shadowsong26 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shadowsong26) wrote2011-07-18 07:17 pm
shadowsong26) wrote2011-07-18 07:17 pm
Entry tags:
serenissima fic/icon dump!
((the prompt post is still open if you like what you see here!))
Some of these come from responses to the prompt post, some of these didn't. Some of these were written by my wonderful enabler/pinch-hitter-because-I-can't-write-Roslin-or-Adama-to-save-my-life/coauthor, TK. All fics not marked as such are mine. Icons are all made by me. ^_^
Title: Serenissima--various ficlets
Author: shadowsong26, TK
Rating: PG-13/R
Fandom: BSG 2003
Characters/Pairings: Saul Tigh, Ellen Tigh, Gaius Baltar, Zak Adama, Kara Thrace, Billy Keikeya, Laura Roslin, Bill Adama, Caprica-Six, D'Anna Biers, John Cavil, Sonja, Some Random Two, a couple of OMCs. Saul/Ellen, Zak/Kara, Baltar/Caprica, Roslin/Adama, D'Anna/Cavil, D'Anna/Baltar.
Warnings: For creepy, sex, blood, implied character death, massive AU--these stories are set in Baroque Venice/Constantinople, sometime between 1650 and 1750.
Summary: Ten short fics in the Serenissima AU. Details on the 'verse here.
Disclaimer: All characters are the property of their respective creators.
Note: Stories are presented in rough chronological order.
1. The Tighs: Thirty Years Ago
The two of them were curled up together in the hold of the Venetian ship while its captain, a man named Adama, decided what to do with them. They'd sat in silence for a while now, his fingers twined in hers, staring at the hull.
"How much do you remember?" she finally asked.
He glanced down at her. "How much do you remember?"
She paused. "Your name is Saul. My name is Ellen. We've been married for..." She trailed off, frowning.
"Ellen," he whispered, tightening his hold. I remember that I love you. He couldn't quite say it out loud.
Footsteps were coming down from the top deck. "You don't seem to be Turks," the Captain said, eyeing them.
"We're Greek," Ellen improvised. "From Athens, fleeing the Turks."
Captain Adama considered this. "We'll have to verify that. For now, welcome aboard the Valkyrie."
2. Gaius Baltar, Father Ilario: Prize
Gaius knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that breaking into the priest's house was Wrong. It was very, very wrong. In fact, it was one of the wrongest things one could do, aside from actually hurting someone else. But he'd been going as often as he could for over a year now, and he hadn't gone to Hell yet, so he couldn't quite bring himself to care.
Besides. There were books here.
Gaius stretched up as tall as he could, reaching for the blue book, the one he was currently working on puzzling out. Carefully, so carefully, he wriggled it down and then curled up on the floor, under the desk, to keep trying to make sense of it.
He'd been working at it for maybe an hour when he heard the door behind him softly click open. He froze and tried to hold his breath. Maybe just dropping something off, maybe they'll go in just a second...
No such luck.
Gaius shrank back as the hem of a cassock swung into his view on the other side of the desk, hugging the blue book to his chest, heart pounding.
The swinging cassock hem paused. "Just come out, whoever you are. Let's have this end pleasantly, shall we?"
Eep. Gaius hesitated for a minute, then crawled over and peeked out around the desk.
The priest was an old man, older than Mamma and Papa. He didn't look quite angry, but he didn't look quite happy, either. Gaius clung tighter to the blue book, waiting for the inevitable Lecturing to start.
The old man sighed. "You might as well give it back, son. You can't read it anyway."
That annoyed Gaius. "Can so!" he said, pulling back and clinging defensively to the book. The priest stared at him, and he flushed and dropped his eyes down at the floor. "I been practicing..."
The priest considered this for a long moment. "All right," he said, then turned and moved away. Confused, Gaius wriggled a little farther out from beneath the desk to see what the priest was doing.
The old man reached up to the higher of the two bookshelves--the one that Gaius wouldn't have been able to reach unless he'd climbed on top of the desk--and selected a small volume bound in red leather. He skimmed through the book and selected a page, then set it down in front of the boy. "Show me."
Gaius stared up at him for a minute, then down at the book. Unsure, he set the blue book down and pulled the red one closer. He studied the open page for a while, then tentatively started to read out.
"Q-quando...quanto più m'avvid--avvicino al g...al giorno estamo
Che l'un...l'unan...umano m...miserie suo far breve
Più v....più veg..."*
"That'll do, son," the priest said. Gaius looked up, then blinked--the priest was smiling. "I think we should go have a talk with your parents, so you can see my books without having to sneak in. Would you like that?"
Gaius brightened and nodded rapidly, hugging the red book. The priest stood up and offered him a hand, which he accepted (even though he had to put the book down to do so). "My name is Father Ilario," the priest told him. "Why don't you show me the way?"
