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When you were an Imperial Fists Space Marine, being kidnapped and forced to bear a Black Legionnaire's child was bad enough.
Getting sore feet from all the baby weight added insult to injury. Weighing several hundred pounds, owing to your freakishly dense bones and muscle mass, made the experience especially unpleasant, even when the artificial gravity of said Black Legionnaire's orbital fortress was a fraction of Terra's.
Your captor was constantly hovering near you, ready to catch you if you lost your balance and tipped over. It would be a tragedy if you fell and lost the baby! Both for you and for him. Mostly for him.
He would offer to bridal carry you, or put fuzzy slippers on your feet, or give you a full body massage if you were feeling sore.
You didn't need his help. Pain and discomfort was nothing to a Son…(?) of Dorn.
So you walked around your prison, a large habsuite that was essentially a glorified padded cell, doing body weight exercises, pacing around, doing aerobics in hopes of maintaining your strength so you could be strong enough to escape this place as soon as you got the chance.
Despite his transhuman high fortitude, Chlodomer Halifax had to sit down and rest his aching feet. As soon as he did, his self-appointed husband, who had requested to be addressed as Farhad Osrid Nazari, took off Chlodomer’s fuzzy slippers and padded socks and gave those feet an intense massage with gauntlets on.
It did feel good, having Farhad knead the aching balls and heels of his feet. The Black Legionnaire rubbed his thumbs under each arch, careful not to nick the skin with his claws. Chlodomer recalled something about reflexology as other parts of his body started to tingle in a pleasant way.
Satisfied he had given the feet a thorough rub-down, the Black Legionnaire pulled out a spray bottle and a washcloth from his belt to clean the feet. He paid special attention to the spaces between the toes, rubbing away any lint and sweat collected there, taking pleasure in how smooth and radiant the skin was. He made sure to call Chlodomer cringey nicknames as he did, and the Imperial Fist expected him to give each toe a kiss. A Chaos Space Marine was immune to the nasty germs that lurked on feet, after all.
And for the grand finale, Farhad started rubbing some kind of aromatic moisturizer all over those feet.
Of course, he couldn't give his lovely wifey a foot massage and be done with it. Oh no, the next thing Chlodomer knew, Farhad reached for his tool belt and pulled out a small sack in the shape of a cone. Something inside the sack gave off a strong herbal smell.
"Don't worry, pet, it's not cursed Warp drugs," he said reassuringly, uncapping the tip of the cone. "I'm going to apply dye to your feet."
At the mention of dye, Chlodomer immediately thought of unholy binding sigils being painted on his skin. He moved to get up, only for the Black Legionnaire to push him back down.
"Now, now, it's not permanent, so give it a try. How else will you know for sure if you hate it?"
Chlodomer knew he had no choice in the matter. His captor could easily shove him back into restraints if that devil really wanted to, and draw whatever he wanted on Chlodomer’s feet.
So he submitted to staying still and letting the Black Legionnaire move his feet around. Farhad squeezed the sack, starting to draw patterns. The dye came out as a semisolid paste that was slightly cold to the touch. Despite wearing gauntlets, the Black Legionnaire managed to draw a delicate design on each foot, until the tops and soles of the Imperial Fist's feet were covered by stylized sea stars and mantas. It looked beautiful, actually. There were no Chaos Stars or emblems of the Powers in sight. The sea stars didn't even have eight arms.
“See, it’s just dye.”
Chlodomer wondered where the Black Legionnaire had learned to do this, and who he'd practiced his craft on. Did the other members of his warband trust him enough to take their armor off in front of him? Did he draw on the skin of pliant slave women? Why do I even care about that?
"Now sit here for a while until the dried paste is ready to remove," Farhad ordered. "Don't get up until I say so, or you'll ruin the design and I'll have to do it all over again. You needed the rest, anyways."
"How long will it take?"
"The minimum is half an hour, but for the best results, one must wait several hours. It's not like you have anywhere to be, so why not wait, hm?"
Chlodomer was certainly not happy at being ordered around and being stuck in one place, but if it meant avoiding the hassle of reapplying the dye, he would wait.
The Imperial Fist stared at his feet, wondering when the dye would be ready. He hoped his captor would be suddenly called away for important warband business, leaving him alone until the dye set.
Farhad took this opportunity to massage the rest of Chlodomer’s body too, rubbing his shoulders, reaching under his chiton to rub his back. Well, the Imperial Fist was feeling pretty sore all over because of this stupid pregnancy. He tried to imagine he was somewhere else, getting a massage from a servitor, a former ganger or someone else being punished for their crimes; it seemed wrong to pretend it was a loyal chapter serf or one of his battle brothers.
