[AO-Kalea] The Truth May Vary

by **Laszlo** on February 8th, 2013, 10:08 pm

Winter 37th, 512
About nineteenth bell

There was more rum still in Laszlo's cup than in him. The continuous rocking and heaving of the kersha had killed the desire to have anything in his stomach, but he was trying anyway. A fine veil of inebriation would help take the edge off the various small discomforts of the vessel. He couldn't get quite warm enough, and the ubiquitous smell of burning lamp oil had become almost noxious and given him a mild headache, not to mention the offensive glare of their light on his sensitive eyes. The range of food smells in the cabin as the sailors and passengers enjoyed their meals in the common area was not helping his nausea.

But Laszlo was never one to complain about trifling things and said nothing of his unease. Why complain when you could simply drink?

A range of body sizes were strewn about the cabin, either sitting on the rugs or propped against the walls, most of them holding bowls of something that smelled like fish and salt. The sailors were easy to spot, as they had mastered the art of holding their drinks and meals at the same time with apparent ease. Although there was light chattering along the sides, most of the cabin's attention was focused on a tanned, middle-aged human close just out of the center of the room. He had been telling a story to a young crewman, which drew listeners in until he was addressing the entire room. Laszlo had only begun paying attention after he'd heard the name of Zeltiva mentioned multiple times.

The Ethaefal's lean, vespertine form was one of those leaning against a wall, somewhere near the back as always. Being the only "Symenestra" on a ship filled with sunborn, he had by necessity learned how to coexist by trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Or sometimes conspicuous, when he had to make it clear he wasn't trying to sneak up on anyone.

Laszlo had been seated on the floor until someone remarked that, with his long limbs, he looked like a pile of tangled rope. Although the joke was received with an awkward smile, he was chimes later standing and holding a cup of rum.

"The storm took us then, not a day out of port," the sailor went on, swiping a hand through the air for effect. "Took'old of our sweet lady kersha by 'er very mast, and pushed—and pushed some more! She was sideways on the water." He paused to take a long drink. Laszlo followed suit. "Those on deck 'ad to grab hold o'somethin' or risk fallin' off."

A cool draft was slipping into the cabins through odd seams in the woodwork. Outside, a Kalean winter still swept from the mountains and crossed miles of water to find the vessel. Laszlo adjusted his green scarf, drawing it tighter against his neck, and then he glanced at Fia nearby, curious to see how she was responding to the story.

"To make it all worse, a great big swell o'water was building up portside—or rather, above us. We all looked up and saw our doom. I sent my last prayers up to the gods and said all my goodbyes. The water came down on us." The sailor clapped violently, then fell silent, looking down into his cup. Even the mild chatter seemed to stop. Some of those closer began to lean in, waiting to hear what happened. Laszlo continued watching, sipping at his cup again. "Jus' when we though' old Laviku was going to pull us to our graves, the sweet lady comes bursting out of the waves. Woosh!' Shaking off the sea like an old coat. Zulrav was so surprised, the wind forgot the blow and the rain forgot to fall. Just like that, the sea stopped its clamor. Everythin' was calm, and we was left wondering what in Hai had just happened." He drank. "And then the captain stood up and told us to stop layin' about get back to work."

The cabin filled with various noises of amazement and disbelief, and whatever central focus held the crowd quickly evaporated. Laszlo smirked, but winced. The combined smells and noise in the cabin had turned his headache into a set of daggers inside his skull. Stepping away from the wall, he handed his cup to whomever was closest to finish what was left (it was gladly accepted), and turned to Fia.

"Just going outside," he told her, with a small, reassuring smile. "I need a bit of air." Adjusting his scarf again, he moved to the exit toward the stern. There was no need to pull Fia out of the gathering. Laszlo simply wasn't as good at handling crowds as he had been back in the Sun and Stars.

by **Fia Eaven** on March 1st, 2013, 6:08 am

Fia was enraptured like the rest, her knees bundled to her chest. The arc of the story could be read on her features that rose and fell with interest and dismay. At the story's end, she breathed her relief. All lived and the worst injuries were damp trousers. Resting her chin on her arm, she wandered between old hopes and memories the story raised. Had Tynan's ship been nestled to the bosom of the sea or did it wander the world still, after finding the same grace with Laviku? It had been years since she saw its prow toward the horizon and the name painted on the hull. Tynan had waved to her from the deck as long as sight allowed and perhaps after. Part of her was still waving back in the long farewell. She seemed to have a knack for those. It was the price for linking yourself to another, no matter the material of the chain, she would always feel the tug.
Laszlo floated into her vision, saying he needed some air. He was wearing the scarf she gave him despite the gathering warmth in the cabin. The bright swath of fabric was a surprising contrast to his sepulchral coloring. It seemed a silly thing for a sleek Symenestra to wear, which was probably part of why he kept it. The festive tones and homey quality undid some of the natural grimness.
Fia nodded at Laszlo's pardon. He was not as social as her. He didn’t get to have the intrinsic conviviality found in sharing a meal, and tended to keep to edges in the evening gatherings. The tight ring of mildly washed mortals was hard for even an average man to bear. She let him go and seek his solitude and fresh air.

