Leathertail's Log
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Sabbatical-Part II
_Garret grimaced. Garret often grimaced; his natural expression was quite close to one. He had the face of a man who had had that same face bashed in more than a few times, leathery and scarred, though he was scarcely past thirty winters. Garret knew how he looked, and he didn’t care. Anyone else who made something of it would come a few steps closer to resembling him, if he was given free rein. Like that damned pretty boy halfbreed. It was that halfbreed, busy helping to adjust a sail at the moment, who was the current recipient of Garret’s grimace.
They had joined the crew at the same time, and Garret had disliked him even then. That dislike had deepened when he noticed a few of the looks the few female crew members cast at the point-ear’s back, deepened further when he refused to return any of those looks, and boiled over once the filth had stuck him with that knife. His shoulder still hurt, damn him! And that coat was trash, anyone with eyes could see that. But he would be repaid soon enough, and then some.
Garret was not clever, but he was cunning. And Leathertail’s patterns were so set that it was easy to memorize them. Not only were they set, they were rife with opportunities: he kept to himself, he had made no friends, took the night watches, and was often found up in the crow’s nest. Accidents could happen that high up, if you weren’t careful. One little stumble into a man, particularly a thin, shortish one like Leathertail, particularly from a large man like Garret, and a person could find themselves plummeting to a very abrupt stop. Garret had made sure he was on the watch for that night directly after the green panted bastard. Sure, he’d had to intimidate a bit and use a favor or two, but it was worth it. A few hours, and Leathertail would get his.
It was in dead of night when Garret slipped from his hammock, heavy toes creaking against the floorboards, kneeling to tug on his boots. He had been too eager to sleep. Now it was time. Slipping up the stairs to the deck, he looked upwards. There was no moon, just stars. In the dark, he couldn’t make any shapes out at the peak of the nest, but he knew that skinny rat would be there. This was far from the first man he had killed. Nor would it be the last. But he got tingles in his gut every time he approached the death of another, he couldn‘t help it. And so it was now as he slipped up the rigging, quiet as he could. One hand, then two slid up over the planks that made up the small, raised platform of the Queen’s Fancy’s nest. A low, circular wall of the same rough planks rimmed it, coming to about a man’s waist if he were standing. Garret’s head slipped up over the edge, dark hair lank, eyes glinting. He was a bit disappointed when he realized that Leathertail was facing him from where he stood on the opposite side of the platform. In fact, he seemed to be looking directly at him. Damn. There was a brief pause as they faced each other. Then… “We don’t have ta do this, ya know,” the lean form said quietly, wearily, little more than a silhouette against the night sky. “Ya can just turn around…I’ll come down, ya’ll go back up, we exchange watch duty…that’s all.” “Yer a clever lad t’ be afraid,” Garret sneered, pulling himself up onto the nest, “but negotiations ain’t an option here, halfbreed. Ya so much’s squeak, n’ I’ll kill ya.” “Well,” the smaller silhouette’s arms raised in a shrug. “I’d hate fer ya ta kill me fer noisiness instead o’ whatever reason it was when ya climbed up here.” “Shut yer gob…who’s at say I ain’t just gonna teach ya a li’l lesson, eh?” The larger silhouette flashed teeth, tensing his muscles. “Well…Ya don’t strike me as a man who works in moderation, matey. Straight an’ ta the point…heh, not gonna kill me…” The smaller one cocked his head slightly a moment, head tilted up towards that of the larger. “…I dunno where people get these ideas about blonds, but trust me: not that di-” Garret lunged for the smaller man before he could finish, arms outstretched. That was what made this slightly trickier than usual for Garret. No unusual marks could be left on the body if it were to be believed that this were an accident. Or at least look enough like one that it couldn’t be proved otherwise. That meant no blows to the face, no throttling…hopefully just a good shove and over he’d go. Which would have worked had he not ducked. Garret’s hands soaring over his head, Leathertail shot a fist into Garret’s stomach. The big man took it with a grunt, his large frame unaffected as he readjusted his posture, grabbing and getting a fistful of ponytail for his trouble. Pulling up on it brought Leathertail up to his tip toes. Garret was about to knock him backward with his free hand when the other sailor’s hand darted out again, fingers digging into the barely, and no longer, sealed wound on his shoulder, clawing at him. With a cry, Garret jerked back, the fist around the ponytail not slackening, jerking Leathertail into him. The larger sailor’s foot went back, trying to find purchase, but there was only air. He released the ponytail then, as both his hands grabbed out, trying to find something to stop him. But there was nothing. As his body tilted back, he