[Flashback] Arrival in a Strange Land (Pash'nar)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock cast him another scowl when he started practically drooling over thoughts of the Konti. She shook her head at him... he was just like any other man in that regard. Only interested in one thing... Well, at least he had turned down her initial shameful offer. She trudged down into the cabin without bothering to say a word about it, and started rummaging through his charts. She couldn't make heads nor tails of his organizational system... how did he FIND anything down here? Grumbling, she decided this was another case of 'good enough is NOT good enough,' and set herself to reorganizing the entire set. She made a puzzle out of it, sorting the maps first by region, then by city, then by level of detail. It took her quite awhile, and she ended up forgetting that she was supposed to be comparing two specific maps at all. Some time later, after his entire map collection was properly organized (though no doubt it would drive him insane, and he'd have a hard time finding anything in the new arrangement), she emerged back up onto the deck. By now, the island looked much, much larger. She grinned, bouncing up and down on her toes and clapping her hands. "Oy, 'at's it, 'at's IT!" she shouted, running back to the rail and leaning over, peering into the distance, hoping to see something interesting. She could barely make out the skyline of the buildings from here... and even from here, everything looked so pretty. Sunberth was filled with plain, brown, dull buildings. Nothing pretty or interesting at all. But from the distance, all she could see what white and pink. Pink buildings!!! She giggled with joy, eager for a chance to see them up close. "Make it go faster, Sailor Man!" she insisted, stomping her feet on the deck as if she could spur it into greater speeds. "I wanna git 'ere!"

[Pash'nar]

OOCInside, I hear Pash weeping, "Gods, she messed with my ship. And then. And then. And then she touched my maps. Aargh!" Also: damn you and your speed posting. Now, I post this reply and flee to bed.

The false Svefra may have noticed her lengthy absence, though he was blissfully unaware of what she had been up to below his decks. The horrors of what awaited him would have to come to fruition much later, and it would indeed most likely take him an entire season to find and reorganize everything to suit his needs once again ... if not longer. Instead, he had unfortunately enjoyed the seemingly too-brief silence without the young human far more than she would have liked to ever know. Still, he smirked as she returned topside, watching her stomp on the worn wood as ineffectually as possible. His cerulean eyes narrowed with a salty kind of mischief, one calloused hand shifting to snatch the line to his mainsail, which wasn't fully unfurled into the wind. They were traveling at a fair enough pace, a safe pace to look out for anything dangerous, a pace that allowed the red-headed human to walk without risking a tumble overboard into the waves. "Faster, eh? A'ight—" Inked fingers curled and a tattooed arm gave a well-practiced tug on the halyard, opening the mainsail fully to the stiff breeze they'd been enjoying. The jib line came next, causing both faded fabrics to flap with loud uselessness in too much wind without the proper direction, but only for a moment. He leaned into the tiller enough toward port to tilt the antique ship he called home at an angle, feeling a little jump in his stomach as he caught the wind. The whole casinor angled itself precariously, some of the hull leaving the water because of the direction of the wind and their movement with it. He trimmed both sails only a bit, not wanting to strain them in his sudden burst of purposeful acceleration. The dark-haired navigator grinned, savoring the perfectly too-late moment to add, "—'Ang onta somethin' there, lass." The jolt in speed and shift in angle weren't quite enough to threaten the young woman with slipping into the sea, but it might have been enough to knock her unprepared arse onto worn wood if she wasn't fast enough to snatch a line or grab a rail. This was, of course, Pash'nar's entire intention, and it was obvious in his expression as they began to run with the wind, "I ain't sure I can stop'n'turn 'round t'scoop y'back up if'n y'fall o'rboard this time." He laughed, reaching with a free hand to run fingers through the water that was within touching distance at their angle, "Might have t'send some Konti after you 'stead once I get to port. Jus'ang on tight an' we'll be there'n no time. No swimmin' lessons 'til we're on Mura, y'hear?"

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

OOCLOL! When you said they were organized "...more to his centry-old thought process than perhaps anything mundanely organized or official." I couldn't resist! Tock stumbled when the boat suddenly shifted. NOTHING was supposed to move under your feet like that! The ground was supposed to lay flat, and not knock you around! She was starting to really hate boats. She ended up flopping back on her arse, letting out a sharp, "Oof!" She turned and cast a glare at the Sailor Man, shaking a fist at him. "Oy, ya done did 'at on purpose, Sailor Man!" she shouted. If she could figure out how to cross the boat to where he was, she'd smack him! Though at least they were going faster... She looked up at the ropes he'd undone, trying to understand the mechanics of it all. The one rope seemed connected to unfurling the sails, the other to shift their angle. She stayed on her rump for awhile, eyes tracing out the lines and how they connected, working out the mechanics of it in her mind. After awhile of studying the configuration, she cast another glare at Sailor Man and snapped, "If'n ya what coulda done 'at 'fore, why didn't ya? We coulda done been 'ere three days ago, if'n ya 'adn't been takin' yer bloody time!" What did he think, she had her whole life to waste on his stinky old boat? She had a magic city to build! She eventually struggled her way back to her feet, leaning on the railing for balance. Her stomach didn't feel so good. The lurching and the way the boat seemed to jump up and down over the waves was making her feel queasy... She sat back down, clutching at her stomach, and feeling like she might throw up...

