Participants:
| Scene Title | Far Beyond the Sea |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Where can you take guilt and regret and still find peace? |
| Date | October 22nd, 2018 |
Far beyond the Archipelago of Manhattan the open sea is a ruthless wilderness. This far north the skies are uniformly gray, cottony with thick cumulus clouds laden with rain. The skies haven’t opened up with an ocean downpour yet, but the damp chill in the air says its on its way. But, there’s always another storm on the horizon.
Salt sea spray greets Benjamin Ryans as he emerges from the ship cabin to the above decks. The surf is choppy today, strong winds blowing off of the Stormfront further north, though this far into autumn it’s unlikely these winds will turn into anything more serious than a waterspout. As he walks across the deck, he can see two crewmen speaking inside the wheelhouse, gloved hands clutching tin cups of hot tea. Not like the tea from before the flood, though. Mostly it’s hot water boiling teaberry leaves, bittersweet and wintergreen.
There is nothing on the horizon as far as the eye can see, just the ashen blue of the ocean and the slate gray of the skies, and somewhere in the middle… life.
The Cerberus
Somewhere in the Atlantic
7:12 am
October 22nd
A long time ago, there used to be salutes and people standing at attention when a captain made his rounds. The formalities of the past have been discarded with the comforts of that time too. The crewmen maintaining heading offer a familiar nod to Ryans as he passes, and return to their quiet conversation. They’re six days out from the archipelago, and eager to get back to solid ground, at least for a little while.
The collar of his thick wool long coat presses against the back of his neck, wet and cold, but Benjamin is use to it. One doesn’t spend this many years at sea and not be use to the constant damp, to the ache in his old bones. Fingers, hold the edges of the coat together to hold in what warmth there is, keeping it from being pulled open by the stiff breeze. Though it doesn’t keep the strands of his too long hair, from being blown about, despite being tied back. Every time he’d catch sight of himself, Ben could hear his daddy, telling him he need his hair cut. High and tight, son. Real man’s cut, none that hippy shit.
Lines crease deeper as he offers a bit of a crooked smile to his man, his head nodding in return. While they were looking forward to being on solid ground again, Ben found he was happier out at sea, despite who he had waiting for him. And it wasn’t that he didn’t look forward to the visits… the sea was his home.
As the Cerberus cuts through the choppy seas, instinct kicks in for the old man as the deck pitches under his heavily-booted feet, Ryans’ ability helps to keep him upright. Wouldn’t do for the Captain of the ship to be tossed off his feet, after all. Moving to the railing, gloves fingers, curl around it, his ability extending to the ship itself easing some of the rougher movements, though not completely eliminating it, there he watches the seas ahead of him, quietly assessing what they had coming.
“One of these days, I half suspect you'll just turn us into that storm and that'll be that,” calls a familiar voice from the stairs to the lower deck. Slowly making his way up, Adam Monroe pulls up the fur-trimmed hood on his waterproof parka, shoulders hunched forward and a chipped, white ceramic mug with a pink octopus on it cradled between bare hands. “Not that is say I'd blame you…”
Coming up to stand beside Ryans, Adam brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip, then breaks into a fitful round of hacking coughs, carefully cradling the mug in one hand as he covers his mouth with the other. He grimaces up at Ryan's, then swishes his tea around and quickly kicks his brows up. “I'm fine,” he says unsolicited.
“Don’t tempt me,” Benjamin rumbles out, eyes turned in the direction of the famous storm, casting an amused glance back at Adam Monroe. “No.” He wipes the salt spray and hair from his face with his free hand. “If it was just me, maybe.” He gives his friend a grin, clearly not serious. “Plus, Mary’d kill me.” Maybe, he might just be using that as an excuse, really.
The cough gets a worried look from the captain, thin brows furrowing with concern and worry. “Bullshit,” Ben quips gruffly, calling Adam’s bluff, but he doesn’t really fuss too much. It was a situation that was all too common anymore. “You should be sticking below with that cough. Six days and we’ll be able to refresh our supplies, get you a little drier. You can see someone about that cough.”
“I think the only person I'm going to be seeing about this has a big, fluffy, white beard.” Adam quips, followed up by a quick clarification of, “God. Not Santa Claus. Unless you think there's a chance I won't get coal this year.” He cracks a smile and laughs again, then coughs a couple more times, the noise slowly turning into a subtly frustrated growl.
