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The worst of the storm was over. The young sailor cut the ropes that secured his waist to the mast and looked at the ruins on the deck in front of him. Ropes were strewn about the deck, like sluggish eels poking from holes in their coral homes. The sails flapped, pale ghosts above head. The sailor walked further down the ship, assessing the damages. It would cost a lot of money to repair her, but she was a good ship and would eventually sail true again.
He walked as far as the forecastle, and pulled aside a board loosened by the storm. Behind it was a medal, an emblem that would give him passage when he went to the bar on the shore. Long suspected lost, he realized where it might be, but couldn't seek it out until the storm had past. Many a curse he flung into the night sky, damning both the Fates and himself. All in the end, for naught.
The captain left his cabin and greeted the young sailor. "Found what you were lookin' for?" he asked
"More or less," the sailor replied, looking into the choppy waters. Rain feels a lot like salt water, here on the sea. Also like tears. It's hard to tell the difference, except a sailor will never tell you he cries. It's just brine from the deep.
"Ah, lad." The captain put a weathered hand on the sailor's shoulder. "Best be careful of mermaids and sirens, my boy. Their looks are enchanting, and their voices beguiling, but they are creatures of the sea. You got too many legs for their like." He said nothing further. The obvious comment about more fish in the sea wasn't called for, and would likely set the sailor off on a bitter path. He'd come to his own soon enough.
"Let's get this ship to shore, cap'n. You can console me by plying me with strong drink." The sailor grinned. "I understand they serve a mean sangria at O'Malley's Bar."
"Good sangria from an Irishman? Who've have thought that?" The captain's laughter floated skyward, as the dim lights of the port grew brighter, and the ship shuddered towards shore.
He walked as far as the forecastle, and pulled aside a board loosened by the storm. Behind it was a medal, an emblem that would give him passage when he went to the bar on the shore. Long suspected lost, he realized where it might be, but couldn't seek it out until the storm had past. Many a curse he flung into the night sky, damning both the Fates and himself. All in the end, for naught.
The captain left his cabin and greeted the young sailor. "Found what you were lookin' for?" he asked
"More or less," the sailor replied, looking into the choppy waters. Rain feels a lot like salt water, here on the sea. Also like tears. It's hard to tell the difference, except a sailor will never tell you he cries. It's just brine from the deep.
"Ah, lad." The captain put a weathered hand on the sailor's shoulder. "Best be careful of mermaids and sirens, my boy. Their looks are enchanting, and their voices beguiling, but they are creatures of the sea. You got too many legs for their like." He said nothing further. The obvious comment about more fish in the sea wasn't called for, and would likely set the sailor off on a bitter path. He'd come to his own soon enough.
"Let's get this ship to shore, cap'n. You can console me by plying me with strong drink." The sailor grinned. "I understand they serve a mean sangria at O'Malley's Bar."
"Good sangria from an Irishman? Who've have thought that?" The captain's laughter floated skyward, as the dim lights of the port grew brighter, and the ship shuddered towards shore.
