Flashback [Anchorage Flotilla] Summer Fun

[Anais Seawind]

I talk. I think. You talk.

54th Summer, 502AV
midday

“Hoydens! Bring back me jewels!” The good-natured shout followed a small group of tanned and half-naked children as they scampered from ship to ship, swiping whatever wasn’t nailed down only to pass it amongst themselves, redistributing or abandoning it moments later, grinning and laughing all the while. The latest "victim" was Anais' own mother, the tall blonde making a great show of shaking her fist and scowling until the children were out of sight, then replenishing the strings of beads and shells that Anais had snatched up as she ran past. It was good fun for plunderer and plundered, alike, and the independence the children found in the safety of family and friends would stand them in good stead as they grew older.

The Anchorage Flotilla was a colorful, disjointed construct; boats and ships moored together, connected by all manner of pathways. Rope bridges, swing lines, planks of wood - all served as paths from one deck to the next, from one pod to the next, and all were fair game for the mismatched gangs of Svefra children as they ran, feet flashing and hands reaching, leaving laughter and chaos in their wake. Unsupervised and unrestrained, they ran or swam as the mood took them, charmed food from whatever Pod was nearest at hand when hunger struck, and fancied themselves the finest sailors in all the seas.

It was freedom. It was opportunity. It was glorious.

Anais had already acquired several strings of beads and a small drum on her first day on the Flotilla; this latest batch from her own Pod she simply dropped off on the next boat they careened through. Beads and shells were common, the thrill was in the grab. The new drum, however, Anais wore tied securely to her hip in as complicated a knot as her little fingers had been able to create. She patted it frequently as she flitted from deck to deck, reassuring herself that it was still there. It was during just such a check, while she was looking down, distracted, that she nearly ran headlong into her latest boon companions who had stopped running and were now gathered around watching… Something.

Squirming her way into the crowd amidst cheers and jeers, the little blonde girl elbowed and shoved until she had a front-row view of the spectacle.

Gambling!

Anais’ eyes, blue like those of everyone around her, sparkled as she watched the gaming. Thimble-pig. It was one of her favorites. She crept closer, watching intently; she could only sometimes find the ‘pig’, and she was sure more time to watch would give her the game’s secret. It couldn’t be too difficult, it was played with 3 shells and a pebble. Even a child could find those, and Anais had – but it was harder to find someone to play the game with when your pod was small and mostly made of adults.

Tiny wrinkles formed as her brow tightened in concentration, and she frowned when she was jostled from behind.

“Annie! Let’s go,” the speaker stopped just short of a whine, and Anais turned around to glare at the boy. "This is boring!"

“Don’t call me 'Annie',” she hissed angrily at the gangly youth behind her. Carver was a year or two older than she was, and had made it a special point to use that hated nickname as often as possible from the first minute he’d met her. Which had been yesterday. “I wanna watch the game. I’ll catch up later!”

“She just wants to watch Enn-i-van,” came a snide comment. “She thinks he’s pretty.” Anais recognized the voice and tried to ignore it. It was her actual-honest-to-Laviku cousin, Jewel, of all people. A blush rode high in her cheeks – partly because Jewel was a little bit right, and partly because Jewel was Jewel. Older, taller, with a shark tavan, instead of Anais’ turtle, Jewel used every chance she got to try to embarrass the younger Svefra.

“Do not,” she said with a shove to the other girl’s shoulder. “I want to learn to play so I can go ashore and rook the city folks out of all their mizas. And besides,” she continued matter-of-factly, “boys aren’t pretty. They’re handsome. You sea cucumber.”

Carver snickered at the insult and Jewel’s face reddened in angry embarrassment at basically being called a brainless lump, but before she could think of a comeback, Anais spun around, her attention once again on the table in front of her, the three shells, and the man steadily chattering as he slid the shells around in a confusing pattern too fast for her eyes to follow.

[Anais Seawind]

Ennivan Whitewave was definitely handsome, with his long black hair and mahogany skin. Pale blue eyes sparkled out, twin points of light in a face most Svefra women agreed was beyond compare. Anais, at just 10 years old, had just begun to realize that some boys were better-looking than others. But she was drawn to the son of Whitewave – or to his gaming table, in any case. Her fingers twitched as he held up the pebble once more, setting it in the center of the table before covering it with one of three conical limpet shells, and dropping the other two on either side. The shells had been decorated, painted a bright blue with tiny white dots spiraling outward from the point; identical, making it harder to distinguish which was covering the tiny pebble "pig". And then the game got interesting.

