i must down to the sea again
I hope LJ does not make people leave with its stupidity. Then I would be sad. Or haunt all of you. Bwahahaha!
Still feel sick (mangey?) but I'm going to the beach tomorrow. I don't know how the two are connected but I wanted to mention that.
Decided an alternate title for PotC:AWE could have been How Barbossa Got His Groove Back.
ANYhoodle. Origific that I started three months ago and still only have half of the story done with. Part of a longer four-part project with _wurlitzer, who is my love. I write, she draws, we are happy *grins* Maybe I can convince to post some of the art from it some day *pokes* Posting original stuff makes me incredibly nervous so any feedback would make me a very happy fey =)
Title: Selkie Story (aka there is no title yet)
Fandom: Original
Disclaimer: Ours. Ours ours ours.
AN: reeeeead meeeeeeeeeeee reeeeeead meeeeeeeeeeeee
Summary: He found her skin by the harbor shore...
Selkie Story
He found her skin by the harbor shore.
Smooth and thin, no more protection than the spring dress of a girl or the pale freckled skin of his own arm. The tide was still leaving in its own slow way, waves carefully-so as not to disturb-lapped the edges of silver-grey lining, dirt and stones and kelp in a tangle all around. Like a fisherman’s net, he thought, but more natural and archaic.
Raw and beautiful.
He held it in one hand.
A glance around revealed nothing, no ripples upon calming waters or bare footprints in soft earth, everything so perfectly normal as the moon changed its course once again.
Just the skin.
Only that.
Jasper folded it neatly and, with one last pause and hopeful look about, began to retrace his own path up the shoreline. There was mud on the soles of his worn sneakers, sinking into the ground the longer he stood still, and wet sand clinging to the hem of stonewashed jeans, already ragged from months of wear. The stones separating land from sea were green-tinged and just past the highest point the dull yellow of street lamps made its self known, made its self that much brighter in contrast. There was no ladder or steps, just cut-jagged rocks and one lonely but far-off path of dirty sand.
So he clung to his treasure and climbed, shoes scraping and scratching all the way. The skin was cool to touch.
“It’s like water,” he said to himself, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. And it did, a piece of ocean in the palm of his hand, corners brushing his knees every few steps but never once touching ground.
A trail of water followed behind, but he didn’t really notice.
The streets, when he reached them, were nearly empty at this hour and the mass he held could have been a coat, should anyone have passed and given it a moment’s curious thought. Not that anyone would, around here, for better or worse, and Jasper thought it to be a bittersweet thing.
His cellphone’s ringing startled him back into reality, the Eagles’ “Witchy Woman” cutting into the night typical night sounds. All silence mixed with groans of life and kicked metal, making the interruption seem that much louder and forcing the brunette to scramble in answering the call, not bothering to even check his caller i.d.
“Yello?” he near-barked when his mission was accomplished. Unconsciously, his footsteps quickened their pace.
//Hey man, are you up and around? Some of us are heading down to the Rose and Crown for a round or two. I’ll even by you a pint of that god-awful lager you like if you’ll come.//
Dave. The only one who ever called with some vague determination to get him out more.
“Can’t. Sorry. Something’s kind of come up.”
//At this time of night…morning….whatever? Is it serious? Should I stop by?//
“No, it’s fine. Personal.”
//Good, because I wasn’t going to haul my ass over to your place anyway. Heh.//
“Thanks. So how’s your new girl?” Jasper asked as a common courtesy, watching the asphalt move beneath him, new patterns of chips and cracks trailing there way along his path home. Every now and then, his shadow reappeared to mimic his moves.
He didn’t really care, wasn’t all that interested in the latest addition to Dave’s harem, but it was the friend thing to do and his shadow nodded in agreement at the next streetlight.
//Why do you think I’m going to the pub? Stay single, dear sweet friend, or I’ll be forced to knock some good sense into you.//
“’kay”.
