and Michelle only until decades later, only remembered after a long, fretful night wondering where she had seen hair like Noah’s before.

The next time she saw him and he saw her, she was on a quest, a warpath, a mission. He was still youthful, with frame that called to mind a beanpole and a face that had not aged in twenty years. She was not impressed with this young man, especially when he sat down for a reading. He was a quiet sort, at least in front of her. It was a usual reading, doom and death being prophesied and her own nerves raw from the constant waiting that was required as the ship was at dock. His hair was familiar though, which was one of the lone things that kept her from shooing him away from her table.

After that, she saw him every time her ship docked at one of the main planets of the central system. Every. Single. Time. Without fail. The ship would dock and as soon as shore leave began and she set herself up in a tiny corner to do some readings, he’d show up, asking softly for a one, with this quiet curiosity to see what was in his future. After the first, oh six or so readings of doom and despair, she stuck to the smaller things. Finding thirty credits on the floor on Tuesday if you kick a stone, or the fact that a soldier on your ship was depressed, might want to go check on him before he gums up the engine, and oh hey you’ll be attacked on Thursday, should probably post another person on that watch. Eventually, this too became boring, there’s only so much of the little fortunes that are useful and most of the time they were null and void when the time came to pass. He found them amusing enough, though. Much more pleasant than watching her try to form death into words and pain into nouns. So, as a sort of game, she began digging into his past. She didn’t know why he tolerated it; perhaps he thought her a charlatan rather than a true mage. Perhaps he just wanted to see how good she was. She had told him she was not a seer by trade and that these little readings were her way of gathering extra coin and information. He would laugh and tell her to gather away, see what wool she could pull from his past and then spin that into a thread that became a story.

When that grew to be too much, she would switch topics. Even his patience had a limit and she did not yet feel comfortable enough prying too deeply into his past. Why there were rooms of brothers that lay dormant with dead eyes and keening souls half made, or why the child-like light was both a precious brother and a niggling worry to him. She didn’t want to pry into the complicated mess that was the Royal Family. There were things too sore for her to touch and when it became time to switch topics, she always had one that she loved to use. It was extremely funny to bother him about it, and he always had such a wonderful reaction.

Her favorite topic to switch to, of course, was his lovelife. It was colorful and varied and was one she always found entertaining, and it was a great deal safer than prying into the affairs of the royal family, or what he thought of the little living light that breathed life into him. It was certainly more acceptable than asking about the other golems that were made, like him, to be filled with the living light but were never finished. It was much less invasive than any of her probes into his being, to see what magic made him move and how he was alive. It was a safer topic, despite her keen interest in what made him a person, for she hadn’t seen a golem like him ever before. Still, all those topics were off limits if she dwelled upon them for more than a minute.

So, his love life became one of amusement to her. And she would tease him mercilessly about it.

He would blush, and very prettily at that, when she remarked on a conquest to be at the next ball, and would flush furiously as she ran constant commentary on exactly who he was picking up, how is comrades would respond, and offer potential witty remarks to respond with. He would flush harder when she would comment on his training and the men and women who ‘dropped by’ to watch the ‘troops.’ He took all her comments in good humor, occasionally returning a few of the harmless barbs on her, asking about her rather monochromatic life. She would spin epic tales of her spinsterhood, ranging from how the cook actually almost flirted with her before realizing she was not the head engineer, to artful tales of how the albatross on the deck had taken to following her around and giving her courting gifts of space debris. She had a very very active love life, compared to his. So active it left him laughing at her tales of debauchery, of late night conquests of books and the oh so scintillating tales of how she spent all night with Corporal Dahana. Doing paperwork. Positively licentious.

