- Pardon -
Jun. 26th, 2010 10:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
notasuggestionHelga Sinclair
Atlantis: The Lost Empire
1150 words
A royal pardon allows Helga Sinclair to leave Atlantis with her life.
The Atlantean chamber looked fit for a queen. The bed frame was ornately carved, the covers lush and hand-woven. Colorful tapestries lined the walls, boldly displaying stories of the lost history. A painted bowl on a table within reach of the bed offered an array of fresh fruit, and a gold chalice waited nearby with cool, clear water. Light, red and blue, filtered through the sheer curtains covering the window and glinted off the silver rods supporting the wall hangings. A gentle breeze came, carrying the smells of both the flowing water just outside and the churning lava a hundred feet below. Two men, tall and strong, stood sentinel just beyond the archway leading into the room. Their white hair contrasted their dark skin, and brilliant blue tattoos spanned their shoulders and dipped beneath their simple but stately garments, continuing down their backs. At each man's side waited a clean, polished blade with an ornate hilt. They both also held spears.
However, they were not present to protect the woman in the room. Their purpose was to make certain she remained where she was and did not escape the metal restraint connecting her wrist to the headboard. She was not a guest. She was a prisoner, guilty of grievous crimes against Atlantis and its people.
The quiet footsteps that entered the room didn't worry her. She kept her eyes shut and pretended to be asleep. When a weight settled on the side of the bed, she dropped the act. She knew it wasn't Sweet-- too light. Mole knew better and wasn't so still. Ramirez wouldn't bother, and she doubted Vinny would be too concerned. None of the Atlanteans came near her, so that left one person.
She looked up at Milo Thatch.
He met her gaze and looked away, missing her smirk. She couldn't help but think that he seemed so young. In terms of years, they weren't far apart, she knew that much. Still, every gesture of his was like a guilty child. He was a hero, the savior of Atlantis, but he remained so unsure of himself. She watched him fold his hands, bite his lip, and adjust his large glasses. He cleared his throat twice before he found his voice.
“I’m… I’m sorry about the handcuffs,” he managed.
“A necessary precaution.” Her voice remained level, and she smirked further at his confused expression. “Have I been sentenced?”
Milo nodded.
“Out with it, Thatch,” she prompted.
“You’re…” He looked at her with a boyish grin. “You’re going home with the others, Helga.”
Lieutenant Helga Sinclair sat up on the bed to meet his eyes better. She refrained from asking him why he was so pleased. To someone like Thatch, she knew, escaping a death sentence was a great boon, and he saw only his own world-view. He’d saved her life once with Sweet’s help and had done so again, for she was certain the Atlantean queen had not given mercy freely. The least she could do for him was spare his idealism. She only said, “Thank you, Mr. Thatch.”
“I promised Kida I’d take you to the transport,” Milo explained as he unlocked the metal band around Helga’s wrist. He frowned and bit his lip again. “And…”
“And I’d be handcuffed again once aboard?”
“How did you—?”
“She’s too smart not to be sure I can’t make trouble,” Helga replied.
“You… won’t, will you?” He watched her rub her worn wrist, more puppy than boy. “On the way back, on the surface, anything?”
“Atlantis will never hear of me again.”
“And the Heart?” For a moment, she saw the man. Brave and faithful. He lacked the looks, she considered, but he had the heart of the fairy tale princes her mother had read to her about when she was young. He was proof that good existed in the world and that it sometimes, when least expected, managed remarkable strength.
“It’s proven that I can’t have it.” She rose to her feet and staggered. Pain ripped through her chest, sides, and back. Torn muscles, cracked ribs, and a broken collarbone didn’t heal overnight. Her legs, unused for a week, nearly gave out beneath her. Still, she ignored Milo’s offered arm and made her way to the window. The Heart of Atlantis glowed above the city, basking all in its light and glory. “It’s taken enough from me to make its point. I know when to cut my losses, Mr. Thatch.”
