Welcome to Gaia! ::

To say that his crew was pleased with the unanticipated presence of a ‘stowaway’ Yaelian would have been perhaps too generous. However, after having had opportunity to recoup after their hasty departure, take stock of their situation, and discuss, he was confident that they were not displeased either, so much as vaguely leery, while recognizing the benefits of having a healer on board.

If there was anything he understood for certain after the first meeting, though, it was that he would never hear the end of the early decision to let the man share his bed space—cabin. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for him to decide he didn’t care. If his crew was making a joke about it, at least they weren’t doing anything worse, and if everyone could manage to get on at least until they reached Oba, he would be satisfied.

After the drama of their departure, the first day passed relatively uneventfully, as did the next, Tacrith keeping mostly out of sight as the ship went about its business. Calm weather made for calm seas, but the lack of inspiring breezes lead to slow going, such that it felt by the evening of the second day out that they had only inched further towards their goal. While at first, as with the morning of their departure, there had been at least enough to keep up a decent pace, by the sunset on the second day, they were drifting. Like a leaf atop a still pond, hoping to be gusted eventually towards a shore.

It was similar on the morning of the third.

Ozzrick woke to almost perfect silence. A grey light had just begun to differentiate the sky outside his cabin window from night, and he shifted in his bunk, rolling to survey his cabin space before pushing to a sit. The doctor hadn’t woken yet, but that wasn’t surprising. Despite the general calm of their immediate circumstances, the man had been through much, and had, at the very least a long wait ahead of him—if not far more.

It was reassuring that he could at least sleep in peace. And he did look peaceful, dark lavender hair usually so tidy strewn loosely over the bedding, and illuminated only by the gradually warming strips of morning light that came through the cabin panes. Realizing his eyes had taken rest there some time ago and never moved, Ozzrick blinked, and shook his head to rise, dress, and head out on deck.

The man could use as much rest as his body needed, and besides, glassy-sea dawns on the open ocean with every inch of horizon visible before anyone else woke—those were priceless moments not to be missed. He settled his elbows on the railing, and cast his eyes to the far line of sea and sky, ready to watch the progression of grey night melting into early day.

At first, all was quiet but for the faintest lap of water against the hull. As the sun rose, though, gradually the ship began to stir with the earliest signs of activity. The first to join him on deck was his first mate, who grunted her greeting before retreating to the helm. After that, one or two others had trickled out as well.

The sun had risen by the time there was movement from within his own cabin, but not high, and Ozzrick spared a glance when he heard the telltale creak of wood and hinges. “So he can still walk,” Ozzrick greeted with smile. “It’s good to see you in the light again. I was beginning to fear you’d developed an aversion…”

Bhrasha gave a low whistle from behind the wheel. “Look ‘at who’s come out from the captain’s bed finally…have time for the rest of us now, do you?”

Ozzrick was relieved to note her tone was light, at least. Or, as light as Bhrasha’s tone ever got, and certainly nonthreatening.

“You won’t be in the way,” Oz said. “Unless the wind changes there’s not much to be done for now. We adjust the sails if we need to catch a different direction or force of wind, but other than that…much of it is waiting. But come, you could bring a book up here if you wanted, no need to closet yourself away with my things in the dark…”

He glanced over the railing to the ocean below. Still as glass, almost, and fathoms deep, such that it might as well have been bottomless from this vantage point. Tapping the flat top, he braced, hoisted, and then stood.

“Besides, you couldn’t ask for a lovelier day. And while you were up here you could even partake in mad group activities such as, you know, having conversations with people…” He glanced to Tacrith. “Eating breakfast. Or…” As he walked along the rail, he paused, arm reaching to grip the main boom, “…going for a brisk open ocean swim, though I seem to recall that being off your option list…”

Revelry.

Ozzrick snorted. Talking was this man’s idea of a party? He really didn’t get out much. With a bit of a grin, Oz hopped down from the rail, to the deck again, and strode in toward the mast, where he crouched, removing his boots, shucking off his shirt to drop atop them, and then began to climb. It was designed for it, with grabs and foot rungs—someone had to adjust the sails, after all, even if the ship wasn’t large enough to merit twelve of them—so it didn’t take long to scale toward the top, where he paused at the main gaff, glancing down.

“Suit yourself, of course,” he called down, “but I think there’s plenty to be up to.”

If Bhrasha looked unimpressed with her captain’s behavior in advance, he didn’t look to see it, instead taking a breath, and then making a quick dart, out over the mast spur to leap, and dive towards the endless depths below. It was only a plausible form of recreation when the ship was moving at an inching pace, and as the ocean swallowed him, there was always a peculiar rush that came with the sensation of being suspended in something infinite.

Ozzrick’s hands cut through the water, feet propelling him forward in a lazy spin. The waters between Yael and Oba were far from friendly as a matter of course. Great, dangerous beasts the size of their ship lurked these waters, somewhere, and the space between the landmasses was highly susceptible to storms, tide changes, and even unfriendly fellow vessels, though that was more rare.

He was well aware that he was suspended in a moment that defied the norm or, at the very least, was not maintainable indefinitely. But then, nothing was, so he saw no reason not to relish in what was before him while it did last. His crew was accustomed enough—and some even took the opportunity themselves on the right day—that he didn’t have to call up for someone to drop down a ladder. Someone would do it, and after satisfying himself that he’d stretched his muscles, loosened his system, and made his point, he headed back in towards ship side.

After pulling himself up the ladder and over the lip, back on deck, he was soaked, pooling ocean water at his feet as he shook his head something like one might expect a mutt to do—with less effect. “And,” he added as though this was somehow a continuing conversation, “the water is consistently a manageable temperature. I’d be happy to give you lessons sometime. It is a practical skill.”

Ozzrick eyed the man as he wrung his hair, returning the sea to itself with a sort of curious amusement for Tacrith’s commentary. “Much as I hate to tell you and little as you’d like to admit it…it will be a matter of weeks at the very least before that occurs…you might as well begin considering how to use the time in some meaningful or enjoyable fashion. It’s not as though it’s difficult or complicated…”

He approached, leaning to peer at whatever reading material Tacrith had braved bringing up deck. “For an intelligent, sophisticated man such as yourself, I am sure it would take no time, and you wouldn’t have to be concerned about it any longer.”

Ozzrick watched as the doctor’s expression shifted with his words, from simply peeved at the circumstances—to a very real fear of the sea, or at least the helplessness that came with not having the confidence to handle it safely. At length, Oz shook his head.

“You don’t need to be concerned about that here. This lady has been around the bend more than once, but she’s all the more reliable for it…and we’ll keep you clear of spilling distance until shore, oi? Once you’re there, any time you spent in the water wouldn’t be unsupervised…you’d have nothing to worry about.”

Ozzrick reached a hand, uncaring of still being soaked himself as he shuffled his fingers through Tacrith’s hair, tousling it.

“Relax…there’s not much to do but make the most of it. And no one is going to be dying on my watch.”

Ozzrick observed Tacrith’s initial sourness with some cross between amusement and a returning pinch of guilt. At the question, though, he raised his own eyebrows.

“Infallible,” he assured. “Do you believe me?”

True, Oz couldn’t promise much of anything, but at least for the moment, the weather was calm—all could go well yet, and whatever didn’t was to some degree beyond his control, though at least he had dealt with some of it already.

“If there is anything I can do to further reassure you, however…do let me know.”