Daphne II

This is the second part of the Daphne chapter, as you may have guessed from the title.  Do you guys like makeup, and hearing about how it's put on?  Good, I was hoping so.  Also, I'd like to make a couple of notes real fast.  First off, this is one of the first times where I'm actually ahead of my posts, so I don't have to frantically write up something the day before or of when I need to post it.  Secondly, I've moved towards typing  this up directly on the computer, rather than writing in my notebook first.  It seems to be working better for me.  (Read: I'm actually writing more.)  As always, enjoy.

The slave responded curtly, “Yes Domina.” She approached whilst snatching a cloth off of the table next to where she had sat, quickly setting to work, wiping away the tears from her face and generally wiping it clean. Gently caressing her face with the cloth, she asked, “How soon do you need to be presentable? Dominus is leaving soon, is he not?”

These words, as harmless as they may have been at face value, cut like a knife into her heart, a reminder that he was soon to leave, a reminder of what she dreaded most. She almost stuttered out her response, “S-soon.” She clenched her jaw reflexively, trying to swallow the pain away.

“My apologies, Domina. I did not mean to salt this wound while it was still so sore.” She stepped back a bit, examining the face of her lady. “Come. Sit here.” She gestured to the chair in which she had just sat a moment before, to which Daphne strode towards and quickly plopped down. Meanwhile, Doula grabbed a comb made from the bone of an auroch, two deer leaping towards each other carved into the handle. She with deliberate, practiced strokes swept through Daphne’s hair, producing uniform waves flowing down the back of her neck. Hair brushed, she made two quick braids on either side of her face from her foremost hair and then tied them to each other behind her head with a red ribbon, keeping all of her hair from her face.

Next she set to the makeup, taking a small bowl that was filled with a white paste, composed of white marl crushed down into a fine powder, orris root, and some animal fat. She swiped some up with her fingers and began to blend it onto her lady’s face, whitening it into an even pale shade. Next she approached another table where a near empty bottle of wine sat and put the spare cloth to the lip of the bottle, flipping it upside down to catch the dregs and obtain the red colour, applying it lightly to her cheeks to give a nice, rosy colour. Her eyelashes were highlighted by a small bone rod dipped in water and then kohl, and given eyeshadow from a crushed malachite mixture to give a green colour.

“And now the finishing touches, Domina.” She took a small glass container and smeared on to her neck on both sides small amounts of a paste made from animal fat, but blended into rose petals and cinnamon to give a pleasant aroma. At last she took a large necklace, a Usekh collar made of many sections of beads and some precious stones, and put it about Daphne’s neck, as well as some gold and silver bracelets and a gold torc for each arm. Finally, she was ready.

Daphne I

This is a return to the original Hellenistic world that I've been writing about.  I need to come up with a name for it, or something otherwise by which to identify it.  At any rate, this originally was a separate character from Lysistratas, the first character which I wrote from the perspective of, but I've decided to combine her together into a single character, with the name of Daphne.  The name of her husband is also going to change, but I can't remember what it's supposed to be.  More to follow.



They had both known that this day would come, that he would be called off to war, to campaign against the enemies of their homeland.  He was a part of the greatest military the world had ever seen, and he was a nobleman, thus a junior officer, and certainly he was unlikely to be killed in battle.  So great also were they in the sciences and knowledge of disease and the human body, and certainly he was unlikely to die whilst on the march.  None of it made it any easier, for while the fear of death lingered in the backs of both of their minds, it wasn’t really what made them so distraught.  They’d have no way to talk to one another.  It was simply their separation.  It was the being apart.  It was the not knowing. 

Daphne could not bear to watch him be dressed in his armour, as the sight of it represented that which she dreaded, him ultimately leaving her.  Instead, she waited in the courtyard, leaning over the railing, taking in the beautiful garden that lay before her, filled with flowers.  They may as well have not been there, as she looked right through them, thinking of her husband riding off, away from her.  She chewed lightly on her bottom lip and swallowed hard as she choked back some tears.  What good am I doing out here, she asked herself, if it makes me feel no better?

She drew in a long, wavering breath and let it all out; her breath, her anxiety, her sadness, all leaving her body in a single moment.  She would be strong.  She had to be.  Lifting herself off of the railing she strode towards the front of the house.  She could hear his voice but could not yet approach; she had been crying and could not bear to have him see her in such a distraught state.  If this was to be the last day that he would see her before he went on campaign, she needed to make sure that she looked her best, to give him a good memory of her.

