[Flashback] Sand and Sea (Pash'nar)

[Satevis]

Satevis froze at the curse the man uttered, but not because of the profanity behind it. Certainly, the words themselves would have been considered profane, even blasphemous, but it was the meaning behind them, not the curse, that had stopped the young Ethaefal. He turned his head, his crystalline blue eyes wide as he looked at the Svefra. No. No, not a Svefra. Just as he wasn't truly a Benshira. An Ethaefal. Another son of Leth... At another time, Satevis might have responded with a rebuttal, would come to his god's defense, would have wandered right into a theoretical debate. But the shock at finding another Ethaefal stilled his tongue. So he simply stared, listening, as his brother caught himself and revised his words, apologizing for his behavior in his own way. For a moment, the content of his words didn't really register with him, and an awkward silence stretched on after Pash'nar finished speaking, filling the space between them. Belatedly, Satevis realized that the other man was waiting for a reply. "Ah..." he began rather inarticulately. He shook his head, clearing his throat and turning around fully so that he was facing Pash'nar. "That would be--well, I would be grateful..." he finally said. "It wouldn't sit well with me to simply impose on you for nothing, but unfortunately...as you might have gathered, I haven't exactly had the time to earn enough money for the trip. But if you're sailing that way regardless...I would be grateful if you'd take me along." He paused, waiting to hear what the other Ethaefal would say.

[Pash'nar]

The tattooed sailor seemed to relax a little, tense inked shoulders drooping, storm in his sea glass eyes calming, and a hint of regret creasing itself into his wind-swept features. He did feel strongly about his fate, wrong or not. It wasn't normally his style to simply reveal his hand of cards at the start of a game, but it happened despite himself. Running into more of his kind was rare and valuable—a connection he was never willing to waste on his own insecurities. "Oh aye, I ain't particular in the direction I'm sailin'." The dark-haired navigator finally replied bluntly. He was restless. He drifted. If someone had a destination in mind, he was happy to end up there if only for the experience, "An' don't let me rush you, neither. I ain't ever really in much of a hurry when I don't got anywhere to be. Time ain't much of an issue, after all. It ain't easy figurin' out what you're s'posed to be doin' when you know you jus' plain ain't s'posed to be here." Ah, that edge of bitterness crept in again and even Pash'nar seemed to wince. It ached, that hole in his chest so long left unfilled. His words were anchored with the fear that it would always be empty. "Well, petch. Aren't we standin' 'round bein' rude celestials?" He chuckled finally, attempting to break the seriousness of the situation. The false Svefra wiped his salty hands on his vest, though it was also still wet, and offered one inked, calloused palm in the other ethaefal's direction as a means of greeting, "Name's Pash'nar. Least it's th'one I got now." His attempt at a smile was genuine, but difficult.

[Satevis]

Satevis smiled slightly at Pash'nar's words. It was a smile edged with his own bitterness, but at least he was trying. He knew neither of them were happy with their current situation, but he supposed there were ways to make the most of it. Standing around Zeltiva was not one of them. "I haven't been here long enough to get attached to anywhere," he told Pash'nar. "And I don't have anything here to delay me. I can leave when you're ready." He intended to return to Zeltiva at some point, if only because the University intrigued him. But he couldn't stay here now. The place was rife with the memories of his fall. Strangely, he found that the idea of leaving didn't fill him with much regret. He supposed there was a part of him that was still Benshira, a nomad at heart. "It's Satevis," he said with a nod as he clasped Pash'nar's hand. The name still felt new and strange to him, but it was beginning to grow on him. He was starting to refer to himself by it more often, and had started recognizing it as his own. It wasn't truly his name, but it would have to do for now. "I suppose whatever you might think of the gods, this is a rather opportune meeting," he said.