He was far too happy to answer in words, so he just nodded again and bounced out of the study--through the door this time, even--pulling Father Ilario along behind to his home.
3. The Tighs: Carnival
Saul Tigh had searched through what felt like dozens of palazzi before finally hearing his wife's laughter sparkling above the crowd.
"Ellen," he said--not overtly accusing, even though he'd found her in...someone's lap. Frakking masks.
"Saul!" she called back, delighted, swaying up out of the much-younger man's lap. "You came!"
He just stared at her.
"Saul," she said, now complaining. "Saaaaaaaaul." She somehow stretched out his name to an infinite number of syllables. "It's Carnival, Saul. Have a drink, join the party!"
Well. That did sound a little tempting.
She could read his answer in his face, and clapped her hands, spilling her drink a little. Her laughter glittered over the party again. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the dance.
4. Kara, Zak, and Nicolas: Salt
from TK
She remembered everything about their first meeting. Everything, from the way the deck swayed under her feet, her body keeping time automatically now, to the way sweat stung at her eyes and the small cuts on her knuckles. The taste of salt on her upper lip and the back of her tongue, omnipresent even when they were in port. The wind on her face. Her arms and back aching sweetly from a hard day's work.
She was sanding the railings. Not the most glamorous of jobs; it made her arms ache more, and tiny little pieces of wood kept getting in her eyes and eyelashes, but it was better than scrubbing the deck. Kara hated scrubbing the deck. It reminded her of her childhood, long evenings spent on her knees washing the floor or the clothes or something while her parents screamed at each other, until finally the ominous silence...
She hadn't been scrubbing the deck. She'd been sanding the railings, and Nicolas came up.
"Carlo," he said. "That can wait a bit. Come meet Zak."
She'd stopped, swiped a hand across her forehead, succeeded only in grinding the sweat and the wood bits into her skin. "Zak?"
"New," Nicolas said, and shrugged eloquently. "Bad. Commander's son."
Which explained everything Kara needed to know. She snorted. "Well, better get it over with," she said.
"Get what over with?" someone else asked, and she'd turned, and...
He wasn't handsome. Not really. His face was too square for that, his jaw too heavy and his nose too big. But he had extraordinary eyes, deep and blue, and he smiled at her and...
Kara hadn't felt like a woman in years. She'd been Carlo since her sixteenth year, and she'd hardly noticed her body since, except for a few brief, anonymous encounters in the dark, and nothing for at least six months now.
She looked in this man's eyes, now, and remembered what she was.
"I'm Zak Adama," he said, smiling that crooked, beguiling smile. "I'm pleased to meet you."
She licked the salt off her lip, and remembered.
5. Baltar, Zak, and Kara: Before We Run Away
Cardinal Gaius Baltar considered the two of them. "You're sure you want to go through with this?"
"Yes, Your Eminence," Kara answered. "We are."
He nodded, then turned to Zak. "Your grandfather will be...well, I'm not sure there's a strong enough word for his reaction, that's also not inappropriate." He inclined his head at Kara, who rolled her eyes. Zak discreetly stepped on her foot to keep her from showing off her own inappropriate vocabulary.
"We're ready to fight it out," he said. "No matter how upset Grandfather gets. And Father will come around once he finds out, I think."
"I can't shelter you."
"We weren't expecting you to," Kara cut in, annoyed.
Zak squeezed her hand. "I have a friend at the French court, Gaius. We can stay there until things calm down enough. We just...want to be married before we leave the Veneto."
Gaius was silent for a long moment, then sighed. "Give me some time to consider. Come back on Wednesday. I'll have an answer for you then."
"Thank you," Zak said, and pulled Kara out of the cardinal's palazzo.
"That could've gone better," she said, once they were a safe distance away down the canal.
"He's going to help us, stelletta mia,**" Zak assured her, kissing her hand. "He just needs a few days to make sure that this won't cause him too many problems if we get caught."
"If you're sure."
"Trust me." He pulled her against him and rested his head on hers. "This time Thursday, we'll be on our way to Paris. Together."
She twined her fingers in his and tilted her head back to kiss him.
6. Caprica: Ordinary Jobs
Caprica Alti smiled across the table at her guest for the evening. He was an old favorite of hers, one of the first clients she'd taken once she'd gotten herself established here in Venice. An older man, one of the Senators, he was always kind to her. And he usually took her to the opera with him to start the night, which she loved.
She had a mission here, of course--her cousin the Sultana wouldn't have helped arrange and finance her way to this position if she hadn't wanted something in return--but, while she had made some progress, most of her time was simply devoted to daily life, and ordinary jobs. But her guest tonight wasn't the Cardinal--who she was beginning to imagine might mean more to her than what small amount of actually useful information he could provide for her cousin.
No, tonight she could relax. Now that they were through with supper, her Senator helped her fasten her cloak and took her hand to lead her out the door, to the Teatro San Cassiano. "After you," she murmured, smiling as he kissed her hand.
