10.18.11 - Storm's Nothing (Part 1)
Location: Endless Sea
Characters Involved: Darcy, Tyree
Tyree can hardly remember the last time he was required to go on the sea. It's a good time to be on the waves, since he's actually got an objective in mind, and isn't running away... though the vast emptiness is certainly tempting, especially these days. He's got his eyes on clouds that are fast approaching the ship right now, and their unfriendly disposition has soured any previous thoughts of how wonderful the ocean is. He turns to find Darcy, and finds himself surprised once again that they're the only ones on the ship. At one time the idea might have been quite appealing. But given the nature of their mission, he's much more business-like in his demeanor... has been since learning of the trip and it's purpose. "We're not goin' anywhere but inta' this storm," he warns. "I'll start securin' the rudder..."
He's been business-like in demeanor for.. quite a while now, regardless. Though at least having a particular purpose, a /rescue/, has proven enough to get them to interact. Maybe just because it's familiar terrain, this military duty, and has nothing at all to do with either of them in a personal way. As for the /literal/ terrain, which now surrounds them - not so familiar, that. Not far Darcy, anyway, who stares down the oncoming gale like as to make it flinch away from the intensity of her gaze. It proves ineffective. As Tyree speaks and heads toward one end of the small ship - small enough to be manned by two, but large enough to handle open waters - she turns her face upward, eyes moving across the sky right overhead. An hour ago it was mostly clear, the stars of early nighttime quite plentiful; now it's grey, the stars and moon obscured. "Not like we'd be able to navigate anyway," she says, stabbing her index finger upward to point out the lack of celestial landmarks. Skymarks, rather. "Better keep the way we've been headed, and hope it blows over pretty quick." Her muzzle scrunches up a moment later, as the first drops of rain land on her nose.
"Quick or slow, I'll just try an' hope the waves aren't too big. Won't take much ta' swamp this little number," Tyree says as he begins to tie down the wheel, looping several lengths around the rudder's handle. Next come the sails, which will be a bit more of a hassle, as he's never really dealt with those before. "I don't like how far from shore we've 'ad ta' scoot, either. This could blow us way off course." He looks towards the shore, which is little more than discolored sliver. Unfavorable winds and various other hazards prevented them from sticking too close.
"Well, we know it's over to the right, as long as we keep this.. general direction," Darcy says with a gesture at the little sliver of land that skirts nearly beyond view. "Might cost us some time to get our bearings again, but we won't get /lost/." At least, she assumes that's how these things work. The doe may drink like a sailor, but that doesn't actually make her one. She heads over to assist Tyree with the sails, finding a foothold in some of the rigging close to the mast, and stretching upward to loosen the rope that keeps the sail pulled taut. It billows free.
Just in time for it to flare up as the wind picks up, catching the sail. The ship suddenly jerks forward, making Tyree grab onto the railing. There's no way he's tying /himself/ to anything, though... too much chance of the ship sinking before he does. The rain is upon them like an advancing wall, and while cool and refreshing to any typical sailor, Tyree knows it's going to become a deluge soon enough. "Funny. On solid ground, I might enjoy a storm like this."
"... I like everything about storms at sea except the.. rocking." Darcy says this with a grimace, taking careful steps along the now slippery deck toward the narrow prow of the ship, gripping at the railing. The roughening waters are definitely causing a more pronounced, slightly jerky side to side motion. "Which I guess means I.. like storms on land. Heh. .. pffeh." She turns her head aside after sea water crests against the bow, spraying into her face. Uhg, salt in mouth.
Tyree comes up behind her, standing a bit off to her flank. He instinctively holds out a paw to help steady her... making sure not to make any undue contact. He's not having an easy time himself. "Storms are always nice, long as you've got shelter... never nice ta' be right in the middle of 'em," he remarks, eyeing the horizon. "Wonder if we shouldn't wait this out below." The way it's getting darker quickly isn't comforting.
Darcy's hands both grip the rail, and she's leaned into it, so as to brace her footing against the rain-wet deck, and to brace her hold also. The wooden railing is just as slippery. As Tyree steps up to her, the doe glances up to the side, and she nods. Complete agreement. "Too bad slavers couldn't be more considerate, and stay on land," she mutters, then steps back and turns. The steep swaying of the deck makes walking difficult, and she staggers, but makes it to the hatch that leads below. It's tugged open, and she descends carefully on the ladder to escape the rain and rising waves. Of course, some of it gets in along with her.
"Considerate slavers is a bit of an oxymoron, I'd say," Tyree murmurs as he follows her down, pulling the hatch closed and securing it against the battering wind and water. The ship is still moving up and down like a wagon coasting over hills, but at least it's somewhat bearable when you don't see the horizon careening all over the place. "They should make a ship that goes *under* all these blasted waves."
"They have those. They're called.. sharks," Darcy replies as she's staggered against the wall by the force of the ship's motions. She gets a few steps further, into the little living area, where the two hammocks are swinging wildly and everything that was on the little table is now scattered on the floor. She grips onto the edge of the table to keep upright, shoulders hunched. "Just requires gettin' eaten first. Oh hell I'm .. gettin'kindanauseous."
Tyree at last puts a paw on her shoulder, meaning it to be comforting. He's not doing all that well either, but at least he isn't in crippling illness like some poor beasts might be. His ears twitch at the noise outside. It seems to be getting worse. The ship shudders. Definitely getting worse. "Just keep breathin'," he says quietly. "It'll pass."
And there it is - the first roll of thunder. Not so much a roll as a strike; a gunshot of thunder, anachronism aside. Not that either of them haven't been through storms before, what with living on the shore, but still. It's impressive. Darcy hunkers down and back, leaning herself into the buck, flattening her ears. The little ship is now being thrashed so harshly that every shudder seems about to jerk the secured-down table from her grip. With eyes shut, her lips are parted, shoulders rising slightly with each deliberate intake of breath. "I know," she mutters back. "I know. 'm fine. 's no worse than mornin' sickness, anyway." A feeble attempt at a joke.
Tyree puts both paws on her shoulders now, letting her lean into him. The storm is a little bit worrying by now, with the loud thunder and all, and he sits them down against a wall, watching the hull. He puts out his legs to brace them, figuring it's best to just sit down together and try not to move. But it's only because he takes some comfort himself in being near another beast in the middle of a rather stressful situation. Being on a ship induces feelings of acute helplessness, and this alleviates that. It's not because he actually *enjoys* being near Darcy anymore. No sir.
Darcy turns herself a little, as she's drawn down to sit on the floor of the small under-deck room. They've had to be in fairly close proximity whenever they've come down here, anyway, but this is another matter entirely. She's sort of .. /clinging/ to him, fingers curled in a tight grip at his arm, which is tugged in across her as her head ducks. Somewhere in the midst of that slow, determined breathing, she begins to murmur. With the vicious noise of the storm closely enveloping the vessel, Tyree is only able to hear it at all because of how close together they are. Little strands of a song. ".. be not afraid.. though rain pounds harshly 'gainst the glass... like an unwanted stranger.. there is no danger, I'm here tonight..."
Tyree is hugging Darcy now. Letting her cling while he cuddles, both of them drawing what comfort they can from it. And... somehow he doesn't really mind. He tells himself it's because he's too distracted by the storm, which is indeed grabbing much of his attention. He eyes the ceiling without pause, but his ear twitches with her song instead of the thunder. And as she continues, gradually, the sound of him humming along with her words is barely audible, his cheek gently resting on her head. Then the ship makes an especially nauseating roll, and Tyree puts out a paw to keep them from rolling across the floor. He's struck by the realization that if the storm gets bad enough, there's... not really anything either of them can do. Nothing but wait for whatever will happen to happen. "We'll make it," he says quietly. "We will. Storm's nothin'. Fear's just a feelin'." Whatever happens to them or the ship, they *will* get out of this alive. Death by a storm is just... *embarrassing* to Tyree.
Darcy reaches the end of the song, with a few pauses along the way; a few skipped words from how low and tense her voice is, despite the lyrics meant to calm them both. She tenses further as the ship tilts far to the side, and presses her face in against the bend of Tyree's arm - now with one hand still gripping his sleeve, the other lower. Her fingers and his, laced together. She swallows tightly and mutters the last lines in fragments, "Everything's fine in .. the .. morning.. rain'll be gone inthemorning..." Just a matter of whether the two of them will be gone too. Some combination of the wind and rain batters the hatch open, maybe off its hinges entirely, and with the monstrous waves already cresting over the sides of the ship, much of it is dumped down inside where the two Majors are.