saw a dark flash of that damned coat flaring out in the air above him when Leathertail fell after him. Garret’s backward momentum continued as he fell so that he could see first the stars, then dark horizon and the water that stretched out across it, and finally the deck rushing up towards him. His last thought before his body collided with the deck, making a sickening thud, was not one of remorse nor one of fear: he just thought it mildly surprising that things had gone this way. If he hadn’t been dead after his initial impact, the velocity of the other sailor slamming into his body in a belly flop a second afterwards probably finished him off. Rolling off of the body with a groan, the half-elf just lay there a moment, drawing a few pained, wheezing breaths, blinking unsteadily up at the night sky. His ears twitched as he heard the crew stirring down below. Soon someone would come up. He thought his ribs might be broken. He needed to get up. Had to get to his bag. Captain wouldn’t be happy. The bag. Gritting his teeth, he sat up, the strangled scream in his throat filtering through his teeth as he rose to sitting, then to standing, before staggering off towards the door. Through a haze he saw the other people on the stairs. He stumbled down the steps past them, some of them bumping into his ribs, eliciting fresh muffled sounds of pain. Finally he reached the sleeping room, then the last few steps to his hammock, dropping to his knees and grabbing the bag underneath it. Pushing past blades, spare clothes, he found what he was looking for. Grabbing a bottle, he wrenched it free, uncorking it with his teeth before gulping down its cool, liquid contents. Soon, the pain in his chest subsided, each new breath no longer feeling like a dagger stabbing into his lungs. Gently, he set the bottle down, wiping a hand over his mouth from where the potion had drizzled. Only then did he become aware of the stares of the others still in the room, and the exclamations and curses coming from the deck above. His hands reached up, slowly and unconciously, smoothing his collar down. The Captain would, most definitely, not be happy._
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Sabbatical-Part I
_Merrin was supposed to be securing the rigging. And he was, in his own fashion. The crewman’s hands moved deftly, if a good bit slower than they usually did, weaving the ropes into complex and, more importantly, tight, knots. He had spent nearly his whole life on a boat, ever since he was a small boy; he could tie a knot in a live octopus’s tentacles, if he had a mind to. But currently, Merrin’s usual speed was somewhat hampered by the fact that he was not watching the work that his hands were doing: his eyes, a vague hazel crinkled with crow’s feet from a life of squinting into the sun, were trained upwards.
There was a young man in the crow’s nest. Had been for the majority of the time ever since the Queen’s Fancy, (personally, Merrin was surprised the ship hadn’t been burned down out of spite by the N’Jastians when they took the docks, due to the unhappy coincidence of its name), had set sail from Peltarch. The young man had given a name, “Leathertail”, and not much else, when he signed up on the crew; following the war most every ship, if it were still floating, had needed new people to replace the dead or missing. So now there was some half-elf in the Queen’s nest all the time.
Merrin didn’t really mind him. Compared to some of the other new crew they’d picked up, he downright liked him. The lad was quiet though. Moody. Took the lookout’s position whenever he could manage it, especially the night shifts. Just sat up there, or sometimes stood, staring out over the waves and the sky. He knew his way around a ship though, Merrin had to admit: He could man the rigging like few others, secure what needed securing, had his sea legs, didn’t complain a lick, and once Merrin had even seen him take the navigator aside. Soon after their course had altered slightly, and the navigator, Jennings, had seemed a bit more snappish than usual for a few days.
The Leathertail fellow could be more than just moody from time to time, however. Once, in the mess hall, one of the other new crew members, a mean-looking fellow that Merrin didn‘t care for at all, Garret, had made a rather disparaging remark about that ratty old coat that was always hanging on Leathertail’s shoulders. Leathertail had just looked at Garret a moment, then with a flick of his hand had sent his mess knife sailing into the other sailor’s shoulder. A bit of a scuffle had broken out, and though quite a few of Garret’s mates had gone after the rather thin half-elf, he’d emerged with barely a bruise by the time the first mate had restored order. After three lashes had been laid on the blond fellow’s back as punishment, he wasn’t quite as unmarked. Merrin was quietly impressed by the way the young man had taken the pain though: teeth gritted, but not a grunt had escaped his lips, just a sharp intake of breath with each snap of the lash. Afterwards, breathing slowly, he had quietly asked for his coat back from the deckhand holding it, and that had been that. Garret had grinned big as the sun while it happened, but seemed a bit put out afterwards, perhaps at the lack of screaming.