[Pash'nar]

"'Course I did that on purpose. Ain't no need t'be impatient." He chided, watching her struggle to her feet even as he shifted the tiller and brought the angle of his casinor back to level in the water, slowing her just a knot or two to take the strain off the sails. It was still a fast enough pace, but it left Pash'nar helpless to keep much of a look-out for other ships or sea creatures or far-away dangers, forced to pay attention more to his ship and potential immediate obstacles. The false Svefra laughed at Tock's surprise, rolling cerulean eyes at her questioning his purpose in keeping a slower speed for most of their journey. It depended on the wind, and, usually, when he bothered to carry passengers, he actually felt obligated to look out for their safety. Obviously, the young red head wouldn't have wanted to entertain any of his honest answers, but he considered offering them anyway, "Ain't always safe t'jus' go fast all the time. Can rip th'sails or run us into somethin' like a sea monster. I ain't in th'mood to get ate by somethin' from the depths o'the Suvan. Trust me, I'm in jus' as much a hurry as y'are, lass—" Pash'nar smirked, warily watching the human lean against his railing, knowing the look on her face did not bode well for the contents of her stomach. He could only hope she'd keep his ship clean … because, gods, the wounds and the crying were quite enough for him to deal with, adding in mumbled Fratava, "—though for diff'rent reasons, 'm sure." "Oi! If'n you're gonna hurl, it better not be'n my deck. O'erboard or you'll clean your own petchin' mess, y'hear?" The tattooed sailor scowled sternly, fully aware that not everyone was as used to the sea as himself. He reached back up for the halyard and attempted to furl up the mainsail a bit more, slowing the casinor enough that she wasn't cutting into the waves as roughly. The skipping over the crests became a more tolerable bobbing, and they were still traveling at a faster pace than before. "I ain't in th'mood to show up at the White Isle with the Timeless lookin' like shyke an' smellin' like ... well ..."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Her stomach slowly eased, until she was pretty sure she wouldn't sick up over the side of the boat now. Still, she cast a glare back at Sailor Man. "Dun makes no sense," she muttered, "fer ta go slower fer ta stay away froma monsters... faster should outrun 'em..." She couldn't imagine what kind of terrors the sea held, but surely they couldn't catch a ship sailing at a strong speed...? "An' if'n ya bloody replaced the dang sails," she added, glancing up at them, "'en what 'ey wouldn't rip, aye?" If she knew how to sew, she'd repair those next. The Sailor Man didn't know the first thing about caring for his ship. She groaned, clinging to the railing. Her stomach was still jumping hoops, and she didn't think it was a good idea to step away from the side just yet. The salt spray felt good on her face, and it might be the only thing stopping her from losing her stomach just then. "'Ow much further...?" she moaned in utter misery. She needed to get off this damn boat and onto land... she'd had quite enough of being tossed about on the waves, and wanted to set her feet on solid ground.

[Pash'nar]

"It ain't 'cause my sails s'old. They ain't even s'old as you, so don't get'cher panties in sucha petchin' bunch 'bout it. Not everythin' here's broken or goin' bad jus' 'cause it's old or it ain't shinin' nice-like. Some things age well 'nough without bein' messed with." Scowled the dark-haired navigator, bristling at the continued accusation that his casinor was in constant need of repair or that he, in some way, was lacking in the ability to care for both his vessel and himself. The wear of such implications was beginning to show, "Wind can rip through new'uns, old'uns, patched'uns. You jus' gotta balance speed o'the ship with speed o'the wind. S'all." A calloused, tattooed hand ran over his sea-worn face and he sighed, repeating for emphasis with just a hint of frustration. He'd lived this long, and almost three-fourths of that time had been aboard the Timeless, "Ain't nothin' wrong with my sails." Shifting in his position against the tiller in an attempt to change the subject in compliance with the young woman's less accusatory question, Pash'nar squinted past the red-headed human and out towards the White Isle on the horizon. Cerulean gaze flicked between the hints of land and the sails, gauging their speed and attempting to guess at the distance. After a long, calculating silence, he washed his attention back to Tock, "Mmm. I'd say less'n'half a bell. Ain't much farther, though I s'pose it kinda looks 'at way when y'ain't used t'it all, eh?" He continued to watch her unease, feeling even more uncomfortable about her ability to endure even that short period of time without leaving some souvenir of her stay smeared across the worn, unpainted wood topside. The tattooed sailor didn't like those thoughts at all, "Jus' hold on a bit, lass. I don't want'cha missin' your chance to get on shore right away 'cuz you're busy swabbin' my deck."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Minerva grew quiet for a time after that, leaning against the railing, wishing it were finally over. She let out an occasional moan, but didn't have it in her to keep arguing with Sailor Man. After a bit of time, her stomach settled, leaving behind nothing more than a tight knot that wouldn't fade for hours. Though at the very least, the agony was over. By the time she regained enough of her senses to look up, the land was nearly close enough to reach. She stood up, staring with wide eyes at the bright, beautiful city laid out before her. She didn't want to blink, it was so pretty. So much different from Sunberth. Like she was in another world. She just stood there and stared while the Sailor Man did whatever he needed to in order to get them docked. She didn't know how to help, and she was too struck with awe to do much of anything. Tears flowed freely and silently from her eyes as she watched the new place approach... her new home, at least for a time. She didn't know how long she'd stay here. Maybe just a little while. Maybe forever. Once preparations were finally complete, and the dock was alongside the boat, she just stared at it. She was trembling, and had to hug her arms around herself. Suddenly, she wasn't sure if she could do it. She glanced off towards the beautiful port, then looked back at that first step onto the dock. Once she stepped off the boat, that was it. She was here, and she was alone. No friends, no family, no one to take care of her. Not that she needed taking care of. Her no-good Da had never lifted a finger to help raise her, so she'd been taking care of herself (and him, since the lousy bastard couldn't even feed himself) for as long as she could remember. But still... back home, she'd had a place to stay. A bed. A door to lock at night. Here, she had nothing. No one. She couldn't find the strength to take that first step. And so she just stood there, shaking, tears streaming down her face as she tried to figure out... ...where did she go from here?