“Helga…” He stopped short of touching her shoulder. “Do you want to… freshen up? Or anything?”
“No. Lead the way.”
Milo carefully put a hand on her elbow and showed her out of the room. She wondered briefly if his hold was to support her should she stumble or to restrain her should she try to flee. Not that, realistically speaking, she had anywhere to run if she broke away.
As she walked with Milo through the halls of the palace, Helga tried to look in every direction and see every item.
A soldier leaned against his spear. Three hundred dollars at a proper auction. A woman straightened a tapestry depicting the Great Flood. Two thousand. A man poured water from a silver pitcher. Six hundred. Two children ran past, chasing a ball. One hundred. All around her, every neck bore a small crystal, the slightest piece of the Heart. Five thousand. Each. At least.
Outside, every step down made Helga wince. Building a palace high above the city with steep stone stairways leading to the doors made an impressive sight, but it proved tiring for a wounded soldier. Helga leaned briefly against Milo’s shoulder when they reached the base, but she kept him from saying a word with a glare.
They continued on without speaking.
“Here,” Milo finally said.
She looked at the massive stone machine. It resembled a narwhal, and much of it had been intricately carved with Atlantean designs. Its open mouth served as a boarding plank. Mere feet away, piles of gold, jewels, and fabrics waited.
“A hero’s goodbye,” she murmured, stopping beside the treasures.
Milo smiled sheepishly. “I couldn’t have done it without them.” He looked toward the palace then the Heart of Atlantis wordlessly. She knew he could barely believe what he had accomplished. His eyes came back to Helga, and he sighed. “Come on. We’ll… I’ll find you somewhere comfortable to sit.”
Helga shook her head and followed him into the vehicle. While she watched Milo arrange bolts of cloth for her to lean against, muttering all the while to think of how best to avoid aggravating her injuries, the lieutenant reached into her pocket. She had survived the loss of her entire crew, the mutiny of her carefully chosen specialists, and a traitorous commander. She was injured and ruined. She didn’t deserve to come out of this with nothing.
And no one would miss a single gold and ruby necklace.
Atlantis: The Lost Empire
1150 words
A royal pardon allows Helga Sinclair to leave Atlantis with her life.
The Atlantean chamber looked fit for a queen. The bed frame was ornately carved, the covers lush and hand-woven. Colorful tapestries lined the walls, boldly displaying stories of the lost history. A painted bowl on a table within reach of the bed offered an array of fresh fruit, and a gold chalice waited nearby with cool, clear water. Light, red and blue, filtered through the sheer curtains covering the window and glinted off the silver rods supporting the wall hangings. A gentle breeze came, carrying the smells of both the flowing water just outside and the churning lava a hundred feet below. Two men, tall and strong, stood sentinel just beyond the archway leading into the room. Their white hair contrasted their dark skin, and brilliant blue tattoos spanned their shoulders and dipped beneath their simple but stately garments, continuing down their backs. At each man's side waited a clean, polished blade with an ornate hilt. They both also held spears.
However, they were not present to protect the woman in the room. Their purpose was to make certain she remained where she was and did not escape the metal restraint connecting her wrist to the headboard. She was not a guest. She was a prisoner, guilty of grievous crimes against Atlantis and its people.
The quiet footsteps that entered the room didn't worry her. She kept her eyes shut and pretended to be asleep. When a weight settled on the side of the bed, she dropped the act. She knew it wasn't Sweet-- too light. Mole knew better and wasn't so still. Ramirez wouldn't bother, and she doubted Vinny would be too concerned. None of the Atlanteans came near her, so that left one person.
She looked up at Milo Thatch.
He met her gaze and looked away, missing her smirk. She couldn't help but think that he seemed so young. In terms of years, they weren't far apart, she knew that much. Still, every gesture of his was like a guilty child. He was a hero, the savior of Atlantis, but he remained so unsure of himself. She watched him fold his hands, bite his lip, and adjust his large glasses. He cleared his throat twice before he found his voice.
