Her attention bounced betwixt those things he described, a blanket of concentration cast over her habitually pleasant expression. In the eyes that looked without seeing, taking in details without memorizing. Just words and the images they conjured.

Fall instead of sink. Which one was a faster death, she couldn’t help but wonder. And leaving no question unanswered, some small memory from times past said, in a mellow voice — It depends.

Still, she blinked and bobbed her head like she understood the charm. Perhaps she did, partly, having felt the wind on a high peak or the shore facing leagues of open water, where one could feel vanishingly small standing against mere moving air. So much of it, rushing as a tide, that she could lean her entire weight against it and not fall.

Another sip of the tea lingered on her lips just as Paramviiga’s cheerful little offer did betwixt them. Past the steam, she alighted her look upon him anew, to the eyes that were easy to meet. Kind and genuinely excited, she felt.

Such small things.

“ Brave families. “ She remarked in addition, picking up her lighter tone and lilt of jest despite her stare that’d sharpened, like she meant to pluck secrets out of him. Like ripe fruit from a tree.

“ Won’t turn down a tour, though. “ Bared sharp teeth in a lopsided flash of a grin, the lot of it eclipsed by another draw from her cup. Indulgent.

“ The Cisca. “ A skyserpentine hiss there in the name as she tasted it, let it mingle with the tea that burned hot on her tongue.

“ She pretty too? “
 
"Brave, some, aye," he nod in the space that fell between her words. Tail a swish. "Not half as brave as a fiddler, true, nary a pence as brave as one toting a Grub, no less," he kept his eyes big on her.

"A tour?" he smiled a bit wider. He nod. "She is!" all excitement at the thought. "Sturdy old gal. Fine hulls, paddle wheels, twin liftballoons, and an engine that holds steadfast, even in the harsh of a storm," he wouldn't hide his pride in it. Normally anyway, but well.

He cleared his throat. Tempered some of his excitement as he smiled at her, snaggle tooth poking out from his lip. Felt the wind breeze over them. Heard a twig above them snap. Something started to fall. Bounced off a branch. Spoke a little softer.

"You'd really want to see her?"
 
The compliments slipped clean by like water off the back of a duck. Shimmering silver, beautiful little rivers, but failing to sink in all the same. Her expression didn’t flicker, a statuesque mask of faint amusement upon it as he went on. And she listened, slowly draining her tea.

“ Liftballoons, huh. “ She breathed in the middle, squinting at the Grub absently. How its dark eyes kept wide at the voice that’d hiked up in tone, describing wonders and seizing even the smallest attention. The short arms were braced on the soft quilt, head bent up to watch all that made so little sense as of yet. Hard at learning.

She slouched a little against the support of her arm and eyed Paramviiga past her shoulder drowsily like some princess roused from slumber, letting the question hang in the air. Lips pursed with feigned contemplation, or perhaps annoyance. As if she was to say no.

“ Yes. We— “ Broke to a smile and dipped her chin at the kid. “ Would like that very much indeed. I’ve not heard it being allowed much, though. “ Face altered with mischief, quite thrilled with the thought of going into a yet another thing on the sly.

“ Due to thieves and such. But perhaps that is just the regular cargoships? “ Her cup landed on the bench in a click as she reached to put it away, plucking the orange from where it’d been left by the pot. She brought it beneath her nose for a breath, skirts huffing as retreated back down.

“ In the evening, perhaps? If you’re free. “

The orange skin popped as she pushed her claw through its navel.
 
Eyes across the plane of her shoulder, struck by the low burn of sunset goal, and spying the play of pursed lips, pushed together with something like judgement. A measuring. An answer being built, to the sounds of leaf rattle and Grub gurgles.

Yes. We... Moonbright eyes glowed the brighter, for the flutter of excitement.

A little laugh. High pitched, and trill "Aye, that's true," he smiled knowing. "Thieves and all," made a point around with the tilt of his horns and raise of his brows. Caught on to the flare of thrill in her eye.

Maybe, don't tell about the logbook then. He grinned just a tad wider.

Caught the movement of the little one. Saw the dark eyes, round and large looking up at him as citrus oil sprayed come the pop of claw through rind.

"Free as a gull," he said all toothsome. Wiggled the fingers of one at the little one. Saw how they tracked the flutter. Made him laugh. Glanced at her with a raise of the cup. "Save for bringing a pair of guests along,"

His eyes stayed on her a long moment. A coo, something like frustration under the bare of its own weight, brought his eyes down, and he could see the little one wobble.

