Tapicerías Apasionadas 1

Tapicerías Apasionadas: The First Tapestry

=Chapter One: Cyntia Dances=

by Cyntia

Mora Cyntia Gasparilla had left her large and loving family without remorse, ready to tackle whatever adventures lay ahead. She'd dreamed of foreign lands, traveling and exploring, for years before finally enlisting in the Navy. It was no surprise to her farming family that she wound up a Sailor, for Cyntia had always loved the sea and anything associated with it. It had not only provided a ticket to travel but also gotten her medical training, a useful skill. Much as she adored her family, Cyntia had always known she needed more than life on the farm, and it was her life goal to find out what more meant.

To her great consternation, her first assignment was at the naval base in Boralus, the capital city of Kul Tiras, within one day's travel to her family's farm. It wasn't awful, though, as she went out to sea about half the year and was able to still spend some time with her family and friends. Someday, she'd get a new assignment but for now it was the sweet torture of "pay your dues - be patient." She was working on that daily, actively. One day she would become the epitome of patience, if she just set her mind to it hard enough.

On a particularly non-spectacular day, Cyntia was dreaming about her future adventures, wondering if her life would ever truly begin, when her roommate, Aida, insisted she go out. Too many nights at home had left her a bit of a social recluse. She knew she needed to get out on occasion, and suddenly going into the city seemed like the only thing to do. Off they went, two women ready to howl at the moon.

After dinner and blocks of arm-linked singing through the brightly lit streets, the girls ended up down on the waterfront and toppled happily into one of Aida's favorite clubs where live jazz music was playing. Cyntia had always loved music, and this kind of rolling harmony-driven improv set her blood aflame. Something about the way the music pulsed in her veins filled her insides with longing for something she could not define. Happily situated at a table, the two women collected stares and laughingly brushed advances aside. So many men, all wanting to take them home. Not a single one in Cyntia's experiences wanted to know her mind, or what her hopes and dreams were. They were looking for a trophy to drag around on their arms, showing off to their friends, "Look at my catch of the Night! Aren't I a manly man?!"

Cyntia got up and danced a few times, often firmly leading hands off her. The music continued to please her enough to keep her there for more, until one half-drunken man did not want to take no for an answer. Cyntia, having been trained in defending herself through the Navy, had never really had to put it to use in an actual situation. Tonight she had no dagger on her, and her flashing eyes did little to dissuade the idiot that "No meant No!" Instead it seemed to fuel his fire for her.

He leered at her, gripping her upper arm and trying to steer her out the front door. She started yelling at him then, hoping to attract attention. Some people looked their way, but he was acting like she was his woman and they were merely having a domestic dispute. Aida had excused herself to the restroom, and Cyntia kept looking wildly around for help. She tried kicking him but he must have been too numb to feel it as pain. He sneered menacingly at her and laughed out loud.

Furious at herself for being too overpowered to fight back, she half sobbed the word, "No" over and over, hearing herself sound weak and desperate. Why no one would stop him was beyond her comprehension. It was not like they were alone where her cries went unheard. It was disgust not fear that welled up in her the emotion that drives any survival instinct. Not even caring if it angered him further, she hurled her body against his so he would turn to look at her and when he did so, she spat with all her might into his gloating face. Having cleared the crowd and made it outside, he flung her then to the street. As she stumbled to get up he tore at her blouse, ripping it, his hand gripping her arm strong enough to bruise it. It was then she heard the voice calling out and realized her eyes were blurred with tears, unable to see the interrupter clearly.

She sensed more than saw a hand reach out to grasp her assailant's wrist. The voice was now close and calm and quietly demanding, "Let her go, Sergeant." She looked into the calm voice to see the most amazing gentle eyes hold her gaze, reassuring her for a split second before the backhand came out of nowhere. The force of the blow knocked her to the ground again, and this time she stayed there, stunned, her head throbbing and face stinging in hot pain.

