Participants:
| Scene Title | In the Drink |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | One good turn deserves another, but all Destiny has to offer Elliot is tea. |
| Date | June 21, 2021 |
While there have been some days of calm during the storm season, this is not one of them. Unfortunately, work doesn’t wait for the rain to ease up or the wind to die down. Aboard The Featherweight, her captain is attempting to repair damage to her hull caused by another ship trying to transfer cargo with a crane in high winds. There is enough light to see by in the day, even with the storm, that it’s being handled now, rather than rolling the dice to see if it may get worse later.
Destiny is hanging from the railing of her vessel, a rope harness tied around her middle, sanding around the gouge to see how bad it really is, and to prepare it for filler. The wind causes her to sway back and forth now and again, but she remains mostly anchored by planting her feet against the hull, relying on that to hold her steady.
Puffing out her cheeks in exasperation at how tough this job is — it was so much faster when Jimmy and Carina were helping out — she takes a moment to just relax. Letting her arms hang limp at her side, palm sander held loosely, she leeeeans back. “Ugh.” Swaying back and forth gently, she allows herself to invert, feet in the air, hair hanging down, eyes on the water below.
It means she doesn’t have time to plant her feet when the next gust comes. The shift in her position causes her to start to slip free from her harness and she cries out in surprise. In a moment of quick thinking, she wraps her leg around the rope and uses it to hold herself fast, even if she is still at the mercy of the wind. But she’s got this!
The Archipelago of Manhattan
June 21, 2021
Until she doesn’t. Her slight frame finally slips the ropes and she makes noises of distress as she tries to curl herself upward to grab the rope. An attempt to throw the sander onto the deck sees it simply bouncing off the hull and onto the dock. Even with all her might, she can’t manage to fold herself enough to reach the rope. And each time she tries, she slips further. As it slips past her hips, she finally starts screaming.
The sound of feet beating the dock can just be heard over the wind. The attempted rescuer doesn't call out any calming words until he has to stop to consider the available safety hazards. "Daydream!" a distant voice calls at first, then, closer, "Incoming!"
It only takes Elliot a second to audit all of the possible rescue options immediately available to him. Judging by her slow descent, running onto the ship could just bring him further away from her. The ramshackle nature of the docks makes crate storage impossible, but ropes abound. Tow ropes mostly, which aren't particularly useful here. Other hemp and nylon ropes are tied to the shattered beams of the building. Most usefully, however, he sees a fishing net.
God bless sailors being tidy by nature, he thinks, scooping up a neatly folded net. "Grab hold," he says, spinning the net by the rope it's mounted to and flinging it upward. He gets lucky with the deployment, the net fans out just like he once saw on a video on the Internet. There's plenty to grab onto, though he realizes it's not going to stop her from plummeting into the ocean. It will at least keep her from being dragged beneath the ship by the churn of the waves.
Destiny recognizes the call is to her, meaning she stops shouting so that she might hear, even though she’s still breathing hard and panicked. “Oh no! Oh, please help!” Even in the face of terror and possible death, she can’t help but try to sound polite. With a frantic nod of her head to show she understands the instruction, she leeeeans out to grab at the net when it’s tossed to her. With a hard gasp, she slips the last of the way out of her harness and shrieks her way down to the drink.
It ends with the splash of her small body hitting the water and sinking below.
Elliot's first instinct is to reach out and grab the small body as it goes screaming past. He refrains, worried about getting tangled up and dragged under with her, and watches awkwardly instead.
Once she's down he begins hauling in the rope, looping it around whatever sailors call the thing they loop ropes around on a dock. When a wave hits hard and the ship pivots he finds himself pulling frantically to keep her from getting crushed into the piecemeal wood and metal wreckage of the dock.
As Elliot starts to haul, Des breaks the surface and comes up for air, coughing and sputtering. She always told herself she’d be smart enough to take a deep breath in if she ever fell off the boat, but here she is, expelling seawater from her lungs.
“Oh heck!” the young woman cries as she gets tossed around and sees how close she comes to being smashed between a rock and a hard place. She winds her arms through the net to keep from getting separated from it and into further trouble. Bumps or bruises she can handle. If she goes under the water again without it, she may not fight her way back up again long enough for a second rescue attempt.