She didn’t learn his name until many years later, when she caught him on her way to lunch. Without a second thought, she invited him along and they talked of things that weren’t the future, or at least not one she was paid to see. Prior to that, she had been calling him ‘Emmit’ in her head, much like the spell used to give cold clay warm life. She knew enough about him to know he was a construct, a golem, an artificial human. Albeit not one of metal or machines like the androids of the south. Like the golem, he was very deliberate in his actions, calculating things like they were battles for victory or fights to won. Yet, he was still a very warm individual, once you got past the years of military training and the inbred social niceties that the royalty of the inner courts demanded of all those who were in immediate contact with them. She never liked those airs- the one time she had given a reading to one of the houses, one of the moon-kings of nowhere, she had found him obnoxious and annoying.

So they had lunch, and it was so pleasant she asked if she could see him for lunch again next week, and then the week after that and so forth until her ship finally was repaired and he called away to whatever duties he did. She didn’t see him again for many, many years after that. So many, in fact, she thought him dead. There had been a war, you know. One that almost devastated the galaxy. A lot of her friends were dead, and she just assumed he was one of them.

It happened that many years later, she met a man in the darkened side streets on the spaceport she called home. She also called the small dark shop her place of employ too, but that wasn’t nearly as important as seeing the almost luminescent glow of pale hair and a swagger that seemed too much familiar. Something caused him to stop suddenly and look her way, but she was glad he did.

He looked surprised, and different. His hair was longer than it had been, but still had the same silky glow to it as the first time she saw him. He hadn’t changed too terribly much, no surprise puberty for him. Just a broadening of the shoulders with new muscles for different work and a confidence about him that sometimes eased into cockiness. Magic flickered around him like a territory fish, and she could already tell from this distance that he had a great amount of ink set into his skin. It was strange ink, unlike the usual things used by the tattooists. No, it was magical. Very magical and strong and able to take on the inner light that exuded from his skin and was his source of life. She smiled, flushing slightly as he waved a hand in caution greeting and then began to walk towards her.

He drew closer and she realized that he had matured about the eyes as well. Then again, most had. It was still odd to see it in his face though, and he had such a young face, even though it was now covered up by the most striking change of all. A bloody beard. The young man had finally seen fit to grow some facial hair and it was such a difference from before that Michelle couldn’t help but laugh upon seeing it. He took it in good humor though, laughing softly as well while his eyes looked over how she too had changed.

Dark gray was streaked through her own hair, but through the majesty of an unknowable magic, the severe lines that had creased her face were gone. Gone were the worry lines and the pursed wrinkles about her mouth. Gone were the small laugh lines that had been slowly swallowed up by stress. She had become an odd mix of youth and age, and she would appreciate the loss of wrinkles and the artful changes of her hair color more if it the age didn’t manifest as aches and pains in her joints whenever she drew away from the light of a star. She was tied now to stars and their life giving energy. She had never wondered what it would be like to be a plant, but she had a feeling this was very close to what it was like.

Her biggest regret was that it meant no more travelling the voids of space. The pain was just too great for her to go very far, and she didn’t feel like meeting Sir Death once more, nor so soon after their last meeting.

Still, it had been entirely too long since she had laughed and she was very glad of their chance meeting. They retreated to her dingy dark apartment, where weak tea was brought out and years worth of conversation caught up on. Her stories mainly contained stories of her clients and the area around her, throwing a murky mist up anytime he brought up the golden army and her last known whereabouts with them. There were rumors that he had heard, of course, but no solid fact to trust. She wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. She didn’t know if she would ever be ready to talk about that.

He left hours later, and she thought that was the last of him she’d see for many years. Instead, not a month later, he walked into her shop with a wink and a sly pickup line and a small package of baked goods from down the street. She ignored the wink and pickup line, but accepted the treats, provided he stay and tell her of his travels. He did, with another grand tale following the first as they worked their way through the sweet delights of confectionery goodness.

The next month, it was the same, although sans treats and with a more bawdry pickup line, requesting a reading in exchange for alternative methods of payment. She laughed and had him help with rearranging the furniture. It was a far more useful method of payment than he had hinted at, and his reading was all the better for it, what with her being able to see the cards by the neon lights outside her window.

