tristranthorn | [014] OOM - Aboard the Free Ship, Perdita

Current Location: The Free Ship, Perdita

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[014] OOM - Aboard the Free Ship, Perdita

Tristran finds himself thinking of everything at the top of the spire of cloud he sits upon. There is a sense of perspective, sitting here. Everything is so simple, so...straight-forward, so...small from up here.

His stomach growls and he can't help but think that while adventures are well and good, there is certainly a lot to be said for regular meals and freedom from pain, like the pain he feels right now. He wishes he had his rucksack, or somehow they could open some mysterious door to Milliways again, if only so he could get something to eat. He doesn't need anything elaborate. He'll even take a plain loaf of bread. His hand throbs with heat and pain, and he wishes there were something he could do to stop it, but it's useless, no matter what he thinks.

Still, he is grateful to be alive with the wind in his hair and the fantastic view spread out before him, so wide he could never fully take it all in. The sky is so blue, so different from the way he might have viewed it from earth, and everything felt different to him from all the way up here. There is a sense of nowness.

Most of all, it is terribly quiet in a peaceful sort of way and it makes him want to ... disturb it. Just because. Standing upon the cloud spire, he calls out, "Halloo!" several times, belting it out as loudly as he can. It feels strangely exhilerating.

He wants to laugh. He wants to feel that pulse of adrenaline run through him and act like a fool. And when he does, he feels ... free. It's a nice sort of feeling, even if he does it by himself (not that he isn't used to doing things by himself, as that was what his childhood mostly consisted of). As he clambers down the length of the spire to return to the 'ground', his footing slips and he falls at least ten feet, landing shortly after into the misty softness of the cloud.

And then he laughs quietly to himself.

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Tristran takes her hands and helps her up, then with his good hand, catches one of the rungs of the ladder, holding it steady.

"You go first," he tells her. "And hold on tight."

"You too," she quips, pulling herself onto the rope ladder and smiling rather brightly. "It would please me if you did not fall to your untimely demise, seeing as I am rather obligated to follow you."

She quirks an eyebrow and very nearly yelps as the wind picks up and sends the ladder spinning slowly, fingers catching at his sleeve and attempting to retain some semblance of dignity.

"Now haul!" several voices shout all at once and the rope jerks upward several feet.

The call continues - "Haul! Haul! Haul! Haul!" - each shout signaling another upward pull and a fresh set of spinning.

Tristran spares a glance below him and notices that they've made quite a bit of progress -- the cloud which they had just been settled upon is no longer below them. It must be a mile or more down from where they are now...dropping would not be fun.

He hooks the elbow of his burned hand into one of the rungs while the other hand holds tightly to the rope and closes his eyes.

A moment later, Yvaine is helped aboard. Tristran, on the other hand, helps himself, stumbling over the railing and into the wooden deck.

Grinning, the man with the moustache holds his hand out and Tristran takes it, quickly getting to his feet.

"Welcome aboard," he says, glancing between Tristran, then Yvaine. "This is the Free Ship Perdita, bound on a lightning-hunting expedition." He takes a bow, then straightens before letting out a cough. "Captain Johannes Alberic, at your service."

He doesn't let either of them say a word before he takes in a breath and shouts: "Meggot! Meggot! Blast you, where are you? Over here! Passengers in need of attention. There lad, Meggot'll see to your hand." He gestures to Tristran's burnt hand, then glances in Yvaine's direction before looking back at Tristran. "We eat at six bells. You shall sit at my table."

Soon after the shouting has ceased a rather nervous-looking woman with an explosive mop of red hair makes her way out onto the deck, introduces herself - Meggot, of course - and very promptly escorts Tristran below decks, leaving a rather bewildered star to blink rather uselessly at the remaining crew members.

He is pulled into a cabin where the woman spends a few minutes smearing a thick, green ointment onto his hand before sending him back on his way.

Tristran eventually finds his way into the dining room, next to the kitchen (which he is enthusiastically delighted to hear them call the galley, as they did in many of the pirate stories he read as a kid) and is led to the captain's table -- even if there is no other table within the mess, anyway.

Still, the table quickly fills with Meggot, the captain and five other crew members sitting around it, all content with letting Captain Alberic do the talking with an ale-pot in one hand and a pipe in the other (when it isn't shoveling food into his mouth).

The food is wonderful. He eats as much as he can stomache, relishing the soup (full of scrumptious steamed vegetables), and the sweetest, chilled water he's ever had the pleasure of tasting.

Conversation goes by with neither of them asking questions about their personal lives (as Tristran would not feel comfortable to answer anything and so he did not volunteer).

Yvaine doesn't eat much - well, to be completely honest, she doesn't eat at all - but it all does look rather lovely and the glass of water is cool and pleasant as she runs her fingers along the rim.

