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D3AD ST4R
rush99999
FourtyTwo
Crow
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CitrusArms
Ezekiel
Mas BagusFukushu Haru
Such calm tones were unbecoming of the older woman. Not enough vitriol, not enough spit and cursing the world and those in it. It would make sense that this was not her. Fukushus mind needed a guide, and there was none better than her grandmother. Yet, the image of a guide is centered in kindness.
A contradiction for the old bat, as one could imagine. Or, as she had imagined.
That sensation of uncertainty, of water in the air and air in the salt. Things that no sea should feel. This was one in name only, and any focus made that clear. To stare at the sun is to stare at darkness, to watch the waves is to see them stagnant, to feel the sway of the boat is to feel the disconnect of boards from the hull. All yet further muddled by these…focal points.
Ropes, Harpoon, bait, the ship. Yet nothing felt…right.
No, felt…complete. No simple icon called for her, resonated. The ropes bound her soul but lashed her sails, the Harpoon promised hunts and blood but blindness, the bait drew but provided no solutions, and the ship…Was nothing without cargo, tools, or crew.
Then the sea itself was…endless. Distant horizons that promise adventure but no end, no goal. The depths promised great foes but no growth, endless battles as one pulls a net to reveal rotted carcasses.
Yet one does not reach the sea by having a weak mind, one is not the descendent of Ahab Herman and taught by such a woman and not learned the sea, one does not spend a year out to sea and not embrace it.
She smells a storm in the air as lightning cracks. A smile, no that's too positive, a show of gritted teeth splits her face wide.
“Thats more like it!” A scream unleashed alongside a deluge of rain, waves rise and fall easily triple the height of the boat's mast. This was what it meant to sail seas, what it meant to be a sailor! To have the skies spit in your face and slug it out with every knot, every league taken. For it to feel like one is drowning on the air itself and not know what the horizon brings.
Instinct guided her hands. One snatched a length of rope, orange like her hair, one snatched a Harpoon of jagged edifice. The blood of Haru slicked the metal as her foot found the ship's bow. A sea once black and blue has turned frothy and red, things wailed from the depths with siren calls. The ever so familiar sensation of blindness overtook her, even as the sparse light brightened with rapid strikes of the skies fury. Blackness pushed back solely to show the ever-distance mass of something leviathan breaching the roiling surface, its keening call deafening.
“Forward! Go forth into a maw of dread and cast aside the sea of ignorance! Show it this is no newspaper boat but a vessel of mine design that shall see this through!” A metallic point is stabbed forth, directing the ship towards that goal, towards the pallid beast that once more breaches and taunts her forth.