"Oh," he sounded, almost worried, but too glad to see the them going on. "Can I hold them?" his eyes cut back to her, already putting the tea down.
 
It was a date, then. She smiled to herself, eyes downcast to the orange as she ripped at its skin, determined to have it off in one large piece. A fun new shape with its tears and twists, like the shoreline of a large isle.

Her look flit to Paramviiga as he shifted, inquiring. Fruit changed to just one hand as her other reached to snatch up his cup, lest he knock it over onto the fine quilt. Wasn’t trusting the soft of it, or the grass beneath.

“ Yes. ” She responded, wiggling sideways on her arse to face the both of them better, legs gently folded to the side. “ And remember to support the head— ” The orange patted onto the skirt on her lap as she reached one hand to adjust the hat on the child’s head.

“ The neck is a little too weak yet to hold it up. “

The glance that lingered upon him was expectant, if trusting. A bit of measuring in it as she sat back to watch, taking a sip of his tea in turn.
 
Param's eyes seemed to widen double over as she moved on over, all shimmy and shake. Eyes flitting between her hips, and the jostle of her curls, to the little Grub. Wide eyed and almost seeming to dare him.

A determination settled in his chest. Head bobbed into a slow nod as he listened to her instruction. "Been a while since I held a little grubber," he said with a roil of excitement roll through his throat. "Support the head," he said, voice snarly and monsterous as he scooped up the Grub's head. "Juicy melon, this is," he said, toothy as he palmed the child's dark hair, and little cozy hat. "Up we go then, Grub," he said as his right hand scooped up booty and feet.

"Heavier than you look, you grubby little treasure," he laughed. adjusted arm along the little thing's spine as it wiggled. Bounced in a soft rhythm. Like when the winds were easy, and the hammock rocked nice. "There now, how's that, hmm?" watched how their little eyes twinkled, and their fingers reached and grabbed. Little legs kicking. Strong for all their noodling.
 
He took instruction well, falling to the task like a fish to water. No stranger at all. She watched it with warm delight, letting herself down against one elbow. A muse relaxing on her laurels and certain she deserved every bit of it.

The grub stared, one fist popping loose from where it’d been, lodged halfway in it’s mouth where empty gums chewed. Breaths huffing, a bit of upset on the squint of its eyes and the sounds that were too far from words yet. Mirka tilted her head to meet that searching gaze, the bit of wide-eyed startlement melting into wonder again as she hummed her assurances. First to the Grub, then at Paramviiga, whom she wouldn’t answer further for how the child’s relative ease was message enough. The way he knew how to hold and to soothe in a breezy movement.

She reached for his wrist and guided his hand for where the smaller ones grabbed at air, until there was something else to wrap a grip about. Found clawed fingers and a palm that knew hard work at the helms of ships it’d never set foot on, if she’d keep her promises. The infinite softness of something that’d barely lived, searching the grooves that already knew some of it. She withdrew, a sombre sort of satisfaction about her look as she regarded the man by her.

“ For one whose opinion of children is ‘ they’re alright people, I guess’ — “ Though she didn’t laugh, the urge of it was in her dramatic tone. “ You do this rather well, pilot. “

A challenge there in the quirk of her brow. To call out her conjecture?

“ Even if it has been a while. Who was the last one you held? “
 
If the slobber bothered him any, it didn't show none. Smile wider for the pop of tiny fist free from gummy mouth. Faded, and faltered, just a tad at the first sight of rain clouds.

But it wasn't his first storm. Stayed the course, he did. Eased more into it.

A mother's coos, sweet music in both sets of ears. Made him laugh. Made Grub kick and settle, and turn its little head.

Sure fingers touched to wrist, and showed the way it should be done. How to charm the little treasure. Found himself charmed and then some. Caught in a breathless moment as he saw the small hands reach, and snatch and grubbed along with each grab.

"Well, if I ain't ever felt more welcomed," he said all breathless in the whisper.

Her hand slipped away, but its warmth was still all there. And more the warmth of her child, she'd left in his hands.

Funny feeling that.

Funniest feeling he had felt in a long stretch.

But he couldn't right take his eyes of the little one. How they glowed as they searched and felt and tried.

Come her tease though, and his grin cocked, half-mocked fall of breath pushed out with a laugh. Eyes did flit to see her. Smile hiding there beneath full lips. Twinkle in her eye.

How he did like that.

