The Crimson Beauty
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This is a piece from my Sci-Fi Anthology. This is mainly an action piece between Hawke, the Captain of the Sundancer, and Cragar, a member of the Sundancer. This is an exercise for writing tension and an easy-flowing action segment.
“Will things be okay, captain?” asks Greenhorn.
On a more prideful day, those words would grate against Hawke’s ears. Don’t you trust me? would be the first and most immediate response to such a question. However, as of right now, she isn’t sure either. Hawke doesn’t answer and instead finishes the rum in her glass. The silence is enough to answer Greenhorn’s question; it doesn’t help how anxious he was about the whole ordeal. The new accountant has never seen an ounce of action and the idea of a possible mutiny scares him pale. Despite this, Hawke could see his stifled giddiness – he was excited to see a real fight. As she puts down the glass, the door to her quarter's swings open as Brass, the quartermaster of the ship, walks in. Wearing a simple get-up of a red vest complimented with a clean white shirt, black pants with a silver buckle, and worn brown boots, Brass looks towards the accountant and gestures for him to leave – an order Greenhorn immediately obliges to. Brass has always been someone that Hawke could turn to for advice and support. On the rare occasion that Hawke has a doubt, Brass is her anchor. His shiny, metallic, sand-colored skin always complimented his confident and leading demeanor. Yet today, Brass’ face is wrinkled in a manner Hawke hasn’t seen in years.
“How’s the crew feeling, Brass?” asks Hawke, staring into her empty glass.
“Cragar’s got enough support that the challenge now has proper standing. Most of the crew is still on your side. You know they will die for you in an instant, but even the loyal ones are starting to listen to Cragar. If you ignore it for too long, there will be mutiny.”
Hawke scoffs. Mutiny. The fact that supposedly loyal members of a crew turning on their captain was common enough that there was a word for it always made her laugh.
“Captain Haw— Artemis… I don’t see any way out of this. What’s the plan?”
Hawke looks at Brass for a moment. A glance is all that is needed between two friends that would die for each other. Brass nods in acknowledgment and salutes her. There is a certain vagueness
behind the gesture. It could be one of luck or a goodbye. All Hawke knows is that Brass doesn’t know either.
“I’ll let everyone know that it’s starting and get the main deck ready for you,” Brass says.
“Thank you, Arlo… you’re a good friend.”
Brass takes a moment to think of something to say, but nothing comes to mind. He closes the doors behind him, leaving Hawke alone.
Hawke can hear the calming, subtle hum of her ship’s thrusters behind her. They have always helped her sleep and even now, they calm her nerves. The ship is currently drifting through the Aetherium, on a course that Hawke ordered two days ago; there are still 4 more days till the Sundancer
arrives at its destination. As she finishes the bottle and finally gets up from her desk, she looks around her quarters. She’s not sure why she’s examining her room in high detail – perhaps a part of her truly believes this will be the last time she sees the room she has lived in for 6 standard years. Whatever the reason, she plans to make the most of her time. Her quarters have never been fancy, but it's spacious and cozy. Her desk has books sprawled across it, some that she is reading and others she never even
plans to read. A holographic astromap glimmers in the corner of her room as well as her drinking cabinet. Behind her is a window that shows the vast expanse of the Aetherium, where clouds of every spectrum would mix and meld; where deep, vibrant nebulas would float peacefully alongside pods of
space whales. An incomprehensible beauty, seemingly expanding to infinity. Content with the time she took to look at her room for what might be the final time, she takes her leave. Just as she reaches the door, in the corner of her eye, she spots a mirror. A strange feeling hits her, as though she doesn’t
recognize the person right in front of her. Dark circles surround her emerald eyes. Her messy, fiery hair barely brushes against her shoulders as strands hang in front of her face. She dons her signature maroon jacket that is embroidered in gold. Long enough to reach her calves, she is also wearing a clean white shirt with a black corset and black pants with embroidery that matches her jacket. Her boots are the same as Brass’, worn and brown. Now that she recognizes the woman in the reflection before her, a
cheeky smirk cracks across her face and she leaves.
The chatter amongst her crew grinds to a halt as she walks to the center of the main deck. The familiar faces of the crew stare back at her as an uncomfortable tension rises from the crowd. In the corner of Hawke’s eye, the crowd parts to reveal Cragar approaching as well. Wearing only a black vest and brown pants, Morgan Cragar, the 6’3 red scaly beast looms in front of her. Their maw sneered at Hawke in a voracious way, revealing all of their teeth. Hawke hired them on the sole basis of Cragar’s strength; the idea that they were able to amass opposition against her position as captain was one that had never crossed her mind. It impressed her just as much as it annoyed her.
“Mx. Cragar, good to see you again,” Hawke chimes impishly
.
“Captain Hawke, finally out of hiding?” Cragar teases back.
“Such bravado, Morgan. I’m glad that hollow head of yours is at least useful for backtalk.”
“Keep yapping,” says Cragar “Let’s see if you have anything else to say after we’re done.” In an instant, the dead silent deck bursts into cheer.
“ENOUGH!” shouts Brass. The two stop and look toward the quartermaster. The crew quiets once again, giving Brass their attention.
“If both of you are done with your childish bickering, we can finally start,” says Brass. “For the sake of formality, Morgan Cragar has issued a duel against Captain Artemis Hawke for her position as captain of the Sundancer.”