For now, however, the half-elf sat up in his perch. Merin doubted he would stay onboard once they made port in Impultur. For one, he wasn’t really trying to make a home for himself on the ship: to date he had no friends, had made no attempts at rectifying that, seemed to just drift through his work, seemingly uncaring of the results of his labors, though they were always satisfactory. For two, the captain didn’t care for trouble on his ship, in particular those who caused it. And Leathertail wasn’t keeping his head down when he ought to. Looking at the sky all the time still points your chin up, as they say. And for three…Garret had been casting more than a few dirty looks at the backside of that brown coat. Merrin knew there would be more trouble to come. Garret, with his venomous green eyes, big frame, and gnarled but strong hands hadn’t been satisfied with the punishment doled out. He wanted his pound of flesh, and Merrin hoped he wasn’t there when he tried to collect.
The older sailor lowered his shaved head, fingers picking up speed as he worked the knots into the rope. Winds had been good at least. With a bit more luck, and Umberlee keeping her wrath from the ship, they should make port in just a week or so. Maybe Garret would restrain himself until then. But Merrin doubted it. Meanwhile, high above, wind rustled old leather and blond bangs, blowing a few stray strands into the path of dark blue eyes._
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Entry 145
Leaving Peltarch now. Not sure where I'll end up, just hopped on a merchant boat heading west. Maybe Impultur, then south, until I hit the sea.
(Here "The Ca" is crossed out) Sabre told me she had to be alone for good and all, to just be a captain. And to do that, I don't fit into the painting quite so prettily. She says she isn't going back to Pavel either…but I doubt it. I told her, at the end, but in Elvish. I don't think she'll ever know. It's better for her that way.
I can't be around her if I can't be with her. Especially when it's because she doesn't want me to be. And without her...there's little reason to put up with that psychotic sadist Pavel, who seems to think by regularly kicking me when I'm down I'm learning some life lesson. Or Jack, who's eager for my blood. I meant to help Sabre. And all I did was make things worse.
I told her about the way I drifted through life once. She said it sounded simpler, but also lonelier. It never really seemed that way until she said it, looking at the stars with me.
Bad day.
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Entry 133
Sabre Seasaw. Sammy Seabourne. My Captain. Another name when we're alone. The rolling gait of her walk, the way her hair sticks out after she takes her helmet off, the low voice. Her little tantrums. Her grinning for all the world like an eight year old girl draped in my jacket. The feel of her fingers running through my hair when I let her braid it. How wide and lonely those blue green oceans of eyes looked, right before she gripped me to her…
I won't get to enjoy any of it for much longer, I think. Pavel and she have had the worst split yet...but all it ever is is some little game he plays. He says he's had enough, and walks off so she'll chase after him, agree to whatever he wants when he deigns to come back. He's done exactly that so far, and asked of her exactly what I told Taria I thought he would. So predictable. All violence and tantrums. But she loves him, and me... She doesn't. I know that. Everyone tells me I love her, but I don't think it matters what it's called, or maybe even is, in the end. I'll be what I can be to her, help her as best I'm able.
And then she'll go back to him.
I know what Mercy said, but...I don't think she's right this time. The Lady bless the one-legged barnacle though. Her affection is oddly delivered, but I'm grateful for it.
Sierra started making eyes at some druid. I told her to go on and be with him, figure he'd be better for her. If her love is what love really is, I hope she understands a bit more why I avoided it. Love shouldn't be something you can fall into and out of at the drop of a hat. Or maybe it should, really. Make things easier on us all.
I'm starting to feel so sick of smiling all the time.
Bad day.
Tucked into the book's pages on this entry is a small sheet of paper, heavily wrinkled as if it has been over handled, bearing a short message in a different, neat hand: "To your question of before: because you are you (and the heart knows no reason)."
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Entry 120
Gods, finally I got a night alone with the Captain again. We successfully tested Mercy and Taria's "doomsday device", in a truly magnificent explosion of N'Jastian ammo piles from the walls of Peltarch, and were in a, to put it lightly, good mood. Nothing's changed with her…I'm drowning while I'm on fire, I feel drunk but as if I'm seeing everything clearer than before. I needed that. Really, really, needed that.
I'm a bit saddened to think that that room may be just so much more rubble by this point. I hope we can find another.
And now...there's Sierra. She battles common sense daily to be with me. We've had more than a few tumbles by now, she's written me songs, she says she wants me just as I am and won't take no for an answer. It's hard to ward off someone who doesn't care what you say or do, and is simply set on being with you. Honestly, she's said she doesn't care about me being with other women, doesn't care that I don't love her...I've tried to warn her, but she won't hear it. I do like her, and being around her...but a woman who's said she loves me unnerves me. Particularly one who scrutinizes me as much as she does. She even talked to the Captain about me (and she knows about our continuing relationship).
