Cresent Sandstorm (4/?)
I didn't realize I never posted this! (And yes, it is as bad as the rest, sorry.) ... Why are my chapters/segments so short, orz.
[Title] Crescent Sandstorm.
[Segment] 4/?.
[Rating] G.
[Word Count] 3923.
There was something about the way the wind felt before a storm that made Ray feel a bit unsettled. It was as if the wind was angry somehow, tasting of cold, dry bitterness and furiously lashing about. The once blue sky had already turned an ominous shade of gray and black, dark storm clouds raging and rallying together. The ripping sound of the sails thrashing in the wind beat against his eardrums, as icy needles of rain began to fall rapidly from the sky. Waves on all sides of the ship were rising and falling with dangerous amounts of speed and power.
Fortunately, Ray had at least some confidence in his balance. The ship’s violent lashing from side to side was rough, but he managed to maintain his balance overall. Up on the deck, he followed after the Mysterious Cloaked Man closely, still a bit unsure of what he could do but went with a willingness to do with what he could. Every one of the crew members were running about in preparation, yelling and urgently shouting some foreign language that Ray could not even begin to fathom the geographical origins of. The man he followed shouted out orders firmly with an extended arm in the direction of the people he called to.
Stopping suddenly, the man turned around to face Ray, expression just as hard and serious as it always was.
“You, Raymond Aldaine! Go help steady the sails!”
Receiving his orders with an affirmative nod, Ray turned and ran towards the sails, just as a strong gust of wind blew a high wave crashing into side of the ship. The impact made him stumble forward a bit, but only sped him towards his position. The men standing about the sail already were frantically pulling ropes and shouting urgently at each other. Though he was not fully sure of the mechanisms of a ship, he had enough common sense to figure out where he could lend a hand. Ignoring the bewildered and dirty looks cast in his direction, Ray reached over and firmly pulled rope nearest to him that the others were struggling with.
It was something like the raging storm of hell, if one could have existed. The waves were violent as demons, tempting and leering with the threat of death. Every other passing second was like another risk for the worst. By and by around him, the stormy sea would rage and every so often another crew member would disappear into the great blue depths. It was not an easy feat even to just stay alive somehow, with the fierce wrath of the sea and the rain beating all about them. Ray was not sure for how many hours he gripped the blistering rope or how many times he dove and slipped across the deck to help where he could or even how long the storm continued to rage and wreak its unholy havoc. He only remembered the redness of his hands from the bite of the rope, the freezing chill of icy sea water dripping from his hair and clothes, and the long-missed glow of sunshine on his face, his old, familiar friend from whom he had spent too much time away from.
He was hazy on the details of it all, only remembering the undying sense of calm he felt afterwards, laying down on the deck with the warm sunlight on his face and the cool breeze gently blowing about him. Feeling the calmness of the elements restored about him, Ray felt at peace with the world again, rejuvenated by a momentary sense of calm he had not felt since long before he left home for France. Just for that moment, he forgot that he was a prisoner of sorts upon some unknown vessel on an unknown voyage. He forgot he had not the slightest idea where he was or where he was heading. He forgot everything and simply remained lost and basking in the sweet, warm glow of the sun over the chilling blue sea.
It was not until a human-shaped shadow shaded his face from the sun did he open his eyes reluctantly to look for the source of the obstruction. He knew his reaction should have been at least a little better in terms of respect and all that upon seeing the Mysterious Cloaked Man (who, by now, was very clearly revealed to be the authority figure on the vessel) standing before him, but he found himself too exhausted, even more exhausted than he had realized, to move any more than vaguely tilting his head in the man’s direction. Although the experience had been exhilarating, albeit life-threatening, it was also extremely tiring-or Ray had simply been too naïve and inexperienced, underestimating the storm as he did.
“You’re still alive,” the man commented in observation, an extremely faint note of surprise in his stony tone.
“Somehow,” Ray answered tiredly, managing a slight sigh before letting his head fall back to where it previously rested on the floor and closing his eyes again. Eyes still closed all the while, he continued to ask in a slightly tiresome but mildly joking manner, “Is this a frequent occurrence of sorts? You know, the overpowering storms and all?”
“It happens,” was the simplistic response, in the same stony manner.
“Guess the actual experience is more like the plotline in my literature than I had expected,” he answered again in a lightly bemused tone. Taking a deep breath of fresh post-storm sea air, Ray re-filled his lungs, making his speech sound a bit more rejuvenated and energetic. “But that was really something. Really.”