Fortunately for the pair of them (although her more so than he), his efforts pay off. Destiny’s hand slaps against the dock the moment she can reach for it, scrabbling for purchase.
Elliot hauls Destiny bodily out of the water in a push of adrenaline, suddenly wishing he hadn't wrapped the rope around the boat rope thing. With a couple of whips of his end of the rope he shakes it loose, then drags Destiny further along the dock to avoid collision.
Several paces later he's too jittery to be annoyed that the boat never connects with the dock, and lowers the captain. He slumps down onto one knee, trying to orient Destiny to better expel any remaining water from her lungs. "How we doing?" he asks companionably against a wail of wind.
Bedraggled, but otherwise seeming to be okay, Des nods her head, turning away for another short series of coughs before one more big breath in. Slumping face down on the boards she groans. “I’m okay, I think.” She gives herself two more breaths before she pushes herself up to sit. “Thanks.”
She has to part the curtain of blonde hair plastered to her face to clear it away from her eyes and get a good look at her savior. The younger face of Odessa Price peers up at him, but there’s no recognition in her eyes when she finally focuses. “I have never been so glad to have someone see me do something stupid.” Whether she means repairing the boat by herself or flipping over in a self-tied harness that really wasn’t made for that much movement or just falling in general, she doesn’t feel the need to clarify. “I’m Destiny, by the way.”
As much as Elliot had been planning on doing everything in his power to avoid meeting this woman, he couldn’t have let her drown even knowing beforehand who she was. He suppresses a sigh. “Nice to meet you, Captain. I’m Elliot,” he says. “We should probably get you somewhere warm. Cold seawater, hypothermia and all that.”
Her head tips slightly, confused for a moment for the fact that he calls her Captain without the introduction as such, but she doesn’t necessarily know everyone in the Pelago. “Elliot.” Des nods. “Thanks.” Climbing to her feet, she wrings out the tails of her jacket with a heavy sigh. “It’s going to take forever to dry.” As if on cue, she shivers. “Why don’t we head in?” Rather than indicate her boat, she lifts her chin toward the settlement. “I can buy you lunch for saving my behind?” A drink’s just not payment enough.
"I can't turn down a hot meal in this economy," he says, "and also I don't drink so that works for me."
He begins to gesture into the building, After you, but then retracts his arm. "Are you sure you want to go to get food while soaking wet and not change first?" he asks, as though anything's possible but he doesn't find it likely. "As I mentioned before, hypothermia."
Des frowns thoughtfully. “I was gonna check in with someone, but if my first mate hears that I was walking around looking like a drowned cat…” She dithers only for another couple of seconds before she veers to board her ship instead. “C’mon aboard,” she offers as she heads below deck.
There’s a bit of room down there, though it’s still cozy. A kitchen, table and seating for four, and a door that leads back to a hallway for other rooms to branch off. Small rooms, although the placement of the door at the end of the hall suggests that room might be slightly larger. It’s the one the captain heads through. “There’s tea in the kettle,” she calls from the room, the door left ajar enough for sound to carry while she strips out of her wet clothes. “Help yourself if you like. There’s honey above the stove.”
Elliot studies the room as he enters, unsure of what exactly he's looking for. "Cozy," he says, "My only comparison being the much smaller kitchenette on Yeah, Buoy."
He's certain that adding caffeine to his adrenaline crash wouldn't improve anything, but having something to do might help manage it. He moves to the stove and pours a mug of tea, adding honey and stirring, focusing on the chime of the spoon against the porcelain.
There’s a sound that is almost certainly an indication of the younger woman bumping into something if the oof! that immediately follows is any indication. “Ohhh!” That’s not a sound of pain, but one of recognition. “That’s who you are!” Her head pokes through the doorway, definitely not dressed yet, “You’re with Richard!” She beams and disappears again.
“And all the others, I guess. Not just Richard.” A brief noise of frustration precedes the wet slap of another article of clothing hitting the floor. “He, uh… He mention me at all? Or did Eve?” Her head doesn’t peek out this time. “You’re right. It was very chilly with those wet clothes on! It’s been a bit since I’ve gotten that soaked!”
"He did," is Elliot's ambiguous reply. He takes his pulse, then shrugs and pours a second mug of tea. He tastes this one first, then adds slightly less honey for himself. He carries both halfway to the door, leaning against the wall in a way that keeps him from seeing into the room.
