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the-insouciant-scientist · 1 year ago

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@fallenlondonficswap @house-of-mirrors Calling this a secret swap fic. I think it counts. Hope you have fun chewing on this one, and that it turned out sufficiently creepy and wet! Always going, but never getting

Unnamed Zee Captain OC & Salt, Teen rating, 2007 words.

Captain’s Journal, 4th November 1863 Above or below the earth, large bodies of water generate superstition like nothing else. Sailor or Zailor, we all know it: we travel upon the waves of a fickle mistress, and it’s best to treat her with respect. Lest she turn her wrath upon your ship next. Doesn’t mean I think it’s all true. Some of the things I hear my crew talk about in the night… Stuff and nonsense. Maybe I’m a fool to be so sceptical, but I’ve sailed for longer than some o’ these folks have been alive. Sometimes wind is just wind. Sometimes a bat is just a d__ned bat. Not everything is a sign.

Captain’s Journal, 6th November 1863

The whole crew seems to be jumpy today. The bats are more active than I’ve seen them in weeks, and there’s an odd one with ‘em. They’re out there wheeling and turning in the air, but I swear every so often I see a glimpse of white. Didn’t know bats came in that colour. A deckhand claims it’s a god, watching us. I put him to work belowdecks, where hopefully his nerves can settle. Last thing I need is someone stirring up trouble.

Captain’s Journal, 7th November 1863

Aye, that lad, what am I to do with him? This morning I caught him perched on the capstan, trying to lure the little b_____d closer with a handful o’ hardtack. Told him that if he didn’t get down from there right that second, I’d make sure he didn’t get any time above deck until we next reached port. I don’t tolerate this kind of nonsense on my ship. Especially when it drives my men to waste supplies like this. He got down, but still seemed afraid of something. I wouldn’t hurt him. He knows that, right?

Captain’s Journal, 9th November 1863

We’ve gone miles north towards Venderbight at this point, but that bat’s still following. The crew’s even more uneasy than before. Seems to think it’s an omen. Some o’ them have started talking as if they’ll never make it home. Have I been going about this wrong? Perhaps I need to change tactics. Bring out the fiddles and crack open some of the half decent wine, and get their minds off things.

Captain’s Journal, 12th November 1863

Helped a bit, but not enough. Had a few days there where none of ‘em seemed too nervous, even when that d__n bat decided to hang itself from the lines and stare at them. But now it’s even worse than before. If it is an omen, I want no b___dy part of it. And if it’s just a normal zee-bat, then I want it off my d__n ship. I’ve been having nightmares. Visions of a great and terrible light, calling out to me. I always wake up feeling like I’ve been cut adrift. Unmoored. If that bat doesn’t leave on its own, I swear, I will catch it with my bare hands and fling it into the zee myself.

Captain’s Journal, 13th November 1863

The deckhand’s gone. The troublemaker. Last anyone heard from him was last night. He was chattering on and on about how it made sense, and how much he’d miss them. How what made sense? Was he planning on abandoning his post? He must have been, because we’ve searched the ship top to bottom, and there’s no sign of him. No missing lifeboats either, is the funny part. The bat has been circling overhead like it’s restless. I tried to shoot it down. It’s behind this, one way or another. Either it spirited one of my crew away, or its presence drove him to madness, and either way, I’m angry. But the second I raised my pistol, no fewer than three of my officers dove to knock it out of my hand. Said that doing that would be a death sentence on us all. I don’t know if I believe that entirely, but the look in their eyes… I do believe that if I had succeeded, curse or not, they would have thrown me overboard for it. Either way I’d be dooming myself. I stood down. That d__n bat just soared higher. I think it knows it won.

Captain’s Journal, 17th November 1863

Headed east towards Frostfound. Some of the crew have been near-begging to visit there, G-d knows why. A few more of them have gone missing and unaccounted for since the first. I’m worried. And, perhaps even more strangely, I’m homesick. It’s odd, really. I don’t have a home to be homesick for anymore, but I still find myself struck by a fear that I’ll never come home again. It’s troubling.

Captain’s Journal, 18th November 1863

The bat got into my quarters, somehow. Hung itself from my lamp and just chittered at me. There’s something about its eyes that leaves the hairs on the back o’ my neck prickling, but I know killing it’s more trouble than it’s worth. I remembered the deckhand trying to feed it, when I caught him that first time. Worst case scenario, I feed a normal bat a biscuit and I then have a fed bat that expects me to feed it again later. Best case scenario… Well. Maybe I could stand to have a god looking favourably upon me.

Captain’s Journal, 23rd November 1863

Things seem to have calmed down since I stopped trying to shoo away the bat. The crew seems more at ease, if a bit more melancholy. They can feel however they like, as long as we don’t lose any more. I worry if any more leave, we’ll hardly be able to zail. Judging by our timing, we should make it to Frostfound by tomorrow. Maybe some zhore leave will do their spirits good.