In the cabin, the crowded fellowship continued in the same patterns: food, stories, grog and cards or music. A brighter mood possessed the passengers tonight, so they clapped out a ballad and thought a mediocre guitar player exceptionally fine. The small, pear-shaped instrument had a lively sound that paired well with the folksy tones. As the only one who knew the words, Fia was compelled to accompany for one song. With little talent and all sweetness, she half sang and half spoke the lilting verses.

Secret :

Considered a success, she was made to repeat the lass's woeful verse and the captain's resounding reaction. Her voice told a good story, but was not as high and clear as the tune required. Blessedly, others were able to take the music over, setting her free.
A few others were stirring, saying they couldn't abide the heat or were hoarse from the choruses. Fia stood between them, bumping against their elbows. The press didn’t even summon much acknowledgment. Lower class passengers were used to clattering together in the cabin and had learned to mumble pardons and not take offense. In a small chain, they filed out the door. When the bracken air touched their faces, they drifted apart in clumps. Fia was accompanied for a span, but found herself forgotten when a closer acquaintance took her companion by the elbow.
Fia looked about, finding herself out of the view of others. It was a small freedom on a vessel so small. She took the opportunity to clasp the rails and fold herself as far over them as possible. If a sensible person saw, she'd be the subject of a round of scolding.
The heels of Fia's feet raised as she tried to look at the wake of the ship. Tynan had once told her dolphins would gather there. Night wasn't a proper time to see anything, but she was feeling uncommonly hopeful.

Are innocence and beauty born?

by **Laszlo** on March 31st, 2013, 4:45 pm

It was far cooler outside than it had been in the cabin, but at least here the cold was honest and blunt, rather than seeping in to disrupt the warmth just enough to make him uncomfortable. Perched on the lowest horizontal arm—the yard—of one of the smaller masts, the false Symenestra had decided to endure the wintry temperatures and let the open air relieve him of his ills. He was no son of Leth, but being under the open sky and breathing in the crisp, salty-sweet atmosphere still gave him a dose of comfort.

Laszlo's thick, if unflattering cloak shielded him from most of the sea winds, while his tasseled scarf fluttered affectionately against his chest. Eventually he would get too cold and need to head inside, but he was still waiting for the bell to grow late so the cabin would become still and quiet. The Ethaefal was happily lost in thought anyway, watching the distant horizon as he considered the near future. The kersha would be making port in Kalinor within the next week or two. He would have to go ashore.

Chances were, whatever he was thinking would be forgotten unless he remembered to write it down, but his quill and papers were still in his room. He would have to remember to find them so he could remember to write down what he was thinking of before. Laszlo was doubtful. He'd probably forget, and then not even remember that he had forgotten.

The vessel leaned to the side, and Laszlo grasped at the spar with one clawed hand to steady himself. As he looked down, he noticed a familiar head of hair, a shade of coppery blonde he'd grown fond of in the past month or so. It looked like she was trying to peer at the belly of the ship. Laszlo stood up on the narrow pole, wavering slightly and relying on whatever Symenestra blood was in him to keep his balance.

He thought of calling down, but decided against it. Doing so might startle her into falling overboard. He would hate to have to dive in after her.

Laszlo lowered himself down on a thick rope, the remaining slack after tying the sail to the spar. After readjusting his cloak, he approached Fia and intentionally tried to make the deck's floorboards creak beneath his feet. "You should be careful," he cautioned, appearing beside the human and beginning to follow her eyeline into the water. He could make out the shapes of streamlined animals cresting near the foamy wake of the ship. "Was that you I heard singing earlier? I didn't know you knew any sailing songs."

Heavily, Laszlo remembered that Fia's fiancé had been a sailor and he cursed himself. "Well, I suppose I did. I just never thought your humming had words to it." Rubbing his hands together for warmth, Laszlo looked back down at the animals again, remembering the way Fia would cheerily clean their Lhavit apartment.