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α ναgαbοηd flαg
- αlιnexxxxxяenée xxxxxjαιlleт;
xxxdoctor's advice: there is no substitute for a day off and a good book.
Packing was supposed to be a calming thing for most people. The repetitive motions resulted in a soothing feeling on the brain as the body set into a steady motion. It was a natural and medication-free way to slow the mental being down and induce relaxation. Or, it was supposed to be, anyway. Aline found herself drifting farther into that stressed state of mind, however, as book after book found a home in her suitcases, all lined in a row next to the box of her personal surgical requirements. Forcing herself to pack lightly with her gear had been hard. She had had to reassure herself multiple times that the Persephone II was given a full operating infirmary, nothing needed that couldn't be found within its confines. It had done little to settle her nerves. In the end, the only thing that had stopped her from packing all of her equipment was the lack of space aboard her coach. A frustrated sigh was allowed past her normally emotionless lips as her fingers ran through mussed hair. It wasn't the infirmary that had her so on edge, and she knew it.
An airship. The very idea sent her heart and stomach into flurries of rocking and churning. Aline had never much like boats. Not even carriages. Therefore, she especially didn't like even the idea of riding on anything floating in the air thousands of feet above the earth, nothing supportig her body but a strange engine running off of steam. Aline had to choke back the bile that threatened to rise then. She'd already emptied the contents of her stomach multiple times that day, and the morning was still fresh. Not to mention that she wasn't even technically on the airship yet. Basically, her day was worthy of ehr father's favorite British saying: " Bloody hell. " With a sigh of frustration, the surgeon once more returned to her packing, this time fully losing herself in the rythym it presented.
She lost herself so much, in fact, that the sound of the coockoo chiming its seven o' clock call startled herr to death. Seven o' clock and she hadn't even started her dirve there, let alone reached her destintation. Well, technically quarter to six, since she had set it back the night before, but nevertheless. The small cottage was a flurry of activity after that, straight up unitl the point when the door was slammed behind a rushed woman and coachman, both weighed down with boxes far too large for them. Seconds later, the woman was tucked securely into the open carriage, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she watched her little home, the only place she could ever truly call home, vanished from view behind the grouping of trees that circled the perimeter. Fighting back tears at her own stupidity, Aline raised ehr eyes to the wind, forcing herself not to look back, in case she lost the nerve to leave it. Instead, she occupied herslef with a game her father had played with her on their journey to England. Finding familiar shapes in the passing clouds was a tad childish of ehr, considering her age, but the comfort it provided her was somehting she gladly accepted. The more logical part of her mind was refusing the idea that she would not see her home again, but she was human after all; Doubt was in her nature, logic be damned.
War time was not her time. She much more enjoyed the peaceful hours spent nursing a child sufferig from the flu, or stitching up a cut made by the farmer's plow. Retrievig bullets from within a body, hoping she didn't get to them too late; that was not her idea of a healthy occupation. Still, the Persephone II needed someone who could habdle anything this mission threw at her crew, and Aline had to acknowledge, she was more than qualified. " Damn med school. "
Fifteen minutes later and the unpacking began. Customs simply would not let her through without a check despite the fact that she was on urgent business with the Persephone, assigned by the Queen herself. She thought she heard one of the doubtful customs officers muttering something about female surgeons not exsisting; he had better hope she heard wrong. Aline sighed once more that day, knowing that she would never do anything to correct him, doubt or no. She was too modest. -- Or was it shyness? Either way, he could harbor his doubts; she would not correct him. Another fifteen minutes passed while her equipment was inspected, followed by her personal belongings, then her own person. If they expected her to be forthcoming with any confirmation of their doubts, or otherwise, they were heartily mistaken. When she was finally released, do to the interference of a worker from the Persephone the Second looking for stragglers, it was done with grunts of complaint from the officers. Obviously, they were not done, though she hardly cared. Her pantihose were still hanging from the side of her suitcase where they had fallen from their grubby little hands.
