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:

jollyboat

He's surprised the young man picks him to ask, though he supposes it makes sense with how lost he seems. Archie tries not to let himself get too pleased by the fact-- He'd been kind, after all.

Still, he can't help the little grin as he bobs his head in a nod.

"Of course! Though I'm afraid you won't have many options-- it's best to keep it in here, and there's precious little in the way of space."

From:

whisted

Proud and wild as his kind always are, there's something uniquely binding about having one's soul handed back without fuss or deception. The act is entirely tethering--not tight and restrictive, but easily felt.

None of that makes the words any easier to hear. Horatio's features aren't terribly mobile, but they seem to fall slightly all the same.

"It's... important. To-- keep it safe."

From:

jollyboat

Oh, he doesn’t like that at all, small though the shift in features is. He worries a little at his bottom lip, the motion a quietly fretful thing.

“It’s just if you keep it anywhere else it’s more likely to be stumbled on by someone else, and I imagine you wouldn’t want that. There’s not much in the way of privacy on a ship, I’m afraid.”

A slight shrug.

“I could— keep it in my sea chest, I suppose. Most of the other midshipmen— like me well enough that they’re like as not to trouble me. But it’d be far better to keep it in your own chest— somewhere in the middle of it, mm? So anyone snooping would think there’s something else far more interesting below it. If you’ve anything you don’t mind possibly losing that looks more precious than it is, I’d put that at the bottom.”

From:

whisted

The rush of fear is brief. This is an offer, not a demand. This is a suggestion, not a trick. Archie had already given his skin back once. There was no reason to think the young man was properly trying to steal it now.

Horatio lets his lips press together briefly, sorting through the suggestions carefully.

"In the middle." He can do that. He can also fish briefly in his pocket to pull out a pocket watch--waterlogged inside, but not visibly worse for the wear--for the other midshipman's inspection. "Will this-- look precious?"

From:

jollyboat

He takes a peek at it, but doesn’t take. He nods after a moment.

“‘t’ll definitely be more interesting than a coat, I think. You ought t’be all right.” A crooked grin, “Just maybe try t’keep it secret that th’coat’s the most important thing and they’ll look for what looks interesting, instead.”

From:

whisted

"Our secret?"

It's easy to trust someone who has already given back a skin and made no effort to take a trinket of some value. It's just that human seem to attach importance to words, even if actions haven't followed them.

"Please?"

From:

jollyboat

"Of course."

He doesn't even miss a beat, bobbing his head instantly.

"I promise. Won't tell a soul."

From:

whisted

The proper smile is brief. The impulse is too strong, the new snagging devotion too deep-seated, for Horatio to stop himself from letting his lips briefly pull back for a flash of slightly too long and too jagged teeth.

"--thank you, Archie."

From:

jollyboat

All Archie knows after seeing that brief glimpse is that he wants to see him smile again. He hopes he gets to.

Horatio will certainly catch sight of Archie’s own, entirely bright smile at the thanks.

“You’re very welcome, Horatio.”

From:

whisted

It's a lovely sort of thing, having a promise. It's a comfortable weight in the middle of his chest.

Hopefully that excuses the way Horatio sticks to the other young man like something of a shadow.

From:

jollyboat

It's excuse enough for Archie. He's absolutely going to explain things as they go along; pointing out this piece of equipment here and that shipmate there. He's absolutely going to be entirely cheery while he does so; an easy enough figure to just trail along behind and learn from.

He'll make sure to pause every now and again to see if Horatio's understood, but doesn't worry about it overly much.

Edited Date: 2018-02-09 03:36 am (UTC)

From:

whisted

Archie is entirely easy to follow. It's a wonderful relief to find he's also apparently the right person to follow. After a stretch, it's even not so difficult to start asking the odd little question, hesitant but genuinely curious.

Some of them are, admittedly, a bit overly simple. Hopefully the clear newness of the environment will hide the oddity.