“Oren, my friend, did I ever tell you about the time I met a talking sardine?” Ennivan’s voice was friendly, a smooth tenor that was a joy to listen to, if you could tune out the scraping sounds made by the limpet shells as he began to move them, one after the other. “I was thirteen days on the open sea, thought Laviku had abandoned me and had just about given up ever seeing the smiling face of Lia Alee, again…”

The shells moved faster, and Anais tried to follow them. Oren only grunted a response to Ennivan’s question, which Anais thought was rude. If they were friends, why would Oren be rude? But Ennivan didn’t seem to mind, continuing with his tale; his voice rose and fell and sounded almost like a poem. Anais couldn’t help but pay attention.

“My friend, a school of sardines saved me,” his voice was earnest, grateful even now, “surrounding my craft, the leapt from the sea and one spoke as he arced over me.” The shells were sliding around faster now, and Ennivan moved them seemingly without plan or care; the scraping sounds formed an oddly fitting counterbeat to his words. Oren seemed not to notice, eyes glued to Ennivan’s hands. Anais had taken her eyes off the shells already, curious to hear about the sardine and how it had saved Ennivan at sea.

Ennivan’s voice sped up, as did his hands and the shells they moved, til they were fairly flying back and forth along the table. “Oren, I tell you this sardine flew from the sea, and with each jump gifted some wisdom to me: drop 3 gold in the sea, said he, and Laviku himself will see you home safely."

Ennivan’s voice stopped. His hands stopped. Anais frowned, disappointed that the story had ended, and Oren frowned as he stared at the shells, now back in their original line, each one identical to the next and only one covering the small pebble that Oren wanted to find.

Oren was a pale man, with stringy auburn hair and a beard decorated with a wealth of glass beads in every color Anais could imagine. In fact, the beads were the Svefra’s only redeeming quality, as far as she could tell. His face was squinched up and turning redder the longer he sat there, staring at the shells but not picking one.

“Oren? Surely you aren’t waiting for my friend the sardine to come tell you where the pig is?”

The comment drew laughs from the crowd, but only served to turn Oren’s face a more florid shade of red as the man hastily jabbed a finger at the left limpet shell. “It’s ‘at one,” came the gruff reply, “and petch yer stinkin’ sardine. We all know you ‘aven’t gone off the Float in a year’r more.”

Ennivan smiled graciously, not the least bit insulted as he agreed with the other man, “Sadly, you’re right, my friend, I haven’t traveled the open waters in longer than I’d have liked.” He slowly lifted Oren’s chosen limpet shell, as a grin spread across his face. “But sadly, too, you’re wrong. The pig lies elsewhere and you forfeit your bet, sir. I’ll take my bounty now.” Lifting the middle limpet shell, Ennivan revealed the tiny pebble to Oren and the other onlookers, who cheered and jeered by turns.

“Petch,” Oren muttered, without any real anger. Reaching for a pouch at his belt, he tossed a bag down onto the table in front of Ennivan and grinned back at the other man. “You and yer fish stories, eh? But I’ll win it all back agin another day, friend.” Oren laughed at his own ill-luck and walked away from the table, his pod mates and friends teasing him good-naturedly until Anais could no longer see them.

[Anais Seawind]

Ennivan looked to be getting ready to leave, too, and Anais felt a small moment of panic – if he left, who knew when the next game would be? Or where, for that matter. If she wanted to learn, the time was now and Anais had moved forward almost before she’d finished the thought. Ennivan looked down at her curiously.

“Did you want a game, little sister?” The question came with a chuckle. Though the games were good fun, what was fun without a little wager? And clearly a child would have nothing to wager with.

Anais’ cheeks grew hot and she knew she was blushing again, but she shook her head. “I never pick right,” she admitted glumly. “I get distracted by the stories and forget to watch the shells.” Even though she had just seen Oren fall prey to the same thing, Anais couldn’t help but feel a bit of shame at her failing.

To her further embarrassment, Ennivan laughed aloud, teeth flashing bright white in the sun. After a tick, though, he gave her a kind smile, “Well, that’s the point, little sister! And were you listening to my story just now?” He waved at the seat so recently vacated by Oren and set the pebble on the table again. “Did you notice anything about it?” One by one, the limpet shells dropped down, the third one covering the pebble.

Anais slowly took the offered seat as she thought back to the story Ennivan had told. It had had a rhythm to it, almost like a bit of poetry or a song, and she told him so. “It was sing-songy. And it rhymed. Like a chant? Or a poem?” She looked up at him curiously. Was that the answer he wanted? Or did he want to know what the moral had been? Sometimes her mother told her stories that were supposed to teach her things. Was that what Ennivan had been trying to do?

