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After having spent the last two months in Colchis at regular life, off from being a soldier, it was supposed to be understandable that the soldiers and men were slightly sluggish in their tasks, especially with the hot sun of the Artamisios month beating down on the back of their heads as they trudged and got the various assortments of boxes, tents and supplies laid out.
The northern end of the Kirakles island had, while largely been taken over and conquered under the leadership of their general and crown prince, still required close observation and guard before the military outpost can be left to its own devices to function. With the many treasures the Kirakles islands hid beneath in its maze of tunnels and mines, it is of no surprise that many would congregate in the location to attempt to claim them. None of which succeeded of course - the Red Knights were very efficient in their duty.
Of course, the commanders and the general asked for nothing less.
And for someone who had more or less been under General Vangelis's personal training, who had learned much from just purely watching and emulating, Nike of Acaris, current commander to the general, had no patience for sluggish movements. Dressed in her leather pants, the weather was worst for Nike, the bandage she had tightly around her chest was causing a rash that frustrated her skin. It chafed at the tender surface, and she had no doubt that she would have to have a long soak once her private tent had been erected. Over the bindings, she had a thin tunic shirt, but and an extra leather vest over it to further conceal her features. While many had chosen to do without their shirts in the heat, Nike... well, she didn't have such liberties to take. She would risk her own life if she did.
So she suffered the heat, often running a hand through the dark hair she had on her head as she oversaw the process of unloading from the docks of the Kirakles islands, her sharp voice barking orders that beckoned no argument. She was efficient in her job, disturbingly so. Commander Nike had a reputation for being strict and just in her actions with her men, even if not many are happy with her position. Some say 'he' climbed ranks too high, that 'he' had managed to sweet-talk 'his' way through the general's good books to gain her power and prestige.
Nike honestly didn't give two flying figs.
She did her job, and she knew she did her job well. Every man she got in her own command, she ensured they were well versed and able to hold their own in a fight. Nike worked on one simple principle- she was there to make sure the least amount of people died on her watch. If you knew how to fight, that was half the battle. Whether one wanted her help or decided to scoff at her because they looked at her smaller size and decided she wasn't worth their time... well that was entirely up to them. Nike knew she had a good record at least. She had managed to avoid dying after a good 13 years on the field, three as a captain and another two as a commander and personal bodyguard to the general. Surely that track record was enough? So she stopped bothering.
Instead, she did her job and was above reproach in her duties. Taking responsibility seriously, Nike was just as anal as her general when it came to details and accuracy, and she scowled when she saw someone stumble and almost fall, panting as he was. Rolling her eyes, Nike heaved a heavy sigh and walked over to pluck the bundle of spears, laying it down next to the fallen, freshly inducted soldier. Looking down at him, she raised a brow. "Look, if you need a break, just say so." she looked over her shoulders to check, and then back to the other with a disgruntled look, temper short from the heat and work. "You falling over your own feet is simply going to hinder others so you - get that side and stay there for the next half an hour." she muttered, jerking her thumb in the direction of where other soldiers were erecting tents.
Watching with a wry look at the young, inexperienced soldier ran off, the commander waved another one over to take over the fallen bundle of spears, before stalking over towards the boat they were now unloading the cargo off, intending to check on what was left before making another trip to the main ship they had come on. The commander gingerly stepped on, her steps testing the unsteady gait of the boat first, before straightening up to venture further in, sidestepping the various soldiers working there. Her body was tense - it always was when she was on the water, but Nike had always managed to hide well.
Striding over to where the remaining men were tasked to move the smaller items the campaign would need - pots, pans, victuals for meals and the like, she scowled when she noticed the laces of her boots had somehow came undone. Scowling, the commander bent, unhooking her sword for just a moment so it did not get in her way as she redid her laces. The boat rocked, voices yelling and overlapping each other all muted once her head was bent amongst the boxes ready to be unloaded. Her fingers were deft in winding the strings to tighten again. Upon straightening u p however, what she did not expect was a sudden blow to hit her square in the back, throwing Nike entirely off balance. Her quick reflexes would usually be able to save her, yet the boat they were on was smaller then usual, merely a cargo boat meant to ferry items from the main ship to the dock. On top of that, the commander had been standing right at the edge.
She felt a surge of momentary panic as she fell, her legs and arms trying and failing to regain her balance, before the woman was tossed entirely off the boat and into the water, the chill immediately seeping into her clothing.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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After having spent the last two months in Colchis at regular life, off from being a soldier, it was supposed to be understandable that the soldiers and men were slightly sluggish in their tasks, especially with the hot sun of the Artamisios month beating down on the back of their heads as they trudged and got the various assortments of boxes, tents and supplies laid out.
The northern end of the Kirakles island had, while largely been taken over and conquered under the leadership of their general and crown prince, still required close observation and guard before the military outpost can be left to its own devices to function. With the many treasures the Kirakles islands hid beneath in its maze of tunnels and mines, it is of no surprise that many would congregate in the location to attempt to claim them. None of which succeeded of course - the Red Knights were very efficient in their duty.
Of course, the commanders and the general asked for nothing less.
And for someone who had more or less been under General Vangelis's personal training, who had learned much from just purely watching and emulating, Nike of Acaris, current commander to the general, had no patience for sluggish movements. Dressed in her leather pants, the weather was worst for Nike, the bandage she had tightly around her chest was causing a rash that frustrated her skin. It chafed at the tender surface, and she had no doubt that she would have to have a long soak once her private tent had been erected. Over the bindings, she had a thin tunic shirt, but and an extra leather vest over it to further conceal her features. While many had chosen to do without their shirts in the heat, Nike... well, she didn't have such liberties to take. She would risk her own life if she did.
So she suffered the heat, often running a hand through the dark hair she had on her head as she oversaw the process of unloading from the docks of the Kirakles islands, her sharp voice barking orders that beckoned no argument. She was efficient in her job, disturbingly so. Commander Nike had a reputation for being strict and just in her actions with her men, even if not many are happy with her position. Some say 'he' climbed ranks too high, that 'he' had managed to sweet-talk 'his' way through the general's good books to gain her power and prestige.
Nike honestly didn't give two flying figs.
She did her job, and she knew she did her job well. Every man she got in her own command, she ensured they were well versed and able to hold their own in a fight. Nike worked on one simple principle- she was there to make sure the least amount of people died on her watch. If you knew how to fight, that was half the battle. Whether one wanted her help or decided to scoff at her because they looked at her smaller size and decided she wasn't worth their time... well that was entirely up to them. Nike knew she had a good record at least. She had managed to avoid dying after a good 13 years on the field, three as a captain and another two as a commander and personal bodyguard to the general. Surely that track record was enough? So she stopped bothering.
Instead, she did her job and was above reproach in her duties. Taking responsibility seriously, Nike was just as anal as her general when it came to details and accuracy, and she scowled when she saw someone stumble and almost fall, panting as he was. Rolling her eyes, Nike heaved a heavy sigh and walked over to pluck the bundle of spears, laying it down next to the fallen, freshly inducted soldier. Looking down at him, she raised a brow. "Look, if you need a break, just say so." she looked over her shoulders to check, and then back to the other with a disgruntled look, temper short from the heat and work. "You falling over your own feet is simply going to hinder others so you - get that side and stay there for the next half an hour." she muttered, jerking her thumb in the direction of where other soldiers were erecting tents.
Watching with a wry look at the young, inexperienced soldier ran off, the commander waved another one over to take over the fallen bundle of spears, before stalking over towards the boat they were now unloading the cargo off, intending to check on what was left before making another trip to the main ship they had come on. The commander gingerly stepped on, her steps testing the unsteady gait of the boat first, before straightening up to venture further in, sidestepping the various soldiers working there. Her body was tense - it always was when she was on the water, but Nike had always managed to hide well.
Striding over to where the remaining men were tasked to move the smaller items the campaign would need - pots, pans, victuals for meals and the like, she scowled when she noticed the laces of her boots had somehow came undone. Scowling, the commander bent, unhooking her sword for just a moment so it did not get in her way as she redid her laces. The boat rocked, voices yelling and overlapping each other all muted once her head was bent amongst the boxes ready to be unloaded. Her fingers were deft in winding the strings to tighten again. Upon straightening u p however, what she did not expect was a sudden blow to hit her square in the back, throwing Nike entirely off balance. Her quick reflexes would usually be able to save her, yet the boat they were on was smaller then usual, merely a cargo boat meant to ferry items from the main ship to the dock. On top of that, the commander had been standing right at the edge.
She felt a surge of momentary panic as she fell, her legs and arms trying and failing to regain her balance, before the woman was tossed entirely off the boat and into the water, the chill immediately seeping into her clothing.
After having spent the last two months in Colchis at regular life, off from being a soldier, it was supposed to be understandable that the soldiers and men were slightly sluggish in their tasks, especially with the hot sun of the Artamisios month beating down on the back of their heads as they trudged and got the various assortments of boxes, tents and supplies laid out.
The northern end of the Kirakles island had, while largely been taken over and conquered under the leadership of their general and crown prince, still required close observation and guard before the military outpost can be left to its own devices to function. With the many treasures the Kirakles islands hid beneath in its maze of tunnels and mines, it is of no surprise that many would congregate in the location to attempt to claim them. None of which succeeded of course - the Red Knights were very efficient in their duty.
Of course, the commanders and the general asked for nothing less.
And for someone who had more or less been under General Vangelis's personal training, who had learned much from just purely watching and emulating, Nike of Acaris, current commander to the general, had no patience for sluggish movements. Dressed in her leather pants, the weather was worst for Nike, the bandage she had tightly around her chest was causing a rash that frustrated her skin. It chafed at the tender surface, and she had no doubt that she would have to have a long soak once her private tent had been erected. Over the bindings, she had a thin tunic shirt, but and an extra leather vest over it to further conceal her features. While many had chosen to do without their shirts in the heat, Nike... well, she didn't have such liberties to take. She would risk her own life if she did.
So she suffered the heat, often running a hand through the dark hair she had on her head as she oversaw the process of unloading from the docks of the Kirakles islands, her sharp voice barking orders that beckoned no argument. She was efficient in her job, disturbingly so. Commander Nike had a reputation for being strict and just in her actions with her men, even if not many are happy with her position. Some say 'he' climbed ranks too high, that 'he' had managed to sweet-talk 'his' way through the general's good books to gain her power and prestige.
Nike honestly didn't give two flying figs.
She did her job, and she knew she did her job well. Every man she got in her own command, she ensured they were well versed and able to hold their own in a fight. Nike worked on one simple principle- she was there to make sure the least amount of people died on her watch. If you knew how to fight, that was half the battle. Whether one wanted her help or decided to scoff at her because they looked at her smaller size and decided she wasn't worth their time... well that was entirely up to them. Nike knew she had a good record at least. She had managed to avoid dying after a good 13 years on the field, three as a captain and another two as a commander and personal bodyguard to the general. Surely that track record was enough? So she stopped bothering.
Instead, she did her job and was above reproach in her duties. Taking responsibility seriously, Nike was just as anal as her general when it came to details and accuracy, and she scowled when she saw someone stumble and almost fall, panting as he was. Rolling her eyes, Nike heaved a heavy sigh and walked over to pluck the bundle of spears, laying it down next to the fallen, freshly inducted soldier. Looking down at him, she raised a brow. "Look, if you need a break, just say so." she looked over her shoulders to check, and then back to the other with a disgruntled look, temper short from the heat and work. "You falling over your own feet is simply going to hinder others so you - get that side and stay there for the next half an hour." she muttered, jerking her thumb in the direction of where other soldiers were erecting tents.
Watching with a wry look at the young, inexperienced soldier ran off, the commander waved another one over to take over the fallen bundle of spears, before stalking over towards the boat they were now unloading the cargo off, intending to check on what was left before making another trip to the main ship they had come on. The commander gingerly stepped on, her steps testing the unsteady gait of the boat first, before straightening up to venture further in, sidestepping the various soldiers working there. Her body was tense - it always was when she was on the water, but Nike had always managed to hide well.