7. Adama, Roslin, and Billy: Madonna
from TK
Bill is a little surprised to realize that he's seen his bride-to-be before.
Not that he should be. He's been about enough in society to know of her, particularly in his younger days, and of course they must have, at some point, attended the same functions. But he's surprised at how long it's been. The last time he saw her, it was years and years ago-- Zak was just a baby, Lee barely more, Carolanne had just died, and he supposes her husband too, because she was in black, and looked tired. Her son must have been an infant, even younger than Zak.
They were all so young then. He wonders if she remembers him.
Probably not. There's nothing but suspicion in her eyes.
And why should there be anything else? This is their first real meeting, and it is three days before their wedding. Why should she look at him with anything more than suspicion?
He bows over her hand to hide the ridiculous disappointment. "Madonna."
~~~
Laura doesn't really know what to think of all this.
She invites her guest-- guest, ha, as if she had any choice in this-- to sit, and takes her time about sitting herself, spreading her skirts with great concentration while she sorts out her feelings.
Her immediate and obvious response is disgust; at a doge so weak he needs to steal her independence to shore up his own power, at a man who will let his father dictate his entire life, at this entire situation. Since actually meeting Commander Adama, though, she's had to revise that opinion, at least in regards to him. Whatever reason he has for marrying her-- and he does have one, she's sure of it-- it is his own.
She steals a look at him from under her lashes, wondering. What does he want with her? Is it her son? She hopes not. Billy she will not give up; she'll tear the world apart to save her son any harm at all.
But then, this Commander Adama is a father. That's part of why they have to marry, after all. Perhaps he'll understand that.
She hopes he will. She hopes he doesn't want more from her than she can give.
In spite of everything, she almost wants to like him.
~~~
This is a spectacularly bad idea. Although really, Billy could have told the Doge that five days ago when he'd first heard about it. Donna Laura Roslin does not respond well to coercion.
This time, she apparently responded well enough to agree. Billy has a horrible sick feeling that the Doge's "persuasive" tactics centered on him, but he has no idea how to bring it up with his mother, and he's fairly sure that she won't ever tell him why she agreed to this. Besides, it feels more than a little bit narcissistic to assume that everything his mother does revolves around him-- it doesn't, especially now that he's an adult, and for all he knows the Doge threatened her personally.
Billy doesn't trust the Doge at all.
He isn't sure how he feels about Commander Adama, either. The man strongly resembles his father, with whom Billy is not best pleased just at the moment, and of course he's stolen Billy's name, relative birth years notwithstanding. He does, however, seem to be extremely embarrassed about this whole business, and he's treating Billy's mother with a sort of delicate, concerned respect that is a little bit hilarious but at the same time rather sweet. Billy he's ignoring, as he should-- they'll have very little to do with one another, in the end.
Billy decides, eventually, to reserve judgment. If Commander Adama treats his mother well, he'll probably end up liking the man. If he doesn't...
Well.
If he doesn't, then Billy will guard his mother's back. That's all she's ever needed from him.
She has her own ways of solving problems.
8. Cavil and D'Anna: How to Make a Venetian Blind
from TK
John Cavil turned away from the Venetian slumped on the floor, blood spattered over his hands and torso, and an eyeball cradled in his palm. "Hey, look," he began.
D'Anna heard it coming, rolled her eyes and turned a page in her book. "You think you're funny," she informed him, without looking up. "But you're really not."
He glared at her, then threw the eyeball at the man and turned away from him. "I'm finished with him. Take him back to his cell," he told the guards, and stomped back to his seat.
Really. He could be such a child.
9. D'Anna and Cavil: A Matter of Taste
"I must say, my dear, I question your taste," John Cavil said, leaning against his Sultana's doorway.
"Jealous?" D'Anna asked, not looking up.
He waved a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter who you play with. It's all the same to me. But really, D'Anna. A Venetian? And a cardinal besides?"
"Not all of us share your lack of respect for men of God, Cavil," she replied smoothly.
"Oh, respect?" he said, making little quotation marks with his fingers. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
She just rolled her eyes, absently stroking her pet's hair.
"I'm just fascinated as to what the attraction is," he continued, watching her.
At last she looked up, with a wry smile. "Well, darling, if it bothers you that much, you're welcome to join us tonight. I'm sure your curiosity will be satisfied."
He laughed. "I think I'll pass. But thank you, for the...ah...generous offer."
10. Roslin and Billy: Justice
from TK
The Turk found Billy in the prow of the ship, staring back towards Venice. A moment later, he had abandoned his comfortable post and was running full-tilt for the captain's cabin, the Turk trailing behind.
A messenger had come, a messenger with a letter from Zarek. A letter bearing the seal of the Doge, in the most unbelievable display of arrogance Billy could imagine. His mother must be tearing the walls down. With her teeth. No wonder the Turk was lagging behind.
