#they really put my boy on a ship with some of the nastiest men out there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inkbotsjunkyard · 2 years

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ALRIGHT STRAP IN. LETS START WITH THE MERCS SINCE THAT WAS SPECIFICALLY WHAT THAT POST WAS ABOUT

God alright so this would have been back in like [googles] oh fuck 2011/2010 I guess because for some godforsaken reason I was absolutely utterly obsessed with TF2. A game I have maybe played a collective four hours of in total. Something about the character archetypes the art style and uh. The fanfics of one author in particular. Y'know. Normal stuff.

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I don't remember what the specific start of this idea was because while I can find ATTEMPT on ATTEMPT on ATTEMPT to start this damn fic I cant find the kernel. If I remember right I think it probably started with an overactive imagination and finding what nine? Nine archetypes (well, 8 archetypes and fucking Tavish Degroot ) that as a young writer just starting to figure out my style worked REALLY absurdly well as bases for writing exercises. Also we didn't know anything about the pyro at the time. What I do remember was discussing with a friend I had at the time the nature of the respawn system. Was it clones? Was it just wave after wave of title only mercs feeding the machine? No, Ink age 15 decided, its a respawn mechanic. They clearly have character traits in mind for these guys. So what if we shut it off.

What if every so often the contract ended. And in order to get that contract re-upped you just had to survive. Now that backstory is important because another thing this fic got me started on was team dynamics and synergy. And trauma bonding. If the respawn system was shut off every so often and you had some teammates who you'd cycle through absurdly quickly how would that change the way the mercs treated one another as coworkers. Would a pseudo leadership roll go to someone who had been there the longest and understood the expectations of the job? Or would it just be the nastiest dog in the scrapyard?

So I spent a good amount of time on determining that for each of the teams. Focusing mainly on the Tufort map as a base idea for a setting because I don't know, it made the most sense for me at the time.

So lets start this off with my protag squad. The Boys of Reliable Excavation and Demolition.

Full transparency I don't have art for these that I can easily get too, anyway but my REDS for the most part just. Look like their character art.

Looking back on it I'm realizing that my RED team actually has a solid survival rate. Which makes a lot of sense, considering their dynamic as a group. My RED's were lead by the team medic. Medic is a Sadist, we know this. He is a mad scientist who may or may not have done some very bad things in his time before becoming a mercenary surgeon. We've all seen the takes. Anton was a sadist. He would treat grievous but non life threatening wounds without anesthesia and relished in keeping tabs on which of his men would faint at the site of blood. But the manic mad science aspect of his job was lost long ago. When we meet Anton its been three days since the last "respawn shut off". He's Cataloging injuries, equipment, height and weights as though it was a shipping manifest and not a series of several autopsies. He can't even put their names down on the forms because they aren't supposed to know them. Very difficult to still believe you are making Gods when the divine has been dissected, pulled apart and sewn back together so often you could barely discern your own face from the blur of them all constantly running through your head. He was not an unkind man. Well, no he definitely was but he understood that even if he was at one time attempting to make gods out of these men they were still men and made an effort to not treat them as so much cattle like their employers seemed too. He had his men use eachothers names as opposed to only their titles. Would leave the door to his office unlocked when he worked because while Psychiatric medicine was very obviously not a field he was well versed in he knew it would aid no one if his men took to diagnosing themselves with a lead prescription to be applied between the eyes. And at the very least it was more efficient than giving a bunch of addicts free access to the medicine cabinet. Ivan Korovsky was my heavy, and he was another big part of Anton getting his humanity back now that I think about it. I love a smart Heavy who just happens to not know a ton of english. Ivan was that. He had the emotional intelligence of someone who in another life probably would have studied literature and read those complicated Russian bricks where everyone dies at the end. Imagine if your therapist was able to suplex you into taking care of yourself. Thats Ivan. I have less to say about him but that speaks a lot to his roll in that monster of a fic at the time. Yes he and anton were fucking was that even a question. Naturally my soldier was Jane Doe, as is traditional. Jane thought he was in charge and Anton had decided a very long time ago not to argue with him about it anymore. It helped that for the most part Jane's "war room councils" would only happen if they lost and would only last until he directed his attention away from the room at large to yell at someone specific for long enough that everyone could slip away. Jane's delusions were always tricky for me to write but I was also a highschooler who hadn't taken that many abpysc classes yet. I don't remember if the shovel had a name in the game but his did. Her name was Doris, and he fully believed she was a human being and his wife. Who wanted him to kill the unamerican enemy. Any unamerican enemy, she evidently wasn't picky on which one. My main interest in Jane comes from the epilogue stuff but THAT needs more context that we don't have yet so moving on. Russel "Doc" Cunningham was my engineer. Doc was the epitome of "a guy you'd have a beer with." Give you the shirt off his back, but would lecture you into next week and down the road some ways as he was unbuttoning it. A southern charmer, almost folksy at times. If you heard him talking to any of the younger mercs you'd think he was talking to a couple of rambunctious teenagers, and might even think "there's a man who'd be a good father" You would be wrong in thinking this. Well, no you wouldn't be wrong. Doc loves his girls. His girls who are all semi-autonomous military sentry units and several "creative" tools for his coworkers. The way he talks about him you're almost glad he doesn't carry a wallet because otherwise you know he'd have pictures. But if, hypothetically, he had a son or something outside of his assignment. You wouldn't hear him talk about it. Doc self identifies as a bachelor. He did get married once because its what you did. But he didn't love her, and his ex wife very much was aware of it and made his life hell when they were still married. Doc probably was incredibly young when he was married, and I don't think he was fully ready to accept who he was enough to have been a good parent even if he had been around. But rules were different on the field and no one seemed much bothered by what he chose to occupy his personal time with as long as it wasn't causing a gas leak in the basement (again) which let him relax into himself a bit more. He still doesn't care that much for the "fritterin" his coworkers are always distracting themselves with. Something his younger coworkers give him constant hell about but he figures maybe he's just...well old fashions isn't quite the word. (Asexual/somewhat Demi Engineer? Its more likely than you think.....) Sniper (Richard "Slim" Mundy) Middle aged assassin who sleeps in a camper van. Drinks too much coffee, and Anton has him come in weekly for wellness checks. In the canon of this monster he was spending a good amount of time coming to terms with a relationship he'd had with a teammate who had died in the previous contract fight. A teammate who was much younger than him. (Not young enough to be a crime mind you but for a guy who is very specific about how not sick in the head he is you can imagine the slight crisis that would come from that) . Aggressively anti-social nowadays unless he's coerced with whiskey.

Daniel O'Sullivan Was my scout and the youngest of my mercs at eighteen years old. Joined up because it was either this or juvie, and while his mom still worries about him at least she can sleep easy about him working private security instead of being gunned down in some jungle overseas. (Dan was very nonspecific about what he does for a living.) Danny-Boy was quick tempered and pugnacious, and now that I think about it I probably actively wrote him with ADHD. Constantly fidgeting and constantly "messin around" with a pen and paper during meetings. Danny specifically slept on the breakroom couch instead of in a bunk. I handwaved this at the time but I think it was probably because he grew up fidgety and restless and its much easier to get up constantly in the middle of the night to wander around if you don't have to worry about getting cussed out for it. Danny also has a soft spot when it comes to his family. He misses them, and talked about them constantly. Now I joked that Dan was aggressively heterosexual, but I think this is partly because he's an Irish Catholic and any sexual thoughts at all are a sin so forget unpacking any sort of weird gay ass thoughts he has about his best friend Vic. TURNS OUT THERES A CHARACTER LIMIT lemme know if you want me to keep going rip

#asked and answered #inkbot process

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lyrabythelake · 3 years

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I don't actually know where to find the Whumptober/Linktober prompts, but if you are taking suggestions, a follow up to the dehydration one where the pirates who rescue them are Not The Most Friendly would be amazing. You got that good good angst in the first one and then the pain does not stop

CW: blood, broken bones, death (of mean pirates), violence

Thank you for this great prompt, pokegeek! This is for today’s LU Linktober prompt, ‘Trick’ and a continuation of this whumptober prompt. I hope you like it!! (this turned out so much longer than intended, whoops)

So the pirates, it turns out, aren’t like the friendly, convivial pirates Wind has told them about in his stories. They probably should have accounted for that, Hyrule thinks as he stares into the deep, dark, frothing abyss that is the ocean, nothing between him and certain death but a flimsy wooden plank and sheer determination to keep his balance. Pirates, by their very nature, plunder passing ships, and for this pirate ship in particular to be this big must mean the pirates on board must have done an awful lot of plundering.

“Er- ahoy there!” Hyrule calls out to the biggest, nastiest looking pirate who he assumes must be the captain. He says it in what he hopes is a cheerful, reasonable tone, though it doesn’t stop Legend from giving him a weird look.

The captain stands at the head of the group of pirates as they watch Hyrule and Legend try their best to keep their balance on a foot-wide piece of wood with their hands tied behind their backs. He is, to put it frankly, a walking, talking cliché. He has a missing leg, a hook for a hand and an eyepatch over one eye. He wears a mismatch of fine, wealthy clothing clearly stolen from several different people and thrown on in a mockery of this world’s fashion. It might’ve been funny if they weren’t currently standing perilously over the jaws of death.

“I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding,” he tells him placatingly, “we don’t mean any harm, we just want to catch a ride back to land.”

The captain stares, silent and menacing. It’s more than a little unnerving.

Hyrule suddenly fights off a wave of light-headedness that threatens to topple him, his hunger and dehydration from the past two days besting him for a few seconds.

“Hyrule?” he hears Legend mutter urgently when his vision clears, “I really think you should shut up now. They don’t seem the type to reason.”

He glances at his friend who stands between him and the pirates. He looks awful. His skin is sunburned and peeling, his lips are cracked and bleeding, and he looks about ten seconds away from collapse.

“What other option do we have?” he replies in a harsh whisper, “unless you want to try fighting them again?”

“Oh, yeah, because that went so well the first time.”

When they had first been rescued from their drifting dinghy and it had become abundantly clear that their saviours did not have their best interests at heart, they had engaged in battle. Unfortunately, it had been very short lived, their deteriorated health paired with the fact it was two against at least fifteen setting them at an impossible disadvantage.

They were captured immediately, and it soon turned out that the punishment for attacking the ship and its crew was immediate and painful execution. Hence their current predicament.