People seem to mistake not wanting to talk about the past much for a personal love of mystery. The past is just that, behind me, and for the most part I'm content to let it stay there. Sometimes, with my Captain...I'll talk about it. Little bits. She doesn't push. She lets it come if it's to come, and if not, it's left to lie.
Still, Sierra is a charming half-elf lass. Funny, enthusiastic. Pretty voice. And at this point I can't dispute the illogic of attraction, or even love, or the futility in fighting it. I'll give her what I can. And I'm sorry it isn't more. I am. Just not sorry enough to change.
Good day.
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Entry 111
It's been a bit since I wrote in here…events became too busy for a while. Things have reached an equilibrium since I returned to the crew; many people's initial reaction was to beat me to a pulp, Jack being the first. I let her, didn't try to fight back. Her reasoning was that I was tearing the crew apart, which I was, partially. I don't see how all the blame rested on me as clearly as she did, however. Drelan then proceeded to hit me, as well as the Captain, once. Violence seems to be the only motivator he has. Pavel was the latest and, perhaps last to lay into me. There wasn't much point in fighting back with him either, better to just smile and take it. I've seen what he can do to things unarmed, I wouldn't stand a chance in his style of fight. He was doing it for his own personal pride, I can only imagine.
The Captain, I made my peace with on my own...though it wasn't the peace I was expecting. Things went poorly in my absence, it seems. She missed me, she said. Feels something for me. Again, we left it at that. Plenty of others want to name it, but that doesn't seem necessary, right now. She cares...and so do I. We're still together in whatever way we were before...Though never getting her alone for a night is wearing thin. Whatever else I feel for her, however deep it runs now, part of it is a very insistent need for touch. To see her eyes go dark and dangerous.
She held on to my coat for me. I missed it, I think...it feels good, having it back on. She wore it while I was away.
For now though, I've got a drunk bard sleeping in my lap. Fully clothed, oddly enough. Her name is Sierra (light brown hair, pretty, drawl). She was looking for some slightly more substantial comfort, but she got too drunk, too fast. I like her, she seems nice, and her lack of malicious intent can be a bit of a nice change sometimes. She was actually worried, truly concerned about whether she was a good person or not. Admittedly, she was getting steadily drunker as she poured out her worries, but still...I don't know when the last time was that I knew someone like that, personally. She's also insane, apparently, judging by some of her recent actions. But right now, she sleeps, and I suppose I will too once I've finished off her half a bottle of whiskey.
This isn't how I imagined it all to work out. Maybe we can hold on to some things after all. Maybe.
Good day.
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Entry 110
Was stupid. Made a mistake. Not really possible to hold on to anything. Everything passes, no point in getting attached: items, circumstances, people…all moves on around you. Should have learned that before.
Know it now.
Good day.
_Now I do as I please, and I lie through my teeth
Someone might get hurt, but it won't be me
She'll probably feel cheap, but I'll just feel free
And a little bit emptyNo it isn't so hard to get close to me
There'll be no arguments, we'll always agree
And I'll try and be kind, but I'll ask you to leave
We'll both take it easyIf you stay too long inside my memory
I will trap you in a song tied to a melody
And I'll keep you there so you can't bother me-Bright Eyes, Take It Easy (Love Nothing)_
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The writing on this page is far messier than Luke's usual hand, looking as if the quill were shaking in the writer's grasp. The page is also not denoted or dated like the others.
I hate him. I hate him so badly.
I wish I'd met her first.
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Entry 100
I can't decide whether Pavel's very cagey, just simple, or a mix of the two. The Captain's got her own plan for how to deal with him. It's not the one I'd like best, but I'll manage it. I do know I've struck something deeper in Pavel though…and it turns out in the end he's like all the others. He gets jealous, just like any other man would. That makes me almost feel better. But I want her skin on mine. The whispers in the dark after.
She could at least not tease me so much. Or maybe she's trying to be reassuring. I've never been so focused on the brushing of fingertips before.
Then there's Taria. She's not so bad as I first thought. She can be downright nice, even. Miss Jack's got her off men and booze for some test of faith, so it's fun to tease her: a touch here, a kiss there, and she can't do a thing about it. I like her well enough, but I think I like the control as well. She wants something else from me even more though. Tenderness. Holding her, a kiss that doesn't ask for anything beyond it. I told her I could give her that. Just not to expect anything more from it. One woman crawling her way inside my chest's bad enough.