"I don't think the two are at headwinds with the other," he laughed. "Just, well, thank you for noticing, fiddler," he added with a wink. Tail happy to swish about. A pull at his fingers and into wet gnashing gums brought his eyes back to the Grub. "Oy! I caught a big one I did!" he laughed. Curled finger to round knuckle, and gave the gentlest of wiggles. Proper angling.

He thought on the question a moment, as the baby's laugh drifted through the air. Lapped against his ears, all waves against a hull, set to memories.

"Friend had a kid, not some years back, caught her back on the Tilla," smiled. "Grew up together, ran a few crews pulling the same lines. Better sailor than I ever was, or will be most like. Seemed to take to mothering just as fierce though. Lil minnow was named Lefried, on account that, she had eaten the best damn mackrel of her life at a place called Lefried's. Was reason enough I suppose," shook his head, all snaggle toothed and glad. "Lil Lefried's about five now if my chart's still worthy," was sure to keep the bounce. Gave the little hands a squeeze of his own. Relished in the squish there. Warm and soft and so full of all it could be. "Oh, then there was Donny's kid, Charleston, but we all just call him Charlie, and don't right know what possed Donny and Marieanne to name their kid gullin Charleston, but then, the eight Moons go missing for one night every six years, so suppose there are greater mysteries still out there in this wide world, and that was just two years ago. Save, more people were there, and i didn't get to hold the little person for so long," he blinked. "And, I'm ramblin," he laughed.

Grub seemed to laugh with him.

That had him wide eyed and quiet a moment.
 
Angling. She watched the play, as child pulled and tasted at a finger that curled, eyes affixed above to one who told tale and smiled. What did it taste — salt and rope, some grass and sunbleached wood? Probably not sanitary.

But she wouldn’t care. The cup in her hand came up into a sip as she pried her look away, eyeing the garden wall that blocked the view to the harbour in the distance. The toll of the dockmaster’s bell that announced the rotation of shifts. The characters, real people, of his story danced around on the glass of her eyes, misting in and out like an after image of a bright light. When he laughed, as if that was to undo the sentimentalities, her smile was faint and mirthless. Far away.

“ That is alright, Paramviiga. It is fine to care deeply about things. All those names. “ She affirmed tonelessly, glancing at the grub that kicked it’s fat little green legs like an upturned frog, all the while holding on to a hand and beaming, smile bright as a solar flare.

“ And they are just words in a way as any other, no? As meaningful as you make them. Or just sounding pretty — Like Charleston does. “

She clicked her tongue at that, the musical flavour of the syllables.

“It’s hard to choose one for a child. “

Shifted her stare from the kid to the man, one brow quirked into devilish challenge.

“ Go ahead and try, sailor. “
 
"Wha, what?" he asked, the grubby little hands slap slapped about wrist. About plane of knuckles, and finger bones. "Try?" his eyes fell from the fiddler, to the child. The little grub. Mouth wide as a bass. Skin the color of a sea turtle.

Slow as the gears turned behind his horns. Tail twitching behind him with the working of baby greased thoughts.

Tut his tongue as the little one's head weighed back. Big brown eyes making his viridis

"Seems like a Rohan to me," he said with an easy smirk. The toothless chomp that came next gave him a little start. But he just grinned the wider. "Green as the emerald sea," Rocked the little one easy. "And all the great trees there along its coasts," Raised the little one up and over his head, to the backdrop of the sun speckle peering through the blades of the orange tree that so gave them all its shade.

The little one wiggled and squirmed. Laughed a moment. As he kicked kicked. "Almost a dolphin already, look at ya," Param beamed.

A skrinkled face. All wrinkles and old man's scrunch possessed the child. A wet, squelch of a fart. Like a toad.

"Oh," Param said, too alarmed. "Guess you don't like that one," slow as if working with a hot crystal. Easy to let him down, splay of shoulders first, feet held up last. "So the shit doesn't go spreadin," he recalled some forgone wisdom.

"Reckon they have some mighty fine table cloths that would make for a fancy new diaper?" he said with too wide a grin to the Fiddler. Worked his hand unto the kids back, scooped em, careful with the payload. "Likely, a bathtub, too, huh?" A wink as he popped up to his feet. Motioned to the home.
 
All marks for raising to the challenge. Her lips pursed for the occasion, judgement in her squint.

“ Rohan. Short and simple. Peaceful tune. “ She remarked in a hum and a tilt of the head, watching the child raised overhead. Wriggle of — apparently a dolphin? He would be the expert, wouldn’t he.