=Chapter Two: Quin Reacts= By Oliverio

"Sarge! "

Sergeant Oliverio Joaquin Del Costa, who only his closest of friends knew as Quin, looked up from leaning his rifle, smiling at the young shirtless man who was beckoning Quin over to the pick up game of football. Quin wasnt all that much older by count of years but the others looked to him as a leader, even before hed earned the stripe. They respected him, knowing his gruffness was for their own good. Quin laughed back at the cocky challenges of those on the pitch, tugging his short sleeve shirt over his head and tossing it by his firearm. He was exhausted from the morning drills but he knew the unit needed some time to decompress. Scouting patrols along the coast of Durotar had been bloody and theyd had to bury some of their comrades on foreign shores Quin was glad to round out the teams.

Later, after the game, the unit made their way down to the harbor. The relief of being back home, and having survived the latest deployment, already had the young men and women flying high. That wasnt stopping a single one of them from wanting to see if they could get a bit higher at the local nightspots. Quin, born and raised in the island town of Crestfall, knew the feeling; he'd grown up with fishermen and women who enjoyed that precious time ashore.

The first couple places they hit were true dives: watered down porters, cheap and worn down looking hookers, and thugs looking to roll an unwary Marine. Quin did his share of drinking the ale, taking what came his way in true Marine fashion, but paced himself. Seeing his charges enjoy themselves made him smile, but he was keeping his eyes open. He'd be damned if anything was going to go happen to the lucky ones theyd gotten home.

He was pleased when they'd found the tavern with the jazz trio, playing in the style of Booty Bay, the goblin swing filling the club. Despite growing up on an island or maybe because of it Quin enjoyed what the world had to offer; it wasn't every tavern that you got to listen to the latest music. And it seemed others did too; plenty of folks from the nearby base were enjoying the music and company. Pretty young things were scattered around the dance floor, enjoying the exotic beat, and that brought a smile to Quin's face. To top it off, it looked like young Teyo was (finally) successfully working his charm on a blonde beauty. Quin smiled to himself, wondering what tale Teyo was telling about himself this time. The two of them had amused themselves in that forsaken little foxhole in the dunes on that beach in Durotar with conjuring up pick-up lines for the eager but inexperienced Teyo.

Taking a swig of his drink, Quin caught a glimpse of the woman's eyes, as she was pulled through the crowd. Those eyes were startlingly beautiful, but at the moment what he noticed was the desperation in them. She was struggling but the man was big, solid. Then he saw who was steering her toward the door ... Geraldo. Quin slowly put down his mug, not noticing lovely Private Ortez tugging on his sleeve (the young woman hoping to entice her sergeant onto the dance floor).

Sergeant Geraldo Jose Ramirez was another NCO in the same battalion, and they'd deployed together. Quin didnt know him personally but knew him well enough to know Geraldo was one of those Marines who put the uniform to shame - violent, selfish, and cruel. Quin had heard what hed done to that troll family an unarmed family in a hut in a village, by all that was holy, the women had been violated, the entire family killed but he'd walked on those charges. None of the Marines in his unit was willing to testify against him, and who would risk it, considering Geraldo was the son of an admiral - an admiral who had protected his son with passion and vindictiveness before.

Even from here, Quin felt the woman's need, and knew what the man was capable of. Quin got up from the stool, putting his mug down and started to move towards the door. Ortez looked disappointed, but one of the wiser grunts, Miguel, realized what Quin was up to and put a hand his sarge's shoulder, shaking his head, "Sarge ..." Geraldo almost had the young woman to the door and Quin shrugged off the warning hand, shouldering his way through the throbbing crowd.

By the time he got to the door, Geraldo was out on the street, half dragging the woman into an alley, his hands all over her pulling her blouse open. Before Quin could change his mind, he shouted out, "Hey, let go of my girl!" His angry tone, and the implication that she was there with someone, echoed off the waterfront buildings, and stopped Geraldo, long enough for Quin to close the distance between them. Geraldo narrowed his eyes recognizing Quin's face, his grip still firm on the woman's arm - even the glimpse Quin spared for her told him she was beautiful - and cussed at Quin, "Get the fel out of here - your girl my ass ..." Geraldo made as if to turn and pull the woman down further into the alley, used to others following his orders. Quin, close enough now to smell the drink on Geraldo, shot his arm out, grabbing Geraldo's wrist and whispering low, "Let her go, Sergeant." Quin hissed the man's rank, his contempt obvious. Geraldo stopped, surprised for a moment and the woman struggled, relieved for the help and taking advantage of the distraction. Scrappy, Quin thought.

