2019-03-30: The One That Got Away
- Cutscene: The One That Got Away
- Cast:< Violet Salazar>
- Where: <Luca Coast, Luca Harbour>
- Date: <2019-03-30>
- Summary: <Violet faces a loss as she finds herself on Spira.>
The light spread, spread out from the glowing green alien orb. It envelops people Violet knows, and they disappear. Teleported or disintegrated? There's no way to tell. Vinsfeld had said he didn't want to kill them, but did even he know the sphere's effects, really?
She's heard legends, ARMS of legendary power, that could vaporize whole kingdoms in an instant.
One had been at Slayheim.
The orb is coming for her, she knows.
And then the light, the light. It's tearing her apart.
Her first sensation is coolth, then heaviness. Too-warm tropical air. She's in the sea, emerald waters surrounding her. And her sodden skirts, petticoats, backpack dragging her down, down. She struggles to stay above the waters but is losing. How ironic, to surive the trip to wherever-this-is, only to perish. It sure didn't look like any place she'd seen on Filgaia. There's a small sailboat nearby -- maybe its crew will save her.
"Help! Help me!" she cries. It's hard to dog-paddle holding Jeremiah, her ARM, but she didn't dare let go. She raises the ARM and fires straight into the air, hoping her ammunition wasn't too wet to work. The sailors had to've heard that.
She tries again, but her bullets are too soaked. Literally her one and only shot.
The sailors must've heard, though, for they're changing course to be closer to her. "Help!" she calls again.
Then they are nearer still, right next to her, and warm, friendly hands are hauling her aboard -- a bit awkward with her still carrying Jeremiah, but they manage. She won't be dying, not this day.
"Thank you, thank you!" she gushes to all of her rescuers, bowing deeply. "I owe you my life."
One steps forward. From the deference the others show her, she must be the captain.
"Yna oui ymm nekrd?" the captain asks. Violet doesn't understand.
"Thank you," Violet says again, bowing even deeper. Body language will have to carry the day.
"E fyhd ouin machina," the other demands.
"I'm sorry; I don't understand."
"E fhyd ouin machina!" the captain insists. She tries to wrest Jeremiah from Violet, who resists.
Futilely, as it turns out, for the captain has reinforcements, seven others aboard this vessel. They prevail. Violet weeps. They take turns examining her ARM, and at last the captain takes it over to the starboard side of the boat, aims at nothing, and prepares to fire.
No, that won't work, Violet thinks. The ammo is too wet. Sure enough, Jeremiah fails to fire.
An argument breaks out among the crew immediately. Violet can't follow it because of the gibberish they're speaking, but it's heated. She hopes it's not about whatever they're going to do with her.
At last the captain approaches her again. "Pnugah," she snarls in a disgusted tone as she shoves Jeremiah back into Violet's arms. Violet bows and does her best not to smile. All the ARM needs is some cleaning and drying and it'll be as good as new. Same for the ammo.
Whoever these people were, they didn't seem to know much about ARMS, or at least her model. At last they resort to communicating with Violet through gestures, demanding she take off her backpack, which they ransack. Oh, well, not much more in there now than than now-briny field rations and medical supplies...
They find her gella and examine it curiously, but don't take it. How strange.
They want to see her locket now. No, that's got a picture of her grandchildren! At last she reluctantly hands it over. They open it and look at it and hand it back. The picture inside is ruined, waterlogged, nooooooooooo! Violet tears up. She hopes she'll see her grandchildren again someday.
At least they didn't try to take her wedding ring.
Finally they leave her alone, and she takes the time to explore the small vessel under the crew's watchful, wary eyes. She can't settle down to sleep. She doesn't dare; she's been through too much, and she doesn't trust these strangers. Evidently they feel the same way about her.
She doesn't know how much time passes before they reach a landing. It could have been an hour, or three, or five. It isn't sunset yet, that much she knows. The sailors gesture she should disembark first. Somehow she doesn't think this is an honor. She obligingly clambers onto the pier, awkward in her long dress, still damp from the sea. The sailors linger behind her, laughing among themselves.
"Cra yvveqat ryen du ran pidd!
"Tet oui caa druca aync?"
They're talking about her, she's sure of it. She sighs. There's nothing she can do about it, and besides, they did just save her life.
She strides up the pier until she sees a sign -- amazingly, in Filgaian!
LUCA HARBOUR.