“I’m… I’m sorry about the handcuffs,” he managed.
“A necessary precaution.” Her voice remained level, and she smirked further at his confused expression. “Have I been sentenced?”
Milo nodded.
“Out with it, Thatch,” she prompted.
“You’re…” He looked at her with a boyish grin. “You’re going home with the others, Helga.”
Lieutenant Helga Sinclair sat up on the bed to meet his eyes better. She refrained from asking him why he was so pleased. To someone like Thatch, she knew, escaping a death sentence was a great boon, and he saw only his own world-view. He’d saved her life once with Sweet’s help and had done so again, for she was certain the Atlantean queen had not given mercy freely. The least she could do for him was spare his idealism. She only said, “Thank you, Mr. Thatch.”
“I promised Kida I’d take you to the transport,” Milo explained as he unlocked the metal band around Helga’s wrist. He frowned and bit his lip again. “And…”
“And I’d be handcuffed again once aboard?”
“How did you—?”
“She’s too smart not to be sure I can’t make trouble,” Helga replied.
“You… won’t, will you?” He watched her rub her worn wrist, more puppy than boy. “On the way back, on the surface, anything?”
“Atlantis will never hear of me again.”
“And the Heart?” For a moment, she saw the man. Brave and faithful. He lacked the looks, she considered, but he had the heart of the fairy tale princes her mother had read to her about when she was young. He was proof that good existed in the world and that it sometimes, when least expected, managed remarkable strength.
“It’s proven that I can’t have it.” She rose to her feet and staggered. Pain ripped through her chest, sides, and back. Torn muscles, cracked ribs, and a broken collarbone didn’t heal overnight. Her legs, unused for a week, nearly gave out beneath her. Still, she ignored Milo’s offered arm and made her way to the window. The Heart of Atlantis glowed above the city, basking all in its light and glory. “It’s taken enough from me to make its point. I know when to cut my losses, Mr. Thatch.”
“Helga…” He stopped short of touching her shoulder. “Do you want to… freshen up? Or anything?”
“No. Lead the way.”
Milo carefully put a hand on her elbow and showed her out of the room. She wondered briefly if his hold was to support her should she stumble or to restrain her should she try to flee. Not that, realistically speaking, she had anywhere to run if she broke away.
As she walked with Milo through the halls of the palace, Helga tried to look in every direction and see every item.
A soldier leaned against his spear. Three hundred dollars at a proper auction. A woman straightened a tapestry depicting the Great Flood. Two thousand. A man poured water from a silver pitcher. Six hundred. Two children ran past, chasing a ball. One hundred. All around her, every neck bore a small crystal, the slightest piece of the Heart. Five thousand. Each. At least.
Outside, every step down made Helga wince. Building a palace high above the city with steep stone stairways leading to the doors made an impressive sight, but it proved tiring for a wounded soldier. Helga leaned briefly against Milo’s shoulder when they reached the base, but she kept him from saying a word with a glare.
They continued on without speaking.
“Here,” Milo finally said.
She looked at the massive stone machine. It resembled a narwhal, and much of it had been intricately carved with Atlantean designs. Its open mouth served as a boarding plank. Mere feet away, piles of gold, jewels, and fabrics waited.
“A hero’s goodbye,” she murmured, stopping beside the treasures.
Milo smiled sheepishly. “I couldn’t have done it without them.” He looked toward the palace then the Heart of Atlantis wordlessly. She knew he could barely believe what he had accomplished. His eyes came back to Helga, and he sighed. “Come on. We’ll… I’ll find you somewhere comfortable to sit.”
Helga shook her head and followed him into the vehicle. While she watched Milo arrange bolts of cloth for her to lean against, muttering all the while to think of how best to avoid aggravating her injuries, the lieutenant reached into her pocket. She had survived the loss of her entire crew, the mutiny of her carefully chosen specialists, and a traitorous commander. She was injured and ruined. She didn’t deserve to come out of this with nothing.
And no one would miss a single gold and ruby necklace.