[Pash'nar]

"They ain't all bad." Laughed the false Svefra, rolling his cerulean eyes with a toss of his head, "Jus' ain't interested in th'ones that don't care—'least in m'opinion. You're free to make you're own." He smirked, running a calloused hand through stray strands of still-wet, dark hair, untangling some sea glass baubles as he weighed the semantics of opportunity and chance. He knew there was a middle ground somewhere, or at least a place where the two overlapped, overseen by the same gods he'd once walked among. It didn't mean he understood their seemingly foolish purposes, but, then neither did the mortals whose breath he now shared. "Eh," he exhaled thoughtfully through too-perfect teeth, "I'll need several days'r'more to get ready; Yahebah's a long trip from 'ere. Might have to pick up a bit'o'dock work jus' to make sure we've got enough food, but we'll see how that goes 'round 'ere." It was easy enough to find a ship or two that needed an extra hand unloading supplies once they arrived at the docks. He'd probably be able to scrounge up the mizas for rations and supplement with fishing. It was making sure they had enough water that would be most important, but he had the storage if he did some arranging. At least he had an extra berth. It was just hardly used. "You ain't been sleepin' on street corners for eleven days, right?" Pash'nar had been fortunate enough—or somehow blessed by the gods' senses of humors—to have been found on the beach by a family of fishermen. They'd been an interesting re-introduction to the world, and the tattooed sailor had nothing but fond memories of them, awkward and difficult as many of them were, "If you're broke, I sure hope you've got somewhere to stay. It may be a while 'fore I'm ready to set sail an' I ain't sure it's safe to sleep on the streets here." Well, he might have known a few places, but still. A bit of genuine concerned surfaced in his tone. It was hard enough waking up somewhere you didn't belong.

[Satevis]

"That's fine," said Satevis with a nod as Pash'nar explained that it would be a while until they got enough supplies to leave Zeltiva. "Honestly, if it weren't for you, I might never have gotten around to leaving in the first place." He had been expecting something of the sort. Although the memories he did have did not have him traveling this distance, he was aware of the size of Mizahar, and was vaguely aware of how far his homeland of Eyktol was to Zeltiva. His brother's comment about the gods, he decided to leave alone. He knew well enough that theological debates were one of the quickest things to end a friendship, and he and Pash'nar seemed to have gotten off on the wrong foot as it was. He didn't want to lose a connection with another Ethaefal because of that. His own faith was something he felt strongly about, but he didn't see the need in pushing it in other people's faces. Besides, Pash'nar must have believed in something once in order to have been chosen in the first place. He shook his head when his fellow Ethaefal asked him if he had been sleeping out on the street. "Not exactly," he said. "I was...fortunate enough to meet another Ethaefal after my fall. He helped me a little. I've been staying at the inn. But for an extended stay...I might have to look for some form of employment." Only now, speaking to someone, did he realize how pathetic he sounded. Living completely off of charity? True, he had literally fallen with nothing, not even clothes to wear, but after eleven days, he should have been able to come up with something more productive than that.

[Pash'nar]

"Well, I've got room'n my boat if'n y'find yourself really in need. It ain't much but an extra bed, but I know how't is." Pash'nar shifted uncomfortably with a wave of a calloused, tattooed hand, though his tone was full of honest kindness. Whether it had been Leth's blessing or Laviku's sense of humor, the family of fishing folk who'd sheltered him, attempted to teach him a trade, and put up with him in his first decade or so of new life in this petching place had never asked for him to pay rent. He had helped support them, first by showing himself a terrible fisherman and second by helping them navigate instead once his aptitude for the stars was nurtured a bit. He'd wandered, eventually, though. One day at a time, he found himself drifting from the ones who'd showed him so much generosity. They grew old. He didn't. They changed. He didn't. Leth seemed far away. Alcohol became a pretty petching decent comfort. Occasional fights felt better than dwelling on memories of places he'd never visit again. Sailing was familiar in a way that Pash'nar didn't want to dwell on but couldn't seem to stay away from. He clung to it, hid in the shelter of how far away from everything it could take him. The Ukalas simply got further and further away over the years, just like his god. Something had planted that seed of bitterness, and the dark-haired navigator became content to nurture it. Now, it just was a part of who he was, though something in the inky depths of his chest still knew it was wrong. Pointless. The wrong direction. Still, it was hard to change course when the wind felt in your favor. Pash'nar sighed, the wordless weight of his own story an anchor in his heart, "Well, we'll have to figure out 'ow to meet again. I'm always around 'ere somewheres. The docks, that is. Or the Grotto. Or some hole inna wall." He grinned a little, distantly, obviously implying that he had a few favorite spots to end up with questionable levels of sobriety, "Or m'boat, which you're welcome to—I ain't petchin' with you 'bout that. It's thattaway." He squinted and hooked a thumb over his shoulder, though through the masts and sails and larger merchant ships, his little casinor was nowhere to be seen.