"Fussy, huh?" he thought on it. On how they had bounced. Felt his cheeks redden some as he laughed a bit at the Grub wriggling and staring at him. Big eyes full of big judgement.

Fuck me. The sailor thought as he scratched back of his head and turned the angle of his face, just so. Eyes on the bird patterns a moment as he turned.

Altalusians, you said.

Brought his eyes right back to her. Question keening on his brow. A little laugh at how she had parroted the word.

Took the packed sieve. Put it in the kettle's mouth, easy like before he capped it.

Where are you from?

"Just a tad farther than you, I'd wager," he said too easy with a wink over the shoulder. Spun about, to lean against the counter there beside the oven and its stove. Let claws come click against tile. "Kharsaga," he offered with the slightest bow of the head. Pride roll of his tongue, easy as the waves he had grown up on. "You?"
 
Kharsaga. The flotilla she’d heard of in tales sung and spoken. Pictures drawn from memory, carved on whalebone, embroidered upon garments and deposited on the pages of books. The occasional craft on skin. When her look regarded him again, it was with a different glint, piqued but ultimately unsurprised. A bit of downcast disappointment.

How likely would it be that he wasn’t a sailor? Maybe a pirate. Vanishingly small, just as her faith in that she should have any luck to the contrary. Still, she inclined her chin with some prideful spirit and smiled.

“ Astersaar. “ Simply. Shifted on her place and made to drift away towards the window, hands busy with adjusting the sling about her shoulder. And the little hat on the child’s head, righting it from how it’d fallen to hinder an eager vision.

“ Far from home, we are. “ She continued a little more airily, considering the window frame and how the light touched the sheer silk of the curtains. Sparkling as the sea in a gentle morning breeze. Disturbed by her futzing around, the grub gave an impatient half huff half squeal and pawed the loose of her sleeve with too small hands.

“ How’d you end up here? “ She glanced at the rest of her company past her shoulder, gaze a touch narrower with daring curiosity.

“ If it isn’t a secret. “

Or even if it is.
 
A whole tide had come in and washed out with the play of light there in her eyes. Lines of her face shifting and moving. Out and in.

"Astersaar?" he parroted. Bright for the sound of it. "docked there, more than a spell," remembered something. Tea wasn't supposed to keep boiling once the leaves were added. "Had a friend tell me once," Voice all warm breeze, and the want for breezing. "That nothing was sweeter than an orange just peeled off the Kari, always thought it odd, I did," grabbed up the pot, set it over a coil, and clicked the stove off. turned back to catch her fixing the little grub's hat.

"D'aww, look at the eyes on them," he said, unable to hide the plump of his cheeks come the curl of his smile. "Got your nose, they do," he ghosted a snatch of the little green button.

How'd you end up here?

A bob of brow, and a pout of lip. Stopped toying with the grubby little fingers. Wanting and fat as they were.

"Airship," he said easy as. Fixed the hem of his mustard colored robe. "I'm a pilot," a bit of pride in the last word.

"Though truth of it is, I'm more let to pilot, suppose that's true of any soul who ain't captain of their own ship," he huffed with a laugh. "Well-to-dos seem to like me well enough though, so, special duty after special duty," he said with a wink. Carrying shroudstones and learning about the stackpipes certainly beat scrubbing the deck, or minding the rigging lines. Course, he did his fair share of that. Needed to.

Every bit of the ship mattered.

"On shore leave for repairs and maintenance," he gave up. Hint of surrender in his voice. "Take off in about a week's time from today," more quiet and hush, his smile wistful.

"The names Paramviiga," he offered. "Bariihok, by the by," a little more cheer in it. "So now you know who to blame, case we get made," playful show of teeth and a push off the counter. Strode over to snag up some cups, set to hang from hooks. Decorated with all manner of bloom.

He could swear, one of them was a fuchsia peony.

"What's got a lady and her babe so far from the asters of Astersaar?" he offered up a cool porcelain cup. White asters painted across tangle of green stems and green leaves.
 
She listened, watched the memories and quirks of gesture and expression blow by, all with that pleasant warmth about her. Understanding in the eyes and a hint of melancholy in the corners of the smile — nostalgia or some unfulfilled wish, maybe. Hopes and dreams. Bittersweetness of past things.

Two parts to a name, he had, the statement trailing the introduction capturing her to watch him move about. Shook her head at it, in that way old women did when they heard youngsters speak beyond their years, of unlikely things. Fond amusement rife with disbelief. The effect shattered as she hummed a laugh at his inquiry, brightening up with it.