Striding over to where the remaining men were tasked to move the smaller items the campaign would need - pots, pans, victuals for meals and the like, she scowled when she noticed the laces of her boots had somehow came undone. Scowling, the commander bent, unhooking her sword for just a moment so it did not get in her way as she redid her laces. The boat rocked, voices yelling and overlapping each other all muted once her head was bent amongst the boxes ready to be unloaded. Her fingers were deft in winding the strings to tighten again. Upon straightening u p however, what she did not expect was a sudden blow to hit her square in the back, throwing Nike entirely off balance. Her quick reflexes would usually be able to save her, yet the boat they were on was smaller then usual, merely a cargo boat meant to ferry items from the main ship to the dock. On top of that, the commander had been standing right at the edge.
She felt a surge of momentary panic as she fell, her legs and arms trying and failing to regain her balance, before the woman was tossed entirely off the boat and into the water, the chill immediately seeping into her clothing.
It had been a long day so far. And it wasn't even noon yet. The first few days of a military expedition to the North were always exhausting. Not only was there the actual work to be done of loading up the ship with supplies, sailing to their destination (often through choppy waters as the sea was squashed and twisted around the Kirakles Isles and the mainland, creating an angry and vindictive strip of ocean) and then the unloading of such goods and tools at the other end... all of such work and travel had to be conducted under the shifting tension of ambush or attack.
The best time to lay siege to an enemy force was when they were distracted by their own internal processes. Such as unloading a ship ready to supply their base, or putting up walls and barricades along their defensive lines.
Luckily, this trip was simply one of restock to the soldiers and commanders who were already stationed in place. There were already wooden stakes in the ground to protect against cavalry attacks and archers walking the length of the settlement's walls to protect against infantry spies.
The natural harbour in which they were docked was only a few hours from the encampment itself so, as far as danger of attack went, they were probably the safest they had been for several years of skirmishes.
That being said, the sun was hot, the supplies heavy, and the danger - no matter how minimal - was always present.
By the time the sun was at its peak, all of Vangelis' men were tired, grumpy and over-heated. He did not, however, give the order to stop.
It was important that the goods they were delivering arrived safely at their destination as soon as possible.
Instead of allowing his men a moment of respite, Vangelis offered aid with his own hands.
As he was tall, broad-shouldered and hadn't aided in the manual tasks of sailing the ship, Vangelis was aware of the strength he could lend to the effort and had been lugging large boxes, barrels and strapped packs of fabric and wooden poles used for tent construction from the ship to the carts sent down by the encampment to pick up the supplies.
It had been several hours since he had stripped to the waist in the heat, his hair curling with sweat at the nape of his neck and around his temples. The light hair on his chest had curled in the heat and sweat had darkened the very edge of the riding pants that hung low on his hips.
While he heard Commander Nike chastising a man for falling and pushing himself beyond his limits, Vangelis did nothing to dispute her instructions. She was right. Any man in the Red Knights was required to push himself and to push hard. But to push beyond a point that was sustainable and to let others down or cause problems because of your inability to know your own limits? That was unacceptable.
Vangelis had just made it back onto the ship when there was a sharp yell and a snapping sound from the far left of the ship.
Reacting quickly, Vangelis looked out towards his left and spotted the large roped net of cargo boxes - that had just been lifted from the belly of the ship - snap and the boxes hit the deck with an almighty crash. The sudden weight change had the ship tilting at a dangerous camber and Vangelis spread his feet wide in order to keep his balance. He then rushed forwards to grab at two barrels that had shaken free of the net and began to roll the length of the deck.
Grabbing one in each hand, he was shocked to realise they both contained fresh water and were heavy as hell as his biceps bulged against the weight.
Bent low, in order to hold onto the cargo, Vangelis's head was far out of the way of the sail's boom that swung dangerously above everyone's heads with the suddenly tilt of the ship.
"Everyone get down!" He called out, his voice masked by much shouting and the clattering of feet.
By the time everything had settled back into place and Vangelis had secured the two barrels and everything else in the cargo net, he had only heard one significant splash. Which indicated that at least only one of his men had hit the water.
Moving over to the side of the deck, he looked down over the side of the ship to see the expanding circles of a recent dive.
"Who's down there?" He asked one of the other men who was regaining his footing.
The man looked around as it to work out who had been standing in his close proximity a moment ago and who was now missing.
"Er... I think it's Commander Nike, Sir." He reported, which only caused Vangelis to nod and a small smile to tilt the side of his mouth. He leaned forwards, bracing his hands on the side railing and looking down into the dark Aegean, intent on mocking the woman in his own way, as soon as she came back up for air.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It had been a long day so far. And it wasn't even noon yet. The first few days of a military expedition to the North were always exhausting. Not only was there the actual work to be done of loading up the ship with supplies, sailing to their destination (often through choppy waters as the sea was squashed and twisted around the Kirakles Isles and the mainland, creating an angry and vindictive strip of ocean) and then the unloading of such goods and tools at the other end... all of such work and travel had to be conducted under the shifting tension of ambush or attack.
The best time to lay siege to an enemy force was when they were distracted by their own internal processes. Such as unloading a ship ready to supply their base, or putting up walls and barricades along their defensive lines.
Luckily, this trip was simply one of restock to the soldiers and commanders who were already stationed in place. There were already wooden stakes in the ground to protect against cavalry attacks and archers walking the length of the settlement's walls to protect against infantry spies.
The natural harbour in which they were docked was only a few hours from the encampment itself so, as far as danger of attack went, they were probably the safest they had been for several years of skirmishes.
That being said, the sun was hot, the supplies heavy, and the danger - no matter how minimal - was always present.
By the time the sun was at its peak, all of Vangelis' men were tired, grumpy and over-heated. He did not, however, give the order to stop.
It was important that the goods they were delivering arrived safely at their destination as soon as possible.
Instead of allowing his men a moment of respite, Vangelis offered aid with his own hands.
As he was tall, broad-shouldered and hadn't aided in the manual tasks of sailing the ship, Vangelis was aware of the strength he could lend to the effort and had been lugging large boxes, barrels and strapped packs of fabric and wooden poles used for tent construction from the ship to the carts sent down by the encampment to pick up the supplies.
It had been several hours since he had stripped to the waist in the heat, his hair curling with sweat at the nape of his neck and around his temples. The light hair on his chest had curled in the heat and sweat had darkened the very edge of the riding pants that hung low on his hips.
While he heard Commander Nike chastising a man for falling and pushing himself beyond his limits, Vangelis did nothing to dispute her instructions. She was right. Any man in the Red Knights was required to push himself and to push hard. But to push beyond a point that was sustainable and to let others down or cause problems because of your inability to know your own limits? That was unacceptable.
Vangelis had just made it back onto the ship when there was a sharp yell and a snapping sound from the far left of the ship.
Reacting quickly, Vangelis looked out towards his left and spotted the large roped net of cargo boxes - that had just been lifted from the belly of the ship - snap and the boxes hit the deck with an almighty crash. The sudden weight change had the ship tilting at a dangerous camber and Vangelis spread his feet wide in order to keep his balance. He then rushed forwards to grab at two barrels that had shaken free of the net and began to roll the length of the deck.
Grabbing one in each hand, he was shocked to realise they both contained fresh water and were heavy as hell as his biceps bulged against the weight.
Bent low, in order to hold onto the cargo, Vangelis's head was far out of the way of the sail's boom that swung dangerously above everyone's heads with the suddenly tilt of the ship.
"Everyone get down!" He called out, his voice masked by much shouting and the clattering of feet.
By the time everything had settled back into place and Vangelis had secured the two barrels and everything else in the cargo net, he had only heard one significant splash. Which indicated that at least only one of his men had hit the water.
Moving over to the side of the deck, he looked down over the side of the ship to see the expanding circles of a recent dive.
"Who's down there?" He asked one of the other men who was regaining his footing.
The man looked around as it to work out who had been standing in his close proximity a moment ago and who was now missing.
"Er... I think it's Commander Nike, Sir." He reported, which only caused Vangelis to nod and a small smile to tilt the side of his mouth. He leaned forwards, bracing his hands on the side railing and looking down into the dark Aegean, intent on mocking the woman in his own way, as soon as she came back up for air.
It had been a long day so far. And it wasn't even noon yet. The first few days of a military expedition to the North were always exhausting. Not only was there the actual work to be done of loading up the ship with supplies, sailing to their destination (often through choppy waters as the sea was squashed and twisted around the Kirakles Isles and the mainland, creating an angry and vindictive strip of ocean) and then the unloading of such goods and tools at the other end... all of such work and travel had to be conducted under the shifting tension of ambush or attack.
The best time to lay siege to an enemy force was when they were distracted by their own internal processes. Such as unloading a ship ready to supply their base, or putting up walls and barricades along their defensive lines.
Luckily, this trip was simply one of restock to the soldiers and commanders who were already stationed in place. There were already wooden stakes in the ground to protect against cavalry attacks and archers walking the length of the settlement's walls to protect against infantry spies.
The natural harbour in which they were docked was only a few hours from the encampment itself so, as far as danger of attack went, they were probably the safest they had been for several years of skirmishes.
That being said, the sun was hot, the supplies heavy, and the danger - no matter how minimal - was always present.
By the time the sun was at its peak, all of Vangelis' men were tired, grumpy and over-heated. He did not, however, give the order to stop.
It was important that the goods they were delivering arrived safely at their destination as soon as possible.
Instead of allowing his men a moment of respite, Vangelis offered aid with his own hands.
As he was tall, broad-shouldered and hadn't aided in the manual tasks of sailing the ship, Vangelis was aware of the strength he could lend to the effort and had been lugging large boxes, barrels and strapped packs of fabric and wooden poles used for tent construction from the ship to the carts sent down by the encampment to pick up the supplies.
It had been several hours since he had stripped to the waist in the heat, his hair curling with sweat at the nape of his neck and around his temples. The light hair on his chest had curled in the heat and sweat had darkened the very edge of the riding pants that hung low on his hips.
While he heard Commander Nike chastising a man for falling and pushing himself beyond his limits, Vangelis did nothing to dispute her instructions. She was right. Any man in the Red Knights was required to push himself and to push hard. But to push beyond a point that was sustainable and to let others down or cause problems because of your inability to know your own limits? That was unacceptable.
Vangelis had just made it back onto the ship when there was a sharp yell and a snapping sound from the far left of the ship.
Reacting quickly, Vangelis looked out towards his left and spotted the large roped net of cargo boxes - that had just been lifted from the belly of the ship - snap and the boxes hit the deck with an almighty crash. The sudden weight change had the ship tilting at a dangerous camber and Vangelis spread his feet wide in order to keep his balance. He then rushed forwards to grab at two barrels that had shaken free of the net and began to roll the length of the deck.
Grabbing one in each hand, he was shocked to realise they both contained fresh water and were heavy as hell as his biceps bulged against the weight.
Bent low, in order to hold onto the cargo, Vangelis's head was far out of the way of the sail's boom that swung dangerously above everyone's heads with the suddenly tilt of the ship.
"Everyone get down!" He called out, his voice masked by much shouting and the clattering of feet.
By the time everything had settled back into place and Vangelis had secured the two barrels and everything else in the cargo net, he had only heard one significant splash. Which indicated that at least only one of his men had hit the water.
Moving over to the side of the deck, he looked down over the side of the ship to see the expanding circles of a recent dive.
"Who's down there?" He asked one of the other men who was regaining his footing.
The man looked around as it to work out who had been standing in his close proximity a moment ago and who was now missing.
"Er... I think it's Commander Nike, Sir." He reported, which only caused Vangelis to nod and a small smile to tilt the side of his mouth. He leaned forwards, bracing his hands on the side railing and looking down into the dark Aegean, intent on mocking the woman in his own way, as soon as she came back up for air.