//So What’s so important that you can’t share a toast with your buddies? Watching another cheesy Star Trek marathon, you colossal dork?//
“They’re classic,” Jasper muttered, offended, then shot a look at his burden. “And I think I’ll stick to fantasy movies tonight.”
//Psht. Fine. Have fun with your elves and goblins and stuff.//
“I’ll try. Bye.”
Phone off and safely tucked away, Jasper sidestepped a questionable puddle and took the final steps towards his apartment building. The front door was cracked and green, spotted from yards away despite its best efforts to remain unnoticed, misty glass framing it as though it were a source of pride. In all actuality, the door needed to be hit at full force before it would budge, the wood swelling in the foggy sea-breeze air and summer heat.
Nearly bruising his shoulder, the young man fought his way into his own home, making as little noise as possible but still managing to awaken the first apartment’s yippy dog. His nose wrinkled at the slightly sour smell of the entryway, mysterious in origin though possibly a result of the faded, curling yellow wallpaper that had once been a perfect pristine white.
Taking the steps two at a time, Jasper avoided the fourth step after the second landing. Trained by time and experience, he knew the slightest of pressure would make it loudly protest such abuse as if that was not what it was made for. Grinning smugly to himself for his victory over hardware, Jasper opened his own door with an amused bounce to his stride and shuffled into his home sweet home, plastic beaded curtain clinking closed behind him.
“Hey, Caddy,” he said and on cue his cat came sneaking out of hiding, bright yellow eyes shining from beneath the worn leather sofa. The sofa that, over time, had suffered the brunt of said cat’s scratching needs.
The black kitten slowly stretched, playfully clawing at the hardwood floor before padding on to investigate the smell of saltwater and fish. Pink nose twitching, Caddy prepared to pounce.
“Nu-uh,” Jasper scolded, picking the skin up and away at the last second. A disgruntled feline landed a foot away from its intended target. “This isn’t a chew toy. This,” he said with certainty, “is a treasure.”
Caddy looked doubtfully up at him.
“Oh hush,” was the only reply to such a look. Cats. Such attitude in such a small body.
Leaving her to her own catty business, the man went to his own room, ignoring the bills on the side table and the dirty clothes on the floor. Drawings and paintings and molded figures lined the surface of his apartment, never returning much of the effort he put into creating them. Only enough to get by own, a survival of the barest and most sincere sense.
There, though, in the corner of his be-postered bedroom, was his grandfather’s old trunk. Faded around the now wrinkled corners and blackened brass locks holding time within. It was all he had left now of the old man, a regular sailor with an ever-black beard and a firm handshake.
Everything important, every worthwhile fact he knew, had come from a man who had never graduated from any school.
There was nothing inside of it now, but at the time of its most usefulness it had been his grandfather’s life for months on end. Carefully opening the chest, Jasper peered into the lined space, waving off the stale air that escaped confinement. There were marks on the inside, charms and carved names from a life at sea, upon wave after wave and tide after tide.
And so he laid the silver skin inside as though it were gold from the shores of richer lands.
“Sleep well,” he told it as he closed the lid and slid a lock back into place.
Safe, protected, it once held a man’s life.
There was something scratching at his door, along the walls of his hall, with a sound of desperation and haste.
Blinking awake with a groan, Jasper tossed his favorite pillow off of his face. Sheets had tangled about his legs somehow, a cheap cotton trap, but that was dealt with with a few twists and kicks, until the enemy was kicked completely off his bed.
Stepping down from his nest, he muttered “Damn Cad” with all the feeling he could muster at such an ungodly hour.
A hiss and a claw at his ankle startled him, a yelp escaping his mouth before he could stop it.
“Sonuva-”
The raking sound had abruptly stopped and faltering steps took its place. Beaded curtains rattled, another testament to some intruder lurking in his slovenly haven. Jasper raced out of his room and after the sound, grateful for the boxers he had opted to keep on, and cursed as his bare feet squeaked along the floor in protest.
A trail of water led his way.