Mademoiselle and now a lady. Proper. She squared her shoulders as some highborn donned in a rigid ballgown might, chin inclining as she stepped on closer and accepted the cup from him in a curtsy.

“ Well— “ Spoke loftier, head keeling as she inspected the porcelain as if for a flaw against the light. Held it up to eye level like she’d seen an actor do when they had a dispute with their father’s skull. “ Simplest terms — Fame and fortune. “ Landed a look at him, knowing for how he’d sounded when he spoke of his own occupations. Pilot. There had to be some glitter in that.

“ I played the fiddle in a small musician’s troupe, for a while. “ Let the cup down, claws clicking as she cradled it beneath her gaze. Smiled at the flowers. “ Quartet of friends — traveling and seeing what else there was beyond the archipelago. Earned our livings well enough, if not always with playing. Was always something to do, far a group of young people with an accord. “

Bounced her shoulders in a shrug, not sorry for any of it. The child called to her with a more demanding sound, which she answered by showing the cup to it. To touch and wonder about, small fingers curling on the cool glaze. She suspected that wasn’t what it actually wanted, but it’d do for now.

“ The grub has never seen the islands. Too young. “ She continued, leaving clarification at that. Perhaps that she would be sorry about, come the day that they never got to return there. Even if just to— Something. What would be enough? Home was home. Those bits of land beneath one’s feet meant something, as did all the trees and the rocks and the washed out colours. Specific twists in the wind and how the shore bends to a familiar cove.

How the tea tasted different. Made into that water and had from chipped ceramics at a table that one had experienced growing smaller. Just as the quiet house around it.

“ You ever get homesick, in your travels? “ She asked, trying to conjure the image of Kharsaga in the air where motes danced. Far away, specks of dust on a map.

“ I used to think it took a specific person to be a sailor, that perhaps they didn’t feel it. “ At home at sea or the sky? The hammock swings the same, softly, on any ship.

“ But surely that isn’t— true. Unless you hate where you left. “
 
She had the showman's presence, she did. Voice all lilt and raise, just to sing low a note after. He rather liked that.

"Fame and fortune," he said with some song to how it whispered, awe-filled, no hint of hiding how much he admired the daring, nod there to show what he had not said. Down right approval. Not that he ever thought his mattered much at all. Just an honest sort of deal.

Listened on, curious as his tail swished wilder in how it carved s's through the dust laden air below. Nod at the moments where nodding felt right. "Often is," he chimed. "Things to do,"

Watched, almost tender in the chest as she handed the cup to the little grub. How it seemed to see itself in the shine of the cup. The bloom of creme colored flowers.

... too young.

"What a wonder it will be then," he gave. "When they do see them," he smiled, snaggle tooth hung over his plump bottom lip. "Misty eyed, and wondering, I would bet," he let on. "Little legs workin over the sea stones, and fingers pickin through the flowers,"

You ever get homesick, in your travels?

I used to think it took a specific person...

... Unless you hate where you left.

A push of breath through pressed lips. "Course I do," he said, shake of the head. Turned toward the teapot. Undid the lid. But the truth of it was a little more bitter than all that. Locked at sea, with not but the offerings brought back by those daring enough to venture out, and loyal enough to remember. "Though I'd be lying if I didn't say the flotilla felt like a prison of mercies at times," a longing still there. "Blood there, making himself into something, and I send what I can, when I can, how I can, visit," he felt his tongue tied again. Shook his head. Sighed as he took up the lid, liked the smell of it. Colour, deep and red-amber when touched by the light. Almost pitch if he looked at it straight on. Never lost that touch of rouge though. A secret, too deep to keep from blushing. "Maybe it's time I go and pay a visit," he said with a little laugh in surrender to it.

All too much a mess inside over it.

Home always did have its way with him.
 
Those pretty pictures he’d painted of how it’d be like to go back home and introduce someone dear to it — they all wilted as he spoke of what he’d departed from. She couldn’t but nod heartfelt acknowledgement a the prison of mercies, for how the isles had often felt so similar. Had that not been the very reasons she’d left, besides plain old wanderlust.

Watching his turned back as he hassled with the teapot, she couldn’t but get the impression she must’ve infected him with her own melancholy. How the questions just came out, looking for something, digging, always too intensely curious — but perhaps that was what she had been put here to do. To pick at the tender spots, press at them for a response that’d sate her. For while she couldn’t make anyone remember her while they were away, maybe she could do it in behalf of someone else and so prove something to herself. Ease the doubts that came with being apart.