It was there he took a brief moment to pause, opening a single eye and cracking a faint smile at the man as if they were old friends than possible kidnapper and kidnapped.
“Not bad for my first time, hmm? Being still alive after it and all that.”
The notion of it all must have been terribly comical, as the cloaked man actually showed a crack in his cold mask of an expression and gave an amused snort at the statement. The turn of events was somewhat pleasing, and somehow Ray was beginning to see the unnamed stranger as some sort of comrade. Whatever suspicions and desolate insecurities he suffered from previously had more or less been flushed out during his week of solitude spent in the confines of the supply cell. He had the adamant feeling that if the strange men had the intention of harming him, they could have done so easily at any point during his incarceration. However, he found himself completely unharmed. Perhaps mentally skewered by dark glares every now and then, but mostly physically unharmed (disregarding bumps and scratches from being confined in the cell full of angular cargo itself).
“You really are a strange one, Raymond Aldaine. Your fearlessness is almost impressive.”
“And you really don’t have to call me by my full name all the time, you know,” Ray responded without missing a beat, still tiredly resting his head against the damp wood. Cracking a slightly wry smile, he continued with his eyes still closed, “We’ve technically spent a week together already. Hasn’t necessarily been the best week, but it was still a week. Or maybe it was even longer.” He paused for a moment to make a vague upward twitch of his shoulders from where he lay, indicating something resembling a shrug of sorts. “And a death-defying storm, to top that all off.”
There was a long period of silence. Perhaps the man was not particularly fond of the idea. Or his jokes were inappropriate, which in a way, they were, again reconsidering the fact that he was brought aboard as a captive.
Ray sighed.
“Just Ray is fine.”
Another long period of silence.
“…Raymond.”
At that, Ray opened his eyes slowly in mild surprise, partly at the fact that the man had actually complied even a little, and partly because he thought he heard a faint (or maybe it was better described as “extremely miniscule”) note of fondness in the man’s voice. Then again, after the loud beating of the waves and the sounds of labor-weary shouts still ringing in his ears, he could also have been hearing things. Well. It would do for now.
“Close enough.”
If he had been let be, Ray was rather sure he could have spent the rest of the morning (and maybe even the rest of the day) simply lying out on the deck like a homeless starfish basking in the sun. Even though the breeze was beginning to feel increasingly icy through his damp clothing (his previously pristine white shirt was now torn and clinging to his chest, and his previously well-tailored pants looked as if they were no longer even fit for a peasant) and chilled skin, he felt completely at ease when reunited with nature. He would not have minded to stay there, really, but he was apparently getting in the way, as he realized people were walking around him all the while muttering and scowling at him as they went.
“Get up,” the cloaked man commanded sternly, a note of stoniness and frigidness returning to his voice.
It was a trend lately; good things never seemed to last as long as they used to. That, and perhaps his habit of lying about on the floor of a busy ship was probably a hindrance to the rest of the crew, as he was told last time.
“Back to the cargo cell?” Ray inquired with a light sigh of resignation, opening his eyes and staring up at the brilliantly blue sky.
Again, there was another lengthy pause, as if the man was contemplating the idea for a moment or reconsidering his options of some sort. It was a strong enough silence to make Ray tilt his head over in the man’s direction and gaze up at him questioningly. It was a motion that may have been too familiar of him to do, but just with their short, vaguely human conversation, Ray felt his confusion, distrust, and fear of the man more or less completely dispel.
“You need a change of clothes,” the man finally answered, turning on his heel to look away from the other man. With a sardonic sounding snort, he continued, “It would be ironically comical to see you die of pneumonia after surviving the Devil’s Storm. Now get up. You’re in the way. Again.”
That was definitely a surprise. Ray had to blink a few times just to reveal his surprise as the information slowly processed fully in his mind. Perhaps surviving in the storm had been some kind of test, and the fact that he had passed somehow was rather remarkable, he thought. But then there was always the likely possibility he was simply over-thinking things again, and the moment he was dressed in dry clothes, he would be stuffed back in the cargo cell like another piece of freight to be filed away.
“Thanks,” Ray began slowly, carefully dragging his wet and sore body to his aching feet. “It is getting a bit cold.”
Once he was upright and on his feet again (albeit wobbly), the man commanded again, “Come.”