Alas, Farhad started rambling, making it impossible to pretend it was someone else doing the massaging. He was talking about the history of the dye, and how it was safe to use on dogs, interjecting with comments about the benefits of massage on post-partum outcomes.
Chlodomer tried to tune him out, focusing on the hum of electricity in the overhead lumeglobes. But he could still hear him go on and on and on.
Time passed, and – Dorn's severed testicles! – the Black Legionnaire did not receive any urgent comm calls. He did, however, briefly step away to take a tray of food from a group of servants at the door.
So it was a meal for two. Well, for three, including the baby. Chlodomer was irritated when the meal turned out to be exactly what he was craving - a crisp hock from some kind of mammal, richly spiced and cut into bite-sized pieces, with rotkraut and egg noodles. There were two cups of a sour, carbonated beverage that smelled like the bitter citron beer they served brewed on the Phalanx.
Fine, I'll eat it . It was infuriating how easily the Black Legionnaire read him.
And look at that! The servants wheeled in a screen and a projector. They were going to watch a movie.
The Black Legionnaire was prepared to ramble about this movie, and ramble he did. "Many of the great works of humanity have been assumed lost forever, only to wash up millennia later in the Screaming Vortex. The film we're watching is remarkable - the best estimates place it somewhere during the early Age of Terra. We're certainly lucky an intact recording and accompanying replay device were found, and enough psychic traces lingered in the recording for a talented psychometrist to decipher the meaning of the dialogue."
The movie started, grainy and distorted. A high voice was singing. People were waving at some sort of ship. Not a spaceship, but a purely seafaring vessel. Then the screen changed to display dark ocean waves. The headlights of a submersible cut through the darkness, revealing a rusty shipwreck.
"The recording of this film came with accompanying footage suggesting it is a recreation of historical events. It is truly a miracle."
Chlodomer stared at the screen, expecting it to turn into a Black Legion propaganda movie at any moment. He was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be exactly as described.
Before humanity traveled through space, before Terra's oceans were drained, ocean-going ships would take days to cross from one side of the planet to the other. They relied on combustion engines and billowed great plumes of smoke into the air. In that time the Titanides , which to Chlodomer seemed small and quaint compared to even the most modest warp-capable Imperial Fists transport, was the pinnacle of engineering. But as fate would have it, its maiden voyage would be its last.
Chlodomer thought back to Europa, his homeworld, and of the bubble city Mazu , which, owing to centuries of haphazard construction and population growth became too heavy and fell through the ice, taking most of its inhabitants with it. Legend had it that Mazu was a remnant from humanity's first settlement of the Sol System, a magnificent colony ship built before the discovery of Warp engines. It was so old that nobody knew the original name of the structure.
Being able to visit the final resting place of the Mazu was a mark of prestige, for the ruins, still remarkably preserved, were tens of miles down into the dark, cold ocean. Unprepared souls had perished making the attempt, and "Seeing the Mazu " had become a euphemism for executing rival gangers or public officials guilty of corruption.
The plot of Titanides revolved around Nasrin, a young woman and Yaqub, a poor youth who stopped her from jumping off the ship to escape an arranged marriage to Teymur, a wealthy but wicked man. Yakub was certainly persistent in pestering Nasrin, and the two quickly fell in love.
Nasrin received a valuable blue diamond from her wicked fiancé, which a group of treasure hunters were looking for in the present day.
It was onboard the treasure hunters’ research vessel that Nasrin, now an old woman, recounted the sinking of the Titanides and her doomed love affair with Yakub. Unbeknownst to them, Nasrin had the diamond all along, unable to let it go because it contained her memories of Yakub.
It was certainly a very long movie, with a lot of flooding. In the end, when the Titanides sunk beneath the icy Atlan, Yakub gave up his life to save Nasrin, who started a new life in a new country without the help of Teymur.
By the time Nasrin, now an old woman, dropped the blue diamond into the Atlan Ocean at the end, Chlodomer was crying an absurd amount. Surely, the Black Legionnaire had tampered with his mind, or it was those damn pregnancy hormones hijacking his emotional response.
Chlodomer continued to weep uncontrollably as old Nasrin went to sleep onboard the research vessel, and dreamt of the wreck of the Titanides transforming back into the ship it once was. Nasrin, a young woman once more, embraced Yakub at the top of the Titanides ’ grand staircase, and everyone who perished the night of its sinking cheered them on.