Geraldo, cold and efficient, used his free hand to smack the woman across the face, hard enough to make her fall to the ground, her head hitting the stone - though later Quin would recall that she hadnt screamed. Instinctively Quin looked to her, concerned but his temper flaring. Geraldo used that to his advantage, swinging a fist hard across Quin's chin. Knocking Quin back hard onto the cobbles, Geraldo, all 220 pounds of muscle, landed on top of him, trying to pin Quin to the ground. Quin tried to roll to the side, slamming an elbow into his attacker's ribs. The two, in a tangle, rolled on the ground, desperate to land the blows that would stop the other. A knee to Geraldo's gut gave Quin a chance to collect himself but also gave Geraldo a chance to get his knife.

Quin licked his lips. The die had been cast, steel had been bared - someone was going to die. Geraldo had just raised the stakes, already high at least for Quin, but there was no reconsidering now. He drew his own knife, and the two circled each other warily in the dark street, looking for openings. A crowd from the tavern had come to the door, not yet realizing how serious this brawl had become. And then Geraldo made his move, feinting right but then darting to the left and bringing his knife up to gut Quin. There was no measuring how close the blade came to Quin, but he managed to sidestep the blade and trap Geraldo's arm. Training kicked in and in one motion, Quin drew Geraldo to him, his own knife plunging deep into Geraldo's hard belly. He twisted the blade and Geraldo coughed blood all over him. Their faces close, the surprise in Geraldo's eyes was clear bringing Quin back to his senses. He let Geraldo go, and the man staggered backward, dying ... He'd just spilled the guts of another Marine and the son of an admiral.

Geraldo choked and slumped to his knees and then fell forward, making the sounds of a dying man. Quin glanced to the tavern and the crowd there. Hearing a groan from the woman, he turned back to her and moved to her, kneeling and helping her up. He brushed her hair out of her face, and looked into her eyes, "Are you ok miss?" His concern was real but his tone urgent, and without seeming to think about it, took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders covering her bare skin. If he stuck around, he had a pretty good idea of how this would turn out for him. The woman looked at him and then the dead man and then back to Quin, nodding yes to his question. Assured she was alright, Quin made to get up and go not sure where he was going yet, but sure he was going. She held his arm, and said, "I know how to get you out of here." Quin turned back, realizing from her tone and her eyes that she was dead serious.

=Chapter Three: Setting Forth=

By Oliverio

By the time he got to the door, Geraldo was out on the street, half dragging the woman into an alley, his hands all over her pulling her blouse open. Before Quin could change his mind, he shouted out, "Hey, let go of my girl!" His angry tone, and the implication that she was there with someone, echoed off the waterfront buildings, and stopped Geraldo, long enough for Quin to close the distance between them. Geraldo narrowed his eyes recognizing Quin's face, his grip still firm on the woman's arm - even the glimpse Quin spared for her told him she was beautiful - and cussed at Quin, "Get the fel out of here - your girl my ass ..." Geraldo made as if to turn and pull the woman down further into the alley, used to others following his orders. Quin, close enough now to smell the drink on Geraldo, shot his arm out, grabbing Geraldo's wrist and whispering low, "Let her go, Sergeant." Quin hissed the man's rank, his contempt obvious. Geraldo stopped, surprised for a moment and the woman struggled, relieved for the help and taking advantage of the distraction. Scrappy, Quin thought.

Geraldo, cold and efficient, used his free hand to smack the woman across the face, hard enough to make her fall to the ground, her head hitting the stone - though later Quin would recall that she hadnt screamed. Instinctively Quin looked to her, concerned but his temper flaring. Geraldo used that to his advantage, swinging a fist hard across Quin's chin. Knocking Quin back hard onto the cobbles, Geraldo, all 220 pounds of muscle, landed on top of him, trying to pin Quin to the ground. Quin tried to roll to the side, slamming an elbow into his attacker's ribs. The two, in a tangle, rolled on the ground, desperate to land the blows that would stop the other. A knee to Geraldo's gut gave Quin a chance to collect himself but also gave Geraldo a chance to get his knife.

