Juryrigged > Works > Writings > Moonlit Walk

The waves crashed against the shore, lolling in the still air of the night. There was a slight breeze that swam in wisps under the gentle caress of illumination from the full moon above, a fully bright glistening teardrop in the inky black of space, and the silent vigilant of the stars high above in their constellations in heaven. The water splashed up along the sand in strength, its tendril-like fingers grasping along the earth pulling itself higher and higher in white foam until its strength ebbed and receded, leaving the white tipped water to slide back abated into the churning mass of its existence.

The breeze stirred the air that smelt of the fragrances of the ocean, a deep salty feel to it. The waves rolled and split, washing along up the length of the beech, destroying any trace of the footprints being left in the surface being left behind by the figure that walked the shoreline. The figure was that of a woman with a lithe, but still shapely, form. She walked barefoot, her toes sliding into the wet sand easily. The pale illumination of the moon above caressed the locks of golden flaxen hair the drifted over smooth shoulders down to the small of her back, with a light breeze drifting through their lengths, playing gently and idly.

The woman had eyes that were a light violet in hue, giving her an intensity few could match. She was draped in a sheer purple nightgown that did little to hide her figure beneath it. The nightgown itself danced and rustled with the turmoil of the passing breeze. Her gait was carefree as she enjoyed the night air, though her reason for being out was observable enough.

Earlier that night, there had been bright flashes of green and red above the planet in the light sky, signaling that actual war was being waged. She had seen from her house the remains of a fighter flying through the atmosphere, burning up like an asteroid only to collide with the beach a ways off. She wanted to investigate this crash, to see what was left of it.

She could see a few remains of the burnt out hulk of the fighter, mostly a black crust upon the once pristine metal of its construct. There were no discernable markings on the fighter, or the bulk of the pieces to it. All it was now was scrap, and not even salvageable at that. The woman sighed deeply, wondering how the battle above had gone. She could have used many of her skills to find out, but she was trying to stay hidden herself while this war between the Royalist Alliance and Chezic'tanian Republic went on. It wasn't safe for bounty hunters, as it had once been.

She began to walk around the wreckage, eyeing each piece as though it were pure gold, watching with an intense eye any trying to pick out any details. Finding none, she sighed again. She began to turn to head back to her house when she noticed something odd about the sand itself. The water had not gotten this high onto the beachhead yet as the tide had yet to rise since the battle, and the woman, now that she looked at the sand, saw a rut heading toward the high-backed cliffs no more than thirty feet away.

The darkness was prevalent near the cliffs, hiding everything from view as the moonlight could not reach into its depths, but the woman thought she could see a figure lying prone and huddled against the rock with her Je'Kenkari eyes. There was someone there, the pilot maybe? The woman thought idly, but it was more than she had had before. She slowly and tentatively began to stalk up the sand, her violet eyes scanning the near black darkness afforded by the cliffs.

Straining her ears to hear past the crash of the waves and the whistle of the wind, she thought she heard the intake of air, albeit, a rather clumsy sound, as though it caused the person breathing too much pain to do so. Throwing caution to the wind, the woman began to advance up the beach at a quicker pace, the skirts of her nightgown flying widely in the wind and darkness.

Now that she was indeed closer, she could see the figure of a man, a human really, lying on his back, his head propped against a rock. He didn't look to be too comfortable, and his eyes were closed. Was he unconscious? She walked closer to him, picking out details as she drew near. She had always thought humans were ugly beasts, or that was how the government portrayed the species, yet here was this man, proving it all wrong.

Now that she eyed him, he was somewhat attractive, with strong shoulders and arms by the look of it, but he was also fairly slim. He was also fairly tall, a little over six feet from how she eyed him. He had an exoticness to him that the woman found intriguing, and she felt drawn to him, to help him despite all the warnings now blaring around in her mind.

Taking a tentative step closer, the woman was met with a most bizarre sight; the man's eyes flashed open, a crystal blue that looked enticing in the moonlight. They held a sense of calm to them, as well as a cold calculating logic that made the woman's spine stiffen. He wasn't unconscious as she had first thought, and was now staring at her. She saw a gun in his right hand now, something that she had missed on her earlier assessment of his form, and the weapon was aimed in her direction.

