50th Vhalar 722
Scalvoris Docks - around mid-trial
Zarena was saying something. She had been talking excessively which Pyrre had learnt over the seasons meant she was very interested in whatever the topic of conversation was yet his own mind was elsewhere. The swifter speech, although not unpleasant, was too much of a challenge for the Biqaj to follow, so he didn’t. Perhaps he should have. He usually would have but he was feeling more off than usual.
Instead, his attention was off to the north - to the sea, which should have not been a surprise to anyone who knew him. He could just barely make out the top sail of a tall ship -
-“Biqaj?”
Zarena’s voice sliced cleanly through his murky, muted thoughts like a freshly sharpened knife. The word choice was spoken with her usual derision when she referred to him as such, pointed and dipped in venom.
He swiftly diverted his attention back to her, head turning in an exaggerated fashion as he asked, “Yoa wha?” His dark brows raised in question as he oversold his confusion despite knowing full well it would do him no good to play dumb.
The scoff he expected came, as did the eye roll.
“I was talking about the University. Opportunities?” Her annoyance tinged her words.
“Oh.” Pyrre had not intended to sound so disinterested and he winced inwardly at how jarring the word was. In his defence, he had had his fill of books and libraries and study. The previous day had been enough. It didn’t suit him, being indoors surrounded by tomes and dust and scholars, no matter how much the content interested him.
“And you’re thinking about the Docks.” She cleverly assessed while being visibly unamused.
He rearranged his own features and shrugged as he made a lame attempt to tuck a bit of his hair behind a pointed ear before relaxing back into his crutch.
She continued, amber eyes growing as pointed as her words as she eyed him scrupulously, her arms folding across her chest as the temperature around them dropped from the chill she gave off.
“We’re not sailing back. I’m not sailing back. You know this.”
Pyrre frowned and only shrugged again. He glanced off towards where he knew the sea to be and then swung his face back to view her as he opened his mouth to speak.
She cut him off.
“No,” she hissed icily. Then, after barely a beat, she straightened and added, “Land travel is good for you. You need land legs just as much as you need sea legs.”
His lips shifted into another, deeper frown as his frustration crept in. Nothing felt right for him and that over-land trip they had taken from Alumnd to Scalvoris Town had introduced a new level of discomfort and unease to his already miserable existence.
Defiantly, and more like a cornered animal, he retaliated in his poor Common, Rakahi accent thick as honey, “I go Docks, see. Talk.'' There was more there, unspoken due to the language barrier. Information. Opportunities. Leave me alone. What Zarena could get from the University, he could get from being in the company of dockworkers, shipwrights, sailors and merchants. Surely getting closer to the sea would help him shake this discomfort that seized him since they left Almund.
Usually he would yearn for her approval but, without Ymbre to balance things out and referee their battle of wits, he was exhausted from her company and promptly crutched away, heading north without another word or second glance.
His annoyance grew once he realised she let him leave without trying to get the last word in and it took every shred of energy and willpower he had left to ignore the need to give her one last look. Instead, he allowed his frustration to boil and bubble within him, fueling him as he hobbled through the streets in the direction of the docks.
_______
He had stood just back from and out of the way of the busy thoroughfares of the bustling harbour before him once he had arrived, head tilted back so his gaze sat firmly on the larger ships in the distance and the horizon beyond. Handfuls of bits had passed and the Biqaj had yet to move, stuck in a strange inbetween world of wanting to be out there and feeling disgusted he might entertain such a thought. In that moment, he felt very alone and consumed by the reality that he would never feel right - neither at sea or at land.
Given his appearance - dishevelled and rumpled and relying heavily on the crutch under his right arm, he was largely ignored by the local denizens save for the odd gull that would approach with wary curiosity and some strange flying fluffsScalvuffy] that bumped into his form on occasion before zipping off to hover over a nearby fish carcass. He should have been used to feeling invisible but it only exacerbated his discomfitness.
He wasn’t even sure he had come here to do the very thing Zarena called him out for; part of him thought that being here would make the feeling dissipate. It hadn’t, however, and now he was unsure of how to proceed. He tried to focus on the port sounds - gulls and shouts and shifting of payloads. The creak of wood and sounding of bells. But his restless mind made everything muted. He didn’t even notice the obvious remembrance display a few yards away.
