#lifting dogs onto a sailboat

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Weird Ask Game

The Kraken

Opening by @ethereal-night-fairy

Krakens do not like dogs…or cats…or humans for that matter…

Yet somehow you find yourself in the lashing rain stuck on a boat that is WAAAY too small to capture said Kraken and both your dog and cat have unfortunately embedded their teeth into the creatures tentacles. You watch in horror as they trash while they get lifted 30 feet into the air…

Mr. Kraken is displeased by your ill-behaved pets…

What will you do to save your pets? You better do something before all three of you get eaten…

Your Hp: 95

Cat Hp: 72

Dog HP: 86

Myths from the sea should never be ignored. When the sun rose, the sky was blood-red, an omen for bad weather that now loomed ahead. You'd been praying all day as you prepared your little boat for the harsh currents and swells. You had no business being out on the sea like this, ill-prepared and out of your element. But your god had chosen you, a mere woman, to deliver their message, via the captured Kracken, to your brethren allies to the north.

You had laughed at the being, shaking your head, refusing. They had the wrong person for a suicide mission. But the god had chuckled as if endeared by your protests and kissed your forehead.

They had said, "Who better to set sail than my loyal worshiper with the eyes of water and the heart of a Selkie!" Oh, how wrong god was when they nicknamed you Kópakonan with a fond smile.

Oh, how they were so, so wrong.

The rain came in sheets, blasting against your small sailboat, tossing the thing around as if it were nothing. Granted, a human, a dog, and a cat on a small boat among the empress that was the ocean was nothing. Your boat lurched, the slippery surface making you slip and grab one of the anchored ropes.

How were you supposed to catch a Kracken in this weather? You couldn't see through the water falling over your face and the wind blowing you back. You clutched the rope until it burned in your grip.

Your stomach churned from the violent waves as your ship tilted, being swatted towards the portside. You shrieked, holding fast to the rope, as the Kraken's tentacles lurched onto the ship's side, rising like a demon out of the dark. Its large eye focused on you, black and without expression as if it had no soul.

Hearing your shriek, your dog and cat, loyal companions who refused to get off the ship after you packed, latched on to the nearest tentacle, biting the threat. The Kraken's eye did not move as it lifted your beloved companions in the air, uncaring as they thrashed far above your head.

"Hey!" you shouted, desperately looking around for a weapon but finding none suitable for taking down the massive creature. "Put them down, please! It's not their fault! They were protecting me!" You raced to the starboard side, shoving at the tentacle that lay there, sobbing as you watched your cat and dog soar higher and higher. "It's not our fault! The god sent us!"

The Kracken paused, considering you for a moment. Suddenly, the tentacle under your hand wrapped around your body, launching you into its line of sight.

"The god sent you?" The Kraken's voice filled your head, judging you and your tiny ship.

You nodded, swallowing bile, before telling the Kraken of your unavoidable task. You didn't know why. Perhaps you hoped it would be enough to reason with it, maybe even bringing the Kraken to the island with your message instead of dying.

Roll: 8

[nomtterwhere]

silent treatment || marco peña x reader

request: @mansaaay requested “Jealous or mad marco which leads to silent treatment?”

summary: a friendly game on a rainy day gone bad

warnings: not much, gets a little spicy towards the end, but no smut

word count: 2203

you and marco are in his room, you sitting in the chair at his desk and him sitting up on his bed. you had planned on going to the river today to have a picnic, but when you woke up that morning it was downpouring. it was supposed to rain for a while, so the two of you had just been hanging out at marco’s house, trying to figure out ways to keep yourselves occupied until it stopped.

“time!” you call out as the timer on your phone went off.

you open your eyes and look at your picture, laughing out loud.

“marco, i am genuinely so sorry about this.” you manage through your laughter.

“oh god, not again.”

one of the games you had come up with was like pictionary, except harder. each of you picked a card with an object on it and you had to draw a picture of that object with your eyes closed in thirty seconds. then you showed it to each other and if the other person could guess what it was, they got a point.

the game had proven to be harder than you had originally thought, considering you have been playing for almost an hour and the score was only 3 to 5. (a lot of that time was spent guessing and then fighting over who got the point) you were winning, of course.

you hold yours up and marco’s eyes widen. “um...” he tilts his head, as if that’ll help. “a sailboat?”

you shake your head, turning the paper and looking at it yourself. “are you kidding me? that looks nothing like a sailboat.”

“it doesn’t look like much of anything!” he exclaims. “hang on, bring it here.”

you get up and walk over to his bed, sitting cross legged in front of him and hold out the picture to him.

he takes it from you, holding it closer and starts laughing. “y/n, what the actual hell.”

you feign offense even though you knew it was terrible. “i did my best! come on, you have two more guesses, make good use of them.”

“okay,” he squints. “is it a plane?”

you give him a look. “are you even trying?”

“i am! it’s not my fault you suck at drawing!” he ducks as you swing a pillow at his head and gives you a smile.

“okay, okay.” he lays the paper down in front of him and studies it, his hands folded underneath his chin.

you roll your eyes, knowing he was only doing so to mock you.

“a car!” he says, looking up at you.

you shake your head, holding up your card. “it’s a tractor!” you take your picture from him, holding it up. “see, these are the wheels and see how the front is bigger than the back? i really don’t see how you got sailboat from this.”

“why is that even an option?” marco complains. “car, tractor, is there really a difference? they both have wheels.”

you softly pat his cheek. “don’t be a sore loser. now come on, let’s see yours.”

he groans. “mine is too easy.” but he hands it over nonetheless.

you smile, looking at the obvious depiction on the piece of paper. “a dog!”

“absolutely unfair. how come you get to guess all the easy ones and i get ones like tractor and velociraptor?”

you laugh at him. “because the universe knows what it wants. and what it wants is for me to win.”

“or because you’re cheating.” he says, raising an eyebrow.

you let out a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over your heart. “how dare you accuse me of such a crime? i would never.”

“you know, now that i think about it. you were the one to pick the cards for each round.” marco speculates, collecting the sheets of paper spread out on his bed.

he walks over to the trash bin in his room, dumping the papers inside.

“i hope you’re going to put those in the recycling bin later.” you say as he comes back over to you.

“yes, of course. i just don’t feel like going downstairs right now.” he wraps his arms around your waist and wiggles his way into your embrace.

you lean back on the bed, adjusting so his body was on top of yours, your arms around his shoulders.

he buried his head in your stomach, placing soft kisses on the exposed skin from where your shirt had ridden up.

you ran your fingers along his bare back, tracing a random pattern as you went. every once in a while, you would lightly scratch his skin, then gently rub it with your thumb and listen as he sighed against your stomach.

“you wanna play another round?” you say after a while.

“are you gonna cheat this time?” marco’s response came muffled.

you run a hand through his hair, tugging slightly. “you can pick out the cards for us if it’ll make you feel better.”

he picks his head up with a grin. “then let’s do it.” he reaches up and you lean down, giving him a quick kiss.

he whines when you pull away and tightens his arms around your center.

“i’m gonna need a longer kiss than that if you want to get up.” he closes his eyes again.

you laugh, but cup his cheeks and bring him in for a longer kiss. he hums against your lips, clearly pleased as he slips his tongue in. your mouths moved together in a familiar rhythm, slowly, as if trying to memorize each other. and you get that feeling you always do when you kiss him, a constant reminder of how much you love him. that is, until:

“still a cheater.” he mumbles against your lips.

“oh, shut up.” you push at his shoulders until he releases you, falling into his back beside you as he laughs.

you get up and grab the box with the object cards on them, bringing it over to marco.

“alright, let’s do this.” you toss it onto the bed.

“this is how someone who doesn’t cheat do it, for future reference.” he says, making a big show of putting a hand over his eyes and reaching into the box with his other arm.

he pulls out two cards and hands one to you with a grin.

“this is the last one. whoever wins this round wins the whole game.”

you watch as he sits up, glancing at his own card. “you’re just saying that because you’re losing.”

he looks up at you with a shrug. “whatever my reasons are, the terms still stand.”

you go back to his desk, grabbing a pen and two sheets of paper, handing marco one of the sheets. you decide to stay on the floor, not wanting to walk back to his desk.

“can you set the timer?” you situate yourself on the ground, laying in your stomach.

“yup.” marco’s voice came from above you.

you take this opportunity to finally glance at your card and grin when you see ‘giraffe.’ no matter how great you did, there was no way that was going to be the word that would pop into his head.

“okay, i’m ready!”

“alright...go!” he says and you close your eyes and start drawing.

and contrary to what others may think, you really did try. you thought you got the outline of the giraffe down and maybe messed up a little on the spots. but when the thirty seconds were up and you looked at your drawing, you couldn’t even tell if it was an animal.

you laugh aloud and marco groans, knowing what that sound means.

“you are definitely doing this on purpose, no one is this bad at drawing.” he says when he sees your finished product.

“hey! i tried really hard!” you defend your terrible drawing.

but he was right, it did look like you were cheating considering how awful the majority of your drawings came out.

marco shakes his head and looks up at you. “i have no idea, just tell me.”

you smile up at him from the floor. “you don’t even want to guess?”

guessing by the look he gave you, you were going to go with no.

“it’s a giraffe!”

he stares at you and then looks at your drawing, then back at you. “you’re kidding.”

“alright well let’s see yours then, picasso.” you hold out your hand for his drawing.

you study it for a moment, whatever it is, it’s big. he has one big circle as an outline and you could tell he tried to draw details inside of it but you couldn’t tell what they were supposed to be.

but you saw some squiggles drawn on the sides and assumed it was meant to be water so:

“a whale?” you guess and marco grins.

“nope.”

he looked so smug even though you still had two guesses left. and you were determined wipe that look of of his face.

you turn your attention a back to the picture, looking at the shape once again. it had to be something under water, unless those lines he drew were just to throw you off. you look at the circles drawn and realize they’re meant to be windows.

“is it a submarine?” you look up with a smile.

marco’s jaw drops and he grabs the paper from your hand.

“how on earth did you guess that? in what world does anyone ever guess submarine?”

you take the paper back from him. “uh, when the drawing looks like a submarine.” you hold up the drawing. “i win!”

“you cheated.” marco laid back down on his bed, folding an arm over his eyes.

“i did not. you even picked the cards, there was no way i could have known yours.” he didn’t respond. “marco?” still no response.

you stand up from the floor, gathering the papers you used and tossing them out. you look over at marco who is still laying on his bed, completely silent.

“so now you’re not talking to me?” nothing.

“you are such a child, you know that?” he only shifts of his bed.

“this is how children act. they don’t get their way and they throw a little fit just like this.” you gesture towards him.

he lifts his arm to glance at you for a moment and the places it back on his face, ignoring you once again.

you knew he could hold out for a while when he got like this, but you were already bored and wanted to be bored together. and you couldn’t do that if he was ignoring you. so you decided to speed up the process.

“marco.” you test the waters and he still doesn’t respond. “mar-co.” you sing song, walking towards the bed.

you sit next to him, leaning forward to try and peek underneath his arm. “marco, my love.”

he didn’t move but you saw the smile forming on his face and knew you were breaking him. so you take it a step further.

you get on top of him, straddling his waist and placing your hands on his bare chest. you trail your fingers down his chest, purposefully tracing his abs painstakingly slow.

marco lets out a groan, his hands move to grip your thighs, holding on to you tightly.

he opens his eyes and grins at you, shaking his head. “you play dirty.”

you drop a kiss on his chest. “according to you, it’s the only way i know how to play.”

he shakes his head and moves so he’s sitting up against his headboard, holding you in his lap. he leans forward, ducking his head into the crook of your neck.

“that’s because you were cheating. there is no reasonable excuse for how you messed up so much.” he says, as he trails his lips up and down your neck.

“i was blindfolded!” you say, then gasp as he nips at your skin.

one hand goes to the back his neck as he continues to tease your skin, a tingling feeling spreading through your body.

“yeah, so was i. and yet you managed to guess 7 of mine.” he murmurs and then looks at you, smiles, and kisses your lips.

he pulls you closer by the backs of your thighs, then moves his hands to your lower back, fingers creeping underneath your shirt.

you sigh as you feel his hand flatten against your bare back, then curl around to grab your waist. he squeezes lightly and you laugh into his mouth, your next kiss swallowing the sound.

“i’m still mad at you, you know.” he mumbles in between kisses.

you grin, pulling back for a moment. you rub your hands across his broad shoulders, watching as his eyes shut in relaxation.

“i’m sorry, baby. what can i do to make it up to you?”

his eyes open, and you can see them sparkle with mischief. he flips the two fo you over so he’s hovering above you and brings his lips right by your ear.

“oh, i have a few ideas.” he whispers before capturing your lips in another kiss.

alright, so maybe the silent treatment wasn’t such a bad thing...

taglist: @devilishdior @write-from-the-heart @shherlxck @minnyvees @lover1307 @sonnyalice @caro1115 @psg-for-life @mansaaay @thebookwormlife

[searchingwardrobes]

The Convenient Groom: 9/14

Here we are - the double date on Liam’s boat! Will Emma pass Liam's "test"? I know, the chapter count went up. I was originally going to put more in this chapter, but then I surpassed 3,000 words. Plus, I just felt like I hit the perfect sweet spot of a chapter ending. I also promised some green eyed jealousy a couple of chapters ago, but I ended up moving that to a different place in my outline. It felt like Emma and Killian needed to get closer before that could be believable. So let's commence with some hurt/comfort in this chapter, shall we?

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard​ .

Rating: M

Words: 3,500 and some change

Also on Ao3

Tagging:@snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @let-it-raines @teamhook​ @bethacaciakay​ @xhookswenchx​ @tiganasummertree @shireness-says​ @stahlop​ @scientificapricot​ @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @distant-rose @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules​ @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian​ @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan​

“Ask me another one,” Emma called out from the bathroom, her words garbled by the toothpaste in her mouth. The words were followed by the sound of her spitting into the sink, and Killian winced. Emma Swan was a mess - literally. She left dirty clothes all over her bedroom floor, left wet towels in a heap in the bathroom, had a bad habit of kicking off her shoes wherever she happened to sit down, and at this very moment he knew there was toothpaste flying all over the sink and the mirror above it.

And God help him, he loved her more now than he had when he first agreed to this charade.

“Okay,” he called back, clearing the emotion from his throat with a short cough, “port and starboard.”

Killian grabbed a bag of pretzels from the pantry and tossed them into the waterproof tote with the rest of their food. He could hear Emma gargling down the hall, then spitting again. He shook his head thinking of all the little splashes he’d soon have to scrub from the mirror.

“Um . . . okay, port is the . . . left side of the boat. Right - I mean, correct?”

“When facing which way?” He turned to the fridge as he spoke, gathering up a six pack of sodas and another of beer.

“Facing . . . the bow. Which is the front of the boat?” Her face was scrunched up in a hesitant expression as she walked into the kitchen, her arms above her head as she twisted her hair up into a messy bun.

An adorable hesitant expression.

“Good job, love!”

Emma beamed even as she gave him a nonchalant shrug. “So that means starboard is the right side of the boat when you’re facing the bow.”

“You got it!”

“I don’t know . . . “ she trailed off hesitantly. “Ask me another one?”

Killian closed the lid on the cooler and stepped close to her, resting both hands on her shoulders. “You’ll be fine. Liam isn’t going to be giving you a pop quiz.”

Emma arched both brows. “You sure about that?”

He couldn’t stop his jaw from clenching, but he forced a smile upon his face nevertheless. “It’ll be fine.”

“You sound so convincing,” Emma muttered as she slipped into a pair of flip flops that she had kicked off underneath the coffee table.

“I wouldn’t wear those.”

“Why not?”

“They aren’t safe for the boat, plus you could easily lose them in the water.”

Emma sighed like a teenager. “Fine, I’ll wear my BOBS.”

She shuffled down the hall, and Killian shook his head. Her voice floated back to him with a muffled sound, and he could hear a clunking sound as shoes hit the floor.

“Ummm, Killian! Have you seen my BOBS? The navy ones?”

“The back porch, love!”

Emma scurried past him as he hoisted up the tote and the cooler. He followed her out the back door, and Emma grabbed his bicep as she hopped into one shoe and then the other.

“How did I ever find my shoes without you?” she asked him with an innocent smile.

She turned away from him to snap Smee’s leash onto his collar and then grab the second tote filled with their towels and sunscreen. Killian felt frozen in place at her words, though he knew she meant nothing by them. He watched her jog down the back steps, the sea breeze tugging at her hair, and smiles for the dog whose tail wagged in adoration at the newest member of the household. The only thing he could think was that he would gladly spend the rest of his life helping Emma Swan find her shoes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma felt slightly dizzy, her stomach churned a bit, and she wasn’t even on the boat yet. She was tough and adaptable, so she wasn’t really worried about not having sea legs. The nerves in her stomach were all about the captain of this vessel - a very overprotective and suspicious big brother named Liam Jones.

She would feel a lot better if she and Killian had been able to take the Jolly Roger out a few times before today. But between work and several July thunderstorms, it had never happened. Oh, and there was the one Sunday that her menstrual cramps had her in the fetal position with a heating pad. Oh well, there wasn’t anything she could do about it now but hope that sailing101.com was sufficient to pass Liam’s test because despite what Killian claimed, that’s what this was - a test.

The August sun was so hot and bright that Emma squinted even behind her sunglasses. She looked over at Killian’s boat which was sleeker and smaller. It was also a sailboat as opposed to the trawler motor boat that Liam owned. Emma would have called it a yacht before sailing101.com, a mistake Killian assured her would not have gone over well with his brother.

It sure looked like a yacht to her.

“Ready to come aboard?”

Emma tilted her head up. Liam stood at the boat’s edge with his hand out to help her up. She chewed on her lower lip as she eyed the edge of the dock nervously. She’d sort of been expecting a ramp or something, and that looked like a pretty big gap she had to cross. Thankfully, Killian appeared at her side and put one hand firmly at her waist and the other at her elbow. She tried not to wobble as the brothers helped her onto the boat. Smee jumped up without preamble after her, and she had to grasp the railing as the dog almost knocked her off her feet.

“We’re so excited you’re here!” Elsa exclaimed as she hurried down from the boat’s upper level. Emma felt herself relax slightly as the other woman embraced her. “Here, let me take that,” she continued, reaching for the bag looped around Emma’s shoulder.

Elsa took Emma to the bow off the ship where there were comfortable padded benches for sunbathing. She lifted one to reveal a storage area and tucked their swimming gear inside. Smee came bounding up, sniffing at the opposite bench.

“Oh no you don’t,” Elsa laughed, “that’s not for you.”

She pulled Smee away by the back of his doggie life vest, which Emma couldn’t deny was adorable in a funny sort of way.

“I’m guessing there are treats in there?” Emma asked. “Of the human variety?”

Elsa nodded. “There’s a cooler in there with drinks and a tote with munchies. There’s a kitchen in the cabin, and all the lunch stuff is in there, but it’s nice to have snacks up here.”

“Where are Anna and Kristoff?”

“Oh, Anna hasn’t exactly been a fan of the boat since she got pregnant. I don’t know if it’s physical or psychological, though. The day she put two and two together was on the boat. She never gets seasick or motion sick of any kind, but that day she spent most of her time bent over the railing.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

Elsa laughed. “Agreed.” She plopped down on the padded seat and patted the spot next to her. “Relax, Emma, and enjoy the sun.”

Emma glanced nervously over her shoulder. Killian was untying the ropes from the dock while Liam steered the boat and shouted instructions.

“Should we be helping?”

Elsa shook her head. “Those two enjoy pretending they’re sailing the seven seas. I only help Liam when it’s just the two of us.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s the only time I want to strangle the man. He takes being captain way too seriously.”

Emma sank down onto the seat next to her. “Then I’m glad we could come along.”

“You have no idea!” She glanced up at her husband, then leaned closer to Emma and lowered her voice. “And don’t take Liam’s gruffness too seriously. He’ll figure out how good you are for Killian sooner rather than later. Admitting it, however, may take a bit longer. If you haven’t noticed, stubbornness runs in the family.”

Emma shrugged her shoulders. “That’s okay, I’m pretty stubborn myself.”

Elsa grinned as she reached over and fished two beers out of the cooler. “So am I, Emma. Liam needed someone stubborn to put him in his place.” She handed one of the beers to Emma. “So here’s to stubborn Jones wives.”

Emma grinned back as she clinked her bottle with Elsa’s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma reached into the mini fridge in the boat’s small kitchen and pulled out a bottle of water. She then pressed the cold plastic first to her forehead, then both cheeks. Her hand trembled slightly, and she took several deep, slow breaths. Everything had been fine at first. She’d enjoyed drinks at the bow with Elsa, talking and laughing together. The sea breeze in their hair and the sun on their faces had been exhilarating. The men had stayed by the controls talking about whatever boat lovers talked about as they skimmed over the waves.