"Though, I'm an unknown quantity with the rest of the team," he admits. "We haven't had many gossip bonding sleepovers."
Destiny reappears from her quarters in a grey cabled sweater dress and a pair of black ballet flat shoes. It’s not how she usually dresses, but sometimes she likes to feel a bit more feminine. Not that she dresses terribly masculine, but she doesn’t wear skirts nearly as much as she’d like. They just aren’t practical. She’s still drying her hair with a hand towel, looking up at Elliot, both curious and slightly wary.
“You should fix that.” Reaching out to accept one of the mugs, she takes a moment to think about her next words, covering it with a brief sip. “Do you… know the other me?” she asks cautiously.
“We’ve met briefly,” Elliot says. This is a tricky spot to be in if the Odessa’s are somehow linked together as he and Wright were recently told. Admitting he knows the identity of O could complicate things with his connection to d’Sarthe. But if she really is the one who sold out his identity to Ace, at least this is fair play.
“Got stuck in a shared nightmare by a rogue dreamwalker last year. She… doesn’t know that I found out who she is. All I do know is that Richard knows her and that she’s close to somebody named Ace. Everything else I know is only what I’ve read in the papers.”
At first, the blonde’s brows furrow, anxious about the fact that he knows who Odessa is, while the woman is none the wiser to it. That doesn’t bode well for her, does it? Or… maybe it’s fine? Either way, he’s not there to do anything about it, is he? Neutral situation then.
Any further consideration of that facet of the topic is shoved away by the name drop. Destiny’s eyes widen, a tiny smile forming on her face, which is slowly lighting up in a way she thinks is subtle to entirely suppressed, but is quite the opposite. “Ace? Really?” She presses her lips together to try to keep that smile from betraying her further.
(It is not a successful endeavor.)
Drawing in a deep breath to try and temper that delight, she nods her head slowly. “Well, I… know a bit about what she was like before, but she’s trying.” Destiny shrugs. “She wants to be a better person. She just needs a chance, you know?” Shaking her head, she frowns thoughtfully. “Anyway, she’s… not me. We’re —” She chuckles nervously. “— very different people. And I have no idea what she’s up to now.”
She looks down into the tea she’s accepted from Elliot and sighs. “I hope she’s doing good.” Which is distinct from doing well.
Elliot is much better at hiding his personal delight that the Ace gamble paid off; he was an excellent liar before everyone's lives depended on it. His face only shows what it wants people to see. It shows consideration for her worry about another self.
"In my limited personal experience," he assures her gently, "she's a world class singer and pianist who's honestly invested in helping a woman trapped in dreams find her way home. We've all done things we're not proud of, but if she's trying to be her best self I will support her in that."
He shuffles a bit as something appears to dawn on him, and his expression appears to do a poor job of hiding a twinge of embarrassment, or perhaps chagrin. "I take it this means that this Ace is also spoken for?" he asks. "Just my luck."
That really leaves her unable to defend against her own emotions. Des gasps quietly and brings her half-curled hand up to laugh into it, surprised by the comment he’s made. “Oh!” Her cheeks flush. “I don’t know about spoken for…” That she angles her face down and partially away tells him what he might like to know about that subject.
But she lifts her head suddenly, eyes wide and blinking. “Oh, gosh. I mean, I don’t even know if it’s the same guy, right? There’s got to be more than one person in New York who goes by Ace, right?” She’s getting repetitious. Her mouth tugs into an expression that conveys, undeniably, I’ve fucked up. She shakes her head quickly, convincing no one.
One eye winces shut, she sucks in a breath between her teeth. “Spades is a… He’s my… Ah…” That eye opens only fractionally, leaving her gaze on Elliot a still mismatched one. “Deckhand!” She snaps her fingers, face brightening in an instant. “That’s the word! Spades is a deckhand on my ship.” Destiny’s arm sweeps out from her to encompass the vessel they occupy now, beaming a smile, spine straighter, pride showing.
Elliot smiles, holding up his hands to save her from having to further justify herself. “You’re probably right,” he says with a laugh. “There’s certainly more than one person named Ace. Four per deck at least. Also you say Spades, where the one I’m thinking of is better suited to red.”