Then there's Miss Jack. We were talking about the coming war, and she said she'd just leave, to ride it out in Oscura, or head back to Hoarsgate. She offered to have me come back to Hoarsgate with her; wander around with her, swim with her mentor's sharks. This is the second such offer she's made to me. I'm not really sure what her attachment to me is based on, or of what kind it is. Perhaps we've all got a soft spot for someone.
I'd rather not drive her away. She told me I was in denial, that the Sails were my friends, that I was part of the crew in all but name. That when it came down to it, if my chance came to betray them all for my own gain appeared, that I wouldn't take it.
We'll see.
Good day.
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Entry 78
Stuck between the pages in the book by this entry is a piece of paper, with a bit of handwriting on it that is clearly different from Luke's, reading "Unfair winds…because fair is no fun." Underneath is a small, lurid sketch of a dark-haired girl and fair-haired boy getting quite intimate.
The Captain's returned. I find myself very glad…I missed her. I wanted her here with me. I don't think I've felt like this for anyone since a lifetime ago. Passing affections, yes. This is new though. The smiles, the secret looks she threw me even when on Pavel's arm. Seeing in her eyes the same look I know is in mine when I look at her.
And now Pavel finds he has a problem. He apologized to me, saying he had been arrogant. He's also told me he was originally planning on leaving the Captain on his trip, but his death screwed it up, as she accompanied him. Lastly, he's now told me to leave her alone, put her out of my mind, that now he won't be going.
I can't walk away from her. Nor do I find myself wanting to, anymore. Pavel seems unable to make up his mind about anything, and I won't throw the Captain away because of him. There's a softness about her I can see even more clearly now. I want to see it more. I want it to see it disappear when she claws at me and come back when I'm holding her at the end. To take her up to the Nest on a clear night.
It's new. But I want it.
Good day.
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Entry 71
The Captain and I have reached an agreement, setting terms. Things became tense for a short while. Well, tenser. Eventually she found me on the rooftop, and…cards were laid on the table. Still probably not our full hands, but why bother getting hung up on definitions anyhow? It will last as long as it's going to last. And we'll ride the waves until then. I should heed Jack, but I can't. This will have to be as it is.
She does. Not like for him. But she does.
Pavel's going off on a trip now, and the Captain's decided to go with him. I agree with John that it's a pretty piss poor time for either of them to go off, the Captain especially, but I'm not the one to decide such a thing. Too many things are starting to happen now...Jack said she could feel a storm coming. Something big.
I wonder if it's broken yet. And if it hasn't, whether we'll be able to ride it out when it does. Looking ahead's not for me, so whatever tomorrow may be, today (tonight) was a
Good day.
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Entry 67
Pavel died today.
We were out hunting ogres: him, myself, the Captain, Mercy, Ugor, and Seth. We'd gotten through the cave and out into the hills. After wandering through for a while, dispatching a good number of ogres, we saw something I'd never seen before on a hill ahead of us. It was humanoid, but froglike. Pavel said he'd try to chat with it. And it killed him.
We killed it soon after that, but the Captain was inconsolable. Near useless, just hugging Pavel's body. I told Ugor to grab the body, and Seth to grab his things, then dragged the Captain up myself to get us out of there as quickly as possible. Seth got us through the caves with a spell.
When we got back to Peltarch, Sabre returned to cradling Pavel's body, refusing to let Mercy raise him. Eventually I got her back to the warehouse in Oscura. She's sleeping in her bunk now behind me, and we'll be going to the healer's when she wakes up. She asked me to watch over her and Pavel's body, make sure Mercy didn't try anything funny.
Pavel lied to me.
He said it wasn't me that was causing the problem. The Captain said it was our relationship that hurt him, that he'd told her so. He said I was just like any other of her flings…she said I wasn't...that that was the problem. She also made it clear that I don't come in first. I wish I knew why I was still sitting here, then.
I'm beginning to remember why I was happy when my mother died.
Bad day.
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Entry 65
Elyane of Istishia isn't entirely gone, as I'd hoped. She's somehow gotten in with the higher ups of Peltarch, most notably the recently supposedly dead General Lavindo. The part of her plan we heard also sounded horribly similiar to what I read from a book salvaged from the kobold caves recently. She needs to be stopped, if I or the Sails can stop it. We need the Icelace.
But, that affair aside, the Captain. Still. She asked me how this need could get worse every time we heeded it, and I didn't have any answer for her aside from "it does". And gods, it does. She cares too, there's no doubt for me anymore; when I was feelin' down the other day, she started moping around, thinking it was all her fault. I told her it wasn't, of course, and it wasn't, not really. She asked me, all quiet, whether she was still my captain…I'm not sure exactly what was being asked underneath that, but I said yes. How she smiled.