Snatching up her belongings and loading them back onto the carriage had taken up another five minutes, though luckilly, her driver was fast in getting her to the Persephone II safely. A mumbled, " Bloody hell, " escaped her lips without prompt as she stared at the mammoth of a machine. Her poor little heart couldn't take it. The thing was enormous, though still smaller than most airships. Swallowing heavilly, Aline stepped from the carriage lightly, her dancer's form keeping the flat of her foot above any muck lying around as she headed towards the gang plank and up into the berth of the beats, as it were. A small congregation was settleed there, makig introductions and what not, causing a slight blush to rise to her cheeks. One after the other, names flew by her, some of which she lost as soon as they were spoken, while others she remembered with a smiel. The scientist was a jolly fellow, very chipper. Sighing, she steeped forwards into out of the doorway and curtsied to the woman who had to be the captain. She had a very demanding looks about her, thoguh she seemed alright at first galnce. " Aline Jalliet, at your service, madam. " A pause, before she continued, " I'm terribly sorry about the delay. Customs simply couldn't understand that a woman could actually be a surgeon. " Her throat convulsed again, sending a stream of saliva down to her gullet. She had to get used to speaking to people again, she really did.
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x x x x xi swear that i x x⊱xxʟ o v εxxʏ o uxx⊰x x still
you are my only one◣ but this w o r l d won't let me be f r e e ◥
The engines were all primed and ready to go by the time Amelia emerged back to the surface. The fresh air in her lungs and the sound of the rippling canvas in her ear were the sounds of home to her. This was most definitely the only place Amelia wanted to be. Nothing could ruin this moment, nothing. Home, they said, was where the heart was and the young woman could think of no other place that held her heart as strongly as this place did, this ship, this crew. From the splintery wood on her steps to the patchwork canvas of her sails, this ship was everything that anyone could ever need. Love was what kept her in the air, love and trust; and damn anyone who said she didn't have that for this boat. Ever since she had first set eyes on it, as she had run from her hunters and the destruction her exile had brought on someone else, Amelia had disliked nothing about her Morning Glory. The plaint had been peeling worse then, and the wood even more splintery, but nothing could have staved any of the love she had felt in that moment. Like a hero waiting in the wings, the Morning Glory had been there to save her, and would be many more times, with the help of her loyal crew.
Letting her hand wander along the surface of the ship's railing, her feet leading her towards her room, Amelia soaked in the feeling of her home. On the outside, much like the captain herself, the ship was kind of scruffy and dilapidated; proper care had not been put into her appearance as deserved. However, the feeling left behind by that little, disheveled thing was something that left lasting impressions, weaving and winding itself into your heart and never leaving again. Or so she had just learned.
He had looked so good in his Navy formals, something she knew he would have hated to wear, his smile something he would have forced. he probably would have preferred to stay in his room, or on his boat, and just read. She probably would have convinced him to, would have stayed with him, once upon a time. but she had to keep those thoughts at bay, if only until she reached her cabin. She couldn't let the emotional turmoil she was experiencing show, couldn't let her heart go back onto her sleeve like it had been so long ago. That only caused things that were meant to be whole to break. No, she wouldn't think on him for now. Instead, she would go to her room and analyze those blueprints, change into something a little more captain-y and then perhaps, throw back a strong shot of that Irish whiskey from her First Mate. Forgetting was the best plan for now; forgetting and staying strong, but most importantly forgetting.
her pace quickened slightly as the thoughts pushed against her will, fighting for freedom after being forgotten for so long. He had looked so good in his Navy formals. Forget it, Amelia! There's no point in thinking on things best left alone. Yes, he had been in his Sunday best, but only as a lap dog to the Queen! Forget him. Even as she thought it, she knew it was wrong of her to judge him so harshly. He did not know the thing she did, hadn't seen, hadn't heard, what she did. His faith was still justified, his love for his country in the right. She had no right to think of him like that, especially after pushing him away as she had, necessary as it was.