“ Hopefully doesn’t become one, or I’ll have trouble keeping up. “ She huffed, a dramatic roll of the eyes as the rest of the tea disappeared from the cup she’d claimed from his care. Porcelain was put away and half-peeled orange picked up anew to the beat with a thunderous bowel movement, which she registered with nary a pause, deadpan. Her smile, though weary, was tender and successfully hid her burgeoning disbelief as he kept initiative, holding onto the child with a waft of a very special brand of shit emanating from it.

Impressive. She would allow all of it and then some.

“ Yes. I do declare a bath is in order — they probably get warm water directly from the pipe too. ” A decisive nod as she slipped a slice of orange in her mouth amidst picking herself up from the quilt.

“ Think I saw a proper tub upstairs, though honestly— “ Trinkets clicked as she brushed a hand beneath her curls, righting them past her shoulder. “ The grub is so small a sink would do. If you’ve a weary back, like yours truly. “ Found the spirit to wink at him as she turned for the house, kicking her heels together and lofting the edge of a striped skirt for flare. Inviting. He could hold onto the stinky child for now, as his impromptu trial by fire.

“ I’ll provide the new linens, my sweet. “ The knife flashed with sun as she brought it out of decorated leather sheath, presenting it like a sword at the end of a straight arm and a bow.

“ Only the best for our verdant child. “
 
Well, that was a fun bit of play, wasn't it?

Welcome so warm he almost lost track of the mummer's game they partook in. Were it not for the Grub's fresh made stank. Nor the knife's sharp glint.

"Only the best," he echoed with a laugh and a nod. Hop stepped after and in as he gathered up the stinky bundle in his arm. Out of the cool tree's shade, and the the sun's gentle pour. Had drank so many other things in, that he had nearly forgot. "For our little green bud, my darling blackbriar," he said as he entered the house. Weight of the little one sure against him as he slunk past.

Grub shift again. Another set of sturdy kicks from their fatty strength. All the rawness of their new life, bursting out in whatever way it could.

Shits included. "But not so much it leaks, I hope," Param thought aloud, laughing as he stepped to the kitchen. "Feels, wrong , don't it?" he went on putting what little sparks stormed to life behind his skull to the air. "Washing such a mess where in we might cook a thing or two," smirked, like he had already made plans. "Though suppose they have a hand wash by that tub?"

Tail a swish and flick in lazy curiosity. Up the stairs he went. "Rohan," he said absently, "Easier to sing than Charleston, aye?" he said in secret to the little one, who but stared at the world in wide and quiet wonder with each quiet click of clawed feet against wooden steps.

Never minded the paintings of portraits and landscapes and the house itself alongside a number of gathered faces that all looked just as stuffy and well to do as the last. Little porcelain creatures pranced atop nailed shelves, and the strawberries and the birds of the walpaper all stayed perfectly still with each step.

Spotted one that looked to be a dolphin. Snatched it up. "For good luck," he said to the grub. Wiggled it between forefinger and thumb at the child, whose large eyes caught onto the glint of the figure.

They ganshed their tootheless gums, and reached their plump little hands out.

Param tut tut his tongue, and pocketed the thing. Already at the bathroom. He set the grub down in the sink's basin. "Easy now," he warned. "Put everything in your mouth, and you'll be in real trouble, grub-o-mine," he smiled at the kid.
 
She didn’t hurry. Was none, after all, was there — the sailor’s chatter, though muffled by the walls, was cheerful enough and positively unending. Gave that bit of assurance and a blip of location in the house while she meandered about the rest of the rooms. An additional withdrawing room — or did they call them salons here? — and an adjacent smoking room with a modest library, light tinted to a vibrant blue by painted windows. Nautical theme. Couldn’t force her way into the desk drawers, all locked.

But there was a basket with someone’s knitting in it. Wicker, perfect size for the baby. The yarn and half finished work therein wasn’t a terribly inspiring colour, a dusty sort of periwinkle, but she resisted dumping them all on the floor for want of any old yarn. Nothing dye couldn’t fix, surely.

To amuse herself on her way finally up the stairs, she adjusted the porcelain animals on the shelves so that they might seem to be wantonly fornicating. A little train, no accounting for species, mixing sacred elephants and gaudy little lapdogs. Real orgy of the end times, all to the gentle tune of a hummed shanty and orange-scented snacking.

