Greetings, welcome to Chapter Two of Marginal Life.
This chapter picks up right where the first leaves off. If you haven't read chapter one, I suggest you go do so first. No, seriously, what are you still doing here, this won't make any sense otherwise.
To the rest of you, to everyone that read and/or rated chapter one, and is now back for more. Thanks for the support, it made my day to see that little red H next to the story, even if it was only for an afternoon.
For those looking for more worldbuilding, I ask for patience. Chapter three will go in depth on how magic works.
As before, comments are welcome. I really would like to know what you find lacking, or want to see more of.
I hope you continue to enjoy reading the story, I'm certainly learning a lot writing it.
-Mach Ex Anima, August 2016
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We're under attack. Marge's bridge is in chaos. Alarms scream for Stefan's attention. The chainsaw on lookout warns of incoming from off the bow. The wood chipper at tactical yells of an assault from below. The cat at security yowls of intruders. At my own station, I... What?
It's too strange, even for me. The dream breaks. With a muffled groan I pry open eyes heavy with too much sleep. Less than a foot above me, Stefan's snoring drones away. Its strength so incredible, I'm surprised it didn't wake me sooner. That I so easily incorporated it into my now fading dream. Under the racket I giggle. There's a reason Marian and I sleep in our own quarters.
Drifting, half awake, I contemplating moving. The wall clock proclaims we've been asleep for over ten hours. Me I understand, I needed the time to recover. His exhaustion is more worrying. Does my episode lie at its root, or something else? Unsure which is worse. Too much thought for first thing in the morning.
Sometime during the night I had rolled off to his side, snuggling in tightly. The contact feels amazing. Like a living pillow, radiating warmth and comfort. Protection from any external threat. Despite the racket. Licking my lips, I grimace. Perhaps something to silence the noise is in order. Revenge for waking me, but also appreciation for last night. And to replace the dry, gritty taste of sleep with a better flavour. Stretching slightly to loosen my muscles, I reach for his morning stiffness. Already savouring the upcoming banquet, I-
Eww.
Hand suddenly sticky, instantly wide awake, I flinch back from the contact. Memory surfaces, of passing out as we finished. Hyper aware of my own messy state, all plans are destroyed by one all consuming thought: Shower. NOW.
No time for stealth. Sliding away and off the bed, I shiver at the loss of his heat. Padding into the bathroom, his snoring continues unchanged. Guess I'm showering alone. Triggering the spray, I start to scrub vigorously. It's time to take stock.
Past the stickiness, I feel good. Really, really good. Rarely do I wake still ready for company. Risking my calm, I try directness. I had sex. Really, really great sex. I enjoyed myself, our time together. Three times even. So far so good. Unusually, I enjoyed his attentions to my core. My... my... pussy. Barely a hesitation. Huh. My first thoughts this morning were for more. Definitely rare. Almost unheard of.
Cautiously, I visualize my mental pool. Is there something that reflects my continued calm? Something different? While the pool's level is far from recovered, the underlying stone feels denser, more permanent. The faint hint of carvings adorn the stone, some long branching motif. Roots maybe? Or some kind of vine? The water ripples. A strange light catches my attention, a candle floating in the center of the pool.
My calm trembles. Fire means an episode. No. It's too soon. They're never this close together. Panic closes in, digging at my calm. Frantically I try to start my routine. Try to breathe. Come up with a project to work on. Keep the focus in check. Breathe! Can't let myself wander. Not the harness. Lasse wants better cold storage, maybe that? Breathe damnit! Is Fate trying to destroy me? Maybe I can-
Arms circle me from behind. I shriek, my mental pool surging in a sudden explosion of fright. Adrenaline pounding, I instinctively shove back, slamming my attacker against the shower wall. Or at least try to. Outweighing me by quite a bit and steady while I am off balance, Stefan merely sways. Peering over my shoulder, worry evident on his face.
"Jaya? You okay? You left the door open. Did you not want company?"
A mental glance, the candle is gone. Vanished as if it never existed. The pool stills, waves settling. His presence distracting me, dissipating the panic. His words register. Had I left the door open? I had. On purpose? Seems so. Had I wanted company? Yes. Do I still? Yes. Yes I do.
Weak from sudden relief, the rush of adrenaline passing as fast as it came on, I sag against him. Laughing quietly, hysteria lending it a jagged edge. His tense muscles a clue that he is ready to surrender the shower, leaving me to myself. To ride out yet another of my "moods." All it will take is the right - or wrong - word.
"No... no, wait." A deep breath. "I did." Stronger. "I do. I was just... thinking."
He's not convinced. Many a morning have I vanished, both quietly and... not. Very rarely staying this long. Today, I want him to stay. Need him to. A plan takes shape. I slap my washcloth to his chest as the first step.
"Wash. Don't think I'm done with you. I need you nice and clean." Time to switch tracks. "You still have that jerky from Golddale?"
"Yes?" Though I can tell the question has thrown him, he instinctively answers what was to be my next query. "It's in the left chest, to the back."
Smiling to myself, I hop from the shopper. Almost skipping as I head towards his quarters. Not that I would ever do such a thing.
As ever, his cabin is orderly. Clean. Almost too clean. A small bed, two storage chests, and a desk the only furniture. A light carpet softens the bite of an otherwise cold metal floor. Very few personal effects, Stefan isn't one for souvenirs. A small framed photograph hanging centrally above the bed clearly the focus. The expensively produced monochrome depicting Marian and I standing to either side of Stefan. Taken just after Marian finished her Doctorate, when she joined us on Marge. That puts it just over eight years ago. In it we're smiling, a happy Bond reunited.
Focus. Keep on target. Remember the plan. I find the food quickly, exactly where he said it would be. The leather pouch is still sealed, a layer of wax over a simple drawstring. Gold leaf proclaims it the best assortment of game to ever breathe smoke. Perfect. Dripping a reasonable amount of water on his carpet, I head back.
When I return, he's washing at a leisurely pace, face an impassive mask. He missed my excitement, or thought it a ruse. He thinks I bolted. As excuses go, it would have been a good one. The mask muting the pain I caused him, or at least trying to. Even knowing me as well as he does, he still blames himself when I run off.
Time to stop that right now, thank you.
"I told you, I have plans. Breakfast first."
My voice is light, teasing. Startling him, surprise banishing his mask. Washing more quickly now, a smile tugging at the edges.
"My mistake. I'll be clean in a moment, oh breakfast planner."
Much better. Grinning, I grab his razor from the sink cabinet. A slice easily breaking the wax seal. A simple tug, and I'm in. The rich aroma of wood smoke and spices fills the already steamy air, drawing a grumble from both our stomachs. Probably shouldn't have missed dinner. Fishing out a piece of something dark, I begin to snack.
"Mmm. Their reputation is well deserved." Another piece, something light this time. "This is incredible."
"I wouldn't know."