The next time he came with baked goods again, yet another pickup line, and stories that lasted long into the night. She had a bottle of wine stashed away and they revisited memories that could not be mentioned without such a succulent loosener of the tongue. They were sad stories and war stories and stories about things far in the past. Memories that were bittersweet and ended with him sleeping on her couch and her in her armchair.

This continued for months, then the months rolled into a year, then two. Soon she could spot his ship coming in from her balcony, identifying it out of the hundreds that came and went every day at the ports. She would sing, sometimes. She would croon old folksongs as the ship left, giving blessings and small spells of luck to keep the hull intact and speed his return. Most of the time they didn’t stick, falling off before his next return to the spaceport. However, sometimes they stayed put, and she could see the softly glowing sigils in the night sky as they returned.

Her business picked up once her sigils started sticking. They brought luck, the sailors said. Luck and protection. She didn’t really know if this was true, but most of the captains swore up and down the port that there were fewer engine breaks or accidents. She didn’t believe it, but would occasionally gift the sigils to friends of Noah’s. She didn’t believe any of these tales it until Noah dragged her down to the dry docks, where his ship was settled up for monthly repairs.

Magic glowed off the prow where silven faces and twisting nymphs curled and coiled like a tattooed storybook. There were half-written phrases of poetry and fairy tales, of adages and proverbs and songs that trailed off into the curves of the ship. She blinked up, stunned as she watched the silver lines brighten and gleam as she got closer, practically singing with joy as her fingers brushed the hull.

She hadn’t had magic like this in years.

It had all burned up in her fight with Dahana. Over the years, she had recovered some of her smaller magics, but this? This was big magic. She couldn’t do big magic anymore. At best, she could do the basic herb-witch spells or common urban witch charms. She could do a charlatan’s impersonation of telling fortunes or low-level hearth spells to avoid burns or keep things warm. She could charm an oven door to close smoothly for the baker or the woodworker’s tools to never need sharpening. Small things. Not… Not magic like this. Magic like this was out of her grasp. Or it had been.

“I don’t understand.” Was all she said, hand drawing back and being held to her chest like she had burned it. Silver lines crossed around the ship’s bow and coiled in her presence. The warm hands on her hips and the chin resting on her head were comforting and familiar. Comforting enough that she settled back against him and crossed her arms, tucking her hands close as she stared at the berth above her. The spell was complex, but not incomprehensibly so. She can see where her sigils planted the seeds, and where the beliefs of the crew watered and mulched them. It was a living, growing protection spell.

“They’ve been spreading out. Every time we leave atmo, there’s another line, another image. They even croon sometimes, folk songs, mostly, but sometimes love songs~”He teased, tweaking her side before wrapping arms under her arms and around her in a gesture that was too close. To intimate. She couldn’t figure out if she was comfortable with the gesture or if she wanted to step out of his hold. Her thoughts cut off as he continued talking though. “ There are songs for wellbeing and songs about grand adventures and safe returns. Always when we look, when we clean the hull of debris, there are more lines, more shapes and shades of silver, like a growing tattoo. Or like vines.”

He went on to tell her stories of deep space. Stories that made her ache with the desire to be out in space, out where the darkness was so deep she could almost feel primordial power in it. He told of the work he and his crew did and the ghost stories from the crew about the songs deep in the hull.

She didn’t step foot on the boat.

She knew she wouldn’t get off.

After that, she grew restless in his absence, and even more so once he returned with more tales of space. Never had the call of space had never been so strong before. She had thought it a calling she had learn to ignore, to tune out. She had felt this in her youth, once. It was long before she had her first two kids, and long before she tethered herself to a planet, before she had tethered Riverside to a planet. That planet no longer existed, and Riverside was untethered yet again, but she hadn’t thought to tie it to the spaceport. It wasn’t home. Not yet. Probably not ever.

It was the first spring since they had met up again that he asked her to join his ship as the crew’s Space-witch. As much as she wanted to see the empty void of space again, she declined. She could not go, and no matter how her heart ached to see the dark void again, she knew better than to press her luck.