“Ayea, it did,” Ennivan nodded his approval at her and she beamed back at him. “Now listen and watch, then:

Little sister, have you heard about the fins of the Syliran rays? Ugly things, ey, all mottled and gray. But if you’re fishing and catch one, don’t throw it away,” he had begun moving the limpet shells as he spoke, keeping pace and tempo with his words. Anais watched intently, for she did want to master the game, but also tried to listen to the story. “Our friend, Oren, will buy them – he eats 8 each day!” As the words stopped, so did Ennivan’s hands, but it took Anais a moment to notice – she was too busy giggling at Oren’s expense.

Ennivan watched her patiently, waiting for the fit of giggles to die away. “A’right, little one. Where’s the pebble?”

Anais thought a tick, and then frowned as she realized that, again, she’d gotten distracted by the words and forgotten to watch the shells. Hesitantly, she pointed to the middle shell. “There?” She wasn’t confident in her guess, and disliked the idea of getting it wrong, but was even more unwilling to admit that she’d failed to pay enough attention. Again.

Rather than pick up the shell and prove her wrong, Ennivan shook his head and smiled kindly at her. “Sea sister, if you want to master thimble pig, you need to control your curiosity. Half the bluff is in the words and the voice you use,” he leaned in, whispering as though the secret of thimble pig was worth more than his weight in gold coins, and continued, “the words are supposed to distract the weak-minded, keep them from following the pig around the table.”

Anais stared at him, wide-eyed, not sure if she should be insulted at being called “weak-minded” or glad to finally know the secret. She settled somewhere in-between. “But I want to know the stories, too!”

Ennivan at last lifted the limpet shells, proving that Anais had indeed guessed wrong. “The price of the stories is the game, little one. You can know the tales, lies and half-truths that they are, or you can follow the pig and not lose the game. Or, like me, you can master the tricks and use ‘em to your advantage.”

[Anais Seawind]

Anais sat back, disappointed that she’d chosen the wrong shell, as usual, but more than a little intrigued by Ennivan’s words. ”There’s tricks? Like a way I can always win?” She was skeptical, but if there was a way she could start picking the right shell, at least some of the time, Anais was willing to listen.

But Ennivan only laughed, shaking his head, and wasted no time chasing that thought away. “No one wins all the time, little sister. But th’first step to winning is not to take it so seriously. It’s a game, thimble pig, and it should be fun. If it stops being fun, that’s a sure sign to stop playing.” His teeth flashed white as he smiled, eyes twinkling at his young pupil. Ennivan truly enjoyed his games, no matter who was winning, or if anyone was. It was all a test of wits, and he’d found few to best him over the years. The resulting pile of trinkets and small treasures meant little to him, and Ennivan gave them away more often than not. The game was the reward. Winning was an afterthought.

“Take our friend Oren, now,” he continued, holding up the bag the other man had left on the table. “He plays to win. Doesn’t take a bad temper when he loses, but if he’s not winning something, he won’t stick around long. There’s some,” Ennivan’s deep blue eyes cut to a group of men dicing on the ship next to them, “there’s some who get meaner than a shark with a toothache when the games don’t go their way. Takes all the fun out of playin’, you ask me.”

”But isn’t that why people play thimble pig? Or any of the other gambles? To win?" Anais wasn’t familiar with any of the other gambling games people might play, although she knew there were card games and dicing games, too. Thimble pig had been a challenge since the first time she’d seen it; the rules were simple enough for her 7 year old self to understand, and she’d been able to play at it by herself, as shells and pebbles were easy to get her hands on. But it was hard to master a two-person game with just one person, and no one in her Pod had had much interest in the game.

“O-ho, you’d think so, eh? But its entertainment, that’s th’thing. Gamblin’s just a way to pass the time. Never gamble because you need to, and never for very high stakes. Desperation can beat you as sure as your opponent.” Gone was the laughing young man of chimes ago, and in his place a young man with old eyes, voice heavy with the weight of past experience.

Anais wanted to understand, but her confusion must’ve shown on her face, for Ennivan spoke again.

“It means, you urchin, that if you want something bad enough, like to win, that you may be so distracted thinking about it that you make a mistake, lose without your opponent even having to try.”

The girl nodded, seeing how that could happen. ”Its like one time when I went ashore with ma, and we were finding the little crabs and I looked too fast and scared them all away and had to chase them all over the beach. Ma said I warned ‘em all we were coming.”

Ennivan just looked at her for a second, then opened his mouth like he was going to say something, closed it again, and finally nodded. “Ayea, something a bit like that.”

