Pash'nar was used to the motion of a ship, his ship specifically. He seemed to sway with everything else, some moonlit extension of the hull itself. Sea legs, he would have called it, had he thought the comment would have mattered. Instead, it was all he could do not to follow the sweep of her arm back over her chilled, wet form as she steadied herself against his own. He willed himself to only glance at her hand, dug as it was into the pale, clammy muscle of a bicep. He bit his lip, though the discomfort of wet linen pants was no less warming to his own body.
He chuckled, nodding a dripping, horned head as he slipped away from the jib line, reaching both hands to take Sariana's firmly, walking backwards as he guided her with a warm, sly smile, "D'you think I sleep on deck in the rain?" He teased, not having the slightest clue that, yes, indeed, the Drykas assumed it to be so, "It's my house belowdecks, an' yes, it's warmer but it ain't any less rocky."
The unlikely sailor ducked the boom without looking, knowing each shape of his old casinor like it really was his own flesh. Still stepping with the motions of the waves, he carefully led the woman away from the stern toward a little hatch of a door barely visible even under the rising moon.
Releasing one of her hands, he smirked wanly, offering a quiet warning as he opened the creaky door with his free hand and began to descend into the darkness of his home, "If'n the motions make you feel like you're gonna hurl, give me a warnin' an' look out for my maps." Offering his support to the Drykas until he led her hand to the handrail of his very short stairs, his own grip may have lingered, cold pale fingers sliding away to fumble in the dark to find light,
"Wait'ere a chime'r'two."
There was a thump and a crack, some more sea worthy swearing, and finally the oil was relit in a tiny glass bell, warm glow reflecting off moist, opalescent skin, milky curved horns, and old, worn wood, "Like I said, it ain't much, but it's home."
The stairs ended in an archway that opened into a surprisingly tall-ceilinged room. Pash set about lighting an additional lantern that revealed the room was like a living room of sorts, strewn about with papers and charts, some cushions and nautical-inspired humble decorations, and a small table with a bench, all attached to the body of the ship. Porthole windows reflected inky water and nightfall, with the cabin windows acting as skylights to the stars. The whole ceiling of the cabin, once the ethaefal swung his small lamp upwards was an enormous hand-drawn work of cartographer's art—the night sky spanned in black ink across his entire roof.
The opposite wall of the room was a tiny mess of sorts, with an oil stove and some cabinets, a small counter and some shelves. It was all rudimentary and miniature in scale, especially when compared to the towering shard of moonlight who swayed next to it. A narrow hall disappeared beside the stairs to what could have been storage. A curtain swayed at the farthest end of the cabin's common room, which most likely hid where the man slept.
"Don't mind th'mess," he muttered, setting the lantern on a hook from the intricate ceiling. The inside creaked and moaned with the waves, and the sound of them washing on the hull seemed to reverberate through flesh as well as wood.
It was warmer below without the wind. Cozy. Not as small as expected, but not large either. Everything felt old, well-used, cared for. The mess of papers appeared to all be maps, currents, star-charts, numbers, and other nonsense. Pash'nar was a navigator, after all.
"Petch, let me get you somethin' dry, eh?" He had been watching the Drykas shiver, perhaps with a bit too much enjoyment, tide pool gaze pulling away from her exposed skin to disappear behind his curtain, "Make y'self at home. Jus' remember no petchin' mess on my charts." He understood the toss of the sea affected those who weren't so part of it as he was, but he did so hope to keep any of Sarinah's insides from decorating his cabin.
He returned having escaped the cold wet cling of his own pants, donning a threadbare towel to keep the peace between them (though it was tempting not to) and bearing a blanket from the pile of them he'd declared a bed,
"So, that's it… Now you've seen m'boat." The ethaefal's features creased into a taunting grin, as if he meant to imply there was more she was missing. |