The next time he was in port was during high summer, when the heat made the buildings groan and made the night sky shimmer with undulating waves. He was at her door, looking cool as can be in the heat. She envied him; she was almost melting with the closeness of the buildings and the way the heat made everything close in on her in suffocating haziness. He asked her again to join his crew, and he looked so eager to take her away, to help her pack what little was in her home and whisk her away into the deep of space on some grand adventure. Pain twinged in her chest as she yet again declined. Instead of the soft sadness that he had expressed the first time, he merely nodded, a grim determination settling into the lines of his jaw. She wondered if he saw the way her eyes flitted over the ship and how they watched the stars with longing. He probably did. He saw a lot more than he used to, and she was worse at hiding her own thoughts from others. She was too old and tired to keep secrets now.

He arrived a third time, now in the deep of autumn, when the crisp bite of cold was beginning to whistle down the alleyways and the street vendors begin selling warm bread and hot stew in foam cups. He comes to her door a third time, and doesn’t it always happen in threes? Just like the story books he came and he asked her to join his crew. For a third time, she declined and instead of leaving he looked at her and asked why.

She was caught so off guard she didn’t respond, only stood there staring at him as she tried to figure out what he meant. Slowly, so slowly she stepped aside, inviting him in with a small motion of her hand. Tea was made and stories were yet again told. Rumors became fact which became truth. She told of her split with the golden army and how it was less a split and more a great tearing and how she could never face them again, even if they were alive. It was not pretty and even now her hands shook as they gripped her teacup in white knuckled distress. She told of the fight with Dahana, her mistakes, her sins, the way she would have sacrificed the entire god damned ship for her kids. She talked about the fight, how things got out of hand.

She told him how she died. How she died and then was back, with the look of a panicked and not-star-possessed Dahana looking down at her, terrified. At how she felt Riverside pull her into its grasp and spit her out somewhere else. How she was younger and older at the same time. How traveling in space now came with restrictions- she needed starlight to survive. She needed light lest her joints ache and her body begin the rapid slide into age and decay. How death stalked her in the void of space and despite that, her heart ached to be out in the darkness of space, on the waves of the deep.

He listened, and held her hand when the her distress grew too great for the teacup. When her grief and guilt were stronger than the wall she had built up in the last decade. He listened through the night and up until the sun was peeking up above the buildings and the noises of the town were beginning to wake up.

He listened.

The next day, after both got some much needed sleep and rest and time to think about the night before, he returned. He came with a few of of his crew and she was bundled into the ship. It was a trial run, they said. To see how long and far they could go without her getting sick. They went out on a short two-day job, and all seemed well. Then they picked up a weeklong job, and that went as well. From days, to weeks, to months it kept growing longer and longer, with their voyages into space going deeper and deeper.

Then a whole year was spent in the void and nothing bad happened. It felt… freeing. Her job was always shifting too, since her witchcraft was only needed in specific instances. She learned the sailors trade and the cooks trade and the sail-maker’s trade and whatever else was needed. She learned these tasks with a joy she had not felt in years. She was part of the crew and she had never felt so much at home.

Although, this wasn’t to say she didn’t enjoy time with Noah. She still enjoyed tea with the captain about once a week, where they sat and talked and spoke of their week and anything else that caught their attention. It was with great amusement to the rest of the crew that she remained oblivious to something that was glaringly obvious. She was being courted, and had been for many months. The crew had bets on it. Technically Noah said, he had been courting her for the past two years, she had just grown daft and blind in her old age. Looking back on his actions and what she knew of him, she couldn’t really deny it. He had been painfully blunt in his solicitations. Painfully blunt. Sufficed to say, she wasn’t as blind and daft the next time he greeted her with a bawdy pickup line and baked goods and an interest in learning his fortune

His readings were still as interesting as ever, especially with the cards spread out on the tattooed canvas of his back, shaking with each bout of laughter as she told him what the future had in store for him.

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