She even set aside more than just a night together for us. I stayed in bed for a bit after she left, so I can't be sure, but I don't think I could have done much in the way of walking after. Pavel said he doesn't have a problem with us sleeping together, again. And I believe him. Just not sure if I believe he isn't troubled by us spending time together in general. He didn't give an explanation when I said he'd been spending more time on his own, instead just shrugging. That seems to be his favored response.
These entries are becoming much longer than they used to be. Life's not quite so simple as it once was, I suppose. The spiders from Norwick may be reaching the foothills through burrowing. War's closing in on the south. If I had any sense left, I'd catch the next boat out of here, maybe with Miss Jack like she said. But I don't think I can. Not yet.
Good day.
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Entry 62
Proof that from the very peak of optimism a day can quickly descend into one of the worst in a long while. Not as bad as dying, maybe, but it rates a close second.
Started off nice enough, ending up cuddled next to the Captain at a table in the Ferret, just getting ready for a good session together, when Pavel shows up. And of course, priorities were made immediately clear. I told her to go on with him, as she obviously wanted to. It stings, a bit, I think. I've never really felt jealous before.
I don't think I'm entirely alone in it though. She said that Pavel had been spending a lot of time on his own lately. Maybe he's not so calm as he acts. He asked me if I loved her, the other day…I said no...he told me not to lie to myself.
Did I?
Anyhow...I left them to it, the Captain saying she'd catch up to me later. So, went off to watch the stars, and end up seeing these men in black and red loading up crates by the water in the foothills. Talking about their ill-gotten cargo, and how a ship's coming in soon to pick it up. I dashed off to the Ferret, where I find Drelan, this other Sail, Taria (Idiot girl, plain, afraid of Mercy), and the Captain and Pavel. I tell them about the ship, saying we ought to go, how we can get the cargo and maybe the ship itself. At that point Taria tried to hit me, and Drelan saw fit to start blathering on. Meanwhile, the ship and the cargo slipped through our fingers. And Drelan pointed the blame at me, for not informing them in the correct manner.
Not feeling particularly charitable right now. Heading off to get drunk.
Bad day.
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Entry 60
Died. Not nearly died, not injured. Dead. Spirit has shuffled on out of the mortal body and realm dead. I'd never felt anything like that before.
I'd rather never have to again.
Luckily I was brought back, though that wasn't entirely pleasant either. But at least I'm alive. There's too much to stick around for yet for me to be dead.
The Captain, I'm trying not to think about too hard. She helped comfort me…defended me...I'm completely lost around her, and thinking about it too much will only get me in deeper. I provide her an escape. Comfort. Maybe more, I don't know. The way those blue-green eyes fix on me sometimes. On my eyes.
Stop thinking about it. Enjoy it while it lasts, and stop telling her so much in the meantime...it's those damn eyes of hers that get me. Not the arse, not the breasts. Maybe a little bit of that small smile she gives. Not that the rest of the body hurts...
Damn.
New subject. Upcoming treasure hunt and dragon hunt.
Bad day?
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Entry 54
The shipwreck was an interesting trip. Finally got to be out on a boat again, if only for a little while, and swim. There was plenty of treasure to be had, Tymora be praised, and only some troublesome ghosts who stood in the way of claiming it. That was a good time, but all the real interest in my life lately seems to be coming from the people in the Sails.
I've been drinking with Jack a few times lately. She was good company mostly: friendly, joking, and she got naked when she lost our drinking game, as agreed. That was a highlight. I can't remember all of it that clearly but I'm fairly certain she was straddling me (still clothed) at some point. We talked about a few things too. She got a bit deep, talking about sailing away together. Also, she seems to have this trick where her eyes flash al green and she's suddenly sober. Not sure how she does it. Interesting girl.
Mercy. Becoming rather fond of the filthy troglodyte, I think. Alluded to something about Sabre's previous lovers, so I asked her out for a drink to get more information. She seems downright friendly to me, in a threat-filled, crude way, once I've got her alone. Learned a bit more than I expected. She was born in Jiyyd, and she had two sisters. Also, she seems to like to ask deep questions too (Priestess thing?), wanting to know if I had any dreams. Didn't even make fun of me when I told her about the ones where I could fly. But once I finally asked about Sabre, and she seemed plenty smug I did, she replied quite cryptically, asking me what I thought about it. I said I figured I was the latest in a long line. To which she merely said "Is that what you think…". She said most people get driven off by the strangeness of the situation with Pavel, but then she fixed me with this appraising look, saying I'd just have to wait and see how it turned out.