Her steps fell soft as she approached, leaving that bit of promise in the air. Maybe he’d remember it better, that way.

“ You should. “ She said, coming to stand alongside. Bumped her shoulder against his as if in offering of comfort, to gently rouse one to where there was being together with someone, even if it was much simpler and by chance here. Nothing difficult.

“ How long has it been? “ Keeled her head a little to inspect his face with her look.

“ Do you find it hard to return? Are they— “ Paused to look for the word, one shoulder rolling. Could only find the one that described how she’d felt. Years ago, anyway, before it'd transmuted to something else.

“ Angry — for your being away? Your blood. “
 
Agreement. Was it more affirmation? Support?

All breeze across feathers. That's what it felt like.

Even touched wings with him. Cut the drag off him. His head keelin toward her with little smile. Thanks, as much as it was just the want for what it was there they stood by each other. A home, not really theirs, and yet, a home they were in. Speaking of homes.

Family.

Funny winds, these.

"Almost a whole year now," confessed with a shake of his head. Easier in the saying. Found his own weight brushing towards her with shift of heels. Hull of him come test how it fared against her wave's lift.

"Harder and harder I feel like," he near laughed. "Angrier and angrier, though that all feels so, new," shook his head. "I'm sorry," he flashed a sharp toothed grin. Eyes squinted and narrowed, a bit of moisture clung to the corners of his eyes. Dipped his head towards the pot. "Not right proper talk for a tea party, is it?" shook his head. Pushed out a sigh. Turned eyes back to the pot. "But here we are, talkin,"
 
A whole year. She bobbed her head, in an inperceptibly small movement. Like it was dangerous to even suggest she accepted such an answer, or the smile or the comforting weight that leaned against hers. Warmth of a body solid with bones and a will and soft with the flesh.

It was her turn to shook her head next, for the apology.

“ I’d loathe to be proper, or in a proper party, then, if it means to keep our talk captive. “ She spoke, firm with assurance. “ Tea is for all occasions. And I asked, did I not? “

Mainly for his sake, she quirked a little smirk and bumped her hip against his. Pried the cup from the clutch of small fingers and put it down onto an empty spot on the stove before him.

“ I’ll go find those cushions for our garden party. “ She announced, keeping a pleasantly bubbling exterior as she turned away, heading for the kitchen door.

“ Meet me there, under the orange trees. “
 
"My," he found himself thinkin aloud. "You do have a way with words, don't you," let out a softer breath. Wiped out the little bits of sea spray clung to his eyes with a chuff. "Right bouys the heart it does,"

Bump of the hip to seal it. Had him laugh like one more lap of wave come against the surf.

I'll go find those cushions... meet me there, under the orange trees.

A nod of the head. A breath full of brewed tea leaves. Something to do. He was good at that. Doing. Picked up the cup, the pot, and some fancy plates he managed to balance just right atop the cups.

Out neath the trees, the sun was bright and cheerful gold. Still climbing the horizon as it did. Languid as it knew that it, star of the day that it was, commanded all time for all them little folk so far down below.

Breeze stirred the blades of orange tree's leaves. Rustle and shake with their rattle and hiss. Stilled with the lull in the wind, as gulls cried on yonder, and a big pelican roosted in the crook of a nearby chimney.

All jostle and tink, Param stepped out, long step and sure. Till his boot snagged a root, and he tilted and whirled with all fine porcelain clink, tink, and clatter. Tail whipped one way, then the other, as balls of the feet spread, and leg flexed and gave.

"At-at-up-up ah," he tutted, and saw the fine wares settle soft. A sigh of relief. A plunk of something soft atop his head. A little bright orange nestled in the tangle of dark hair, there betwixt his horns. Eyes all rolled up at it. "Well then," he said absently. Felt its weight there at his center.

Cleared his throat, and straightened his spine. Set the plates down, then the cups. Poured the tea.

Seen it done right more than a few times. Poured it half decent himself most the time. Wide toothed and bright eyed. "Love the sound of it," he said as he watched it fill and fill the cup.

Whisps of steam curling.

"Smell of it, too," he inhaled, and righted up some. Set cup and plate down onto the table, beneath the leaves and branches.

Pivoted. Started on the second cup.
 