He burst into the cabin, began, "Mamma, I can't believe..." and froze.
His mother wasn't tearing anything down at all. She sat motionless at the table, her skirts spread out around her legs, her head bent over the letter in her hand, and that was so unlike Laura Roslin it stopped his breath.
She should be raging. She should be throwing things. Then she would take a deep breath, smooth her hands over her skirts and settle down. "Remember, Billy," she would tell him then, "remember, no one ever does their best thinking when they're angry. Calm down first, then plan."
"Mamma?" he asked, faltering.
She looked up then, and her face was white as the caps of foam on the waves outside. "Billy," she said. "Billy. Oh, Billy." She held out the letter, her hand starting, suddenly, to shake. "Read it."
He took the letter in fingers gone numb and spread it out-- her grip on it had crumpled the paper, a little. "Laura," he read aloud, with a quick sneer at the effrontery of the man, who would take everything his mother had and then call her by her Christian name, as if they were friends. "Laura, it's time to surrender. The city is mine. Your allies may be yours, but they are not the Venetian people's, and you know it."
And then... his voice faltered again. "You have no one else to help you. Saul Tigh was killed in an attempt to escape custody. William Adama was tried and---" He broke off, and looked up at his mother, and understood why her face was white and set.
"Oh, Mamma," he said, and didn’t know what else to say.
She looked away, down at her hands. "He killed my husband," she said. "He thinks that will break me."
Wouldn't it? She certainly looked broken. "There will be justice for him," Billy said, with all the intensity of a vow.
His mother looked up at him, and he could not read her expression at all. "Justice?" she asked, and shook her head. Then she rose, moved by him to the door, opened it to find a Turk looking rather sheepish. "My lady," he said.
"Leoben," she said, and Billy blinked. He hadn't known she was that familiar with these men. "Where is the man who brought this letter?"
The Turk jerked his head to the side. "At the prow, my lady, being watched. Sonja thought you would want to speak with him." He smiled. "Or something else, perhaps."
His mother did not respond-- she only inclined her head and walked past the Turk towards the prow, moving like someone in a dream. Billy, frightened, followed her, the message still in his hand.
She stopped in front of the messenger, who knelt on the deck, guarded by a Turkish woman in the overcoat and trousers they generally wore. He sneered up at her, then caught sight of her expression-- the sneer fled, replaced by fear.
Laura Roslin watched the man for a long, long moment, then said, in an absolutely colorless tone, "You will go back to your master, and you will tell him that my answer is no. I will not surrender."
"Lady," the Turkish woman began, but his mother made a sharp motion and she stopped talking.
"I will not surrender," she repeated, holding the messenger's eyes. "I will never stop fighting him. I will take everything I have, everything I can find, everything I can beg or borrow or steal and I will fight him to my last breath. And you tell him..." Her voice sank into a whisper, more frightening than ever. "You tell him that for what he has done, there will be no mercy. Not now, not ever. Go and tell him that."
The messenger trembled where he knelt. Billy could sympathize. He'd never seen his mother like this. Not ever.
She watched him for another long moment, then said, sharply, "Go!"
The man dove off the ship, so eager was he to get away.
"Mamma," Billy said, hearing the tension in his own voice. "Mamma, this is not justice. You know that."
She turned to look at him, her eyes full of sorrow and rage and a cold, cold purpose. "Tesoro mio,***" she said, "whoever said I wanted justice?"
*Petrarch, Sonnet 25
QUANTO più m’ avvicino al giorno estremo
che l’ umana miseria suol far breve,
più veggio ’l tempo andar veloco e leve,
e ’l mio di lui sperar fallace e scemo.
I’ dico a’ miei pensier: “Non molto andremo
d’ amor parlando omai, che ’l duro e greve
terreno incarco, come fresce neve,
si va struggendo, onde noi pace avremo:
perchè co’ lui cadrà quella speranza,
che ne fe’ vaneggiar si lungamente,
e ’l riso e ’l pianto e la paura e l’ ira.
Si vedrem chiaro poi come sovente
per le cose dubbiose altri s’ avanza,
e come spesso indarno si sospira.”
Translation, courtesy of http://oll.libertyfund.org/?option=com_staticxt&staticfile=show.php%3Ftitle=1341&chapter=82467&layout=html&Itemid=27
The closer I draw near that final day
That hath the power to shorten human pain,
The swifter do the moments fly away
And all my hopes of them prove false and vain.
I say unto my thoughts, ‘We shall not go
Together far; our talk of Love must cease;
This dull and heavy body, like fresh snow
Is melting fast away; we shall find peace;
And when it comes that hope will disappear
Which fills us with our vain imaginings,
Our laughter and our sorrow, rage and fear,
And we shall clearly see what idle things
Are those for which we strive and pray and cry,
How fruitless are the joys for which we sigh!’