“Really, I've had enough of doctors for a dozen lifetimes.” Adam says dismissively, carefully taking a sip of his tea. “It's beside the point anyway. I just celebrated the big three seventy-seven, Ben. I don't know how many more of these,” he says with a gesture to the sea, “I have it in me to endure.”
Then, as he looks down into his tea, Adam’s brows furrow. “Honestly, I think I've lived a lot longer than I deserved to.” He looks back up to Ryans, managing a tired smile. Somewhere between the sad silence of that expression, small footsteps make their way up the stairs, and a boy of no more than eleven wrapped in a thermal blanket stares silently at Adam and Ryans.
One of the ship crew in the wheelhouse sees the kid above decks and slips out and across the deck, swiftly moving over to him. He says soft, reassuring words with an arm around the boy’s shoulders as he's escorted back downstairs. Adam looks down to the deck, then out to the crashing surf.
“You're going to get a reputation,” Adam notes of the interruption, as if Ryans didn't already have one, “if you keep rescuing people from pirates like that.” Six more days, and those children can be reunited with their families… or some semblance thereof.
Ryans can’t help but huff out a snort, he dislikes hearing Adam talking like that. “Bah,” Benjamin scoffs, giving a dismissive wave of his hand, “You’re going to outlive us all, old man,” There is a touch of affection in Benjamin’s tone. Despite his age, the hand that lands on Adam’s shoulder still has some strength in the grip. “Besides, who is going to talk sense into me, when I get a crazy idea? Hmm?”
The sound of light footsteps behind him pulls his attention from his companion, hand sliding off the other man’s shoulder, to the child. Ben might be thinking to intercept the child, however, his crewman is quicker then he is. “Let them talk,” he rumbles out in a growl, shoulders shrugging. “Someone has to be willing to do more then turn a blind eye.” Someone has to be willing to do the right thing. “Just thankful for a willing crew,” He smiles a bit, looking back over at the sick man.
Adam looks down and to the side at the indirect praise, one corner of his mouth reluctantly crooked up into a smile. “I suppose you're right. It's survival of the fittest out here, and there's more folks that'll take advantage of that than not…” Hunching his shoulders forward, Adam looks back out to the water and the sea spray crashing up over the side of the Cerberus.
“If…” Adam says hesitantly, “Huruma asks how I'm doing, try not to worry h— ” However that sentence was going to end, it doesn't. Adam’s attention shifts upward to the cloudy sky and faint hints of green and blue light visible within gaps in the clouds. For a moment, Adam’s brows furrow, and he moves down along the ship rail, fascinated by what he sees.
After a moment, the clouds start to part a little further, and through the clouds spills the ragged fringe of a curtain of light, an aurora, shimmering in hues of green and blue, trimmed with vibrant pink. Adam is left speechless, and in his view of the auroral light looks stricken with both wonder and something else…
…dread.
There is a bit of a non-commital grunt from Benjamin as Adam starts to mention Huruma, though the trail off gets a curious glance. As Adam moves to stand next to him at the railing Ben watches the man and then turns to look up and over to where the regenerator is. There is a catch in his breath at the sight of the sky above him. It’s was lovely really and… awfully familiar.
“I’ll be damned,” He whispers out, his voice rumbling.
Then it suddenly hits him why it is so familiar, the old man straightening and standing at his full height. “God damn… is-” he trails off. No, it couldn’t be. he tells himself. Shoulders slump some and man appears to shrink again. For a moment, there was hope in Ben’s voice, something different. His mind starts to reel a bit at the memory of the phenomenon that took his son.
He struggles to temper that hope, tuck it away. “Blast this cloud cover,” Ben finally snaps out in irritation, hating to be reminded of that sharp stab of loss, Turning from the railing, intent on removing the sight from his view, but something stops him and he looks back up. “What do you think, Adam? Do I dare hope?” he asks one of his closest friends and one of the few to know about what really happened to Bradley.
Adam’s response is a small shake of his head, color drained from his face. He wraps his arms tightly around himself, then casts one last look at the shimmering curtain of light before the clouds consume them entirely. “No,” Adam says in a small voice, “no I wouldn’t do that…”
Looking away, Adam makes his way back toward the stairs to the below decks.
“I wouldn’t do that at all.”