”What are the tricks, then? How do I win?” A whine had begun to creep into her voice. This was turning into A Talk, and wasn’t nearly as fun as running with her new friends. She hoped Ennivan would go back to playing the game with her, or giving away his secrets so she could win if she ever got to play it with someone else. Or at least not lose all the time.

“There are two, Patience,” he said good-naturedly, not minding the petulant attitude that was beginning to show itself. “The first is to ignore the story. The story, the fact that it rhymes, even the tone of my voice are all tools. Things to try and distract the watcher, get ‘em to look away from th’shells and lose track of th’pig. I make up the most outlandish stories I can, things people will want to disagree with or laugh at.”

”Like a talking sardine!” Anais felt silly; she’d thought a talking sardine sounded too amazing to be true. But she’d still gotten caught up in the story.

“Just so, sea sister, just exactly so,” Ennivan nodded, as he began laying out the shells again. He placed the pebble on the table next to the middle shell, but did not cover it up to start the game. “And even though you saw Oren, he didn’t believe a word of what I said, the story was silly enough to distract him.”

Anais looked again at the bag that Oren had left behind. She’d been brimming with curiosity, and finally her interest overcame her manners, and she had to ask. ”What’d you win, anyway? Is it money?”

[Anais Seawind]

Ennivan shook his head with a grin, “Its not that easy, little one, Oren didn’t just hand me this bag because I asked fer it, did he?” The man made a big show of hefting the bag temptingly in the air and then settling it farther away from Anais. He set the “pig” pebble down on the table with a flourish, and quickly replaced the blue and white limpet shells, covering the pebble and surrounding it with two empty shells. “Now. You win this round an’ I’ll not only tell you what’s in the bag, I’ll give you a bit of it, too.” Pale blue eyes twinkled at Anais, Ennivan was enjoying teaching the little imp a bit about the game, and would see that she left with a trinket, win or lose. After all, possessions were only things.

Anais worried her lip for just a moment, eying the small brown sack that had passed from Oren to Ennivan. Thimble pig was fun. She was supposed to ignore the stories and just watch the shell with the pig. She could win something – she didn’t know what, exactly, but she could win something. If she could concentrate on the pig and not the story, for once.

”Okay. I’ll play. Only, could you maybe not tell a very interesting story this time? ‘Cuz I’m just learnin’,” hopeful, pleading eyes met Ennivan’s, and Anais tried her best to look innocent. But if the man would agree, then she’d have an easier time ignoring him.

Her question had caught Ennivan unawares, and he barked out a short laugh at the child’s nerve. She’d make a dangerous opponent, if she mastered the innocent look and act, but he’d been manipulated by females far more skilled than she, and he made no response beyond his own answering look of feigned innocence as his hands fell to the shells once more. Casually, he slid the shells all together in the center of the table, holding in his own laughter as Anais’ small shoulders slumped a bit. He had no intention of taking it very easy on her.

Not taking her eyes off the shells, even though she ached to throw a glare at the man across from her, Anais instead narrowed her gaze and focused intently on the game and the movements of the shells. Ennivan began his spiel and Anais tried her best to tune him out, though the words still made their way into her ears.

“I met an urchin, while gamblin’ one day, with golden hair and ocean eyes.
Asked her to play a game with me, and this was her reply:”

The hands and shells moved slowly at first, almost in time with the rhyme, and a fleeting thought hit Anais: Where did he get the rhymes from? Slowly, though, they picked up pace and Anais chased the idle curiosity out of her thoughts as her eyes followed the blue shell she was positive still hid the pig.

“I’ve never won a gamblin’ game, and am too afraid to try,
Though I wait and watch and see, the shell-game seems a lie.”

Ennivan’s voice kept the same easy tempo, as though he were only telling a story at a bonfire, but his hands had sped up, their movements no longer measured, instead becoming more erratic and harder to track. And was that story about her? The shell that Anais was pretty certain had the pig under it moved more often than the other two, Ennivan sneaking into and out of the center, moving it around the other shells as Anais stared.

“So sad she was, with downcast eyes, she seemed about to cry.
I took her aside, this little gel, taught her a bit and to my surprise,
She played me a game of Thimble-pig and won my heart as prize!”

With a grand flourish, Ennivan returned the decorated limpet shells to their original line up, and lifted his hands away. On the table sat three identical limpet shells, painted blue, with white dots spiraling outward from their points. Anais stared hard at them, lingering over the leftmost shell, the one she was reasonably certain concealed the “pig.” But still, she hesitated to commit to it and be proven wrong again. Even though her eyes, this time, had never left the playing table, the girl knew she had been distracted by both the story and the impossible-to-predict movements of the shells under Ennivan’s hands.

