Prompt Love is Blind: Sailing on a Boat

[Lucie]

Art By: Brenda Van Vugt
For Raktageirr (Aero) - Anemone (Crow)​

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The sails of the Crimson Phoenix glinted in the rising sun. Thus far, the voyage had been calm. Almost too calm. The sun beat down on the ship, stuck in the water. The breezes having died in the sails. A calm on the sea. It was only the first day, nothing to worry about yet. The crew took the opportunity to be able to repair the sails and fix some of the rotten planks. Passengers could take the opportunity to relax on deck or in the shared cabin space, hammocks hung against the wooden pillars of the vessel.

Normally being stuck on a windless sea was not a problem with a Kharsagan crew, but this one, this crew was superstitious and did not look favorable on the use of the shroud to power the sails. Such things were unnatural and would only bring about bad luck later. So all they could do was wait and see if the wind would pick back up on it's own. Or to perhaps try to nudge things along secretly when no one was watching.​

 

[Anemone]

"Puritans." She exclaimed, spreading out a towel along the upper deck. They rested in the doldrums, and their disdain for her magic rifled her. But it was her captain's superstition. This Crimson Phoenix, this dumb... so very dumb bird of a ship. She could but flick her wrist and the winds would wake the sails and send them through. She snarled, almost angrily as she smoothed the edges of her towel. The worst of it was that they knew. They had a Tempestarii aboard, but not just any Tempestarii. For those so fearing of the witches of the sea, they knew not what what stowed amongst them.

Anemone Brine smoothed the edges of her towel, rolling along it to sunbathe in the ample sunlight. She closed her eyes and felt nothing. Such were these seas. No wind, no current. "Leave them to their own devices," she smirked. The crew of the Crimson Phoenix was one of fools. And so Anemone on the sunlit deck spread her arms and splayed herself before the sun to soak it all in.

She dared risk, hoping that no one would see, the faintest of breezes with a swish of her fingers to relieve the smallest of sweat drops that had pooled on her skin.

 

[Raktageirr]

Day one of the voyage and the wind was already taken out of their sails, quite literally. The mercenary had no qualms about weaving shroud, if not for a particular problem: she couldn’t use it. All Raktageirr could do was pace across the deck. Despite her stature, she was unexpectedly quiet if not for the click of black claws against wood. Golden eyes glanced at the hammocks, a flicker of longing apparent to the keen-eyed who may have caught sight, but she dismissed the thought and turned her head to gaze upon the sea instead. Too easy to get tangled up in one.

With nothing else to do, Raktageirr moved to an area farther away from the busybodies trying to pass the time fixing up the ship. She laid herself out on the deck. Overgrown lizard. She heard the mockery in her head, if only because the crewman dared not risk saying it aloud in her presence.

A gentle, cool breeze broke the steady heat of the sun beating down on her russet scales, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw one weave the wind with a mere flick of her fingers. Her jaw scraped the plank underneath as she lifted her heavy head.

“You have the wind at your beck and call, aye?” Raktageirr rumbled, eyes flicking to and fro in search of a possible eavesdropper. None were close for now. “Can you give this ship a little push so we’re not stranded here? Crew protests? I’ll deal with them.”

 

[Anemone]

Anemone turned her head to the voice. Her best efforts were not to spin in surprise. How did this mercenary know? She clenched her fingers into a ball, hiding them as she turned to the mercenary. "You have it all wrong," she said matter-of-factly. "I am at the wind's beck and call." She stared sadly at the limp sails of their vessel.

"I can but ask. And the winds answer." She spoke a half-truth and let it hang in the stagnant, warm air. This other one was a lizard, yes? Certainly they would like being on a hot deck beneath the warmth of the sun. Anemone, the opposite, had her own frustrations that fell out of her as beads of sweat to stain the edges of her clothes.

"I very much doubt the crew will complain, however," she felt emboldened, "Tempestarii can bring out superstitions in folk, keep the crew civil and maybe... just maybe, I can conjure something up." It was not for the lizard's request, moreso that the duldroms were exhausting for one that draws her power through the wind. She took to her knees and closed her eyes, chanting a language long lost to time.

And at once she was away from her mortal body, feeling all of the winds and their potential flowing around her, avoiding for some reason, this specific spot of sea. It made no matter, she hardened her closed eyes and focused, ripping that thread, tugging upon it until it would snap, until it fell directly over their vessel. She breathed out a sigh of relief.

And with that sigh the sails snapped to life and the ship woke from its slumber, sails snapping awake and coasting over gentle waves. "Good enough for you?" She fell with her hands behind her as the wind rushed over her. "Name's Nemmy, by the way. If you are going to lounge here a lot you should know that this is where I am, too."

 

[Raktageirr]

Those weavers were an eccentric lot. Raktageirr never believed one who said that the elements moved them instead of the other way around, but whether that was true or not, what mattered to her was the final result. She couldn’t direct even the smallest of breezes, much less breathe life into a ship’s sails.

The weaver’s chant hadn’t gone unnoticed. A couple of alarmed sailors halted whatever it was they were doing and stared, while some glanced nervously as they attempted to refocus on their work. Raktageirr’s eyes swiveled toward the now taut sails.

“Good enough,” she answered. “Noted.”

As the weaver fell back, one bold crewman dared to speak up.

“Ye just cursed this ship,” he fumed. “Wind kept us here fer a reason! Brings bad luck, magic.”

Raktageirr snorted and pushed herself to her feet, claws scraping against the wood planks as she did so. A naturally armored wall of muscle, the mercenary towered over the mariner before her. Her glare burned hot as an inferno, and the deckhand shrank back.

“Bad luck would be not having someone to spare us from rotting away at sea. If we stayed stranded here and ran out of food, I’d be gnawing on your bones.”

He turned and slinked away, muttering curses under his breath. Raktageirr stared several seconds more as he retreated, and her eyes flicked to any other shipmen who might’ve dared to confront them. Most just only spared a fearful glance, if that.

 

[Anemone]

"It is not ‘magic’" she whispered under her breath as Raktageirr stepped between her and the angry sailor. That one was not the only among them that took notice and wore disapproval on their faces, he had simply been the loudest. But Raktageirr quickly shut him down before he could do anything too brash. And just as suddenly his boisterous voice gave way to the sound of waves lapping along the outside of the ship’s hull.

The matter settled as the angry sailor retreated, the rest turned back to their duties. Of course, Anemone suspected, they would be mumbling their greivances, but their newfound wind would mask those hushed voices.

“T-thank you,” Anemone said with wide eyes. This one had been here at just the right time, and with a fresh wind soothing her, all seemed right in the world. “You are not one of the normal crew, are you?” She noted having never seen Raktageirr on this particular boat before. In fact she could count on her fingers the number of times she had seen one of her kind before at all, and had fingers to spare still.