[META PRP] Salvaging More than a Ship (Sarcel & Nahori)

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continued from here

 

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This time when Nahori stepped foot in Lieutenant Cincil's office, she didn't offer a polite knock as she had before. In fact, she slipped in without so much as a word, her arms full of paperwork and expression tired but neutral in the way anyone could probably tell she was holding something back.

"Sir," she finally said only when she'd reached the desk, "Here is... the report for the ship we just salvaged. Myself and, um, a few... volunteers."

As she set her work down in front of Sarcel, everything about the way she moved was stiff. Her hair was a mess, her uniform singed, her eyes sunken and rimmed in dark orange... it was obvious she'd gotten straight off the ship and started writing. Honestly, Nahori had been afraid if she'd laid down to rest first, she wouldn't have gotten back up.  

[Melancholies]

Sarcel hadn't heard Nahori walk in, but she didn't startle at the sound of her voice either. Instead she continued filling out the documentation in front of her, her face pleasantly ambivalent. "Salvaged?" She still hadn't looked up, but the tone of her voice was markedly impressed. "Excellent work, Private."

It was only then that the blueblood looked up, and her neutral expression became something a bit more incredulous. Nahori looked like s**t, to put it plainly, her uniform in desperate need of replacement and her skin mottled with bruises and injuries. There was a wave of disgust that washed over her, not because of Nahori's condition, but because Sarcel was suddenly disgusted with herself; had Nahori not been ready, had she pushed her recruit too far too fast...?

She knew that look of exhaustion all too well.

"I..." She placed a hand on the stack of paperwork, her fingers curving slowly over the edge as she pulled it back towards her. Her eye contact hung for a moment later before she glanced down to glean over the report. She glossed over the names there, the dates, the times, the coordinates and trajectories and--

Oh.

"I... see." She said finally, her voice reflecting the realization that just dawned on her. "Private Caviap, what the hell were you thinking?"

 

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"I..."

What had she been thinking? The whole thing happened so quickly, at least the moments leading up to take off. Once she'd accepted Sarcel's challenge, Nahori went immediately to find recruits. It was just like now, just like the paperwork—if she'd waited, it wouldn't have happened. From there it was a whirlwind. There were smaller ships available, sure, but there were pincers, too, and personnel had been desperately trying to funnel trolls to the bigger, more important ships.

Somehow Nahori had gotten caught up in it. She should've had the strength to say no, to lead her group to a swarmer instead, but it hadn't happened. That's how they ended up on the Scathing Selfishness.

"I don't know..." she muttered, her facade of neutrality cracking so very quickly. Her features distorted and her lips quivered as she tried not to look like a fool and start crying. "I don't know what happened... I was just... t-trying to do s-something right..."  

[Melancholies]

Sarcel sighed, the sound heavy and weighted in her chest. Nahori's resolve had crumbled quickly. She knew the feeling, could recognize the emotion. Nahori Caviap had wanted to make Sarcel proud, that was all. It sounded so simple in the end, even if it was so much more complicated than that.

"It puts me in a difficult position." Sarcel finally spoke, her eyes still downcast on the files as she flipped through the pages. "You didn't disobey any orders, not technically, but you still went against what we both knew surpassed your abilities."

Looking at the names and the information of her teammates, she knew they probably weren't exactly the most capable either.

"But you still exceeded my expectations, and that makes me proud as your lieutenant. Do you understand my dilemma? Praise and dissuasion shouldn't go hand in hand." She finally looked up at Nahori again, her eyes really taking in the extent of her injuries.

 

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"I know..." Nahori murmured, her voice a whisper of what it had been. In the same way Sarcel was conflicted, her own stomach did flips. She asked herself why she'd been so stupid, while also daring to let herself feel the tiniest warmth because someone was proud of her for once. It wasn't the first time, but it was one of a handful.

"I know, I'm sorry..." she apologized, looking at the desk, the floor, anywhere but Sarcel's face. "I-I don't know what to say, I-"

Her breath caught in her throat then and she went awkwardly quiet. There was a sniff and she pushed her glasses further up her nose, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. To her credit, she didn't lose it the way she felt she would. It was just a few tears, a way for her to shed her frustration, her tiredness, her pain.

"B-Being a leader... is hard. N-Next time I-" she cleared her throat, "Next time I'll... try to... make better decisions..."  

[Melancholies]

Sarcel didn't point out the crying. Instead she watched her recruit carefully, the way someone might watch a turtle who's been flipped over without immediately moving to help. These were growing pains, Sarcel reminded herself. She'd gone through them too, and they ached more than any sore muscle, hurt more than any broken bone.

But Nahori still stood there, wiped her tears, steadied her voice, and Sarcel couldn't help her expression from softening, just a little bit, just enough to be noticeable.

"It is hard." She admitted, her eyes closing in a long blink as she gathered up her thoughts, "You have to command the respect of your crew without climbing too high in your pride. You can't show your weaknesses, because faltering is almost worst than death." She seemed to be speaking genuinely, as if her words were coming from a personal place in her heart, "It's tempting to buckle under the stress, but for myself, there's nothing more rewarding than being relied on. When you come from nothing and suddenly garner something..." Sarcel trailed off.