And so he went, following the man obediently and again doing his best to ignore the myriad of spiteful glares of contempt-though there may have been a few angry stares of un-admitted respect mixed in there after the endurance he had demonstrated in surviving the raging storm. As he went, another thought occurred to him on a slight whim.
“By the way,” he began thoughtfully and carefully, eyeing the back of the man’s dark, curly haired head, “You know my name-though I’m still not entirely sure as to how or why-but I don’t know yours. I don’t think I can keep referring to you as the Mysterious Cloaked Man in my mind anymore. Not after seeing everyone else on the ship dressed in more or less the same way.”
Although he could not actually see, Ray had the feeling that the man had rolled his eyes at him. It was probably then that Ray figured he should better think through the things he was going to say before actually saying them. He was not particularly making a goal of appearing to be a foolish child making terrible jokes in ill humor, but he was beginning to feel that he was coming off that way to the man, not to mention the other lot of cloaked strangers up on the deck that seemed to vehemently despise him despite having never even exchanged so much as a single word.
It seemed that his question was going to go ignored, as the man silently continued ahead at a steady pace. The atmosphere became rather stale rather quickly, and the only sound that could be heard between them was the faint squeaking of the floorboards beneath their feet. Ray took a moment to wonder if he had somehow done a terrible thing by asking for a name. It made sense to him, but that was just him. Not to mention his constant disregard for his situation was not particularly a benefitting factor either. It was an attempt somehow lightening the situation as a whole, a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. Undeniably, he was still on an unknown vessel with unknown people going to an unknown place. Being overly friendly in such a situation would have seemed like an anomaly to anyone. Ray supposed he really could not blame the man for being irritated, surprised, or even offended. But that was simply the way he tended to act.
“You really don’t know anything at all, do you?” the man asked gruffly, scoffing a bit as he did so. He had stopped walking and held his ground before a narrow wooden door with a painted gold handle. As he reached out to take the handle, he paused for a moment and inclined his head forward in the slightest manner like a sign of irritating resignation.
“Affa.”
Ray halted in his step and tilted his head slightly to the side inquiringly.
“My name,” the man finished emotionlessly, taking hold of the painted, gold door handle and pulling it back.
The door squeaked loudly as it opened, and for a moment, Ray thought he had heard the man-Affa, he had said-say something else under his breath, but the screech of the hinges and the croak of the wood drowned it all out. Nevertheless, he felt content and pleased somehow. While the purpose of his voyage had still yet to have been revealed to him, he was still getting by somehow. And he felt sure that his father would have been proud of him if he knew. His mother even, from wherever she watched him from, must have been protecting him with her thoughts.
His pleasant reverie was swiftly interrupted by the almost painful groaning sound of the heavy door closing behind him again. The horrendous and almost deafening sound made him wince a bit, but he managed to recover himself after a few moments and a shake of his head or two. The room he now stood in seemed a bit different from the rest of the ship-not that he had really seen much of the ship, but its atmosphere in general felt richer somehow. The walls around them were still plain and wooden, but the furniture here and there seemed to be of high quality and of some Eastern origin. The décor about the room was rather stunning, making it rather difficult for Ray to really believe that it was still a part of a ship. There were many things he could not even begin to fathom the uses of. Oddly shaped trinklets and strangely ornate furniture pieces dotted every corner of the room, looking like a quickly compiled collection after some rewarding treasure hunt. For a second or so, Ray’s imagination explored the possibility of this being some sort of pirate vessel he had heard rumors of. But the idea had to be rather swiftly dismissed as he reconsidered the type of men aboard the ship-they hardly appeared to fit the pirate image, really.
But after that, Ray was not even much more time to explore or even so much as stare in awe for another second or so before Affa returned to where he stood behind him. Ray blinked when he was suddenly pushed from behind sharply, sending him stumbling towards a folding screen of some sort. He managed to stop himself before he actually fell onto it and knocking something over or, god forbid, actually breaking anything. He was still rather confused, as it had been already made clear several times that Affa was not particularly a man who was fond of explaining the motive behind his actions. Following that trend, Ray still received no explanation and stood for a long moment in silence until a set of robes were tossed unceremoniously at his face.
The robes fell over his head and shoulders, temporarily obstructing his view. Slowly, he lifted his arms to remove the cloth from over his head. It was a soft but still tough fabric, something unfamiliar and very unlike the thick, rough fabrics he donned previously about the stuffy streets of London and Paris. While Ray examined the dark cloth and touched it experimentally, Affa approached him again and with some mild hint of impatience, straightened out the cloth for him.
“Change into these,” he commanded with little to no emotion in his voice.
“So then I can match and blend in with the rest of you, right?” he replied jokingly, with a slight grin. Unfortunately for him, all he received in response was a singled raised eyebrow and a very Not Amused expression. Letting his grin recede a bit, Ray looked down at the robes-or cloaks, or whatever he was supposed to call them-again for a moment before asking again slowly, “What should I do with my old clothing?”
“You won’t need them anymore,” the man replied gruffly, shutting his eyes in mild irritation.
Ray made a vague buzzing noise at that response and pressed his lips into a thin line. After a moment’s thought, he shrugged lightly with a faint trace of a smile and stepped behind the folding screen. For a moment, he felt a bit awkward, as he realized the folding screen was thin enough that his silhouette was still cast across it. He paused for a moment and glanced slowly at the wooden walls. It was rare that he felt self-conscious (most of the time he was perfectly capable of doing most things without reserve), so it was a somewhat foreign feeling, but he supposed it could have been attributed to the novelty of the situation in itself. Shaking the self-conscious thoughts of strangeness out of his head, he lightly hung the dark robes over the top of the folding screen and began to strip off his dampened, clinging, not-so white shirt and water-logged pants.
The soft, dry cloth felt warm and comfortable against his chilled skin. He carefully pulled the robes over his head slipped on the provided pants. There was a brief moment in which the awkwardness returned, as he realized these new clothes were considerably looser than what he was used to. In retrospect, it was not exactly a terrible occurrence, as he had always found his former garments on the stifling side. But such was the life of the English nobility. A smidge of embarrassment swept across him at the strange new attire, but a sharp rap against the folding screen made him rapidly snap out of his overly sensitive daze.
“Sorry,” he apologized hurriedly, slapping on whatever else he had been provided. Some sashes here and there only served to further confuse him and reassert the undeniable fact that he was in the hands of foreigners with very different lifestyles, customs, and garbs. When he finished what he could manage, he stepped out somewhat abashedly, rubbing the back of his head. “I may have erred somewhere. It, uh, is very…loose.”
“The better for you to move in,” the man replied shortly, approaching him with one smooth stride. Then, like a father dressing his infant son, Affa undid and retied the sash around Ray’s waist, causing the younger man a mild bit of embarrassment. He smiled sheepishly and felt a slight blush spread across cheeks.
“Sorry,” he then apologized again in a slight mutter.
His repeated apologies went ignored, again, as a normal course of actions. Once the sash was tied properly, Affa stepped back again and turned in the opposite direction with one swift turn of his heel. Silence followed-another usual course of actions between them, somehow-until Ray finally managed to pry his lips open for a brief “thank you.”
All in all, the situation was still the same. Being lost and amongst strangers had not changed, only the fact the he had perhaps bonded a bit with this man, as odd as it was. But somehow, that was enough. Maybe there was still a great deal he did not know and perhaps he was being naïve, but all previous traces of fear and discomfort had more or less evaporated, if not earlier, then definitely by now. Perhaps he was still simple enough that just a bit of gentleness was enough of a reassurance.
“Don’t think you’re getting off easy now,” the man replied in response to the thanks. His tone was sandy and rough as it had always been, but there may have been a very faint twinge of kindness hidden beneath it as well.
“We lost many men to the storm,” he continued to explain as he strode towards the door again. “We need as many hands on the deck we can spare. You will be put to work.”
“As long as I can be under the sky and feel the wind, I can manage,” Ray responded immediately, a gentle expression of serenity crossing his face as he closed his eyes in contentment. His long-starved week in the cargo cell away from any signs of daylight had been a bit much. Anything that he could do to feel the sun on his face or see the stars twinkle at night again would have been enough.
When he opened his eyes again, Affa was looking at him from over his shoulder, an expression on his face that was too difficult to interpret. Then again, the man had been rather stoic on every other account, so the development was not particularly shocking. Unsure of how to react, Ray simply offered another smile that again went unseen, as the man turned towards the door again.
“Still so foolish.”
He shook his head faintly as he pulled the creaking door open again.
“But I suppose that is just another part of who you are.”
