whisted | for jollyboat: anywhere you go

He doesn't quite fit.

Horatio had known, of course, that he wouldn't. Even if he had managed to make his way onto a ship years ago, everyone would have known he was odd. Perhaps it's for the best that he's clearly just a bit skittish, just a bit uncertain of himself unlike the other young men his age. Perhaps that would distract the human mind from looking to see just why, exactly, this one didn't seem to be quite entirely right.

It was, nonetheless, one thing to know and another thing to live. Being bundled in heavy unfamiliar fabric is surprisingly uncomfortable. The uniform is far more restrictive than the clothing he had forced himself to become accustomed to while hovering around the port. The sensation of being on a boat, despite the familiarity of the sea, is throwing his stomach through something of a loop. He can't shift and change direction. He can't twist along with the waves, comfortable and easy, or cut through below the discomfort of breakers tugging in the wrong direction. It's unnatural, here on a warped version of the surface. It's twisting something uncomfortable in his shoulders, almost dizzying as he tries to find his feet under him.

This is what he wanted, and it doesn't quite fit.

For the most part, feeling his skin in the sack slung over his shoulders is reassuring. His fingers can worry against the familiar softness with each odd rush of discomfort. This, after all, is the back-up plan. This is the fail-safe if everything falls completely to pieces and he needs to throw himself simply back into the sea. This is the piece of himself which will always fit properly, no matter where he is.

That's why it's resting at the top of his sack as he scrambles up properly into the ship. That's why, in the bluster of humanity, the young selkie doesn't notice that his skin has spilled out onto the deck.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

whisted

"That's all right."

Reaching out feels wrong. Crowding closer feels wrong. It's an infinite relief that Archie has the soft fur of his skin to duck close and warm and safe against.

"I promise it is, Archie."

From:

jollyboat

"'ll-- ruin it."

He doesn't just mean with his tears. He can feel every part of himself where SImpson and his touch has been. It feels wrong to have the lingering traces of someone so disgusting anywhere near something that feels this precious.

Edited Date: 2018-02-12 03:57 am (UTC)

From:

whisted

Someone else might have an explanation. Someone else, after all, might know how to turn the human mind in understanding.

For Horatio, it's too simple to explain.

"No."

One hand shifts forward just briefly, to tuck the skin more snugly around the young man's shoulders before falling back again.

From:

jollyboat

That has Archie crying a little harder, the tears rolling into the thick fur and disappearing. The quiet sobs seem to last forever, but it really can't be that long. It's a miracle on top of the many that have already happened that no one has come down to witness this.

In the end, there simply isn't enough of him left that's capable of crying for long. The last few shuddering gasps are quieted against the soft skin. He tries to be delicate about rubbing the last of the tears with the fur.

He can't help but take a long, slow breath, just to properly memorize the scent and feel of the skin, before he's carefully taking it off to give back to Horatio.

"--Thank you."

From:

whisted

There's no clutching to get the skin back. There aren't nerves rushing through Horatio, only infinite trust that there's no deceit in Archie as this piece of himself is returned.

There's also no need to brush the fur over or fret at any of the lingering signs that the young man had been wrapped up in the skin. Horatio folds it lovingly exactly as it is, stowing it away again and securing his sea chest as if nothing in the world had happened.

Except, of course, that it had.

"Sleep. I'll watch."

From:

jollyboat

Horatio acts as though he hasn’t tainted the skin by proximity alone, and Archie doesn’t understand. He steps just a hint closer to the young man— selkie— with curiosity, his arms pulled in close to himself partially to comfort himself, and partially to keep from being a threat.

“W-why—?” He can’t find the words, for a long few moments, “I thought you didn’t really like— people.”

Why is he different, when he’s among the worst?

From:

whisted

"We don't like when they take."

Archie hadn't taken. Archie had, in fact, affirmatively given back. Archie had protected a secret of the sea without expectation of reward.

"So many do." So many men were like Jack Simpson. Horatio's attention flits toward the timbers above them briefly. "But-- not all."

Not Archie.

From:

jollyboat

That almost makes sense. That’s almost something Archie can accept; almost something that he can let tuck against his heart for a time when he can start to accept hearing good things about himself again.

It’s just.

“...Do you know what they mean? All those words he called me.” His gaze drops again, arms squeezing unconsciously tighter; defensive, “There are things to be that are— just as bad as takers, up here. I’m a lot of them.”

From:

whisted

Horatio's shoulders lift slightly--a gesture he's still picking up. It feels less aggressive than a shake of his head.

He doesn't need to know the words. He knows the tone. He's heard that much before.

"I know bad." His gaze stays lifted to the beams above them, brow slightly furrowed. "And I know you."

From:

jollyboat

That earns another soft tremble of Archie’s breath. That has his arms relaxing around himself just a hair.