Some of these come from responses to the prompt post, some of these didn't. Some of these were written by my wonderful enabler/pinch-hitter-because-I-can't-write-Roslin-or-Adama-to-save-my-life/coauthor, TK. All fics not marked as such are mine. Icons are all made by me. ^_^
Title: Serenissima--various ficlets
Author: shadowsong26, TK
Rating: PG-13/R
Fandom: BSG 2003
Characters/Pairings: Saul Tigh, Ellen Tigh, Gaius Baltar, Zak Adama, Kara Thrace, Billy Keikeya, Laura Roslin, Bill Adama, Caprica-Six, D'Anna Biers, John Cavil, Sonja, Some Random Two, a couple of OMCs. Saul/Ellen, Zak/Kara, Baltar/Caprica, Roslin/Adama, D'Anna/Cavil, D'Anna/Baltar.
Warnings: For creepy, sex, blood, implied character death, massive AU--these stories are set in Baroque Venice/Constantinople, sometime between 1650 and 1750.
Summary: Ten short fics in the Serenissima AU. Details on the 'verse here.
Disclaimer: All characters are the property of their respective creators.
Note: Stories are presented in rough chronological order.
1. The Tighs: Thirty Years Ago
The two of them were curled up together in the hold of the Venetian ship while its captain, a man named Adama, decided what to do with them. They'd sat in silence for a while now, his fingers twined in hers, staring at the hull.
"How much do you remember?" she finally asked.
He glanced down at her. "How much do you remember?"
She paused. "Your name is Saul. My name is Ellen. We've been married for..." She trailed off, frowning.
"Ellen," he whispered, tightening his hold. I remember that I love you. He couldn't quite say it out loud.
Footsteps were coming down from the top deck. "You don't seem to be Turks," the Captain said, eyeing them.
"We're Greek," Ellen improvised. "From Athens, fleeing the Turks."
Captain Adama considered this. "We'll have to verify that. For now, welcome aboard the Valkyrie."
2. Gaius Baltar, Father Ilario: Prize
Gaius knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that breaking into the priest's house was Wrong. It was very, very wrong. In fact, it was one of the wrongest things one could do, aside from actually hurting someone else. But he'd been going as often as he could for over a year now, and he hadn't gone to Hell yet, so he couldn't quite bring himself to care.
Besides. There were books here.
Gaius stretched up as tall as he could, reaching for the blue book, the one he was currently working on puzzling out. Carefully, so carefully, he wriggled it down and then curled up on the floor, under the desk, to keep trying to make sense of it.
He'd been working at it for maybe an hour when he heard the door behind him softly click open. He froze and tried to hold his breath. Maybe just dropping something off, maybe they'll go in just a second...
No such luck.
Gaius shrank back as the hem of a cassock swung into his view on the other side of the desk, hugging the blue book to his chest, heart pounding.
The swinging cassock hem paused. "Just come out, whoever you are. Let's have this end pleasantly, shall we?"
Eep. Gaius hesitated for a minute, then crawled over and peeked out around the desk.
The priest was an old man, older than Mamma and Papa. He didn't look quite angry, but he didn't look quite happy, either. Gaius clung tighter to the blue book, waiting for the inevitable Lecturing to start.
The old man sighed. "You might as well give it back, son. You can't read it anyway."
That annoyed Gaius. "Can so!" he said, pulling back and clinging defensively to the book. The priest stared at him, and he flushed and dropped his eyes down at the floor. "I been practicing..."
The priest considered this for a long moment. "All right," he said, then turned and moved away. Confused, Gaius wriggled a little farther out from beneath the desk to see what the priest was doing.
The old man reached up to the higher of the two bookshelves--the one that Gaius wouldn't have been able to reach unless he'd climbed on top of the desk--and selected a small volume bound in red leather. He skimmed through the book and selected a page, then set it down in front of the boy. "Show me."
Gaius stared up at him for a minute, then down at the book. Unsure, he set the blue book down and pulled the red one closer. He studied the open page for a while, then tentatively started to read out.
"Q-quando...quanto più m'avvid--avvicino al g...al giorno estamo
Che l'un...l'unan...umano m...miserie suo far breve
Più v....più veg..."*
"That'll do, son," the priest said. Gaius looked up, then blinked--the priest was smiling. "I think we should go have a talk with your parents, so you can see my books without having to sneak in. Would you like that?"
Gaius brightened and nodded rapidly, hugging the red book. The priest stood up and offered him a hand, which he accepted (even though he had to put the book down to do so). "My name is Father Ilario," the priest told him. "Why don't you show me the way?"
He was far too happy to answer in words, so he just nodded again and bounced out of the study--through the door this time, even--pulling Father Ilario along behind to his home.
3. The Tighs: Carnival
Saul Tigh had searched through what felt like dozens of palazzi before finally hearing his wife's laughter sparkling above the crowd.