“Well, little sister? Which’ll it be? Did you pay attention to the story or the game?” Though the voice was light, friendly, Anais could hear a bit of mockery in it and she pressed her lips together in a frown.

”I paid attention to the shells! But,” she could feel the blush begin as she had to acknowledge the second truth, ”who was that story about? Was it me? Where did you learn all the stories?” The words came out in a rush, as Anais didn’t want to forget any of her questions. The answers were almost as important to her as guessing where the pig was; curiosity was a powerful foe when you were just 10 years old.

“Which shell?” His tone turned slightly more serious now; Ennivan would answer her questions, but first Anais would have to answer his, rightly or wrongly.

A look at Ennivan’s face across from her and Anais knew he wouldn’t be swayed to discussion until she’d made her choice. She reached out tentatively, finger hovering over the shells. She’d watched, and was reasonably certain it was under the shell on her left, but… It could have been the middle. Or maybe the right? No amount of concentration now was shedding any light on her decision. Giving herself no more time for second guessing, Anais hurriedly reached out and tapped the shell on her left. ”Its that one.” Her tone may have been confident, but Anais was not. She was only hopeful.

Ennivan reached out slowly, his face giving nothing away as he lifted the center shell first. Empty. Anais leaned forward the tiniest bit, holding her breath as she waited for the next shell to be picked up.

But Ennivan sat back, moving his hands away from the two remaining shells and lacing them behind his head, the picture of relaxation as he considered her questions. “Well, little one, I’ll tell you,” he began, ignoring Anais’ impatience. “I’ve never heard these stories anywhere. I make them up. Its easy to make up a ridiculous story – much harder to make up something that sounds like it could be true. And if I make them up fresh each time, I know no one has heard them before – better chance to surprise them, distract them, make them laugh.”

Anais tapped her foot impatiently; though she’d asked the questions, now that she’d made her guess all she really wanted to know was if she was right or wrong. Her companion, however, seemed content to laze back, staring out at the sky, taking his time, while she could barely contain herself.

“And was it about you? Ayea, at the start of it. Once you start telling a story, you find it has its own direction. Best just to let it get there in its own time. Patience is important,” he winked at her before sitting up and reaching out for the shell Anais had indicated, holding it aloft to reveal the small gray pebble that had been held in its shadow.

Anais squealed at the sight, drawing a few curious looks from people gambling nearby and an indulgent smile from Ennivan. She didn’t notice, though, as she’d reached out to grab the “pig” she’d finally been able to find. Nevermind that it had been at least half luck that she’d chosen correctly, Anais was so thrilled that she’d finally won a game that she nearly forgot – ”Oh! What’s in Oren’s bag?”

Nodding, Ennivan plopped the bag in front of her. “I haven’t forgotten our wager, urchin, go on then – open it up. Pick your favorite and call it your prize, eh? Oren does fantastic work – Inartan, he is.”

Anais reached out excitedly, grasping the bag in her hands and pulling at the top until the bag sat wide open, its contents sparkling dimly inside. Glass beads of every color met her gaze, and the little girl beamed; reaching in, she pulled out a small handful, staring appreciatively as their sparkle multiplied in the full light from Syna. Blues and greens and purples in varying shades covered her palm, and Anais plucked up a chunky aqua bead, drawn to its size and the way its color seemed to swirl inside. Dumping the rest back into the bag, she handed it back to Ennivan and stood, face alight with her win, and her prize, and eager to go find her friends to tell them of both.

“Congratulations, sea sister,” Ennivan offered, as he took the bag of beads back from her and began packing up his gaming pieces. “Thanks for the game.”

[Okara]

Grades and Awards Anais Seawind Experience Observation 4 Gambling 4 Socialization 1 Tactics 2 Storytelling 1 Lores Gambling: The Rules of Thimble-Pig Anais Seawind: Knows that Some Boys are Better Looking than Others Tactics: Distracting Your Gambling Opponent with a Story Gambling: Keep Your Focus on the Game Gambling: Gamble for Fun, Not Because You Need To Storytelling: Ridiculous Stories are Easy to Invent Misc Rewards or Injuries (+) Aqua bead Notes This was such a fun read! I enjoyed young Anais’s personality and mannerisms. I think you did an excellent job capturing her burgeoning maturity and determination to be involved in what the adults do. Please let me know if I missed any lores you were hoping for. The stories Ennivan made up were really fun as well. Please edit your post in your grade request to reflect that it has been graded. PM me with any questions.