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

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

1st Day of Autumn, 508 AV (Shortly before the events of this thread.) It had been a long two weeks. The wonder and magic of the journey had quickly worn off. After the first couple of days, it was just water, water, water. Minerva was downright sick of water. The sight of it, the smell of it, the constant dampness against her skin when the salt spray kicked up over the edge of the boat. She didn't know how the Sailor Man could stand it all the time. She had tried to stop thinking about home. She didn't want to deal with it. She didn't want to cope. She just wanted it all to be behind her. So she was keeping her mind occupied with work. The Sailor Man had, reluctantly, agreed to let her make some repairs to his boat. He seemed to think his boat didn't need fixing, but Minerva felt like he was just being stubborn. He seemed like he liked it being old and broken, like it was sentimental that way, or something. Well, Minerva didn't like that. If she had to leave behind her Granddad's whole shop, then the Sailor Man didn't get to be sentimental about his stupid boat. She was in the cabin, working on patching up some loose boards. She really wanted to get some fresh wood and replace the boards, but there wasn't any supply of wood out here on the sea (another reason she was sick of the water). So instead she was nailing down the creaking boards so they were more stable. A creaky board was normally caused by a gap between the board and the beam underneath it, which commonly happened if the wood came loose around the old nails. Some fresh nails in an adjusted position served well to tighten things up and give more stability. Sailor Man would probably say he liked the creaky boards. But Minerva knew if they didn't get fixed sooner or later, then one day this stinky old boat was going to just fall right apart.

[Pash'nar]

His boat didn't need fixing. She was fine. She had been fine. He took care of her just fine. She was organized and mostly clean. He knew where everything was. He knew every sound she made. He knew the way everything felt under bare feet and calloused finger tips. She was his, an extension of himself. Unfortunately, he'd been stuck at sea for petching days with someone who saw things otherwise. It was maddening. Slightly unstable, prone to crying over nothing, and completely obsessed with everything being orderly according to her standards, Tock was a creature Pash'nar would have actually enjoyed tossing overboard had he washed ashore with a different-shaped heart. He was, well, too nice underneath the gruff, sea-worn exterior. So, he put up with the incessant fiddling and tinkering, the incessant noise and whining. He longed for the journey to end just so he could toss the red-headed girl onto the docks and find himself the nearest distracting Konti to forget the whole voyage with. Petch. That would be ideal. He wondered what kind of alcohol he could get into on the White Isle. Hopefully it wasn't all made with vision water. Gods. Setting the tiller and checking their course one last time, knowing they were practically within sighting distance of Mura, the tattooed sailor reluctantly wandered belowdecks to see what the young woman was up to this morning. His stomach tightened as he didn't hear a single footstep down his stairs. Not a creak. He clenched his jaw, leaning against the brief hall after the stairs, watching Tock busy herself with nails and the floorboards to his cabin. Little did she know a few were loose on purpose, that there were small compartments for more illegal cargo under his hull … "You goona paint 'er when we get to Mura, lass? Scrape the barnacles off'n her keel 'fore you leave? I'm sure they've got a small drydock somewheres an' I can teach ya how to paint'n'scrape. Interested?" The dark-haired navigator grinned. He was mostly teasing, mostly. "Or are ya jus' gonna leap overboard an' disappear as soon as I moor 'er at the docks?

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"I ain't done gots no paints," Tock replied seriously. "But if'n ya done buys some, I'll paint 'er up fer ya." The boat was ugly, and it could surely use a paint job. It probably hadn't been painted in decades. "I ain't scrapin' no barnacles, though," she added with an attitude. "Ya can does 'at yerself. I ain'tcha damn slave..." The work she was doing, she was doing because she felt it necessary. And though she didn't admit it, because she needed to keep her mind off the fear of her situation. She was far from home, without any idea of what came next or how she would survive. Keeping herself busy with work now made it easier to keep her mind off of what would happen when she stepped off the docks. She finished the repairs in the cabin, and shoved her way past the Sailor Man out onto the deck. She stood there, tools in hand, looking for something else to repair. She checked the planks for more loose boards, and found none. She walked over to the railing and checked it for any more rough patches that needed smoothing. None. She frowned, looking around, trying to think of something she hadn't fixed yet. She'd been doing nothing but repairs day in, day out for a solid two weeks. There was nothing left. Nothing that didn't either need the dry dock, or extra parts and supplies she didn't have access to out here. There was nothing for her to do. Clutching her hammer in a tight fist, she asked the sailor in a choked voice, "Is we almost 'ere...?"