"Ellen," he said--not overtly accusing, even though he'd found her in...someone's lap. Frakking masks.
"Saul!" she called back, delighted, swaying up out of the much-younger man's lap. "You came!"
He just stared at her.
"Saul," she said, now complaining. "Saaaaaaaaul." She somehow stretched out his name to an infinite number of syllables. "It's Carnival, Saul. Have a drink, join the party!"
Well. That did sound a little tempting.
She could read his answer in his face, and clapped her hands, spilling her drink a little. Her laughter glittered over the party again. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the dance.
4. Kara, Zak, and Nicolas: Salt
from TK
She remembered everything about their first meeting. Everything, from the way the deck swayed under her feet, her body keeping time automatically now, to the way sweat stung at her eyes and the small cuts on her knuckles. The taste of salt on her upper lip and the back of her tongue, omnipresent even when they were in port. The wind on her face. Her arms and back aching sweetly from a hard day's work.
She was sanding the railings. Not the most glamorous of jobs; it made her arms ache more, and tiny little pieces of wood kept getting in her eyes and eyelashes, but it was better than scrubbing the deck. Kara hated scrubbing the deck. It reminded her of her childhood, long evenings spent on her knees washing the floor or the clothes or something while her parents screamed at each other, until finally the ominous silence...
She hadn't been scrubbing the deck. She'd been sanding the railings, and Nicolas came up.
"Carlo," he said. "That can wait a bit. Come meet Zak."
She'd stopped, swiped a hand across her forehead, succeeded only in grinding the sweat and the wood bits into her skin. "Zak?"
"New," Nicolas said, and shrugged eloquently. "Bad. Commander's son."
Which explained everything Kara needed to know. She snorted. "Well, better get it over with," she said.
"Get what over with?" someone else asked, and she'd turned, and...
He wasn't handsome. Not really. His face was too square for that, his jaw too heavy and his nose too big. But he had extraordinary eyes, deep and blue, and he smiled at her and...
Kara hadn't felt like a woman in years. She'd been Carlo since her sixteenth year, and she'd hardly noticed her body since, except for a few brief, anonymous encounters in the dark, and nothing for at least six months now.
She looked in this man's eyes, now, and remembered what she was.
"I'm Zak Adama," he said, smiling that crooked, beguiling smile. "I'm pleased to meet you."
She licked the salt off her lip, and remembered.
5. Baltar, Zak, and Kara: Before We Run Away
Cardinal Gaius Baltar considered the two of them. "You're sure you want to go through with this?"
"Yes, Your Eminence," Kara answered. "We are."
He nodded, then turned to Zak. "Your grandfather will be...well, I'm not sure there's a strong enough word for his reaction, that's also not inappropriate." He inclined his head at Kara, who rolled her eyes. Zak discreetly stepped on her foot to keep her from showing off her own inappropriate vocabulary.
"We're ready to fight it out," he said. "No matter how upset Grandfather gets. And Father will come around once he finds out, I think."
"I can't shelter you."
"We weren't expecting you to," Kara cut in, annoyed.
Zak squeezed her hand. "I have a friend at the French court, Gaius. We can stay there until things calm down enough. We just...want to be married before we leave the Veneto."
Gaius was silent for a long moment, then sighed. "Give me some time to consider. Come back on Wednesday. I'll have an answer for you then."
"Thank you," Zak said, and pulled Kara out of the cardinal's palazzo.
"That could've gone better," she said, once they were a safe distance away down the canal.
"He's going to help us, stelletta mia,**" Zak assured her, kissing her hand. "He just needs a few days to make sure that this won't cause him too many problems if we get caught."
"If you're sure."
"Trust me." He pulled her against him and rested his head on hers. "This time Thursday, we'll be on our way to Paris. Together."
She twined her fingers in his and tilted her head back to kiss him.
6. Caprica: Ordinary Jobs
Caprica Alti smiled across the table at her guest for the evening. He was an old favorite of hers, one of the first clients she'd taken once she'd gotten herself established here in Venice. An older man, one of the Senators, he was always kind to her. And he usually took her to the opera with him to start the night, which she loved.
She had a mission here, of course--her cousin the Sultana wouldn't have helped arrange and finance her way to this position if she hadn't wanted something in return--but, while she had made some progress, most of her time was simply devoted to daily life, and ordinary jobs. But her guest tonight wasn't the Cardinal--who she was beginning to imagine might mean more to her than what small amount of actually useful information he could provide for her cousin.
No, tonight she could relax. Now that they were through with supper, her Senator helped her fasten her cloak and took her hand to lead her out the door, to the Teatro San Cassiano. "After you," she murmured, smiling as he kissed her hand.
7. Adama, Roslin, and Billy: Madonna
from TK
Bill is a little surprised to realize that he's seen his bride-to-be before.