Perhaps she had gone to Heaven, or was imagining things in her last moments. Chlodomer knew there was no Heaven, especially not for Space Marines. Those ancient Terrans could be forgiven for their quaint beliefs. But Chlodomer wished there were such a thing as Heaven as the credits rolled and that heart-wrenching ending song played.
Farhad was gone, having stepped out hours ago, during the scene where Yakub and Nasrin made love inside a car and the ship hit an iceberg. As a warband leader, he had more important things to do than watch a movie.
Chlodomer was alone for a few more blissful minutes. But then the devil himself walked through the door, acting like nothing was wrong.
"I had to step out a while ago, but I'm back. Did you finish the movie?”
“I did,” replied Chlodomer, trying hard to suppress the tremble in his voice.
“I was worried it would be too much for you, after what happened a few months ago. but I’m glad you were able to get through it.”
Chlodomer had been trying to run away, and fell into a water reservoir after being shot with a tranquilizer dart. Being too dense to float, Chlodomer would have drowned had the Black Legionnaire not jumped in after him, just like Yakub promised Nasrin he’d do. By the time Chlodomer was pulled from the water, he was panicking badly. Naturally, Farhad would expect him to be sensitive about anything related to deep water and drowning.
“It’s just a movie. I’ve seen worse,” Chlodomer replied, hoping Farhad didn’t see how wet his eyes were.
“Oh, it looks like you finished your meal too. Tasty, wasn’t it?”
Just before he left, Farhad invited Chlodomer to finish his helping of the meat and kraut meal and handed them the remote control to the projector. Sure enough, the Imperial Fist had licked both plates clean before the movie ended. Pregnancy made a Space Marine very hungry.
“It was,” he replied.
"Well, what did you think of the movie?" asked Farhad.
"Remarkable. I feel…humbled, being able to see something created early in the history of humanity," replied Chlodomer with great sincerity. He couldn't help it. He was conditioned to love humanity and all it had accomplished. And this film had been created on Terra. Terra, the birthplace of humanity! The de jure homeworld of the Imperial Fists.
"Amazing, right? I don't even know if this film exists in any Imperial archives, not in this condition, and uncensored too."
Chlodomer was relieved that the Black Legionnaire wasn't going to make fun of him for crying during the movie, though it felt wrong to confess such feelings of awe in front of him.
"Nasrin had principles," Chlodomer spoke with conviction. "A weaker-willed person would have sold the diamond, and proven she needed Teymur. Those musicians, playing until the very end, the crew of the ship…were examples of true bravery. And Yakub too, he embodied the spirit of sacrifice which allowed humanity to expand across the galaxy."
The more he spoke, the less ashamed he felt about getting so emotional. As one of the Emperor's Angels, one of the most appropriate times to openly weep manly tears was at the death of a great hero. And there had been many heroes that night during the sinking of the Titanides . Heroes that really existed.
"I'm glad you liked the movie," replied Farhad. "I've certainly watched it a few times."
Well, given the way Yakub pestered Nasrin when she was going to jump off the ship, was it really a surprise the Black Legionnaire had taken notes?
"I wonder, though," continued Chlodomer. "If Yakub was so intent to save Nasrin, if she was an important historical figure, or the ancestor of one."
"We may never know. Well, maybe one day the answer will turn up on the other side of a Warp portal. That's the fun part of living where we live."
Chlodomer sighed. There he goes again, trying to sell his wretched Warp storm-dwelling lifestyle to me.
"Well," Farhad changed the subject. "It looks like it's time to remove the paste and see what your temporary tattoos look like!"
Farhad walked his pregnant captive bride to the washroom, where he wiped off the dried paste to reveal bright orange tattoos. The mantas and sea stars were more beautiful than before. Chlodomer almost wished they’d turned out ugly so he could say the whole thing was a waste of time.
"It was worth the wait, wasn't it? Hm?" Farhad asked. “Wait a little bit and the orange will turn dark brown.”
"I suppose it was worth the wait," replied the Imperial Fist. "How long before it fades?"
"A week, maybe longer. I even put oil on your feet to help it set better. The less you move around, the longer they'll stay on you. And we want you to get lots of rest, don't we? I can, of course, reapply it if you want."
"Alright," he replied. The truth was it would be a shame to let the tattoos fade so soon.
The Black Legionnaire had won this struggle, for now. This much Chlodomer would concede.