Quin licked his lips. The die had been cast, steel had been bared - someone was going to die. Geraldo had just raised the stakes, already high at least for Quin, but there was no reconsidering now. He drew his own knife, and the two circled each other warily in the dark street, looking for openings. A crowd from the tavern had come to the door, not yet realizing how serious this brawl had become. And then Geraldo made his move, feinting right but then darting to the left and bringing his knife up to gut Quin. There was no measuring how close the blade came to Quin, but he managed to sidestep the blade and trap Geraldo's arm. Training kicked in and in one motion, Quin drew Geraldo to him, his own knife plunging deep into Geraldo's hard belly. He twisted the blade and Geraldo coughed blood all over him. Their faces close, the surprise in Geraldo's eyes was clear bringing Quin back to his senses. He let Geraldo go, and the man staggered backward, dying ... He'd just spilled the guts of another Marine and the son of an admiral.

Geraldo choked and slumped to his knees and then fell forward, making the sounds of a dying man. Quin glanced to the tavern and the crowd there. Hearing a groan from the woman, he turned back to her and moved to her, kneeling and helping her up. He brushed her hair out of her face, and looked into her eyes, "Are you ok miss?" His concern was real but his tone urgent, and without seeming to think about it, took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders covering her bare skin. If he stuck around, he had a pretty good idea of how this would turn out for him. The woman looked at him and then the dead man and then back to Quin, nodding yes to his question. Assured she was alright, Quin made to get up and go not sure where he was going yet, but sure he was going. She held his arm, and said, "I know how to get you out of here." Quin turned back, realizing from her tone and her eyes that she was dead serious.

By Cyntia

Cyntia watched the man's face as he weighed his options. He certainly was a quick thinker, a trait she greatly admired. Such a contrast in his character, though, the gentleness in his eyes to her so soft it felt like a caress, coupled with the steel it must have taken to plunge the knife into that creep's gut with enough certainty to kill. She had no idea how much killing he had seen and done with his own hands, but she knew he did not take it lightly. The sheer fact he'd done it on her behalf drove deep into her mind in such a way that she could not shake. She'd never truly needed much, but without him tonight, her entire life would have taken a drastically different turn. Always being one to insist she could handle anything, her humility now led her to such a deep gratitude towards this man whose jacket she still wore. It reshaped her very core. A rush of understanding and acceptance of her own weakness washed over her, knowing now that one person alone is not always enough. Attached irrevocably to this man by the immensity of favor owed, she could no more abandon him than disavow her femininity. Watching him come to this knowledge in his own way was affirmation of what she must do. He may not know it yet, but he was not getting rid of her easily.

Taking his hand now she tugged urgently around the fence at the end of the alley and around behind the trash bins. She led him along the walls of the buildings in the shadows with swift feet, firmly pushing aside the aches in her body and her still stinging face. Feeling her palms scratched and sore, she reluctantly let go of his hand, also knowing he could follow better now that they were in motion. She led him through the catacombs of back allies towards the docks. Assured the spectators from the club had not followed, she let her guard down some and crossed into some light just as a merchant's back door opened. Quin reached for her arm then and pulled her into a dark doorway, panting and breathing deeply and quietly.

Cyntia could not tell if her heart raced from the task at hand or from feeling the full length of his body pressing her back against the bricks to protect her. Never in her life had she felt so aware, so alive. She actually felt his mind scanning everything before them with focus on detail, and acute understanding. It occurred to her then that she trusted this man, a complete stranger, in a way she never knew could exist. She was relaxed enough to allow him to lead for once and it felt as natural to her as breathing.

Coming upon the docks, she hesitated under a large oak tree, away from casual glances. She motioned towards the area where the packet boat would arrive. Looking Quin directly in the eyes, she slowly removed his jacket but did not hand it back immediately. Cyntia tucked the shreds of her torn blouse around her modestly and looked down only when his eyes began to soften. She ran her fingertips over the Del Costa name, not wanting to cross the threshold where the words goodbye had to be said. Seeing bruises forming around his temple, the physician in her reached out to feel for swelling. "You'll need some ice for that..." she spoke with a frown at the puffiness she found.

By Oliverio

The way the woman moved, swift and capable, made Quin smile despite what had happened with Ramirez. He smiled at his own rakishness, discretely admiring the curve of her hips as she peeked around a corner. He took a deep breath - Quin, he thought, hasn't tonight been busy enough? - and nodded as she looked back and motioned him to follow

Under the oak tree, when she reached up to the side of his face, Quin was about to blurt out his thanks and send the woman on her way; she'd risked too much already. The touch of her fingers though made him pause, holding those words back. He glanced down at his jacket, clutched in her hand and realized he hadn't told her his name or, suddenly more importantly to him, she hadn't told him hers.

His hand moved to take hers gently from his face, and he smiled at her as he took her hand in both his, "You're a brave woman, and I'd be honored to know your name. I am Sergeant ..." Quin paused at this, the use of his rank a habit he'd have to lose, and then continued, a wry smile on his lips, "... Oliverio Joaquin Del Costa." With this, he bowed slightly and lightly kissed the woman's hand before looking up at her, the question in his eyes, "And whom can I thank for saving me from my own temper?"

Cyntia smiled at the man and her smile broadened as his lips touched her hand. How in the world could she be attracted to this man, considering the evening's events? She realized suddenly that he'd just introduced himself and was asking her name; she blurted, "Oh, you dont owe ... I'm Mora Cyntia Gasparilla." She added with a small smile, "But those are names best forgotten, I would think considering ..." She tilted her head back to where the fight had happened, fully aware that she was placing herself with him in the dangers of their predicament.

Quin grinned, knowing she was right. Deception was an art that he would have to master - starting with a new name. He smiled at her, the name Cyntia rolling around on his tongue. He glanced towards the dock where the packet boat was docked and then back to the woman, reluctant to part from her. Hesitantly, he began, "Miss Gasparilla ... Cyntia ... you really have done too much. Helping me this much has already put you in danger. With all that..." Now it was his turn to nod back to the alley where they'd met, "I have to go from here and start over." He was surprised at his urge to ask her to come along - where had that come from? He pushed it away, his instinct to protect her shouting at him to just insist she get home. Still, he couldnt help but say something. An amused smile tugged at her lips, seeing what he wanted and that he had not yet figured out she was coming regardless.

She started to speak, "Oliverio ..." Quin smiled as he pressed a fingertip against her lips, and said softly, "Maybe best if you call me Quin." Whatever she was going to say, his touch had made her forget. Quin noticed this and said, "Cyntia, I know there's no time and we've barely met, but ..." Quin paused, wondering what in the world he was about to say, "Would you mind if I wrote you?" Whatever thoughts he had, it was now his turn to be surprised as the soft tip of her finger pressed against his lips now, "Shhh. No need to write Quin", she smiled and her eyes danced as she tried out this name for the first time, "I'm coming with you."

Quin's eyebrows shot up but Cyntia had made up her mind, and there was no changing it, her chin jutting out without her even knowing it. She rushed to quiet his protests, "The captain knows me, not you." She continued with her string of spoken reasons, but also thinking of the adventure she'd longed for, the way no one else had helped back there, and, to be honest, the way this man made her catch her breath. She was up for re-enlistment anyway and her obligations after training had already been completed. Rather than rolling the dice for a new arbitrary assignment, she could steer her own boat for once.

=Epilogue=

By Cyntia

In the early morning light, with two passengers tucked amongst newspapers sharing a wool blanket, the packet boat cast off from the dock and began her voyage out of the harbor, slipping through the grey waters...

Cyntia huddled close to Quin, grateful for his heat. In the past, she might have let the closeness bloom into intimacy, but for some reason, this was too important to rush. She felt a sense of profound connection with this man who had changed the path of her life in a split second of compassion. Oh, she knew it would grow there, but letting it unfold slowly, deliciously, was so much more appealing.