She listens eagerly to the hum of voices and the Captain's stories are far better than half of the ones that her sisters have told her. This might be because they are real, but that is of little matter. They are fascinating all the same.

She finds herself grinning rather widely as she is led to her cabin - borrowed from Meggot, who will be taking a hammock despite her urgings to the contrary (She can be polite on occasion, hard as it is to believe.) - and she lays back on the bed, even more pleased with her new clothes. (Also borrowed from Meggot.)

Things are looking pretty up at the moment. It's surprisingly nice.

Similarly, Tristran is given a cabin, courtesy of a strange fellow who goes by the name Oddness, first mate of the ship. He is a quiet gentleman with large wings and a bad stammer, but he is interesting, and Tristran quite likes him.

Once Tristran is alone in his cabin, he finds himself growing bored quite quickly. He wonders whether Yvaine is all right -- he had barely spoken a single word to her throughout dinner -- and whether she's comfortable. After all, her leg must be bothering her still, and it will take a bit of effort to get into a comfortable position.

Perhaps...maybe it wouldn't be so bad just to check.

There is a chance, perhaps, that if he is close enough to the door he may very well hear quiet humming coming from somewhere inside the room - and considering the little else that is inside the room guessing where it is coming from shouldn't be all that difficult, really.

The door, one might note, is also rather open.

Tristran notices. And he pauses by the door for a moment just to listen.

But he is here for a reason, and before any of the crew members find him loitering by the star's cabin, he clears his throat and enters her room, standing close to the door frame.

"Hullo."

The star has herself rather backwards at the moment - head resting by the footboard and broken leg propped up on one of the pillows - and she peers at him for a moment from upside down, song tapering off quietly.

She doesn't exactly stop smiling either, "Hello."

He returns the smile, though it occurs quite without him knowing, still watching her before he remembers why he's here.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course," she arcs an eyebrow at him - which isn't half as effective from this angle, but that's alright - but makes no real effort to right herself. "Why would I not be?"

A hand reaches out to lazily gesture him inside, "You may sit down, you know."

It's stranger, almost, to be in the room all by herself.

"I just wanted to see how you were," he says in as nonchalant a voice as he can muster.

He then takes the necessary steps and settles on the edge of her bed before turning to her.

"You seem to be quite content."

"Are you checking up on me, Tristran Thorn?"

She grins, she really can't help it. No one has checked up on her since she was terribly little - and there's that whole pesky thing where he's grinning and she likes him.

But she's not dwelling on that at the moment. Teasing is a perfectly good option for things to do instead.

"Afraid that I will disappear?"

He shakes his head. Maybe it's true -- maybe he is checking on her, but...well, it's just something he knows he has to do (and he doesn't mind doing it at all). Besides, maybe he just wants to see her.

"They are quite the group, aren't they?" he changes the subject, slowly flexing his fingers before him.

She eyes him for another moment before letting the subject drop. Politely.

See that? Politeness and she's indulging his earlier giddiness. (A bit late, perhaps, but still.)

"I like them," she replies, then grins ruefully. "Though I am thinking that the cook is not terribly fond of me."

He raises his eyebrows. "Oh? Why?"

And then at that moment, he comes to a realization.

"Oh. Because you didn't -- well, you could pretend to have something to eat, much like you did in the bar."

Her nose wrinkles in mild distaste, "I do not much see the point."

She's sure that there is one - people do seem terribly interested in the whole affair, after all - but that doesn't mean that she grasps it.

"Perhaps I should apologize," she doesn't sound very terribly eager about the idea.

He smiles a bit.

"I don't think they'll much like your apologies as much as they would like to see you eat their food," he explains. "They are ... of that sort, you know."

Pirates.

That garners a bit more of a frown and she shifts slightly, shoulders rolling back and hair falling across her nose.

"Very well," she allows, narrowing her eyes at him. "Perhaps I will try."

But not because he asked or anything.

No, of course not.

Tristran is half-tempted to brush the hair away from her face, but keeps still, hands firmly placed before him.

"They will appreciate it," he says, giving her another smile.

"Very well should," she mumbles, purposefully belligerent.

"Is your hand feeling better?"

It's asked almost offhandedly, as if she hadn't given the statement much thought at all. She's rather proud of this accomplishment.

"Meggot said that she had taken care of it," not that she had specifically asked, of course. "But I did not get to speak to you very much at - ah - dinner, yes? To ask. Myself."

He stills his hand for a moment, fingers pathetically out-stretched as far as the pain would allow. The ointment had done wonders for his pain, but the skin is still raw and red and blistered.

"A little," he replies, relaxing his hand once more. "Meggot really did help quite a bit. It doesn't burn or give me as much pain as it used to."

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