Water kept running, splashing a little, and the child’s laughter came bright from the bathroom. She glanced through the open door on her way, smiled something sharp to Paramviiga. A thanks, but also — watch out. A mother remains ever vigil.

And just two doors down the hall, in that dark room with thick curtains where she’d earlier tried the bounce on the largest bed right before swiping the quilt off it. The white linens had looked soft, but they were even softer when she ran her hand over them now.

A grand spoiling for the grub. And herself.

She kicked her shoes off. The mattress barely creaked, just gave way like a thick cotton ball as she climbed on and lay on her back. Facing the dark wood of the canopy, she tore off another piece of orange and closed her eyes.

Just for a moment.
 
Knots. He knew knots. Diaper cloth cinched tight enough to hold back the deluge sure to be there. Stinking and hot. Shook his head. Laughed as he grabbed the little one by the ankles like some prized catch. Other hand about the soft melon that was its head.

"Alright now, you little bottle nosed bubble blower, time to gut your mess clean," he said with a pull and snug of the fat little body. Eyes to the wrinkles round the little one's own brown peepers. How they squinted, thoughts curdling behind the glass of their gaze like milk curdling with lemon juice.

A pinch, a pull, a breath held, and loose came the rag that held back all the gut stew the little grub had been brewing. Cheeks puffed, nose scrunched, eyes winced as he flinched away.

"Fish guts. Whale grease. Grown sailor's waste tossed over board to mix with the salt spray and sea rot," he managed to grunt out as he lost the contest against his own breath. Shook his head. "You're right up there with all those great ones, little grub,"

A kick of what must have been pride. Almost flung something up with it, all jerk and flail that it was, but a quick twitch and move saw the sling of slop snatched up in excess cloth. A laugh of pride from the sailor, smile sharp.

The grub only smiled wider.

Param pulled free the mess of cloth. Wiped up what big mess he could before the rag reached its retched limit. Bundled it quick. Got only a little bit of the shit across the knuckle and finger bone. Wriggled his own nose at the loss. Twist twist the key to the faucet. A little cold first. The grub squirmed and wriggled in their mess. Face turned in an instant to frown.

Let the world know their discomfort.

Couldn't quite comfort the little green bud though. Shit covered as his hands were.

"Easy now, little green grub," Param voiced. Stained knuckle under the wash of water, to rinse off the waste. Clean hand opened the warm water. Felt the shift from cold to balmy. "We'll have ya spick and span,"

Grabbed up the stick of soap. So neatly set upon a delicate dish. Rugged and rough, textured like a stone, upon which rested pink rose scented lump with swirls of blueish lavender and yellowish honey. Or, at least he thought it honey.

Too keen to his task to see the pretty momma come peak on them. Toe tapping and tune humming as combinations of scrub and rub and dub mingled and jingled along like loose coins he was too eager to snatch up and set to spin all the more. Laughter and splashes of little hand across stream of warm drink come out of artful copper pipe.

"You'd think they would be selling this thing to the king of swans themselves, so fine a neck they gave the fossit," he said idle to the child. Most of the filth cleaned off the be-bubbled babe.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Seconds ticked off and slowly, in that darkness behind shut lids, she gained the little irksome feeling of having forgotten something. Not her child— that was being taken care of, well enough by the faint sound of it — but something else. Her gut told it was mighty important, which didn’t help matters.

Her jaw worked the orange into juice, piece after piece until it was gone, nothing but the shreds of sungiven skin on her skirts. The inability to drift off at the first wanton chance she’d had for weeks — like, sixteen of them now — budded a mighty annoyance in whatever was left of her mind from all the preoccupations. Her back hurt, her skull was weary from all the chewing and the talking. This house was too big and her life was so damn small.

Without vigour, she swung herself off the bed. Righted her skirts dutifully, so all bits of her snack were off and on the floor like petals. At least she’d not have to clean anything here, not even lock the doors. Fucking cunts.

From the narrow chest at the end of the bed, she found some bedlinens and shoved a good portion of them into the basket she’d picked out earlier. Nothing terribly heavy to carry, unlike the sink and other things she’d laid claim on. Those would have to be left behind and one day, she’d sworn, she’d get good at it. Others sure had, so there was no way she couldn’t learn how to do it too.

Craning her neck, she called into the hall past her shoulder.

“ How fares your task, pilot? “

One of the sheets she stretched open beneath her gaze and nicked with her knife, then tore to square bits. Fast with intent, stone-faced, stacking the pieces upon the rest she’d stolen.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom