Sounsyy wore a hard expression throughout Ryanti's explanation. Her eyes were narrowed and ears lowered. It was not what she wanted to hear - excuses, she believed. An organization built in secrecy would not be strangers to lies. An operative who made no noise in his passing could only be trusted to speak when necessary to save his hide. Despite this, Sounsyy found that her gut believed him, even if her head had not come around entirely.
Ryanti handed her the small note, which she took and examined. Her reading was painfully slow, having only struggled to become literate later in life. But the words Limsa Lominsan caught her eye, and she started from there. After several moments, she handed the note back to the young Miqo'te having only read a few lines, but acted as if she had read the entire thing. His explanation was... logical.
"Forgive me," she said, in reference to her accusations against Ryanti's motives, as the man leaned against the door to the private quarters, "But Nymeia is always silent. Her lips move without sound, speaking words spelling inevitability, regardless of yer action or inaction. It is only too late that one hears what Her voice had said moons before."
Her words sounded harsh against the Goddess of Fate. She looked away from Ryanti, down the hallway to the bunk bay where her crew slept soundly. Though she looked in that direction, her gaze seemed far off, removed, as if a memory had whisked her away upon the sea breeze. Berasaem passed a brief glance at the two Miqo'te, then returned her eyes forwards. Her hands perched upon her axe and she shifted her weight to a new leg.
Sounsyy looked back, returning from her far off dreamscape, a few moments after Ryanti mentioned her hand. She looked at him blankly, then held up her hand as if to help recall the finger was severed now. She shook her head in what might have been an embarrassed fashion. She sounded much calmer now as she spoke, "What happened to my hand is no fault of yers. Sister Fate's perhaps. Trusting to easily. Carelessness. But not yeh. Like all things, it will heal in time and with rest. Go. Yeh should get some shuteye while the Seas are calm. Tomorrow we shall see which of yeh brought yer sea legs aboard."
Sounsyy's serious expression curled upwards into the barest motion passable for a smile. Sounsyy wore a well worn face. The kind of machine that was worked constantly until its performance slowly began to falter and then one day stopped altogether. So it appeared to be with the Captain. Her marble face worn so that expressions seemed a shadow of what they may have once been. She nodded to Berasaem, who moved between the two Miqo'te to get to the door's lock. She placed the key inside, giving Ryanti enough time to stand upon his own two feet before opening the door to the dark room beyond.
"You may not know why yer team were chosen, but I know why I were. My crew will do what must needs be done, but we will see yer mission through. I have already told Sixteen this, but I thought yeh should know."
Sounsyy turned and began making long strides across the bunk bay to the hallway beyond. The steady clack of her boots against the oak floors drifted off until the darkened hallways obscured her retreating form from view. Berasaem motioned wordlessly to Ryanti that he should retire, after which, she closed and locked the door and took a seat against the wall opposite that room. Her bardiche hung across her lap like a faithful, old dog. Much of the earlier bustle of launching the Roehmerl had now died down, leaving the gundeck in gentle quiet, disturbed only by the ambient noises of the Merlthor. A woman snored softly in the bay. The oak creaked from no discernible direction or location. The sea breeze exhaling against the portholes in the ship, covered by wooden shutters. It was as if the Navigator whispered in the night - something that separated this Goddess from Nymeia.
Sounsyy made her way back through the ship to the aft stairs closest to her cabin. Cwaenlona had pulled the drawsheet closed around one of the infirmary cots after her gardening duties had been completed. All was silent at the stern, apart from the clack of Sounsyy's boots as she made her way up the stairs. When she reached the main deck, she found the sea breeze was gentler than before, though strong enough to keep the Roehmerl's crimson sails full. A quick glance revealed four hands on the main and fore decks. A Midlander woman in leather balanced upon the bowsprit, folding the jib into the forestay. A shirtless Roegadyn male leaned against the gunwale. His eyes closed, but his hand rested on a deep-sea fishing pole at his side. The tip was still, only bobbing occasionally in the waters below.
P'welro had since retired and was nowhere to be seen on deck, so Sounsyy made her way up the curled staircase to the helm. The Elezen helmswoman, Marjanie, handled the massive wheel with the kind of grace that attested to her experience. Her shoulders were relaxed, her feet shoulder-width apart, both hands gripping the spokes loosely - allowing the pull of the current to inform her movements. She turned her head towards Sounsyy as she crested the steps and nodded in acknowledgement.
Sounsyy said nothing, so Marjanie spoke for her, "The tide goes out from Vylbrand at this hour. There will be choppy waters as we move north through the Merlthor."
The captain nodded, "They always are. Keep Her steady, Marjanie. We don't want to be cleaning our guest's vomit tomorrow."
Marjanie chuckled, but made no promises as Sounsyy knew she couldn't. The captain patted her arm and made her way across the poop deck to the stern. Here she folded her arms upon the gunwale and leaned her head out over the side. Down below the water churned with foam around the rudder, leaving a grand wake behind the ship. The bubbling water and waves slapping against the outer hull drowned out Sounsyy's senses, allowing her some measure of peace. The long journey had only just begun and already the captain felt wearied by the politics of it.
Having no other recourse, she resigned herself to sleep. She tore herself away from the roiling waves and down the stairs to her cabin. She made her way inside, the scented candle on her desk burned low. She knew the artifact was gone, but she couldn't help but eye the place where Jonathan had revealed it. It was as if its presence lingered in the room. So Sounsyy made her way to her vanity, to the opened wine bottle that had been their toast. She uncorked it again and tipped the bottle into her mouth, her lips around the bottles head. She dragged on the contents, slow and savoring, like one might inhale smoke or a fish might take in water. Several more pulls and she began to feel her mind saturating with drink, her fingers and lips tingled, and the pain across her body ebbed ever so slightly away like the foam drifting lazily past the rudder.
Sounsyy extinguished the candles in her cabin and undressed in the dark. Her armor fell away until nothing covered her but a pair of black leggings and her bandages. She pulled her bandaged hand across her bare chest, where three other square bandages decorated her right clavicle. These wounds were the freshest of the canvas of injuries that painted Sounsyy's pale skin in the moonlight. Another sup of the wine from her right hand, and the warmth washed across her core, sizzling away the dull ache of another day.
With a groan, Sounsyy settled into her armchair. She placed the half-empty wine bottle cautiously on her desk, then curled her bare feet up into the armchair. She laid her head upon the left arm, closing her eyes, and burying her nose into the worn cushioning. Her toes curled around the opposite arm and in only a few minutes, the captain had eased into a shallow, troubled sleep.
Ryanti handed her the small note, which she took and examined. Her reading was painfully slow, having only struggled to become literate later in life. But the words Limsa Lominsan caught her eye, and she started from there. After several moments, she handed the note back to the young Miqo'te having only read a few lines, but acted as if she had read the entire thing. His explanation was... logical.
"Forgive me," she said, in reference to her accusations against Ryanti's motives, as the man leaned against the door to the private quarters, "But Nymeia is always silent. Her lips move without sound, speaking words spelling inevitability, regardless of yer action or inaction. It is only too late that one hears what Her voice had said moons before."
Her words sounded harsh against the Goddess of Fate. She looked away from Ryanti, down the hallway to the bunk bay where her crew slept soundly. Though she looked in that direction, her gaze seemed far off, removed, as if a memory had whisked her away upon the sea breeze. Berasaem passed a brief glance at the two Miqo'te, then returned her eyes forwards. Her hands perched upon her axe and she shifted her weight to a new leg.
Sounsyy looked back, returning from her far off dreamscape, a few moments after Ryanti mentioned her hand. She looked at him blankly, then held up her hand as if to help recall the finger was severed now. She shook her head in what might have been an embarrassed fashion. She sounded much calmer now as she spoke, "What happened to my hand is no fault of yers. Sister Fate's perhaps. Trusting to easily. Carelessness. But not yeh. Like all things, it will heal in time and with rest. Go. Yeh should get some shuteye while the Seas are calm. Tomorrow we shall see which of yeh brought yer sea legs aboard."
Sounsyy's serious expression curled upwards into the barest motion passable for a smile. Sounsyy wore a well worn face. The kind of machine that was worked constantly until its performance slowly began to falter and then one day stopped altogether. So it appeared to be with the Captain. Her marble face worn so that expressions seemed a shadow of what they may have once been. She nodded to Berasaem, who moved between the two Miqo'te to get to the door's lock. She placed the key inside, giving Ryanti enough time to stand upon his own two feet before opening the door to the dark room beyond.
"You may not know why yer team were chosen, but I know why I were. My crew will do what must needs be done, but we will see yer mission through. I have already told Sixteen this, but I thought yeh should know."
Sounsyy turned and began making long strides across the bunk bay to the hallway beyond. The steady clack of her boots against the oak floors drifted off until the darkened hallways obscured her retreating form from view. Berasaem motioned wordlessly to Ryanti that he should retire, after which, she closed and locked the door and took a seat against the wall opposite that room. Her bardiche hung across her lap like a faithful, old dog. Much of the earlier bustle of launching the Roehmerl had now died down, leaving the gundeck in gentle quiet, disturbed only by the ambient noises of the Merlthor. A woman snored softly in the bay. The oak creaked from no discernible direction or location. The sea breeze exhaling against the portholes in the ship, covered by wooden shutters. It was as if the Navigator whispered in the night - something that separated this Goddess from Nymeia.
Sounsyy made her way back through the ship to the aft stairs closest to her cabin. Cwaenlona had pulled the drawsheet closed around one of the infirmary cots after her gardening duties had been completed. All was silent at the stern, apart from the clack of Sounsyy's boots as she made her way up the stairs. When she reached the main deck, she found the sea breeze was gentler than before, though strong enough to keep the Roehmerl's crimson sails full. A quick glance revealed four hands on the main and fore decks. A Midlander woman in leather balanced upon the bowsprit, folding the jib into the forestay. A shirtless Roegadyn male leaned against the gunwale. His eyes closed, but his hand rested on a deep-sea fishing pole at his side. The tip was still, only bobbing occasionally in the waters below.
P'welro had since retired and was nowhere to be seen on deck, so Sounsyy made her way up the curled staircase to the helm. The Elezen helmswoman, Marjanie, handled the massive wheel with the kind of grace that attested to her experience. Her shoulders were relaxed, her feet shoulder-width apart, both hands gripping the spokes loosely - allowing the pull of the current to inform her movements. She turned her head towards Sounsyy as she crested the steps and nodded in acknowledgement.
Sounsyy said nothing, so Marjanie spoke for her, "The tide goes out from Vylbrand at this hour. There will be choppy waters as we move north through the Merlthor."
The captain nodded, "They always are. Keep Her steady, Marjanie. We don't want to be cleaning our guest's vomit tomorrow."
Marjanie chuckled, but made no promises as Sounsyy knew she couldn't. The captain patted her arm and made her way across the poop deck to the stern. Here she folded her arms upon the gunwale and leaned her head out over the side. Down below the water churned with foam around the rudder, leaving a grand wake behind the ship. The bubbling water and waves slapping against the outer hull drowned out Sounsyy's senses, allowing her some measure of peace. The long journey had only just begun and already the captain felt wearied by the politics of it.
Having no other recourse, she resigned herself to sleep. She tore herself away from the roiling waves and down the stairs to her cabin. She made her way inside, the scented candle on her desk burned low. She knew the artifact was gone, but she couldn't help but eye the place where Jonathan had revealed it. It was as if its presence lingered in the room. So Sounsyy made her way to her vanity, to the opened wine bottle that had been their toast. She uncorked it again and tipped the bottle into her mouth, her lips around the bottles head. She dragged on the contents, slow and savoring, like one might inhale smoke or a fish might take in water. Several more pulls and she began to feel her mind saturating with drink, her fingers and lips tingled, and the pain across her body ebbed ever so slightly away like the foam drifting lazily past the rudder.
Sounsyy extinguished the candles in her cabin and undressed in the dark. Her armor fell away until nothing covered her but a pair of black leggings and her bandages. She pulled her bandaged hand across her bare chest, where three other square bandages decorated her right clavicle. These wounds were the freshest of the canvas of injuries that painted Sounsyy's pale skin in the moonlight. Another sup of the wine from her right hand, and the warmth washed across her core, sizzling away the dull ache of another day.
With a groan, Sounsyy settled into her armchair. She placed the half-empty wine bottle cautiously on her desk, then curled her bare feet up into the armchair. She laid her head upon the left arm, closing her eyes, and burying her nose into the worn cushioning. Her toes curled around the opposite arm and in only a few minutes, the captain had eased into a shallow, troubled sleep.