“This is insane,” Jasper told himself as he followed his unusual map. “It could be a burglar. A killer burglar with a crowbar and a faulty bottle of Poland Springs.”
His foot slipped in one puddle and he crashed into a wall face-first, palms pressed flat in a useless attempt to regain balance.
“Curses,” he yelped by way of cursing and hastened to make up for lost time. Killer burglar or not. The brunette made a job through his living room, wondering at the fact that his front door was still firmly shut. He didn’t remember hearing it open, never mind close.
A cursory glance around the room revealed nothing. No sound, no shadows, not a thing out of place as dull moonlight filtered through a window. Maybe it had been nothing, the young man reasoned. Maybe he had been half-asleep and too eager to make something out of nothing. Sea tales and fish-wives out loud city noises, common as the shouts that sometimes disturbed the night silence.
Jasper turned and the light shone on sparse droplets, tiny pearls that were easily wiped away with one swipe of his foot.
The water trail continued its path, seeping under the door.
A harsh grinding sound of wood on wood and a cry of surprised panic erupted from the other side and Jasper knew. Knew everything was as few thought and only some still dreamed of. Grasped the worn handle and tore down the stairs while gasping in desperate gulps of air.
The front door was closed, a single tear in the wood testament to some other desperate run.
“You’re afraid,” he coughed, just before the cooling night air hit him. The road was rough and cold beneath bare feet, his chest felt as though contracting painfully with every breeze off the ocean. “It doesn’t have to be so cold out,” Jasper added, which seemed an odd thing to say but made sense with no other souls to hear it.
Yet something whispered cold from somewhere in the dark.
Shaking away thoughts and hugging himself for a brief moment, Jasper moved. He didn’t need any signs to follow or markings to trace. His feet led him to where he wanted to be-needed to be-until asphalt turned to stone and stone to sand.
High tide. Waves crashed against the shore, taking parts of the beach with them but always replacing what they took. The sound was soothing and dangerous, like a trance to lure you in. Jasper felt himself fall victim, arms hanging loosely by his sides as he took unsteady steps towards the open sea.
The sand was soft beneath his feet, save for a stray shell.
The smell of salt water might have stung, had he not welcomed it.
He blinked grey eyes once, twice, and then she was standing there.
Small and slender, she stood within the waves and they seemed to curl around her in a possessive caress, disappearing beneath the folds of her course dress. Her heart-shaped face was half-hidden by hair, whipped about in a liquid manner by a wind that seemed to pick up as he watched her.
Seal-black eyes stared through the veil, watching patiently as the man took three unsteady steps closer.
Jasper almost reached out. Instead he stood, one hand curled against his chest. “It was yours, wasn’t it? Your skin?”
She tilted her head to the side. Black hair was thrown carelessly aside by the air, moonlight picking up stray highlights of green. A perfect face, both hard and soft in expression.
Something other than human.
“Mine own,” she whispered, voice rough.
Nodding slowly, as if only coming to understand, Jasper held out a hand. Cold damp skin pressed against his calloused palm. He tugged her from her position, ankle-deep in sand and tide, and it seemed like an unwilling parting as she moved to dryer land.
“You can come with me, if you want. For a while. You’ll be safe and can have my room. I don’t mind. I…you can come,” Jasper repeated, looking earnest and hopeful. “If you want.”
She just smiled, an odd pulling of thin lips. He shuddered as two row of sharp teeth were exposed but cupped a hand against her cheek.
Her skin felt like silk. The same as that treasure locked up in his room.
“You’ll stay with me. But, what shall I call you?” Jasper asked, shaking curls away from his face. She mimicked the action. “Do you have a name?”
Her odd features twisted into a look of fleeting confusion. “No name of my own.”
“I’m sorry,” he said and felt, though she didn’t look as if she minded in the slightest. He thought of stories, fairy tales and warnings and lessons taught. There one woman whose name stood out, connected to man and sea.
“Magdalene. You’re new name is Magdalene.”