“Enough!” The captain’s voice is so sudden and booming, Hyrule almost loses his balance. “Jump, now, or I will get my men to push you.” His accent sharpens the edges of his words like a whetstone to a blade. His on visible eye is dark and stormy and, even from this distance, Hyrule notices more than a few of his teeth are black and rotten.

Legend swears under his breath as Hyrule rummages in the depths of his mind for any sudden, miraculous plans that may save them. He comes up terrifyingly short-changed.

One of the smaller members of the crew, a boy who can’t be much older than Wind, comes forward then, a large, wooden pole in hand. He holds one end and starts to push the other closer to where they stand on the very edge of the plank.

For the second time that day, Hyrule genuinely thinks he’s going to die. Instead of backing the two millimetres he has left of the plank behind him, he shuffles a little closer to Legend in front of him so their shoulders touch ever so slightly.

He’s glad he made that speech now, back on the boat when they was dying more slowly and significantly less dramatically than they are now. He had felt a little silly at the time; the truth is, he had been overcome with light-headedness from dehydration and it had loosened his tongue much more than he would have liked, but in the end he is happy he could let Legend know the truth before their time together draws to a close.

He huddles ever closer to Legend and closes his eyes. Takes a long, deep, futile breath so he might last a moment longer beneath those cruel, coursing waves, and—

“WAIT!”

His eyes snap open at Legend’s hoarse shout.

“We- we know the hero. Link, the hero of courage?” Legend’s tone slants upwards at the end of his sentence making it a question, and in doing so he displays his desperation openly for the world to hear.

But to Hyrule’s surprise, the captain frowns before lifting his flesh hand up, signalling for the boy with the pole to cease in his approach.

“You know the hero?” the captain repeats, the interest in his tone sparking one last morsel of hope in Hyrule’s chest.

“Yes! Yes, we know the hero.”

The captain and his crew stare at them for what seems like an eternity. Hyrule’s ears ring and his heart beats loudly in his chest. They are balancing atop the fragile barrier between life and death and he has no idea which way they are going to fall. Eventually, the captain speaks.

“Bring them to me. They will not die today.”

They are pulled back onto the deck of the boat and a painful kick to the back of his knees has Hyrule kneeling before the captain. It all happens in a whirlwind and Hyrule doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or even more terrified at being thrown back into the frying pan.

The captain looks awfully tall as he looms above them, at least a foot and a half taller than either of them even if they were standing on their feet. His skin is leathery and pockmarked from exposure to the elements and his hair and beard is long and knotted, cascading down his chest and back like spilled soil. Everything about him is fine-tuned to be intimidating.

He narrows his stony eye and focuses on Legend where he kneels in front of him.

“If you really know the hero, you will take us to him,” he says, his tone leaving no room to deny that he is a leader of men, and a fierce one at that.

“Why?” Legend asks bluntly. As quick as a flash, he has his head dipped to the floor in front of him, his face screwed up in pain. A steady stream of blood drips from his nose onto the wooden deck. Hyrule is stunned; he barely saw the captain move from his position above them, but the blood smeared on his right fist in unmistakable. He would never have guessed the man could move with such speed, large and imposing as he is.

“You do not ask questions,” the captain says, his tone calm and monotonous, “you answer mine. Where is the hero?”

Legend says nothing this time, staring defiantly up at him, blood pouring from his nose and into his mouth. Hyrule’s stomach drops. He can’t afford to lose any blood; he’s about to drop from dehydration as it is.

After a few seconds of silence, the captain snatches the long wooden pole from the young crewmember, wielding it as if he had trained with it as a weapon his whole life. There is a loud crack as he strikes Legend across the ribs and Hyrule cringes at the pained cry his friend lets escape.

Still, Legend says nothing.

There are two more cracks, another one across his ribs and one to his arm, the sound of the bone snapping in two echoing out over the water, before Hyrule can take it no more.

“He’s on Outset Island!” He shouts breathlessly as the captain raises the pole for the fifth time. The look Legend gives him is one of utter betrayal and he can’t help but feel a stab of guilt deep within his chest. The captain lowers his stick, his eyes moving slowly from Legend to Hyrule.

“It seems I was asking the wrong person. Outset Island, you say? I do not know of it.”

“I know it, captain,” says a man who stands to the captain’s right. He is strikingly unassuming, his clothes well-made but frayed and worn with years of use, his short brown hair combed back from his face. He wouldn’t look out of place shopping for groceries back on land, and that, thinks Hyrule, is perhaps the scariest thing about him.

“It seems we are in luck,” the captain says, keeping his eye fixed on Hyrule, “we will set off immediately. Take them below deck,” he orders with a wave of his hand. Two pairs of hands grab Hyrule roughly, pulling him to his feet. They begin to drag him across the deck before the captain speaks once more.

“Wait,” he orders. He does not shout, but the effect is immediate and the hands on Hyrule still, keeping him locked into place. The pirate captain approaches, leaning down so that his face is inches from Hyrule’s own. The stench of his breath is vile, rotting fish and something worse, rancid and decaying.

“If you have lied to me,” he says in a voice low enough that the words are between them only, “I will cut out your tongue, then each of your eyes and then I will make you listen as I chop your friend up piece by piece. I will take my time and I will enjoy it.”

Hyrule shivers at the way he says it, slowly, as if he is savouring each word. There is no doubt in his mind now that the man they have ended up on the same boat as is the very worst of mankind, and he is certain that he wouldn’t hesitate to follow through on his threat.