Sabre. And Pavel. Think I might be causing some sort of unrest between them. They're talking about me, that much is obvious. Not only did Pavel tell Jack to "kiss my ear" to convince me of something, but I actually ran into the two discussing me. It's strange...Pavel has told me to "keep up the good work" with the captain numerous times, but yesterday he also said he wasn't encouraging us to sleep together, but he wouldn't stand in our way. I've got nothing against Pavel (I think), but I can't quite feel comfortable groping the captain around him.
As for the captain, who is now a captain in the Sails too, not just mine, I strongly feel I should get the hells away from her. She muddles me. Gets me to talk, still gives me these looks. I think there's more than just lust in those pretty eyes of hers during those glances, too. Beginning to wonder if I'm somehow different from all her other flings. I picked the wrong girl to mess with. Or maybe she picked me. I don't know.
She's not the most beautiful girl I've ever been with. But I'll be damned if she's not the most attractive. I can't leave it be, and don't really want to anyhow. Mercy, perhaps unsurprisingly from what I'm starting to learn of her, seems to have been right. I may just have to see this one through.
As for now, the Captain wore me out. I need to sleep some more. So despite the tension, at the moment I can't help but feel it was a
Good day.
-
Entry 46
Exhausted. Good exhausted, but exhausted. I'm not entirely certain what I'm trying to get from Sabre anymore, but we give an awful lot to each other. It hurts sometimes, but I can't walk away from it. Maybe we are just lovers, but sometimes I catch her giving me these looks. I can't really read them. No idea. Sometimes I catch myself as unsure what my own face looks like around her for that matter.
At least our relationship's clear enough when Pavel's there. He's first in her affections, no question. Then once he's gone it's all about teasing me. Maybe I'm gaining on second…this is becoming a very odd experience for me all the way around. Things were altogether easier when I was just on a boat, never stopping for more than a few days.
Speaking of, I may be back on the water quite soon, as the Captain has gotten a boat to investigate a shipwreck, though John-o's apparently in charge once we're there. As for John, maybe I misread him, at least partially. Or maybe it's just his girl Sarah's influence. Either way, he seems softer. Ayndur also has a girl, he wasn't lying. I've no idea how he and Donnie (Beautiful, blond, elven of course since it's Ayndur) make it work, and apparently they do have their share of fights, one of which I think I was able to cause, but they still seem to be together.
Met another elven lass for that matter recently. Brynn (Not as willowy as her kin, especially where it counts, likes to stare, lots of piercings) is interesting enough, though she isn't exactly friendly. Stating quite clearly that she's probably going to kill her only friend paints an interesting impression of her. Cry for help, or maybe just cold.
Good day.
-
Entry 41
Learned quite a few interesting things today. It turns out Mercy's downright chatty once she's in her cups, even a bit…friendly. Quite the font of information on the Black Sails, in between mild threats, crude jokes, and the padding around for details about myself and the Captain. Found out lots about Sabre, and Drelan, some about Pavel. She even admitted to feeling affection for the first and last of those three. I stopped actually drinking halfway through my second bottle of course, the better to gather information.
In the meanwhile, I've been given a new job. Selling some wares for commission for the Sails...need to find a few sturdy crew members to test them out first though. And then there's the Captain herself, who the last sentence is crossed out Sabre seems this is also crossed out.
More later.
Good day.
-
_Giselle was, of course, rather unsure of the exact right way to raise a child, but she found a profound attachment to the small, oddly-proportioned being she had created. His fat little limbs fascinated her as they waved around, she was amused by the way his pale fluff of hair would stick up, and felt something melt in her when he would go quiet, and just stare at her with large, deep blue eyes. And though he squalled occasionally, she discovered he could almost always be calmed, if it were a clear night, by taking him outside. She did her best.
Luke grew slowly. Giselle didn’t mind it, really. The longer he stayed a child, the longer it would take him to turn into one of the men who frequented these islands. Giselle actually found herself thankful to the man who had been his father, for giving Luke the heritage of a longer childhood. Even though his elven blood slowed the process, however, he still grew. By inches, by pounds, he grew._
~18 years ago~
_By the time Luke was five, he looked three. He toddled around the small room Giselle now permanently rented, not being allowed outside on his own. His mother knew exactly the character of the men that were out there, and shuddered to think of what could be done to her son. Sometimes it was necessary for her to leave, and personally tend to affairs that let her maintain her tenuous grip on the measure of power she had attained. On these occasions Luke was locked into the windowless room, Giselle not trusting the word of a five year old over his curiosity. She was right, too; Luke would have scampered off as fast as his little legs would take him had he had the chance. As things went, however, he could not get out, and the only item of interest in the room was the chest.