“I’m a different— kind of bad,” he says softly, but it’s not as certain as it could’ve been, “You’ll see, if you stay. I’m not like— you.”

From:

whisted

"I'll stay."

How could he not? How could he leave for more than a few breaths?

"Because-- you are. Like me."

From:

jollyboat

“How?”

It’s an entirely disbelieving query.

“I’m not— good. I’m not— free. ‘nd I’m certainly not brave.”

All of which Horatio clearly is.

From:

whisted

The huff in Horatio's breath isn't entirely human. It takes a beat to shake his head back into himself.

"Good, and-- brave to keep my secret."

When Simpson was the sort of man it needed to be kept from.

"Will be free. I promise."

From:

jollyboat

He doesn’t know what to do with this gentleness. It has a lump in his throat he has to swallow down. It has him focusing on the danger in that promise.

“What will you— do? Will you be safe?”

From:

whisted

Smiling at Archie has, in the past, revealed slightly too much of the sharp teeth in Horatio's mouth. The brief tugging back of his lips now isn't quite a smile, but the jagged lines hidden there are likely much more readily visible.

"Trust me. Trust-- the sea."

From:

jollyboat

It feels like yet another level of trust, to see that sharp grin. It’s impossible for Archie not to put his faith in him, when so much of Horatio’s has been offered to him.

“...I trust you.”

The sea as a whole hasn’t been kind, but Horatio has.

From:

whisted

The ragged flash of teeth gentle toward an actual little smile. Horatio's fingers flit, not actually reaching out but quietly present for a heartbeat.

"I trust you too. And I promise this, Archie."

Archie surely didn't need to know Jack Simpson's fate to feel the positive effects which would ultimately emanate from it.

From:

jollyboat

“Thank you, Horatio.”

For the gift of that smile. For the brief comfort of his skin. For this promise.

“Just— be careful.”

From:

whisted

What can Horatio do but laugh? It's a low, quiet sort of thing, like the rush of a wave over a pebbled beach.

"Sleep."

Archie should be settled in and protected. Archie should be resting in the knowledge of the promise.

Archie shouldn't meet the mermaids when Horatio steals a moment to brush the water and summon them.

From:

jollyboat

It’s a beautiful laugh. Archie thinks he might have fallen a little bit in love with that laugh. It’s impossible for him to keep from smiling, just briefly.

It makes it so much easier to climb into his hammock after one last “thank you.” It makes his sleep more restful than it’s been in ages.

When he does wake again, he’ll be looking for Horatio first and worry about Simpson second. It’s a nice change.

From:

whisted

For most of the night, Horatio does keep vigil. It's only for a moment that he leaves his self-appointed post, briefly trusting his friend to the protection of a mate who seems every bit as fretful about the pale-haired midshipman.

There's no time to pull on his skin--and no safety in doing so from the ship. It's much easier to simply squeeze himself in beside a gun port, whistling down softly to the waves below.

The mermaids don't tease long, hands like claws digging slightly into the boards of the ship creaking beneath Horatio's feet. There will be time, they know, when he's returned to the waves to properly fuss at their odd little friend, so eager to spend time among men and yet so quick to send one of them into the belly of the deep.

They won't wait for Simpson to be pushed. They don't need to. They aren't quite their siren sisters, but this won't be the first time they've charmed a sailor off his own ship and into their gnashing jaws.

Horatio is safely back in place when Archie wakes, eyes bright with exhaustion but lips pulled back with satisfaction. It's just a matter of keeping space between the midshipmen until the next dusk--and a matter of keeping Archie as far from the rail when dusk comes as he can.

They'll hear the splash, but they won't hear Jack Simpson's screams beneath the waves.

From:

jollyboat

It’s reassuring, to see that glimmer in Horatio’s eyes. It helps him feel a little safer, for all it’s a dangerous thing to even begin to believe. When he and Horatio can manage to stick close, it’s a relief.

They won’t entirely manage to keep Simpson at bay, but it’s enough to keep things from getting too far. It’s enough to keep Archie breathing easily enough when he reunites with Horatio again.

It doesn’t stop him from whirling at the splash and the shouts. It doesn’t stop him from catching at Horatio’s sleeve, a question in the gesture.

From:

whisted

His fingers catch lightly at Archie's sleeve in response. The shouts will make things quicker, but this still isn't something the other young man should have to see.

The other sailors will say it was a fish--a shark, perhaps, big as a man.

"It's okay." That's all Archie needs to know. "It's okay, Archie."

From:

jollyboat

“How did you—“

But maybe he doesn’t want to know. His fingers linger in Horatio’s sleeve a moment longer.

“He’s— gone?”

From:

whisted

"He's gone."

Horatio could trust the mermaids without looking for himself. He had seen their work before, and the hunger in their eyes when he spoke with them.

Archie doesn't need to see, but he does need to very softly be told, "--not-- pleasantly."

But very, very finally.