After laying anchor, the four of them had jumped into the water. Emma had tired out more quickly than was normal for her, but she still had a great time. The ocean water was a pleasant and refreshing change after all of the sun. She’d gotten out and toweled off before anyone else, and she had braced herself for criticism from Liam. Surprisingly, it never came.

It wasn’t until lunch that Emma felt that churning in her stomach again. She thought at first she just needed air and had convinced everyone to take lunch up on the bow. It had helped, even though her stomach had still protested a bit at the food. She’d ended up nibbling at her sandwich and only grabbing three or four grapes. Luckily, everyone was so busy talking, no one really noticed her lack of appetite.

Emma leaned over the sink to steady herself as the boat swayed a bit more than it had been a moment ago. She unfortunately didn’t hear Killian making his way below until it was too late.

“Are you okay, love?” he asked with concern as he came up behind her. He placed his hand on the middle of her back and started to rub gently.

“I’m fine.”

“You look pale, Swan, maybe we should head back to shore a bit early.”

“You know we can’t do that,” she hissed under her breath.

“If you’re not feeling well, I really don’t give a shit about what my brother thinks.”

Emma straightened and pushed her hair back from her forehead. “Well I do. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. Besides, I’ll be fine. I took some Dramamine with my lunch when no one was looking.”

Killian’s face was still lined with concern but he nodded. “Okay, but if you don’t get any better, let me know.”

Emma fanned her face. “I think I need some air.”

She rushed for the ladder to get back up above, her stomach lurching and heat flaming along her cheeks. Things didn’t improve once the cool ocean breeze hit her face. If anything, her equilibrium was even worse on deck, and she knew immediately that what little she’d eaten at lunch was about to come back up. She ignored Elsa’s concerned inquiries and raced to the railing. She leaned as far over as she could, retching violently. She moaned, her arms shaking as she continued to vomit.

“Killian, get up here,” Elsa shouted below. She rushed over to Emma’s side and rubbed her back much like Killian had done. Emma moaned again, this time in embarrassment. At least she’d worn her hair up so she wasn’t vomiting in her hair.

Killian was at her side quickly, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead. She pushed him away, not because she wasn’t touched by his kindness, but because she was retching again. God, she hadn’t eaten that much today. How could she still be puking?

“Motion sickness,” Liam said flatly, “well, that’s strange. I thought you said you two were out on the water all the time?”

“Shut your trap, Liam before I shut it for you,” Killian growled, “and this seems way too severe to be motion sickness.”

“Maybe you’re pregnant,” Elsa teased.

That only made Emma dry heave until she remembered her period from two weeks ago. God, that would suck if she was knocked up by Walsh. Emma reached out a shaky hand for the cool cloth Killian had brought her and used it to wipe her mouth.

“I think it’s passed,” she whispered, her strength completely drained. If Elsa and Killian hadn’t been there, she would have collapsed to the deck. Blessedly, Liam had already moved to pull up the anchor. She couldn’t help a whimper escaping when she thought about how long they had sailed before stopping. All she wanted was her bed.

“Would you feel better up here or down below?” Killian asked her.

“Up here I think. The breeze helps.”

Elsa helped her to the benches on the bow while Killian assisted his brother in preparing the boat for the return trip. Emma laid out on the bench with the damp cloth over her eyes. She must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing she knew, Killian was gently shaking her.

“Emma,” he said softly. He pressed a hand to her forehead, then gasped. “Darling, you’re burning up!”

The next thing Emma knew, Killian had scooped her up into his arms. The sun made her head pound, so she closed her eyes and pressed her face into Killian’s collarbone. She could hear Smee’s excited breathing and the tinkling of his tags as he bounded around Killian’s legs. Despite the dog and the unsteadiness of the boat, Killian carried her smoothly to the deck. He didn’t seem winded in the least as he headed across the sandy path to their house, nor did his arms shake beneath her weight. She wasn’t really surprised at his strength and stamina considering he spent all day doing physical labor. What surprised her was how much she liked it. She let herself relax against his warm chest, telling herself it was just because she was sick.

Sooner than she had expected, she heard the screen door squeak open.

“We’re home,” she whispered thankfully.

“I should have done this sooner,” Killian told her as he shifted her weight so he could open the kitchen door.

“Do what?” she asked, looking up into his face.

He grinned down at her. “Carry you over the threshold.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she turned her face into the crook of his neck. He smelled like a mixture of sea salt, sunscreen, and sweat. It was a great smell. Yankee Candle Company would make a fortune if they made that into a candle. The sexy sailor candle. Emma chuckled into Killian’s skin.

“What’s so funny, love?”

“Nothing.” He started to carry her to the bedroom. “No, the couch.”

“I can’t let you do that, Swan, you’re sick.”

“But the tv will take my mind off feeling like shit.”

Her logic seemed to satisfy him, and he turned around and deposited her gently onto the couch. He covered her with a blanket and handed her the remote. Emma leaned back on the pillows, thankful to be off the boat, even though her stomach still rolled like the waves.

Killian returned with a thermometer in his hand and a pot under his arm. He set the pot in Emma’s lap. “This is for if you get sick and don’t think you can make it to the bathroom.”

Emma looked first at the pot, then back up at him. “Please tell me you don’t cook with this.”

He chuckled and palmed the back of his neck. “Um, no, it’s the puke pot.”

“Puke pot?”

“I know, it sounds disgusting. When Liam and I were kids, our mom bought a dirt cheap soup pot at a discount store for when we got sick. It got dubbed the puke pot.”

Emma wrinkled her nose and looked down into the empty pot. “You don’t keep this in the kitchen, do you? Like, I don’t want to accidentally make pasta in the puke pot.”

“Of course not, love, I keep it under the sink in the bathroom.”

“Thank God,” she muttered.

Over the next forty-eight hours, Emma would come to understand the beauty of the puke pot. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever been so violently sick in all her life, and not having to leave the couch when the nausea hit was a blessing. There was also something about being able to grasp the handles as she hugged it to her chest. She just felt awful for Killian, who had to clean it. Awful and humiliated.

She kept telling him how sorry she was. She apologized when he held her hair back while she retched. She apologized when he pressed cool cloths to her forehead. She apologized every time he helped her sit up and sip Gatorade. He kept telling her she had no reason to be sorry, but she kept saying it anyway.

Killian never left the house once in forty-eight hours. He was always there when she needed him. She’d never had anyone take care of her like that before, and on the second evening, as he pressed yet another cool cloth to her forehead, she suddenly began to cry.

“Are you alright?” he asked in alarm, pressing the back of his hand to each of her cheeks to check for a fever.

“Why are you doing this?”

His brow furrowed. “We’re married.”

“Not really.”

“Emma, listen to me,” he said, his voice serious, “regardless of what our relationship is

or isn’t, I care about you. I won’t stand by and watch you suffer alone.”

Emma nodded, unsure how to respond to his sincerity. As she so often did, Emma deflected by changing the subject.

“So, um . . . I’ve been wondering. You and Liam have British accents, but you said mom and you called it a puke pot. Aren’t those American words?”

Killian gave a soft laugh and nodded his head. “Aye, they are. My mother was American. Dad hated some of the American words we picked up from her. Puke being the worst, in his opinion.”

“Well, puke pot does have nice alliteration.”

He laughed even harder at that. “Yes, it does.”

She searched his eyes, and realized how much she wanted to ask him about his childhood. He spoke of his mother with affection in the rare moments he mentioned her. His father, on the other hand, rarely came up. Yet asking him about that opened the door to questions on her beginnings, and she wasn’t sure she was ready.

“Thank you,” she finally said, “for taking care of me.”

He brushed a strand of hair gently away from her damp forehead. “I’ll accept a thank you, but no more of this I’m sorry business, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered softly. She buried herself in the blanket he had brought her earlier, her stomach settling just enough so that she hopefully could sleep. Killian took the pot off her lap and set it within reach on the coffee table. Then he tucked the blanket under her chin before flipping off the lights. As she drifted off, her last thought was that a girl could get used to this.

Whatever virus Emma had caught was evidently a 48 hour bug, because the next morning she woke up with an appetite for the first time since before the trip on the Jewel. Killian shooed her out of the kitchen, however, reminding her that she was still weak. When he brought her breakfast, it was plain toast and more Gatorade. She pouted up at him.

“Dry toast? Can I at least have a bagel?”

He frowned down at her, his arms crossed at his chest. “You need to ease slowly back into eating, Swan. Just see if you keep that down okay, and we’ll go from there.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, reaching for the remote. She had rescheduled all of her sessions for the rest of the week, wanting to be sure she wasn’t contagious. She was relieved since her short walk to the kitchen and back to the couch had left her surprisingly winded.

Killian came back in with a mug of coffee in his hands. The smell of it made her crave some, but she doubted Killian would go for that. “So,” he said after taking a sip, “would you be alright on your own here today?”

“Absolutely,” Emma said as she nibbled on her toast, “I feel so much better - you have no idea. And I know you’ve got to be behind on work at the shop.”

“Good,” he told her with a genuine smile, but then he narrowed his eyes at her. “Can I trust you to take it easy and not to eat anything heavy?”

“Yes, Dad,” she assured him with a roll of her eyes.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m off then.”

He bent and brushed a kiss to her cheek before heading out the door. It wasn’t until he was already gone that Emma dropped her toast, paused the episode of Gilmore Girls, and cried out, “What the hell was that?”

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Call of the Blood

The morning light shined through the window and sparkled in Meixiu’s earrings. She sat at the vanity while Chu Zihang, laying in his pajamas, split his attention between watching her and reading the morning newspaper.

“So, today’s the meeting.” He hummed.

“Mmhm!” Meixiu said brightly. She turned to him, her shining smooth braids partially coiled up on her head. “Jealous?”

Zihang didn’t look up, turning the page. “No. I’m... more curious than anything.”

“In any other context, that would sound unfeeling. Most men would have objections to the love of their life dressing up and heading out to meet with another man.”

“I don’t forget that you’re only half human. I’m not Caesar.” He his golden eyes met her deep brown ones. “The effect of dragonblood on hybrid social relations is something I’ve always been interested in. How do hybrids fall in love...You say that he means something to you, I mean something to you... and you still won’t tell me what you do when you visit Lu Mingfei. Just what is love to a hybrid with blood as pure as yours?”

“So you want to study me?” Meixiu folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin, smiling.

Zihang looked her up and down, from her smooth brown legs, up to her small chest and her athletic arms and shoulders. “Always.”

She glanced away, her cheeks growing a little darker. “Flirt.”

“I’m serious. I’m not the only one. It’s actually poorly studied....”

“Shhhh... don’t ruin it!” She stood up. “I don’t know when I will be back. I don’t know what he wants to talk about.”

“I have a few guesses.” Zihang turned back to his newspaper. “You’re the unpredictable one.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way home. But my phone will be off.”

She turned and walked away. Zihang watched her go.

She didn’t take the car, stepping out onto the street. The distance from her Chicago townhouse to the lakeside was substantial, but the energy afforded her by her dragon blood made the distance not so daunting and would give her a chance to think. Without a mission, without the school, without danger, Meixiu just liked being another person on the street, observing other people.

She watched people as they sat with a sign, begging for handouts, or pushing strollers, walking dogs. Everyone had their own life routine but in the end it was all the same -- gather money to buy necessities.

The summer air of the city was heavy with humidity. As she continued to walk, a sheen of sweat appeared on her bare skin. She started to notice that she was being stared at, being followed by a pale skinned man with some brown stubble.   .

“Hey baby. Where you goin’?”

She honored the creep’s eying her with a confident yet challenging smile. There was a time when she would have been afraid of people like him. But by now, she was accustomed to being viewed as a golden apple by far more dangerous people.

Meixiu, like many hybrids, had her genetics to thank for being outside the money making machine. Her genetics were so stable and contained so much dragon DNA that she was sought after the same way a purebred champion showhorse was sought after -- for breeding.

A man, an evil man, paid millions of dollars for just for a few of her egg cells. She was nothing but an object to him and so were her children. Strange how, at that time, she had never felt so valuable and yet so worthless.

The man following her had no idea. He hung back, his lustful stare fixed on her. Perhaps he was waiting for her to turn into an alley or an opportunity to grab her and assault her. She made a wager with herself. She still had two miles to walk. She would see if he could follow her halfway. After all, there was that whole method of walking to hunt after prey and tire them out that ancient hunters used in the wild lands.

She smiled to herself. He had no idea he was following a little Energizer bunny.

She stopped at a crosswalk and he stood far too close to her. He looked around. Was he feeling guilty? Checking for cops? Or was he looking for other creepers to warn them off his chosen prey? “If I googled Crimestoppers, will your name come up?” She asked.

He didn’t answer.

She looked up at him, silently laughing at him behind her eyes while he pretended he totally wasn’t doing what he was doing.

Much to Meixiu’s disappointment, he didn’t follow her across the street. At least when he was accosting her, he wasn’t bothering a weaker person. Maybe he thought that she could be a cop? She puffed out her cheeks, weirded out by her own feelings. Without the creeper, she suddenly felt a little bored and annoyed.

It had been ages since she had felt any sense of danger. After running for her life and fighting to survive, even the slight thrill of a creeper following her brought back that familiar adrenaline.

Eventually, the dark water of the lake over took the city horizon. Greenspace and parks and the cool moist wind breathed life into the concrete jungle. White spires of sailboats cruised like swans behind the thick nautical ropes that blocked off the jogging trail from the riprap.

As soon as she arrived at the water’s edge, she was joined by a tall figure. She turned her head up to look at him and grinned. “Hey there stranger.”

Chisei Gen removed his sunglasses. His skin was a little darker, a sign that he was truly living his dream on French beaches, but he still had the same serious air. He was wearing his dark black windbreaker. He turned to look down her at her. And then he smiled back.

“There was a time...” He said, quietly. “When you would have cowered in terror of me. And now you greet me like this? I still can’t get used to it.”

“You should visit more often then.” Meixiu leaned against the ropes.  “When you called me out of the blue, I thought someone died.”

“You didn’t tell anyone I was here?”

“Of course not. But you know I can’t hide anything from Zihang. He’s the only one who knows. So... that means you can come for dinner!”

Chisei was silent a moment. Zihang and Chisei weren’t the closest of friends - that honor went to Gattuso - but Zihang had a pleasant open minded curiosity and innocence to him that she knew he found refreshing.

There was nothing cynical or jaded about Chu Zihang.

“I’m afraid I must decline. I have to remain separate from the secret party for the safety of the world.”

“You’re not a threat to the world, Chisei. You protected it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree, but that shouldn’t surprise you by now.”

Meixiu swallowed her disappointment. The rise of a bloodline of superhybrids, those who could over come the blood threshold and keep their sanity, could easily become the rulers of the world and dominate all hybrids with an iron fist. She knew that Chisei would never do that. But what about his children?

His grandchildren? His great-grand children?

As far as Chisei was concerned, he was a monster who needed to go extinct.

She sighed. “So what brought you all the way down here? What’s going on?”

“That’s what I’ve come here to ask. Your research into a treatment for the unstable is bearing fruit. Attacks by unstable hybrids and sightings of deadpool are at their lowest ever recorded.”

“Chime contacted me to tell me that for the first time, he’s had less than a dozen new students at his school for the unstable. And yet, the Devil Clan members still produce unstable children. It’s like... they’re disappearing.” His eyes took on a hard stony edge. “I want the truth, Meixiu...”

“If you’re thinking you’re going to dig under the Cassell college and find a Deadpool spawning tank, I can assure you that’s not the case.”

“No, I’m thinking something far worse.”

Meixiu’s hands tightened on the rope and then relaxed. “I’m not Herzog. What are you implying?”

“Everyone knows that Deadpool and unstable hybrids turn into servants of dragons. Everyone knows of your high level dragonblood. You look sane, you look healthy... but the call of the dragon will be more powerful to you than to anyone else.”

Meixiu felt her pulse start to race. “The Executive Department has not detected a dragon heartbeat in years.”

“Strange that.” Chisei continue to stare at her. “I used to lead the Executive Department in Japan. I know how deadpool work. Cassell has a higher level search network than Kaguya, but suddenly their searches come up empty? It was too strange for me to ignore.”

“So I took matters into my own hands. I’m sorry, Meixiu. But I followed one of the hybrids that failed in her rehabilitation. She got on a boat, heading towards an island owned by Cassell. So I asked Kaguya to... discreetly look into it... and Tsukino Usagi was active there.”

Tsukino Usagi - the location spoofing program that was a sister program of Kaguya. It was built to provide a hiding place from EVA by providing her with endless supplies of false data. It created a false impression of what was really going on in an area. Like a digital Nibelungen.

“Why would a program designed to hide from EVA be over an island owned by Cassell?”

“Not everyone at Cassell agrees with what I’m doing. Not everyone at the Secret Party agrees. But Chisei, you agreed. You wanted the violence to stop! We’re still working on a replacement serum for Bondarev and Herzog’s recipe. We have to keep that research protected, even from the Secret Party and Cassell.”

“That’s all?” Chisei asked.

“Yes, that’s all.” Meixiu sighed.

“So my next question... What are you going to do when these over-threshold hybrids hear the next dragon heartbeat? They will immediately fall away to the dragon side in large numbers. Aren’t we providing an army for the King of Sky and Wind?”

“I have a contingency. We’re continually refining EX-Imperium, the voice of the Dark King. No deadpool can resist it. They’ll have no choice but to stand down once it’s unleashed. The runic copy we use for the E3 exam to awaken dragonblood is too weak to be effective, but we’re getting closer to an exact copy that can be used as a suppressor.”

Chisei was silent for a long time. Meixiu closed her eyes and let the breeze caress her face and the sound of the water lapping on the rocks soothe her nerves.

“Where are you getting the fetal blood necessary for the serum if not from a deadpool spawning tank?”

Meixiu’s shoulders sagged. “Stop asking me that. I can’t tell you. I’m working on a replacement. When I succeed, you’ll be the first to know. The first.”

She finally lifted her eyes to look at him. His soft sad gaze hurt her deeper than the hard edge. Meixiu knew he wouldn’t approve of what she was doing. She never said there wasn’t a spawning pool... just that it wasn’t under Cassell.

“I just don’t want us to end up on the opposite side of this war. I can feel it. You’re straying dangerously close to the edge.” He murmured.

“I was born for this.”

His eyebrows quirked upward, questioning.

“There was a prophecy about me.” She explained. “That I would stand on the threshold between the world of man and the world of dragons.”

“Who said this prophecy?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Chisei chuckled and looked away out over the water. “Of course not.”

She rocked on her heels. “So you’re right. I’m on the edge. I’ll stay on the edge. It’s nerve-wracking. And I’m sorry.” She followed his gaze. “By the way, you put that coat on in the heat of summer. You look like a vampire.”

The wind toyed with the edges of his black windbreaker, revealing the Ukiyo-E pattern. “I felt like it was appropriate. I’m not part of the Hydra any more, but this felt too much like a mission for me to resist.”

“But you don’t have Spider Fang with you.”

“I don’t.”

“What were you planning to do without a weapon?”

Chisei sighed deeply. “Given what I knew, I had to come talk to you.”

Meixiu huffed with laughter. “You ain’t gonna do nothin’.”

“I had you going for a second there though, right?”

“You’re a punk!” She turned, giving him a playful punch in the arm. She turned around and leaned her back against the ropes. “Come to dinner. Please?”

“I cannot.” He put his dark glasses back on. “Give my regards to your husband.”

He turned and began to walk away. Meixiu watched his figure grow smaller and smaller, shrinking down to a tiny dot before getting swallowed up by the waves of heat rising up from the Chicago asphalt. She folded her hands in front of her.

She lowered her eyes. She wished she could tell him everything. He’d come very close to the truth. But the truth was unimaginable.

The questions he’d asked... had she fallen to the dragon side? Was she a deadpool, manipulated by dragons without knowing it?

“Meixiu...”

She startled and turned. “Zihang! You followed me?” She stomped her foot. “Oh... why can’t you trust me for one second?”

He was standing in a simple button down shirt and jeans. A gym bag was slung across his back. It looked like he was just going to the tennis court, but what was in the bag was his swords. “I trust you. It’s him...”

“You really are jealous...” Her voice trailed off. “Did he see you?”

“Eventually.” Zihang’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Ugh.” She folded her arms and looked away, annoyed at his protective interference. “I did want him to come to dinner and you go and pull that stunt...”

“You were really scared for a reason. Despite his claims of neutrality, he still has a strong sense of his view of right and wrong and has a hard time tolerating anything he views as wrong.” He offered her his hand. “Scale of 1 to 10... how close was he to the truth?”

Meixiu chewed her lip. “I’m not going to answer that...” She took his hand. “Stop asking questions.”

“Alright.” He rubbed his chin with his free hand. “Your lack of an answer says enough.”

They walked side by side for a moment.

She was the one who broke the silence. “He wasn’t unarmed... was he?”

“He was.” Zihang’s eyes shifted upward far into the distant tall buildings.

