#WITH an insect net set up AND you stabbing it with a pencil | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fntstory-blog · 7 years

Text

Jaws of Neptune (part VIII)

Haru’s dreams were strange that night. He dreamt of broken teeth and tempests and the haunting, unseeing eyes of the Vodacce Fate Witch. When he awoke, it was to a pounding on his door and Mr. Beckett’s voice coming from the other side.

“Rise, if you please, Mr. Haru! I run a tight ship!” Hard wooden soles shuffled outside the door, more than like the young lieutenant pacing back and forth. “We’re going up in the rigging, so it’s shoes or nothing!”

Haru rose slowly, though it was still with more speed than he would have demonstrated were he comfortably back home. The alcohol from the night before had his head feeling cotton-stuffed and his throat dry. With some dismay he realized he had fallen asleep fully dressed; a first in his life.

Splashing some water on his face - there was still some in a pitcher from some days before, he couldn’t rightly recall - he pulled his hair up into a topknot and set to answering the door. His ribs still ached, as did his head, but he would work through both.

“Good morning, Mr. Haru,” Beckett said brightly, eyeing his newest charge. “Come along, then.” He began to walk briskly out onto the deck and into the odd silver light. “I do trust you remember some of the knots you were able to untie, because we’ll be tying some today.” A grin broke across his face at the prospect.

Dutifully, Haru followed the lieutenant across the deck, nodding at his question before remembering himself and adding a “Yes, sir.” The words sounded and felt strange; he counted Beckett more a friend than a superior, but it was how things were done here on the Ivory Maiden.

Without much ado, Beckett hopped up into the rigging, pulling himself up as agile as any monkey despite his clunky shoes and woolen uniform. “Come on, then!” He called, spurring Haru on. A few men were sitting atop the smaller mast they ascended; the smallest of the three on the ship. “This is the Mizzen-mast and, like the others, she’s tall to catch the wind!”

At first, Haru’s climbing was slow, painfully so for the more experienced Beckett, but the novice sailor didn’t much relish the thought of escaping a beating death to only do himself in through carelessness. However, as he grew more familiar and comfortable with the precarious perches the ropes presented, his speed and dexterity increased.

Strange as it might have been, Haru found that his time in his daimyo’s court helped in this new task. There he had need to remember not only faces but names and titles, familial connections, enemies and lovers, peculiar interests and eccentric dislikes. This attention and retention of detail served him now in recalling the names of the crew he met as well as the strange names for the ship’s anatomy.

Once they had reached the top of the mast, there was a crossbeam and Haru saw where the ropes on the deck actually lead. It was so much more complex than the Rokugani vessels he had sailed on back home. The two men he sighted were not familiar and Beckett grinned down at him as he made the introductions. “Mr. Haru, this is Swann and MacConnell.”

Swann, a ginger-haired man with small and flinty eyes muttered a greeting. MacConnell, larger than his fellow and sporting a dark beard, wore what appeared to be a skirt and offered a curt nod. “Laddie-buck.”

Swann and MacConnell were greeted with a polite “Good morning” and smile; he was still unsure what the proper protocol was amongst the crew. The captain he knew was greeted with knuckles pressed to the forehead and a deferential ‘sir’, Berek rated low bows and a ‘m’lord.’ But amongst the men, he had witnessed curt nods, hurled insults, and cheerful words; having no real experience amongst the more common elements, it left him slightly off-balance socially.

Over the next few hours, Haru got used to moving around on the net, raising and lowering the sails, and learning where the ropes went to the deck. By the end, his arms and legs ached from holding onto the rope, but much of the mystery of the men’s duties were beginning to unravel.

Pausing in his morning’s work, with Beckett’s leave, Haru turned his attention from sails and ropes and masts and looked out on the water come sky. Though they were far removed from its shores, he could almost believe that any one of Rokugan’s sea demons and spirits lived in these sterling seas.