As she trotted down the steps to her cabin, the hallway dark and foreboding, Amelia couldn't help but feel dread at the thought of entering her quarters. Outside, in front of her crew, whether they saw her or not, she knew her strength would last. Alone in her room, alone in every sense of the word, the captain didn't know how long her strength would hold out against the onslaught of emotion pooling in her chest. The dam would break eventually and no one would be there to help her pick up the pieces. Her crew knew nothing of her experiences with the Commander. She could nearly laugh at that. He had always been on the fast track, but to become so much so quickly, it seemed to her like someone had taken the hit a little hard upon her departure. That thought wasn't funny, really, so her laughter was more of the ironic, I-have-a-strong-dislike-for-my-life sort of laugh. It bubbled up to the surface as she opened and slammed her door her behind her, letting her back hit the wood before she could lose her trembling legs form beneath her.
Forcing her legs to move once more, Amelia hurriedly walked to her closet, ripping open the door angrily, and grabbing the first outfit that she saw. Her anger was swift and relentless in its coming and all of it was directed at herself. She was crumbling, like an old brick wall under a steady pressure, her strength was falling to pieces before and all in one glance. Well, one glance shared. She had paused on the brink of the forest, watched as her pursuers came closer, watched as all had pulled their weapons but him. It had only been upon the first shot fired that Amelia had run once more, from him, from England, from memories too painful to bear. And now they poured from chest as that dam finally broke and she let herself fall to her knees, tears streaming down from her eyes. Her clothes she put on form there, not trusting herself to stand again, and Amelia allowed herself this brief moment, after so many years of pain, to let it out.
Time was of the essence, however. Tears and weaknesses were something she had to push away from. And push away she did. Physically and mentally wrenching herself away from those thoughts, Amelia put her mask of strength back in place firmly. Standing, she brushed herself off in habit before grabbing at the compass on her neck. The Morning Glory was home. She needed nothing else to hold her heart. She couldn't afford anything to distract her and nothing would. Not anymore. Marching back u onto the deck, the captain headed her feet towards the kitchen, ready to hold a meeting with her crew to discuss the ongoing mission. They would go to her childhood home and hide out for now. They would leave England behind and, with it, she would leave thoughts and inhibitions of that belonged to the past.
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〖 J A M E Sx☆x d a м e a n x☆xH A R R O W 〗
〖 J A M E Sx☆x d a м e a n x☆xH A R R O W 〗
x x x x xall we need's a littlex x⊱xxt i m exx⊰x x
you are my only one◣ to c h a s e the blues a w a y ◥
James wasn't much for new experiences. In fact, he was so set in his ways that he didn't know how to even do anything but surf, play his guitar, and sell boards to wanna be surfer boys. That's right, boys. Unless you could ride a wave without stumbling around like a blubbering idiot or at least admit that you can't ride a wave, you were a little boy in James' book. The more tourism his side of the island got, the more James hated what his beloved sport had become. He couldn't believe that before he had been one of the groupies, thinking that unless you had bleach blond hair, drank all night, and surfed all day, rode around in your swim shorts like you could actually do something on a board, you weren't living life, being somebody. Well, that reality had been as fake as they came. Thinking back on it almost brought a physical pain to his chest. It was rare that James ever reminisced. He had been one of the somebody's once. He had been the champ, the main squeeze, the top dog. Yeah, well the bigger they are, right? His friends had worshiped him. He thought that meant they loved him, like real friends love each other. Well, that reality had come crashing down in that competition all those years ago. Sitting in his khaki shorts, loose button down hanging open in the middle, James visibly winced as his mind traveled those roads. To this day, he didn't think that there was anyone who remembered him for anything but wiping out in the final wave, trying to pull some hot shot move out of his a** when he was getting his but whooped. Ever since then, surfing wasn't something he did socially anymore.
The nobody surfers, even the somebody surfers, were too occupied with making the fame, getting the name, they wanted to constantly be in the spotlight. James was glad that he wasn't anymore; it gave him a chance to find out who he really was. What he saw, he hadn't liked for the longest time. It took him almost a year and a half to find out why he had started surfing, why he had fallen in love with the water, no longer feared it. The waves could wash you here and there, sure, if they really wanted to. Surfing gave you the chance to experience the waves, to respect the ocean, the beating of one gigantic heart, pulsing through the Earth and allowing you a chance to discover that everything, everything, has some kind of emotion tied to it. The ocean was all emotion: raw fury, loving caress, jubilant smiles, and painful sorrow. The rainstorm churned her emotions, sure, but the moon brought to life the daily show of it in the tides, in the waves.
So maybe it had surprised people to find out that the resident beach bum nobody was entering into the competition. Hell, it had surprised him. Especially when the competition PR people had come up to him and asked him to join the reality show. He knew he was being the brunt of some twisted surfer joke, the wash out living with a bunch of somebodies. Well, the joke would be one them. James had never been one for revenge, even in his diluted days back when he was in the public eye. The idea of an eye for an eye made no sense; nobody would change their ways because someone did something in retribution. The idea, though, was tempting.
So it was with mixed emotions that James had gotten into the limo for a nine block ride over to his new house. Really, why couldn't he ride his bike or something. From the big gaudy logo on the side to the flashy rims, James dreaded stepping anywhere near the thing. But, he should have known it would get worse. Sitting in the plush interior, he wasn't really surprised to find that it was fitted with everything. Honestly, who could ride in these things everyday. It was such a waste. The streets outside were far more interesting as he watched people on the streets stop to point at the limo, whispering conspiratorially as if he could hear them if they had yelled at him. No doubt it was sound proof, or at the very least, highly muffled. It was a pleasant feeling to pull away from the busier tourist area of the city and enter the coastal part. The streets were more residential and the people less caring of another big competition.
It was only when they pulled up to their beach house that James started to even consider this being a good decision. The house was simple, canary yellow, and very homey. From the few reality shows he had watched, the houses always seemed to be overly gaudy, modern, and quite frankly not his type of home. It he was going to be living here for the next while, he wanted to feel comfortable, not like he was in a hotel. The driver didn't bother to stop and open his door as James was already stepping out as the man started towards it. Instead, he helped James get his bags form the trunk and carried them to the door for him. His board was already here, having been picked up the night before. He hadn't been to hot on the idea but then again neither had they been on his using the board he'd had for the last seven years. Whatever. It was his best friend, outside of Ohna. Speaking of, James tilted his head down at the bag he carried by his side, as the little Pug stuck her head out of the hole he had left open for just the purpose. She blinked lazily, groggily before her face lit up in that puppy excitement, tongue all lolled to the side and eyes wider than normal.
Laughing to himself, James took the stairs two at a time and entered the house and said to the dog in his bag, "This is home for a while, Ohna. You gonna be a good girl and stay put?" He couldn't help but smile wider as her head cocked to the side at him, her tail stopping its beat for a split second before she barked back at him. James felt something in the world tilting back into place as he looked at the boards on the wall, the pictures of surfers in black and white, enjoying the pure beauty of what they had accomplished. he avoided the pictures in color, afraid he'd see something that would remind him of his old self. He fit better in that colorless world than the real one these days. But he pushed those thoughts aside as he headed towards the stairs, taking them two at a time one more before stopping at the sight of a girl in the doorway of one of the rooms. She looked enthralled by the scenery out her window and he had to admit, she had the best view he'd seen in a while.
Approaching quietly, though not trying to scare her by any means, James said, "Quite the view you got there. I'm James, this is Ohna." He could have laughed when the dog yipped her reply as if to say, that's me!
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- Gabriel had never prided himself on being a very patient man. In fact, if anyone was ever under that impression they only need look at the chef in moments like these, when the Captain and First Mate had left them behind to accomplish a mission. As the cook for the crew, Gabriel had no real experience that could be useful on missions. There was that one time when he had needed to infiltrate the kitchen and sabotage the food as a distraction. Honestly, that had been the worst moment of his life. He wasn't brought up for that kind of excitement and it had scarred him for life. But that was the last time he had been needed in such a way and the Captain, bless her beautiful heart, had promised he'd never go again.
