I live! Here, have some Attrition-verse prequel ficlet.
FOR LORA♥
Worksafe; ust
Talvo's bandanna dripped rainwater down the back of his neck in ticklish threads. The islands in the archipelago were an unmappable and shifting collection of sandspits and rocky outcroppings and lagoons, a few sporting freshwater springs that bafflfed geologists and had the Republic accusing the islanders of cult-magic. As opposed to the Republic's magic, which of course was the only right and holy kind. Talvo dropped to his belly and slithered up the dune, saltgrass and succulents releasing spicy sap under his weight. He resigned himself to another night with sand all through his unmentionables.
The ocean was a noisy, demanding beast. It fawned over the islands and spat the air full of salt. Talvo gave it a dirty look over the sloping seawrack-strewn expanse of the empty beach. He didn't even like fish, and he hated boats. The supposed joy of riding the back of something that wanted to fill your lungs with water escaped him entirely, and their tour of the islands yielded sunburns and salt-crusted skin and sand stuck in every possible crease and crevasse, and so far not shit nor bootmark of the Republic's geomancers. But his wizard had been ordered to patrol the islands, and until further orders came in, patrol he would. And where the wizard went, the warband followed.
"Get stuffed," Talvo hissed. The object of his displeasure, a landcrab with elaborate eyebrows, blew bubbles at him. He flicked it away and wiped his hand in the rough grass. As if that were any cleaner. At least the rain kept the mosquitoes in hiding, wretched things.
These sudden downpours were warm as bathwater but left one feeling tacky as if with half-dried sweat. Since this *wasn't* one of the islands that bubbled fresh water, the only available bathing would leave one clean of everything but salt.
"And God farts rainbows," Talvo muttered. The beach was clean of anything more exciting than the delicate twiggy tracks of terns, soon to be pummeled flat by the rain, and, over by the driftwood log, the waterlogged carcass of a gull. Talvo scooted backwards along the same path, pausing every few feet to rake the grass upright. The rain ought to do the rest.
He circled round the far side of the island, a trip encompassing perhaps a quarter-mile. The archers took shifts perched in a screen of blue cacti at the headland, and Talvo, Bunny, Flinders, and Hellar took watch and patrol by turns. The wizard did his little magic-things, staring into space or the tiny smokeless fire or citronella candles, perhaps a little scrying-bowl of tea.
Ancholi had watch, and she didn't bother hailing Talvo, just threw a leather-hilted throwing-knife to the bare left of his foot. He jerked sideways, one of his own throwing-knives in his hand before he could summon a conscious thought. He recognized the knife and tucked his own away. "Acholi! I'm going to fuck you with a cactus."
"Have to catch me first," she jeered. "Potato wedges and steamed fish for dinner again. Gimme my knife."
"Go get it," Talvo snapped. "There's nobody here but us and the fucking bugs."
"I'm charmed you don't count me among their number for once," Acholi shot back, but Talvo had already started up the slope.
The cave was big enough for the entire warband, with perhaps enough room for an extra pot of beans. It smelt of cold stone and salt and the potato-wedges Bunny fried in fish-oil. The thick citronella oil and the wizard’s tea.
Flinders greeted Talvo with a wave and an unfiltered shell of tonguerasping almost-sweet coconut water. Talvo nodded--he'd stopped saying thankyou for such commonplace gestures years ago--and drained it in three long pulls. Nexian curled against the cave wall and repaired a tear in the palm of his fingerless gloves with tiny, careful stitches, his tongue caught between his teeth and one eye squinted almost closed. Talvo hovered near the entryway, dripping, and watched the precise dance of the wizard's scarred red-knuckled hands until Flinders hit him in the face with someone's cloak. "Dry off, lockjaw, before you catch gurkha."
Talvo hauled the cloak off his face and glared, blotting water off his neck and unable to stop his jaw clenching at Flinders' gentle mockery, the soft tone siblings crooned to one another to combat the boredom of a summer afternoon.
He stripped his sodden tunic and slung it at Flinders, who merely caught it and vaulted to his feet with a grace unexpected in one of his bulk. He hung the shirt on a line strung to the rear of the cave, though the humidity brought by the rain would slow the drying.
Talvo whipped off his bandanna and scrubbed it on the regulation-issue undyed cotton cloak. He swiped the cloak over the wet tangle of his curls before re-tying the bandanna.
"Pants?" Bunny said hopefully. Flinders stretched forward to jab his knuckles against her ribs with a goodnatured protest. Flinders did everything with an easy cheer, sometimes smiling at Republican soldiers he was about to stab. Talvo rolled his eyes, dragging off his boots and socks before struggling out of the wet trousers. He threw them all at her and wrapped the cloak about himself. The worn-soft cotten felt good against the leftover chill of the rain. The floor of the cave? More sand. It stuck to his feet, tiny flecks of vexation.
"See anything?" Flinders asked, stroking a fingertip down the deep red of Bunny's neck before moving to hang Talvo's trousers beside his tunic.
"A crab," Talvo said. "Dead seagull. Acholi tried to kill me."
"That would be a no," Hellar said, and returned to whittling clothespegs.
"Your father fucked a goat," Talvo said. Hellar waved his knife.
Grumbling, Talvo skirted the fire and sat as far from Nexian as the cramped quarters would allow. He let his eyes fall mostly-shut, as if he were drowsing into the flames instead of wizard-watching. Nexian squinted at his sewing, firelight and grey stormlight bright in his bi-coloured eyes. Hair-sketched forearms and the twisting blue vein along his wrist. He touched Talvo, once in a while--for casting, or a spell to knit cracked bone. Once Talvo took a fever and woke to find both the wizard's hands cradling one of his. And if he went closer, perhaps Nexian would glance up from his sewing, lay aside his work to cup Talvo's thin shoulders and layer him dry with a spell.
Talvo snorted to himself and shifted. The rain fell in silvery sketches. He made up for his lack of pride with displays of temper, but he'd take what life offered and not fool himself pining after more. A glance back, just one. The heat-haze of the fire gave Nexian a touch of the otherworldly, orange light pooling in the hollows on his face. Warm, close, yes, but out of reach.
Worksafe; ust
Talvo's bandanna dripped rainwater down the back of his neck in ticklish threads. The islands in the archipelago were an unmappable and shifting collection of sandspits and rocky outcroppings and lagoons, a few sporting freshwater springs that bafflfed geologists and had the Republic accusing the islanders of cult-magic. As opposed to the Republic's magic, which of course was the only right and holy kind. Talvo dropped to his belly and slithered up the dune, saltgrass and succulents releasing spicy sap under his weight. He resigned himself to another night with sand all through his unmentionables.
The ocean was a noisy, demanding beast. It fawned over the islands and spat the air full of salt. Talvo gave it a dirty look over the sloping seawrack-strewn expanse of the empty beach. He didn't even like fish, and he hated boats. The supposed joy of riding the back of something that wanted to fill your lungs with water escaped him entirely, and their tour of the islands yielded sunburns and salt-crusted skin and sand stuck in every possible crease and crevasse, and so far not shit nor bootmark of the Republic's geomancers. But his wizard had been ordered to patrol the islands, and until further orders came in, patrol he would. And where the wizard went, the warband followed.
"Get stuffed," Talvo hissed. The object of his displeasure, a landcrab with elaborate eyebrows, blew bubbles at him. He flicked it away and wiped his hand in the rough grass. As if that were any cleaner. At least the rain kept the mosquitoes in hiding, wretched things.
These sudden downpours were warm as bathwater but left one feeling tacky as if with half-dried sweat. Since this *wasn't* one of the islands that bubbled fresh water, the only available bathing would leave one clean of everything but salt.
"And God farts rainbows," Talvo muttered. The beach was clean of anything more exciting than the delicate twiggy tracks of terns, soon to be pummeled flat by the rain, and, over by the driftwood log, the waterlogged carcass of a gull. Talvo scooted backwards along the same path, pausing every few feet to rake the grass upright. The rain ought to do the rest.
He circled round the far side of the island, a trip encompassing perhaps a quarter-mile. The archers took shifts perched in a screen of blue cacti at the headland, and Talvo, Bunny, Flinders, and Hellar took watch and patrol by turns. The wizard did his little magic-things, staring into space or the tiny smokeless fire or citronella candles, perhaps a little scrying-bowl of tea.
Ancholi had watch, and she didn't bother hailing Talvo, just threw a leather-hilted throwing-knife to the bare left of his foot. He jerked sideways, one of his own throwing-knives in his hand before he could summon a conscious thought. He recognized the knife and tucked his own away. "Acholi! I'm going to fuck you with a cactus."
"Have to catch me first," she jeered. "Potato wedges and steamed fish for dinner again. Gimme my knife."
"Go get it," Talvo snapped. "There's nobody here but us and the fucking bugs."
"I'm charmed you don't count me among their number for once," Acholi shot back, but Talvo had already started up the slope.
The cave was big enough for the entire warband, with perhaps enough room for an extra pot of beans. It smelt of cold stone and salt and the potato-wedges Bunny fried in fish-oil. The thick citronella oil and the wizard’s tea.
Flinders greeted Talvo with a wave and an unfiltered shell of tonguerasping almost-sweet coconut water. Talvo nodded--he'd stopped saying thankyou for such commonplace gestures years ago--and drained it in three long pulls. Nexian curled against the cave wall and repaired a tear in the palm of his fingerless gloves with tiny, careful stitches, his tongue caught between his teeth and one eye squinted almost closed. Talvo hovered near the entryway, dripping, and watched the precise dance of the wizard's scarred red-knuckled hands until Flinders hit him in the face with someone's cloak. "Dry off, lockjaw, before you catch gurkha."
Talvo hauled the cloak off his face and glared, blotting water off his neck and unable to stop his jaw clenching at Flinders' gentle mockery, the soft tone siblings crooned to one another to combat the boredom of a summer afternoon.
He stripped his sodden tunic and slung it at Flinders, who merely caught it and vaulted to his feet with a grace unexpected in one of his bulk. He hung the shirt on a line strung to the rear of the cave, though the humidity brought by the rain would slow the drying.
Talvo whipped off his bandanna and scrubbed it on the regulation-issue undyed cotton cloak. He swiped the cloak over the wet tangle of his curls before re-tying the bandanna.
"Pants?" Bunny said hopefully. Flinders stretched forward to jab his knuckles against her ribs with a goodnatured protest. Flinders did everything with an easy cheer, sometimes smiling at Republican soldiers he was about to stab. Talvo rolled his eyes, dragging off his boots and socks before struggling out of the wet trousers. He threw them all at her and wrapped the cloak about himself. The worn-soft cotten felt good against the leftover chill of the rain. The floor of the cave? More sand. It stuck to his feet, tiny flecks of vexation.
"See anything?" Flinders asked, stroking a fingertip down the deep red of Bunny's neck before moving to hang Talvo's trousers beside his tunic.
"A crab," Talvo said. "Dead seagull. Acholi tried to kill me."
"That would be a no," Hellar said, and returned to whittling clothespegs.
"Your father fucked a goat," Talvo said. Hellar waved his knife.
Grumbling, Talvo skirted the fire and sat as far from Nexian as the cramped quarters would allow. He let his eyes fall mostly-shut, as if he were drowsing into the flames instead of wizard-watching. Nexian squinted at his sewing, firelight and grey stormlight bright in his bi-coloured eyes. Hair-sketched forearms and the twisting blue vein along his wrist. He touched Talvo, once in a while--for casting, or a spell to knit cracked bone. Once Talvo took a fever and woke to find both the wizard's hands cradling one of his. And if he went closer, perhaps Nexian would glance up from his sewing, lay aside his work to cup Talvo's thin shoulders and layer him dry with a spell.
Talvo snorted to himself and shifted. The rain fell in silvery sketches. He made up for his lack of pride with displays of temper, but he'd take what life offered and not fool himself pining after more. A glance back, just one. The heat-haze of the fire gave Nexian a touch of the otherworldly, orange light pooling in the hollows on his face. Warm, close, yes, but out of reach.