What finally drew him into the present was a confident and firm shout in Rakahi - and not that strange Rakahi mix that he so often heard on the Island. His dark blue eyes sought the source and saw a tall, sturdy looking gentleman with a heavy journal in the crook of one arm and pen in the other. Pyrre could spot a sailor easily enough, and the man had all the trappings of one. Yet he was visibly confident on land and looked to be delegating tasks and ordering a group that had just disembarked from a nearby ketch. Pyrre’s brow narrowed as he studied him, wondering. Not a captain or boatswain. Not a first mate, judging by the interaction between the man and crew.
Harbour Master, perhaps?
A good man to approach for information, Pyrre thought. And Biqaj, too.
And so he waited until the man finished with the crew until he finally hobbled forward to approach him, sticking to Rakahi as he greeted him, “Es’jahHello, I saw you speaking to that crew… are you the harbour master?”
The man turned to face him and Pyrre further saw more signs of his Biqaj heritage now that he was within feet of him - the man’s short hair making the points of his ears more noticeable and the shift in colour of his eyes at the sight of a stranger.
“I am..” The man’s eyes passed over him in a bid to gauge the newcomer before he continued, “Do you need assistance? A ship, perhaps? I don’t recognise you from any crew here.”
Pyrre shook his head, “Ze, no, I’m not from here or part of any crew here. I’m Pyrre, visiting from Almund.” The Biqaj noticed the other man’s eyes shift at the mention of the other city, “I’m new to the island and interested in things here. Maybe interested in finding a ship to get back to Almund.” Part of him, buried down deep, wanted to ask if there were ships needed extra hands but he knew better. Instead, he fell back on flattery, “These docks are a right rajobeauty compared to what I’m used to in Almund.” He offered a lopsided smile but it didn’t reach beyond his lips.
The other man stiffened at what Pyrre said last, face growing stony and dark yet his words remained even, “These docks are new and recently rebuilt.”
There was a hint of gratitude towards the other Biqaj for noticing, but Pyrre didn’t pick up on it. He just sensed there was a story there.
“As for a ship or information, I can certainly help. My name is Erik Ki'Ufnaj.”
Instead, his attention was off to the north - to the sea, which should have not been a surprise to anyone who knew him. He could just barely make out the top sail of a tall ship -
-“Biqaj?”
Zarena’s voice sliced cleanly through his murky, muted thoughts like a freshly sharpened knife. The word choice was spoken with her usual derision when she referred to him as such, pointed and dipped in venom.
He swiftly diverted his attention back to her, head turning in an exaggerated fashion as he asked, “Yoa wha?” His dark brows raised in question as he oversold his confusion despite knowing full well it would do him no good to play dumb.
The scoff he expected came, as did the eye roll.
“I was talking about the University. Opportunities?” Her annoyance tinged her words.
“Oh.” Pyrre had not intended to sound so disinterested and he winced inwardly at how jarring the word was. In his defence, he had had his fill of books and libraries and study. The previous day had been enough. It didn’t suit him, being indoors surrounded by tomes and dust and scholars, no matter how much the content interested him.
“And you’re thinking about the Docks.” She cleverly assessed while being visibly unamused.
He rearranged his own features and shrugged as he made a lame attempt to tuck a bit of his hair behind a pointed ear before relaxing back into his crutch.
She continued, amber eyes growing as pointed as her words as she eyed him scrupulously, her arms folding across her chest as the temperature around them dropped from the chill she gave off.
“We’re not sailing back. I’m not sailing back. You know this.”
Pyrre frowned and only shrugged again. He glanced off towards where he knew the sea to be and then swung his face back to view her as he opened his mouth to speak.
She cut him off.
“No,” she hissed icily. Then, after barely a beat, she straightened and added, “Land travel is good for you. You need land legs just as much as you need sea legs.”
His lips shifted into another, deeper frown as his frustration crept in. Nothing felt right for him and that over-land trip they had taken from Alumnd to Scalvoris Town had introduced a new level of discomfort and unease to his already miserable existence.