He hears Legend groan in pain as they are both hauled to the steps that lead below deck. The world spins around him, making it impossible to navigate in which direction they are being taken. There is a corridor, a couple of turns, until soon enough they are thrown roughly to the floor of a small cabin piled high with wooden crates.

“Please,” Hyrule says quickly to one of his captures before they can leave, “we need water. We haven’t had any for days.”

At first he thinks they aren’t going to comply, but as the last of the men leave, a waterskin is thrown to the floor at their feet before the cabin door swings shut.

“What the fuck, Hyrule?”

He turns to look at where Legend is sprawled, his shoulders rested against a crate. He is startlingly pale beneath his sunburn and his nose is red, swollen and still bleeding (Hyrule really hopes the blood on his tunic is from his nose rather than any open wounds on his torso). His expression, however, is twisted in disgust and anger. “How could you do that?” he asks, his voice thick through the blood. “How could you tell them where the others are?”

Hyrule brings his forefinger to his own mouth, signalling him to be quiet, before shuffling over in the cramped space to be nearer to him. It’s a struggle with his hands tied, but he manages. He turns around and without a word Legend painstakingly manoeuvres himself so they are sitting back-to-back and begins working on untying the knot around Hyrule’s hands. It is slow work with Legend only being able to use one hand, the other useless and broken, but he doesn’t complain, not once.

“They don’t know how many of us there are,” Hyrule explains in a low whisper, “they think it’s just Wind. The seven of them will take them down no problem.”

Legend is quiet for a moment and Hyrule wishes he could see his face so he might catch an inkling of what he might be feeling.

“I-“ Legend says eventually, “I didn’t think of that… why didn’t I think of that?” The last part is more berating towards himself than it is aimed at Hyrule.

“You’re tired and in pain and we haven’t eaten for over two days,” Hyrule replies gently just as Legend manages to undo the rope. He turns around and unties Legend’s in a matter of seconds.

“Speaking of…” He walks over to the waterskin lying on the floor and lifts it up. He might have cried with relief if he had any water to spare when he finds it at least three quarter full. He takes a large gulp and the feeling of water running down his dry, hoarse throat might just be the best feeling in the world, like the first fall of rain after a long, dry summer.

For a couple of glorious seconds, it’s like all his aches and pains have miraculously been cured. But as soon as the feeling washes over him, it is gone once more, and he is left feeling possibly even worse than before.

He sighs glumly before handing the rest to Legend. “Here. Drink it slowly.”

“What about you?” Legend asks. Hyrule is concerned to notice the beginnings of delirium in his eyes and the way he is hunched in on himself as he sits on the floor, clutching his broken arm to his chest. He hopes they aren’t too far from Outset Island; he doesn’t know how much longer Legend is going to be able to hold out.

“I’ve had some,” he tells him. Legend wipes some of the blood off his face before raising the waterskin to his mouth, taking a long drink. Hyrule sits down beside him, thankful for the chance to rest. His dizziness is enough that his surroundings have started spinning alarmingly again.

“Slowly, I said,” Hyrule tells him, grabbing the bottom of the waterskin and lowering it slightly. Legend glares moodily at him and Hyrule can’t help but smile at the glimpse of fire that has been noticeably missing from the veteran ever since they were kidnapped.

Legend takes another, smaller sip of water and Hyrule’s smile fades.

“You do have a point, though,” he says solemnly, “I put the entirety of Wind’s home and island at risk by telling those pirates where he lives. If they find his family or any of the island’s residents before the others find them, innocent people will be killed for sure. Or if one of the pirates gets away, word might get out of the hero’s whereabouts and the island would be attacked in the future… I just- I didn’t know what else to do.”

He is brought from his reverie by a hand on his arm and looks up to see an unreadable expression on Legend’s face.

“I won’t lie and say you did the right thing, because I have no idea. But the others have never let us down in the past. We’ve never lost a fight and we’ve fought much worse than a bunch of pirates whose captain is only half intact.”

Hyrule huffs in amusement. “I do like his style, though. Maybe we should convince the old man to get an eyepatch.”

Legend makes a sound that starts as a dry laugh and ends in painful, wracking coughs. Hyrule can do nothing but rub his back soothingly as blood sprays from his mouth and he clutches his chest in clear agony. He can only hope that the blood is from his nose and not from any internal bleeding caused by the trauma to his ribs.

“Agh,” Legend groans as the coughs recede, spitting out a last mouthful of blood and taking another swig of water. Hyrule suddenly feels panic well up inside him. What if Legend doesn’t make it?

“Quit looking at me like that,” Legend says breathlessly, “you’ve basically tricked a bunch of pirates into ferrying us to where we need to be, we’ll have red potions and full bellies in no time.” His words are slightly slurred, from pain or delirium, Hyrule can’t be sure. Dehydration and blood loss can do strange things to a person, he’s learned that first-hand. If he’s bleeding internally, there’s no way of knowing how much danger he’s in.

“You should lie down,” Hyrule suggests seriously, “or at least stop moving so much.”

“Goddesses, you nag as much as the old man,” he mutters, though it’s a mark of how bad he must be feeling that he takes the advice and lowers himself so he’s lying on his side on the hard, wooden floor.

“Here,” Hyrule says, grabbing a piece of old material that’s draped over one of the crates in the corner. He taps the side of Legend’s head to signal him to lift it up and slides the material underneath. Legend grumbles his thanks, closes his eyes and leaves Hyrule to stew in his darkening anxiety.

There are no windows in the cabin, so Hyrule has no way of knowing where they are. He feels as if they are adrift in that little dinghy again, except now there are several blood-thirsty pirates on the platform above.

Hyrule sighs.

The waves beat against the hull, a steady, maddening metronome to his thoughts that eventually lull his weary mind to sleep.

-----

He wakes to the sounds of battle. Metal on metal, the hollow thump of wood, muted, fervent voices.

It’s loud, and it takes a few, heart-stopping moments for Hyrule to realise the fighting is coming from above them rather than his immediate surroundings. The boat – the battle is on the deck above and the wooden planks above his head creak and strain with the movement.

His gaze drifts to Legend and he is assured to see the steady rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps beside him.

“Legend,” he hisses, bringing a startlingly heavy limb over to shake him gently “Legend, I think- I think we’re being attacked.”

Nothing. Not a sound or a movement in response.

Hyrule takes a shaky breath. He can’t fight in the state he’s in; he can feel how is body is finally giving out on him and he doubts he could even stand up if he tried. He has no weapon; their swords were stolen from them by the pirates when they were first taken aboard.

There is a grunt of what sounds like pain and the fighting quietens. Then there are footsteps, far away at first and then… closer? Hylia, his depth perception is completely off, how close are they?

The door swings open and Hyrule scrambles shakily to his feet, adrenaline fuelling his body’s last stand as he raises his fists. He is aware, distantly of how pathetic he must look, but damn if he isn’t going to give all he’s got to protect his unconscious friend.

“Hyrule! Oh, thank Hylia you’re here.”

Relief drains the last dregs of energy from him as his vision clears to see Sky standing there, sword at the ready, and before he can catch himself his legs give out.

“Woah.” Sky catches him before his knees can hit the floor and he is lowered into a sitting position. “What happened?” He glances worriedly at Legend. “Where have you two been all this time?”

“He needs- he needs help,” he tells him, the words heavy on his tongue, “they beat him, I think he’s bleeding internally.”

Sky’s brows bunch together in worry and his hands leave Hyrule to check Legend.

“How long has he been unconscious?”

“I don’t know,” Hyrule admits helplessly, “I fell asleep a while ago, I- I don’t know.” There are more footsteps outside the door and Hyrule’s heart flutters again for a moment before Warriors appears. He’s out of breath and there’s blood streaked down one side of his face, but it doesn’t look like it’s his own.

“Hyrule!” he exclaims, relief evident on his face, “how did you get here? We’ve been looking for you for days!”

“Long story.”

“Do you think you can carry Legend?” Sky asks Warriors seriously, “Hyrule says he’s got some internal bleeding, I can’t tell how bad it is.” Warriors gives a solemn nod and doesn’t hesitate in striding to where Legend lies.

“He wouldn’t wake up,” Hyrule says shakily. His eyelids are growing heavy and he can’t muster the strength to keep the distress from his voice, “I- I tried, but he wouldn’t.”

“He’ll be okay,” Warriors assures him, the steadiness of his tone like an anchor in a stormy sea, “We’ll give him a red potion and he’ll be on his feet in no time.”

“Oh,” says Hyrule faintly, “that’s a relief.”

He keeps his eyes fixed on Legend as Warriors picks him up bridal style so as not to disturb his injuries too much. He has a vague thought about how utterly mortified Legend would be if he were awake right now before Sky helps him off the floor and slides an arm around his waist to steady him.

“We’re on Outset Island?” Hyrule asks, unable to keep the hope from his voice.

Sky nod.

“Yep. We saw the ship coming from miles away, we were well prepared. The others are checking the hull for stragglers.”

“Did you kill them all?” he asks quietly as they begin to move from the small storage cabin and out into the corridor beyond, “the pirates?”

“I think so,” replies Sky somberly. It’s never cause for celebration, killing those who were not created monsters at birth.

Hyrule nods, concentrating on putting one foot in front of another and keeping from putting too much of his weight on Sky. He can’t remember ever being this exhausted.

“Um... guys?”

Warriors’ voice comes from slightly ahead and as he and Sky turn a corner, they almost bump into him halted in the hallway.

Ahead of him is possibly the last thing Hyrule wants to see in this moment: the pirate captain. His hulking frame takes up almost the entire width and height of the hallway, towering above all three of them by a significant amount. His eye is vicious steel as he glares right at Hyrule.

“My men are dead,” he says in a tone that is bone-chillingly impassive, “I told you what I would do if you lied to me.” His eye flickers to Warriors and where Legend lies in his arms.

“Technically, I didn’t lie,” Hyrule reasons.

“You will not leave this ship alive,” he replies bluntly.

“Sky?” Warriors asks calmly, “you got this on your own? My hands are a little full.”

“No problem,” Sky replies lightly before leading Hyrule to the wall for balance and drawing the master sword.

The captain draws his own sword from his back, a huge, curved blade with a single edge sharper and more lethal looking than Hyrule has ever owned in his life. As Sky approaches him, he seems utterly dwarfed by the monster of the man in front of him, but he thrusts himself into the battle as if he is assured the upper hand.

The captain is, surprisingly, more of a match for Sky than Hyrule had expected considering he’s the best swordsman of them all. He is holding his own well, and though Hyrule would usually be entertained by such a fight, knowing in his heart that in the end his friend will win without much of an issue, he is tired and hungry and simply fed up. He wants this fight to end so he can get Legend a red potion and go to sleep, preferably for a very long time.

Making a split-second decision, he heaves himself from where he is leaning against the wall and staggers towards Warriors. His friend looks at him with alarm as he approaches drunkenly with determined fire in his eyes, but he does nothing when Hyrule reaches up and slides his sword right off his back.

“Er… Hyrule?” he asks in confusion. But Hyrule isn’t listening. He turns towards Sky and the captain; the latter’s back is turned towards him now and sweat drips from Sky’s face as he slashes and parries while simultaneously avoiding his opponents hooked hand which he uses as a second weapon in its own right.

Realistically, Hyrule knows Sky has this fight in the bag, and he is also aware that what he’s about to do is widely considered very bad etiquette. But as he raises Warriors’ sword above his head and stabs it straight through the back of the pirate’s mismatched coat and into his heart, he honestly feels very little in the way of regret.

Later he will reflect on this moment, consider what it means that he could kill his own kind so easily and with so little remorse. But for now his body sags over the hilt of the sword still buried in the pirates back, his body unwilling to spare him even the strength to retrieve it. Crimson flows and gathers around it the metal in his hands, making it warm and sticky and Sky’s shocked face appears as he steadies him.

“I think I’ll pass out now,” he tells him lightly.

“That’s okay,” Sky replies, “I’ve got you.”

And he falls beneath the waves of darkness.

-----

The first thing Hyrule notices when he wakes is that the world does not rock. It is blissfully, liberatingly still. The sound of waves is distant and peaceful rather than sickeningly close and seagull’s cries assure him that he has indeed found solid land once more.

He opens his eyes to a simple room of rough-hewn wood. Sunlight pours from the window and across the bed he lies in, the sheets smooth with a colourful quilt thrown carefully over the top. It would be peaceful if his head wasn’t aching so fiercely.

There is a jug and a cup of water on the nightstand beside him and he is quick to grab it with listless, heavy limbs. The water is a cool relief down his parched throat, though it makes him feel a little nauseous as it settles in his empty stomach.

He is about to pour himself another cup when he spots Legend sitting by the window. He is facing out towards the sea view and even though his back is to him, he can see the quiet melancholy in his posture. Physically though, Hyrule is relieved to notice, he seems fine.

“Legend?” he asks quietly, his voice cracking either from lack of hydration or use; he doesn’t know how long he had been asleep. Legend starts and brings a hand up to rub his face before turning to face him.

“You’re awake,” he notes, his voice just as hoarse as his own, “how are you feeling?”

“Not the best,” Hyrule admits, “but much better than before. Are you okay? Did the others fix you up with red potions?”

Legend nods. “Woke up about an hour ago. We’re at Wind’s Grandma’s house. Wind was right; her soup is the best I’ve tasted.”

His word are dull and somewhat distant. Hyrule frowns slightly.

“Are you really alright?” he asks gently.

Legend nods slowly, his eyes drifting back to the window, and it is a long moment before he speaks again.

“I thought we were going to die out there,” he admits eventually.

“Me too,” he agrees.

“For the record… it made it better for me as well. You being there. You’re… well, you’re my best friend, Hyrule.”

Hyrule smiles at Legend’s awkward, stilted version of his own confession out there on the little dinghy. To others, it might not seem like much, but Hyrule knows him well enough that he recognises that this is Legend’s equivalent of pouring his heart out.

“I’ve never had a best friend before,” Hyrule muses. “It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?”

Legend huffs in amusement turning back to face him, his ears noticeably red.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is kind of nice.”

#LULinktober #linked universe #lyra writes #blood #injury #violence #i've decided not to post the rest of my october prompts as they're not up to standard #this will be the last one this month

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sirro85-blog · 6 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs: Improvising

So as I have described humans are ingenious and curious and they have the ability to look at a piece of fruit that tingles while you eat it and see a weapon. It goes further than that though. Humans can even look at a mistake and see success in another guise.

Major Kovac looked at his fellow officers and gave a gesture I had never seen him make before he spread his hands slowly and then brought his shoulders up.

"I think, that when we sent the last order the message got scrambled," ventured Captain Gillespie.

"Well I fucking hope so because I don't see how a request for 'artillery ammunition, medical supplies, rifle munitions and fuel' became 'water bottles, uniforms, pens, pencils, notepads, paperweights!? 150 Nyrex, assorted foodstuffs; and fuel'..." Kovac trailed off, "add to that the only supplies we have to begin with are food and for some reason paint and plaster."

"Munitions supplies code: 83-C; recruits basics supplies: 8-DE...medical supplies code: 14-P office supplies: 40-B" Gillespie said in a monotone voice.

"Whoever was on the other end didn't think to question or ask for a repeat order, it's the new civillian company running logistics they don't speak phonetics so they relay it normally so our order "Eight-Three-Charlie" becomes "8DE" in a busy office and we end up with new water bottles, nyrex and uniforms." Captain Becca said, "the wonders of privatisation." she laughed.

"Alright Bex, no time for your socialist rants now, we're going to have to make do. Wolf, What do you think?" Kovac enquired

"Surrender," Wolf replied immediately, "No seriously sir, I say we surrender." He raised his voice as the other officers shouted him down, "these aren't a horde of barely trained fanatics we're facing down these are the cream of the crop, the zealots who have served these crackpots long enough to become battle hardened and true veterans." He gestured around himself a little wildly, "what do we have? a squad of combat engineers, one squadron of wet behind the ears infantry, Gilly's auxiliary troop, and the second half of our forces are fucking weekend warriors, the strategic planetary defence reserves, other than the 88th and Gilly we can't count on two thirds of our forces. The OC is so far past it even he has realised it and I don't trust Major Picklefarts as far as I can throw her."

Kovac clicked his fingers a few times and hummed the bars to "Catfish Blues" Captain Becca gave a soulful hum.

"Woke up this mornin'," growled Dorman in his best blues singer voice, "my dog was dead; no food in my fridge y'all; ate my dog instead."

"Got idiots above me; got morons below; if it gets much colder; it'll start to snow" finished Becca.

"Feel better?" Asked Kovac.

"How can it possibly snow here? It's 35°C in the shade! We're in a god damn furnace!" Wolf drew a calming breath.

"Now that we've made Wolf feel better let's clear up a few things," first...it's Major Portbury and I don't much like her either, second the other two squadrons will hold their line until they don't not much more we can ask of them. Third, Gilly hasn't just got a troop he's got Staff Sergeant Frank King and his units could bring Muddy Waters back from the dead to slap us all for ruining blues, and he's got Griffin Battery out there and we know what those boys can do with a connonade. So it's us, it's us the 88th, 3 Squadron Combat Engineers, Fighting Fit and Fucking Ugly, the real first in last out, the infantry may hold the front line but we fucking build it." Kovac pointed a finger at his map, "everything we know says the Xhost are going to try to capture the peninsula, they do that they gain the remote base within a week and they neuter the Fortress Moon, then they have a foothold in another system and who knows how long before the Galactic Council decide to take them seriously, they'll have another million "converts" by then. So we stop them here, we hold the Isthmus, we send them back to their ships or we send them to hell."

"With glass paperweights?" Wolf asked in a scathing tone, "Kovac I love you brother but without the supplies we're going to lose."

"Want me to show you what I can do with a paperweight?" Becca said with a growl.

"That gives me an idea," said Kovac, "Wolf, Becca, who's the nastiest soldier you've got?"

"Barbie," said Wolf.

"Knickers," said Becca.

"Dorman? What about you?"

"In a fist fight? Bickers is a nasty piece of work but for one of your ideas? Well Bickers again but you'll have to let him know just how nasty you want him to get."

"Alright have those three, Buckets, Footsteps and Corporal Chloe meet me in my office, Wolf you can join us too, just keep your eyes off the Panther's arse, Becca go see what you think of Portbury. Dorman go with Gilly and see what you would do to our defences if you had a wish list."

The meeting in the Major's office went on late into the night, unusually for human military Major Kovac was not just respected by his soldiers he was well liked. In the early hours of the morning as the soldiers left the office Kovac "high-fived" Knickers as the two achieved success in their experiments.

The following morning Kovac was found striding across the top of the fortifications gesticulating enthusiastically. "Here, and down there, it'll provide good cover for your men," he explained to the dazed looking infantry officer.

Around him infantry soldiers were carefully ripping paper from notepads and sliding them into each pocket in the nyrex they held.

"You see," Gillespie was explaining enthusiastically, "we use the left over plaster and water, and soak the new uniforms in them to create a sort of plaster cast...glacis, something to absorb damage and line the enemy up to expose them to your attacks, then we fortify it with these nyrex, filled with paper they have pretty impressive stopping power and the whole thing is made of leftovers and things wrongly delivered instead of medicine and other useful supplies. It's genius really." Major Portbury looked unimpressed but that didn't stop Gillespie, "Griffin Battery have taken the paint pots that was clever too, I think Footsteps deserves a raise Kovac ha ha, then Kovac has come up with some really nasty tricks with the water bottles and paperweights."

"Unfortunately we're out of fuel," cut in Kovac, so we'll be walking a lot," in his head he played back Becca's statement from earlier this morning, 'she resents being promoted to Major late and resents having to join a new regiment of raw recruits to do it, she resents the idea that she can't cut it and resents her men, also the girl can drink but... she may be a good officer one day, if she can ditch the chip on her shoulder.'

"Major I think it's probably best if you and your men hold the centre, we need infantry not engineers playing at infantry in our middle to steady our line, we'll put the SPDR on the far right flank where the attack should be weakest, my 88th will take the left flank, they'll hit that flank harder as they're coming from the South. Better us than the militia, sorry the SPDR, but with you a rock on one side and the water on the other we should be ok."

Portbury appeared to consider this and then nodded, without the Lietenant-Colonel there Kovac had seniority anyway.

"OK then, I'm going to send my engineers out to rig up some welcome wagons for the Xhost when they arrive" Kovac gave the Major a nod and walked away.

Kovac kept his men busy that day, he pushed them to work hard and they responded, the Major himself was tireless, he moved up and down the line talking with the men of the reserves on the right flank and then spending time with the infantrymen always talking positively about the situation, at midday he organised a competition, platoon against platoon and as the men ran up and down their line, stopping and firing at specific targets they realised how the improvised glacis exposed those before it to fire from a range of fields. Their confidence grew.