Black eyes faded to harbor-green.
She followed him home, the hem of her dress still wet.
Still feel sick (mangey?) but I'm going to the beach tomorrow. I don't know how the two are connected but I wanted to mention that.
Decided an alternate title for PotC:AWE could have been How Barbossa Got His Groove Back.
ANYhoodle. Origific that I started three months ago and still only have half of the story done with. Part of a longer four-part project with _wurlitzer, who is my love. I write, she draws, we are happy *grins* Maybe I can convince to post some of the art from it some day *pokes* Posting original stuff makes me incredibly nervous so any feedback would make me a very happy fey =)
Title: Selkie Story (aka there is no title yet)
Fandom: Original
Disclaimer: Ours. Ours ours ours.
AN: reeeeead meeeeeeeeeeee reeeeeead meeeeeeeeeeeee
Summary: He found her skin by the harbor shore...
Selkie Story
He found her skin by the harbor shore.
Smooth and thin, no more protection than the spring dress of a girl or the pale freckled skin of his own arm. The tide was still leaving in its own slow way, waves carefully-so as not to disturb-lapped the edges of silver-grey lining, dirt and stones and kelp in a tangle all around. Like a fisherman’s net, he thought, but more natural and archaic.
Raw and beautiful.
He held it in one hand.
A glance around revealed nothing, no ripples upon calming waters or bare footprints in soft earth, everything so perfectly normal as the moon changed its course once again.
Just the skin.
Only that.
Jasper folded it neatly and, with one last pause and hopeful look about, began to retrace his own path up the shoreline. There was mud on the soles of his worn sneakers, sinking into the ground the longer he stood still, and wet sand clinging to the hem of stonewashed jeans, already ragged from months of wear. The stones separating land from sea were green-tinged and just past the highest point the dull yellow of street lamps made its self known, made its self that much brighter in contrast. There was no ladder or steps, just cut-jagged rocks and one lonely but far-off path of dirty sand.
So he clung to his treasure and climbed, shoes scraping and scratching all the way. The skin was cool to touch.
“It’s like water,” he said to himself, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. And it did, a piece of ocean in the palm of his hand, corners brushing his knees every few steps but never once touching ground.
A trail of water followed behind, but he didn’t really notice.
The streets, when he reached them, were nearly empty at this hour and the mass he held could have been a coat, should anyone have passed and given it a moment’s curious thought. Not that anyone would, around here, for better or worse, and Jasper thought it to be a bittersweet thing.
His cellphone’s ringing startled him back into reality, the Eagles’ “Witchy Woman” cutting into the night typical night sounds. All silence mixed with groans of life and kicked metal, making the interruption seem that much louder and forcing the brunette to scramble in answering the call, not bothering to even check his caller i.d.
“Yello?” he near-barked when his mission was accomplished. Unconsciously, his footsteps quickened their pace.
//Hey man, are you up and around? Some of us are heading down to the Rose and Crown for a round or two. I’ll even by you a pint of that god-awful lager you like if you’ll come.//
Dave. The only one who ever called with some vague determination to get him out more.
“Can’t. Sorry. Something’s kind of come up.”
//At this time of night…morning….whatever? Is it serious? Should I stop by?//
“No, it’s fine. Personal.”
//Good, because I wasn’t going to haul my ass over to your place anyway. Heh.//
“Thanks. So how’s your new girl?” Jasper asked as a common courtesy, watching the asphalt move beneath him, new patterns of chips and cracks trailing there way along his path home. Every now and then, his shadow reappeared to mimic his moves.
He didn’t really care, wasn’t all that interested in the latest addition to Dave’s harem, but it was the friend thing to do and his shadow nodded in agreement at the next streetlight.
//Why do you think I’m going to the pub? Stay single, dear sweet friend, or I’ll be forced to knock some good sense into you.//
“’kay”.
//So What’s so important that you can’t share a toast with your buddies? Watching another cheesy Star Trek marathon, you colossal dork?//
“They’re classic,” Jasper muttered, offended, then shot a look at his burden. “And I think I’ll stick to fantasy movies tonight.”
