Dejah Thoris (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dejah_thoris) wrote2015-04-20 09:11 pm
dejah_thoris) wrote2015-04-20 09:11 pm
[oom] Raise It Up
She'd been walking for hours. It'd been dark when she'd set out, and she'd only meant to go out far enough to do some celestial observations. She hadn't meant to end up walking all the way around the lake.
It was peaceful out here. She heard a few smaller predator species vocalizing in the distance, but she could hear no banth cries, no deep-throated hoots of the white apes. It was almost like walking in her roof gardens at night. Well, except for the mist hanging in the still air, pooling in the lower points of the hills and meadows. An atmosphere so rich in water, it precipitated out into actual ground level clouds. Amazing, simply amazing.
She found herself standing on the sand, staring out over the Caribbean inlet as the sun came up. The view was stunning. She took her sandals off and left them on the sand, walking out into the surf until it came up to her thighs. Her fingertips played on the surface of the water.
So much water. It stretched as far as the eye could see. An inland ocean. Goddess, she'd spent so long here. She hadn't worked on the terraforming project in weeks. She hadn't even cracked her notes. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky. She could taste salt water on her lips, could feel the breeze stir her hair. The sunlight warmed her skin. It wasn't the golden sun of Barsoom. This. It felt like Jasoom.
Something clenched in her chest, crawled up the back of her throat.
All I wanted was supplies. A can of beans. Some coffee. Jesus, I miss coffee.
Dejah swiped a hand over her eyes, laughing at the memory. He'd loved his coffee so much. She'd tried for years to replicate the brew, using teas and tinctures, combinations of spices and herbs. Nothing ever came close, though it'd become a little game for the two of them. Mornings on the terrace, eating breakfast, Woola chasing a stick he'd throw down to the city streets over and over again. She'd prepare him a fresh experimental blend, and he'd take a tentative sip. He'd wrinkle his nose, frown, shake his head. And then apologize, try to cheer her up. She'd never given up. It occured to her, she was here now. She'd seen other patrons drinking the stuff. She'd never asked to try it.
She waded a bit farther down the beach, feeling the wonderfully relaxing push and pull of the waves. Someday, maybe, she'd get up the courage. Tasting coffee now would be more than her heart could handle. It would be admitting defeat. Dejah did not take well to admiting defeat. She was very much aware of that, and suspected it was why she was here and not in bed. Or working on the prosthesis.
She had no idea what she was going to do about Curtis. She had no idea why she felt so compelled to do anything at all. He hadn't snatched her from certain death, but he'd certainly entered her life with a silent detonation, and it just kept unfolding around her. She was completely and utterly lost in the desert when it came to him.
Right now, all she could think about was walking inside and ordering a cup of coffee. Just to prove to herself that she could.
It was peaceful out here. She heard a few smaller predator species vocalizing in the distance, but she could hear no banth cries, no deep-throated hoots of the white apes. It was almost like walking in her roof gardens at night. Well, except for the mist hanging in the still air, pooling in the lower points of the hills and meadows. An atmosphere so rich in water, it precipitated out into actual ground level clouds. Amazing, simply amazing.
She found herself standing on the sand, staring out over the Caribbean inlet as the sun came up. The view was stunning. She took her sandals off and left them on the sand, walking out into the surf until it came up to her thighs. Her fingertips played on the surface of the water.
So much water. It stretched as far as the eye could see. An inland ocean. Goddess, she'd spent so long here. She hadn't worked on the terraforming project in weeks. She hadn't even cracked her notes. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky. She could taste salt water on her lips, could feel the breeze stir her hair. The sunlight warmed her skin. It wasn't the golden sun of Barsoom. This. It felt like Jasoom.
Something clenched in her chest, crawled up the back of her throat.
All I wanted was supplies. A can of beans. Some coffee. Jesus, I miss coffee.
Dejah swiped a hand over her eyes, laughing at the memory. He'd loved his coffee so much. She'd tried for years to replicate the brew, using teas and tinctures, combinations of spices and herbs. Nothing ever came close, though it'd become a little game for the two of them. Mornings on the terrace, eating breakfast, Woola chasing a stick he'd throw down to the city streets over and over again. She'd prepare him a fresh experimental blend, and he'd take a tentative sip. He'd wrinkle his nose, frown, shake his head. And then apologize, try to cheer her up. She'd never given up. It occured to her, she was here now. She'd seen other patrons drinking the stuff. She'd never asked to try it.
She waded a bit farther down the beach, feeling the wonderfully relaxing push and pull of the waves. Someday, maybe, she'd get up the courage. Tasting coffee now would be more than her heart could handle. It would be admitting defeat. Dejah did not take well to admiting defeat. She was very much aware of that, and suspected it was why she was here and not in bed. Or working on the prosthesis.
She had no idea what she was going to do about Curtis. She had no idea why she felt so compelled to do anything at all. He hadn't snatched her from certain death, but he'd certainly entered her life with a silent detonation, and it just kept unfolding around her. She was completely and utterly lost in the desert when it came to him.
Right now, all she could think about was walking inside and ordering a cup of coffee. Just to prove to herself that she could.
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