Daphne proceeded past the impluvium, the small pool near the front of the house, decorated with a mosaic, which caught rainwater and housed a few small decorative fish to eat insect eggs, which darted away as she walked by.  She turned to walk into her personal chambers where her personal handmaiden sat, quickly standing at her entrance.  She was a slightly older woman, lines starting to appear on her face, but still had some of the beauty of youth.  Her skin was olive, and her dark hair began to have strands of grey streak through it, giving her more dignity and grace, though most of it was covered by a light blue headscarf.  She bowed her head slightly and inquired, “Domina.  What is it?”

Daphne drew in a deep breath, building herself up with it.  “My husband is leaving.  I intend to see him off.”

The Drop III

Continuing on with the Drop story.  At this point he's no longer dropping, but I guess I might as well stick with the name I've been calling it.  Unlike the story set in the Hellenistic world, this should all be sequential and from the same character.  This week I'm also in the process of moving, so if I have to skip this Wednesday, you may have to forgive me.

He had landed near a large fountain, spraying water triumphantly into the air, and surrounded by the building on all sides, four stories tall and made of a light grey material, mayhaps concrete covered in stucco, with tall windows and white drapes.  The courtyard itself was filled with plants and paths and benches, four tall and narrow cypresses framing the courtyard, with hedges separating the paths in some manner of geometric design.  Avitus heard explosions in the distance, three simultaneously; his pod had detonated to avoid capture and reverse-engineering.

After gathering his surroundings and surmounting that there was no immediate threat, he centered his view on the direction that he was supposed to head in order to reach his unit’s rendezvous point, the self-correcting compass in his view having a marker to show him the direction.   Oriented, Avitus immediately began running off to one of the four tunnels, one on each face, which exited the building.  As he did so, he voiced, “Section channel,” picked up by a tape sensor across his voice box, detecting vibrations it made, to which his suit responded by displaying a glowing “S” on the upper portion of his view, next to the compass.  He continued, “Gaesetae, report.”  His two subordinate officers chimed in, each reporting a satisfactory condition, to which he replied, “Good to hear.  My pod was struck and knocked two kilometers out.  Proceed to rendezvous point.  Section channel out.”  The glowing letter disappeared from his view. 

By now he was in the street outside, observing all of the windows for any sign of activity.  The buildings outside seemed all to be quite similar to the one in which courtyard he had fallen, all quite the same.  He voiced, “Company channel,” with the suit responding by replacing where the previous letter had been with a glowing “C”.  “Gaesetae Zero, this is Gaesetae Three.  Section is on ground and proceeding to rendezvous point.  How copy?  Over.”  This would transmit all the way up to the ship in orbit, and so all responses were delayed by about half a second; a quarter to go up, and a quarter to come back down.

“Gaesetae Three, this is Gaesetae Zero.  That’s a good copy.  Proceed as planned.  Out.”

The Decurion voiced, “Company channel out” and the character disappeared from his view.  He hadn’t seen anyone since he landed, which was a good sign.  It had meant that everyone was either holed safely in their homes or fled the city entirely.  Regardless, it made them more like to stay out of the line of fire and avoid both civilian casualties and confusion on the field of battle.  The less complications there are, the better.  War was complicated enough as it is.

The Drop II

Continuing on with my little excursion into military scifi.  I just spent almost an hour researching orbital reentry speeds, terminal velocity, g-force, and a couple of other things to make sure that the deceleration was actually proper.  Hope it seems as such.  Oh, random question:  What do you think of the colours for the blog?  Does it make it hard to read?

The pod glided smoothly through the vacuum, having exited the ship.  Avitus could feel the weightlessness, but remained unable to move.  However, it no longer bothered him.  In fact, soon he’d be glad for those straps.  The pod began to vibrate gentry as it entered into the atmosphere, and did so more and more as the gasses thickened, soon violently shuddering him.  So too could he feel the pod begin to rotate.  There were three spines along the pod which burned away as it burned through the atmosphere, rotating it and releasing chaff designed to interfere with targeting computers.

Fully into the atmosphere and the chaff expended, the ride got smoother, and soon Avitus felt the force of three decoys fly off, each with a weak radar signature, and they composed the entire outer shell of the pod, taking away its heat signature as well.  Soon he would be at his target landing zone.

Avitus and the pod he was entombed within jolted violently and started spinning.  Something had managed to hit him and sent him spiraling.It righted itself, no longer turning, just in time to open and eject him.  It broke into pieces, instantly decelerating whilst he continued to rocket towards the ground, still two and a half kilometer in the air.  In the blink of an eye he had fallen a kilometer, and then another, decelerating from approximately 1800km/h in just a four seconds.  His vision began to blur a bit, everything turning grey and his peripherals closing in briefly before returning to normal.