Defiantly, and more like a cornered animal, he retaliated in his poor Common, Rakahi accent thick as honey, “I go Docks, see. Talk.'' There was more there, unspoken due to the language barrier. Information. Opportunities. Leave me alone. What Zarena could get from the University, he could get from being in the company of dockworkers, shipwrights, sailors and merchants. Surely getting closer to the sea would help him shake this discomfort that seized him since they left Almund.
Usually he would yearn for her approval but, without Ymbre to balance things out and referee their battle of wits, he was exhausted from her company and promptly crutched away, heading north without another word or second glance.
His annoyance grew once he realised she let him leave without trying to get the last word in and it took every shred of energy and willpower he had left to ignore the need to give her one last look. Instead, he allowed his frustration to boil and bubble within him, fueling him as he hobbled through the streets in the direction of the docks.
_______
He had stood just back from and out of the way of the busy thoroughfares of the bustling harbour before him once he had arrived, head tilted back so his gaze sat firmly on the larger ships in the distance and the horizon beyond. Handfuls of bits had passed and the Biqaj had yet to move, stuck in a strange inbetween world of wanting to be out there and feeling disgusted he might entertain such a thought. In that moment, he felt very alone and consumed by the reality that he would never feel right - neither at sea or at land.
Given his appearance - dishevelled and rumpled and relying heavily on the crutch under his right arm, he was largely ignored by the local denizens save for the odd gull that would approach with wary curiosity and some strange flying fluffsScalvuffy] that bumped into his form on occasion before zipping off to hover over a nearby fish carcass. He should have been used to feeling invisible but it only exacerbated his discomfitness.
He wasn’t even sure he had come here to do the very thing Zarena called him out for; part of him thought that being here would make the feeling dissipate. It hadn’t, however, and now he was unsure of how to proceed. He tried to focus on the port sounds - gulls and shouts and shifting of payloads. The creak of wood and sounding of bells. But his restless mind made everything muted. He didn’t even notice the obvious remembrance display a few yards away.
What finally drew him into the present was a confident and firm shout in Rakahi - and not that strange Rakahi mix that he so often heard on the Island. His dark blue eyes sought the source and saw a tall, sturdy looking gentleman with a heavy journal in the crook of one arm and pen in the other. Pyrre could spot a sailor easily enough, and the man had all the trappings of one. Yet he was visibly confident on land and looked to be delegating tasks and ordering a group that had just disembarked from a nearby ketch. Pyrre’s brow narrowed as he studied him, wondering. Not a captain or boatswain. Not a first mate, judging by the interaction between the man and crew.
Harbour Master, perhaps?
A good man to approach for information, Pyrre thought. And Biqaj, too.
And so he waited until the man finished with the crew until he finally hobbled forward to approach him, sticking to Rakahi as he greeted him, “Es’jahHello, I saw you speaking to that crew… are you the harbour master?”
The man turned to face him and Pyrre further saw more signs of his Biqaj heritage now that he was within feet of him - the man’s short hair making the points of his ears more noticeable and the shift in colour of his eyes at the sight of a stranger.
“I am..” The man’s eyes passed over him in a bid to gauge the newcomer before he continued, “Do you need assistance? A ship, perhaps? I don’t recognise you from any crew here.”
Pyrre shook his head, “Ze, no, I’m not from here or part of any crew here. I’m Pyrre, visiting from Almund.” The Biqaj noticed the other man’s eyes shift at the mention of the other city, “I’m new to the island and interested in things here. Maybe interested in finding a ship to get back to Almund.” Part of him, buried down deep, wanted to ask if there were ships needed extra hands but he knew better. Instead, he fell back on flattery, “These docks are a right rajobeauty compared to what I’m used to in Almund.” He offered a lopsided smile but it didn’t reach beyond his lips.
The other man stiffened at what Pyrre said last, face growing stony and dark yet his words remained even, “These docks are new and recently rebuilt.”
There was a hint of gratitude towards the other Biqaj for noticing, but Pyrre didn’t pick up on it. He just sensed there was a story there.
“As for a ship or information, I can certainly help. My name is Erik Ki'Ufnaj.”
Commonxxx Rakahi