"Take another step and you won't be walking anymore," the man croaked out through chapped and bleeding lips, his voice sounding listless in the night.

"Don't be absurd," the woman said, trying to sound nurturing, but failing. She was beginning to feel a cold fear coiling in the pit of her stomach. She had known fear before, and had been at point blank with a gun as well, but this man, he frightened her. He was desperate, yet the woman had seen many a desperate man that had shot at her. No, this man was desperate to die, not to live, and that was what frightened her. He was willing to kill her so that he might die.

If captured, he would be a prisoner of war if here was an enemy, and would thus be interrogated. He didn't want that, he wanted to die and take any secrets he might have with him so that none could access them. The fear inside the woman's stomach coiled round and round, making her nauseous.

"Don't move," the man said again, his voice an icy croak filled with malice and intent.

"You need help, though. I can help you," the woman replied, but the man only shook his head, a motion that caused him mass amounts of pain and agony by the look his face no contorted into. He was in severe pain and was refusing help like a stubborn child.

"You need help," the woman said again, pleading while trying to sound stern, but in her own ears all she sounded was frightened, which the man probably thought as well.

"No," he croaked out, but his arm was losing the old on the weapon he had. He was losing strength, and fast at that.

Tentatively, the woman took another step toward him. His eyes were defiant, but his body did not match his minds' anger. He had not the strength to resist now. Taking several more steps toward the man, the woman knelt beside him, looking him over. Now that she was close, she could see that the color of his flightsuit had once been a navy blue. But there was a black stain around his abdomen, a place where his left hand rested firmly, trying to press downward to stave off the bleeding for as long as possible.

"Let me help you," the woman said again, looking into the man's blue eyes, a pleading look in her own violet ones. The man seemed to relent, and sighing deeply, something that caused him great pain, he nodded.

His eyes closed, breathing in heavily again as the woman began to tentatively remove his flightsuit carefully. But, by the time it was off, the man was no longer conscious. His breathing became shallow, meaning he had little left in him. The woman kept working, not letting the fact that this man's life that was in her hands was now slipping away. She would save him, but she needed time, and time was not something she had in abundance.

Looking at the navy blue uniform, the woman now noticed that there were two patches on it. One had the Chezic'tanian Republic insignia on it, which she found odd. It was said that for all the three hundred or so worlds controlled by the Chezic'tanian Republic only three were inhabited by humans, so their occurrence in the military was rare. What made it more perplexing to her was that he also had another patch, this one for the Albeado-Gre'kuquen Military, and no humans were admitted into that.

Sitting on her haunches, eyeing the man, the woman could feel her face warm in a slight blush. What was she doing? The man stirred, inhaling deeply. Reaching up to his collar and finding the zipper under his chin, she began to slid it down to the man's waist, to get a better look at the stomach wound he was afflicted with. Placed the man's left hand at his side, she pulled back the blackened and charred pieces of the flightsuit until she could see the stomach wound.

Nausea took her, and she turned her face away from the sight, bile slowly rising to her throat. His abdomen, what had once been a smooth stomach that had been slightly muscled, was now creased with a deep black gash. Black blood was crusted all around the wound in folds, and several organs could be seen slightly between the grayish looking skin. The man had to be in shock, the woman began to think, panic beginning to rise. There wasn't anything she could really do at this point.

Ripping lengths of fabric from the skirts of her nightgown, the woman ran the lengths behind the mans head and down his back until it was roughly behind the wound itself before tying it tightly in front. This would have to do for now, as the woman, though she was a bounty hunter, had little adeptness in first aid. Standing, she looked at him one last time, a longing in her eyes, before she turned and ran up the length of the beach, her feet pummeling the ground. She would seek out some help from anyone who was willing to keep a secret. She would save the man...

The waves rolled and crashed, flowing and ebbing in swirls. His mind was being crushed, being forced awake when yet his body still cried for sleep. Eyes plastered shut with the trances of a nights sleep, the lids slowly peeled back to reveal a set of crystal blue eyes, eyes that stared out into the ceiling above, lazily tracing the lines before true consciousness could form there. The eyes had a mad look, as though no true mind rested behind them, but this moment did not last long as wakefulness fully took him. As wakefulness came so too did the pain.

The pain was excruciating. His ribs ached, as did every joint in his body. He wanted to scream, to cry out for what he was feeling, but his lips were parched, and his throat was dry from a lack of water. His voice was hoarse, yet still he called, the sound but a whisper in comparison to the roar of the waves beyond. Tilting his head ever so slightly, he found he was in a room, swathed in sheets.

Above him was a plain ceiling that had a crisscross pattern, thatched really, of a deep brown wood. Centered was a fan that slowly, lazily really, turned about, with a single light in its middle that lay dead. The walls were of the same as the ceiling, thatched. The bed was soft, but the pain racking the man's body all but killed the liking for the tenderness. His arms felt bad, as did the rest of him. Nothing felt right at this point.

The man slowly moved himself onto his right side, which turned him away from the wall the bed was placed against. This caused him a severe amount of pain, but it was good to know that he could move. He tried to speak again, but still no sound came. Where am I? was the question that circled in his mind, Why aren't I dead, are at least not near the wreckage of my craft? Placing his leftmost hand to his chest, the man touched his ribs, finding a set of fabric there, bandages secured tightly. This meant that he had been found, but the memory was elusive.

There, always in his mind, was that of a dark figure, standing over him, asking in a sweet voice if he was all right, telling him he needed help, and that this figure would help him. Where was this figure now?

As if drawn out by his thought, a head darted in the door. Engrossed in gold flaxen hair, the face was an image of stunning beauty. With almond shaped eyes a shade lighter than violet, they gave an air of exoticness and intrigue that set the man's body on fire.

The face had a delicateness to it, and the smile fixed upon the face was sweet. Sweat poured down the man's brow as he stared, his eyes wide in fascination with this creature that was now looking down at him. What was she? He tried to stand, forcing his body into a sitting position. This wasn't too good for his conduct, as the woman's face contorted into horror at what she was seeing in him.

The man got up into a sitting position on the bed noticing that he was no longer wearing his own pants but a pair of trousers had shouldn't have had. His feet dangling above the floor, and looking at the woman for a second, a feeling of triumph surrounding him while he sat until his body plummeted to the floor where it collided with the floorboards. He let out a howl of pain, and the woman was at his side, brushing hair from his face, looking him over, her hands, so small slender and delicate, darting along his chest to check the bandages she had set.

"Don't do that again," she said, her amethyst eyes looking like jewels.

The man stared up, a hard look on his face. "Don't touch me," he croaked, his right hand grasping the woman's wrist, squeezing tightly, noticing the white tank top she was wearing that did little to cover her stomach and the shorts she had on as well.

The woman shook her head, and got her hand out of the hold fairly easily, smiling at the man the whole time.

"You'd be dead if not for me. You've been unconscious for the last week and a half," she said nonchalantly, continuing to look the bandages over.

"I said don't. Leave me alone," he said, swatting at her hands. The woman backed off, sitting hackneyed on the floor, looking at him. Why wasn't he dead, like he should be? This woman had just jeopardized herself more than him by him just being here.

The man was a security risk; he knew too much about fleet movements, or where they were to be captured by the Royalist Alliance. If captured, he would put a great deal of his peoples forces at risks, and that was something he couldn't allow. He had three choices, escape from here and find his way back, kill the woman and hide, or kill himself.

The woman was just looking at him now, the only sounds that of the roaring waves crawling up the beach and the fan above that spun lazily above. It was daylight out, this being added by the bright light being filtered through a set of curtains over a window on a wall perpendicular to the door.

"You should have left me to die," the man said, his voice a croak, but still harsh. The woman didn't seem phased by it.

"I couldn't," she replied, just staring back at the man was he lay prone on the floor, sprawled where he had fallen from the bed. He was on his back, his head titled to give him a good view of the woman's figure.

She was slim, but lithe all the same. Everything about her was delicate, and set the man's body aflame. What am I thinking? She isn't even of my species, and I shouldn't even be here to be thinking these thoughts! The man thought silently, wanting to turn his gaze onto something else, but the woman's eyes held him captive.

His mind a whirl, the man thought himself through a set of steps. To kill her, he would need strength. To escape and get to a ship, he would need strength. In both cases, it meant movement, and currently, he was about as immobile as a person could come. The woman didn't move, just sat there. Her breathing was slow, while the man's breathing was quick and raspy, sounding labored with each breath.

"What do you want with me," he finally said through clenched teeth. He needed answers, and the questions were overwhelming him. He had always been in control, always. And now, he had none of that. He was like a child, and he hated it, especially since his childhood hadn't been a good one.

The woman sat, studying the man's face, mulling that question over in her mind. It took an extremely long amount of time before she did answer, though. "I don't know, I just saw you were hurt and thought I'd help."

Pushing himself upright with great effort and pain, his teeth clenched the entire time to keep from screaming, he sat up, stared back at the woman, and replied heartlessly, "Yes, and you didn't think about any of the repercussions of even having me around, did you."

Cold logic killed whatever good spirits the woman had been in.

"If I hadn't been there, you would have been dead!" she said sounding forlorn. Her voice rent the man asunder with the ache of pain resounding in it, and the man wished to take back what he said, but it was too late now, as well as to know why should sounded so deeply hurt. What did it matter to here whether he had lived or died?

Cold logic gripped him again, this time with more malice. "And by keeping me alive you doom yourself and me! Not to mention my comrades!"

His voice was almost a scream. He was in hysterics now. It didn't help that the woman had begun crying, too. Why was she crying, and what about? Not like she didn't expect this, did she? He felt sick to his stomach, and not from the sheer pain he was currently feeling. No, the pain his body was experiencing was still there, but there was this different pain.

Forcing himself to stand, the man glared at the woman, staring down at her. Her sobs quieted as she looked up to see this man now on his feet, albeit, rocking on his heels trying to maintain his balance. It made for a comical sight, and defused the tension that was palpable in the air. A small smile split her lips, making the woman all the more beautiful. The man lost his balance and collapsed onto the bed, falling back far enough to hit his head on the wall.

A grunt was the only sound he made as his skull intercepted with the wall. Jumping to her feet, the woman darted to his side, only to see him continuing to glare at her with distaste. The woman drew back a pace, pulling her arms around herself while looking down at him.

"You've been out for over a week," she said, her voice a whisper. Now the force of those words hit him. Out for over a week? But that means she's kept me hidden that long!

"Has anyone-"

"Has anyone come looking for you?" the woman said, arching a thing eyebrow over her violet eyes. The man nodded dumbly, only to get the same response from the woman. She was absolutely infuriating. She thought this was funny now. I guess I just might have to kill her… "I told anyone that came looking that I hadn't seen anything. Works well, I guess. You're still here, aren't you?"

"Yeah, no thanks to you," the man said, mumbling under his breath, but the woman's pointed ears were good. She scowled, and now it was his turn to smile, an icy thing that made the woman's stomach feel like something had crawled in and was not changing position with that smile.

"Glad you appreciate my help so much."

The man no longer looked like he was paying attention though, his eyes closed, his breathing regulated and slow. He looked like he was trying to calm himself, and that any pain he might be in, he currently wasn't feeling it. It was odd to the woman. She had looked up as many Je'Kenkari healing techniques as she could in hopes of helping the man. Some had worked, while others proved futile. She wanted to know which would work on the man, on humans in particular, but directly searching for that information would reveal her intentions, so she hadn't gotten everything that might have proven useful.

But here was the man, looking to be in total peace with himself now, as though his wounds weren't even there. Has he fallen asleep? The woman thought, staring at him.

His eyes flashing open again, the crystal blue that had her enraptured so, staring back at her icily, a cold calculating logic filling them and a drive she hadn't seen before. Before he had been angry, now he lacked that anger, seeming to have obtained a goal, and knew the means by which to obtain it and that he would drive himself for that goal.

Pushed himself up from the bed, the man stood, lacking any indications that the movement caused him pain. And when fully erect and on his feet, he strode toward the door, not rocking back and forth, his strides strong. He exited the small bedchamber and looked out into a more formal living area. To his left was a small kitchen. Farther ahead was the main exit he presumed.

The room had a kitchen on one side of the main exit while the couches and sofas making up the living room itself on the other side. There were two couches parallel to each other, a small table placed between them with a potted plant on it. At the head of those two couches was a fireplace. The room had the same thatched ceiling and walls as in the room he had been, except the floors had throw rugs placed under tables and couches.

The man paid no more attention to his surroundings, instead heading straight for the door. He never noticed the woman staring slack jawed behind him, in awe of what he had done. She silently followed him, keeping silent thinking any sounds might jinx his endeavor and send him toppling to the floor.

Exiting the house, the man stepped out onto a balcony situated on a cliff face overlooking the ocean. The sun glared down lazily, burning with noonday strength. Walked toward the railing, the man leaned on it, staring out at the ocean and sighing loudly. The woman took a few steps out the door, her head darting left and right to look around in anxiousness.

"Where are the remains of my ship?" the man asked almost nonchalantly, his voice a mere whisper on the ocean winds that blew.

"Destroyed, what was left of it. Troops came in, looked it over, then melted as many of the pieces down into scrap metal, which they threw into the ocean. I doubt anything managed to survive, other than you," the woman replied, walking up and standing beside the man.

He sighed again, his gaze sweeping across the large expanse of blue green beyond on the horizon. His strength looked as though it was ebbing already, as though the waters ebb and flow were being mimicked in his body now. The woman turned her head to the left to look directly at the man only to see him staring back at her. Her face flushed, and she looked away.

Glancing back at him, the woman saw he was now looking out over the ocean again, a strange look in his eye.

"So, um, what is your name?" the woman asked tentatively, searching the man's face, only to find him grimace a moment. He just stared a moment, his face contorting as he mulled it over silently with himself.

"Koyshec," he replied not even looking at the woman.

It was an odd name, especially since the man was human, and that name was far from human she was sure. Looking at him again, she forced a smile onto her lips. "Nice name, though it doesn't sound human."

This caused Koyshec to stiffen slightly as though he had just been rocked back by a punch to the jaw, but he shook his head, then turned his gaze upon the woman.

"And what, dear savior, is your name?" he asked, but his voice was dripping with disgust. He wasn't bothering to hide how he felt about her and how she had saved his life.

"Trail," she answered back as coolly as possible, "Trail Vuigala. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." Her own voice was resounded icily in her own ears. Koyshec only smiled back, malice and intent in that smile.

"And in your reply about my name not being human," the man said, his eyes turning back to the ocean, "I am about as far from that as one may get."

His response had been plain, but it carried with it a great amount of information. He wasn't human, which meant one other choice for his species: Albeado. It was a shock that rocked Trail back on her heals. She had been trying Je'Kenkari healing techniques that would work with humans, not Albeado, which was probably why they hadn't worked. Trail had thought she was doing them wrong, but apparently, she had had the wrong species in mind.

It took a moment before she discovered that her jaw was slightly agape, the look on her face being one of stunned silence. Trail decided that it made some sense. Albeado weren't generally a friendly species towards anyone other than the Galandrians and Krykor, which made for bad relations between them and everyone else.

"So, Albeado," Trail said, mumbling under her breath. Koyshec looked back at her, his acute hearing easily picking up what she said. That meant that he had only to transform to heal his bones, but any internal injuries he had might require medical treatment. But, he didn't look injured, just annoyed.

Koyshec let go of the railing and started walking along the balcony toward the stairs that would take him on to the cliff edge, but he stumbled before ever reaching that goal and fell flat to his face. Trail was at his side, looking down at him as he rolled to his back, a soft moan of pain escaping his lips.

"I don't think you're quite ready to leave yet," she said with a quick smile. "Want a hand, or can you make it back inside yourself?"