//Psht. Fine. Have fun with your elves and goblins and stuff.//
“I’ll try. Bye.”
Phone off and safely tucked away, Jasper sidestepped a questionable puddle and took the final steps towards his apartment building. The front door was cracked and green, spotted from yards away despite its best efforts to remain unnoticed, misty glass framing it as though it were a source of pride. In all actuality, the door needed to be hit at full force before it would budge, the wood swelling in the foggy sea-breeze air and summer heat.
Nearly bruising his shoulder, the young man fought his way into his own home, making as little noise as possible but still managing to awaken the first apartment’s yippy dog. His nose wrinkled at the slightly sour smell of the entryway, mysterious in origin though possibly a result of the faded, curling yellow wallpaper that had once been a perfect pristine white.
Taking the steps two at a time, Jasper avoided the fourth step after the second landing. Trained by time and experience, he knew the slightest of pressure would make it loudly protest such abuse as if that was not what it was made for. Grinning smugly to himself for his victory over hardware, Jasper opened his own door with an amused bounce to his stride and shuffled into his home sweet home, plastic beaded curtain clinking closed behind him.
“Hey, Caddy,” he said and on cue his cat came sneaking out of hiding, bright yellow eyes shining from beneath the worn leather sofa. The sofa that, over time, had suffered the brunt of said cat’s scratching needs.
The black kitten slowly stretched, playfully clawing at the hardwood floor before padding on to investigate the smell of saltwater and fish. Pink nose twitching, Caddy prepared to pounce.
“Nu-uh,” Jasper scolded, picking the skin up and away at the last second. A disgruntled feline landed a foot away from its intended target. “This isn’t a chew toy. This,” he said with certainty, “is a treasure.”
Caddy looked doubtfully up at him.
“Oh hush,” was the only reply to such a look. Cats. Such attitude in such a small body.
Leaving her to her own catty business, the man went to his own room, ignoring the bills on the side table and the dirty clothes on the floor. Drawings and paintings and molded figures lined the surface of his apartment, never returning much of the effort he put into creating them. Only enough to get by own, a survival of the barest and most sincere sense.
There, though, in the corner of his be-postered bedroom, was his grandfather’s old trunk. Faded around the now wrinkled corners and blackened brass locks holding time within. It was all he had left now of the old man, a regular sailor with an ever-black beard and a firm handshake.
Everything important, every worthwhile fact he knew, had come from a man who had never graduated from any school.
There was nothing inside of it now, but at the time of its most usefulness it had been his grandfather’s life for months on end. Carefully opening the chest, Jasper peered into the lined space, waving off the stale air that escaped confinement. There were marks on the inside, charms and carved names from a life at sea, upon wave after wave and tide after tide.
And so he laid the silver skin inside as though it were gold from the shores of richer lands.
“Sleep well,” he told it as he closed the lid and slid a lock back into place.
Safe, protected, it once held a man’s life.
There was something scratching at his door, along the walls of his hall, with a sound of desperation and haste.
Blinking awake with a groan, Jasper tossed his favorite pillow off of his face. Sheets had tangled about his legs somehow, a cheap cotton trap, but that was dealt with with a few twists and kicks, until the enemy was kicked completely off his bed.
Stepping down from his nest, he muttered “Damn Cad” with all the feeling he could muster at such an ungodly hour.
A hiss and a claw at his ankle startled him, a yelp escaping his mouth before he could stop it.
“Sonuva-”
The raking sound had abruptly stopped and faltering steps took its place. Beaded curtains rattled, another testament to some intruder lurking in his slovenly haven. Jasper raced out of his room and after the sound, grateful for the boxers he had opted to keep on, and cursed as his bare feet squeaked along the floor in protest.
A trail of water led his way.
“This is insane,” Jasper told himself as he followed his unusual map. “It could be a burglar. A killer burglar with a crowbar and a faulty bottle of Poland Springs.”
