[Flashback] Yes, we have no land out here. [Minerva]

[Pash'nar]

There was panic in his cerulean eyes, obvious and stormy. His doubt didn't stem from her gender or her age so much as the expense of the item she clutched in her hands. His scowl deepened in his fear, watching her steal his item away into the depths of his cabin with some helpless noise caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. He already knew she couldn't swim. The tattooed sailor debated going belowdecks. He could set the tiller. The sails were already tied. Did he want to watch? Surely, it wouldn't calm him. Instead, he wrestled with his thoughts for a while on his deck, finding it unfortunate he was aboard his casinor and not in some tavern where he could break something and not have to worry about fixing it himself. The sinking feeling in his stomach lingered, heavy and dark. Finally, he simply opened the hatch to his cabin and peered below, "I don't know if I want the thing better, y'know. You didn't ask if I needed 'er improved. Works jus' petchin' fine now. Can y'jus' put 'er back together an' we can find somethin' else for you to fix?" His tone was nervous, concerned, though from Tock's place in his common room, she couldn't see his expression. She could only hear his voice.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Pfft," Tock snorted as she carefully ran a fine-tipped file into the grooves of the ring. "Ain't done nobody what ever got nothin' good done what by sayin' 'ow stuff done been fine as she is, aye?" she told him. "If'n ya knew better what 'ow she needs improvin', ya'd 'ave done 'er already, aye? My Granddad always done said 'ow people jus' don't wanna spend the time o' the money on 'er, cause 'ey done gets used ta stuff being cruddy. Ain't nothin' good gonna be from 'at." She finished smoothing out the ring, then tightened the central post so it wouldn't be so wobbly. Then she laid the needle on a flat surface so she could gently tap it with a hammer and straighten it. It didn't need much adjustment, but a little bit would go a long way. She reassembled the device, attaching the needle back to the post and screwing the outer ring back in place. She gave it a few twists in each direction, and it moved much more smoothly now. The motion of the needle was more fluid and less wobbly. She stalked back out onto the deck and shoved it at the ungrateful Sailor Man, staring him down with her one good eye. "Ye'll thank me later, ya will," she told him with a frown. "Getcha where yer goin' faster if'n she done works right, aye?" She pushed past him to the tiller with her files in hand. She'd felt a slight rough spot in the wood when she was using it. She knelt next to it and started filing the spot down. The Sailor Man was going to get splinters if he let things be instead of fixing them.

[Pash'nar]

OOCTapatalk always double posts and won't let me delete.

[Pash'nar]

"Petch you—"came the gruff, indignant bark down the stairwell at the red-headed human, "I take care o'my boat jus' fine. How many ships you sailed on, eh?" The dark-haired sailor's scowl deepened, insulted by a creature so young, and he slid away from the hatch to his cabin to stalk back across his deck and settle again by his tiller with a disgruntled air. What was it about petching children, anyway? Even if this one at least thought she was grown up, she still thought she knew everything. Tock appeared from belowdecks, brandishing his compass proudly. Had she really done anything useful? It was pressed into his calloused hands without invitation, and he eyed the thing warily, inked fingers turning it over and inspecting it with obvious caution. He noticed the improvements, but bit his lip to keep from expressing his excitement right away. Choosing instead to cling to his sour face, he watched the young woman set about filing his steering device. A noise of objection escaped his throat, cut off from full volume by the tightness of his resisting lips. "Oy," he finally, spoke up, crossing tattooed arms over his bare chest as his cerulean eyes narrowed at the young woman. He swayed easily with the motion of his casinor, but his voice was level and stern, "This ship's older'n'at granddad o'yours, y'know, an' she sails jus' fine. She sailed jus' fine b'fore you, too." Sure, the rough spot she was smoothing had been there for a while. Years, maybe, but when he had to pull long nights, how was she to know it managed to keep him awake if his foot slipped? She didn't. His expression softened a bit, one hand still clutching his retooled compass, "If'n you wanna make yourself useful, I appreciate't. I'm sure I can find things that need fixin' an' show you," he emphasized his role in the assigning of tinkering duty with the arching of one dark eyebrow, "N'offense'r'nothin', lass."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Don'tcha TALK 'BOUT MY GRANDDAD!" Tock screamed, jumping up and shoving Pash'nar with all her wee might. Tears fell from her one good eye, her face turning red. "If'n 'is dumb ol' ship's 'at old, 'en it's prolly gonna sink! So ya done NEEDS me ta fix 'er!" she pounded her fist pathetically against his chest. "Ya CAN'T jus' leave things like 'ey's good 'nough! Ya CAN'T!" She clenched her fists and glared at him, her teeth clamped together as she tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to overcome her. She couldn't face him anymore, so she turned and stalked back into the cabin. She threw herself down on the bench and pulled her pack, filled with her beloved Granddad's tools, into her lap. She clung to them, the only part of him she had left. What did he know? Nothing. She felt the tools in the pack biting into her skin through the leather, but she just squeezed it tighter. She closed her eyes and leaned her face against the pack, fighting against it. It wasn't fair. She wanted to leave everything else from Sunberth behind, except for the one thing that had been taken from her. Things couldn't just be 'just fine'. That wasn't enough. That would never be enough.