A series of bells rang and lunch was called for, interrupting his reverie and bringing to light that he must have slept through breakfast. He was informed that he would dining with the lieutenants, a group that weren’t much better than the men. They were all younger, teenagers by and large, their elders having been lost during battles at sea and their time in Rokugan. Lunch was a less formal affair than dinner the previous night and Haru, unfortunately, experienced the food of the common man.

A cut of beef, still somewhat rare and smelling of salt, a serving of nearly wilted vegetables, and a hard roll which, to his horror, contained a weevil. Beckett laughed, pointing with a fork at the invader. “Here, now, you’re evicting him, Mr. Haru!” The lieutenants shared a laugh, only somewhat at his expense.

He took lunch as well instride as he could. Self-conscious not only for his unfamiliarity with the younger men, but also because of what had just transpired between Barrows and himself, Haru did his best to answer the questions put to him. The lieutenants were a friendly, curious bunch and put just as many, if not more, questions to him regarding Rokugan as he had put to Berek and Lannigan the prior evening. The food presented was only partially eaten and, then, only because he knew he needed to eat something to avoid fainting from hunger during the day.

As lunch ended, the bells rung again and everyone fell back to formalities in the face of resumed duties. Each lieutenant filed out of the mess hall, returning abovedecks and to his workcrew. Mr. Beckett approached Haru, a wry smile on his be-freckled face. “I hope lunch wasn’t all that terrifying …”

“I’m not … much accustomed to finding insects in my food, but I think I’ll survive.” The sardonic grin that accompanied his words faded to something more genuine as he added, “Your fellow lieutenants seem a good sort, though …”

“Weevils are a fact of navy life, Mr. Haru, though I do agree that it’s quite distasteful.” Beckett nodded in agreement with his secondary statement. ��Aye, they’re fine lads. We’ve grown closer ever since we arrived in your lands. We see each other more … honestly.”

Beckett walked with Haru across the deck and pointed up to the bow of the ship. Captain Hayes and Doctor MacMorgan were there, Hayes with his sketchbook and MacMorgan with a small squeeze-box. “Meeting with the brass, Mr. Haru,” Beckett explained, catching Hayes’ eye and pointed nod. He saluted his captain and took a step back. “We’ve knots to tie when you’re finished!”

Haru stepped forward and, again, wished something could be done for his appearance; barefoot and battered, his clothes now two days old and slept in, hair sloppily tied and just beginning to show new growth, face bruised and sun-pink, he hardly resembled the courtier he still viewed himself to be.

“Captain Hayes, doctor,” he said in greeting, bowing in the habit he maintained. The shadow of a grimace passed over his face as a stab of pain shot through his side and, if he were honest, the awful sound coming from the box in the doctor’s hands.

“Mr. Haru,” Owen smiled, his sketching stopping for cradled in the crook of one arm was a sketchbook and in his opposite hand was a stump of a pencil.

The doctor ceased working his awful instrument as well and waved his patient closer. “Ah, yes, let’s see to those bruises. What a face to make, ser, are you in pain?” He asked, the strange tentacle-like instrument falling off his knee and squawking like several angered gulls as it extended to its full length.

“It’s not so bad, more discomfort than actual pain,” Haru answered, lying in a misplaced effort to protect what remained of his pride as he removed his shirt. “The rest you prescribed has helped.” This, at least, was the truth.

His movements were stiff from rope climbing and damaged ribs, and his cheeks colored slightly at the immodesty of the situation, standing half-naked for all the crew to see. The bruising along his one side had gone ugly in its healing; deep purples fading to sickly yellow-green. The scrapes and cuts along both arms were scabbed over and the worst of them would undoubtably leave scars.

The damage rendered to his face remained a mystery. He hadn’t seen his reflection since before boarding the ship, though tentative touches told him he was healing. Or so he assumed; as of yet, no one had recoiled in horror at the sight of him. The thought of carrying scars forever wounded his lingering vanity, though, but then so did the sight of his red-raw, blistered hands. This voyage, it seemed, was determined to rob him of everything he had once been.

“There’s jaundicing, that’s good,” Doctor MacMorgan said, leaning his bulk forward. He tapped at Haru’s ribs lightly, then his sternum. Arms were raised and lowered, his patient turned ‘round and chin grabbed to better look at the state of his pupils. His examination lingered for a moment over the twin scars in Haru’s breast; arrow wounds, long since healed.