If that much force was put on him much longer, and had he not been trained for such again and again, he would have blacked out, failing to properly land and striking the ground.  His armour automatically charged the Talaria on the back of his suit, which when charged with sufficient energy effectively had negative weight.  The computer did all the math; it slowed him down just enough that he would not break himself into pieces.

Hitting the ground itself was lessened by special attachments onto the bottoms of his boots which collapsed and crunched, absorbing the energy from hitting the ground, relieving hosts stress on the joints of both Avitus and his armour.  Even still he bent his legs at the knees and dropped backwards, rolling onto the ground.  He had observed the site as he descended, but had only few precious seconds to do so, landing in the courtyard of some large building, perhaps apartments.  This is not where he was supposed to land.

The Drop I

I'm finally back from my longer than necessary break from writing.  I had just really struggled to motivate myself to write anything.  Oddly enough, having a better outline of the plot made it harder to write.  However, I'd spent some time with my friend Jairus, also a burgeoning writer, who stated his need to have multiple projects to work on.  Now, I tend to work on things in bursts, fervently working on something for short periods of time, only to put it down soon thereafter.  This is part of why writing has been difficult for me, in that I want to try to write consistently, in so that I can actually complete something.  However, having multiple things to work on might actually be the thing for me.  I started in on a military scifi thing, based loosely on the Kae'Moda stuff I've worked previously on (for those of you who know what that is).  Hope you all enjoy.

Avitus was completely strapped in, completely secured, unable to move.  There was nothing that could affect him, nothing that could do him harm; all the same where he should have felt invincible, he felt the absolute most helpless.  Part of what made him so secure was that he was rendered completely immobile, any physical shock to his pod would be completely dissipated by the time it was transferred to him, and that he could not move prevented him from injuring himself.

However, that was just it.  He was rendered completely immobile and deprived of his senses, nearing nothing and seeing only Eigengrau.  They only shut him in five minutes before the pods were to be jettisoned from the troopship, but when one feels as though they are enclosed into a coffin and that there was no way of knowing whether one was dead or alive but from the faint glow of the screens just before his eyes.  In days past they had once looked directly through holes in the helmet, but this structural weakness led to superfluous casualties from eye-wounds.  Now there are armoured cameras where the eyes are, in order to transmit a simulated stereopsis to the small screens suspended directly before the eyes.  Less death, only slightly sub-optimal visual acuity.  Best for everyone.

Thinking thoughts such as these helped to stem the feeling of being entombed like a corpse within his pod, but he’d thought them all so many times before that by now that they’d become fleeting, passing ever so quickly whilst the time in his pod continued to crawl at a grueling pace, leaving only the thumping of blood in his veins to keep him company, slowly ticking on, the thumping his pendulum to keep the time, but each pulse seemed to go by even more slowly than the last.  He tensed all this muscles, he railed against his chains that they may give him some hope of movement.  None.  He breathed in sharply through his teeth; quick, shallow breaths struggling to give him more air, to make him think more clearly.

Nothing helped.  He screamed.  He screamed long enough and hard enough that sweat began to bead along his brow and his face became flushed with blood.  On the Lucullus, the troopship that bore him, there would be someone who was monitoring his vitals, and everyone in squad would be able to hear him.  That is, unless he was sealed in his pod.  It was completely cut off from the outside and no one could hear him scream.  Frankly, if he died no one would know until he hit the ground.  They were designed with state of the art stealth technology, which included the inability to transmit any information in or out of the pod, just in case some enemy were able to change landing coordinates, leading the soldier to their untimely death.

He breathed in more slowly, in through his nose and out through pursed lips.  “Calm yourself Lucan,” he whispered to himself.  If one has no one else to reassure him, one has only but oneself to do this.  “Once you’ve gotten down, everything will be okay.”  His breathing began to pick up a bit more speed again.  “How many times have you done this?  How many times have you gone through the simulators, which are just as bad?  You’ll be fine.  Think of something relaxing, not stuck in here.  Think of sprawling in bed, or having too much to drink.  Think of both.”

This only led to him attempting to sprawl out himself, which was met only with futility.  He started to let out a growl when he felt a sudden downwards lurching movement.  The hatch beneath him had slid open and his pod adjusted into a launching position.  It wasn’t long now.  Avitus took in a few short breaths, counting down in his head, finally taking in one large gulp of air.  The pod launched, shooting out from the troopship, screaming down into orbit.  He’d be on the ground soon.