On the top of one of them, a sniper had lain in wait. It wasn’t hard to find her and her partner. Meixiu insisted on coming alone and probably had assured Chisei that she would. So they weren’t expecting his swift and brutal attack and Chisei didn’t have a back up. With their weapon neatly sliced in half, he’d discovered the philosopher stone and mercury laced ammunition and confiscated it.

From one former executive department agent to another, he understood Chisei’s urge to take matters into his own hands that made her visit to him inherently dangerous.

Meixiu’s feelings were too important for him to openly interfere. That made things difficult. Their bond was precious to both of them, no matter how unbalanced and uneasy it was.  That was something he understood all too well.

His mind drifted back to Xia Mi and he forced it away.

So she would still be friends with him. He would still feel for her. But there would always been a blade within his sleeve.

Zihang would be her shield from it.

[scoffingatgravity]

Cousinly Contention

For EoA Appreciation Week’s Day 7 theme: royalty.

Summary: Pre-canon. Esteban visits Nueva Vista for the first time, and meets Cristóbal. Things do not go well. (I figured why not write something involving members of the royal family? Esteban and Elena are about 15 in this while Cristóbal is 14. In the painting we see of young Elena and Cristóbal, he seems a tad younger than her, and I headcanon Esteban and Elena as being born only a few weeks/months apart.)

The hurried introductions and welcome feast didn't leave much time for Esteban to properly meet Cristóbal, Elena's other cousin. Elena and Isabel spent the feast regaling Cristóbal about the happenings in Avalor while Uncle Raul talked business with his sister-in-law. Esteban picked at his food and only stopped when his abuela gave him a look of concern. He forced a smile and shook his head.

In what felt like forever but was surely under twenty minutes, Cristóbal asked his mother if the kids could be excused. He wanted to show off his family's sloops and take them on the deck of one for a closer look. After assurances that they'd be careful and take care of Isabel, all the adults gave their permission.

Esteban lagged behind his cousins and Cristóbal, who were all chattering happily. While Cristóbal had said "kids" and his abuelos encouraged him to go along with the others, he couldn't help but feel like a tagalong. He kicked a stone down the pavement and watched it bounce into a bush.

A tiny voice came from his side as a hand took his. "Esteban!"

Esteban jolted out of his self-deprecating thoughts and glanced down at Isabel. A genuine smile lit his face. "Hey, Isabel." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"You're walking too slow," the nine-year-old whined, "and Elena and Cristóbal are walking too fast."

"What would you like me to do about it?" Esteban grinned, already knowing what her answer would be.

Isabel lifted her arms into the air. "Carry me."

Esteban rolled his eyes and pretended to feel put out. "Ay, there it is! You only want to use me for my strength!" He brought his free hand up to his forehead and let out a dramatic gasp. "I'm wounded."

"No, you're not!" Isabel giggled. "Please, primo?"

Lowering his hand, Esteban looked down at Isabel and sighed. "Not the puppy dog eyes. Okay, fine, but only because I love you." He kept the grumpy act up for a second longer before laughing as he lifted Isabel up in his arms and setting her on his shoulders. "Let's catch up to the others!"

Isabel cheered. The two soon caught up to the others and fell in step behind them. Esteban didn't lower Isabel to the ground until they were stood in front of the docks and staring at the small fleet of sloops.

"One of my tutors taught me how to sail, so I could take us all out on the water if I want" Cristóbal boasted, chest puffing up in pride.

Elena's face split in a grin. "That would be so much fun! Esteban and Isabel both love sailing, right, guys?"

"I don't know." Isabel frowned. "We just got permission to look at the boats. No one said we could take one out."

"It'd just be a quick trip – one small loop, and we'd sail her back in," Cristóbal promised. "If we get trouble, I'll take the blame." His expression became cajoling. "Come on. What do you say?"

The three Flores cousins looked amongst themselves and, after a silent conversation, agreed to the idea. In minutes, the four had worked together to untie the sloop from the dock and pull up the anchor. Cristóbal took the helm, and the other three settled against the railing – Isabel sandwiched between Elena and Esteban.

"You know," Isabel began conversationally, "Esteban knows how to sail, too."

"Oh, yeah?" For the first time during their visit, Cristóbal turned his attention to Esteban.

Elena answered for him. "Yeah, Esteban and I mostly take the same lessons, so he's learned sailing, ballroom dancing, horsemanship – you name it."

Cristóbal nodded in acknowledgment. "Uncle Raul is generous to give your primo a royal education, and let him and your abuelos live at the palace."

Missing the note of condescension in his tone, Elena and Isabel voiced their agreement. Esteban, on the other hand, didn't, but he vowed not to disillusion his primas of their view of the other teen.

"Yes," he agreed, "Uncle Raul is a kind man."

Isabel quickly shifted the conversation to other matters and launched into a story about her latest invention.

Already knowing the story, Esteban kept his gaze fixed on the open water in front of them. Gentle waves lapped at the sides of the boat, and set it into a light rocking motion. A flash of something came from the path ahead of them, and Esteban squinted. It took him a few moments to recognize the mysterious object for what it was, and, when he did, he sprung into action.

"Watch out! Hippocampus!"

Distracted as he was by Isabel's story, Cristóbal didn't notice the baby hippocampus in danger of being mowed down by their sailboat or hear Esteban's cry.

Esteban didn't waste any time running over to the helm. He pushed Cristóbal's hands aside and directed the sloop away from the defenseless animal.

The sudden change in direction caused the boat to tilt sideways. Isabel clung to Elena, who latched onto the railing, and Esteban gripped the helm tight, but Cristóbal fell overboard. It took a moment longer for the boat to steady out, and for the other three to notice their fourth member missing from the deck.

Heart racing, Esteban stepped away from the helm and approached the railing closest to him. He peered down and looked for any trace of the other male. His search didn't take long, and he saw Cristóbal struggling to remain above water. "Hold on, Cristóbal! I'm coming!"

After pulling his boots off, Esteban dove into the water and began swimming in Cristóbal's direction. A few front crawls later, and he was in front of the other. "Cristóbal, wrap your arms around my shoulders. I'll swim us back," he instructed, raising his voice so the struggling teen could hear him.

Cristóbal obeyed without question, and, in less than two minutes, they were up against the side of the sloop.

"Elena, go get a rope, and throw it down to us!" Esteban called out. "Isabel, grab some blankets!"

Elena's voice came from the back of the boat. "Already on it!"

Working to keep Cristóbal up and swim in place, Esteban concentrated on his breathing and waited for his cousin throw down the rope.

"You…almost killed me…because you were trying to save a hippocampus?!" Cristóbal's voice rose an octave.

Esteban rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. If you'd listened when I shouted, we wouldn't be in this mess. You should pay more attention where you're sailing."

"Oh, yeah? Well, you may have a royal education and live with the royal family, but you're still a commoner – a charity case!"

The venomous words struck a nerve, and Esteban felt his blood boil

If Elena hadn't chose that moment to lower down the rope, Esteban wasn't sure what he'd have done. Jaw clenched tight, he shifted Cristóbal off his back and toward the rope. He watched the other climb up a couple feet, and then began his own ascent. Once on board the sloop again, he collapsed onto the deck in exhaustion.

Through slitted eyes, he stared as Elena and Isabel wrapped Cristóbal up in blankets and fussed over him. Cristóbal preened under the attention, and Esteban could hear him prattling on about his "near death" experience. The stream of chatter didn't cease until Cristóbal suddenly looked up with a faux sweet expression.

"Esteban, why don't you show us some more of your sailing expertise?"

Again, either his cousins didn't pick up on the veiled insults, or they chose to ignore it. With the boy's venomous words still ringing in his head, Esteban couldn't think straight. He grit his teeth and nodded. Steady hands guided the group back into the harbor, and the four made quick work of securing the sloop back to the dock.

By the time they returned to the palace, both boys were dry again, and the adults were none the wiser about the events that had occurred. Esteban swiftly excused himself from the proposed game night and claimed fatigue, but, when he retreated to his guest room, his mind was anything but tired. He kept turning over Cristóbal's words. Did his abuelos, Elena, Isabel, and his tio and tia really view him as a charity case? Was it pity that kept him in their lives instead of love?

Bile rose to his throat, and Esteban stifled a sob. He didn't sleep well that night, and, even after they returned to Avalor from Nueva Vista, he found that the question still haunted him. What haunted him further was that he discovered he didn't have an answer.

Links: FF.Net & AO3

[sailorsandseadogs]

Living in a Sailboat Tree House - Stuck on Dry Dock (March 14 -April 13, 2019)

Cabedelo, Brazil, South America

For the past several weeks, we have been stuck on dry dock in the shipyard at Marina Jacaré Village here in Cabedelo, Brazil. It feels so strange to be on the boat, but not in the water. Living on dry dock is like living in a tree house. It’s not easy. It’s not convenient. But like everything else we have experienced so far, it’s another adventure.

During the past month, I took a two-week break and headed to our land home in Gulf Shores, Alabama, U.S.A. to work a little and visit with family and friends. I had not been home since before we set sail on this journey seven months ago.

Meanwhile, in Brazil, Maik continued to work on at least eight major projects during this past month—all while living in our sailboat tree house. Most of these projects are still ongoing. Here is a recap of our last month in Cabedelo, Brazil and Alabama, USA.

Thursday, 14 March 2019

We continue to be completely inspired by the other sailors we meet and their stories. We have been in Cabedelo for so long we have seen many sailors come and go. I’ve said this many times, but it’s important to say it again—with sailors, it’s never goodbye. We always know that there is a chance we will see our sailing friends again somewhere in the world at some point. This will make even more sense if you read all of this logbook entry, as well as previous entries.

In my last blog, I mentioned our friends, Robin and Philemon, who recently sailed down to Patagonia on the southern tip of South America. They sailed around Cape Horn and then sailed for 40 straight days up to Cabedelo. They have a very cool steel ship, Bekwaipa. This is a French word that Robin learned from his grandmother. Loosely translated, it means “the opposite of not stable.”

We were walking by their boat on the pontoon while they were working outside on boat projects and invited us onboard for a tour. This is not a bright, shiny, or fancy boat. The green and white steel structure is covered in rust and in some parts of the cabin there are no walls, only open insulation. But this is a STABLE boat, so the name fits!  Their inside layout is similar to Seefalke. It has the appearance of being messy and cluttered, but it’s very organized for them. They have creative rigs everywhere, including a long board with their depth sounder attached to the end. They simply hang this off the back stern when they need to test the depth of the water. It’s simple and unsophisticated, but it works.

They have surfboards on board and look like typical vagabond surfer dudes. They are so cool and are living a cool, free lifestyle. They are making plans to head back home for a month and then return here to sail to the Azores next.

That evening we ate dinner at our favorite outdoor meat-stick truck and eventually drew a crowd. We were joined by Robin and Philemon, Sophie and Tobias, and Felix and Emeline. Everyone but Maik drank Caipirinhas (the official Brazilian cocktail) and talked for hours about the addiction of sailing and the sailing lifestyle. There is a unique and instant connection with other sailors who love this lifestyle.

Friday, 15 March 2019

Christoph surprised us at breakfast with our finished cockpit boards. They had all been sanded and oiled and look brand new!

Again, we worked all day in marina. This is a very open and social area for the sailors here. The washrooms and showers are here, as well as a small diner with a limited menu, and a laundry service operated by a sweet Brazilian woman, Annabella. Most important, there are tables for working, hammocks for relaxing, and a cool breeze that makes its way through the open-air breezeway. A few tents overhead provide shade and protection from the rain.

There is a library full of books that you can read while in the lobby, or you can “leave one and take one.” Books are available in just about every language. This is also where the office of the Harbor Master is located as well as access to the marina maintenance crew.

But most important, this is where all the sailors hang out to get relief from the heat and of course, to talk with other sailors. There is always upbeat music playing, which we have trained ourselves to tune out while working.

There are a couple of stray cats and one kitten that has been adopted by all the sailors and marina crew. These cats drive Cap’n Jack and Scout crazy. We generally bring the Seadogs with us into the lobby every day while we work so that they also can get a break from the extreme heat.

We met another cool sailing couple, Mer and Dan. Mer is French, and Dan is British. They have been in Brazil for three months and head toward French Guiana next. They are young, not sure their exact age, but I would guess mid-to-late 20s. They have an apartment in London that they rent out for what they call a “ridiculously obscene price” and use the money they make from the rental to support their cruising kitty. They have no other source of income, so they always stay at anchor, never eat out (only cook on the boat), and do 100% of their boat maintenance themselves. I still find it fascinating that if you want to sail the world, you can find a way financially.

At dinner that evening, Maik and I talked about how on land our international relationship seems completely crazy. How ridiculous it seems to have a relationship with one person who lives in the US and the other who lives in Germany. People have asked us for the past six years how we manage this, and it isn’t easy. I wouldn’t recommend this kind of long-distance relationship, although we found a way to make it work all these years. But at sea, it’s completely normal and common for relationships to exist without borders. And no one we meet in these many ports seems at all surprised when we tell them I am from America and Maik is from Germany. In fact, it’s rare to find couples cruising together who are from the same country.

Tuesday, 19 March 2019

We had a lazy bag made by Christoph that we were set to install on this day. It was Maik’s turn to strap on the bosun chair and make the climb up the main mast to the top of the crow’s nest to install the rigging.

A lazy bag is a device designed to wrap itself around the main sail with lines attached to the mast spreader, creating a bag to capture the main sail when the halyard is released. The sail drops right into the bag. In addition to looking really nice and clean and organized, this is a safety feature when we are at sea. We no longer will have to fight the sail that may be flapping in heavy conditions when we try to bring it down, nor will we have to hand tie it on the foredeck. The sail will simply drop into the bag, the sail will be contained, and then we zip up the bag when conditions allow.

Wednesday, 20 March 2019

We said goodbye, for now, to Robin and Philemon, who headed to Europe by plane for a month. They were so sweet and baked us homemade bread before they left.

That afternoon, I interviewed Emeline for one of the international pumping magazines for which I often contribute articles. She is a female engineer who sails six months of the year, and then works on an offshore rig the other six months of the year. She is among the 1% of female engineers for her company. She is at sea even when she and Felix are not sailing the world in their little monohull, Sea You. It’s a fascinating story that I will post for you once it’s published.

I spent the rest of the week making a list of supplies to find while in Alabama and preparing for my trip to our land home.

BACK IN THE GOOD OLE USA (March 24 – April 8, 2019)

I had not been back in Alabama since Thanksgiving, and I had not been to our apartment in Gulf Shores since I left with the pups to fly to Germany on July 30, 2018. Seven months is a long time to be away from home.

I had an early flight from Recife, which meant I needed to leave the marina at 04:30 with our taxi driver/friend Marco to make the 2-hour drive to the airport.

It felt strange being on an airplane. The 8-hour flight was ok, but I had a 14-hour layover in Orlando. It was an overnight layover, so I decided to take a cheap hotel near the airport and sleep during the layover. This made the 1.5-hour flight to Pensacola the next day manageable and helped me quickly shake any jet lag.

My dear friend, Michele, picked me up from the airport.  I planned to stay two nights with her and Doug while we had renters in our apartment in Gulf Shores. Maik had given me a long list of boat supplies to find while in the states that we couldn’t get in Brazil. Michele and I went on the hunt at WalMart and Lowe’s. Oh, how I have missed these great American super stores!

We filled her car with supplies and headed back to her house for a barbecue with more friends — Steve, Catherine, Jenny, Fritz, and of course, Doug (Michele’s boyfriend). We had a blast catching up! It’s so great to see my American friends again!

I made it to Gulf Shores on Monday morning and struggled a bit to settle in. It didn’t feel like home without Maik and the pups, but I immediately got busy on several projects after visiting with more friends—Trisha, Krista, and Tom.

One of my main tasks for the trip was to try to sell enough things in my offsite storage unit to move to a smaller, cheaper storage unit. I was able to easily sell tons of old furniture items on Facebook Marketplace and brought a few things back to the apartment to use there. During the two weeks stateside, I was able to accomplish moving from a 10 x 10 storage unit to a 5 x 10 unit, cutting my footprint and the monthly payment in half. I was able to use the money gained from the furniture sales for all the boat supplies I needed to purchase.

Meanwhile, I also sold my car to my friend Trisha—my cool VW Beetle Convertible.  I love this car, but it’s just sitting there all these months, so now I can save money on the payments and insurance. It was a huge expense each month, so this is a relief to be free of that. We still have our old beat-up Jimmy truck that we can drive while in Gulf Shores, and this is all we really need. We barely need one car right now, and we definitely don’t need two!

I struggled to find a good rhythm at home—especially at first. I was enjoying the long, hot showers and the unlimited supply of ICE, but I found it hard to concentrate on real work. I thought I would love being in the civilized world so much that maybe I wouldn’t want to return to Brazil, but this only made me want to get back to the boat more. I continued to realize that some of the creature comforts I always thought I couldn’t live without are just not that important to me anymore.

As the famous sailor, Robin Lee Graham, once said, “At sea, I learned how little a person needs, not how much.”

My amazing son, Bo, came to visit me for the weekend. It was fantastic to have some very high-quality one-on-one time with him. I miss my kids so much and this is the hardest part of being at sea!

Bo and I spent the weekend talking, catching up, and watching all the Oscar-nominated movies. This is our tradition. We do it every year and come up with our own opinions of who should have won the Academy Awards. We highly recommend BlackkKlansman and Green Book. They were our favorites over the weekend, but we also liked The Wife and The Favourite.

We also spent some time over the weekend cheering on our Auburn Tigers with our neighbors, Tom and Krista! Our team made it to the NCAA Final Four Basketball Tournament for the first time in history, but lost in the first round. It was cool to share the experience with other loyal Auburn fans and friends! War Eagle!!!!

During my second week home I got to spend a lovely dinner with friends/neighbors, Lynn and Mike, and then got a visit from my sis-in-law, Pam, and my niece, Allie, who drove all the way from Decatur to visit me for a couple days. We went to the beach and had a fabulous time together. We also went to Mobile and had dinner with my other sis-in-law, Dana, and my niece, Ashton, and nephew, Wells, at their restaurant, The Dumbwaiter.

It was fabulous seeing family, but I was devastated to not be able to spend any time with my parents or with my precious daughter, Shelby.

Time in Gulf Shores was productive and went by so fast. I loaded up three huge suitcases full of supplies for the boat, then headed back to Pensacola for another fun evening with Michele and Doug, and our friend, Shirley.

After an early flight out of Pensacola, I had another long layover in Orlando. This time it was 10.5 hours and during the day rather than overnight. I stayed at the airport and caught up on all the work I didn’t get done during my hometown visit.

BACK IN BRAZIL (April 9 – 14, 2019)

While I was in the U.S., Maik had moved Seefalke onto dry dock in the Marina Jacaré Village shipyard and had been extremely busy with repairs and upgrades.

As Marco drove me into the marina, I didn’t even recognize Seefalke. Her bright orange paint had been almost completely stripped from her hull and there were little bits of orange paint peelings all over the dirt ground in the shipyard.

Maik and the pups had gotten used to living on dry dock since the day after I left for the U.S., and I learned quickly what it’s like to live in a sailboat on dry land.

We have access to electricity and water, but we can’t use the head at all. There is a bathroom in the marina lobby, which is just a short walk from the shipyard, but it’s a major project to get in and out of the boat.

We have a swimming ladder attached to the back of the stern, but it’s not long enough to reach the ground while Seefalke is sitting on dry land. We have another traditional ladder leaned against Seefalke’s stern.  We climb a few steps on the regular ladder, then switch to the swimming ladder to climb the rest of the way to the top. On the way down, we use the swimming ladder then can switch to the regular ladder. We also have a huge oil can we can step onto on the way down. This system works, but it is especially inconvenient when I need to go to the potty in the middle of the night. But this is our situation at the moment.

As I mentioned earlier, living on dry dock is like living in a tree house!

Then, there is the issue of getting the Seadogs on and off the boat. Seefalke’s deck is about 3 meters (10 feet) off the ground. It would not be safe to try and carry Cap’n Jack and Scout up and down the ladder.

Maik used his engineering and seamanship skills to engineer a puppy crane for them. We strap them in their extraordinarily safe life vests, which have two handles on the top. Safety straps with D-rings connect the life vest handles to a line that is rigged with a block to the mizzen boom. Then we can simply lower them or raise them safely and securely with the well-designed puppy crane. They don’t seem to mind. Their tails are wagging the whole way. We posted a very cool video of this system for our Patrons. You can join our crew on Patreon for as little as $2 per month to get extra features like this.

ONGOING REPAIR AND UPGRADE PROJECTS

Paint Job

The paint job project is ongoing. At this point, we have scraped all the paint, sanded, and began the priming stages. Removing the paint is not as easy as it sounds as our ship had four decades of paint layers. Heavy rain delayed the project several days and continues to extend it.  Seefalke still needs several layers of primer, with sanding in between each layer, and then the bright orange paint.

Maik considered painting Seefalke a different color as he has never really loved the bright orange facade, but I wouldn’t let him. Her orange color is part of her character and personality. She was meant to be ORANGE!