[Pash'nar]

While Pash'nar certainly carried just as much, if not more, invisible, emotional baggage as the young human he'd all-but-rescued from Sunberth, he'd learned over time to carry it differently. He let Tock stand there, useless and gaping on his deck as he set about mooring his casinor. Sails were furled, lines tucked away, and he only scraped the dock a bit in his attempt to tie her up. The tattooed sailor did it all without a word or comment, letting her have her wordless moment to soak in the honestly breathtaking sight of the White Isle, even from the humble port. It was all lovely. Mystical even when compared to the dirty drudgery of Sunberth. Opposite in all things, nearly. Despite all of his more lewd commentary about Mura's inhabitants, Pash considered the place just as much of a quiet sanctuary as most visitors. It was, in some ways, second only to the Suvan itself for the false Svefra. Yes, it was petching distracting, being so full of delicate, lovely ladies with a lifespan to rival his own … but, that wasn't the only reason why he enjoyed the place. However, listing any other more serious reasons usually required him to be less than sober. And, at the moment, he was far from drunk. The dark-haired navigator took his time piddling about his ship, all the while occasionally looking up at Tock, finding himself without anything particularly useful to say for quite a while. She was crying again, all standing there without being able to get off his petching boat. He was unsure if he could handle any more tears or awkward outbursts, and so it took all he had to finally drudge up some of the emotions he purposely kept buried in the depths of his chest, "Well, lass, y'ain't gonna jus' stand there'll petchin' afternoon. There's more Mura'n jus' the docks, y'know." An inked, calloused hand was placed with only a hint of caution on the young woman's shoulder. Pash'nar even smiled genuinely, despite just how much he felt she'd rubbed him the wrong way with all her mechanical meddling. She'd escaped something. She'd arrived ... somewhere else. If anything, he feared he'd forever feel trapped. Trapped in a body he didn't want. Trapped in a place that wasn't his home. Trapped in his mistakes. At least this human, with her lifespan so bright and so brief, had opportunities he, himself, felt he'd long since lost, long since given up any right to with his failures and poor decisions. Regardless of how untrue all of it was, the ethaefal struggled to push through to something more, "C'mon, I'll show y'round if'n you'd like." He laughed quietly, stepping away from her with his invitation. In a smooth motion of practiced ease, he leapt the small space between the rail of his casinor and the docks, turning to offer his hand again in assistance, teasing without malice, "'Least I can do's find you some'eres to stay since y'ain't stayin' on my boat. Maybe get somethin' t'eat an' take your sea legs off. One step atta time's'all."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Minerva glanced up at the Sailor Man, and gave him a small nod. Standing around on the dumb old boat wasn't doing her any good. She had a whole island to explore... and it looked a whole LOT bigger now than she'd thought. Far bigger than Sunberth, she guessed. Maybe not the city itself, but with the whole island to explore, there was certainly a lot more there than back home. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She thought of her Granddad, and how much she missed him. But she was never going to see him again anyway, regardless of where she was. There was nothing for her to worry about leaving behind. It was just that going forward was so scary. She looked down at the dock and lifted her foot. One step at a time. She just had to take the first one, and she'd never have to look back. She stepped onto the dock, one foot after the other. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Then she gave Sailor Man a small nod and a weak smile. Then she growled, stomped her foot, and shouted, "Oy, crap! I forgot my stuff!" and ran right back onto the boat, rushing down into the cabin to gather her things.