The moment her body had hit the water, panic had crawled all over Nike's mind as she flung her limbs out searching for something, anything that her fingers could grasp upon for help. In contrast to the hot weather they had been working in, the water of the Aegean sea was cold, closing around Nike like the deadly tentacles of a Kraken as she plunged beneath the surface.
Her heart raced, and every few seconds her head would bob to the surface as she flailed her limbs around as best as she could - for someone who had never been taught how to swim. There was a reason why the commander had never been happy on a boat. On a ship, it still wasn't too bad in its entirety. The ship was a large vessel, and she was less likely to be tipped over. A smaller boat was riskier, with lesser areas to work on.
She kicked her legs as fast as she could, but as her clothes got sodden and soaked, she felt the breath grow tighter and tighter in her lungs. Her attempts to break the surface grew sparser and lesser as her energy began to drain itself in the wild way in which the commander tried to save herself, a futile effort. As she began to lose the energy in them, her body sank backwards. It was as if the lit surface was mocking her as she blearily slowed the movements of her limbs.
Was that voices she heard? Nike wasn't even sure anymore. Her chest was on fire, she needed to breathe, and yet she could not find the strength to struggle with the might of the ocean any longer. Salt water has now began to invade her nose, and the commander felt her limbs and body growing heavier, weaker. Her legs refused to kick, her arms no longer helped. Her body screamed for rest, and while her mind screamed at her to kick, move, anything to stay afloat, she could not bring herself to listen.
The last thing Nike felt was the water loosening the bandages she wore constantly around her chest. She saw bubbles float before her eyes one last time, before even they drifted to a shut
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The moment her body had hit the water, panic had crawled all over Nike's mind as she flung her limbs out searching for something, anything that her fingers could grasp upon for help. In contrast to the hot weather they had been working in, the water of the Aegean sea was cold, closing around Nike like the deadly tentacles of a Kraken as she plunged beneath the surface.
Her heart raced, and every few seconds her head would bob to the surface as she flailed her limbs around as best as she could - for someone who had never been taught how to swim. There was a reason why the commander had never been happy on a boat. On a ship, it still wasn't too bad in its entirety. The ship was a large vessel, and she was less likely to be tipped over. A smaller boat was riskier, with lesser areas to work on.
She kicked her legs as fast as she could, but as her clothes got sodden and soaked, she felt the breath grow tighter and tighter in her lungs. Her attempts to break the surface grew sparser and lesser as her energy began to drain itself in the wild way in which the commander tried to save herself, a futile effort. As she began to lose the energy in them, her body sank backwards. It was as if the lit surface was mocking her as she blearily slowed the movements of her limbs.
Was that voices she heard? Nike wasn't even sure anymore. Her chest was on fire, she needed to breathe, and yet she could not find the strength to struggle with the might of the ocean any longer. Salt water has now began to invade her nose, and the commander felt her limbs and body growing heavier, weaker. Her legs refused to kick, her arms no longer helped. Her body screamed for rest, and while her mind screamed at her to kick, move, anything to stay afloat, she could not bring herself to listen.
The last thing Nike felt was the water loosening the bandages she wore constantly around her chest. She saw bubbles float before her eyes one last time, before even they drifted to a shut
The moment her body had hit the water, panic had crawled all over Nike's mind as she flung her limbs out searching for something, anything that her fingers could grasp upon for help. In contrast to the hot weather they had been working in, the water of the Aegean sea was cold, closing around Nike like the deadly tentacles of a Kraken as she plunged beneath the surface.
Her heart raced, and every few seconds her head would bob to the surface as she flailed her limbs around as best as she could - for someone who had never been taught how to swim. There was a reason why the commander had never been happy on a boat. On a ship, it still wasn't too bad in its entirety. The ship was a large vessel, and she was less likely to be tipped over. A smaller boat was riskier, with lesser areas to work on.
She kicked her legs as fast as she could, but as her clothes got sodden and soaked, she felt the breath grow tighter and tighter in her lungs. Her attempts to break the surface grew sparser and lesser as her energy began to drain itself in the wild way in which the commander tried to save herself, a futile effort. As she began to lose the energy in them, her body sank backwards. It was as if the lit surface was mocking her as she blearily slowed the movements of her limbs.
Was that voices she heard? Nike wasn't even sure anymore. Her chest was on fire, she needed to breathe, and yet she could not find the strength to struggle with the might of the ocean any longer. Salt water has now began to invade her nose, and the commander felt her limbs and body growing heavier, weaker. Her legs refused to kick, her arms no longer helped. Her body screamed for rest, and while her mind screamed at her to kick, move, anything to stay afloat, she could not bring herself to listen.
The last thing Nike felt was the water loosening the bandages she wore constantly around her chest. She saw bubbles float before her eyes one last time, before even they drifted to a shut
By the time Vangelis had secured the barrels in place, spoken to his sailor and looked over the side, Nike had long since slipped beneath the surface. Had he noticed her head bobbing back up to seek air, unable to maintain her balance on the surface of the water, he would have realised that there was a greater danger involved in the situation than he had thought.
Instead, all he saw was the expanding circles of water from where his Commander had hit the surface and plunged into the depths.
Leaning on the side railing her simply waited, amused by the idea that the woman would come back up to the surface, her hair plastered to her scalp and a look of pure fury on her face only displayed to hide her embarrassment.
When she didn't immediately come to the surface, however, the crown prince's brow fell low over his eyes and he began to grow suspicious, leaning further forward to try and see the shape of the commander beneath the surface, Vangelis could only identify a dark shadow.
As another soldier happened to look over the railing too, Vangelis heard the man muttering.
"Did someone fall in?"
Another soldier joined the first.
"I hope it wasn't any of the sailors. None of them know how to swim."
With a thought that brought self-anger and chastisement to the foreground, it was as if Vangelis' mind had been holding the clues to the information in his subconscious for this very moment. As the soldier mentioned how - unlike with royal and noble children - swim classes were not a universal experience, images of Nike's face - uncomfortable or determined - whenever she was forced to get on a boat decided to shame him with their obvious meaning.
Nike didn't know how to swim!
Without another thought, already stripped to the waist and with nothing further to concern him, Vangelis simply backed up several steps - for the faster he could get his momentum the faster and deeper he would slice through the water - and charged for the railing.
One foot slammed into the siding, the other hiked back to throw his balance forward and sent him diving head towards the water.
His arms outstretched, his hands guiding him, Vangelis sliced through the surface of the Aegean and, as the water hit him hard in the face, he pulled back his arms to make the most of his dive.
Once the power of the ocean against his features had stopped being a shock against his skin, Vangelis was able to open his eyes beneath the waves and take a look around. The salt stung and the ocean was dark in the shadow of the ship, but he wasn't about to let Nike sink to the bottom of the Aegean because his eyes were sensitive.
Continuing his motions to pull himself further down and into the deep, Vangelis almost felt the tendrils of despair starting to clutch at his heart when he wasn't able to locate his Commander. It was only as a dark shape appeared not far ahead that he almost breathed a sigh of relief and choked on the Aegean.
Pulling harder, his legs kicking faster now he knew he was headed in the right direction, Vangelis grabbed a hold of Nike's outstretched hand - a hand that had clearly been reaching for the surface a moment before but had now grown limp.
No bubbles escaped her lips and her eyes were closed. Vangelis tugged on her arm to pull her up, using her weight to slow himself down and change the direction of his momentum.
When he found her heavier than expected, Vangelis noticed a long trail of darkened sodden fabric trailing from under her leather vest and quickly reached out to pull at it. There was yards of the stuff and it was holding them back, weighing the woman down and making her twice as heavy.
Tugging quickly, Vangelis felt his lungs starting to process how long he had been underwater and he was thankful when the tail end of the bindings was finally freed from beneath Nike's clothes. He didn't stop to watch the material fluttering away, some into the darkness, but instead pulled hard on their previous owner as he continued to kick them both towards the surface.
His eyes burned, his lungs screamed and, for a moment, Vangelis wondered if he had waited too long, if he had dived too deep and swam too far in his efforts to reach his bodyguard when his own body seemed ready to give up on him before they breached the surface and, once again, found fresh air.
By the time he did feel the waves part and his forehead breach the surface, Vangelis was gasping for air, his eyes and nose were streaming and his body felt ready to rebel on him. But he had enough presence of mind to pull Nike up to the surface with him and draw her around to his front.
Noticing, from his peripheral, how people had come to culminate on the side of the boat, Vangelis kept the two of them in the water with Nike's back to the boat and her front pulled hard up against his own as he tread water.
"Come on, Nike..." He gasped, spitting salt water from his mouth as he gave a few gentle slaps to the side of her face. Frustrated when it didn't seem to work and his Commander remained as dead weight in the water, Vangelis braced his arm around behind her shoulders, tilted her head back and pinched at her nose.
Leaning forward, Vangelis secured his mouth on Nike's and blew hard into her lungs, hoping the jolt of air would spark the natural instinct to cough up any sea water she had breathed in.
"Come on..." He muttered to her between breaths. "I can't get you up there on my own hiding what those bindings were... You're need to wake up for my Commander."
A few of the soldiers from above were calling down if Commander Nike was okay, if the prince needed aid. He ignored them, focused on trying to get Nike to breathe as he filled her lungs with air once more...
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Check out their information page here.
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By the time Vangelis had secured the barrels in place, spoken to his sailor and looked over the side, Nike had long since slipped beneath the surface. Had he noticed her head bobbing back up to seek air, unable to maintain her balance on the surface of the water, he would have realised that there was a greater danger involved in the situation than he had thought.
Instead, all he saw was the expanding circles of water from where his Commander had hit the surface and plunged into the depths.
Leaning on the side railing her simply waited, amused by the idea that the woman would come back up to the surface, her hair plastered to her scalp and a look of pure fury on her face only displayed to hide her embarrassment.
When she didn't immediately come to the surface, however, the crown prince's brow fell low over his eyes and he began to grow suspicious, leaning further forward to try and see the shape of the commander beneath the surface, Vangelis could only identify a dark shadow.
As another soldier happened to look over the railing too, Vangelis heard the man muttering.
"Did someone fall in?"
Another soldier joined the first.
"I hope it wasn't any of the sailors. None of them know how to swim."
With a thought that brought self-anger and chastisement to the foreground, it was as if Vangelis' mind had been holding the clues to the information in his subconscious for this very moment. As the soldier mentioned how - unlike with royal and noble children - swim classes were not a universal experience, images of Nike's face - uncomfortable or determined - whenever she was forced to get on a boat decided to shame him with their obvious meaning.
Nike didn't know how to swim!
Without another thought, already stripped to the waist and with nothing further to concern him, Vangelis simply backed up several steps - for the faster he could get his momentum the faster and deeper he would slice through the water - and charged for the railing.
One foot slammed into the siding, the other hiked back to throw his balance forward and sent him diving head towards the water.
His arms outstretched, his hands guiding him, Vangelis sliced through the surface of the Aegean and, as the water hit him hard in the face, he pulled back his arms to make the most of his dive.
Once the power of the ocean against his features had stopped being a shock against his skin, Vangelis was able to open his eyes beneath the waves and take a look around. The salt stung and the ocean was dark in the shadow of the ship, but he wasn't about to let Nike sink to the bottom of the Aegean because his eyes were sensitive.
Continuing his motions to pull himself further down and into the deep, Vangelis almost felt the tendrils of despair starting to clutch at his heart when he wasn't able to locate his Commander. It was only as a dark shape appeared not far ahead that he almost breathed a sigh of relief and choked on the Aegean.
Pulling harder, his legs kicking faster now he knew he was headed in the right direction, Vangelis grabbed a hold of Nike's outstretched hand - a hand that had clearly been reaching for the surface a moment before but had now grown limp.
No bubbles escaped her lips and her eyes were closed. Vangelis tugged on her arm to pull her up, using her weight to slow himself down and change the direction of his momentum.
When he found her heavier than expected, Vangelis noticed a long trail of darkened sodden fabric trailing from under her leather vest and quickly reached out to pull at it. There was yards of the stuff and it was holding them back, weighing the woman down and making her twice as heavy.
Tugging quickly, Vangelis felt his lungs starting to process how long he had been underwater and he was thankful when the tail end of the bindings was finally freed from beneath Nike's clothes. He didn't stop to watch the material fluttering away, some into the darkness, but instead pulled hard on their previous owner as he continued to kick them both towards the surface.
His eyes burned, his lungs screamed and, for a moment, Vangelis wondered if he had waited too long, if he had dived too deep and swam too far in his efforts to reach his bodyguard when his own body seemed ready to give up on him before they breached the surface and, once again, found fresh air.
By the time he did feel the waves part and his forehead breach the surface, Vangelis was gasping for air, his eyes and nose were streaming and his body felt ready to rebel on him. But he had enough presence of mind to pull Nike up to the surface with him and draw her around to his front.
Noticing, from his peripheral, how people had come to culminate on the side of the boat, Vangelis kept the two of them in the water with Nike's back to the boat and her front pulled hard up against his own as he tread water.
"Come on, Nike..." He gasped, spitting salt water from his mouth as he gave a few gentle slaps to the side of her face. Frustrated when it didn't seem to work and his Commander remained as dead weight in the water, Vangelis braced his arm around behind her shoulders, tilted her head back and pinched at her nose.
Leaning forward, Vangelis secured his mouth on Nike's and blew hard into her lungs, hoping the jolt of air would spark the natural instinct to cough up any sea water she had breathed in.
"Come on..." He muttered to her between breaths. "I can't get you up there on my own hiding what those bindings were... You're need to wake up for my Commander."
A few of the soldiers from above were calling down if Commander Nike was okay, if the prince needed aid. He ignored them, focused on trying to get Nike to breathe as he filled her lungs with air once more...
By the time Vangelis had secured the barrels in place, spoken to his sailor and looked over the side, Nike had long since slipped beneath the surface. Had he noticed her head bobbing back up to seek air, unable to maintain her balance on the surface of the water, he would have realised that there was a greater danger involved in the situation than he had thought.
Instead, all he saw was the expanding circles of water from where his Commander had hit the surface and plunged into the depths.
Leaning on the side railing her simply waited, amused by the idea that the woman would come back up to the surface, her hair plastered to her scalp and a look of pure fury on her face only displayed to hide her embarrassment.
When she didn't immediately come to the surface, however, the crown prince's brow fell low over his eyes and he began to grow suspicious, leaning further forward to try and see the shape of the commander beneath the surface, Vangelis could only identify a dark shadow.
As another soldier happened to look over the railing too, Vangelis heard the man muttering.
"Did someone fall in?"
Another soldier joined the first.
"I hope it wasn't any of the sailors. None of them know how to swim."
With a thought that brought self-anger and chastisement to the foreground, it was as if Vangelis' mind had been holding the clues to the information in his subconscious for this very moment. As the soldier mentioned how - unlike with royal and noble children - swim classes were not a universal experience, images of Nike's face - uncomfortable or determined - whenever she was forced to get on a boat decided to shame him with their obvious meaning.
Nike didn't know how to swim!
Without another thought, already stripped to the waist and with nothing further to concern him, Vangelis simply backed up several steps - for the faster he could get his momentum the faster and deeper he would slice through the water - and charged for the railing.
One foot slammed into the siding, the other hiked back to throw his balance forward and sent him diving head towards the water.
His arms outstretched, his hands guiding him, Vangelis sliced through the surface of the Aegean and, as the water hit him hard in the face, he pulled back his arms to make the most of his dive.
Once the power of the ocean against his features had stopped being a shock against his skin, Vangelis was able to open his eyes beneath the waves and take a look around. The salt stung and the ocean was dark in the shadow of the ship, but he wasn't about to let Nike sink to the bottom of the Aegean because his eyes were sensitive.
Continuing his motions to pull himself further down and into the deep, Vangelis almost felt the tendrils of despair starting to clutch at his heart when he wasn't able to locate his Commander. It was only as a dark shape appeared not far ahead that he almost breathed a sigh of relief and choked on the Aegean.
Pulling harder, his legs kicking faster now he knew he was headed in the right direction, Vangelis grabbed a hold of Nike's outstretched hand - a hand that had clearly been reaching for the surface a moment before but had now grown limp.
No bubbles escaped her lips and her eyes were closed. Vangelis tugged on her arm to pull her up, using her weight to slow himself down and change the direction of his momentum.
When he found her heavier than expected, Vangelis noticed a long trail of darkened sodden fabric trailing from under her leather vest and quickly reached out to pull at it. There was yards of the stuff and it was holding them back, weighing the woman down and making her twice as heavy.
Tugging quickly, Vangelis felt his lungs starting to process how long he had been underwater and he was thankful when the tail end of the bindings was finally freed from beneath Nike's clothes. He didn't stop to watch the material fluttering away, some into the darkness, but instead pulled hard on their previous owner as he continued to kick them both towards the surface.
His eyes burned, his lungs screamed and, for a moment, Vangelis wondered if he had waited too long, if he had dived too deep and swam too far in his efforts to reach his bodyguard when his own body seemed ready to give up on him before they breached the surface and, once again, found fresh air.
By the time he did feel the waves part and his forehead breach the surface, Vangelis was gasping for air, his eyes and nose were streaming and his body felt ready to rebel on him. But he had enough presence of mind to pull Nike up to the surface with him and draw her around to his front.
Noticing, from his peripheral, how people had come to culminate on the side of the boat, Vangelis kept the two of them in the water with Nike's back to the boat and her front pulled hard up against his own as he tread water.
"Come on, Nike..." He gasped, spitting salt water from his mouth as he gave a few gentle slaps to the side of her face. Frustrated when it didn't seem to work and his Commander remained as dead weight in the water, Vangelis braced his arm around behind her shoulders, tilted her head back and pinched at her nose.
Leaning forward, Vangelis secured his mouth on Nike's and blew hard into her lungs, hoping the jolt of air would spark the natural instinct to cough up any sea water she had breathed in.
"Come on..." He muttered to her between breaths. "I can't get you up there on my own hiding what those bindings were... You're need to wake up for my Commander."
A few of the soldiers from above were calling down if Commander Nike was okay, if the prince needed aid. He ignored them, focused on trying to get Nike to breathe as he filled her lungs with air once more...
It was cold.
The last she had remembered was as if an anvil was pressing down on her lungs. Nike couldn't remember one time she wanted to breathe more then that. As her lungs ran out of air, her brain lost oxygen, and the shattered lights from underwater grew murkier, darker... was she going up? Down? Nike didn't know anymore.
Her vision began to turn black at the edges, with infrequent pulses of light as she struggled under water. Her lungs was burning. Her chest was compressing, like someone had punched her in the gut and she had never quite recovered from that. She felt tense, rigid, like someone was pushing a finger against her neck. Was Poseidon throttling her? Was she hearing things? How could anyone hear things underwater? But if that was the case, then what was that steady pulse she heard?
She had to inhale. She just had to.
And then.
Nothing.
Her body was limp in the water, like a ragdoll being dragged as Vangelis pulled her upwards. She was of no help in her blacked out state, even as he broke surface of the water and held her to his front while bringing her to the boat. All she knew was that it was cold... oh so very cold.
The warmth on her lips was, perhaps, the first thing that dragged her sodden mind back from the oblivion it had headed to. Underwater, Vangelis's grip around her was as good as naught, he was just as soaked as she was. But the temperature change in her cold lips to his warm ones was the first one that stirred consciousness back in her mind, before the forced entry of air into her oesophagus tried to displace the amount of salty, fish-tinged water that the commander had breathed in whilst in her unsconscious state below the water. One, two, three breathes - in the next moment, Nike jolted with a sputtering cough, water spewing out of her lips to hit Vangelis square in the face - not that the commander realized, as oxygen rushed back into her brains.
Her eyes were hazy, as if there was a film over them. The sunlight made her squint, the yellings of the sailors and military people a buzz while her ears still kept up its ringing. Realizing she was still in the water however, Nike scrambled in a panic, before her hands found purchase on a pair of shoulders.
Only then, did her eyes widened when she saw who exactly it was holding her up in the water at a depth where her feet still could not find ground. Her golden-specked eyes flashed in shock, blinking as if the commander did not know what to say. Her head hurt, her chest hurt... except now, she was not sure if it was from her almost drowning, or from the fact that her very bare-chested general was literally carrying her weight in the water.
Nike's first instinct had been to push away from him - only to realize that would be suicidal. She instinctively backed up as best as she could in the water, for her back to hit the back of the boat he had her against, her head almost bobbing below the water again had she not quickly scrambled to grab his arms again, her instinct to survive kicking in over her embarassment at being rescued by him. Breathes still coming in hard and heavy, Nike bit her lip, flinching when she belatedly realized her chest bindings were very obviously no longer around.
"Right... so how are we doing this?"
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It was cold.
The last she had remembered was as if an anvil was pressing down on her lungs. Nike couldn't remember one time she wanted to breathe more then that. As her lungs ran out of air, her brain lost oxygen, and the shattered lights from underwater grew murkier, darker... was she going up? Down? Nike didn't know anymore.
Her vision began to turn black at the edges, with infrequent pulses of light as she struggled under water. Her lungs was burning. Her chest was compressing, like someone had punched her in the gut and she had never quite recovered from that. She felt tense, rigid, like someone was pushing a finger against her neck. Was Poseidon throttling her? Was she hearing things? How could anyone hear things underwater? But if that was the case, then what was that steady pulse she heard?
She had to inhale. She just had to.
And then.
Nothing.
Her body was limp in the water, like a ragdoll being dragged as Vangelis pulled her upwards. She was of no help in her blacked out state, even as he broke surface of the water and held her to his front while bringing her to the boat. All she knew was that it was cold... oh so very cold.
The warmth on her lips was, perhaps, the first thing that dragged her sodden mind back from the oblivion it had headed to. Underwater, Vangelis's grip around her was as good as naught, he was just as soaked as she was. But the temperature change in her cold lips to his warm ones was the first one that stirred consciousness back in her mind, before the forced entry of air into her oesophagus tried to displace the amount of salty, fish-tinged water that the commander had breathed in whilst in her unsconscious state below the water. One, two, three breathes - in the next moment, Nike jolted with a sputtering cough, water spewing out of her lips to hit Vangelis square in the face - not that the commander realized, as oxygen rushed back into her brains.
Her eyes were hazy, as if there was a film over them. The sunlight made her squint, the yellings of the sailors and military people a buzz while her ears still kept up its ringing. Realizing she was still in the water however, Nike scrambled in a panic, before her hands found purchase on a pair of shoulders.
Only then, did her eyes widened when she saw who exactly it was holding her up in the water at a depth where her feet still could not find ground. Her golden-specked eyes flashed in shock, blinking as if the commander did not know what to say. Her head hurt, her chest hurt... except now, she was not sure if it was from her almost drowning, or from the fact that her very bare-chested general was literally carrying her weight in the water.
Nike's first instinct had been to push away from him - only to realize that would be suicidal. She instinctively backed up as best as she could in the water, for her back to hit the back of the boat he had her against, her head almost bobbing below the water again had she not quickly scrambled to grab his arms again, her instinct to survive kicking in over her embarassment at being rescued by him. Breathes still coming in hard and heavy, Nike bit her lip, flinching when she belatedly realized her chest bindings were very obviously no longer around.
"Right... so how are we doing this?"
It was cold.
The last she had remembered was as if an anvil was pressing down on her lungs. Nike couldn't remember one time she wanted to breathe more then that. As her lungs ran out of air, her brain lost oxygen, and the shattered lights from underwater grew murkier, darker... was she going up? Down? Nike didn't know anymore.
Her vision began to turn black at the edges, with infrequent pulses of light as she struggled under water. Her lungs was burning. Her chest was compressing, like someone had punched her in the gut and she had never quite recovered from that. She felt tense, rigid, like someone was pushing a finger against her neck. Was Poseidon throttling her? Was she hearing things? How could anyone hear things underwater? But if that was the case, then what was that steady pulse she heard?
She had to inhale. She just had to.
And then.
Nothing.
Her body was limp in the water, like a ragdoll being dragged as Vangelis pulled her upwards. She was of no help in her blacked out state, even as he broke surface of the water and held her to his front while bringing her to the boat. All she knew was that it was cold... oh so very cold.
The warmth on her lips was, perhaps, the first thing that dragged her sodden mind back from the oblivion it had headed to. Underwater, Vangelis's grip around her was as good as naught, he was just as soaked as she was. But the temperature change in her cold lips to his warm ones was the first one that stirred consciousness back in her mind, before the forced entry of air into her oesophagus tried to displace the amount of salty, fish-tinged water that the commander had breathed in whilst in her unsconscious state below the water. One, two, three breathes - in the next moment, Nike jolted with a sputtering cough, water spewing out of her lips to hit Vangelis square in the face - not that the commander realized, as oxygen rushed back into her brains.
Her eyes were hazy, as if there was a film over them. The sunlight made her squint, the yellings of the sailors and military people a buzz while her ears still kept up its ringing. Realizing she was still in the water however, Nike scrambled in a panic, before her hands found purchase on a pair of shoulders.
Only then, did her eyes widened when she saw who exactly it was holding her up in the water at a depth where her feet still could not find ground. Her golden-specked eyes flashed in shock, blinking as if the commander did not know what to say. Her head hurt, her chest hurt... except now, she was not sure if it was from her almost drowning, or from the fact that her very bare-chested general was literally carrying her weight in the water.
Nike's first instinct had been to push away from him - only to realize that would be suicidal. She instinctively backed up as best as she could in the water, for her back to hit the back of the boat he had her against, her head almost bobbing below the water again had she not quickly scrambled to grab his arms again, her instinct to survive kicking in over her embarassment at being rescued by him. Breathes still coming in hard and heavy, Nike bit her lip, flinching when she belatedly realized her chest bindings were very obviously no longer around.
"Right... so how are we doing this?"
Vangelis flinched automatically when salt water was sprayed in his face - a wonderful thank you for saving the girl's life but a welcome one, at least. Dead people didn't spit in your face when gasping for air.
Blinking his eyes free of salt water and feeling his dark lashes stick together as he did so, Vangelis switched his hold on Nike so that his hands were on her waist, supporting her wait as she flailed around and got her bearings in the water. He too, adjusted his legs and how he was keeping them afloat, now that he didn't need to hold her head up out of the water and glanced up at the crew on deck who stared down at them. His mind churned quickly as Vangelis tried to work out the best way of handling this situation that kept Nike's gender hidden from all present.
After a moment, Vangelis had a semblance of an answer.
"Okay, I have a plan." He murmured quickly to her, out of sound range of the men. "But you're not going to like it so no protestations." He told her with a sharp look.
With a quickly grab and yank, Vangelis had Nike up close again. Running his hands from her waist to her knees and pulling her thighs to either side of his hips, he encouraged her to link her ankles in order to hold on.
"You're going to have to pretend to be more out of it than you are." He told her before transferring his hands to her arms and guiding them up and around his neck.
In this position, her torso was pressed up hard against his own.
"That way, I can keep you hidden like this and get you into the lower decks where you can change." He told her. "Go limp on me and I'll get us up onto the ship without anyone seeing..."
Despite the intimacy of their position, Vangelis' expression was in no way leering or personal. It was efficient, effective and stoic. But his tone was careful and almost caring. It was clear her wanted to protect Nike's secret for both their sakes - not just his own.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Vangelis flinched automatically when salt water was sprayed in his face - a wonderful thank you for saving the girl's life but a welcome one, at least. Dead people didn't spit in your face when gasping for air.
Blinking his eyes free of salt water and feeling his dark lashes stick together as he did so, Vangelis switched his hold on Nike so that his hands were on her waist, supporting her wait as she flailed around and got her bearings in the water. He too, adjusted his legs and how he was keeping them afloat, now that he didn't need to hold her head up out of the water and glanced up at the crew on deck who stared down at them. His mind churned quickly as Vangelis tried to work out the best way of handling this situation that kept Nike's gender hidden from all present.
After a moment, Vangelis had a semblance of an answer.
"Okay, I have a plan." He murmured quickly to her, out of sound range of the men. "But you're not going to like it so no protestations." He told her with a sharp look.
With a quickly grab and yank, Vangelis had Nike up close again. Running his hands from her waist to her knees and pulling her thighs to either side of his hips, he encouraged her to link her ankles in order to hold on.
"You're going to have to pretend to be more out of it than you are." He told her before transferring his hands to her arms and guiding them up and around his neck.
In this position, her torso was pressed up hard against his own.
"That way, I can keep you hidden like this and get you into the lower decks where you can change." He told her. "Go limp on me and I'll get us up onto the ship without anyone seeing..."
Despite the intimacy of their position, Vangelis' expression was in no way leering or personal. It was efficient, effective and stoic. But his tone was careful and almost caring. It was clear her wanted to protect Nike's secret for both their sakes - not just his own.
Vangelis flinched automatically when salt water was sprayed in his face - a wonderful thank you for saving the girl's life but a welcome one, at least. Dead people didn't spit in your face when gasping for air.
Blinking his eyes free of salt water and feeling his dark lashes stick together as he did so, Vangelis switched his hold on Nike so that his hands were on her waist, supporting her wait as she flailed around and got her bearings in the water. He too, adjusted his legs and how he was keeping them afloat, now that he didn't need to hold her head up out of the water and glanced up at the crew on deck who stared down at them. His mind churned quickly as Vangelis tried to work out the best way of handling this situation that kept Nike's gender hidden from all present.
After a moment, Vangelis had a semblance of an answer.
"Okay, I have a plan." He murmured quickly to her, out of sound range of the men. "But you're not going to like it so no protestations." He told her with a sharp look.
With a quickly grab and yank, Vangelis had Nike up close again. Running his hands from her waist to her knees and pulling her thighs to either side of his hips, he encouraged her to link her ankles in order to hold on.
"You're going to have to pretend to be more out of it than you are." He told her before transferring his hands to her arms and guiding them up and around his neck.
In this position, her torso was pressed up hard against his own.
"That way, I can keep you hidden like this and get you into the lower decks where you can change." He told her. "Go limp on me and I'll get us up onto the ship without anyone seeing..."
Despite the intimacy of their position, Vangelis' expression was in no way leering or personal. It was efficient, effective and stoic. But his tone was careful and almost caring. It was clear her wanted to protect Nike's secret for both their sakes - not just his own.
It took a while for her to find her footing - or lack thereof, considering they were essentially stepping on water, a matter not usually known to be solid enough for the weight of mankind. Not someone who was trained in the skill of swimming of treading water, it was no surprise to find that by the time the woman got her bearings, Nike found herself entirely leaning on he general's firmer form in order to prevent sinking further below. She tried to quash the rising sense of panic every time her legs kicked out and hit nothing, yet her golden eyes would betray her.
So she avoided his gaze - until he yanked her close again.
With a muffled squeak that was very unlike the commander, her grip momentarily loosened from the his shoulders, enough for him to position her body the way he needed it. The next thing she knew, Nike found herself draped not unlike a sack of potatoes over the front of his torso - which meant her thin linen shirt now soaked through, did nothing to hide her chest, however small they may be through the years of bindings, to be pressed quite firmly against his.
Nike opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off before she could even say a word, when he mentioned remaining hidden.
She was no fool. Nike knew that to be found now would be a death sentence, and ... well, fearless she may be on Ares's field, Nike had no wish to receive a dishonorable discharge and sentenced to death on military campsite. Her lip was fixed in a stubborn line, until her golden eyes, wary as they are, met Vangelis's.
And she knew he meant well. He had evolved from being her general to a mentor, to a friend.... to someone she would now put her life on the line for, and someone she knew would do the same for her. Her stubborn look melted when she saw the concern reflected in his own, and she made an irritated growl, doing as he directed. Nike relaxed the tense posture she had been in as Vangelis had pulled her thighs to his hips, linking her ankles behind him, and then limped herself over his torso, hands linked behind his neck as well.
It was with much reluctance and grumbling beneath her breathe, for the commander was not very sure if someone completely out of it would have the sense of mind to link their limbs and secure themselves against their savior, but she'd defer to the general for now - she had no better plan for emerging from the water in her current state. Her sheer white tunic hid nothing at this point, and the dampened locks elongated her dark hair, making them seem longer and almost softening her looks. In this state, it was too easy to be mistaken.
Deciding against betraying her own self through sheer accident, instead the commander turned her face so it was tucked under his chin in the position. "I'm never going to hear the last of it from my men." she muttered in frustration, knowing full well she would have to fight tooth and nail to regain their respect against after almost drowning in the Aegean Sea.
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It took a while for her to find her footing - or lack thereof, considering they were essentially stepping on water, a matter not usually known to be solid enough for the weight of mankind. Not someone who was trained in the skill of swimming of treading water, it was no surprise to find that by the time the woman got her bearings, Nike found herself entirely leaning on he general's firmer form in order to prevent sinking further below. She tried to quash the rising sense of panic every time her legs kicked out and hit nothing, yet her golden eyes would betray her.
So she avoided his gaze - until he yanked her close again.
With a muffled squeak that was very unlike the commander, her grip momentarily loosened from the his shoulders, enough for him to position her body the way he needed it. The next thing she knew, Nike found herself draped not unlike a sack of potatoes over the front of his torso - which meant her thin linen shirt now soaked through, did nothing to hide her chest, however small they may be through the years of bindings, to be pressed quite firmly against his.
Nike opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off before she could even say a word, when he mentioned remaining hidden.
She was no fool. Nike knew that to be found now would be a death sentence, and ... well, fearless she may be on Ares's field, Nike had no wish to receive a dishonorable discharge and sentenced to death on military campsite. Her lip was fixed in a stubborn line, until her golden eyes, wary as they are, met Vangelis's.
And she knew he meant well. He had evolved from being her general to a mentor, to a friend.... to someone she would now put her life on the line for, and someone she knew would do the same for her. Her stubborn look melted when she saw the concern reflected in his own, and she made an irritated growl, doing as he directed. Nike relaxed the tense posture she had been in as Vangelis had pulled her thighs to his hips, linking her ankles behind him, and then limped herself over his torso, hands linked behind his neck as well.
It was with much reluctance and grumbling beneath her breathe, for the commander was not very sure if someone completely out of it would have the sense of mind to link their limbs and secure themselves against their savior, but she'd defer to the general for now - she had no better plan for emerging from the water in her current state. Her sheer white tunic hid nothing at this point, and the dampened locks elongated her dark hair, making them seem longer and almost softening her looks. In this state, it was too easy to be mistaken.
Deciding against betraying her own self through sheer accident, instead the commander turned her face so it was tucked under his chin in the position. "I'm never going to hear the last of it from my men." she muttered in frustration, knowing full well she would have to fight tooth and nail to regain their respect against after almost drowning in the Aegean Sea.
It took a while for her to find her footing - or lack thereof, considering they were essentially stepping on water, a matter not usually known to be solid enough for the weight of mankind. Not someone who was trained in the skill of swimming of treading water, it was no surprise to find that by the time the woman got her bearings, Nike found herself entirely leaning on he general's firmer form in order to prevent sinking further below. She tried to quash the rising sense of panic every time her legs kicked out and hit nothing, yet her golden eyes would betray her.
So she avoided his gaze - until he yanked her close again.
With a muffled squeak that was very unlike the commander, her grip momentarily loosened from the his shoulders, enough for him to position her body the way he needed it. The next thing she knew, Nike found herself draped not unlike a sack of potatoes over the front of his torso - which meant her thin linen shirt now soaked through, did nothing to hide her chest, however small they may be through the years of bindings, to be pressed quite firmly against his.
Nike opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off before she could even say a word, when he mentioned remaining hidden.
She was no fool. Nike knew that to be found now would be a death sentence, and ... well, fearless she may be on Ares's field, Nike had no wish to receive a dishonorable discharge and sentenced to death on military campsite. Her lip was fixed in a stubborn line, until her golden eyes, wary as they are, met Vangelis's.
And she knew he meant well. He had evolved from being her general to a mentor, to a friend.... to someone she would now put her life on the line for, and someone she knew would do the same for her. Her stubborn look melted when she saw the concern reflected in his own, and she made an irritated growl, doing as he directed. Nike relaxed the tense posture she had been in as Vangelis had pulled her thighs to his hips, linking her ankles behind him, and then limped herself over his torso, hands linked behind his neck as well.
It was with much reluctance and grumbling beneath her breathe, for the commander was not very sure if someone completely out of it would have the sense of mind to link their limbs and secure themselves against their savior, but she'd defer to the general for now - she had no better plan for emerging from the water in her current state. Her sheer white tunic hid nothing at this point, and the dampened locks elongated her dark hair, making them seem longer and almost softening her looks. In this state, it was too easy to be mistaken.
Deciding against betraying her own self through sheer accident, instead the commander turned her face so it was tucked under his chin in the position. "I'm never going to hear the last of it from my men." she muttered in frustration, knowing full well she would have to fight tooth and nail to regain their respect against after almost drowning in the Aegean Sea.
He realised her had surprised his commander when he had pulled her close to his frame beneath the water. She was no swimmer - of that he already knew - but her fear in the water was more obvious in the way her muscles and limbs are so tight they were almost frail. His tug moved her through the water awkwardly as her fear kept her tense. That fearfulness, however, always worked to his advantage as, yes it was like moving one of Asia's wooden dolls into position, but at least the doll was obeying - as she instinctively fell back on her only choice; to trust him in keeping her afloat.
She was also trusting him with her secret, as Vangelis positioned her carefully around his torso, feeling the small swells of her breasts, pressed hard against his chest. Her thighs were slim and hard with muscle, but the feel of them around his hips was very feminine. Had it been anyone else rescuing her from the water, that alone would have given her away.
Tapping at her arms and encouraging her to let them hang loose down his back and hold on tight by squeezing her thighs and biceps together - hopefully then it wouldn't look like she was holding on so much, Vangelis heard her mutter in his ear and huffed an amused exhale, his chest pushing forwards into herself.
He muttered back as he waved a hand up to his crew, encouraging them to lower a rope so that he could get them both on deck without heading to the docks where more slaves and recruits were carrying cargo.
"Forget your men, you'll never hear the end of it from me." He murmured back to her, careful not to let his lips move to obviously, despite them being in the shadow of the ship and fairly well masked. "That's one more you owe me, Commander."
It was as the final word left his lips that one of his soldiers had located as standard rope ladder, often used when descending into dinghies or smaller vessels.
Carefully, he propelled the two of them through the water with the swiping of his legs, making sure to lean his torso back, keeping her balanced in front of him.
When his back reached the ladder, Vangelis then spun, grabbed hold of the ladder his men had produced and then climbed it one handed, keeping his other arm wrapped around Nike's waist and his hand positioned up the centre of her back, keeping her balanced and pressed against him.
The climb was award and bouncing as he was forced to use only the one hand and carefully follow with feet he couldn't see, but it was only a few minutes before Vangelis had them both up onto the deck. It was only a few minutes more before he was able to stride across the boards with a step that hurried everyone out of his way. With an assurance to one of the men that he knew would then be gossiped and passed between the men, Vangelis simply told them that the Commander was alive but seemed to have hit her head on something under the surface of the water. At least that would explain away her perceived dazedness without dampening her reputation too hard.
While his appearance was in no way concerned between the water and his private quarters below deck, Vangelis still let out an exhale of relief when they reached the solitude of his bed chambers and he was able to throw a dry tunic and drying sheet at his Commander.
"Change." He told her, turning his back and heading for the door again. "I'll grab you something to eat."
When he reached the portal, however, he paused and turned back to face her, knowing his Commander and her work ethic. He pointed a finger at her imperatively.
"No more work for today." He told her, salt water still tripping from his hand and arm. Rivulets of the stuff ran from his hair to his neck and down his chest. "I'll get you a full change of clothes too." Turning his back once more, Vangelis was only forced to pause at the sound of her voice...
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He realised her had surprised his commander when he had pulled her close to his frame beneath the water. She was no swimmer - of that he already knew - but her fear in the water was more obvious in the way her muscles and limbs are so tight they were almost frail. His tug moved her through the water awkwardly as her fear kept her tense. That fearfulness, however, always worked to his advantage as, yes it was like moving one of Asia's wooden dolls into position, but at least the doll was obeying - as she instinctively fell back on her only choice; to trust him in keeping her afloat.
She was also trusting him with her secret, as Vangelis positioned her carefully around his torso, feeling the small swells of her breasts, pressed hard against his chest. Her thighs were slim and hard with muscle, but the feel of them around his hips was very feminine. Had it been anyone else rescuing her from the water, that alone would have given her away.
Tapping at her arms and encouraging her to let them hang loose down his back and hold on tight by squeezing her thighs and biceps together - hopefully then it wouldn't look like she was holding on so much, Vangelis heard her mutter in his ear and huffed an amused exhale, his chest pushing forwards into herself.
He muttered back as he waved a hand up to his crew, encouraging them to lower a rope so that he could get them both on deck without heading to the docks where more slaves and recruits were carrying cargo.
"Forget your men, you'll never hear the end of it from me." He murmured back to her, careful not to let his lips move to obviously, despite them being in the shadow of the ship and fairly well masked. "That's one more you owe me, Commander."
It was as the final word left his lips that one of his soldiers had located as standard rope ladder, often used when descending into dinghies or smaller vessels.
Carefully, he propelled the two of them through the water with the swiping of his legs, making sure to lean his torso back, keeping her balanced in front of him.
When his back reached the ladder, Vangelis then spun, grabbed hold of the ladder his men had produced and then climbed it one handed, keeping his other arm wrapped around Nike's waist and his hand positioned up the centre of her back, keeping her balanced and pressed against him.
The climb was award and bouncing as he was forced to use only the one hand and carefully follow with feet he couldn't see, but it was only a few minutes before Vangelis had them both up onto the deck. It was only a few minutes more before he was able to stride across the boards with a step that hurried everyone out of his way. With an assurance to one of the men that he knew would then be gossiped and passed between the men, Vangelis simply told them that the Commander was alive but seemed to have hit her head on something under the surface of the water. At least that would explain away her perceived dazedness without dampening her reputation too hard.
While his appearance was in no way concerned between the water and his private quarters below deck, Vangelis still let out an exhale of relief when they reached the solitude of his bed chambers and he was able to throw a dry tunic and drying sheet at his Commander.
"Change." He told her, turning his back and heading for the door again. "I'll grab you something to eat."
When he reached the portal, however, he paused and turned back to face her, knowing his Commander and her work ethic. He pointed a finger at her imperatively.
"No more work for today." He told her, salt water still tripping from his hand and arm. Rivulets of the stuff ran from his hair to his neck and down his chest. "I'll get you a full change of clothes too." Turning his back once more, Vangelis was only forced to pause at the sound of her voice...
He realised her had surprised his commander when he had pulled her close to his frame beneath the water. She was no swimmer - of that he already knew - but her fear in the water was more obvious in the way her muscles and limbs are so tight they were almost frail. His tug moved her through the water awkwardly as her fear kept her tense. That fearfulness, however, always worked to his advantage as, yes it was like moving one of Asia's wooden dolls into position, but at least the doll was obeying - as she instinctively fell back on her only choice; to trust him in keeping her afloat.
She was also trusting him with her secret, as Vangelis positioned her carefully around his torso, feeling the small swells of her breasts, pressed hard against his chest. Her thighs were slim and hard with muscle, but the feel of them around his hips was very feminine. Had it been anyone else rescuing her from the water, that alone would have given her away.
Tapping at her arms and encouraging her to let them hang loose down his back and hold on tight by squeezing her thighs and biceps together - hopefully then it wouldn't look like she was holding on so much, Vangelis heard her mutter in his ear and huffed an amused exhale, his chest pushing forwards into herself.
He muttered back as he waved a hand up to his crew, encouraging them to lower a rope so that he could get them both on deck without heading to the docks where more slaves and recruits were carrying cargo.
"Forget your men, you'll never hear the end of it from me." He murmured back to her, careful not to let his lips move to obviously, despite them being in the shadow of the ship and fairly well masked. "That's one more you owe me, Commander."
It was as the final word left his lips that one of his soldiers had located as standard rope ladder, often used when descending into dinghies or smaller vessels.
Carefully, he propelled the two of them through the water with the swiping of his legs, making sure to lean his torso back, keeping her balanced in front of him.
When his back reached the ladder, Vangelis then spun, grabbed hold of the ladder his men had produced and then climbed it one handed, keeping his other arm wrapped around Nike's waist and his hand positioned up the centre of her back, keeping her balanced and pressed against him.
The climb was award and bouncing as he was forced to use only the one hand and carefully follow with feet he couldn't see, but it was only a few minutes before Vangelis had them both up onto the deck. It was only a few minutes more before he was able to stride across the boards with a step that hurried everyone out of his way. With an assurance to one of the men that he knew would then be gossiped and passed between the men, Vangelis simply told them that the Commander was alive but seemed to have hit her head on something under the surface of the water. At least that would explain away her perceived dazedness without dampening her reputation too hard.
While his appearance was in no way concerned between the water and his private quarters below deck, Vangelis still let out an exhale of relief when they reached the solitude of his bed chambers and he was able to throw a dry tunic and drying sheet at his Commander.
"Change." He told her, turning his back and heading for the door again. "I'll grab you something to eat."
When he reached the portal, however, he paused and turned back to face her, knowing his Commander and her work ethic. He pointed a finger at her imperatively.
"No more work for today." He told her, salt water still tripping from his hand and arm. Rivulets of the stuff ran from his hair to his neck and down his chest. "I'll get you a full change of clothes too." Turning his back once more, Vangelis was only forced to pause at the sound of her voice...
Being pressed so close to Vangelis's body was making it look as if Nike had pressed a whole tray of the crushed mulberries a lady would use to stain her cheeks, on her own. Despite having trained with the man, and possibly having her body pressed in all parts over him whenever they sparred, the wet clothes and her lack of her bindings made the woman feel oddly naked even as she clung like a koala to the sculpted body of her general - and she was an idiot for even thinking anything else.
So she shut up. Speaking would give her away, after all.
Following his lead, Nike let her arms hang down, ignoring the way in which his bare back felt almost like metal coated in skin - the kind of muscular definition she could only hope to achieve, impossible from genetic difference of their gender. Men always questioned why, despite both Nike and Vangelis training similar hours, with each other, why the commander had never grown to the bulk their general was. Nike usually shut them up with their private sparring session in which she proceeds to soundly trounce the questioner.
His exhale pressed his chest against hers, and the woman fought against the instinct to shrink back to protect herself - never had she felt this naked before, and against Vangelis, of all people. It took gritting her teeth to remain still as he signalled at the men on the boat. His words made her have to resist rolling her eyes, not that he would've seen with her face tucked under his chin. "When do I ever, oh long-winded one?" she muttered back, grinning when she knew he wouldn't be able to reply her. His reminder of their wager had her give an irritated growl, but she could respond no more as he climbed.
Not wanting to divert his attention, considering he now had to clamber to bring her up, since one of his two arms was securing her around her waist, Nike occasionally had to tighten her legs around Vangelis's waist when he awkwardly bounced them up, gritting her teeth to make sure she did not slip off his slippery skin which gave her little to no grip. She did not fancy another dip in the salty depths.
Once they were on deck though, Nike's body had tensed and was tight for a whole new reason - she had never been this close to having her life's secret blown to smithereens before. Other then Vangelis basically shoving it in her face years ago, she has had a smooth sail - maybe it was just the Gods way of punishing her for having the cheek to cheat her way out of life's lot for her. But Nike would be damned if she would just allow them to dictate her life.
Keeping deadly still as she listened to the general's curt explanation for why she lay limp on his frame, she let out the similar exhale for relief when the door finally closed behind Vangelis, and Nike all but slid off his frame and jumped to the other side of the room, hoping the shadowed alcoves of the private quarters would hide her flaming cheeks and shivering digits.
Catching the drying sheet, she brought it over her head first, rubbing her hair vigorously as if she desperately wanted to dry it out, yet it provided the perfect cover for the woman wanting to use the sheet to hide her cheeks as they cooled out. Her shirt still hung damp against her body, her breasts obvious and peaked due to the wet material that was hurriedly turning cold. But in the daze of her mind, Nike barely noticed until he spoke. Pulling the cloth down so it hung around her neck now, she glanced at the dry tunic Vangelis had also tossed, which now hung on the chair screwed to the ground.
Wordlessly, she nodded, ready to pull the wet clothing off of her, when he turned again, catching her off-guard. Wide-eyed as she listened to his instruction, Nike immediately frowned, eager to refute his instruction when the words were swept out of her mouth, interuptted by a loud sneeze, as if her own body was telling her what her mind refused to listen.
"Fine." she muttered defiantly, only agreeing cause she could almost feel her lips turning blue, eyes fluttering to the ground. As if the sound of Vangelis stepping towards the door reminded her of something though, Nike looked up with a sudden "Vangelis." that stilled his steps, and then hesitated. A moment's uncertainty crossed her look, and the woman bit her lip as if considering her words, before they spilled out of her lips. "Does it... matter, very much. That I... can't swim?" She has excelled in every other military performance so far. Yet here she was, looking as helpless as a drowned rat simply because a stray boom had toppled her off the ship. Did they need a commander that was useless in the water?
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Being pressed so close to Vangelis's body was making it look as if Nike had pressed a whole tray of the crushed mulberries a lady would use to stain her cheeks, on her own. Despite having trained with the man, and possibly having her body pressed in all parts over him whenever they sparred, the wet clothes and her lack of her bindings made the woman feel oddly naked even as she clung like a koala to the sculpted body of her general - and she was an idiot for even thinking anything else.
So she shut up. Speaking would give her away, after all.
Following his lead, Nike let her arms hang down, ignoring the way in which his bare back felt almost like metal coated in skin - the kind of muscular definition she could only hope to achieve, impossible from genetic difference of their gender. Men always questioned why, despite both Nike and Vangelis training similar hours, with each other, why the commander had never grown to the bulk their general was. Nike usually shut them up with their private sparring session in which she proceeds to soundly trounce the questioner.
His exhale pressed his chest against hers, and the woman fought against the instinct to shrink back to protect herself - never had she felt this naked before, and against Vangelis, of all people. It took gritting her teeth to remain still as he signalled at the men on the boat. His words made her have to resist rolling her eyes, not that he would've seen with her face tucked under his chin. "When do I ever, oh long-winded one?" she muttered back, grinning when she knew he wouldn't be able to reply her. His reminder of their wager had her give an irritated growl, but she could respond no more as he climbed.
Not wanting to divert his attention, considering he now had to clamber to bring her up, since one of his two arms was securing her around her waist, Nike occasionally had to tighten her legs around Vangelis's waist when he awkwardly bounced them up, gritting her teeth to make sure she did not slip off his slippery skin which gave her little to no grip. She did not fancy another dip in the salty depths.
Once they were on deck though, Nike's body had tensed and was tight for a whole new reason - she had never been this close to having her life's secret blown to smithereens before. Other then Vangelis basically shoving it in her face years ago, she has had a smooth sail - maybe it was just the Gods way of punishing her for having the cheek to cheat her way out of life's lot for her. But Nike would be damned if she would just allow them to dictate her life.
Keeping deadly still as she listened to the general's curt explanation for why she lay limp on his frame, she let out the similar exhale for relief when the door finally closed behind Vangelis, and Nike all but slid off his frame and jumped to the other side of the room, hoping the shadowed alcoves of the private quarters would hide her flaming cheeks and shivering digits.
Catching the drying sheet, she brought it over her head first, rubbing her hair vigorously as if she desperately wanted to dry it out, yet it provided the perfect cover for the woman wanting to use the sheet to hide her cheeks as they cooled out. Her shirt still hung damp against her body, her breasts obvious and peaked due to the wet material that was hurriedly turning cold. But in the daze of her mind, Nike barely noticed until he spoke. Pulling the cloth down so it hung around her neck now, she glanced at the dry tunic Vangelis had also tossed, which now hung on the chair screwed to the ground.
Wordlessly, she nodded, ready to pull the wet clothing off of her, when he turned again, catching her off-guard. Wide-eyed as she listened to his instruction, Nike immediately frowned, eager to refute his instruction when the words were swept out of her mouth, interuptted by a loud sneeze, as if her own body was telling her what her mind refused to listen.
"Fine." she muttered defiantly, only agreeing cause she could almost feel her lips turning blue, eyes fluttering to the ground. As if the sound of Vangelis stepping towards the door reminded her of something though, Nike looked up with a sudden "Vangelis." that stilled his steps, and then hesitated. A moment's uncertainty crossed her look, and the woman bit her lip as if considering her words, before they spilled out of her lips. "Does it... matter, very much. That I... can't swim?" She has excelled in every other military performance so far. Yet here she was, looking as helpless as a drowned rat simply because a stray boom had toppled her off the ship. Did they need a commander that was useless in the water?
Being pressed so close to Vangelis's body was making it look as if Nike had pressed a whole tray of the crushed mulberries a lady would use to stain her cheeks, on her own. Despite having trained with the man, and possibly having her body pressed in all parts over him whenever they sparred, the wet clothes and her lack of her bindings made the woman feel oddly naked even as she clung like a koala to the sculpted body of her general - and she was an idiot for even thinking anything else.
So she shut up. Speaking would give her away, after all.
Following his lead, Nike let her arms hang down, ignoring the way in which his bare back felt almost like metal coated in skin - the kind of muscular definition she could only hope to achieve, impossible from genetic difference of their gender. Men always questioned why, despite both Nike and Vangelis training similar hours, with each other, why the commander had never grown to the bulk their general was. Nike usually shut them up with their private sparring session in which she proceeds to soundly trounce the questioner.
His exhale pressed his chest against hers, and the woman fought against the instinct to shrink back to protect herself - never had she felt this naked before, and against Vangelis, of all people. It took gritting her teeth to remain still as he signalled at the men on the boat. His words made her have to resist rolling her eyes, not that he would've seen with her face tucked under his chin. "When do I ever, oh long-winded one?" she muttered back, grinning when she knew he wouldn't be able to reply her. His reminder of their wager had her give an irritated growl, but she could respond no more as he climbed.
Not wanting to divert his attention, considering he now had to clamber to bring her up, since one of his two arms was securing her around her waist, Nike occasionally had to tighten her legs around Vangelis's waist when he awkwardly bounced them up, gritting her teeth to make sure she did not slip off his slippery skin which gave her little to no grip. She did not fancy another dip in the salty depths.
Once they were on deck though, Nike's body had tensed and was tight for a whole new reason - she had never been this close to having her life's secret blown to smithereens before. Other then Vangelis basically shoving it in her face years ago, she has had a smooth sail - maybe it was just the Gods way of punishing her for having the cheek to cheat her way out of life's lot for her. But Nike would be damned if she would just allow them to dictate her life.
Keeping deadly still as she listened to the general's curt explanation for why she lay limp on his frame, she let out the similar exhale for relief when the door finally closed behind Vangelis, and Nike all but slid off his frame and jumped to the other side of the room, hoping the shadowed alcoves of the private quarters would hide her flaming cheeks and shivering digits.
Catching the drying sheet, she brought it over her head first, rubbing her hair vigorously as if she desperately wanted to dry it out, yet it provided the perfect cover for the woman wanting to use the sheet to hide her cheeks as they cooled out. Her shirt still hung damp against her body, her breasts obvious and peaked due to the wet material that was hurriedly turning cold. But in the daze of her mind, Nike barely noticed until he spoke. Pulling the cloth down so it hung around her neck now, she glanced at the dry tunic Vangelis had also tossed, which now hung on the chair screwed to the ground.
Wordlessly, she nodded, ready to pull the wet clothing off of her, when he turned again, catching her off-guard. Wide-eyed as she listened to his instruction, Nike immediately frowned, eager to refute his instruction when the words were swept out of her mouth, interuptted by a loud sneeze, as if her own body was telling her what her mind refused to listen.
"Fine." she muttered defiantly, only agreeing cause she could almost feel her lips turning blue, eyes fluttering to the ground. As if the sound of Vangelis stepping towards the door reminded her of something though, Nike looked up with a sudden "Vangelis." that stilled his steps, and then hesitated. A moment's uncertainty crossed her look, and the woman bit her lip as if considering her words, before they spilled out of her lips. "Does it... matter, very much. That I... can't swim?" She has excelled in every other military performance so far. Yet here she was, looking as helpless as a drowned rat simply because a stray boom had toppled her off the ship. Did they need a commander that was useless in the water?
When Nike had slip from his body, Vangelis had tried not to notice her embarrassment. Tried being the operative word. Being highly sensitive to his surroundings - at least visually - had been what had kept him alive in many battles. Able to notice, block and defend against sneak attacks or sudden strikes. It also now meant that he noticed the blush to her cheeks as well as her feminine shape beneath the wet tunic.
It was strange that Vangelis felt surprised by both discoveries. He had known, logically, that Nike was a woman for many years. He knew that that meant she had a female’s shape beneath her armour and he had worked hard to make additional leniencies as and when they were needed in order for Nike to maintain her secrecy and privacy. So, it had never been a case of him forgetting that she was a woman. And yet to notice peaked breasts beneath her shirt or the way her face looked ten times more feminine when she blushed was a strange concept in his mind. Like he was surprised that they were there.
The only assumption Vangelis could make regarding this mindset was that, while he had always known that Nike was a woman - he had never thought of her that way. Nor had he ever thought of her as a man, either, given that he had taken considerations in the past regarding her sex. It seemed simple to him that he simply saw her as an anomaly of her own. Just, Nike. Not man, nor woman. Hence the surprise when evidence of either one or the other was produced.
In order to allow her her dignity however - for if Vangelis knew anything about Nike it was that she never wanted to appear weak or anything feminine at all in front of him - Vangelis turned to leave the room and was only stopped by her words.
He turned back around to face her with a frown.
"Of course it matters." He told her in a harsh and firm tone of voice. He was proud to see that she didn't so much as flinch at his words, despite what might be going on in her head. "This is going to change everything, Nike." He told her without mercy...
There was a pause in the room before he continued.
"I'm going to have to change round my whole schedule for the next few days so I can teach you to swim."
And with a twist of his lips at his own - and very rare - joke, and then a flash of his eyes, Vangelis left the room to go and secure her some food and a full set of new clothes, shutting the door firmly behind him so that none of his men who consider going down to check on their Command.
Shaking out his head full of wet hair, Vangelis headed quickly to find the things he needed to make sure Nike didn't catch her death. That would be all he needed... a Commander killed by a cold because she couldn't swim...
Not on his watch. Vangelis was determined that by the end of the week she would at least be able to float...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
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When Nike had slip from his body, Vangelis had tried not to notice her embarrassment. Tried being the operative word. Being highly sensitive to his surroundings - at least visually - had been what had kept him alive in many battles. Able to notice, block and defend against sneak attacks or sudden strikes. It also now meant that he noticed the blush to her cheeks as well as her feminine shape beneath the wet tunic.
It was strange that Vangelis felt surprised by both discoveries. He had known, logically, that Nike was a woman for many years. He knew that that meant she had a female’s shape beneath her armour and he had worked hard to make additional leniencies as and when they were needed in order for Nike to maintain her secrecy and privacy. So, it had never been a case of him forgetting that she was a woman. And yet to notice peaked breasts beneath her shirt or the way her face looked ten times more feminine when she blushed was a strange concept in his mind. Like he was surprised that they were there.
The only assumption Vangelis could make regarding this mindset was that, while he had always known that Nike was a woman - he had never thought of her that way. Nor had he ever thought of her as a man, either, given that he had taken considerations in the past regarding her sex. It seemed simple to him that he simply saw her as an anomaly of her own. Just, Nike. Not man, nor woman. Hence the surprise when evidence of either one or the other was produced.
In order to allow her her dignity however - for if Vangelis knew anything about Nike it was that she never wanted to appear weak or anything feminine at all in front of him - Vangelis turned to leave the room and was only stopped by her words.
He turned back around to face her with a frown.
"Of course it matters." He told her in a harsh and firm tone of voice. He was proud to see that she didn't so much as flinch at his words, despite what might be going on in her head. "This is going to change everything, Nike." He told her without mercy...
There was a pause in the room before he continued.
"I'm going to have to change round my whole schedule for the next few days so I can teach you to swim."
And with a twist of his lips at his own - and very rare - joke, and then a flash of his eyes, Vangelis left the room to go and secure her some food and a full set of new clothes, shutting the door firmly behind him so that none of his men who consider going down to check on their Command.
Shaking out his head full of wet hair, Vangelis headed quickly to find the things he needed to make sure Nike didn't catch her death. That would be all he needed... a Commander killed by a cold because she couldn't swim...
Not on his watch. Vangelis was determined that by the end of the week she would at least be able to float...
When Nike had slip from his body, Vangelis had tried not to notice her embarrassment. Tried being the operative word. Being highly sensitive to his surroundings - at least visually - had been what had kept him alive in many battles. Able to notice, block and defend against sneak attacks or sudden strikes. It also now meant that he noticed the blush to her cheeks as well as her feminine shape beneath the wet tunic.
It was strange that Vangelis felt surprised by both discoveries. He had known, logically, that Nike was a woman for many years. He knew that that meant she had a female’s shape beneath her armour and he had worked hard to make additional leniencies as and when they were needed in order for Nike to maintain her secrecy and privacy. So, it had never been a case of him forgetting that she was a woman. And yet to notice peaked breasts beneath her shirt or the way her face looked ten times more feminine when she blushed was a strange concept in his mind. Like he was surprised that they were there.
The only assumption Vangelis could make regarding this mindset was that, while he had always known that Nike was a woman - he had never thought of her that way. Nor had he ever thought of her as a man, either, given that he had taken considerations in the past regarding her sex. It seemed simple to him that he simply saw her as an anomaly of her own. Just, Nike. Not man, nor woman. Hence the surprise when evidence of either one or the other was produced.
In order to allow her her dignity however - for if Vangelis knew anything about Nike it was that she never wanted to appear weak or anything feminine at all in front of him - Vangelis turned to leave the room and was only stopped by her words.
He turned back around to face her with a frown.
"Of course it matters." He told her in a harsh and firm tone of voice. He was proud to see that she didn't so much as flinch at his words, despite what might be going on in her head. "This is going to change everything, Nike." He told her without mercy...
There was a pause in the room before he continued.
"I'm going to have to change round my whole schedule for the next few days so I can teach you to swim."
And with a twist of his lips at his own - and very rare - joke, and then a flash of his eyes, Vangelis left the room to go and secure her some food and a full set of new clothes, shutting the door firmly behind him so that none of his men who consider going down to check on their Command.
Shaking out his head full of wet hair, Vangelis headed quickly to find the things he needed to make sure Nike didn't catch her death. That would be all he needed... a Commander killed by a cold because she couldn't swim...
Not on his watch. Vangelis was determined that by the end of the week she would at least be able to float...
"Of course it matters."
All it took was four words to make her stomach fall to her feet, all color to drain from her skin. Her life as a military officer was all Nike had known for the past decade and more of her life. She had started in the Red Knights out of a necessity brought upon by her choices in life, a need to survive and not get killed or whored out at the first chance she get. A survivor since then, the job however, had morphed into one that was so much more. Her position as Commander meant she had more then just her own life to care for - and Nike found she relished in ensuring and protecting the life and survival of others. Her position as bodyguard also meant that she had grown very fond of the Kotas family members, from her quips with Zanon to the time she spends watching over Athanasia, all of them held a special space in her heart.
But all it took was one word from Vangelis, and it would wipe out the life that Nike has grown attached to, and leave her vulnerable to not only the people of Midas, but to face punishment as someone who has dared to defy military law, lie to the royal family and be on the receiving end of a death sentence.
Fear does not even begin to cover what she felt.
"I'm going to have to change round my whole schedule for the next few days so I can teach you to swim."
It took a while before his words sank in. Frozen from fear in her spot, hands still on the edges of the wet tunic she had been in the motion to pull off, Nike blinked blankly at her General, as if trying to process what he meant.
And then his lips twisted in that rare smile she would occasionally see that accompanied the flash of laughter in his eyes... and only then did Nike scowl at the recognition of the joke Vangelis had tried to pull on her, which almost had succeeded in giving the woman a heart attack.
Making a frustrated growl at him, she wrangled her wet tunic off her just as he left the room and locked the door, flinging it so it hit the door with a heavy thunk, a clear sign of Nike's displeasure with him. Inside the room, the woman glared at the door which he had just left in, grabbing the dry tunic of the general's he had given to her, and pulling it over her head. On her slender frame, the tunic hung much looser on her, thanks to Vangelis's naturally wider and bulkier frame, doing well to hide her breasts still taunt from the cold weather.
Shivering as she shook out the water from her wet, short hair, Nike paused as her mind replayed whatever had happened in the last half an hour... and then she smiled. Unlike her satisfied smile that she offered her men when she was happy with them, or when they had won a campaign, this one was... softer, gentler, an amused, almost nostalgic air to it as she dropped her wet tunic in a corner of the room. She was stupid, really... but there was no denying that her general was most chivalrous, a man she admired more then the looks and his position as crown prince most females in Midas saw which led them to throw themselves at him.
No, more then that, Nike saw him for who he is. Loyal, protective, sacrificial for who he loves and what he believes in. Too sacrificial... that he'd need someone to watch his back. Someone who would love him more then he would love himself, cause Gods know Vangelis of Kotas loved everyone else before he loved himself.
For now, she'd do. For now.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
"Of course it matters."
All it took was four words to make her stomach fall to her feet, all color to drain from her skin. Her life as a military officer was all Nike had known for the past decade and more of her life. She had started in the Red Knights out of a necessity brought upon by her choices in life, a need to survive and not get killed or whored out at the first chance she get. A survivor since then, the job however, had morphed into one that was so much more. Her position as Commander meant she had more then just her own life to care for - and Nike found she relished in ensuring and protecting the life and survival of others. Her position as bodyguard also meant that she had grown very fond of the Kotas family members, from her quips with Zanon to the time she spends watching over Athanasia, all of them held a special space in her heart.
But all it took was one word from Vangelis, and it would wipe out the life that Nike has grown attached to, and leave her vulnerable to not only the people of Midas, but to face punishment as someone who has dared to defy military law, lie to the royal family and be on the receiving end of a death sentence.
Fear does not even begin to cover what she felt.
"I'm going to have to change round my whole schedule for the next few days so I can teach you to swim."
It took a while before his words sank in. Frozen from fear in her spot, hands still on the edges of the wet tunic she had been in the motion to pull off, Nike blinked blankly at her General, as if trying to process what he meant.
And then his lips twisted in that rare smile she would occasionally see that accompanied the flash of laughter in his eyes... and only then did Nike scowl at the recognition of the joke Vangelis had tried to pull on her, which almost had succeeded in giving the woman a heart attack.
Making a frustrated growl at him, she wrangled her wet tunic off her just as he left the room and locked the door, flinging it so it hit the door with a heavy thunk, a clear sign of Nike's displeasure with him. Inside the room, the woman glared at the door which he had just left in, grabbing the dry tunic of the general's he had given to her, and pulling it over her head. On her slender frame, the tunic hung much looser on her, thanks to Vangelis's naturally wider and bulkier frame, doing well to hide her breasts still taunt from the cold weather.
Shivering as she shook out the water from her wet, short hair, Nike paused as her mind replayed whatever had happened in the last half an hour... and then she smiled. Unlike her satisfied smile that she offered her men when she was happy with them, or when they had won a campaign, this one was... softer, gentler, an amused, almost nostalgic air to it as she dropped her wet tunic in a corner of the room. She was stupid, really... but there was no denying that her general was most chivalrous, a man she admired more then the looks and his position as crown prince most females in Midas saw which led them to throw themselves at him.
No, more then that, Nike saw him for who he is. Loyal, protective, sacrificial for who he loves and what he believes in. Too sacrificial... that he'd need someone to watch his back. Someone who would love him more then he would love himself, cause Gods know Vangelis of Kotas loved everyone else before he loved himself.
For now, she'd do. For now.
"Of course it matters."
All it took was four words to make her stomach fall to her feet, all color to drain from her skin. Her life as a military officer was all Nike had known for the past decade and more of her life. She had started in the Red Knights out of a necessity brought upon by her choices in life, a need to survive and not get killed or whored out at the first chance she get. A survivor since then, the job however, had morphed into one that was so much more. Her position as Commander meant she had more then just her own life to care for - and Nike found she relished in ensuring and protecting the life and survival of others. Her position as bodyguard also meant that she had grown very fond of the Kotas family members, from her quips with Zanon to the time she spends watching over Athanasia, all of them held a special space in her heart.
But all it took was one word from Vangelis, and it would wipe out the life that Nike has grown attached to, and leave her vulnerable to not only the people of Midas, but to face punishment as someone who has dared to defy military law, lie to the royal family and be on the receiving end of a death sentence.
Fear does not even begin to cover what she felt.
"I'm going to have to change round my whole schedule for the next few days so I can teach you to swim."
It took a while before his words sank in. Frozen from fear in her spot, hands still on the edges of the wet tunic she had been in the motion to pull off, Nike blinked blankly at her General, as if trying to process what he meant.
And then his lips twisted in that rare smile she would occasionally see that accompanied the flash of laughter in his eyes... and only then did Nike scowl at the recognition of the joke Vangelis had tried to pull on her, which almost had succeeded in giving the woman a heart attack.
Making a frustrated growl at him, she wrangled her wet tunic off her just as he left the room and locked the door, flinging it so it hit the door with a heavy thunk, a clear sign of Nike's displeasure with him. Inside the room, the woman glared at the door which he had just left in, grabbing the dry tunic of the general's he had given to her, and pulling it over her head. On her slender frame, the tunic hung much looser on her, thanks to Vangelis's naturally wider and bulkier frame, doing well to hide her breasts still taunt from the cold weather.
Shivering as she shook out the water from her wet, short hair, Nike paused as her mind replayed whatever had happened in the last half an hour... and then she smiled. Unlike her satisfied smile that she offered her men when she was happy with them, or when they had won a campaign, this one was... softer, gentler, an amused, almost nostalgic air to it as she dropped her wet tunic in a corner of the room. She was stupid, really... but there was no denying that her general was most chivalrous, a man she admired more then the looks and his position as crown prince most females in Midas saw which led them to throw themselves at him.
No, more then that, Nike saw him for who he is. Loyal, protective, sacrificial for who he loves and what he believes in. Too sacrificial... that he'd need someone to watch his back. Someone who would love him more then he would love himself, cause Gods know Vangelis of Kotas loved everyone else before he loved himself.