After all that is finished, we will apply the coppercoat antifouling on Seefalke’s bottom and then give that coating a harsh sanding before putting her back in the water.

Fuel Leak

Sometimes, when you fix one thing on a sailboat, you uncover many other problems and issues. After Seefalke’s paint was scraped, we discovered a leak in the main diesel tank that is in the keel of the boat. There was a crack in the structure of the boat that we later learned was caused by the boat being placed on the support timber in the wrong place when we moved her out of the water. We have now emptied the tank and flushed it with water many times. The crack has been welded, but the next crucial task will be welding the tank from the inside. Again, more detail is available on Patreon.

Solar Panels

One of our other ongoing projects is installing our new solar panels, which have been ordered.

As you may remember we realized during our Atlantic Crossing that we have not quite reached energetic self-sufficiency yet. One of the old solar panels is down, and the other one is covered by the sails most of the time, while the wind generator remains behind our expectations.

We have decided to significantly upgrade our solar inventory from 90 W to 690 W. We will use the existing massive mast of the wind generator and will install a similar mast on the other side. On the beam between them we will install a 280 W solar panel and the support will also serve as davits for our dinghy.

In addition to the big solar panel on the stern we will install two smaller solar panels of 160 W each on each side of the sea fence. Those will get adjustable mounts to direct them toward the sun, if conditions allow.

The davits are a great side effect of the structure as we desperately need more space on the stern deck. Being able to move the dinghy to the davits will clear the stern deck almost entirely. Also, it will be much easier to deploy the dinghy, when needed. It was impossible to get the necessary blocks here in Brazil, so I bought them in the U.S. at West Marine in Orange Beach and brought them back with me, along with three huge suitcases full of other supplies we couldn’t find in Brazil.

New anchor & chain

You may remember that we had to leave our anchor and chain at the bottom of the sea in Fernado de Noronha during our Atlantic Crossing. This week, we received the new anchor and chain and will install it as soon as the painting is completed. We marked the 50-meter chain with white paint every 5 meters and orange paint every 10 meters (two sections for 20 meters, three sections for 30 meters, etc.) so that we will know the depth of the anchor as we raise it and lower it with the windlass.

For continuous detailed updates on these and other ongoing projects, join our crew on Patreon!

Meanwhile, we said goodbye, for now, to our German friends, Dieter and Claudia, who are headed to French Guiana. But on the same day, we said hello again to Robin and Philemon, who returned from their month-long break with family in Europe. It’s so hard to believe we have been sitting here this long!

We also said hello again to another French sailor we met in Cape Verde. He left Cape Verde about two weeks before we did and made his way to Brazil. He then went to El Salvador and then attempted a solo voyage to Cape Town, South Africa. But he didn’t make it. Somewhere along the way, the headwind and massive waves were impossible for him to maneuver. Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, he made the decision to turn around and return to Brazil. He was at sea for 36 straight days and never made it to his destination. This is one sailor we definitely didn’t expect to see again so soon.

 Meanwhile, we continue with our routine of working in the lobby every day and working on all these boat projects. This week, we will take a break from work and boat projects to explore Brazil a little. We really haven’t had the opportunity to do that yet. Maik heads to Germany next week to spend time with his daughter for Easter. Hopefully, when he returns, we will be closer to our next adventure—a cruise along the Amazon Delta. We are so ready to get back to sea. But for now, we will live in our dry dock tree house for at least another few weeks . . .

As a friend of Sailors and Seadogs, you allow us to earn a small commission if you make a purchase through our affiliate links! If you shop on AMAZON, you can support our voyages at NO COST TO YOU! Just click this link and start shopping!

[ragdollrory]

Warm sheets for the domesticity prompt. Bumi ii x Iroh ii.

About a decade later, but here we go!

A domestic Bumiroh scene based on my RP Bumi's modern verse. Hope you enjoy!!

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“Bumi.” The mattress dipped next to him, where Iroh had all but jumped. Bumi groaned, eyes tight shut, fingers searching over the sheets for his husband’s hand. “Come on Bumi, wake up.”

“No, what for? Come back to bed.” Victory! Bumi found Iroh’s hand, and tried to tug Iroh to him, but the man didn’t gave. His skin was warm, sunkissed, and Bumi's own hand trailed up the bare arm, until he found a sleeve shirt. He cracked an eye open, curious. “You went out?”

He’d been too spent to get up when Iroh did, earlier that morning; the cabin’s curtains were drawn shut, and the sailboat docked, and Bumi figured Iroh had just been next door, having breakfast, or working on his laptop. So he’d allowed himself just a little more resting time, their previous night having taken a toll on him, more than he cared to admit.

“Yes, yes, come on, wake up wildman, I have something to tell you.” Bumi chuckled, free hand covering a yawn, and rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes. It seemed his husband was excited, and Gods if he didn't even need to know what for. He was just as excited from that only.

“Okay, I’m-” He sat up with another yawn, tired tears filled his vision, and Bumi rubbed his eyes yet again. “I’m up, what is it?”

“We’re having a baby.” Iroh's announcement was happy, and a bit brusk. Bumi blinked, brows furrowed, and a skeptical look at his husband. He was serious, if enthusiastic, and now he wondered if this was still a dream, or his mind had yet to clean from the effects of their night consumptions.

“Iroh- should I be worried you went out to steal a baby?” He asked, a teasing tinge to his voice.. “Because I’m pretty sure, you and I can’t make one.”

“Of course I didn’t steal a baby, Bumi.” Iroh laughed, knee nudging Bumi’s leg on the bed. He stood, leaving the cabin once again. “I adopted it!”

“What-” But his mind didn’t have the time to panic, or worry, or find the idea interesting even, because a second later there was a puppy on his lap. Jumping animatedly on the mattress, and running in circles over the sheets. “Iroh, you stupid son of a-” He shook his head, unable to finish the insult even.

“Honestly Bumi, you should’ve seen your face. I should've taken a picture.” Iroh laid at the foot of the bed, and the puppy went to lick his face. A tiny golden retriever, just as the one he’d been pestering his husband with pictures of, for the past few months.

Bumi moved to lay on his stomach, reaching out to press fingers at the nape of Iroh’s neck, pull him in for a kiss. Lips softly pressed to his husband’s, as the puppy walked on his back. He chuckled, threaded fingers in Iroh’s hair, and pulled him even closer, tongue pushing past his lips, exploring his mouth as if it were the first time. Until they ran out of air.

“You are too good for me, Admiral.” He whispered, blue eyes locked in Iroh’s gold. The smile stretching Bumi’s lips couldn’t get wider if he tried. Gods, the way he loved Iroh, sometimes he wondered if there was an end to it, and then the man went and did stupid things like this.

“That’s not-” Iroh went onto complaining, but Bumi quieted the absurd objections he knew already, with another kiss. The puppy decided he’d been ignored long enough, and after properly putting a paw- not delicately at all- on his cheek, moved onto licking both their faces.

They broke apart laughing, and Bumi flopped to his back, picking the little furry beast up, to watch it better. It pawed the air, wiggling its tail excitedly, and letting out those baby dog barks that were beyond adorable. He twisted his head to find Iroh staring at him, soft eyes, and a smile that would be his undoing.

“You know, that should be his name. It’s a he, right?” Bumi checked, before letting the dog down. It scampered down to explore the rest of the small vessel’s cabin. Bumi tugged Iroh to his side. “Admiral. That should be his name. This ship needs one that is not retired, don’t you think?”

"I think it's fitting, yes. Let's try it out, Admiral." Iroh called out, and added a short whistle for good measure. The puppy answered in a messy bark, and its paws and snout popped on the side of the mattress. Iroh lifted him to the bed, scratching behind his ears. "Yeah, I think he likes it."

"What a mess will this be now, three Admirals Kaitiaki in a small sailboat." His lips found Iroh's cheek, and jaw. "Just the way I like it, messy."

[likes-words-and-shrimp]

How These Feelings Fall Into Place

Lloyd and Sheena spend time together at an annual festival held in Mizuho. The next day, Lloyd would leave again. That was okay, wasn't it?

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Sheena Fujibuyashi Rating: G Mirror Links: AO3 Notes: Written for @theguineapig3​ for @talesofsecretsanta2018​ !! I wanted to try to write a good gift that would at least come halfway to the gift you made for me last year! It is still one of my most favorite things! I hope this little story turns out okay. Happy Holidays!

“Just put the set over here!” Sheena called out, and the men nodded. Crates of the dumplings were placed by the stall nearer the entrance. Mizuho was brighter than it usually was at night, when most of the villagers either retreated to their homes, or were away on missions in other, more livelier places. But the yearly festival transformed the secretive village into a place decorated with paper lanterns, bonfires for the mass amounts of food ready to be cooked, and several stalls that marketed even more food and games.

It was known as the Mystical Village for a reason!

“Chief Sheena!” spoke another man, still dressed in his garb from his latest mission, appearing suddenly from nothing. His dark clothes made him blend with the rest of the night. “I have ordered the balloons from Meltokio, as you asked! They should be arriving at any moment.”

Sheena nodded with satisfaction. “Good work, Orochi! We’ll make this our best festival yet!”

She was still a bit new to this Chief business, but with the World Reunification duties, the constant trips to Meltokio to ensure that things kept running smoothly, and just overseeing day-to-day life in the village, Sheena had her hands full, learning all she could from Tiga. But festivals! She had loved those especially, and helping organize one had felt more like play than business.

“Anything else need to be done? I saw Chiyo’s wrists had been hurting so…” She cracked her knuckles, feeling invigorated – “I can help out with her taiyaki making!”

Orochi though had this look. A look that meant that he had more news to share. “Actually, we just got word from one of our scouts near Sybak. It seems that one of your friends will be arriving soon for the festival.”

Sheena blinked. Who had she told about this festival? Not many, since everyone had to do their own things after the world was reunited. Regal had his company to overlook, Raine and Genis were still traveling together, and Colette had mentioned something about taking care of dogs, which had been hard to understand as she had spoken about it so excitedly last time… She inwardly groaned, remembering that Zelos knew for sure, and probably wanted to butt his nose into it like usual. It was bad enough he hit on the women here during the day! “Ugh, so it’s that idiot again?”

At that, Orochi raised an eyebrow. “While I understand Lloyd may be a bit slow at times, I think idiocy is a bit-”

“Wait, Lloyd?” she shouted, then lowered her voice. “He – I don’t – I don’t think he’s an idiot! J-just-! He’s coming here?”

“That’s what the reports said.”

She wasn’t prepared at all for this.

“Hi, Sheena! Wow, this place looks so bright! What are those paper-looking thingies?”

Sheena swallowed, ecstatic to see the young man standing before her. Here! During one of her favorite times in Mizuho! Although it was hard to get her tongue to work, suddenly feeling it too big for her mouth. Was it swollen? Did she eat something that made her allergic? Oh no, Lloyd was staring at her so much. Maybe her injury from the last mission was still on her face-

“Hey, uh, Sheena? You’re kinda blanking out.”

“Y-yes! Yeah! Haha…” She shook her head, gathering herself. She put on ‘Chief-mode Sheena’ in her place, pretending she was talking to one of her subordinates. Who was wearing blindingly bright red. That would never work for any ninja or for any kind of stealth mission and why the heck was she thinking the logistics of this?

“It’s good to see you. And those are paper lanterns!” She gestured to the decorations that lined the top of the village, giving everything a soft flow. “Secret craft of Mizuho. Don’t tell anyone!”

“Oh yeah! No problem. The secret’s safe with me!”

It was really not at all a secret – people from all over Tethe’alla tried to copy the same design, but Lloyd looked so genuine about it that Sheena couldn’t help but smile. She had missed him, more than she had thought. She had to grin back at him.

“How did you find out about this anyway?”

“Oh, Zelos told me. I’m trying to find this Exsphere caravan and we ran into each other… He said he couldn’t go because he was busy. And, well.” He grinned even wider at Sheena. “A festival sounded fun! I haven’t seen you in a long while anyway.”

It really had. Lloyd was off on his Exsphere journey, and she could only imagine how tough it was by himself. Sometimes she had thought…

Nah, it was stupid. She had a village to run anyway. People needed her. Lloyd wouldn’t want someone like her along anyway.

“Well, you came at the best time! Bet you haven’t tried kingyo-sukui before, have you?” She waved Lloyd over to the nearest stall. “It’s more of a kid’s game, but it’s tougher than it looks!”

“Kin ga what?” Lloyd blinked, but followed her along with complete trust. “How do you win at it?”

“Sorry. It’s goldfish scooping! Here, I’ll show you!”

Lloyd was already very eager to try, and the moment Sheena had the paper scoop in hand, Lloyd was already grabbing his own. He had gone through ten of them by the time he finally got one in his bowl, breaking each of them completely. But he had been as wide-eyed and excited as the numerous little kids at the stall. Sheena also made sure that Lloyd didn’t have to keep paying for each scoop he broke… he probably would have lost half his gald by this point. Just helping him save that made Sheena feel happy.

“Cool! I get to keep him?” Lloyd held up the clear bag with his tiny goldfish to his face. The way it warped his eye and mouth, while the goldfish swam through the water, made Sheena laugh loudly. Lloyd noticed and stuck out his tongue, making it even more silly.

“S-stop! And yes, you can keep him! Although bringing him on your journey might be hard.”

“Oh, right.” Lloyd considered, then handed the bag to Sheena proudly. “Maybe you can take him for me? Or is that too much? You probably got a bunch of goldfish already!”

Sheena had none at all – the game was meant for kids and a Chief should just be doing Chief things! Although, seeing Lloyd offer it to her, she took the bag gladly. It felt like a gift, in a way. “Well, I guess I can make some room for him. But you have to remember to visit him often!”

She didn’t actually expect Lloyd to agree to that. He was on an important journey after all, set on completing it. But he nodded anyway. “Yeah, of course!” Then his stomach growled. “Uh.”

Sheena snickered. “Okay, let’s get some food in you first.” She would have to leave Lloyd to put away the goldfish, and she didn’t want to just yet. It would be safe in its temporary home for now anyway. “Ever had yakitori? You’ll like that one, I bet.”

And, of course, Lloyd ate whatever was handed to him, probably stuffing down more than what some stall owners were expecting. She caught a few eyes gazing at her, silently pleading with her to not let this strange boy in red drain out their stock. But she could let it slide for now, make up for it later. Lloyd had probably been tired from his journey and deserved what he could get!

By the end of the feast, they were seated by the moat that circled around the Chief’s home – or her home to be exact. Still holding the goldfish bag in one hand, and a cup of sake in the other, she then handed that one to Lloyd – being careful not to mix up the two. That would have been embarrassing… “Here. Best way to wash all that food down!”

“Hey, what’s this?” Lloyd took, seated cross-legged on the ground. On the water, small papers folded like sailboats glided on the water. Both children and adults were setting them there, all while Sheena had briefly explained the tradition; to wish good fortune for the coming year. She wanted to help him make one – she knew he could do it pretty well with his artistic talents, but, maybe that was a step too far. Couples usually did that together, and well, that’s not what they were anyway.

She shook away that thought, and smiled. “It’s sake! You’ll like the stuff.” After all, his dad was a dwarf! And dwarves made their own alcohol called mead, which from what she gathered, was usually much stronger. Sake should be easy for Lloyd. “And if you don’t, I’m clobbering ya,” she said jokingly, clenching her free hand.

Lloyd laughed at that. “Okay, okay! I’ll try this… sah-kay? This cup’s kinda small though and I’m really thirsty!”

He was about to take a sip, but then stopped himself. Ah, maybe he wasn’t actually into it?

“Hey, Sheena,” he said, turning to her again. “This was really fun. I’m glad I got to come by! You’re always really busy so I figured maybe this time…”

“You’re welcome here whenever, Lloyd! I’m, um, not always that busy!” She was sort of half-lying but not like Lloyd could notice. She nudged his arm. “Hurry and drink up. No need to get sappy at me!”

Even though she did like that, quite a lot.

“Yeah, just the last month’s been kinda tough and-” Lloyd shook his head. “Anyway! Thanks!” By then, he had already begun to sip.

She thought on what he said for a moment, but Lloyd probably hadn’t meant to get too serious, so she went past it. “I can get some more. There’s a few different types actually if you wanted-”

Then Lloyd fell flat on his face.

“Wh-” Sheena blinked. Then again. And then just stared. Oh. Oh what. Oh, he wasn’t moving. “L-Lloyd!”

Then his body started to nearly roll off straight into the water.

“No! Stop it!” she yelled as if yelling ever did anything for her. Grabbing Lloyd by the shoulders while still holding onto the goldfish, she lifted him up easily. Okay, he was still breathing, but also not really responding to anything. His eyes were shut, and his face was a bit red. Oh no, what if it was something he ate? Was he poisoned? Who would do that here?

If only she hadn’t been slacking off as Chief, she could have prevented this.

Ignoring some of the surprised looks from nearby villagers, she called out to Orochi. He always re-appeared at her side when she needed him. “Here, help me get him inside. Get the medicines out. We need to find an antidote quick!”

“Sheena.” Orochi looked to the boy curiously, though didn’t stall, already grabbing his other shoulder.

“Come on, we need to hurry!” She was trying her best to not lose her cool as they opened the sliding door to her room, but she couldn’t bear to lose Lloyd. Not after everything. She’d inspect every food barrel they had here and find the source. Maybe it was sabotage – there had been mutterings of people who hated Tethe’alla and were forming a group. Maybe they saw Lloyd had been coming here in advance? She needed to gather all her sources for this.

“Sheena,” again, Orochi said, laying Lloyd on a cot.

“Get the local healer. I know it’s usually her time off but I really need her salves for this. And tell Sakuya to travel to Meltokio so we can see whose been on the roads-”

“Sheena.” Orochi said hard, his hands still, his entire body still.

She looked to him in confusion. “What is it? Why are you wasting time?”

“Sheena, he’s just drunk.”

She paused then, and in that pause, she saw Lloyd stir and start to mumble.

“Hafta… see the doggies… ofer ther..”

Oh. He was drunk. But… he had barely taken a sip? Was he that much of a lightweight?

“I’ll go outside and tell those who saw it’s no trouble. He will need water.” Orochi stood up, making the signal for leaving. Though before he did so, he smiled. “He probably needs someone nearby as well.” Then he vanished in a puff of smoke.

Oh no, she was so stupid.

Sheena tried to not think about that so much, finally remembering the goldfish in hand, and getting a nearby bowl to put it in. She had some flakes to give it, but later. Because right now, Lloyd was trying to sit up, and also get up, and also tried to stumble into her door where the paper covering would definitely not hold his weight.

“Sit back down already!” She pulled him near, hands gripping his arms. His body went limp in her touch, leaning against her, his head tilted. He was smiling still.

“Thers a lotta doggies here.. like.. here..?” He pointed at the corner, where a painting of well, a wolf was set in the background of her room.

“Yes, Lloyd. That’s a doggy..” She rubbed his arms, maybe lingering too much. “Go and sleep.”

“Ish a lot! An alsho scary snake?” He pointed above at a divider, its surface painted over with a dragon. “Shnakes are… bad..”

“Okay, yeah, I got it.” It was.. kinda cute how he kept rambling. But she felt weird for still holding him like this. So she tried to get him laying down again.

“And Sheena is!” Lloyd proclaimed and not following up for a while. Like he was thinking on it. This pulled at her patience a little. She was what? Just spill it!

“You need to sleep now.” She then forced him down, hands on his shoulders, half over him. She got a better look at his face, his eyes soft, his hair a little messy from his sudden falling. He was still smiling a lot too. Oh, she was way too close to him. Don’t do this when he was drunk! Don’t do it at all!

“Sheena is… good..” He muttered, half-closing his eyes. “Miss..”

She lifted away slightly, kneeling beside him. She moved a loose hair strand around her ear. “Um, I missed you too,” she said softly, feeling stupid. Was that what he meant?

“Really like her..” Lloyd shifted to his side, to get comfortable. Or maybe to see her better? No, that was also really stupid. “Really.. huh..”

His voice was slowing more, which worried her. He was just drunk, but still.. “Hey, you okay?” She held out a hand to him, then stopped. Too far. Don’t do that.

But Lloyd reached out to it. His Exsphere winked in the light. He brought her hand close to him, just near his face.

Sheena’s face was heated to an extreme.

“Like… I like.. Sheena…” Then he fell asleep, still holding her hand. He held it so tightly, too.

She could still easily leave his grip. Just a quick bend of her wrist and she would be free. But she felt his even breathing near her knuckles. He shifted even closer to her.

She had placed his goldfish in the bowl on a nearby dresser, swimming calmly through its small home. She wasn’t as contained as it was. She could leave at any time.

“I like you, too,” she whispered.

Sheena stayed by Lloyd’s side, watching him sleep.

By morning, she was frustrated.

Some of the paper lanterns had broken, their shells caught on the roofs of nearby homes, and the small boats still lagged in the water, filling it up with trash. It would be a pain to clean up. That and half the stalls had not been taken down yet. There were supposed to be gone by late midnight yesterday!