Not that he should be. He's been about enough in society to know of her, particularly in his younger days, and of course they must have, at some point, attended the same functions. But he's surprised at how long it's been. The last time he saw her, it was years and years ago-- Zak was just a baby, Lee barely more, Carolanne had just died, and he supposes her husband too, because she was in black, and looked tired. Her son must have been an infant, even younger than Zak.
They were all so young then. He wonders if she remembers him.
Probably not. There's nothing but suspicion in her eyes.
And why should there be anything else? This is their first real meeting, and it is three days before their wedding. Why should she look at him with anything more than suspicion?
He bows over her hand to hide the ridiculous disappointment. "Madonna."
~~~
Laura doesn't really know what to think of all this.
She invites her guest-- guest, ha, as if she had any choice in this-- to sit, and takes her time about sitting herself, spreading her skirts with great concentration while she sorts out her feelings.
Her immediate and obvious response is disgust; at a doge so weak he needs to steal her independence to shore up his own power, at a man who will let his father dictate his entire life, at this entire situation. Since actually meeting Commander Adama, though, she's had to revise that opinion, at least in regards to him. Whatever reason he has for marrying her-- and he does have one, she's sure of it-- it is his own.
She steals a look at him from under her lashes, wondering. What does he want with her? Is it her son? She hopes not. Billy she will not give up; she'll tear the world apart to save her son any harm at all.
But then, this Commander Adama is a father. That's part of why they have to marry, after all. Perhaps he'll understand that.
She hopes he will. She hopes he doesn't want more from her than she can give.
In spite of everything, she almost wants to like him.
~~~
This is a spectacularly bad idea. Although really, Billy could have told the Doge that five days ago when he'd first heard about it. Donna Laura Roslin does not respond well to coercion.
This time, she apparently responded well enough to agree. Billy has a horrible sick feeling that the Doge's "persuasive" tactics centered on him, but he has no idea how to bring it up with his mother, and he's fairly sure that she won't ever tell him why she agreed to this. Besides, it feels more than a little bit narcissistic to assume that everything his mother does revolves around him-- it doesn't, especially now that he's an adult, and for all he knows the Doge threatened her personally.
Billy doesn't trust the Doge at all.
He isn't sure how he feels about Commander Adama, either. The man strongly resembles his father, with whom Billy is not best pleased just at the moment, and of course he's stolen Billy's name, relative birth years notwithstanding. He does, however, seem to be extremely embarrassed about this whole business, and he's treating Billy's mother with a sort of delicate, concerned respect that is a little bit hilarious but at the same time rather sweet. Billy he's ignoring, as he should-- they'll have very little to do with one another, in the end.
Billy decides, eventually, to reserve judgment. If Commander Adama treats his mother well, he'll probably end up liking the man. If he doesn't...
Well.
If he doesn't, then Billy will guard his mother's back. That's all she's ever needed from him.
She has her own ways of solving problems.
8. Cavil and D'Anna: How to Make a Venetian Blind
from TK
John Cavil turned away from the Venetian slumped on the floor, blood spattered over his hands and torso, and an eyeball cradled in his palm. "Hey, look," he began.
D'Anna heard it coming, rolled her eyes and turned a page in her book. "You think you're funny," she informed him, without looking up. "But you're really not."
He glared at her, then threw the eyeball at the man and turned away from him. "I'm finished with him. Take him back to his cell," he told the guards, and stomped back to his seat.
Really. He could be such a child.
9. D'Anna and Cavil: A Matter of Taste
"I must say, my dear, I question your taste," John Cavil said, leaning against his Sultana's doorway.
"Jealous?" D'Anna asked, not looking up.
He waved a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter who you play with. It's all the same to me. But really, D'Anna. A Venetian? And a cardinal besides?"
"Not all of us share your lack of respect for men of God, Cavil," she replied smoothly.
"Oh, respect?" he said, making little quotation marks with his fingers. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
She just rolled her eyes, absently stroking her pet's hair.
"I'm just fascinated as to what the attraction is," he continued, watching her.
At last she looked up, with a wry smile. "Well, darling, if it bothers you that much, you're welcome to join us tonight. I'm sure your curiosity will be satisfied."
He laughed. "I think I'll pass. But thank you, for the...ah...generous offer."
10. Roslin and Billy: Justice
from TK
The Turk found Billy in the prow of the ship, staring back towards Venice. A moment later, he had abandoned his comfortable post and was running full-tilt for the captain's cabin, the Turk trailing behind.
A messenger had come, a messenger with a letter from Zarek. A letter bearing the seal of the Doge, in the most unbelievable display of arrogance Billy could imagine. His mother must be tearing the walls down. With her teeth. No wonder the Turk was lagging behind.
He burst into the cabin, began, "Mamma, I can't believe..." and froze.
His mother wasn't tearing anything down at all. She sat motionless at the table, her skirts spread out around her legs, her head bent over the letter in her hand, and that was so unlike Laura Roslin it stopped his breath.