Captain’s Journal, 25th November 1863

Headed east again. Not everyone made it back, but enough did that we can still zail at a decent pace. My first mate seems out of it. He was one of the last to come back on board before we set zail again. Said he had something important to tell me. He whispered it in my ear, and then went to his cot and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. It’s called Salt, now, he said.

Captain’s Journal, 26th November 1863

He’s gone too, now. I should have listened from the beginning. I hope that it’s not too late.

Captain’s Journal, 30th November 1863

The crew’s gone. The lifeboats are missing. Only thing left behind was a note. “Gone home, before we lose the ability to. You should head home too.” I’m alone.

Captain’s Journal, 14th December 1863

It’s been a while, sorry. Didn’t really see the point in writing in this old thing. I don’t think anyone will ever read it. I’m never going to see London again, I think. Least of all because I can’t man this ship all on my own for that long. I’m going East. It feels different, now. I had been drifting alone on this vast, dark zee, and then it’s like a loose gear shifted back into place. My circumstances haven’t changed, but it’s like… Like my understanding of them has.

Captain’s Journal, 18th December 1863

The bat’s back. It had left for a few days, and I thought it had abandoned me. But no, it’s back. I gave it another biscuit. It’s not like I have a crew to feed anymore. Maybe ol’ Salt still wants to keep an eye on me after all. It’s a nice thought, I suppose, to be watched over. When I sleep, I still have those same dreams. Of the light calling out, and the being cast adrift. But they’re not nightmares. I don’t think they ever were. I think they were always it, just trying to say hello. Captain’s Journal, 19th December 1863

I can hear it humming. Hear its song on the currents. I will never go home again. I can feel that loss like something’s been cut out of me, carved scrimshander into my bones. Like an open, bleeding injury. I’ve been without a home for so long, it’s almost surprising to realise how much that hurts. Maybe I just didn’t let myself feel it until now, or maybe it’s only now that I could feel it. Like salt in the wound. Like Salt is in this wound.

Captain’s Journal, 20th December 1863

I’ve gone beyond the edge of every map I have. Its singing is still soft, but it’s getting louder with every minute I keep on zailing. Oh, it aches. It aches. I don’t even have the words to describe this feeling in its entirety. It’s such a lonely god. It’s so lonely. I’m lonely too.

Captain’s Journal, 21st December 1863

It’s so bright, here. So vivid and green. When did this happen? I am seen. I have seen this before. I dreamt of this, didn’t I? So very long ago. Salt sees me, from its faraway horizon. What is it looking for? What does it see in me? I want to go home, but there’s no home left to go to. No home, no crew, nothing left to hold onto. Just me and my worn old ship, travelling. Why have I come East?

Captain’s Journal, 21st December 1863

It’s silent as the grave, this far out. Nothing to do but keep sailing towards the horizon. Salt’s waiting for me. Well, not waiting, exactly. It’s travelling too. Can’t sit still. Restless. Isn’t that something? A god just as restless as I am. Does it have a home that it can never see again as well? This ache feels like an echo. An echo from a place that has no sound. Can it really be an echo, if there’s no sound?

Captain’s Journal, 21st December 1863 I am not who I was. I suspect that it is not what it once was, either. Nothing starts off this hungry, or this lonely. It’s something learned. Something that has to be honed. Maybe things would have gone differently, if I had listened to its call from the beginning. Maybe I would have known better. Maybe I would have gone home and let myself get rooted somewhere. Or maybe I just would have zailed East even faster.

Captain’s Journal, 21st December 1863

It calls to me, in its strange and silent way. Asks where I’m going. Asks if I’ll follow.

I call back, in whatever way I can: I’m travelling East. And to the ends of the Earth.

I think that’s all I ever wanted. I think I was created to want like this, and I think this is the only way I can ever be almost content. Not satisfied, never satisfied, but almost content. I think, in a way, this is all it ever wanted, too.

When I’m done with this entry, I’m going to cast this journal into the zee. I’ll need all hands on deck where I’m going, and I only have my own. Maybe she’ll swallow it whole, or maybe she’ll carry it to some new, strange zhore.

But if someone does find this? Against all odds? A word of advice.

If you find yourself followed by a white zee-bat, think. Think about home, and how much you value it. If you think for even a moment that it would break you, never seeing it again, then you turn your ship around and never zail again. For your own good. But if some part of you thrills at the prospect, if some part of you feels like this was what you were always meant for…

Come East. Come and find me. We’ll chase this endless horizon together.

Oh, and one more thing. If you do find this, please throw it back into the zee when you’re done. These words need to travel just as much as I do.

But that’s enough talk. I have a god to follow, and endless zee to cover the distance of.

May Salt look favourably upon you.

I’ll see you soon.

#g-d there are so many Bits in here that I am so very willing to talk and ramble about lmao #fallen london fic swap #the scientist scribbles #fic #a copy of your bazaarine tale #salt

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