Also, once Lloyd woke up, he hadn’t mentioned anything about what he said last night.

“Ow… why does my head hurt so much? That was really weird water you gave me…” He was rubbing it as he walked through Mizuho with Sheena one last time. Then he would be gone, for who knows how long. “How come I want to drink it again though?”

“I don’t think you should,” she said, voice hard.

Lloyd blinked at her tone. She saw hurt flash through his face, soon covered up by confusion. “Uh, okay. Well, you gave it to me!”

“Believe me, I know.”

She didn’t mean to have this grumpy attitude, but what was she supposed to do now? If Lloyd had felt that way about her… if he even actually meant what he said!

He probably hadn’t meant it at all. Lloyd sometimes just… said things, didn’t he?

He was patting his jacket, looking for something. “Agh, did I lose my wing pack? I didn’t drop it in the river or something…”

Waiting around was so stupid. Didn’t Zelos say to just go ahead and say what you want? Apparently Lloyd did! But only when he was drunk!

He noticed her frown, because she was definitely frowning. A lot. “Sheena, did I say something wrong?” He blinked. “Or.. be stupid? I didn’t mean to eat that much stuff yesterday! Just, you know..”

Agh, why did she have to point this out?

“I like you too, Lloyd!” she shouted. They were just outside the village. There were probably eyes watching them. They always were. That’s what living in Mizuho was like. She was used to it. But the only eyes that mattered were Lloyd’s.

He stared at her. “I-”

“So don’t just go spouting out you like me too for no real reason! Was that supposed to be funny?” But it was her fault. She made him drink the dumb stuff. “I’m an idiot.”

“Sheena?”

“Never mind. Just… have a safe trip.” Ugh, she couldn’t even confess right. What was she doing?

A pair of arms encircled her suddenly. She stiffened, ready to break out. Only Zelos did this, and he did it to be annoying and invasive. But the scent was different.

“I.. don’t remember when I said that. I wish I did.” A pause. “I like you though. Um. That’s why I came here, you know.”

Oh, she was really stupid.

“Er, did you hear me?”

She shook her head, then nodded her head. Ah, what was the right answer?! Maybe she should hug back? Okay, maybe. So she did.

She leaned into his touch, like before, when he was holding her hand tight.

Then she decided to kiss him. Wait, that was too far!

“Mmf?!” Lloyd’s voice was muffled, not exactly expecting the sudden and fierce kiss she gave him. She stepped back immediately, putting her face in her hands.

“Agh, why am I so bad at this?”

“Huh? T-that wasn’t bad! That was really nice, actually!” He laughed a little. “I mean, I’ve not done that before so…”

She didn’t want to look at him. She needed to find another pit to fall in.

“Is it okay if we try it again maybe?”

Oh wow, she definitely needed to find a pit fast. She couldn’t do that again! No way!

But Lloyd was there, holding her face in his hands, looking nervous also. He leaned in, kissing her lightly. It was nice, nicer than she thought. She melted into it quickly.

She stepped back again and (kinda) lightly punched him in the shoulder.

“Ow!” Lloyd rubbed the affected shoulder. “That hurt a little!”

“W-well, maybe do that kind of stuff sooner!” Sheena took a deep breath, turning away for a moment. “But… thanks.”

Anyone else would have probably complained even more – even Zelos – at her reaction. But Lloyd just laughed. Not at her either. It was nice and innocent, with no bitterness to it, like she would expect from others. But Lloyd was not like other people at all.

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Then, very lightly, hands placed themselves on her shoulders. She leaned back against him, wanting to be selfish. “I’m glad I got to see you again. Really.”

“Yeah, I know.” She could feel how red her face was, and not from any drinks. “M-me, too… Do you have to go now?”

Sometimes she could feel Lloyd think about things, imagining his expression. Only this time, his face was near hers, his breath blowing against her hair that gave her shivers she felt a little guilty thinking on. “Hm, I guess not right now... I still have time. But it’s been hard doing stuff on my own lately, you know…”

She thought back to the impulsive gift Lloyd had given her, the goldfish still swimming in its bowl, needing to be where it was. She felt the same sometimes.

But… Orochi had been doing such good work lately. Maybe he could take over, for a little bit.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she told him, before turning around to give him a hug.

As a Chief of Mizuho, she needed to help people. And those people didn’t have to be from Mizuho itself…

[miralbug]

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[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Casual Corrections (Collins x Reader) Soulmate!AU

Summary: What’s more common than the phrase “Afternoon”? The one on a certain soldier’s body, that’s what.

AN: Love doesn’t cure mental illness. Also, Collins is just trying to make sure his soulmate is ok, alright? He’s doing his best and so is his soulmate. Also also, I forgot to post this I’m tired sorry. But I really like this one. 

Trigger: PTSD (ish, it’s more a reaction to the trauma)

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

Collins surfaced and looked about frantically for his saviour, settling on a younger man with the boat hook. A breathless “Afternoon” reached the ears of the crew of the Moonstone before he reached for the hook and allowed himself to be brought abroad. As soon as he was safe, he saw that there was a Shivering Soldier curled up at the side of the boat, his knuckles white as he tightly gripped his blanket.

The younger man, who introduced himself as Peter and his father at the wheel as Mr Dawson, pulled him down the companionway where lay a boy too young to be in their location. Collins spied another Soldier curled up away from the boy but watching him with an unrelenting gaze, not even interrupted by his new presence.

Unfortunately Collins couldn’t do anything for George or Peter. He was adept in first aid in any form. There wasn’t going to be time for extensive care. Hopefully they would get back to England in time for the boy to get help.

“Is he alright?” The Shivering Soldier asked, still clutching his blanket as the pair tried to get back on deck.

“No. No, he’s not–” Peter was cut off by an explosion and the Shivering Soldier retreated back into himself.

The Staring Soldier behind Collins kept watch on George, unable to help and whimpering as he smothered the noise of the war from his ears. As Peter went to his father’s aid, Collins knelt before the trembling form.

“Hey, are you alright?”

The Staring Soldier jerked away from him, eyes wild, face gaunt. He stared unmoving at Collins until another explosion jolted them back into a foetus position. His mouth opened and closed, forming unheard words. Collins stood, knowing that there clearly wasn’t going to be an answer. The Staring Soldier shrank into the corner of the Moonstone’s belly and Collins went back on deck to see a large ship sinking onto its side and a blue fishing trawler a quarter of a mile up.

“Dad, there’s men in the water!” Peter shouted from the bow of the boat.

The Staring Soldier appeared and leant over the side of the boat. He wretched over and over but there was nothing in his stomach to come up. His legs jerked underneath him as he watched the waves, still nauseous and unable to function.

“Oil. We’re getting into oil!”

He looked at Collins and then at Peter before with shaking feet stepping over to the opposite side. The thick sludge filled the water and slothfully lapped up against the sides. A soldier was there. He reached his hand up, struggling to tread in the oil and slipping under the waves created by the boats and the onslaught from the air. But he couldn’t help him. He simply stared, stuck to the spot and struggling to breathe.

Peter nearly launched himself over to pull up the soldier and then the Staring Soldier saw others like him being ushered down the companionway. Spurred on by his comrade, the Staring Soldier reached out and took a fellow soldiers hand’s whose feet were pressed onto and walking up the boat until he was in.

But it was too much and he had to step back out of the way of the real heroes.  Soon he faintly heard a “GO! GO! GO!” and the rev of the boat’s engine as it drew away from the masses.

Stumbling to the back and onto his knees, he watched the flaming Heinkel hit the water. His hands clamped back over his ears as the men left in the water were engulfed by relentless flames. The Staring Soldier was silently terrified and unable to look away. That was until someone guided him to sit in the corner. The Staring Soldier allowed himself to be sat down and felt a blanket being draped around his shoulders, adjusted in front of his dog tags.

While he was the Staring Soldier was actually looking through him, Collins allowed him to stare at him without rebuff. His glassy eyes didn’t appear to process what was in front of him anymore, not even his hands falling from his ears but were trapped by the tight grip on the blanket.

Collins shifted knees and almost gasped as the Staring Soldier followed him. It was only a small adjustment but it was still there. Then he nodded, although with the chills and heavy tension weighted on his neck it looked a bit like a spasm. Collins took the gratitude with a shot at a comforting smile.

“It’s ok.” Then he stepped away and went to help Mr Dawson.

The sun stretched across the sky to the west as the boat neared the end of its journey. The cliffs drifted into view and for the first time since the departure of Dunkirk the Staring Soldier moved. With shaking hands, he lifted himself to face the side and rested his cupped hands in his lap as he watched home drawing ever closer.

Collins was brewing tea while Mr Dawson focused on the rear end of his sailboat when he heard a disturbance in the cabin.

“We just want to see the cliffs,” a soldier said monotonously, already looking out of the window with dull eager, “Dover?”

“I thought it was Dorset, right?” Collins revealed his guess to Mr Dawson, passing tea to the first soldier.

“Actually, it’s Weymouth.”

It took a while for the sentence to sink in but then Collins’ head shot around to find the source of the comment. It wasn’t Peter or Mr Dawson and no one onboard seemed coherent enough to correct him so casually.

“What did you say?” He addressed to the boat.

“It’s Weymouth, not Dorset,” The Staring Soldier croaked, numb to the feeling of the ceramic cup scorching his palms. He continued to look upon the cliffs, finally taking in what his eyes saw. He sipped his tea to soothe his throat and took a deep breath for the first time in months. His lungs expanded and while it didn’t completely flip his mood he certainly felt a smidge better.

Still with his blanket and mug, he stumbled onto dry land. There were people ushering him to move forward but a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Collins retracted his hand fairly quickly, in time with his request: “May I talk to you?”

The Staring Soldier clammed up, not looking comfortable in the slightest. But Collins was persistent and willing to take his time. Eventually, the Staring Soldier nodded and slowly followed Collins to the side of the tracks, in the shadows. The spot was overlooked by the crowds, hiding in plain sight.

“Can I see your tattoo please?” Collins fidgeted from foot to foot as the Staring Soldier didn’t react. Only after a full-minute’s processing time did he unbutton the cuff and rolled up his sleeve with slow ministrations from his cramped hand. Pulling off his sleeve revealed his tattoo that curved around his elbow. He recalled vaguely that he’d cursed it his entire life for how fucking generic it was. “Hey, are you alright?” What kind of higher-power would afflict him with such a common phrase?

Collins followed his gesture to move behind the truck, looked from side to side to check they were completely alone. Still apprehensive, the Staring Soldier followed him to see Collins rolling up the side of his jacket and untucking his shirt. He shifted away, not entirely sure with what was going on until Collins pointed out in the feeble light the black printed words along his belt line. There, plain as day, were the words: “Actually, it’s Weymouth”.

Upon seeing these words, the Staring Soldier made an attempt to smile, his muscles numb from cold and the journey. But Collins saw the corners of his mouth twitching upwards and returned the smile with gracious appreciation. He wanted to hold him but he recognised that right now that was not the best thing.

“Can I get your name?”

Looking Collins in the eye and seeing them properly, the Staring Soldier rolled his sleeve back up and, with shakes obvious right down to the tips, he extended a nervous hand.

“Y/N.”

Perma-tag: @tomgcsglasses and @lowdenglynnstyles

[love-em-like-life]

The numerous peaks of manmade structures were covered in a thick blanket of crisp, numbing snow. Houses, that’s what the humans called the mounds; burrows where groups took refuge for many cycles of the moon at a time, in sun or storm, they never seemed to leave, or want to for that matter. On one such peak, right at the apex, the snow had been melted away by the warmth of a body.

Well, two bodies.

Amidst the blemish-less slopes of the roof were two tightly curled, lithe bodies, vibrant apricot fur stood out against the stark white of their background, two black tipped ears poked from the tiny seas of orange, like sailboats navigating the currents with an adorable twitch.

From one of the bundles of fur there was a vigorous flicker of an ear and then a slow scrunch on one of the planes of fur, slowly an eye appeared, sparkling, sleepy grey silently admiring the crystalline substance it was nestled in. Soon after the other eye followed, blinking into the early morning chill, ears swivelling at the sound of a high-pitched yawn from behind it.

The other bundle of fur had lifted its head and opened its defined maw in a yawn, drawn-out squeak sounding at the back of its throat, eyes still clenched shut against the morning’s call, not nearly as eager to wake as its companion. As soon as it was done, the second fox dropped its head back into the nest of fur that was its body, white tipped tail flopping to cover its sensitive nose against the cold, content to wait the snow out in slumber.

The early riser of the two blinked slowly at its companion, head tilting as it let out an amuse titter. It stretched its legs into the snow, spine pulling deliciously as it slowly unfurled into a graceful sitting position, tail tucked over its feet.

It looked out over the snuggly blanketed world, not a blemish in sight, not a footprint signally the waking of the human world. They were probably still wrapped up in their burrows, eager to stay hibernating until the sun was high and the snow turned glassy.

Humans. Ridiculous creatures.

Mother Nature rarely gave such stunning gifts, and the fox, at least, would take full advantage of her generosity. With the human’s tucked away in their own worlds, the world was left for the taking. The foxes could wander the streets without fear of the domesticated creatures known as ‘dogs’, really just overgrown pups tethered to their owner’s whims, chasing them like the local felines.

Really the Fox would be insulted if it didn’t find their slobber ridden attempts to be endlessly amusing. As if those instinct-less animals could capture it, the fox, epitome of sly cunning could slip from any sticky situation.

The fox rose gracefully, casually flicking the dozing fox with its tail as it slipped one dainty paw into the depths of the piled snow. The snow crumbled under its weight and the fox took it in stride, gliding down the powdered surface as gracefully as an eagle on an up current. The fox dug its paws in and stopped on the edge of the roof, eight-foot drop onto the cushioned ground below her, dislodged snow from its decent showering floor in a fresh coat.

The fox looked at its companion; sleepy grey eyes were glaring resentfully from a slim face as the second fox stumbled into wakefulness, utterly devoid of the first fox’s grace.

After the countless nights both foxes had spent seeking a safe night’s sleep up above the other mammals, it would be reasonable to assume they could manage to get down with ease, apparently not.

The second fox tried to take a step towards the first fox, but misjudged the lightness of the snow, paw falling through the powder and sending the startled fox ploughing down the roof, legs scrabbling for purchase but finding precious little. It barely slowed before the edge of the roof, slipping off with a breathless yowl.

There was a thud below, and the first fox could only sigh, staring down at the distinctly fox-shaped indent in the snow below.

At least they were both up now.

The still elevated fox shuffled, muscles lose as it hopped through the air in a precise movement, landing in the soft substance without issue. It sank into the snow up to its head, two black ears and a delicate nose poking from the white, beside it the second fox rolled giddily in the snow.

The second fox stilled before bouncing into the air, landing in a puff of flour like snow before jumping again, leaving full body footprints in its wake. If they were going to be the only ones up, they might as well have some fun.

[terrarowing-blog]

Tawe Nunnugah – A Rowing Voyage

This story begins in the Outer Hebrides in the seventies. In front of me is a man sawing up a TV aerial.  Badly folded into his fifties, he is dressed in a tweed cap and a dungaree jacket.  A tweed weaver, he has served his time in the Royal and the Merchant Navies. His task is to replace the broken wooden shaft of a “croman”, a primitive cultivation implement. Presently this man, my father, turns from his labour and hands me his completed project. The ancient rugged hand-made iron head now sits at the end of a glinting aluminium alloy silver pole.

”There you are and don’t break it.”

He omits the “again”

At this point I am a teenager helping my extended family manually dig up hunderweights  of Golden Wonder, Kerr’s Pink and King Edwards. Our household has no motorcar but soon we will have excavated sufficient potatoes to entomb a dog bone fronted Ford Escort.  I have spent my life looking out to sea, the Atlantic at my door, but fate has not put salt on my tail - instead it has pushed my sulky teenage face into the soil after putting a standard issue hand implement in my fist. The tune is in my head but I find myself pointedly at odds with the lyric once sung by local seaman Calum Zachariah of Bearnaraigh. He wrote in his eponymous song almost 2 centuries ago:

Ged is math a bhith seòladh

'S olc a tha i 'gam chòrdadh

'S mòr gum b' fheàrr a bhith 'm Bòsta

Cur an eòrna 'san raon

Although it is good to be sailing

It is an evil pleasure

Would that I were in Bostadh

Planting barley in the field

Òran Chaluim Sgàire circa 1850

He compared the speed of his vessel, with her new masts and white sails, to the grace of the roe deer in full flight. Born in 1822 by the age of 17 he was sailing on the schooner Express carrying salted fish to the Baltic. Well, he could have had my place anytime for I remained stranded ashore with no invitations of escape onto the ocean.

It was, as a child, cutting peat together in sight of Eilean an Taigh at Loch Raoinabhat that my father first told me how the pirate Niall Odhar plied his trade of violence along this coast. With his Viking styled longship, reputedly black on one side white on the other - pirate Niall’s life was blighted by the state and in April 1613 they executed him at the Mercat Cross in Edinburgh for “the treasonable crimes of fire-raising, burning, murder, theft and piracy.”  My life was blighted by poor television reception and potatoes.

That was forty years ago. Those fields now lie fallow and now I am a fifty-something standing on the other extremity of the globe with a sea chart in one hand and a compass in the other. The sea evaded me my whole life. Until, like so many other scots, more than half of them women, I found myself stumbling into a St Ayles skiff and discovered a whole new world of experience. Here I stand on a Tasmanian shore beside the John Liddy, a traditionally styled 22ft, 4 oared rowing boat. A skipper apparently, awaiting my crew.

How did that happen? Well to explain that I would need to tell you a little about the whole Scottish Coastal Rowing project.

Imagine a blackened coal miner and a fiery Viking holding hands, metaphorically at any rate. Seven years back, boat builder Alec Jordan was mourning the poor state of community rowing in the Fife harbours near his home, where between the wars and as recently as the 1950s coalminers had rowed and raced at their miners galas, using boats built with scavenged colliery timber liberated from their subterranean workplaces. So, teaming up with the Fife based Scottish Fisheries museum acclaimed boat designer Iain Oughtred was commissioned to come up with a design that would launch this modest endeavor. Beginning with a Fair Isle skiff for inspiration, itself the charming wee brother of much older larger Viking vessels, Oughtred set about creating an entirely new form of this ancient concept. Oughtred’s design - christened The St Ayles Skiff - was soon turned into a highly versatile, affordable, flat-pack marine plywood kit. At the last count there were over 190 completed St Ayles Skiffs registered with the Scottish Coastal Rowing Association. By fundraising and then building their own boat ordinary people are getting afloat and travelling to reconnect with many other coastal communities, locally and even globally. Using this DIY  Norse inspired kit - this handful of Anstruther enthusiasts has  quickly grown into an international rowing community of thousands.

Besotted with this phenomenon I found myself led up the Octupus’s Garden path to Tasmania’s wild and wondrous southern tip.

Martin Riddle – the organiser of Tawe Nunnugah 2017 – is a retired marine biologist and one time punk rocker. Trained in Scotland he spent the last twenty years working on the Australian Antarctic program, in support of environmental protection. Always a smartly dressed sailor but with the poise of a man who may have done a bit of pogoeing in the past.

“Tawe nunnugah means ‘going’ by ‘canoe’ in the local southern Aboriginal language. This reflects the fact that people occupied this land sustainably for tens of thousands of years, generation upon generation. Inspired by this, the Tawe Nunnugah Raid is a small boat rowing and sailing camping expedition. This year there were 31 vessels involved with about 100 participants each day. It goes from the most southerly point of Tasmania, over ten days, timed to arrive in Hobart on the first day of the Australian Wooden Boat Festival. Using a road crew to transport baggage, the fleet is able to camp on isolated hillsides and by distant beaches well off the beaten track. It’s all about enjoying the wonderful environment here in company, sharing the voyage of each day and then at night over a glass of wine or a beer happily exaggerating the experience to each other.”

Almost 2 centuries previously Wooraddy of the Aboriginal Nuenonne clan, told of journeys by canoe to the Tasman Peninsula and across Storm Bay. In summer they hunted seals at the Maatsuyker and De Witt islands.

Friday 3rd February. Cockle Creek in Recherche Bay to Southport. WNW 10-20Knots at Noon 15-20 Knots later.  Distance 9.5 Nautical Miles

We set off from deserted beaches of golden sand leaving behind the beautiful wilderness of the Southern Cape.  My first crew: Shane, Sarah, Penny and Jill, row the John Liddy out the bay. Recherche takes its name from landing place of the d”Entrecasteaux expedition searching for missing explorer La Perouse way back in 1793.  Today it is the turn of our Tawe Nunnugah sail boats, stilled against their blank canvases to watch us rowers disappear. They sit becalmed in sunshine under darkening Hartz Mountains as we head up the coast.

Further north we try to leave George The Third Rock to starboard. Somehow we manage to go dead bang over where it lurks sunken 6 ft below the surface.  Blessed with a very shallow draft, the margin for us is comfortable. On a moonlit night in 1835 the 400 ton rigged sailing vessel the George III did  much the same thing but with 200 convicts and 29 military guard on board.  The results were tragic. In all, the ship carried 310 souls, two children having been born at sea.

