Marooned!

[cornichaun]

THE MAROONED MEME



When you’re stranded. When there’s no way out.

At least this you’re not alone.

WHERE ARE YOU STRANDED?
1: Island. Surrounded by the ocean, shipwrecked on an island. Far away from any civilization.
2: Planet. Is it an uninhabited wasteland? A teeming forest, crammed with alien life forms? Does it have enough oxygen? Storms? Predators?
3: Moon/Asteroid. Low atmosphere, low gravity. You better hope that you have a survival pod where there’s enough air and heat.
4: Adrift. A ship on the ocean; a power-dead space station; a skimmer floating through the levels of a gas giant.
5: Oasis. Not quite marooned in the same sense, but you’re surrounded by empty desert, too far to cross. You might as well be trapped by the water of the oasis.
6: Cave. Again, not quite in the same sense, but something has left you trapped underground. Did you slide down a chasm? Suffer a cave-in? Either way, you’re down here to stay, for the time being.
7: Other.

WHO’S WITH YOU?
1: A friend. You’re in this together.
2: An enemy. Maybe war brought you both here, and war left you stranded behind. Could be that you’re an enemy in a more mundane sense: school rivals, an assassin and her prey.
3: Strangers. You were both on that boat for vacation, and now you have to survive together.
4: A lover. Some honeymoon, huh?
5: Other. For any other variation.

WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?
1: Food and water.
2: Shelter. There’s a storm coming. The nights are cold, here. Or do you just want a sense of security?
3: Communication. How can you get someone to come rescue you?
4: Predators. Something’s trying to kill you…
5: Escape. If you can just fix the ship…
6: Each other. One more hour and you might kill each other.
7: Injury/Disease. One of you needs medical attention. Hopefully the other can muddle through.
8: Other. Any other problem you can think up!

Comments

[orcsurfing]

There was sand clinging to Legolas's clothing too, his hair was wet, sticking like golden tentacles to his face and shoulders, but it took nothing away from his appearance, his grace, or even that peaceful contentment. Sand itched and stung, but it was not discomfort enough to fuss about.

He was glad for that answer, that accent more distinct now - and more intriguing - than after just one word.

It was near impossible to curb the desire to tease, to point out there was water all around and that the man himself had just come out of a mass of it. Legolas did glance to the side with an arched brow, with a bit of a smile, to the sea bringing more of the ruined ship to the beach, but to his credit he said nothing. All of it a moment so brief it was easy to miss. Next he sought out a wet patch down the cliff's side, glad to see the little spring did not dry up. It was no waterfall, but water gathered below in stone basins - half natural, half helped to become their shape by an elven hand -, ready to drink and fresh.

"There, a spring's water gathers for the use of all, if you have the strength to walk," he gestured with a nod and a motion of the hand, offering his other hand to the stranger as he began to stand up, "If not, I offer you my help."

[commandor]

Cassian is the type to flinch from an offered hand, and he does here, too.

His feelings are foreign, jarring -- Legolas is shaped like a human, more or less, but the impression that his beauty leaves is like a view of a mountain range, or a sunset, something stunning, pristine and timeless and fleeting, natural and chaotic and perfect. He can't even really pinpoint the source of that feeling. His instinct is always to distrust humans, but there's a voice in the back of his mind urging him to trust this time, this once, and he doesn't know what to do with that.

He stumbles to his feet, brushing off sand, not taking the proffered help. New twinges and aches make themselves known as he does. He survived. He survived.

"You're," and he takes a breath. "An Elf." Question and statement.

[orcsurfing]

It was impossible not to notice that distinct refusal to accept his help, or even touch. And it made Legolas wonder to the causes of it. Was it because he was an elf? Was it unfamiliarity with the elves, or was it too close familiarity with them? But then, if it was the latter, then it still begged question: why. Unless the stories of them grew distorted over the passage of time.

Either way, it was something to consider and try to figure out. Later.

He withdrew his hand without saying anything, then lead at an intentionally languid pace - easy to keep up with for someone clearly exhausted and hurting - to the exact spot he meant. The water in the basin was crystal clear, merrily reflecting what light fell upon its surface. And it was never still, spilling onto the soil, rock and sand as more flew down the cliff's side in small rivulets.

"An astute observation, that I am," another quirk of the lip, another small jest that this time he couldn't keep inside. If nothing else though, his expression, fairly friendly and very intrigued, was as far from malicious as it could get. "As you are a Man.

"Has the memory of us fade so thoroughly from the minds of the Men that to see me now takes your breath away?"

[commandor]

When he's at the pool, he rinses the salt from his hands and takes a full draw of water from cupped palms. He wants to do more, to press himself against the running rivulets and drink and drink and drink, but he knows better. He knows his training.

He makes a breathless sound, and turns, leaning back against the stone.