From:

jollyboat

It is a bit odd, but it doesn’t make Archie suspicious— only curious. He won’t even really miss a beat before answering the questions, the words an easy chatter.

Really, the brightness and comfortable babble will be entirely characteristic of Archie over the next few days. It isn’t at all limited to Horatio, though there’s a particular nature to the way he grins when spending time with the young man.

It will be like a sudden eclipse when Jack Simpson makes an appearance; an absolute sort of darkness and silence too thick for words.

From:

whisted

The difference would have been clear even if Horatio had only seen Archie once before from afar. As someone who had stuck to him for the last few days, it feels as if the sun has crashed abruptly from the sky.

It's bad enough that the new arrival raises the hair on the back of Horatio's neck on his own. It's infinitely worse that he's stolen the sunshine from the ship.

Nothing, of course, could stop him from sticking to Archie's side.

From:

jollyboat

Perhaps it would have been best if something had. Simpson, after all, is going to take the new young man's presence as a threat; an encroachment upon territory he long since had thought claimed. Archie isn't going to be able to breathe enough to protect his new friend beyond falling back into the vile submission he once (and still) used to protect himself.

Once, though-- just once-- when they're on deck and alone enough for a heartbeat, Archie manages to find it in him to manage just a bit more.

"I won't tell him," he murmurs softly; staring out at the dark sea, "I haven't. Promise. But you should-- still make sure you act as though you care more about the watch. He keeps saying he wants to-- take something from you, too."

He's just doing his best to convince Simpson it should only be a thing.

There's more he wants to say. There's the gratitude for sticking by him. The thousands of warnings he wants to make sure are hammered into Horatio's mind. They all disappear when Simpson's voice cuts through the quiet of the night.

"Kennedy. I need you below."

The shudder that passes through Archie isn't from the cold. He doesn't even glance at Horatio as he moves away.

Tries not to bat an eyelash when, later that night, Simpson shifts the coat as he rummages openly through Horatio's sea chest.

From:

whisted

The bitter discomfort, of course, is that Simpson's already taken something.

Archie doesn't belong to anyone, to Horatio's mind, but the complete shutting down is a loss to be mourned. After this faint bit of a glimmer--of a glimpse of the man he found his soul allied to--it stings all the more.

It's impossible not to feel his heart ache while he forces himself through the rest of his watch. It's also impossible to stand still when he's finally sent below and there are hands he doesn't trust passing over his skin.

Most men don't bite when they're in a fit of pique, but Horatio knows the value of sharp teeth on delicate fingers. Simpson's are hardly fragile, but they're still no match for the hard slam of a dangerous jaw.

From:

jollyboat

Archie flinches instantly as Horatio goes on the attack. Simpson swears and drops the coat, blood streaming down his fingers. The hand that isn’t being attacked forms in a fist that goes swinging towards Horatio’s head.

That has Archie stepping forward instantly; uncertain and terrified for his new friend. Simpson spots the movement and aims a snarl at him that stops him in his tracks.

“One more step, boy, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” he threatens, and Archie forgets how to breathe, let alone move.

From:

whisted

Being slammed in the head isn't pleasant. It's still nothing to the rending unpleasantness of having vile hands holding a piece of his soul.

It only takes a staggering step to find his feet. Spitting helps free his mouth from the sourness of the other man's blood, teeth barely a flash in the dimness below deck. For all Horatio has clung to Archie's side, the sounds of other sailors have long since been a piece of his knowledge of men.

"--fuck off him, Simpson."

Archie isn't quite his own skin. The impulse to protect, apparently, hasn't quite been shaken free.

From:

jollyboat

Simpson's scoff is entirely disbelieving.

"And what do you think you can to make me, snotty, when the little bitch lets me do as I damn well please?"

An imperious snap of his fingers calls Archie to his side, and the other midshipman has no choice but to go, his eyes dead and his face pale from a completely inability to breathe properly. Simpson grabs at his queue and tugs, making Archie stumble off-balance but not lose his footing entirely.