She departed Woolwich on December the 14th 1834  under the command of Captain William Hall-Moxey. First, a careless fire almost got to the gun powder kegs in her magazine but for two convicts burning their hands crawling through the smoke to retrieve the hot copper powder kegs. 16 had died and 60 more were down with an outbreak of scurvy before she had reached the Tasmanian coast and foundered on this uncharted rock. A heavy ground swell set in, lifting and dropping the ship's bows heavily on the reef. It took about five thumps to stove her in. A strong guard with cutlasses and muskets were placed over the hatches but she began to fill rapidly and the mast collapsed. The guards fired their guns in order to quell rising panic. 133 lives were lost, including 128 convicts, many of them perishing in the hold.

The wind has picked up considerably and the yachts are now roaring up behind, soon to over take us. We stop to take stock. When we turn the corner the wind will be directly on us and could be as high as 20 knots. The crew has bonded and is well prepared but our level of experience is very mixed. I have to be careful not to over commit. We have VHF radios and fleet safety boats so we are reassured.

A bottleneck has built up in the narrow between the shelter of Southport island and the point. Sailboats are now tearing past us: The Montagu, The Boxer, Theona and Hop the Wag all shoot by. One rowing skiff has rowed ahead and one lingers uncertainly behind us. I brief the crew over a quick lunch afloat. We are going to have a hard row against the weather aiming for the lee of Pelican Island.

The radio is buzzing with reports of capsizes and uncertainty about the conditions ahead, some of our fellow raiders, worryingly, are already in the water. I drift into a slight dream as we set off knowing I may have to distract and hold the crew happily to their task. Again I remember pirate Niall Odhar and that distant  Outer Hebridean day around 1600 when the red pumping fear invoked by the sight of his Birlinn (longship) inspired the famous rowing song An t-Iorram Niseach. “My heart fears greatly that this is Niall Odhar in his Birlinn  bearing down on us.” Sings Alan a’ Bhritheamh. He is rowing alone on one side of the boat while his two brothers both have an oar each on the other side, making the propulsion uneven. His mind is racing wildly everything is against him his world is tumbling apart in a flood of brine and straining sinew.

Now he is singing, first praising and flattering his fine brothers and boasting of his own strength. Quickly it is apparent that this eulogy is not enough. Second by second homicidal Niall continues to close the gap, with his two-tone Birlinn . Alan fixes on his brothers with his song and paints them a different picture: “I have a dagger in my hand, in the hollow above the fort, Niall Odhar is beneath me, I plunge the dagger deep into the creel of his chest and watch as the blood fills his gusset.” This is a premonition of what shortly follows for Alan and his brothers but unfortunately the key roles are reversed. Sung as a work song for the best part of 400 years these days you are more likely hear it on iTunes than at sea.

My attention returns to the crew. I remember vaguely that Jill has more sea experience than the rest of us and ask her to take the tiller. I take my turn at an oar and begin to sing quietly.

The team comes together and, fighting off fatigue they rest briefly in the shadow of Pelican Isle before finally beaching the John Liddy on the Southport shore with a new dignity and hard-won self respect. It is with embarrassment that I remember that I spoke rather sharply to Jill during a rather distracted moment, as I later learn…

With Jill Knight on the helm I was in better hands than Alan a’Bhritheamh could have hoped for. Although Jill is fairly new to this form of rowing, for thirty years she has travelled the world sailing single handedly on her 1894 built cutter, Cooee. Once, on the South China Sea, Jill, having received a radio call warning of pirates with only her cat Lucifer for company turned off the lights and sailed in darkness through the night to evade the buccaneers.

Jill recollects the earlier row to Southport. “I had no doubt that we could row all the way. After that day I understood why I suddenly love rowing. I have sailed for over 30 years but you feel more in control when rowing and less beholden to the whims of wind. Then there is the singing! “

“The 1894 New Zealand built cutter Cooee sailed into port and the owner, looking for crew, invited me aboard, offering to teach me navigation. I was totally hooked. We went to Asia, the Pacific, mainland China, which was unheard of back in 1985. Then I bought Cooee and went off on my own. I made every mistake there was to make and broke everything, one thing at a time normally! The learning curve went vertical. I went of to the Western Philippines, Borneo and muddled along with my strong-hulled boat. She looked after me for all those years. Then to Singapore, Sri Lanka and across the Indian Ocean via the Chagos Archipelago. That crossing, from Sri Lanka to Mauritius, involved more than five months without reprovisioning. Stowing a lot of rice, on the islands there was unlimited seafood and lots of coconut crabs, huge land crabs that can be a metre from claw to claw. You just eat the legs."

Her career as a writer took off with magazine articles and books. Describing the adventures of one woman sailing oceans with her cat Fletcher, shipmates for 20 years. Sadly the cat Lucifer who fled the pirates with her was short lived.

Saturday 4th February. Southport to Dover. Wind WNW 18 Knots. Distance: 12 Nautical Miles

I have prepared meticulously for this voyage buying the cheapest fishing hand line on sale at Franklin Marine and a large bag of giant liquorice allsorts. Today this forethought pays off and I land a decent sized squid near Faith, Hope and Charity Islands. This frisky squid is in luck with this soft centered entirely female crew: Christine , Linda, Penny and Sarah, either it is his long legged charm that persuades them to make me let him go or perhaps they are afraid of getting inked. He makes his body bulbous and puckers up as I release him from the hook!

Sunday 5th February. Dover to Randalls Bay. Distance: 10 Nautical Miles. Wind: N morning 10-15 knots  and  SW in the afternoon 15-20 knots.

Things start badly. A mob of raiders has gathered to helpfully carry the skiffs down the beach from above the high tide mark and turn them round to point bow to sea. As my boat, the John Liddy, becomes a multi-legged insect like creature and springs lightly up from the sand, I see disaster unfold. They are turning her anticlockwise. “Clockwise, clockwise!” I cry but to no avail. They have impishly gone purposefully anticlockwise. I can see Allan Macleod glowering at me on golden sand of Bostadh beach, way back in the Hebrides, as he told me “Always sunwise. Always!” In my native Gaelic this in principle is named as deiseal. This is ” the prosperous  course, turning from East to West in the direction taken by the sun”. As was observed by Druids states Edward Dwelly in his dictionary.

I am crestfallen. There is some teasing about sunwise in the southern hemisphere being anticlockwise and that perhaps Satan hasn’t really been summoned?

The water is glassy and the wind slight as we round Esperance point.  It ripples and chinkles around the slender shoulders of the bow as you might sweep your hand through a delicate chandelier. The sun is burning strong and helmsman Will Hallinan narrows his eyes under the shadow of his wide brimmed leather hat. I can almost hear strains of Ennio Morricone music. Todays weather forecast certainly has elements of the good, the bad and the ugly –  first calm; then scorching sunlight; to be followed by a strong wind on the beam later. As we approach our lunch stop at Surveyors Bay, our ten dollar fishing line goes tight and we bring on board a tasty looking Australian salmon.

Rower Will Hallinan grew up in Kerang in North Victoria.  Meaning ‘moonlight over water’ in the Aboriginal language, it was once an inland sea, he explains. To Will it is “The Land of the Lost Contour Line”.

“There is only one contour line and it keeps moving around because it is so flat. One night I was out chasing rabbits in the dark. I used to run rabbits down cos I didn’t have a gun. A rabbit can run fast but it cannot run far, only about a mile and a half, and I’d pop it on the head with a mattock handle.”

“I came from a big family - six brother and six sisters.” His mother died giving birth to the eleventh child. “Dad pretty well fell apart, he couldn’t manage the farm and the kids. He did as well as he could but he couldn’t manage without mum.”  Will spent time in an orphanage as his father tried to cope with running the farm and looking after the children.  “Eventually dad remarried and got us all back home again. It was never the same.”

“I work for the National Parks track working. I do things like maintenance and cleaning. Forest fires I do not enjoy at all. Canopy fires when they are huge, are like a jet roaring so loud that you cannot hear yourself think, and so tremendous is the heat you have to clear off or you’ll get cooked. I do enjoy peat fires deep in the ground. The peat gets so dry it just continues to burn underground and you’ve actually got to search for it with your hands. Often I take my gloves of and find the heat that way and dig it up or dowse it. You ‘ve got to be really persistent or they’ll just pop back up again.”

“I must say on that trip from Surveyors to Randall’s Bay when the wind was coming beam on and I was on the weatherside, it was really hard to time the waves and catch them or not get caught yourself. It felt immensely wonderful to come through it. Rowing is my form of meditation.”

Terra Nullius is a latin phrase deriving from Roman Law meaning empty land. As recently as 1598 there was an unexpected outbreak of Terra Nullius in the Outer Hebrides. Shortly before unifying the crowns and expanding his horizons King James the VI of Scotland had tired of what he later described as “sic a unfamous byke of lawless lymmaris” that is: “such a wasps nest of thieving vagabonds”. He was referring to the population of the Outer Hebrides. His solution was to grant a charter to a syndicate of loyal sycophants to take possession of the island of Lewis from the invisible indwellers and establish a new colony. As historian W. C. MacKenzie puts it in his History of the Outer Hebrides in 1903: “This Syndicate of chartered buccaneers was brought into being, with aims which the most hardened association of money-grubbers of the twentieth century might hesitate openly to avow. By their King, they were directly incited to accomplish the process of "civilisation," much in the same manner as the early settlers in Australia "civilized " the aboriginal blackfellows.”

Unfortunately pirate Niall Odhar was not a subscriber to the doctrine and the invaders were repelled after only a few months. It distracted Niall badly from his true calling; the devastation of his own clan and extended family by internecine strife and murder.

Despite having taken up new lodgings in the far south, King James (by now known as The First of England) played his role in advancing a second invasion. It was executed in 1607 with a new directive for settlement by the new colonists "not by agreement with the countrey people, bot by extirpatioun of thame".

So called ‘justice’ finally caught up with Niall in 1613 when he was hung in Edinburgh at the Mercat Cross with his severed head displayed at the Netherbow Port.

Terra Nullius in Tasmania was much more devastating for the Aborigines. They were denied recognition as British Subjects and were defined as people who live “in a savage state”. In 1800 “Richard Atkins, the Judge Advocate in Sydney, ruled that it was impossible to bring an Aborigine to trial for a crime committed against either a colonist or another Aborigine…. At the same time it was becoming impossible for any colonist to be arrested and charged with the murder of an Aborigine.”

Lyndall Ryan writes in her book Tasmanian Aborigines.

There is no meaningful comparison between the two geographical experiences, only irony in observing the way in which the Scottish and British crowns expanded their ambitions after such modest beginnings with homegrown schemes and in how the victims of the earlier domestic plantations went on to become the settlers, who went out into the new world and brought catastrophe on a variety of indigenous peoples.

Monday 6th February. Randall’s Bay to Simpsons Bay.  Distance: 12 Nautical Miles.

Clearly Satan was summoned yesterday by the bad, centipede-like John Liddy pirouetting anticlockwise. I have woken in my tent to find that my face is a potato. A bright baked lumpy one. My eyes will barely open. I look like a bust badly modeled out of old plasticine by a distracted child. I join my fellow campers and put half of them off their breakfasts. There are sympathetic remarks as to whether it is bad sunburn or an allergy. Kindly camp pharmacist, Rob Blackburn runs away to find some lotion, but I know what is. It is ‘breitheanas’. The sea god, Seonaidh, has been angered and this is retribution. Martin Martin describes how easily this can happen in his circa 1702 guide to the Western Isles of Scotland. Seonaidh can be pacified by an offering of beer but, looking at myself in my mobile phone, I know it’s far too late for any pale ale remedy

Tuesday 7th Febrary. Wind: E 15-20 Knots ESE later. Simpsons to Quarantine bay on Bruny Island. Distance: 10 Nautical Miles.

My face has flaked off. I have no further use for sun cream. Instead I need a facial version of Head and Shoulders. Making our way north from Simpson’s Point we spend a time watching a family of White Bellied Sea Eagles sun their proud stomachs at Robert’s Point. They are not true eagles as they do not have feathered legs but are in fact giant kites with a taste for fish.

Wednesday 8th February.

Wind: in excess of 30 knots.

Bad weather has us all land lubbered on Bruny Island for the day. We have been promised a special treat for lunch back at the camp to compensate for the unpleasant wind blowing out at sea. A deluded rumour spreads that it’s to be oysters so we fill in time by cajoling fellow sailor and rower Endra O’May into taking us on a tour of the nearby Aboriginal flint quarry at Quarantine Bay.

“The Aboriginal people go back 40 to 60 thousand years in Tasmania. For many hundreds of years the aborigines from around would have come here to make their flints because the stone is so good. They hit the stone and shards fall off the core stone. They lived here as well. You always get a midden on a point like this with fresh water and a lovely view. Every time they lit a fire and had a meal the leftovers were left right here”, explains Endra.

“I started to row when I was about two. You rowed and sailed like other kids have bikes. It was very natural to grab a boat and a fishing line and off you would go. When you live on the land, doesn’t matter where in the world, the land moves through your body, you start to get the wisdom of the land, you get instinctive and intuitive about the land which is how the Aboriginals lived. When the white people first arrived they found the bodies of aboriginals placed carefully in the trees, like a burial tree. Truganini’s birth tree is a fair way inland from here. “

Born in 1812, Truganini became the most famous Tasmanian Aborigine woman. Many claiming at the time that she was the last full blooded Tasmanian Aborigine. Her father was Mangerner Chief of the Lyluequonny clan of the South East nation from Recherche Bay. By 1829 aged 17 she was living with her father at Rat Bay on Bruny Island, her mother had been killed, stabbed by sealers, her sister Moorinna had been accidentally shot after being abducted, her fiancé Paraweena was killed by sawyers who threw him out of a boat then cutting off his fingers as he tried to cling onto the side.

She saved George Augustus Robinson, the dubious Protector of Aboriginals from falling into the hands of the Tarkiner clan at the Arthur River by ferrying him across on an improvised raft using his garters and cravat to fasten the timbers. In 1841 she was in the company of two young warriors, Maulboyheenner and Pevay, who shot two whalers named Cook and Yankee. Maulboyheenner and Pevay hung for the crime but Truganini returned to the so-called Protectorate at Wybalenna on Flinders Island.

The Protectorate was moved to Oyster Cove, where there was a flint quarry that had been used by her late father and late husband. She visited her former home, Bruny Island, and got the opportunity to pass on skills and traditions to children. These included how to sing corroborree songs and how to read the stars. Her great fear was that on her death she would be mercilessly dissected, treated as a scientific curiosity, as befell her friend William Lanney in such gruesome fashion and that she would be subsequently displayed callously in a museum. She clearly stated her wishes that she be buried “in the deepest part of the D’Entrecasteaux Channel”.

She died in Hobart aged 64 in May 1876 with her beloved dogs around her. Despite the attempts of the Royal Society of Tasmania to obtain her corpse as “a valuable scientific specimen”, Truganini was given a decent burial at the old Female Factory at Cascades with her friends and family present. She was only accorded this human decency for two years after which, in contradiction to her and her supporters wishes, her bones were exhumed by The Royal Society of Tasmania, put in a box, before being articulated into a skeleton and put on public display at The Museum of Tasmania where this obscenity continued until 1951.

It was not until 1976 that her descendants succeeded in securing the return of her remains - allowing her cremation and the final granting of her wishes when her ashes were scattered according to her wishes, only a hundred years late.

The surprise lunch turns out to be a taco van arriving on the seaward edge of our tented village.  The tacos are delicious.

Van Diemen's Land, as Tasmania was then known, was created in 1803 as a British penal settlement.  75,000 convicts were sent to Van Diemen's Land before transportation ceased in 1853.

We are on the second leg of the Tawe Nunnuggh and at the helm right now is Jodie Ebinger. No stranger to convicts, Jodie is a policewoman. “Dealing with offenders is like dealing with the water. My policy is to respect them,” she tells us.

Jodie grew up in Wangeratta in northeast Victoria. After moving to Melbourne to study, she worked for ten years in the social work disability field before becoming disillusioned with the continuing funding crisis. "I was doing some soul searching and ended up joining the police force. I’ve been in the police force for eleven years now."

Five years ago her son Jesse was born with Down’s Syndrome. "I decided to take time off work, knowing that the long term outcomes are far better if there is quite dynamic early intervention. So, I‘ve been doing that but it’s very very exhausting. He’s always on the move. So, one day I saw an advertisement in the newspaper for this boat building in Williamstown and I’d just been speaking to another mum, in the same boat as me and we both love the water. It ticked the box! My friend and I had discussed that we need to do things for ourselves. I want my world to be bigger than just about my son. So I turned up for an information session, went for a row, loved it, met like-minded people and just instantly felt at home. It’s been great."

"With this rowing raid, I had reservations but I decided I’ll throw myself in the deep end. “Policing is very “interrupt driven” you gotta think on your feet, deal with whatever is thrown at you, the weather can change really quickly, it can get to the point of life threatening.

"One example stands out - a nasty domestic incident involving this guy, Maraffko. He had falsely imprisoned, bound and gagged his partner. Along with my female partner, I arrested and interviewed him. I remember at the end we had to get him accommodation as we often have to. He looked at me and said “You care." which left me feeling uncomfortable, but as I say, I was respectful and just did the job."

"Some weeks later I was on duty and a report came on the radio of a guy that had 'gone off' and had to be arrested right in the Main Street in the middle of the day. When the familiar name “Maraffko” came over the radio I knew what we were dealing with. They were calling for backup I began to fear that this might be a case of attempted suicide by police. By the time I we got there he had walked into a side street and the available units were trying to arrest him. Because I'd dealt with him before I called out to him and started to engage him. I felt safe enough to get closer bit by bit, enough to talk him down so that he could be peacefully arrested. Much later on I was listening to the news. Maraffko had been arrested for murder.  It was an awful scenario. A young mother killed in front of her kids. He'd used the same modus operandi that he had with our victim."

“ You have to respect the person to get a better outcome, I see clearly it's the same on the water. Let the exciting or perhaps the dangerous times be the ones you can't avoid not the ones you create out of stupidity. And hey, your crew are more likely to want to hug you at the end."

Thursday 9th February. Quarantine to Mary Ann Bay at South Arm.

Wind: SSW 15-20 Knots later S. Distance: 13 Nautical Miles

As we depart Barnes Bay, a pod of dolphins accompanies us, almost translucent, swimming just beneath and beyond the oar tips. Coming up to South Arm an angry wind chop rises from the south. It laughs at us and at the forecast, exceeding 20 knots and erratically backing easterly. We are in the wrong place at the wrong time. The sea gradually takes away the crew's respect and affection for each other, tears it to pieces and throws it at our feet. The safety boat Stella Irene stands by unable to intervene but ready to pluck us out of the water if and when we go down.

The responsibility hangs heavily around my neck. Consensus and communication disintegrates. The situation is a sobering one.  We have to overcome our difficulties and quickly get our wits about us. Grimly, we focus on staying afloat. The following sea is ragged, shape-shifting waves are breaking into the boat. We abandon our course and run before it. I am on the tiller the destination is now undefined. Anywhere but here. It appears to ease a little. Calling for hard on starboard we take a big one. Now we are all soaked and fatigue is kicking in. Salt water sloshes around our feet. It does finally ease and we get to our intended destination. We pull the John Liddy up the beach barely speaking to each other.

While I am shabbily setting about pitching my tent a lightly bearded man approaches me. He is our safety support from the Stella Irene. He states the obvious: "You had it rough out there."

“Yup” I say, tossing a bent tent peg aside. He offers to chair a debrief. I shrug and screw up my face, he keeps talking and I concede that it is the best option.

A small sea of unhappiness envelops us as we work our way through it all again but under Rob's leadership that is what we do - we negotiate it together once again. There is nothing easy or pleasant about it. I feel like shit. The talk peters out and Rob steers us to a conclusion. ��

I have a few drinks and stay back from the camp laughter and chat. Before I head back to my tent I finally work up the courage to sneak a look at tomorrow’s sign up sheet for my boat, the John Liddy, fearing he will need to be re-gendered as the Marie Celeste. Illuminating the scrawled names with my phone, I feel a swell of emotion and my eyes brim. There they are, back again, my shipmates, willing to give me another chance and to share our triumphant last day as we join a fleet of boats to parade into Hobart on the first day of the Australian Wooden Boat Festival.

Lyndall Ryan describes a sight near  present day Hobart in her book Tasmanian Aborigines:

On a cool spring day at the end of the first week in September 1803, a family of the Moomairremener clan for the Oyster Bay nation on the eastern shore of the River Derwent saw a large white bird near the rivulet at Risdon Cove. The next day they saw another draw up alongside. They had seen such birds before and believed the human strangers they carried were Wrageowrappers, devil men’s spirits…for the first time, some white devil women and children had come to stay.  