[Pash'nar]

Pash'nar was left speechless at Tock's burst of anger. He hardly moved when she shoved him, rolling with the force like it was a wave. He didn't even open his mouth to object or argue—whatever explosive emotions he triggered with his half-hearted comments ran deeper than the tattooed sailor even felt compelled to understand. Not that he ever felt compelled to understand women. Like his situation in life after falling to Mizahar decades ago, there were plenty of other things he'd discovered no amount of searching would ever really produce the answers to. He'd given up on Leth answering him (though he hadn't given up on going home). He'd given up on understanding women (though he hadn't quite been able to give up spending any time with them). He'd given up on family (though he still longed for some sense of one regardless of the consequences). Besides, what did she know? Nothing. She was but a spark in the night. Seventeen. He had almost (but not quite) ten decades on her existence. Decades! Still, her obvious attachment to whoever her granddad was—and the dark-haired navigator assumed he was the only man to have ever been kind to the girl in her whole petching life—stung more than her destruction and fiddling with his compass or her words combined. He felt incapable. Or, more correctly, he felt so capable of such attachment and yet knew the painful consequences of mortality that he had made himself as incapable as possible through distance. Through choice. He let Tock storm her way back down into his cabin. He let her spend some time to herself below his decks, not following after her, not pursuing her emotions. He may have understood, but he would never admit it willingly. Or sober. One finely inked hand strayed to the unused buttons of his open vest, calloused fingers tracing familiar paths. He bit his lip, tide pool gaze glaring at the half-open door to his cabin as his casinor lilted and bobbed in the glorious wind. He sighed. Even the mortals were affected by their own mortality. Short-sighed but deep-hearted, the tattooed sailor envied that boundless, forgiving capacity for love he'd buried so deeply to avoid being hurt, crushed, drowned in the tide of it all. Just another curse of this earthbound flesh. Instead of storming down after her, Pash finally, reluctantly returned to the tiller. He had a boat to steer. When Tock was ready, surely she'd crawl back on deck and find something else to petch with. Or, perhaps, she'd talk too him. Maybe, inside, he'd enjoy it, regardless of the subject. Maybe. For now, he was at least willing to give her space. He understood space. And hurt. And even if he'd been the one to hurt her, he wasn't about to throw himself into some fire to apologize. Time would run its course instead, and he'd wait. Like he always waited. Like he was still waiting.

[Cachet]

Pash'nar : Pash'nar SKILLS Sailing:3 Teaching:3 Navigation:2 Observation:1 Bodybuilding:1 LORE The Only easy day was yesterday Quiet is nice The Suvan is HUGE Use of a compass Misc Notes: A very entertaining read, loved the antics between you and tock! Anything seem out of place? Any questions please feel free to contact me ASAP.