"I could whatever the hell I like to him now, with you watching, and he'd let me. A coward's a coward and a whore's a whore and this piece of shit is both."

From:

whisted

Watching Archie move tugs at the oldest piece of Horatio's heart. He's seen this before, after all.

From the safety of the water, he had watched the familiar faces of the lost drift aimlessly behind their captors. Once, when he was younger still, he had caught the hand of a selkie exhaustingly near the end of her life, tugged desperately to bring her home again--and seen that same dead resignation in her quiet eyes.

Archie Kennedy handed him back his skin, and now Archie Kennedy needed saving.

"Archie."

It isn't a demand. It's almost a question, the half-beg for permission he couldn't quite voice.

Simpson was already bleeding.

From:

jollyboat

Archie's eyes, when they meet Horatio's reluctantly, are a little less lost. They're still resigned and so exhausted they're almost blank, but there's more in them than when Simpson speaks to him.

It isn't quite permission in Archie's eyes, but there's the hurt that demands recompense. There's the shame he wants to lay to rest.

There's the fear, and a lot of it is of Simpson, but some of it is for Horatio.

His eyes don't quite get the chance to say not now, not here, because Simpson's hand is shifting from Archie's hair to encircle his neck. The squeeze is a warning, and Archie's gaze drops from Horatio's without a word.

Simpson's smirk is an entirely victorious one that drifts easily into annoyance when the signal bells chime. He squeezes once more at Archie's neck; a little harder this time, and lets go.

"I have the watch," Simpson says, "You'd best not do something you'll regret, Kennedy-- nor you, Hornblower."

One last lingering, possessive touch to Archie's hip. One quick shift to grab a cravat from Horatio's sea chest to wrap around his bloodied hand. One last imperious gaze, and then he's making his way abovedecks.

Archie doesn't entirely seem to have noticed he's left. He stays frozen where he stands; unable to bring himself to look at Horatio.

From:

whisted

There's nothing to press into Archie's hands. There's nothing to take from the vicious creature who brushes away in a storm of violent energy, to give back to the wonderful soul who barely seemed able to move anymore.

Horatio moves in his own silence to dig the disrupted skin from his open sea chest. He unfurls the folds carefully, half-nervously, with his attention flitting now and then over his own shoulder.

It feels safer to step toward Archie with his own soul quietly on offer. He moves haltingly, fingers lifting the heavy winter fur before him, not yet moving to actually touch.

"...Archie."

From:

jollyboat

Archie eyes are quiet again when he looks up. He can't quite meet Horatio's eyes; his gaze briefly there but dropping again to the fur between them as though too exhausted to manage to stay still for long.

"...It's your skin, isn't it?" It's easier to talk about the suspicion he's now confirmed than about anything that's just happened. "Humans don't usually act so protective of fur coats, even if they're from their mothers, nor do they usually bite to protect them. You're a selchidh. My nurse told me of your kind."

The glance he gives Horatio's skin is longing, but not to possess. It's the look of someone who wishes he had such an easy out.

"You should take it, and you should go. He'll only get worse from here on out."

From:

whisted

In anyone else's hands, the fur is simply fur. Another of his kind could snatch it and curl it around them, and nothing would change. This belongs solely to Horatio.

In spite of that, it's oddly easy to surrender for a moment into the custody of the man who had kept his secret under unimaginable hurts.

The skin moves almost in accordance with Horaito's thoughts now, tossed gently to pull around Archie's shoulder before the selkie takes a half-step back. Now isn't the time to embrace and stick close--but now can't possibly be the time for Archie to be utterly alone.

It's an answer, in its own way, to both the question and the advice.

From:

jollyboat

It feels like trust, wrapped around him. It feels like safety. It feels like a promise, like Horatio is going to be here, and Archie doesn't understand.

His fingers catch lightly at the edges of the coat so only so it doesn't fall. His eyes lift to Horatio's at last, now largely full of confusion.

He isn't quite so pale, now. He still doesn't look entirely well, but he looks less like a ghost.