Please allow us to introduce ourselves, modern Wrageowrappers in our little Scottish inspired plywood clinker built birds with our oars beating gently as we glide towards this town named after Lord Hobart, the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies until 1804 - no doubt a man of wealth and taste. We are followed by a wave of tall ships, yachts and all sorts of elegant traditional wooden vessels running on their attendant cloud of sails. What could be grander than the three masted James Craig, launched in Sunderland in 1874; the topsail schooner Enterprize and the towering Tenacious of ancient appearance but equipped with 6 wheel chair lifts - even one for ascending the mast. We all share a deep feeling of satisfaction and a sense of arrival but for me it does nt derive from the destination nor from today’s pageantry. It comes from the journey shared in these able little St Ayles boats, from friendly faces and the chequered feint ghosts of legend.  I am today as grey as the Lewisian Gneiss ridges that framed my childhood, age is eroding me but these journeys are carving an intricate inner coastline that I will visit and revisit for years to come. That’s my game.

A salt-encrusted raid mob trudges to Hobart’s Hope and Anchor Tavern, opened in 1807 and with rifles and cutlasses still hanging on the walls. “Civilisation is only 3 beers deep,” advises Kiwi rower Don Currie and after a few jars a woman at the bar is cheerfully jostled and encouraged forwards by a tired and elated crowd. Caledonian skiff skipper Ali Grant steps forth and leads everyone into song “C’mon and roll...” starting a riotous improvised version of the ancient sea shanty “Roll the Old Chariots.” Rum bottles shake on the shelves. For as this version states “A damned good wash wouldn’t do us any harm.”

Special thanks to Lyndall Ryan for permission to quote from her book  Tasmanian Aborigines  ISBN 9781742370682

[notleriff]

Sagolii: Part Two

My name is Leriff Anduion.

Consider this a declaration of intent. A collection of thoughts to paper of history and reasoning. And perhaps an explanation of things you could not know, and with hope, will not have to.

I was born Takeda Hajime, but abandoned that name after arriving here in Eorzea. My father was named Hoji, though beyond that I could tell you little. Long, long before my manhood, men took my mother’s life. Hoji sought his revenge and found it, but they hung him for it. I cannot say whether that is something with which I may agree with. Even now, after all I have done, I do not know whether vengeance contains justice, or if it is but a terrible response to a slight.

Regardless, at a young age my sister Akala and I were left alone, placed into the care of another man. He was kind enough, though enjoyed his drink and bets perhaps too often. To pay off some debt or another he had accumulated, Akala and I were sold. That is when I met Shoshiro.

At the age of six, he kept us in the stable. At the age of ten, he finally allowed us inside the house. To earn that privilege--to prove that we belonged there, he took a broken horseshoe, cast it in the furnace and burned it to our faces. I will never forget that feeling for as long as I live. How the iron pressed around my eye, the sensation that lasted entire moons and the smell--above all else, I will remember the smell most. I can compare it to nothing, for I have never since smelt an odor as terrible.

Finally, when we turned twelve, Shoshiro died. That was the first time I took a life. He had threatened Akala, stood over her, menaced her. I took his knife and lept into him. When he hit the floor, I did not aim, I simply struck. Over and over until he no longer moved. Akala applauded my efforts. She claimed him an evil man, and that he had deserved this--of the pride I must have felt.

There was no pride. There was blood, fear and a child who had committed an abomination.

Leriff sat in front of T’firrah with his legs crossed. He watched the miqo’te brawler with intense scrutiny. There was a secret to this strength of hers and he would learn it. “I do not think it is an--ah...unreasonable request.”

“You followed me.” T’firrah had no chairs in the home carved out of the rocky cliff of the Sagolii, and so they both sat in the center, on the sand slate floor. Just behind her was an opening in the wall that served as a window, and beyond that the rest of her tribe milling about in the hidden safety of their canyon home.

“Well, I would not quite say I followed you. I was travelling in this direction--on a hunt you refused to help with if I might add, and simply stumbled upon this canyon.” The hunter offered her a well-meaning smile, honestly glad to have made it this far to begin with. He knew this tribe did not care for strangers simply by the reaction she had had to his request for aid, and he had quickly learned why they cared for hunters less. In the center of the canyon, where the earth above opened wide, a great griffin had made its roost. It lived here, too. “Which, I am not complaining about. I hold my promise. I will not touch the creature.”

With squinted eyes, T’firrah continued to glare at the man before her. “Do not come asking for help and lie to my face, hunter.”

In submission, Leriff lifted his hands above his face. “Very well. I apologize. I followed you. Please reconsider.”

“No.”

“Please.” It would not be long before Leriff simply accepted the need to beg. “I have never seen something like that before. All I wish is to learn it.”

“No.” T’firrah pointed a threatening finger at his face. “And if the next words out of your mouth are to offer me money, you won’t be walking out of here without help.”

“I--ah--mmm.” Quickly he closed his mouth as he scratched his chin. He could not leave so quickly defeated. In all his travels, Leriff had never seen someone move and strike as she had, and he was more than determined to learn how she did it. “A wager? Yes. How about a wager?”

“You have nothing I want.”

“You could beat me up again.”

“...I’m listening.”

A smile formed upon his lips again as he kept notice of the definite twinkle of attention in T’firrah’s eye. “What if we were to fight? I would obviously do away with any weaponry. If we fought hand-to-hand, and I beat you, you will teach me how you do what you do. If I lose, I will leave this place without a single word further.”

T’firrah shook her head. “I beat you when you had a weapon. Do you think you would do better without one?” With a sigh, she entertained the idea in her head. “If you could beat me unarmed, why would you need me to teach you anyway?”

“The strong always want to be stronger.”

That reply brought a twitch to her mouth as she gave the offer proper consideration. If there was one thing T’firrah cared for, it was being strong. “Alright. Outside. We’ll do this.”

When Shoshiro passed, we were on our own. Akala and I took care of one another. In this world, she was all I had, and we worked as best we could to have normal lives. Six more years passed before Akala decided a normal life is not what she wanted. She came to me with a bill, proclaimed her desire to go to Garlemald and join the military. She begged that I accompany her, but I could not. I was loathe to have my hand in violence ever again. All I wanted was to live the rest of my life in peace.

She did not like that answer. She left that same day, and I did not see her for many, many years. I continued my life as it was then. I helped build a one room school and became the teacher for it. It was a good time, and it soon became better. In the streets of the city I met my daughter, Souzou. I never learned what happened to her real parents. I do not think she knew either.

She was six, wore rags for clothes and looked as though she had never had a bath in her life. I caught her stealing a small charm, a small wooden sailboat. She loved the sea, and she wore it every moment for the rest of her days. 

It is not to say that I saw myself in this child, but I knew what it was to live that way, and naught but six cycles was far too young for it. She came with me to start a better life, and a better one I hope I gave her.

Eight years later Doma fell. When the fire took her, so too did the light leave my life.

The tribesmen had gathered in a small ring to watch this spectacle, forming a cage of sorts for the two occupants inside. T’firrah had thrust upon Leriff a subligar to wear for their combat. Her insistence was that an honor duel should not contain pockets. He had made no fuss about changing into it, and now stood before her wearing much the same as she.

She did not gawk, but she did shift uncomfortably. The brawler was accustomed to scars. She knew the tribulations of combat, the marks each battle left behind, but she was not accustomed to the hunter before her. This was not scarring, but rather mutilation. There were far more than she had expected from one who hunts creatures, but above that, she was not prepared for the burns that hid over half his body behind off color skin.

“To yield, yes?”

The question brought her to her senses and she nodded. “Of course. If we planned to kill you, we’d have done it before you set foot inside the camp.”

Leriff chuckled at her apparent jest, but when she slipped low into a more readied combat stance, he did away with the humor and took his ready just the same. Low again. Focus. Do not check her advance. Watch. When T’firrah came to strike, Leriff did not retaliate. He never had a hope of winning. He only wished to watch--to study her as she moved and to learn how it was that she struck as she did.

He did his absolute best to evade every blow, but she was far faster than he could follow, and as the fight continued, while he slowed, she only increased in speed. Instead, he did his best to minimize damage to himself to prolong the encounter, throwing short jabs whenever the opportunity presented itself to keep up the charade. Chest. Step back. Faster. How? Muscles do not flex. Some sort of aether manipulation?

T’firrah swept his jab aside with a brush of her wrist before driving home three quick, boulder-like punches into his stomach. Leriff staggered backwards and in his panic threw out a blind haymaker, which she ducked under to position herself inside his range, rising with a shattering uppercut to the jaw.

Leriff could feel blood in his mouth as he managed to shove her away, and he chastised himself for his haste. Do not swing blindly. Do not blackout. Watch. Whatever you do, do not blackout.

The man could not truly fight back for T’firrah gave him no momentum to work with. She controlled where each punch went and did not step too close to him at any given time, nor extend past where she remained safe. Her arms kept close to her chest while she swayed to avoid his blows, and she danced in circles around him with ease.

Do not blackout. Watch her arm. That strength comes from somewhere. Above. Step in. Twist. Need her to swing. Do not-- Too many thoughts clouded his already occupied vision and T’firrah gave no pause before stepping in. With a fist of near-literal fire, she nailed him in the rib, the sound of cracking giving way as bones snapped.

Mistake. Now. T’firrah had made it a point to not enter his range for more than a brief moment, but to end his ability to fight, she had forced a blow that she could not pull from quickly enough. Leriff was nothing if not quick to act on opportunity, and like a starving dog given a chunk of meat, he seized it. He grabbed her by the arm, twisted in a circle and slammed his elbow to her joint. Her shoulder popped out of place with a painful twang and Leriff used that time to throw her to the ground.

On the ground T’firrah spun. One leg swept at Leriff’s foot and knocked it into the air. As he worked to regain his footing and stop his fall, she shifted back, placed both hands onto the rocky ground and pushed up with all her strength. Both of her feet aimed at the leg he had locked for balance and they both found their marks against his knee. It too broke under her might and Leriff collapsed forward, propping himself up on his hands and his remaining functional knee.

How? So fast. Do not blackout. Just...have to watch...  Do not….

“You weren’t planning to beat me, were you?” T’firrah spoke as she stood over him, her useless arm hanging limp and cupped by her other hand.

Just do not blacko-- Leriff could no longer concentrate on words and the world around him began to darken at an alarming rate.

T’firrah knelt down to catch his attention before darkness took him. “You are strong, hunter. You win. I will teach you.” She pointed to a crop of women closest to them in the ring. “Carry him to my home.”

Before anyone made it to him, Leriff was fast asleep.

I do not know if I had revenge in mind when I first arrived in Eorzea. I have thought long about that matter, and I cannot tell you if I considered justice my cause or simple vengeance. You see, when Doma fell, all rumors pointed to a Doman citizen selling the country out. I knew of one such person who could potentially fit that bill, and I developed an obsession.

I learned upon arriving at Garlemald that Akala had changed her name to better fit in, taking the moniker of Cala Anduion. I took up a similar name in hopes of learning any rumors of her whereabouts--had she come to Eorzea as well? It was at this time I took employ with Saruto Baruto. Baruto was an old friend of my father, and though I did not know him at all myself, when we met, I used that connection to the most of my advantage that I could.

Baruto was a man of endless temper and, with that, an equal amount of patience. He never forgot a single slight, nor was it ever forgiven. The only thing I believe that man ever loved was the Sultana. Patriotic to a fault, everything I did in his employ was to put power into the hands of she who he beloved, even if he thought it but a fool’s matter.

I will not lie and say that I am or was a good man. Much of what I know today was learned in his employ--skills invaluable to this terrible profession with which I had dedicated myself to. After much terror inflicted in his name, lives taken and possessions stolen, it was by his network that I found Cala here, in Mor Dhona. I will admit now, plainly, I did not intend to return. I had died moons ago, and I left to be buried. As long as I could have my justice in the end.

A sadness that too late did I realize I was no judge, and when I took her life, I had left myself once again alone.

[araeph]

Defiance, Part 8

[Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7]

Summary: Katara never thought she’d take shelter from the Water Tribe in the Fire Nation. Zuko never thought he’d build a life with someone he is only supposed to be seeing for fun. And neither one knows just how close their countries are to self-destruction.

[For Zutara month, Day 8, “Spice”] 

Katara prided herself on her swimming skills, but the eelhound certainly would give her a run for her money, even including waterbending. It’s a shame they’re cold-blooded, she thought as her ride zipped across the open water toward the heart of the Fire Nation. Dad would love to speed through the ocean like this!

She clung with her knees, the way she remembered doing as a girl when she was still small enough to ride the penguins. Everything from her waist down was below the water line, but the ocean was so warm here, it would have been enjoyable even if she weren’t inured to the cold. By and by, she sneaked a glance at the Blue Spirit, as he apparently preferred to be called. His attention was fixed on guiding the eelhound, though one hand still lay steady on her waist. They were definitely making good time, but there was no reason for her not to help out a bit.

Bringing her hands out to the sides, she made a scooping motion and plunged them into the water. Every few seconds, she repeated the gesture on either side of her.

A stifled laugh vibrated from the Blue Spirit’s chest. Katara couldn’t blame him; it must look like she was trying to dog paddle her way to the main island.

“Having fun?” he asked.

She splashed him affectionately. “Someone has to.”

“Hey!” He spluttered. “You just had a run-in with pirates, and I narrowly escaped assassination. I’m already overdue back home, and you just lost—” he stopped himself. “I’m sorry.”

“I lost my scroll,” she finished resolutely. “And you know what else? It’s a beautiful sunny day, and I haven’t seen water so blue before, and I’m on the back of a creature I never thought I’d see in my life.” She patted the eelhound, who made a series of soft clicking noises in response. “Just because bad things happen to you doesn’t mean you can’t make a good life. And you are lucky enough to be riding with someone who can cook you the best fried sunfish you’ve ever tasted. Once we get to shore, I’ll get a fire started and then we’ll eat.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, after spending hours fishing. I can’t afford that.”

“Who said anything about hours?” She trailed a handful of dazzling clear drops behind the movement of her hand. “I’m Water Tribe, and there are boatloads of fish in these currents. I wouldn’t be a grown woman if I couldn’t provide a meal for us while we were on the move.” She broke the rhythm of her bending to tuck a hair back from where the breeze had blown it free. “Unless you have to leave right after we make landfall.”

A heavy sigh resonated through him and the arm holding the reins dropped slightly. “Unless you’re the fastest fisher I’ve ever seen, I’m going to have to pass on that.”

Katara turned her head away to hide a smirk. “Sounds like a challenge.”

***

Whatever she had expected the Fire Nation to be, this wasn’t it. Katara had built her dreams on visions of fiery lava spewing forth from volcanoes and a sky choked with ash, the way it had been in her homeland when the Raiders came. This … this was an alien land, but it wasn’t hostile. The sun was sharp and blazed along her skin wherever it touched her, but it was also gentled by the greenery which enclosed the inlet that their tiny sailboat bumped against when they reached the shore.

Katara lifted her face skyward. It was warm out, but also hazy. Water rested, untouched, in the air; water soaked into the clumpy black earth; water dripped from flower to flower in the form of dew and nectar. She was right, too: they’d made good time, and had an hour to spare in order to prepare their dinner.

As soon as his footsteps receded, Katara wrangled the first big fish she saw out of the water—a bright flailing sunfish that startled her with its iridescence. Then she whisked two smaller fish from the waves and dropped them at the eelhound’s feet, whispering to the creature to keep it a secret between them before she secured his harness to a nearby tree.

By the time she’d made it to the clearing he’d picked out, the Blue Spirit had coaxed a fire into life. He held out his hand for the fish, but Katara shook her head and insisted on cleaning it herself.

(“Unless you want your throwing knives to smell?”

“All right, all right!”)

The crackling fire provided more conversation than they did, at first. Between smooth, even strokes of her knife, Katara caught herself stealing looks at his mask, but didn’t know what to say to him. Is this where they parted ways? Thanks for saving me, off I go? There was so much more she wanted to know about him—and about why she had been able to see him, inside and out, with her waterbending under the moon.

Finally he interrupted her thoughts. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“When you were yelling at me this morning. Look, I know my people have done some awful things to you and yours, but it was just so—out of the blue. Did I offend you or something?”

“Well, look who’s talkative all of a sudden,” she said without looking up. The lack of response told her he was still waiting. “It wasn’t you,” she admitted. “Really. It’s just that I’ve been put in a really difficult position lately, and maybe it wouldn’t have happened except that—you know.”

“Except the Fire Nation attacked.” Taking a heated flat stone from the fire, he held out his hand again and Katara slid the fish onto it gingerly. “I’ve heard it before. And we’re trying to make up for it. But it hasn’t been easy when no one will give us a chance.”

“What do you mean, like when?”

He shrugged. “The Earth Kingdom cities won’t let up on their rice tariffs. If we didn’t provide them with coal and oil, there would be mass starvation by now. The Air Nomads are gone, and no one’s been able to find a way to bring them back. Even the Avatar left us by never being reborn.” There was something wistful in his voice and Katara wondered where it had come from. “The Northern Water Tribe won’t stop hammering us for more reparations, and with no political inroads into the South, we have no way of knowing if they’re even reaching their intended recipients.” He scowled. “Maybe you have something to say about that?”

An ice-cold shiver went up her spine. “What reparations? I’ve never heard anything about them.”

“Well, you probably haven’t,” and she could just tell he was eyeing her sun-faded tunic and leggings, “but I hardly think Chief Arnook missed a dozen ironclads bringing gifts to his harbor. Anyway, even if they’re not getting through to the South, we still owe the Northern Water Tribe, too.”

“I’m not from the north.” She rose up and briskly turned the fish over in the fire. “I’m not even part of the delegation.” Before he could ask, she added, “And no, I’m not ready to talk about it.” She motioned to his mask. “You have secrets, and I have mine. But the thing that brought me here ��� it’s a Water Tribe thing. Not a Fire Nation problem. So you can rest easy, Blue Spirit. I won’t fight you unless you force me to.”

He nodded, refusing to dismiss her fighting skills as quickly as he’d dismissed her manner of dress. He might be a bit snobbish, but he didn’t discount her because she was a woman. It filled her an odd kind of relief, like a band relaxing around her ribcage.

A rustling sound made her whirl around, but it was only the eelhound, its reins a sodden, destroyed mess dragging behind it. It sidled up to Katara, as if trying to curry favor.

“What—what the—” Katara put her hands on her hips. “I tied your knots good and tight, mister!”

“It’s a female,” said the Blue Spirit. “And it probably just climbed the tree and stripped the branches off until it could slip the lead over the trunk. They’re very intelligent; you’re lucky it likes you.” He paused. “I probably should have warned you about that.”

“Who care? It’s amazing,” said Katara, peering into the topaz eyes of the eelhound. “Can I name her?”

“No!”

***

Katara decided to name the eelhound Click-Click, for the sounds it made when she fed it fish scraps after they’d had their dinner. The Blue Spirit vigorously objected, pointing out that they would have to trade her in for something less flamboyant if they wanted to avoid detection in the Caldera. Since they were having this argument atop said eelhound, Katara got to call it Click-Click a few more times before she reluctantly agreed. Still, she made him promise to give Click-Click a nice home and to see if she could come visit sometime. She smirked at the exasperated sound that followed. It was just so entertaining to tease him.

But when she arrived at Caldera City, she slipped off the saddle without a word, mouth open in awe.

I’ve made it. I’ve really made it!

She knew the Fire Nation was more advanced than the Water Tribe, having seen their ships and perused the marketplace on Ember Island, but she’d never have been able to envision the sheer complexity on her own. The citizens of the Caldera swarmed around her, silk of glaring red and muted burgundy hanging impeccably from their tall, wiry frames. Every so often she caught a gleam of gold in the eyes around her, usually from the men and women who were trailed by a retinue of servants.

Katara wiggled her foot across one of the clean-swept bricks in the road. It fit seamlessly in with its brothers and glared white in the mid-afternoon sun. Gold tipped the points on the rooftops and metal dragons stood guard over the doors with buffed, gleaming handles. Every hat she saw was slightly different, with the exception of what seemed to be a regiment of schoolchildren in uniform. They marched passed her, most barely deigning to look her way, although a few of them were too young or to curious to refrain from turning their heads. Katara was oddly reminded of the flock of penguins that had interrupted her walk on her last night at home.

A whiff of something pungent and sweet caught her off-guard.

“Ahh … ahh-choo!” 

Several people stopped to look at her. Katara covered her nose and turned from one highly offended face to the other. She felt her cheeks heat.

“Well, it’s not my fault!” she said. “It’s not as if I ahh ah-CHOO!”

There was the sound of a dozen slippered feet scuttling back. When Katara’s eyes opened again, she felt an odd emptiness to her right. Instinctively, she turned around.

The Blue Spirit was gone! He and the eelhound had vanished as if they’d never been there.

“Hey!” she said indignantly, hands on her hips. “You can’t just ditch me!” Her gaze swung from one bone-white face to the next, seeking the familiarity of the blue mask in a sea of strangeness. “Look, I know you’re here. ANSWER ME!”