"Get on with it,” interjects a random member hanging from the rafters. Just as the crew starts to rile up, Brass shouts once more. “Interrupt me one more time and I’ll throw all of you overboard myself!” The crew looks at each other anxiously.
“Thank you,” Brass continues. “Both of you will fight until one yields or dies. The loser of the duel, if alive, will be banished from the crew while the winner will become captain of the Sundancer. Any objections?”
The crew stays silent, watching intently.
“Before we continue,” Brass says, “Captain Hawke, would you like to address the crew?” Hawke walks towards the rigging of the ship and begins climbing despite the confusion of Brass and the rest of the crew. As her foot snuggly rests on the foothold, she says “Look around, my friends, look around at the beauty that graces us. Somewhere amongst the Aetherium lies a treasure we have only dreamed of. You know what I’m talking about…”
“..The lost treasure of the Black Rose?” replies an unsure crewmate.
“YES,” yells Hawke, “The Black Rose and its lost fleet is out there and it will be ours. I have been collecting clues and we are so close.”
“Stop with this, Captain! Please,” shouts Cragar. “This is exactly why you deserve to lose your position.”
Hawke gets down and realizes how intent the crew is listening to Cragar. They continue, “You are an amazing captain and I respect you immensely. But this?” Cragar says, “This stupid, fucking chase is just a dream. Three months, Hawke. Three bloody months with nothing to show for it. This ends now.”
Anything else?” asks Brass.
Hawke and Cragar say nothing, only staring at each other in malice and disgust. Brass takes that as a no and moves to the side. Hawke and Cragar draw their blades, the tension, and disbelief that shimmered amidst the crew intensifying. Hawke waits, only taking her signature stance. One foot forward with all her weight on the other, throwing her jacket onto the floor. She knows she can’t underestimate Cragar – while she beats them in speed and skill, Cragar greatly overpowers her in raw strength. Cragar has yet to do anything that could be recognized as tactical. They stand there with their sword drawn as if they are a clueless toddler. Hawke has only ever seen Cragar use an axe during their raids, which is probably why. A deafening silence rings throughout the deck. The eyes of the crew dart
back and forth between her and Cragar. A moment passes… then another… then without warning, Cragar charges forward, swinging their sword downwards. Hawke raises hers just in time for the swords to clash in the air, letting out a metallic hiss. The crew bursts into cheers, filling the deck with
life as the battle finally begins.
Instead of reeling the blade back, Cragar pushes down with immense force, keeping Hawke in place. Noticing Cragar is defending nothing below their head, Hawke swings a fist with her free arm towards Cragar’s side. The hit connects directly to their liver, causing Cragar to jump back in writhing
pain. Seeing her chance, Hawke lunges towards Cragar with the intent of skewering them immediately. Just as the blade reaches Cragar, they get their bearings and parry Hawke’s blade away. Hawke immediately follows the attack with an upwards slash, catching Cragar’s cheek, surprising them, and leaving them open for another cut across their abdomen. The pain spreads throughout Cragar’s body like wildfire, forcing them to hunch over.
“All bark and no bite, Morgan?” Hawke gloats as she opens her arms in a cocky flourish. When her confidence begins to rise, so does her tendency to piss off her opponents.
“Shut up Hawke!” Cragar yells as they charge with another flurry of strikes, all of which Hawke blocks with ease – until she suddenly loses her footing on a pool of Cragar’s blood. As she rushes to regain balance, Cragar overpowers her blade and disarms her. Confused and unsure how to
react, Hawke isn’t given any time to think before Cragar follows up by bashing their sword’s hilt against her face. The world around her becomes a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors as the pain envelopes her, trying to shake herself out of a dazed state. Hawke slowly recovers. She feels blood running down her face. The fucker broke my nose, she thinks but before she can angrily retaliate, she is hit again with enough force to throw her a couple of feet away.
“How is that for a bite?” Cragar asks as they slowly approach. Despite her efforts, the sharp pain in her side keeps her pinned to the ground. Murmurs flood the air. Some sound like shouts of encouragement while others, resignations of defeat. With every ounce of energy, Hawke tries to crawl away. The noise around her deafens, all she hears is the mad thumping of her own heart.
Hawke feels Cragar’s hands wrap around her neck as she is suddenly lifted back up onto her feet. The sudden jerk of motion snaps her back to reality. In front of her, Hawke sees Cragar mimicking the flourish she did earlier.
“If I’m beating the great captain, she better be on her feet,” Cragar spits out. Breaking out of their hold, Hawke lets out a furious cry, and charges at Cragar. To their surprise, she tackles them down to the ground and begins swinging. Cragar’s cocky smile melts with each punch and is replaced
with an expression of pure despair. They see nothing behind the eyes piercing into them – filled with nothing but rage and adrenaline.
“Wait please I yie—” Thud. Thud.
Two blows interrupt their pleas.
Thud. Thud.
The cheering and yells of the crew slowly die out as everyone begins to stare in shock and fear.
Thud. Thud.
“Mr. Brass… isn’t this too much?” a concerned voice whispers
Thud. Thud.
Thud. Thud.
Thud. Crack.
Hawke stops with one of her fists inside what used to be the head of Morgan Cragar. Her ragged breathing slowly returns to a calm pace. Blood and viscera surround her. Her clean white shirt is soaked in dark crimson. As she gets up, wiping her gore-covered hands on Cragar’s shirt, she looks
towards her crew.
“Any objections?”