It's not the memory. Humans pass down the stories of elves; that hasn't faded. But, he's met this one for a few moments and already he doesn't know if there are any words to describe him.

"Maybe," he suggests, letting the water settle in his stomach, hoping it doesn't come back up, "I just wasn't expecting to survive." Maybe it was just being stunned that he's awake and breathing, and that the sea hasn't claimed him.

Which doesn't explain why it's so difficult to tear his eyes away from the elf now.

"Do you," he starts. "Does your kind have names?" He realizes he doesn't know if the names from the legends are from the elves or from humans, desperate to give labels.

[orcsurfing]

Legolas glanced to the sea again, no other survivor had washed up. Perhaps there'd be others, elsewhere. When he returned - with this guest in tow -, he would have to request patrols be sent out in search of them, or their dead bodies to bury. "It is fate that you did, for even we do not set out when the storms look to be as violent as they were at night," his voice offered condolences for any companions lost to the storm, a heartfelt smile offered comfort, on the other hand.

Though there was a hint of something else in it as well, something a little less selfless. Those looks, the way the man's eyes stayed on him at all times, all that did flatter and please him greatly. Nobody looked at him quite like that, none of his fellow elves. At least not until they learned his status - a prince would always get all sorts of attention.

"Are there people out there who do not?" He teased, yet again, though this time with a more coy undertone. "I am Legolas, of the Silvan elves and it is with them you may seek shelter through me."

[commandor]

He's staring. He's staring like a boy fresh out of the village and into the big city. (He was that boy, once, but his naivete had already burned out of him.)

The water seems like it's staying down. And he catches Legolas's glance out to the sea.

"No one else survived," he says. His voice is hard; it wasn't the storm that took the lives of the handful of people on the boat. He simply couldn't afford the risk of leaving them alive. He couldn't be awake all the time; what if they got out of their bonds? What if they took the ship over? Ruthless, pragmatic.

He wishes he had his knife, despite the rumored combat prowess of the Elves.

"There are some who do not give their names," Cassian points out. "Do you know of the Empire?" He watches Legolas carefully for a reaction.

[orcsurfing]

Legolas caught that curious quality of voice, a slight change from exhausted to something a lot stronger and hardier. Such confidence, such certainty that he was the sole survivor. It could mean only two things, but Legolas wasn't about to assume much, or assume poorly of someone he just met. So far this man did not seem a threat at all.

"I noticed you did not give yours in return," he remarked instead, lifting both eyebrows as he considered the question. It wasn't just any Empire the man was asking about, but the Empire. Were there any when they left humans to fend for themselves? No, no Empires, only Kingdoms. Each of them independent, though not all of them thriving. Legolas shook his head, before continuing on to answer, "We do not build empires and you are the first Man to make it here and bring news of any built by your own folk."

[commandor]

Ah. Right. He hadn't. It's just not a reflex, for Cassian. When he has a false name on the tip of his tongue, he feels free to give it, every time. But when there's no one to pretend to be, no easy mask to show everyone else, he tends to be at a bit of a loss.

They don't know of the Empire. They don't know of the Empire. The sheer impact of that statement drives Cassian's planned response out of his mind. It makes him feel as though the ground is shifting and buckling beneath him. He lets out a breathless laugh, and, for an instant, truly and honestly considers attempting to hide out here for the rest of his life.

Duty, as always, draws him back.

"My name is Cassian," he says, looking up into Legolas's eyes. "You've been away from the human world for a long time."

[orcsurfing]

Human, so that was what they wound up calling themselves. It was not too far from the name under which the elves knew them, but it would not have been hard to remember even if it was otherwise. He would use it, from now on, and share his findings with the others.

But that would be later.

"Well met, Cassian," he tasted the name on his lips, mimicking the way Cassian himself spoke it, and found it pleasant, rolling off nicely and smoothly. A good name, though its meaning he could not comprehend. "And you are quite right, it had been a long, long time. So long that I had not even been conceived when we left you behind. Will you sate my curiosity, and share what it is like, beyond the sea?"

Legolas glanced around, purposefully, before returning his gaze back to Cassian with a hint of intentional sheepishness. "Though perhaps not out here, but rather someplace more suitable to great tales— should you accept my invitation."

I would really like my life to stop being so insane.

[commandor]

He can barely scrape his thoughts together. He is beyond exhausted, beaten to hell and back.

"So long as it can wait," he says, "I'll tell you all you like." He should be more cautious, since he doesn't know what the Elves' capabilities are, what their interests might be. They might -- gods, they might want to keep him here, since now he's the only person around who knows they're still alive.

He shifts up to his knees. He doesn't move to his feet on purpose -- a show of respect, of submission, because -- well, what else is there?

"I request protection, aid, and succor," he says, formally, "under the laws of hospitality. I have nothing to trade but my debt, but it belongs to no other, and may be freely given." Please, help me.