More city dwellers began inching away, and Katara had to refrain from sneezing a third time. This time, there was another scent mingling with the first—a sharp, aromatic tang that she couldn’t quite place.

Abruptly, she felt a tug at her elbow. Katara barely caught sight of a scarlet cloak before she was not-so-gently escorted to a side street. She still couldn’t see his face, but his indignant huffs were all she needed to discern the man’s identity.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” the Blue Spirit muttered, now under a hood of red. “I was finding a safe place for the eelhound, like you wanted.”

Another time, she would have taken exception to that; now, her curiosity outweighed her pique at being thought of as an annoyance. “What was that—those strange smells?” She pointed to a building with ornate lattice windows and a heavily embroidered curtain in front of the door. “They were coming from inside there.”

“Cardamom,” said her companion. “And purple pepper, which our ancestors brought over from the Sun Warriors. We use them to season our food.” The Blue Spirit sniffed the air. “Cloves, too. For clearing the air, getting rid of bugs.”

“There are more bugs?” Katara wrinkled her nose. “Back home, we only had a few arctic worms we’d use for bait. But they were difficult to find.”

He snorted. “Get used to it. Mosquito-flies, dung roaches, and spider snakes, not to mention three-tailed scorpions. Which reminds me, make sure to check your shoes before you put them on for the day. The smaller the scorpions are, the nastier, and they love to nest in your boots.”

The hood half-turned in her direction and paused. “Feel like going home yet?”

“Not even a little.” She nudged him. “Not that I’d mind knowing where you’re taking me.”

“Someplace safe. It’s, uh, a little out of the way, though.” Her companion shifted his weight—odd, since he was usually so light on his feet. “Um. How comfortable are you with being not in the most, uh, refined part of town?”

“Okay, look, Spirit. Just because I don’t flaunt the latest fashion—”

“That’s not what I meant!” A pale forearm snaked out to tug the hood down farther. “I meant that the area of town we’re going to isn’t … how do I put this …”

But as they were walking, Katara had taken in the abundance of flashy lanterns, incense and furtive looks of some of the men who hastened through beaded curtain doorways. She knew perfectly well where they were heading. “Isn’t exactly respectable?” she offered with a smirk. “We’re in the red lantern district, aren’t we? At least that’s what they call it in the Earth Kingdom.”

He stiffened and tried to whirl around, but stopped himself halfway through and faced away from her. “How did you know? I, I mean, if you do know, that’s none of my business. I just didn’t think that you, I mean you don’t wear makeup or anything, but you’re certainly beautiful enough … ”

She couldn’t help it; she burst into a fit of laughter.

The billowed cloak only slightly muffled his indignation. “It’s not funny!”

“Oh, yes, it is. And by the way, I was on a pirate ship, Spirit,” she reminded him. “I spent weeks working with lowlifes who visited every pleasure house and seedy tavern that they possibly could.”

He seemed to be tilting his head in contemplation. “But how did you protect yourself? It’s not like you had bodyguards. There are men on these streets who would kidnap you in a heartbeat.”

“I wore a disguise. Kind of like you. It was just some old scraps of fabric, but it protected me.” And other people, too, she added silently. There’d been a mugging or two she’d stopped before the thieves knew what hit them, though she knew all too well how little experience she had in a fight. She’d left the costume on the pirate ship and for a moment wished she hadn’t. 

But Katara was enjoying his discomfiture too much to dwell on her past. She pointed to a wheel of stone pomegranates that decorated the doorway of one of the establishments. “Look, seven. That’s how many men they keep on retainer. And the knotted tassels hanging from that window—”

There was a slight choking sound from beneath the hood. “I don’t want to know.”

“Well, then you shouldn’t have brought me to such an interesting place.” She regarded the scarlet hood thoughtfully. “You seem more weirded out than I am.”

“I don’t go here if I can help it. I mean, these days I have, but not to, uh, stay overnight. More to survey—in preparation for—things.” He sighed. “It’s complicated. I have to investigate beforehand, and fun is the last thing on my mind. See, in the position I’m in, I have to be careful. Who I’m with. When I’m with them. What the consequences are. And even if it’s only temporary, I have to know who I’m dealing with.”

“Hmm.” She surveyed the nearly empty street. “It’s kind of missing the point then, don’t you think?”

“Huh?”

She gestured around her. “This. We don’t have anything like this in the Water Tribe; each family keeps to its own. But from what I hear, these establishments are supposed to be for enjoyment and relaxation.”

“So … ”

“So, Spirit, are you having fun doing your little investigations? Is it relaxing, vetting every single person you come across?” The thought irritated her for some reason. “Why don’t you just get to know the person you’re with, and then go for it? Or at least have a genuine good time with them, like friends.”

He started. “Friends? I can’t go looking for friends!”

“Why, is it against some rigid Fire Nation statute?” She pursed her lips, ignoring the thirst that was beginning to build from the heat of the afternoon. “Look, we can make it simple. When was the last time you had fun? Actual, laugh-out-loud fun?”

“I …” he trailed off. “I don’t remember. Maybe you’re better at it than I am.”

That left Katara at a loss. For a while, she simply leaned against a street corner, watching the passersby. A gentle breeze wafted the air, carrying the last remnants of the foreign aromas. Overhead, a hawk circled into the eye of the sun.

“No,” she said softly at last. “I’m not really good at it. At all. My brother is the goofy one. I always feel like I have to be the parent around him. And my mom—” her voice grew shaky. “My mom wouldn’t have wanted him to grow up all serious, so I had to be. I knew what could happen. My dad used to laugh a lot more than he does now, and, well ... Sokka should stay the way he is.”

He drew closer, so their arms were just pressed together. “When was the last time you had fun, Katara? Actual, genuine fun?”

It had been when she was waterbending, but Katara wasn’t willing to admit it. It was a necessity revealing what she was to the pirates, but alone in the Fire Nation, she wasn’t going to take the risk. “Swimming,” she decided to say instead. It was the truth, sort of. “The waters around my tribe will freeze you to death, but we can still swim if we cover ourselves in animal fat and keep it short. Here, I was able to swim all the way to the dock in my clothes! The water is so lovely and clear … ” she made a sigh of contentment.

“You’d like it,” he said, “back on Ember Island. The water stays warm year-round, and if you rent one of the beach houses, you can fall asleep to the sound of the sea. There are plenty of things to do around town, too—it’s not just markets. There are street performers and a theater that my mom used to take us to.”

“Theater?” Katara turned to face him. “What’s that like? Is that where you got your mask?”

He involuntarily put a hand to the shadows that shrouded his face. “I made my mask, I didn’t buy it. You … you’ve never been to the theater before?”

She shook her head wordlessly.

He reached out and took hold of her arm. “There’s one nearby, about five blocks away.” He cleared his throat. “Wait. Wait, I should—” he relinquished his hold and held out a hand instead. “Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, it would be a great honor for you to accompany me to the theater.” He stiffened. “I mean, for me to accompany you! We’d have to go in disguise, but I think it would be really fun and maybe I could steal a mask for you and come back and pay for it later.”

She nodded, hoping that would put an end to the monologue that she could tell was mortifying him more with each passing second. Sadly, it wasn’t enough.

“We, we can stop and get some food so your stomach doesn’t growl like it was doing earlier?”

She gave him a look.

“R…right…” he trailed off. “Sorry. I’ll just—”

Katara reached out and took his still-outstretched hand. “It’s okay, Spirit,” she said. “You’re right, I’m hungry. Just promise me you can take me someplace where I won’t burn the roof of my mouth off.” She felt a smile begin to form. “And I’d be happy to go to the theater with you.”

“Good. That’s--good. I’ll show you to an inn tonight and pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”

He raised his head, and for just a fraction of a second, she caught a glimpse of a pale chin and a bright golden eye before he retreated back into his cloak. Who was this man she was confiding in? Did he have a sordid past? Was he on the run from the law?

She shook off her doubts. He’d had all the opportunity he needed to try and manipulate her, attack her, deceive her … but he hadn’t. And maybe it was just her imagination, but underneath the mysterious blue and white facade, there lay an almost painful awkwardness. He was human, underneath it all.

It works both ways, Katara decided. If he’s trusting me, I will trust him. At least for now.

***

Five minutes later …

“You promised the food wouldn’t be hot!”

“It isn’t!”

[shadow-wasser]

WIP Fic Friday - Atla Zombie AU

WIP Fic Friday is a place where I will put a ‘quick and dirty’ first draft of either a short story or a chapter from a longer story. This will hopefully encourage me to improve my writing output

Sorry, forgot this Friday to post!! Here’s a makeup.

Chapter 2: Triptych

2 years ago, the Northern Air Temple

The Mechanist left his 10-year-old son in the living quarters that they shared. It had once been a dormitory for airbending students, but no one thought about that much. “I’ll be back soon, Teo,” he said. “I have a lot of work to do.”

Teo lay on the floor, concentrating intently on a wooden puzzle splayed out on the carpet. “Okay,” he said, not even glancing up as his father left.

The Mechanist walked down the halls of what had once been the Northern Air Temple, swinging his tool box from side to side. He loved his son, loved him with all his heart. And to protect him, to protect his people, his family, he would do just about anything.

The pressure was mounting. Word of the Mechanists’ inventions was spreading, and not all of the ears that listened were friendly. He’d been propositioned just last week. The choice was presented quite clearly. They could continue to live in peace, or the Temple grounds could once again become the site of a massacre.

The Mechanist thought of his son, and steeled himself. This must be done.

No one could know. The Mechanists’ people were peaceful. They were advancing all of mankind. They were Earth Kingdom, yet they were flying. But if the community knew of what the Mechanist now had to do to keep them alive, they might not give him such free rein over their public works. Indeed, they might not give him any rein at all. Hence, the need to finally unlock the most carefully-concealed place in the temple, the Sanctuary. The airflow-triggered bolting mechanism that concealed the room was ingenious to say the least, and cracking that lock would be worthwhile simply for the challenge, even if it weren’t necessary for survival.

The Mechanist came to the Sanctuary door, and wheeled the bellows from their nearby alcove. Worked by hand, they simply weren’t strong enough to open the air-lock, and most steam-engines broke the bellows before the air got moving with enough force.

Kneeling down, the Mechanist opened his tool box, and fiddled with the bellows’ convoluted innards. What was the problem? Did the pumps work too quickly? Was the air bladder too small, or made of the wrong material? Perhaps it just needed more oiling…

Ah, of course! It was overheating. Even after yesterday’s trial, the engine was warm. Well, pack some snow melt around it, and…

The Mechanist brought in buckets of icy water, which he quickly made a basin for, then used a waxed hide to water-proof the poor, overheated engine. The result looked a bit jury-rigged, but it would do.

When the Mechanist started his machine up again, it worked like a dream. The levers hissed and pumped, the leather pipes used to direct the air flow into the locks swelled from the bellows, and the mechanism on the doors began to whistle and twitch.

As the locks and bolts aligned, the Mechanist stood up, and thrust his thumbs into his belt with satisfaction. That hadn’t been hard at all. Looked like ancient Air Nomad technology couldn’t stand up to modern ingenuity.

Then, the doors opened, and the Mechanist was blown off his feet by a blast of stale wind. Tumbling heels over head, he just barely managed to catch himself by grabbing onto his rattling bellows.

After the wind died down, he lifted his face in time to see a group of people standing in the darkness behind the doorway. They were thin, gaunt to the point of emaciation, and wore torn, faded yellow robes. They were bald, with arrows on their brows. They were looking at him with sunken, empty eyes.

“Who are you?” gasped the Mechanist, and tried to get up.

They began to come forward, and another gust of wind nearly floored him. “You’re airbenders!” the Mechanist cried. “I can’t believe it!”

In reply, they only moaned.

-------

Early Winter, just off the west coast of the Earth Kingdom

The rain lanced down in sheets, in curtains, in waves, hitting Aang and Katara so hard it was like tiny, watery needles. The two benders scanned the horizon, barely able to see anything, it was so dark and the rain so thick. The little sailboat that held Sokka and that fisherman would be nearly impossible to find in this growing typhoon.

Appa battled the winds, struggling to stay airborne in such strong downdrafts. Sokka, thought Katara, and Aang looked around, desperately hoping for a sign.

Then, Aang heard a sound, a faint and wordless groan, carried by the wind. He looked up.

It looked like a yellow kite, suspended in the storm, a hundred feet over the Avatar’s head. It was like a piece of cloth, or a ragged sail, or-

The next lightning strike illuminated the figure in sharp relief. It was a man, wrapped in a yellow robe, floating in and buoyed by the wind, with no glider at all. Aang’s jaw dropped. It wasn’t possible, was it?

The next downdraft nearly blew Appa into the sea, and Aang had to take his attention off the figure to aid the bison in his efforts to stay aloft. Then the next wave nearly put them under again, and when they were finally flying at a safe height, the figure was gone.

“What is it?” asked Katara, seeing the look on Aang’s face. “Do you see them?”

“No, I…” Aang swallowed. “I just… I thought I saw something. It wasn’t, though. Let’s keep looking.”

Appa soared deeper into the storm.

--------

Late Winter, the Northern Earth Kingdom

“So, travelers,” the storyteller continued, “The next time you think you hear a rustle in the night, it might not be a meadow vole or a raccoon-dog, but a horrific cannibal spirit from beyond the grave, come to devour you whole!”

Sokka, Katara, and Aang stared at the storyteller, eyes wide.

“Are there really cannibal spirits?” asked Katara, looking at Aang.

The airbender shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, though… we’re near the Northern Air Temple, and I used to come up here for the sky bison polo championships. I don’t remember ever hearing about cannibal spirits.”

“Oh, they’re real, my boy. Trust me.” The storyteller shoved his hat in front of Aang. “Now, jingle jingle!”

“Have you seen them?” asked Aang, looking concerned.

“No, but ask anyone in the villages around here, and they’ll tell you, they keep their doors and windows shut tight. I’d pass through quickly, if I were you.”

“Uh…” Aang frowned. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Tell it to the hat.”

After dropping a copper in the hat, Aang turned back to Sokka and Katara. “Think we should check it out?”

“I dunno, Aang,” said Sokka. “We can’t stop to look up every ghost story we hear. It’s probably just nonsense anyway.”

“And we’re so close to the Northern Water Tribe,” added Katara. “We can come back after we learn waterbending.”

Aang sighed. “Okay… but what if it’s real?”

Sokka snorted. “Then all the more reason to keep moving. I don’t want to get eaten, do you?”

“Katara-” started Aang, but Sokka interrupted.

“I knew ghost stories were a bad idea!”

Aang sighed, but relented. They would continue to the Northern Water Tribe. They could always come back to the Northern Air Temple later.

[fitnesswomenshealth-blog]

Hurricane cleanup: How to stay safe when returning home

New Post has been published on https://cialiscom.org/hurricane-cleanup-how-to-stay-safe-when-returning-home.html

Hurricane cleanup: How to stay safe when returning home

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Rescue personnel help people evacuate in Spring Lake, North Carolina, on Monday, September 17.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Floodwaters surround a trailer in Pollocksville, North Carolina.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Willie Schubert cradles his dog Lucky atop a stranded van in Pollocksville, North Carolina, as he waits for help from US Coast Guard rescue swimmer Samuel Knoeppel, center, and Randy Haba on September 17.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Floodwaters are seen on Emerald Isle in North Carolina on Sunday, September 16.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Panicked dogs left caged by an owner who fled rising floodwaters are rescued by volunteer Ryan Nichols in Leland, North Carolina.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A church stands partially submerged in floodwaters in Richlands, North Carolina.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Coast Guard member Blake Gwinn helps Josephine Horne escape her flooded home in Columbus County, North Carolina.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A large tree lies on top of a home in the Evergreen mobile home park in Newport, North Carolina.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

John Hendren leads his horses to safety after members of the US Coast Guard helped cut up a fallen tree that had trapped the horses in a flooded field on in Lumberton, North Carolina.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Tony Thompson stands in the wreckage of his mobile home, which he says “exploded around him” on Friday night as Hurricane Florence moved inland over Newport, North Carolina, on Sunday, September 16.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A woman and a young girl walk down a road flooded by Hurricane Florence in Pollocksville, North Carolina, on Sunday.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Floodwaters from Hurricane Florence inundate the town of Trenton, North Carolina, on Sunday, September 16.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Members of the Coast Guard help a stranded motorist in the floodwaters caused by Florence in Lumberton, North Carolina, on Sunday, September 16.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A man peers from his home in Lumberton, North Carolina, on Sunday.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Members of a search-and-rescue team help an elderly resident onto a bus as they evacuate an assisted living facility in Fayetteville, North Carolina on Saturday.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A member of the US Coast Guard checks on homes after Florence hit Newport, North Carolina, on Saturday, September 15 .

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A neighbor takes photos of a boat smashed against a car garage near the Neuse River in New Bern on Saturday.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A truck is submerged in floodwaters in Jacksonville, North Carolina, on Saturday.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Joseph Eudi surveys debris and storm damage at a home in New Bern, North Carolina, on September 15.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A woman calls for help at her flooded residence as Florence brought large amounts of rain and floodwaters to Lumberton, North Carolina, on Saturday.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

People wait in line to fill gas cans at a gas station that was damaged when Florence hit Wilmington, North Carolina, on Saturday.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A baseball field on Mill Creek Road is filled with floodwater after Florence hit Newport, North Carolina, on Saturday.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Mike Pollack searches for a drain in the yard of his flooded waterfront home in Wilmington, North Carolina, on Saturday.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Floodwaters from Florence inundate the town of Engelhard, North Carolina, on Saturday.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Ray Baca of Wilmington, North Carolina, checks his phone as he sits on a bench.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A sailboat lifted by storm surge leans against a building at Bridgepointe Marina in New Bern, North Carolina, on Saturday, a day after Florence’s landfall.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Kim Adams wades through floodwaters surrounding her home in Southport, North Carolina, on September 15.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Volunteers help rescue three children from a flooded home in James City, North Carolina, on Friday, September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Russ Lewis covers his eyes from wind and sand in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Volunteers help rescue people from their flooded homes in New Bern on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Waves crash into the Second Avenue Pier in Myrtle Beach on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

The storm leaves a tree toppled in New Bern on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Soldiers from the North Carolina National Guard reinforce a low-lying area with sandbags in Lumberton, North Carolina, on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Robert Simmons Jr. and his kitten are rescued from floodwaters in New Bern on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Teddie Davis checks on one of the New Bern’s signature bear statues toppled by the storm on September 14. Another one of the bears, in the background, ended up in the middle of a downtown street.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Rising waters threaten downtown Washington, North Carolina, as the Pamlico River overruns its banks on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

An abandoned van sits on a flooded road near New Bern on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A boat sits wedged in trees in Oriental, North Carolina, near New Bern, on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Members of a Federal Emergency Management Agency team from California search a flooded neighborhood in Fairfield Harbour, North Carolina, on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Rescue workers attempt to remove a giant tree that fell onto a house in Wilmington, North Carolina, on September 14. Two people died when the tree collapsed — among the first storm-related deaths due to Hurricane Florence.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Electric poles that snapped in half sway from their wires in Wilmington on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Lee Casteen, left, and Try Hinton use a chainsaw to clear a tree blocking a road in Wilmington on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Rescue workers help a woman and her dog from a flooded house in James City on September 14.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Michael Nelson floats in a boat fashioned from a metal tub and fishing floats after the Neuse River flooded September 13 in New Bern.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Powerful winds and waves destroy portions of a boat dock and boardwalk in Atlantic Beach on September 13.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Residents wade through streets flooded by the Neuse River in New Bern on September 13.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Evacuees take refuge at Burgaw Middle School in Burgaw, North Carolina, on September 12.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Marge Brown says goodbye to her father, George Brown, before his evacuation from a health care home in Morehead City, North Carolina, on September 12.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Workers take boats out of the water in Wanchese Harbor in Wanchese, North Carolina, on September 12 as the Outer Banks prepares for Florence.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Jeff Bryant, left, and James Evans board the windows of a business in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, on Tuesday, September 11.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

People fill sandbags in Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina, on September 11.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Both lanes of Interstate 26 flow westbound in North Charleston, South Carolina, toward Columbia as people evacuate inland on September 11.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Laura Gretch holds Frances, a Chihuahua mix, as she helps unload cats and dogs arriving at the Humane Rescue Alliance in Washington from Norfolk, Virginia, on September 11.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Veronica Gallardo and Robert Kelly place a plastic tarp over an American flag inside the Casemate Museum at Fort Monroe in Hampton, Virginia, on September 11.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

A man eyes a store’s bare bread shelves as people stock up on food in Myrtle Beach on September 11.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Chuck Ledford, left, watches cartoons on a phone with his daughter Misty as they seek shelter at Emma B. Trask Middle School in Wilmington, North Carolina, on Tuesday, September 11.

In pictures: Florence drenches the Carolinas

Scott Fleenor, bottom, and Jeremiah Trendell board over the windows of a business in Myrtle Beach.

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