[Pash'nar]

The tattooed sailor laughed, coarse and sea-worn, rolling his cerulean eyes at where she drew the line of invasiveness with her persistent repairs. She was too good to scrape barnacles but she contentedly hammered and nailed everything she could petching find worth nailing on his ship. Not to mention, she did all of this without really ever asking his permission. Maybe his creaking stairs were a safety measure for nights in more unsavory cities? Maybe that unsanded spot on his tiller was to help keep him awake when sailing tired? Maybe, just maybe, he was more organized than he appeared to the girl. Or, maybe not. He hadn't really offered any explanations, either. It kept her from asking questions, from fiddling with any more of his delicate equipment, from deciding she needed to take up cartography during their two tendays at sea. "Oh aye, we'll be there soon 'nough." Pash'nar finally answered after a few moments of only slightly resentful silence. Some things, yes, he'd probably needed repaired. He couldn't entirely complain. Just sort of complain, "In fact, if you can hold't together for jus' a half'a'bell or so, you'll be seein' Mura start to come up on th'horizon that'a'way." Top-knotted head tilted in the indicated direction of the horizon, over the bow, straight ahead. "Now, I can't remember jus' what side'o th'island their docks're on. It's been a decade'r'two since I've been up this way to Mura. I usually don't make it much past Zeltiva, an' you're petchin' lucky I even bothered to drag my arse to Sunberth for some coin. I hate that place." He grinned, revealing he was, in fact, perhaps much, much older than he looked, "But I got a bit'o an idea, so we ain't totally petched for time today'r nothin'. Tired of th'Suvan, are ya?"

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock scowled at Sailor Man's laughter. She was starting to get tired of him. Two weeks alone on this boat with him, she was starting to feel trapped. Her repair projects had been the only thing keeping her mind off of her situation. Having tools in her hands was a comforting touch of familiarity. The only piece of home she could bring with her. Not that she wanted to bring any others. But being away from home, with no idea what was next, was scary. Or at least, it would have been, had she been facing or dealing with any of it. Instead she was just running from the feelings. Hearing they were nearing their destination made her chest tighten. She hurried over to the bow, searching the distance, though she couldn't see anything but water. What would it look like? She didn't know the first thing about Mura. It was just a vaguely known name of one of the nearest places, but a place she'd never expected to see. "Ya sure we ain't done been lost?" she asked the Sailor Man. Despite his claims that he could navigate by stars and by compass, she had doubts. What if they'd missed the island, and sailed right past it. And he admitted he couldn't remember where to dock!? "Oy, two tens since ya done been 'ere?" she gruffly protested. "'At's 'fore I were even born! Sheesh, you's an' old'un, Sailor Man." If only she knew just how old. She ignored his comment about Sunberth. She hated it too, but she didn't want to think about that. Instead, when he asked if she was tired of the Suvan, she replied, "' Course I's sick o' 'er..." she spat her disdain over the edge if the boat into the water. "Bloody ain't knows 'ow ya done does 'is all'a time, Sailor Man. Nothin' but bloody water all 'round ya every damn day. An' I's all outta nails!" she whined, bemoaning the lack of a store where she could get more supplies.

[Pash'nar]

“Been ‘ere over a century.” Smirked the false Svefra at Tock’s incredulous protest to his hinted at age, though there was no humor in his tone of voice as he keel-hauled the date he would never forget over the never-healed wound deep in his chest, “Fell from th’Ukalas in three’undred ninety six. Do th’math.” Shifting at the tiller, he waved an inked, calloused hand at the waves sparkling under Syna’s gaze, “Ain’t anywhere else I’d rather be. City’s too full of life, o’life that ends an’ begins’gain without carin’ how y’feel or what y’want. Too crowded full o’folks who don’t know what to think’o’me anyways. Don’t need much as’t’is. I like’t better that way, I s’pose. Tried t’hold enough close a few times o’er th’years, but ‘least th’Suvan’s always ‘round. Laviku can be jus’ as temperamental as Leth who let me slip through his fingers all those decades ago, but ‘e caught me when I fell. Petch—not that I put much o’my heart in with th’gods I may’ave once walked with.” He sighed, looking away from the much younger human who probably didn’t understand a word of his personal opinions. Some folks were just too bound to the constants of land, just like some folks were too tied up into the confines of their own mortality. Pash’nar wasn’t one to judge, and he felt Tock too fresh into life to be responsible for carrying burdens, though she’d obviously been handed enough shyke to carry in her youth. Nothing was easy, after all. “You get used to it, bein’ out here by y’self. I’ve sailed with bigger ships before, full o’crewmates, but it ain’t the same. Pay’s better, though.” The dark-haired navigator laughed, tide pool gaze washing back to the red-headed girl, changing the subject before he waxed too poetic, especially sober, “Looks like you’ll do fine for y’self wherever y’end up, eh? Fixin’ things an’ whatnot. Them lil’ Mura ladies do appreciate a woman willin’ t’stand on ‘er own.” Sometimes, they also appreciated a man with no strings attached, but she didn’t need those sort of details. “You’ll be safer there, 'east.” The tattooed sailor added as an afterthought, looking past her for a moment, a little over the port side of the bow. The faintest hint of something solid on the horizon was coming into view, but it was hardly obvious to the untrained eye. Pash’nar would wait a half a bell or so before alerting Tock that their destination was finally in view and she’d be free of the endless water soon enough.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock continued peering over the bow, except for an occasional glance cast back at the Sailor Man when he said something ridiculous, like being over a century old. "I ain't no idiot," she replied, casting him a scowl before turning back to search for the land. She didn't believe anyone could live to be over a century old, so he was obviously fooling with her. Besides, he'd be all old and wrinkly if he was really that old. When he started talking about life that ends without caring how you feel or what you want, she grew silent, her fingers clenching on the rail. She didn't want to think about that. She couldn't deal with facing it. It wasn't fair... It wasn't fair what had been taken from her, without her getting a say in it. Focused on pushing away her inner thoughts, she didn't quite follow what he was saying about falling and Gods and walking with them. Maybe he was a priest or something. But he seemed lonely, either way. She stared down at the waves, then spit down into the water. If he was so lonely, it was his own damn fault for sailing around all alone all the time. "I ain't wants ta been out alone onna water all the time," she mumbled. "Dunno 'ow ya does 'er, Sailor Man," she glanced back at him, squinting in the sunlight that still slightly bothered her healing eye. She rubbed at it, the flesh just slightly tender, though the dark bruise had faded to nothing more than slightly yellowed skin. The marks of where she came from were barely noticeable, and would soon be gone from her forever. "Ya sure she's safer, though?" she asked. She couldn't really imagine what that meant. She only knew one 'safe,' and that was the feeling of being wrapped in her Granddad's arms. She couldn't have that anymore, so she didn't know what else there was. She supposed she felt safe here with the Sailor Man, at least in so much as she knew he wasn't going to try to violate her. But being on the boat didn't make her feel too safe. She was too far from anywhere, cut off from everything she knew. While she was glad to have most of that behind her, there were certain comforts, certain certainties that a girl got used to. Like being able to get food down at the market, or shelter from a storm. Out here, if a storm showed up she didn't know what they would do, and they only had as much food as was stored on board or caught from the sea. She turned back to the horizon, searching for land. She couldn't see anything but water, but then, her eyesight wasn't that good. She had no idea what she was going to do once she got there, but it would feel good to stand on land again. New land. Fresh land. And, if the Sailor Man was right, safe land. She tried to wrap her head around that idea, and failed. She'd just have to wait, and see it for herself.

[Pash'nar]

“S’alright,” he shrugged, finding some comfortable position at the tiller, thumbing his nose with his spare hand. The dark-haired navigator sighed, looking away from the red-haired girl to stare at the waves sparkling as they all but flew by in the generous wind, “I got used to bein’ alone decades ‘go. For me, things’re jus’ easier that way, I s’pose—” Pash’nar smirked, tilting his head back to Tock, tide pool gaze distant and out of focus, though his tone turned teasing, if not almost kind, “—not that I ain’t a fan o’company, though. It’s kinda’ refreshin’ t’ave someone ‘round when sailin’, even if they gots a mind that my ship ain’t good ‘nough t’be sailin’ with ‘em in it.” He winked then, not entirely ungrateful by his expression. The young woman could be an excitable, loud, busy-body of a girl, but he’d sailed with so much worse. She was young, and he appreciated that in ways he couldn’t really properly express in words. “An’, aye, lass, Mura’s pretty petchin’ safe,” He was sincere, “‘specially for you.” Compared to many of the ports he’d sailed in and out of, Mura was such a peaceful place. Mysterious. Somewhat awkward as a male. Petching distracting, either way. But safe, especially for someone who’d been hurt in the ways it was obvious Tock had been. The tattooed sailor often felt all too safe there as well, for was always hard to leave Mura. However, he’d somehow always found a reason to go every time. It felt timeless sometimes—Konti were a long-lived race, mixed with their vision water and magic—and Pash’nar couldn’t help but linger when he’d allowed the tide washed him to the Isle, “It’s an island full’o’almost entirely women. There’s some manly types ‘round, sure, but, gods, there’s ‘nough distraction ‘ere that you ain’t got a thing to worry ‘bout.” He wondered what the kind of freedom Mura would offer the human could possibly mean for her. While he’d never directly asked about her life in Sunberth, he’d guessed enough on his own considering her condition once he pulled her out of the harbor and onto his deck so many days ago. The false Svefra had enough imagination of his own, and didn’t feel particularly inclined to ask for details. He raised an inked hand in the direction of the horizon, a little off the starboard side of the bow, “Keep lookin’ attaway, an’ you’ll see what you’re lookin’ for soon ‘nough.”

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock turned and cast a glare at him, replying, "Ain't what as she ain't 'good 'nough', Sailor Man. 'At's what fer 'good 'nough' ain't good 'nough!" She couldn't stand it when people acted like good enough was all they needed. It had to be better than good enough. It had to be the best it could be. It had to be something you could be proud of, not just something that helped you get by. She looked back out at the water when he started talking about Mura. "'Owzer all women?" she asked, casting a glance back at him in confusion, and thinking he must be messing with her. "If'n 'ere's mostly girls, what fer all the boys? Where'd 'ey go?" Not that she minded the idea of an island mostly full of girls. No boys meant no Corwins, trying to take what was precious from her. She was sick and tired of running from rape gangs, and so often needing to give up what little money she had in exchange for her freedom. When she wasn't fighting for her freedom with fists and fury. She returned to watching the horizon for awhile, leaning her elbows on the boat rail, and propping her chin in her hands. "Ain't seein' nothin' yet.." she muttered, watching the distance. Of course, her eyesight wasn't that good. It ended up being awhile later, a fair bit of time after Pash likely would have expected her to see the island, before she finally caught sight of it. She stood up straight, peering into the distance, not sure about what she was seeing. Then she leaned forward and raised a hand to shade her sight. She leaned forward so far she nearly fell over the edge. "OY!" she shouted, pointing excitedly. "Izzat it!?" It was such a tiny speck in the distance. She frowned at it. "She's awful... small..." She turned to glare at Sailor Man, suspecting a trick. "Ya sure 'at's 'er? Ain't look like no island what big 'nough for us ta walk on..." She knew it would get bigger when they got closer... but still, from here it looked so small she was picturing it as no bigger than a city block, tops.

[Pash'nar]

"S'far's'I know, Konti's're all ladies." Pash'nar had never particularly cared to pursue the details of their biological issues, having no issues of his own with their particular biology, "Don' ask me how't petchin' works. I ain't seen it necessary t'ask. Been jus' fine with how they are so far." He grinned, all be it a bit more deviously than usual, settling back a bit against the worn wood behind the tiller, leaning on it as he followed Tock's gaze once she finally caught sight of the hints of Mura on the horizon. He laughed at her commentary, knowing that at this distance, even the sprawling fortress of Syliras itself would look like a mere toy. The White Isle was, of course, much larger than a single city; a decent-sized island with plenty of frolicking space for the scaled, pale women who called it their home. "Aye, lass, that's it. 'Course it's petchin' small from 'ere. We still gotta good handful of bells 'fore we're even gonna reach the port. Don' get your britches tangled o'er't, either. You'll be walkin' the beach an' starin' at all the pretty architecture soon 'nough." The tattooed sailor shook his top-knotted head in amusement, unsure of how to explain the distance and how the strange curve of the sea seemed to effect things, considering he'd hardly bothered to entirely understand it all himself. "Ain't much to look at from 'ere, no." He raised a calloused hand and waved it in the direction of his cabin door, "Go'n downstairs an' thumb through some o'my maps. I've got Mura down there an' prob'ly somma the coast 'round that shyke hole, Sunberth. Y'can compare the two y'self, since one'f 'em's familiar 'nough t'you to make th'other more clear. Then, leastways y'won't accuse me'f petchin' with you 'bout where them Konti's live." His charts and maps were roughly organized, more to his centry-old thought process than perhaps anything mundanely organized or official. He knew where everything was, and if Tock did bother to pull her gaze away from the hint of land and grumble down the stairs, it would be chance enough for her to find the two specific coastlines he'd mentioned. Mura, of course, was sprawled across his small table, but in small, casinor-sized cabinets that held his navigational materials, discovering maps of Sunberth may have required a little more luck.