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She’d hummed a bright tune, folding up the quilted spread off the large, too soft bed upstairs. Had it beneath one arm as she carefully picked two square pillows to go with off the chairs in what had the look of a library right across the hall. Fat tassels in the corners and velvet coverings, one a nigh black indigo and the other an earthly vermilion. Paired up fine enough with the dark shade of viridian on the heavy bedspread, she felt.

The sound of the backdoor groaning open roused her to glance out through the tall window, past the curtain in a way that wasn’t obvious, just in case. She spied her company in secret, watching him make ready for rendezvous with all the tea and porcelain on hand. And a mighty stumble, which had her drop the pillows and clap a hand over her gasping mouth. She felt silly for it when he eventually survived, because of course he did, relief rushing her in a huff and a snicker.

Damn that man. Leaving the rest of the spying for the empty rooms, for only Gods knew what she’d see next, she picked up her newest claims anew from the floor and turned from the window.

She sailed through the open doorframe to the outdoors with her head held high, without fanfare. Made it to where he was already pouring tea in a brisk march and let the things fall from her hands to the grass, which rustled to accompany his absent chattering. She came closer yet and tilted her head, as if appraising how he was pouring, until that attention turned to the very sight of him. She laughed before she spoke.

“ I see it isn’t true that opposites would attract. “ Her hand reached to pick the fruit off his head. It really had perched in there betwixt those horns like a bird to a nest.“ Two sweet things, come together. And fitting so well, too. “ In a smile she put the orange down next to the cups and made to set up the bedspread on the grass. Unfolding it, careful not to step on the fine cloth.

" Since it isn't a proper party— " She started, dragging open and flattening one corner on the uneven ground. " I'm electing we can feast down here, in the comfort of the ground. Like the common public, after their toils. "

Winked at that and kicked off her shoes, before planting her arse down on the spread. Damn well softer too, than the damn bench. She busied her hands with drawing aside the sling and digging out her small treasure from the comfort of her breast next, which loosed a disarray of little sounds from the grub. First confusion and discomfort, then delight as she cooed and set it belly down on the spread. It kicked its little legs, having gained enough strength in the neck to lift its head and watch the blades of grass shiver where the cloth beneath ended.

Or so it seemed, to her, with how focused those wide dark eyes appeared.
 
A sound, air sucked through teeth, come the pull of her voice across his strings. Eyes lilt to find her, chin raised just so from behind curtain of curling steam.

that opposites would attract...

Come snatch his orange right off his head. He raised up, all hip to the motion. "I was savin that," he said, tease on his tongue.

Two sweet things, come together. And fitting so well, too.

Smile all to himself. "Imagine my surprise then," he said quiet. "Spyin the pair of ya,"

She fixed one corner, he worked the others.

Since it isn't a proper party...like the common public, after their toils.

He laughed at that. "But dear, whatever will the neighbors think?" he raised his brow, and motioned toward another tall house, well hidden behinds manicured shrubberies, setting down onto the blanket, fingers splayed first under him, to let arm carry weight.

Sandled feet kicked out and onto the grass. Worked free of the bindings and wriggled his toes. Let them sink into the grass and feel the soft earth underneath. The play of warm and cool.

He let out a breath and fell onto his back all smile and breathless. Enjoyed the kiss of the sun, and the sound of the Grub, mixing with all the rest of the world. Lazy and long with the summer warmth.

The shift of fabrics, and the soft thump of precious little weight come against the fine blanket. Had Param's eyes all wide it did, as he stared at the grub, holdin itself up all sure for that moment.

"Oh, look at em," he said with a wide tooth grin. "Think they've spot a cousin?" Flipped onto his own belly, all elbows and arms flat as his head lowered down to the grass. "Grub find a grub?" he asked, brow raised and eyes tilt to the child.
 
“ Well, my love, I do hope that the neighbours look real carefully— “ Glanced over her shoulder and pursed her lips, as if having spied a pair of curious eyes in the shrubs. “ And feel the most soul-blistering envy at our bliss. “

She shrugged, adjusting where her skirt had bunched up at the waist with one absent hand.

“ Or join us. There is room and enough tea and fruit for a whole village. “ Exaggerated, but not by much. As Paramviiga had settled on the spread, chattering with the grub, she took the liberty to inch away and reach for the cups that lay already poured on the bench. Steam ribboned out, heat keeping in the sun despite the thin porcelain.

The baby scrunched its face at the stranger, the image of an old man staring at the glaring sun and a little indignant that it shone so damn bright. But it didn’t last, loosening up to a ripple of expression that mimicked the wide smile it should’ve earned from whom spoke to it. Small mumbles as it slapped its hands on the spread and wriggled its legs, like meaning to spring up. A frog that didn’t know how to hop yet.