She should be raging. She should be throwing things. Then she would take a deep breath, smooth her hands over her skirts and settle down. "Remember, Billy," she would tell him then, "remember, no one ever does their best thinking when they're angry. Calm down first, then plan."
"Mamma?" he asked, faltering.
She looked up then, and her face was white as the caps of foam on the waves outside. "Billy," she said. "Billy. Oh, Billy." She held out the letter, her hand starting, suddenly, to shake. "Read it."
He took the letter in fingers gone numb and spread it out-- her grip on it had crumpled the paper, a little. "Laura," he read aloud, with a quick sneer at the effrontery of the man, who would take everything his mother had and then call her by her Christian name, as if they were friends. "Laura, it's time to surrender. The city is mine. Your allies may be yours, but they are not the Venetian people's, and you know it."
And then... his voice faltered again. "You have no one else to help you. Saul Tigh was killed in an attempt to escape custody. William Adama was tried and---" He broke off, and looked up at his mother, and understood why her face was white and set.
"Oh, Mamma," he said, and didn’t know what else to say.
She looked away, down at her hands. "He killed my husband," she said. "He thinks that will break me."
Wouldn't it? She certainly looked broken. "There will be justice for him," Billy said, with all the intensity of a vow.
His mother looked up at him, and he could not read her expression at all. "Justice?" she asked, and shook her head. Then she rose, moved by him to the door, opened it to find a Turk looking rather sheepish. "My lady," he said.
"Leoben," she said, and Billy blinked. He hadn't known she was that familiar with these men. "Where is the man who brought this letter?"
The Turk jerked his head to the side. "At the prow, my lady, being watched. Sonja thought you would want to speak with him." He smiled. "Or something else, perhaps."
His mother did not respond-- she only inclined her head and walked past the Turk towards the prow, moving like someone in a dream. Billy, frightened, followed her, the message still in his hand.
She stopped in front of the messenger, who knelt on the deck, guarded by a Turkish woman in the overcoat and trousers they generally wore. He sneered up at her, then caught sight of her expression-- the sneer fled, replaced by fear.
Laura Roslin watched the man for a long, long moment, then said, in an absolutely colorless tone, "You will go back to your master, and you will tell him that my answer is no. I will not surrender."
"Lady," the Turkish woman began, but his mother made a sharp motion and she stopped talking.
"I will not surrender," she repeated, holding the messenger's eyes. "I will never stop fighting him. I will take everything I have, everything I can find, everything I can beg or borrow or steal and I will fight him to my last breath. And you tell him..." Her voice sank into a whisper, more frightening than ever. "You tell him that for what he has done, there will be no mercy. Not now, not ever. Go and tell him that."
The messenger trembled where he knelt. Billy could sympathize. He'd never seen his mother like this. Not ever.
She watched him for another long moment, then said, sharply, "Go!"
The man dove off the ship, so eager was he to get away.
"Mamma," Billy said, hearing the tension in his own voice. "Mamma, this is not justice. You know that."
She turned to look at him, her eyes full of sorrow and rage and a cold, cold purpose. "Tesoro mio,***" she said, "whoever said I wanted justice?"
Baltar is a cardinal This will be explained Was there any doubt He's Doge now.
later she'd end up Doge?
How could I not icon Or this one? These two are cute Roslin's treasure
this quote?
How could I not icon Or this one? These two are cute Roslin's treasure
this quote?
*Petrarch, Sonnet 25
QUANTO più m’ avvicino al giorno estremo
che l’ umana miseria suol far breve,
più veggio ’l tempo andar veloco e leve,
e ’l mio di lui sperar fallace e scemo.
I’ dico a’ miei pensier: “Non molto andremo
d’ amor parlando omai, che ’l duro e greve
terreno incarco, come fresce neve,
si va struggendo, onde noi pace avremo:
perchè co’ lui cadrà quella speranza,
che ne fe’ vaneggiar si lungamente,
e ’l riso e ’l pianto e la paura e l’ ira.
Si vedrem chiaro poi come sovente
per le cose dubbiose altri s’ avanza,
e come spesso indarno si sospira.”
Translation, courtesy of http://oll.libertyfund.org/?option=com_staticxt&staticfile=show.php%3Ftitle=1341&chapter=82467&layout=html&Itemid=27
The closer I draw near that final day
That hath the power to shorten human pain,
The swifter do the moments fly away
And all my hopes of them prove false and vain.
I say unto my thoughts, ‘We shall not go
Together far; our talk of Love must cease;
This dull and heavy body, like fresh snow
Is melting fast away; we shall find peace;
And when it comes that hope will disappear
Which fills us with our vain imaginings,
Our laughter and our sorrow, rage and fear,
And we shall clearly see what idle things
Are those for which we strive and pray and cry,
How fruitless are the joys for which we sigh!’
**my little star
***my treasure
***my treasure