He takes a sip of his tea and enjoys it greatly. “This is delicious, by the way,” he says. “Is this the standard payment for rescue at sea? If so I’m going to scour the docks for imperiled people.”
He lets her have some dignity in the face of her gracelessness, and she won’t let that go to waste.
When Elliot compliments the tea, Destiny brightens again, this time without it being a mask. “I have the in with Antje, our beekeeper.” Which explains the honey. “She always gives me the best of the best.” Here she is, happily divulging her secrets. “I also get whatever good stuff I can get from Ms Gordon. Right now, it’s raspberry leaves. Sometimes it’s mint.”
Then she shakes her head at Elliot’s humor. “No, nobody else is gonna give you tea for this.” She pauses, then tilts her head, considering. “Well, maybe, but it’ll be hit and miss. Hopefully everyone just stays safer.” A sly smile crosses her face, conspiratorially, “And that you don’t find ways to tip people overboard just so you can have some tea.”
A snort of laughter follows that, followed by a quiet finger combing of her wet hair that seems to be only slightly self-conscious. “There should be a good joke in here about Boston and tea, but I think it might’ve fallen into the drink with me.”
“How’s your Boston doing?” Elliot asks without a hint of seriousness. “I’m assuming the one here was at the old sea level too? It must be so much easier to navigate now.”
Destiny laughs nervously. “I spent a couple years in… Braintree? Cambridge?” She shakes her head. “Something like that. It doesn’t really matter what it was called, right?” Her shoulders hunch a little bit, mouth skewing to one side in her sheepish uncertainty. “It’s all underwater,” she confirms. “It’s where the Ark was.” She studies him for recognition.
“I heard there was an Ark here too,” Elliot says less flippantly. “Didn’t know yours was also in Cambridge. Spent six months in ours; wouldn’t recommend it. Thankfully it’s gone now too. If only all the bad memories went with it.”
“Yeah,” Des responds sort of noncommittally at first, then sighs and elaborates. “I lived in ours for three years… Didn’t find anything good there either.” Her lips twitch in a mirthless smile.
Drawing in a deep breath, Destiny puts on that brave, happy face she’s known for again. “But that’s all behind us! I’m here, and it’s much better!” The smile falters once more, giving over to something more awkward this time. “I’m… sorry. This is probably the worst vacation you’ve ever had.” She knows it’s not a vacation. “I’ve seen your world.” One hand waves about her head nebulously. Seen, not been to. “It’s a lot different.”
Elliot smiles at the idea of having left the Ark behind them even though he brought the horror out with him. He waves away any worry about the quality of his current vacation. "It hasn't been so bad really," he says. "Lived rough for plenty of years, before and during the civil war. I can handle the unpleasant aspects. I'm happy to find life here. People living, not just alive. I'm hopeful." Important, as he'll likely never make it home from here.
“Yeah?” Destiny’s expression lightens a bit more. “We try to do right by each other here. I went and sailed around the world late last year, earlier this one. There’s still bad out there, but I saw more good. I think we might finally start to heal. Bring communities back together.” It’s hard to say what the road inland will hold, but that optimism seems to be something she’ll clutch to her chest. “I’m kind of excited to see Anchor. We stopped at the Aleutian Islands on our way to Japan, but I didn’t get to see the mainland Alaska.”
"I love a good community," Elliot says. "I also love that you don't have money here, I wish I could take that back with me. Capitalism is always a threat in pre-apocalyptic societies. Hopefully Alaska has the communal spirit too, it would be a shame to get there just to have to talk to some asshole about how money means something now that it's backed with gold bullion again or some such nonsense." He drains a fair amount of tea now that it's temperate, enjoying it thoroughly.
Destiny grins faintly. “I don’t even remember what it was like to need to earn money, rather than barter.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I was just a teenager when the floods came.” There’s almost some sheepishness at that admission, hidden behind the rim of her mug as she swallows down some more tea. “Never had a job before. Salvaging with Jimmy was my first real gig. I’m mostly a supply runner now.”
The grin morphs into a smile, a bright thing. “This’ll be just like that. Just overland instead of on the sea. Goodnews Island still dealt in trades, so I’m sure Anchor can’t be that much different, right?”
Elliot smiles as well. "We can hope," he says.