And she smiled at the sight of the two of them. Offered one of the cups to Paramviiga.

“ We should have the tea before it goes cold, dear. “ Held it in the air.

“ This is not a wasteful family. “
 
A laugh rippled out of Param, upon seeing the babe make it's tide wash face. Waves of it all, in flux in that little moment the Grub tried to put something there to it all.

"Legs kicking, hands grasping, like you got places to be, and things to see, little Grub," he went on, speaking easy to it. "No doubt to it then,"

Then she called him dear again. On top of love. And his head rolled with the warmth of it. Eyes big on her as she offered him the tea. Tail shift this way and that as the bones of his feet went on pressing and feeling the grass. Belly presses against the earth. A hand raised to take the tea.

This is not a wasteful family...

"No, most certainly not, my starling" he said, the rest of him angling to lay flat on the side of his hip, and ribs. His horned Head propped up with left hand, as he took a moment to just look at her.

Popped up , and worked his sit bones under him. Took the tea in hand. "Thank you kindly," he chimed with a dip of the head. Let his nose move to it. Paused as he let nostrils swim in it again. Then lifted his cup, all dainty from the handle. A pinky out, because one never had enough reasons to stick the little finger out, proud as any flag.

Set the cup forward to find it's fellow in clink.

"To soul blistering envy, and our never wasteful bliss, love," a happy little bob with it in invitation.
 
Laid there on his side in the sun, if just for a fleeting beat, he wickedly resembled a lounging statue of old, those carved from marble to represent whichever indulgence the beholder most desired. Beauty, joy, the shape of the flesh and the thrill. And she hovered motionless, a knowing twist to her lips as he reached to take his cup.

Porcelain clicked together with ease to seal his words.

“ And wonderful days hereon, forevermore. “ Her gaze released his in a tilt of the head and a toss of curls, self-assured as she settled to lean leisurely against one arm, legs straightened and crossed at the ankle. She brought the cup up into a swig, look drawn from the orange trees to the child as it mumbled and tried at the plush cover with its fists, constantly awiggle. And yet going absolutely nowhere, a will without a way, if all the vigour of something so small.

“ I’ve never been on an airship. “ She wondered out loud, casting a glance at the distance and the skypiers that hovered above the docks by the sea. “ Let alone met a pilot of one. “

She rested the cup on her lap, nestled against the soft of striped skirts.

“ What is it like, up there? With the birds and the clouds. “

And the storms.
 
"Forevermore," he found his breath repeating. Took a sip.

Like a dream, it was.

One he would hold on to, long as he could. All green leaves, and bright sun. Orange scent strong in the air, with fancy cups, full of fancy tea. But all of it just, made the company glow all the more beautiful in his eyes.

Like one of them paintings, he had found himself just standing in front of. Limbs laid long beneath the bright golds and dusty reds. Fingers fiddled about the porcelain. Played with the weight of the cup.

Eyes caught the shift of ankle. Scrolled up long lines. Curves. Met curls, and eyes. Drank from the tea. Slowly. Suddenly parched. Steam curling about his eyes. Let the tea down.

"It's," he tested on his tongue. Laughed. "It's like cutting across the wind, all whip in your hair, and fast across the skin," he said with a teller's low hiss. "Gut turning, really," he cocked a wink, and clicked his teeth. "Meaner than the sea, but only for how little it holds you, gentler too, for that same turn," he turned his eye up to the pelican nest. Heard the bird's feathers beat against the breeze before he saw it. All wide winged and powerful as it thump thumped onto the tiles.

"Maybe meaner isn't the right word for it," a bit of nerves in how his voice twist. "Not wanting to cross the Old Mother, to talk up her lover," he said, looking out to the glitter of the open blue, there between the rise of brick and timber. "But you can't right swim in the air," he said with a hint of warmth in it. "Suppose that's part of the pull in it, flying I mean, like you dare to fall so fast and sure the wind can't help but catch you in its streams" he looked to her, took another sip of his tea, excitement in his eye. Let the cup come free of his lips. "Want to see one?"

Heard the Grub coin.

Eyes flicked down to the little bean. All clutch and struggle. "The Cisca's a fine ship, safe and sturdy!" he nod. Found her eyes again. Smiled wide. "Transport families from time to time," a twinkle in his eye.
 
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