“Theus’ sake, man, he’s not a side of beef,” Hayes objected, frowning as the doctor continued his poking and prodding.

MacMorgan chuckled, “We are all made of meat, good captain; a doctor, it should follow, would make a more than passable butcher.” He reached down to the black satchel by his seat and pulled out a neatly wound length of clean linen bandages. With quick, experienced fingers, he wrapped Haru’s ribs tight and replaced the bandages around his wrist. His expression said that was healing well, too.

Owen tsked, standing just that much closer to Haru, as if to support him with his presence. “It isn’t anything to -“

The doctor held up a hand. “Nothing to worry about.” He cleared his throat, giving his patient a pointed look. “It will do no good to lie to a physician, ser, and worse if he is a Highland Marcher like me. I appreciate your stoic nature, but I know better, laddie.”

“You may dress yourself, Mr. Haru. I’ll make it a point to prepare more bandages and perhaps a salve, for the bruising. Ah.” MacMorgan reached into his pocket, coming out with a watch on a chain. He hung it in front of Haru; the front served as a small mirror. “A salve will help with … your face as well.” He smiled apologetically.

Haru gladly slipped his shirt back on and carefully cupped the watch-come-mirror in one hand. Gone was the carefully cultivated complexion, cool fawn always so perfectly accentuated by rich blues, replaced by something more wan, unhealthy. High cheekbones, so prized, now bore blue blossoms where once they had been perfectly palest pink; once pillow soft lips showed cracks and a red line just caught the bottom edge, running to the chin where another bruise bloomed.

It felt silly, stupid, petty, to be so dismayed by the injuries inflicted. Surely Lannigan didn’t care so much about the state of his nose. But then the sailor hadn’t been born into a family, a clan, that prided itself so deeply on beauty and perfection. He didn’t expect any of the Thean crew to understand, though he suspected Owen would make an effort, so he cleared the disappointment from face, if not mind, and handed MacMorgan back his time piece.

“Thank you, doctor. I appreciate all your ministrations; surely, that I am here is testament to your skill …”

The doctor replaced his pocketwatch into his vest - and the flash of a silver flask could be seen as he moved his coat - and he nodded. “Quite welcome, Mr. Haru.” He cleared his throat and reseated the spectacles on his nose, uncomfortable with the high praise. “Well, I do try my best …”

Perhaps because he saw something of that sadness and disappointment in his lover’s expression, Owen passed along the sketchbook he had been working in. Prominent on the page were a self portrait of the captain and a portrait of the doctor. In one corner, though, a hidden detail could be picked out: Haru climbing the rigging with Beckett a step or two above him.

“When will I have this chance again?” He asked with a sly smile.

Haru met the captain’s smile with his own, murmuring, “I would sit for something closer if you wished …” as he handed the book back to its owner.

“We can make a night of it, Mr. Haru,” Owen promised.

Doctor MacMorgan, happily oblivious to his captain and patient’s flirtations, hefted his strange instrument once more and began to play it; he hit several sour notes. “It drives Lord Berek MAD,” he grinned ferally, relishing the reclusive lord’s dislike.

Haru’s expression shifted from coy to one of polite interest as he looked to the doctor. Biting back a wince and grimace the thing’s atrocious noises aroused within him, he forced his smile wider saying, “Ahh, yes, I can see that such a unqiue instrument would not be … appreciated by just anyone …”

“Aye, well, a surgeon I may be, but I can never seem to tune my oldest friend.” The doctor the instrument and buckled it together with a clever arrangement of straps. “A pity; once it was a raiser of spirits and entertainment. Now it’s been relegated to my petty revenge on that — that —“ He glanced up to the captain and cleared his throat once more. “Lord Berek.”

#fascinating new thing #fntstory #7th Sea #L5R #Seventh Sea #Legend of the Five Rings #original fiction #fanfiction #fanfic #oc #ocs #my ocs #haru #owen hayes

0 notes