Tyree's hold is tight, but not too tight. He's not clutching her, but... holding her. Trying to keep the worst of the rocking boat from reaching her dainty frame. He thinks, for a few precious seconds, that they might just be able to wait this thing out, but then the hatch is ripped away like his confidence. He *does* clutch Darcy now, in anticipation of action as cold sea water washes over his legs. "Darcy, sweetheart," he says quickly, standing up. "Hate ta' break up the moment but my confidence in our vessel is fadin' fast. We may need ta' consider abandonin' ship. Very soon."
They were damp already from the rain, but the rush of entering sea water is /rather/ cold. Cold enough that Darcy's body clenches up on reflex, her fingers digging into the buck's arm. "Ff," is her hissed reaction, ears splayed back as her eyes cut over toward the open hatch. Even with that little exit uncovered, the light inside doesn't change; that's how dark it is out there. She takes a breath, then nods, pulling herself upright with a grip on the table again, then braces her feet against the slippery, unsteady floor. "We should try to keep out of the water 's long 's possible," she says, voice a bit raised now that they're not huddled together, to be sure Tyree can hear her. "And find somethin' that'll float, or we'll drown pretty quick out there!"
Keeping the water out is already going to be a losing battle, since the waves are pounding the vessel much faster than they can find something to effectively keep them out. "Any bit o' flotsam will do," he tells her. "We can use pieces o' the ship worst comes ta' worst... we got some barrels too, could lash some o' those together." He snatches a rope and hustles back up the stairs, planning on lashing the hatch back down, since it's still barely attached by a hinge.
Darcy glances around; the few things they brought along on the trip are a mess, strewn around the little cabin. Everything soaked. Her satchel is on the floor, half of the contents having spilled out of it, and she reaches to pick this up, shoving a few things back in. "Hey - stay close," she warns Tyree, her look toward him a bit beseeching. The strap of the bag is pulled up and over her head, to the opposite shoulder, so it's fairly secure on her body. The next thing she grabs is, yes, rope, and she wrestles two half-full barrels of drinking water from in a cabinet. The corks are knocked free to empty them all the way, the fresh water spilling out to mingle with the brackish water at their feet, and as they empty, she works to tie the two of them together. "Holy hell it's /cold/," she mutters.
Tyree isn't too long. He pops his head above the hatch and ducks down as more sea water washes over him, drenching him entirely. "Ack!" He struggles gamely upwards and snatches the hatch, and with no small amount of difficulty, yanks it back shut, lashing the latch to the top stair. It's slightly askew, but it'll do for now. And then another strong wave knocks him clean off the ladder and onto the floor. "This... /this/ is why I didn't sign up for the navy..." he grumbles, rubbing his head as he stands, shakily.
"Navy's for otters. Pretty sure it's physically impossible f' /them/ to drown," Darcy mutters, with a slight splutter of water away from her mouth. She tosses her head to get her slicked-down bangs away from her face, which lasts for all of a few seconds before they stray back into her eyes. Handling the rope is difficult while it's wet, but she manages, putting her relatively limited knowledge of knots to good use. When she's done, the two barrels are lashed tightly together, and she plants her hands against them, leaned over for better leverage and shoving them toward the base of the ladder. "Should be able to keep us both up." Her head jerks up as more thunder booms around them; and then it's followed closely by a distinct crack. Splintering wood. The storm is quite literally tearing the ship apart.
"Oh. Oh my," Tyree murmurs. He plans on staying with the ship as long as they can, since it's the safest place on the ocean until it cracks apart. But they're running out of time. He can only pray they're near land; any land will do. The ship is crumbling under the constant pounding, and he listens to groans and cracks. Won't be too long, he guesses. Further preventive action is going to be pointless when holes are smashed in the hull. "You ready?" he asks her, reaching out. Without hesitation taking her paw again. Life or death situations have brought out feelings he's been suppressing, just general *emotion.* Darcy curls her hand into part of the rope keeping the two barrels together, and grips onto Tyree's hand with her other. "Ready for .. dying? Drowning? Not so much!" The doe summons a laugh with this response, and gives him a grin, with an extra little squeeze of their linked hands. The ship rattles; death throes, of a sort. There's another crack and then a thud as the mast, beyond their view, is broken by the relentless winds. They don't even have to go back up onto the deck - the ship is breaking apart around them. "Ready for a damn adventure, though!" It may be a short-lived one. In the moments following her words, the hull begins to buckle on one side. The wooden planks fracture; then, followed by that catalyst, the entire hull splits apart, and the ocean rushes in around them.