His foot slipped in one puddle and he crashed into a wall face-first, palms pressed flat in a useless attempt to regain balance.
“Curses,” he yelped by way of cursing and hastened to make up for lost time. Killer burglar or not. The brunette made a job through his living room, wondering at the fact that his front door was still firmly shut. He didn’t remember hearing it open, never mind close.
A cursory glance around the room revealed nothing. No sound, no shadows, not a thing out of place as dull moonlight filtered through a window. Maybe it had been nothing, the young man reasoned. Maybe he had been half-asleep and too eager to make something out of nothing. Sea tales and fish-wives out loud city noises, common as the shouts that sometimes disturbed the night silence.
Jasper turned and the light shone on sparse droplets, tiny pearls that were easily wiped away with one swipe of his foot.
The water trail continued its path, seeping under the door.
A harsh grinding sound of wood on wood and a cry of surprised panic erupted from the other side and Jasper knew. Knew everything was as few thought and only some still dreamed of. Grasped the worn handle and tore down the stairs while gasping in desperate gulps of air.
The front door was closed, a single tear in the wood testament to some other desperate run.
“You’re afraid,” he coughed, just before the cooling night air hit him. The road was rough and cold beneath bare feet, his chest felt as though contracting painfully with every breeze off the ocean. “It doesn’t have to be so cold out,” Jasper added, which seemed an odd thing to say but made sense with no other souls to hear it.
Yet something whispered cold from somewhere in the dark.
Shaking away thoughts and hugging himself for a brief moment, Jasper moved. He didn’t need any signs to follow or markings to trace. His feet led him to where he wanted to be-needed to be-until asphalt turned to stone and stone to sand.
High tide. Waves crashed against the shore, taking parts of the beach with them but always replacing what they took. The sound was soothing and dangerous, like a trance to lure you in. Jasper felt himself fall victim, arms hanging loosely by his sides as he took unsteady steps towards the open sea.
The sand was soft beneath his feet, save for a stray shell.
The smell of salt water might have stung, had he not welcomed it.
He blinked grey eyes once, twice, and then she was standing there.
Small and slender, she stood within the waves and they seemed to curl around her in a possessive caress, disappearing beneath the folds of her course dress. Her heart-shaped face was half-hidden by hair, whipped about in a liquid manner by a wind that seemed to pick up as he watched her.
Seal-black eyes stared through the veil, watching patiently as the man took three unsteady steps closer.
Jasper almost reached out. Instead he stood, one hand curled against his chest. “It was yours, wasn’t it? Your skin?”
She tilted her head to the side. Black hair was thrown carelessly aside by the air, moonlight picking up stray highlights of green. A perfect face, both hard and soft in expression.
Something other than human.
“Mine own,” she whispered, voice rough.
Nodding slowly, as if only coming to understand, Jasper held out a hand. Cold damp skin pressed against his calloused palm. He tugged her from her position, ankle-deep in sand and tide, and it seemed like an unwilling parting as she moved to dryer land.
“You can come with me, if you want. For a while. You’ll be safe and can have my room. I don’t mind. I…you can come,” Jasper repeated, looking earnest and hopeful. “If you want.”
She just smiled, an odd pulling of thin lips. He shuddered as two row of sharp teeth were exposed but cupped a hand against her cheek.
Her skin felt like silk. The same as that treasure locked up in his room.
“You’ll stay with me. But, what shall I call you?” Jasper asked, shaking curls away from his face. She mimicked the action. “Do you have a name?”
Her odd features twisted into a look of fleeting confusion. “No name of my own.”
“I’m sorry,” he said and felt, though she didn’t look as if she minded in the slightest. He thought of stories, fairy tales and warnings and lessons taught. There one woman whose name stood out, connected to man and sea.
“Magdalene. You’re new name is Magdalene.”
Black eyes faded to harbor-green.
She followed him home, the hem of her dress still wet.