Which left him here. He had to admit it wasn't much better. Gabriel had long ago finished stocking things from the store room, cleaned everything in sight, washed and rewashed the dishes, and had begun to pace in a way that the Captain was sure to notice the line of wear he was carving into her precious boat. The young chef himself wasn't quite as fond of the Glory as everyone else aboard her, it seemed, but she was a good boat. He couldn't exactly call her home, as more than half the time he was took airsick to notice anything homey about her. Especially when he was worrying himself into a state of panic as he was now. There was nothing for it and it drove him mad. The gentle swaying of the ship didn't remind him of the swaying of a crib, as it did some; he could derive no comfort from the back and forth motion of the ship, docked or traveling. You'd think that since she wasn't in water, as the Japanese boats were, that she'd not rock like a storm was brewing.
Gabriel had to groan at that thought. If people thought storms were bad on the water, try traveling through them in the sky where you literally traveled through them. Grabbing the nearest stool, the chef sat down heavily and toyed with his abandoned cup of coffee. It was cold now, chilled in the morning air, but he took a long gulp anyway. It cooled his nerves slightly for which he was thankful. The reprieve didn't last long though. All manner of images passed through his mind; the Captain shot and bleeding somewhere, separated from Kade; the Captain captured by that despicable Queen of England, bound and beaten; Kade the same way; soldiers circling the Morning Glory as they spoke. His imagination worked him into such a state that he could almost hear the soft clack of Her Majesty's polished boots on the deck above him.
No, he realized with a start, he had heard the clacking of boots on boards, and heels as well. Gabriel jumped to his feet quickly and snatched a pan off the wall nearest him, readying himself for battle. Or, what he thought of as battle, since his idea was more of swinging constantly so they can't get close to you. As he listened closely, the chef noticed he recognized those voices; it was the Captain and Kade, thank God. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Gabriel replaced the pan and began making something up for the would be heroes of the day. If the Captain hadn't gotten the plans she wouldn't have come back or soldiers would be hot on her tail, and since she was quite obviously returned and not calling for immediate lift, they were safe. For now.
Retrieving a mango from the make shift refrigerator, the young man began cutting into the thin slices preferred by the Captain when she returned from a mission. For Kade, he set out a glass and some Irish drink he always asked for. No doubt the Captain would call everyone together to discuss plans on the next step. She always asked for input, smart woman though she was, as she understood that sometimes ideas can be found from minds that think nothing like yours. she was strategic after her years of the Academy, and creative as well. However, she sometimes lacked the finesse in the small things. Gabriel was happy to help when he could, which was rarely. The sound of boots alerted him to someone's presence and he finished up the small dishes with ease. He wasn't really surprised to his first patron to be Kade. The man was efficient at what he did and he did it quickly.
"You are back and successful? I cannot imagine ze Captain returning without ze blueprints, no?" He ran a quick scan of the First Mate and was happy to see no gunshot wounds like all the other times. Well, most of them at least. Surely that meant the same for the Captain or else Kade would not be here. "I assumed since you'd returned you'd be down to join me. Your liquor is on ze table, you dirty Irishman." He added a smile to his words, as he didn't mean them, which Kade knew too well, seeing as he dished it out just as nicely sometimes. It wasn't long before more boots sounded down the hall, these ones lighter and without a doubt belonging to the Captain with their even step. She may not have been a Navy woman anymore but she held herself like one still. Before she had even stepped into the doorway, Gabriel swept the plate of fruit to the table with a flourish, sitting back in his stool with his cold coffee. Turning to the rope by the wall, he leaned over and yanked once, the bell he knew attached at the other end alerting their wonderful mechanic to the meeting.
"Welcome home, mademoiselle. You have been much missed in your absence," he intoned on her coming. She looked as ravishing as always; he was only upset he had missed her in her gown and heels. That had to have been a sight most wonderful. Silently, he gestured to her seat before taking another gulp of his cold coffee. This time, there were no more nerves to quell, just anticipation.
ooc - haven't had a chance to proofread so sorry if its a big mess up.