Late evening saw the first lines of Xhost troops pull into view, they had started to set up camp when Griffin Battery, buried further back behind enemy lines opened fire, explosions on their base caused chaos and when the dust had settled through omni-goggles Kovac could see the smoking ruins of three air support ships, the surprise of Griffin Battery had been lost but there was no air support for the Xhost tomorrow.

When the Xhost advanced in the pre-dawn gloom they did so in near silence, Griffin Battery stayed silent, they crept forward until the silent guns filled them with confidence and the advance sped up, they crept closer until in the middle of their lines explosions tore through the ranks.

Crouched and looking through the omni-goggles, Captain Becca called out ranges as more detonations shredded the advance. The Xhost fell back.

"Improvised nailbombs, water bottles with fuel and gunpowder salvaged from rifle rounds, strapped to two glass paperweights each." Kovac nodded to Becca, "That knickers is a nasty piece of work."

"They're advancing!" Yelled Becca from her vantage point, "two divisions on the left flank, one division in the centre, half a division moving to the right."

Again the Xhost advanced cautiously, and again the guns of Griffin Battery stayed silent, the few remaining paperweight bombs detonated but this time the Xhost were ready for them, and did not recoil in shock.

The advancing army looked vast in comparison to the thin like of troops dug in to oppose them, they drew nearer still nearly in rifle range when the guns of Griffin Battery sounded, amongst the shells shattering the Xhost lines were improvised shells which erupted on impact and appeared to contain liquid fire, Lance Corporal Bickers knowing that fuel and polystyrene - a packing product for the "useless" paperweights - could combine to create a highly flammable viscous liquid was the sort of information that earned him considerable "side eye" most of the time, but on occasion proved extremely useful. The fact he had known at least four other methods to make "napalm" was considered concerning.

The advance lines caught in the firestorm disappeared into the flames, the rest of the Xhost retreated.

"They're done for the day," said Kovac harshly, he looked out at the killing zone as if forcing himself to watch what he had done.

Kovac was correct in his assessment night fell and the Xhost made no movements to advance, the human forces bedded down and the sentries fought heavy lids as they watched the enemy lines.

Morning broke with a stiff breeze sweeping in from the northern shore bringing moisture and freshness to the air. The Xhost drew up and then stood watching the human defences, they stood and sang their hymns, Major Kovac ordered his men stood down but the infantry and SPDR stayed in their positions on guard while the engineers slept. The Xhost stood and sang all day, and late into the night and while Major Kovac had his men keep sentry and the others slept the less experienced troops stayed in position.

It appeared as though the Xhost might try to sing their way to victory, depriving the troops of the Galactic Council Defence Force of sleep until they were defeated but Kovac appeared to have a plan, as dawn broke the second day on the singing Xhost, the wind tugging at the ceremonial robes if their battle clerics rifle fire sounded and commanders of the Xhost began to fall, over a dozen shots sounded before the shocked Xhost rushed forwards. Half way between the two armies Hemmings and Richards the two finest shots in the engineers ranks broke cover and sprinted for the safety of their own lines.

While the two humans had a significant lead they were stiff and cold and amongst the massed ranks of the Xhost were species significantly faster than humans. As the massed ranks of the Xhost surged forward some shapes raced ahead, fastest of all were the unmistakable forms of Rhul converts, surging across the ground in their four legged posture.

Griffin Battery opened fire and still the two snipers ran with the Rhul closing the gap every stride. Hemmings was 30 yards ahead of his fellow sniper when he stopped, turned and fired three shots, the two Rhul yards from Richards dropped and Hemmings turned and sprinted for home.

The Xhost kept coming and for the first time reached rifle range, the Xhost drove on over their falling comrades as the defensive lines cracked with rifle fire. Flashes of colour appeared in the Xhost lines as Kovac's next trick was revealed. Artillery shells, robbed of half their munitions weight attached to left over paint tins rained down on the Xhost causing damage and spreading paint across vast swathes of Xhost numbers, coating rifle sights and eye stalks in blinding paint.

Still the Xhost pushed forwards until they were close enough that the faces of the myriad species of the Xhost converts could be seen. Kovac's last trick was played, empty paint tins and empty food tins, packed with the wrongly delivered pens and pencils and the munitions taken from the paint-shells were fired from the infantry's portable howitzers.

As the thin metal reached muzzle velocity of 180m/s it shredded spraying thin slivers of metal and wood out into the Xhost lines.

A shudder went through the fanatic troops as their advance slowed and they paused, no shot fired in return and over 3/4 of their own number laying in carnage.

Kovac stood up and walked to the lip of the human defences, "now, bullet bomb, bayonets!" He bellowed and the left flank suddenly hailed grenades followed by a volley of bullets and then the 88th 3 Squadron Combat Engineers launched forward in their own advance.

By days end the Xhost were defeated and driven from the planet.

I have multiple examples of humans turning errors into victories, vulcanised rubber, antibiotics and even the low resistance substance they coat their ships in but these are often seen as unique events, they aren't. Human achievements all across history have been accompanied by two phrases. "I have an idea" and "What if?"

I'm assured "hold my beer" is a crucial part of their success too.

#humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #earth is a deathworld #earth is weird #earth is awesome #space orcs #space australia #space faerie #this is why i call kovac daddy

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