The chest, which contained what few worldly possessions Giselle had, was large and wooden. The shape of it was rectangular, and actually contained much more empty space than items. Luke was sure of this. He had spent hour after hour looking at it, rapping on it, and dreaming of what was inside it. It was locked as tightly as the door, though Luke had tried his best to open it, wrenching and pushing at the lid with his small arms and hands until he collapsed on the floor, panting and exhausted. His mother knew to keep the key on herself.
One rainy day on which Giselle was off seeing to the hiring of some new muscle was different than the others Luke had spent in the room. This time, the inevitable happened. Giselle slipped up. She had been in a hurry, and not checked to make sure she still had the key to the chest stored within the usual hidden pocket sewed into her petticoats. By some mischief, it had slipped out, to fall forgotten underneath the bed. Almost attuned to the room by this time, Luke quickly located the one abnormality in his perambulation of the small cell, scooping up the key and immediately trying it on the door.
The door remained closed, and so he turned his attention to the chest. His hand reached out to the lock, key gripped tightly, and paused. His mother wouldn’t be pleased, and she could be back at any moment. Especially if she realized the key was gone. The second thought, after a moment’s consideration, spurred Luke’s hand on, pushing the key into the lock, which pushed the tumblers into place with a small, ominous, click.
Luke stared at the chest a moment longer, almost afraid of what could be inside. But he was not to be denied this discovery. His trembling hands reached out and, with a monumental effort, pushed on the lid. It went slowly up, creaking loudly, as Luke grunted and strained. But Luke was small, and the chest lid large. He went up on his tip toes, trying to push it the rest of the way, his tiny stomach, still pudgy with baby fat, pushing against the lower portion of the chest.
A moment’s unbalance was all it took. Luke went up too high, or perhaps leaned too far forward, but either way he tumbled head over heels into the trunk, which snapped shut immediately. Luke immediately panicked, jostling a few clinking items in the chest as he thumped at the lid. When that didn’t work, he screamed, and he cried until his body was wracked with great heaving sobs. He thought that maybe his mother wouldn’t know he was locked in, or hear him, and he would starve to death. Or worse, she would know he was in there, and leave him in as punishment. To Giselle’s credit she would never have done such a thing, nor was she entirely capable of punishing Luke much at all. The large tears leaking out of deep, dark blue eyes almost always did her in. Luke was not of an extremely rational age yet, though.
Trembling with fear now, he sank down to the chest’s hard, wooden floor; or would have, had there not been a barrier. With shaking hands, he reached out to feel this lining. It was smooth, slightly wrinkled in spots. It also seemed to cover the entire bottom of the chest. Probing, Luke found he could turn it over, and that there was an opening in it. Miserable, but mildly gladdened at having some tactile comfort in his new, he was sure, home, he crawled inside, drawing it around him. Its smell was musty, and tinged with what he knew to be one of the kinds of drinks served downstairs from his room. Unhappy, but momentarily comforted, Luke nestled in deeper, closing his eyes against the darkness of the chest’s inside.
Giselle experienced a bit of panic herself when she returned, an hour later, to find her son gone from the room. But, due to the benefit of a few years of wisdom on her side, and much experience with situations where one had to remain calm, she did exactly that. She realized that the door had still be locked upon her return, meaning no one could have entered. A quick glance also showed the key to the chest lying in front of the container, having fallen from it when it snapped shut. After a quick glance under the bed and the rumpled covers, Giselle leaned down and, picking up the key, opened the chest.
Luke lay there, a small lump curled up in his father’s jacket, asleep._
-
Entry 35
Damn. Sabre's more than I expected. Not sure if I've ever been with a girl quite as, intense, let's say, as her. Still scratched and bruised from our last bout in the Mermaid, but if she asked me there again, or wherever else, don't think I'd be able to say no. It's getting worse. She's dangerous, gets me off guard afterwards once we're all muzzy. But hells, does it feel good.
And the whole Pavel giving me the proverbial pat on the shoulder still seems slightly unnerving for a person who's seen a wide range of reactions from the original lover, none of them congratulatory, whatever they say their relationship is like. Not sure what he meant by that comment on her ability to choose either. I don't think it was an offhand compliment though.
Mercy said I might be suited to selling something the Sails are keeping in their warehouse. We'll see. Might be good to find something else to focus on.
Good day.
