Thread: 'Twixt Sea and Mirrored Sky (MissInk & Erit)

Winter's whithering chill swept across the choppy iron-grey waters of the Aithon Sea, carrying with its winds the scent of hearty brine. It rushed in ethereal streams and rivers across the cold surface of those fathomless depths, swirling and dancing across the burgeoning waves, until it was caught in the sails of a particular ship, where its flow was slowed and broken to carry the vessel on its way. It was a ship quite plain to judge by its surface, being crafted of wood a rich russet brown with triangular sails bleached slightly off-white by sun and salt, a large and well-worn ship housing fifty crew with room to spare. Upon the deck of the Unlashed , bedecked in a heavy coat over a cotton shirt and wollen trousers tucked into high leather boots, stood her captain. Well, captain insofar as the men upon the ship treated him as first among their crew of peers. The Captain, for he had forsaken his name, was the one who had freed them, a giant called a man who had lead their desperate charge and had directed them in the seizure and sailing of what would become the Unlashed. Seven feet in height and half that in breadth, the Captain dwarfed mere men of the world in physicality and force of presence, which was helped by the dull gleam of the hooked axe at his hip and the wide brim of the hat which shaded his forest-colored eyes, perched atop loosely kept black locks tinged with stormy grey which flowed in waves and rivulets around his shoulders. The Captain stood, large and calloused hands clasped behind his back in the posture of one patiently waiting, looking out over the starboard side of his ship. Even half a decade after their escape, it still felt unnatural to think of anything as belonging to him for so long had he been the possession that reversing the notion was an awkward and concious act. But he had many things, now his clothes, his axe, his ship and, after a fashion, his crew. They all had things to call their own again, though some had taken to that more easily than others. Above all else, though, he had her. And that notion, oddly, came more easily she had given herself to him, after all, insisted she be his. Thoughts of her filled a part of his mind and much of his heart, bringing a slight smile to the Captain's craggy face, looking as if carved from the mountain his body resembled. Thoughts of her brashness and sharp wit, impetuous and passionate and unabashed. She claimed to have been drawn to him the instant they locked eyes, stowed away on his ship and demanded to be his. At first, he'd thought to humor her before quietly leaving her behind in a port somewhere, but so many things about his little Kit sunk her claws into him that, when the opportunity came, he'd instead given her a collar of soft leather with a small silver ring an unspoken promise that he would keep her. After that, things had been quite lively she'd become a mascot of sorts, with her bushy tail and twitching ears and obstinate nature, matching wits and glares with any of the men of his crew until they came to accept her as his second. She'd become part of the crew, part of his life, in that time one who knew his thoughts without the words he had abjured, who warmed his bed most every night and eased his heart in strife. The dull clomping of boots on the deck broke the giant from his reverie, and he half-turned to the source of the sound, offering his left side to the dark-skinned skipper who approached with a loose salute. Cap'n, he said with a throaty voice, the men're talkin' belowdecks. We trust ye, but those spires... He nodded out over the side of the ship, towards the distant shoreline only barely visible to the naked eye, and the large tiered roofs that a spyglass would show. ...They remind us a' Shaul. It spooks some of the younger ones, makes 'em wonder if... The Captain gave a slow nod for the skipper to continue, and with a hearty swallow he did. If he'll be there, waitin' fer us. He sighed, a long breath through a broad, flat nose, before nodding again in understanding and clapping a hand on the other man's shoulder. He knew they would not like that place so close to where they had all been locked away, but he could not risk ignoring that port. Not when a storm was so close and their supplies were as they were. His skipper returned the nod, and was released as the Captain turned back out to face the sea and distant shore. Oh, and... The Captain glanced back over his shoulder as his crewman continued, Fox wanted a word in yer quarters. He smiled, huffing in quiet amusement before setting off in his long and steady stride. Fox they called her. Never her name, never as a girl, only ever Fox, because women were poor luck aboard any vessel but she was their lucky charm. The forest-eyed giant swept the hat off his dull black hair with whisps of steel as he went below, parting from the skipper as he went to his quarters. As the Captain, the men had insisted he get the room rather than use it for storage or an armory it wasn't clear if they also felt a man of his stature needed the space. But the captain's quarters were his, and in the year she'd had the collar they were also hers, and he could at least appreciate the spaciousness and modest comfort of the furnishings, the utility of the desk and chair for looking over reports and maps and the like. And occasionally for other uses than that, his Kit's proclivities coming to mind and drawing an affectionate smile to his face. The door wasn't very adorned, a simple crest marking it as important, and the room he opened it to wasn't very lavish either. There had once been silks and colorful tapestries, but all the crew agreed to burn those as a final insult to their former tyrants instead there were fine cushions on the chair and a cotton quilt on the bed, carvings from a former carpenter on the crew enriching much of the room with depictions of various scenes or symbols from their disparate pasts. And amidst it all was her, singular and inviolable, waiting for him with their collar around her slender neck and a furred tail swaying behind her, those long tapered ears the only part of her that even reached his chin. He shut the door in his wake and smiled at her, crossing the distance in his fluid, controlled stride until she was in arm's reach of him which was still out of her own grasp, given her head only reached his sternum and her arms were proportional to her lithely petite build. It was how he always did things with her make her work, just a little, for whatever she wanted. And at that perfect distance, where she would like have to step in to him, he waited. Last edited Jun 12, 2018