She shook her head, "Regardless," Her eyes opened again, "I am more than pleased with your results, but you need to pace yourself better in the coming missions." And then there was an almost exasperated sigh, "This is why I thought making this a competition was stupid."

Sarcel had stood up somewhere in the midst of her monologue. She seemed to be pulling up a chair for Nahori to sit down in.

 

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There was a long, quiet hesitation on Nahori's part before she finally took a seat. She was a good listener, always had been, and nothing Sarcel said slipped past her despite herself and her stifled tears. There were moments she wondered if what the blueblood said was true—it's tempting to buckle, coming from nothing... Nahori managed to look Sarcel in the eye only because she wanted to know how personal those struggles really were.

"I... I knew I wouldn't be able to... keep up," she said, her voice still wobbly but her stutter back under a loose control. "Competition is... it's scary. I'm not... like everyone else... I don't... want to be the best."

All Nahori wanted to be was something instead of nothing.

"I don't want to give up..." she whispered, hands clasped in her lap. "Is it... really possible to... get rid of this kind of weakness? Is it possible to come from... from nothing and... still be relied on?"

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

For a while, Sarcel said nothing. She agreed that sometimes competition was necessary; it spurred growth, but it also caused trolls to get caught up in a rush that they had no business partaking in. Was that weak of her to think? Soft-hearted maybe? There was just a point where she thought it went way too far.

But instead she settled on silence, the only sounds coming from the blueblood being footsteps and breaths. She opened a drawer in her desk to produce some sort of black box, and a moment later she was dragging her chair around to the other side so that she was next to Nahori. She wasn't an expert in first aid, but she knew enough to keep her own body running. The box popped open to reveal a number of contents; gauze, antiseptic wipes, bandages...

"What do you think?" Sarcel asked her quietly, "Do you think it's possible?"

She slowly grabbed the orangeblood's hand, setting to work on her raw looking knuckles (no doubt scuffed from her weapons).

"Would you say that I'm reliable, Caviap?" She wasn't maintaining any sort of eye contact; no, Sarcel was focused on her task, "That I'm someone strong and capable and trustworthy?"

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The only reason Nahori didn't jump was she saw the hand coming, the slow, deliberate movements enough of a reassurance for someone as easily startled as she. The sting of the antiseptic was minimal, too, but that might've just been the exhaustion dulling the edge. She breathed a long, heavy sigh through her nose.

"I want it to be possible..." Nahori wasn't sure she was ready to say yes yet, she didn't have the conviction to back that up. At least there was reassurance in Sarcel's care. Stress began to seep out of her through her fingertips and her eyes slipped shut. It was hard not to give into the urge to fall asleep right then and there, she was so goddamn tired.

"You... you are reliable. I think so... I, um... I... envy you... a little." It was an honest admission. "But I... I'm... grateful you picked me..."

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

Sarcel hummed quietly under her breath, her hands still working through quiet ministrations as she tended to her recruits wounds. At Nahori's admission of her envy, the blueblood actually laughed, the sound clear but off--it wasn't bitter, but it wasn't happy either. It just hung in a weird limbo of emotions.

"Well then, I think you have your answer." She sighed as she wrapped up Nahori's fingers, "No troll is ever born great. For some, the path might be easier to walk, but no one is ever born with it." Everything was a constant fight, a constant struggle, a constant war. Life was not exempt from that rule.

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Some night in the distant future perhaps they could talk about deeper things than this. There was something both frightening and reassuring, both fantastical and realistic, about that idea. Who knew where they'd be even half a sweep from now, after all. Nahori supposed that was part of life, too, taking steps forward with no guarantees.

Those were the thoughts spurred by Sarcel's clear but decidedly off sounding laughter.

"No troll is ever born great..." she repeated, trying not to let her mind conjure thoughts of trolls like the Empress or perhaps other highbloods she'd met who flaunted their status as self-worth. "I guess I... will... keep trying, then. Right now that's... all I can do."

When Nahori finally opened her eyes again, it was to watch Sarcel's hands work around her fingers. "Sir...?" she said quietly, "Thank you..."

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

"Exactly. It can be tempting to compare yourself to others, but you need to focus on your own growth right now. It isn't just your physical limitation that you have to conquer, it's your mental ones too."

She seemed to finish up with Nahori's hand, although she was still looking over it dubiously. It looked pristine, but the blueblood seemed convinced she missed a spot. Either way, she seemed to give in, sigh, set the hand down before poking over the rest of Nahori's arm as she continued to assess the damage done to her recruit. Honestly, it felt awkward acting like a fussy lusus, but Nahori Caviap was her responsibility. Sarcel made a mental note to add basic first aid to the long laundry list of lessons she had planned for the orangeblood.

"You have nothing to thank me for. I'm only doing my job." Still, the tone of her voice sounded decidedly warmer. "Now, let me see your other hand..."

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Nahori felt something in her gut similar to what she'd experienced meeting Trusci again some nights prior. It was what she'd said specifically, telling her not to go and get herself killed. Beneath the blunt words had been kindness. Right now, on top of the considerably warmer tone, Nahori could tell the official sounding assurance was more than that.

She wasn't imagining it.

"Yes, of course..." With her newly patched hand withdrawn, she offered the other.

Melancholies

FIN