“Unfortunately!” Ray called after the man as he strode out the door, sheepish smile plastered on his face in a vaguely apologetic manner. He wished he could find the appropriate words to say in response to how he was beginning to characterize the man, but there were simply insufficient words. There were not enough analogies or descriptions, not enough images or words-only a dim feeling that was gradually growing brighter in scope and in depth.
[Title] Crescent Sandstorm.
[Segment] 4/?.
[Rating] G.
[Word Count] 3923.
There was something about the way the wind felt before a storm that made Ray feel a bit unsettled. It was as if the wind was angry somehow, tasting of cold, dry bitterness and furiously lashing about. The once blue sky had already turned an ominous shade of gray and black, dark storm clouds raging and rallying together. The ripping sound of the sails thrashing in the wind beat against his eardrums, as icy needles of rain began to fall rapidly from the sky. Waves on all sides of the ship were rising and falling with dangerous amounts of speed and power.
Fortunately, Ray had at least some confidence in his balance. The ship’s violent lashing from side to side was rough, but he managed to maintain his balance overall. Up on the deck, he followed after the Mysterious Cloaked Man closely, still a bit unsure of what he could do but went with a willingness to do with what he could. Every one of the crew members were running about in preparation, yelling and urgently shouting some foreign language that Ray could not even begin to fathom the geographical origins of. The man he followed shouted out orders firmly with an extended arm in the direction of the people he called to.
Stopping suddenly, the man turned around to face Ray, expression just as hard and serious as it always was.
“You, Raymond Aldaine! Go help steady the sails!”
Receiving his orders with an affirmative nod, Ray turned and ran towards the sails, just as a strong gust of wind blew a high wave crashing into side of the ship. The impact made him stumble forward a bit, but only sped him towards his position. The men standing about the sail already were frantically pulling ropes and shouting urgently at each other. Though he was not fully sure of the mechanisms of a ship, he had enough common sense to figure out where he could lend a hand. Ignoring the bewildered and dirty looks cast in his direction, Ray reached over and firmly pulled rope nearest to him that the others were struggling with.
It was something like the raging storm of hell, if one could have existed. The waves were violent as demons, tempting and leering with the threat of death. Every other passing second was like another risk for the worst. By and by around him, the stormy sea would rage and every so often another crew member would disappear into the great blue depths. It was not an easy feat even to just stay alive somehow, with the fierce wrath of the sea and the rain beating all about them. Ray was not sure for how many hours he gripped the blistering rope or how many times he dove and slipped across the deck to help where he could or even how long the storm continued to rage and wreak its unholy havoc. He only remembered the redness of his hands from the bite of the rope, the freezing chill of icy sea water dripping from his hair and clothes, and the long-missed glow of sunshine on his face, his old, familiar friend from whom he had spent too much time away from.
He was hazy on the details of it all, only remembering the undying sense of calm he felt afterwards, laying down on the deck with the warm sunlight on his face and the cool breeze gently blowing about him. Feeling the calmness of the elements restored about him, Ray felt at peace with the world again, rejuvenated by a momentary sense of calm he had not felt since long before he left home for France. Just for that moment, he forgot that he was a prisoner of sorts upon some unknown vessel on an unknown voyage. He forgot he had not the slightest idea where he was or where he was heading. He forgot everything and simply remained lost and basking in the sweet, warm glow of the sun over the chilling blue sea.
It was not until a human-shaped shadow shaded his face from the sun did he open his eyes reluctantly to look for the source of the obstruction. He knew his reaction should have been at least a little better in terms of respect and all that upon seeing the Mysterious Cloaked Man (who, by now, was very clearly revealed to be the authority figure on the vessel) standing before him, but he found himself too exhausted, even more exhausted than he had realized, to move any more than vaguely tilting his head in the man’s direction. Although the experience had been exhilarating, albeit life-threatening, it was also extremely tiring-or Ray had simply been too naïve and inexperienced, underestimating the storm as he did.
“You’re still alive,” the man commented in observation, an extremely faint note of surprise in his stony tone.
“Somehow,” Ray answered tiredly, managing a slight sigh before letting his head fall back to where it previously rested on the floor and closing his eyes again. Eyes still closed all the while, he continued to ask in a slightly tiresome but mildly joking manner, “Is this a frequent occurrence of sorts? You know, the overpowering storms and all?”
“It happens,” was the simplistic response, in the same stony manner.
“Guess the actual experience is more like the plotline in my literature than I had expected,” he answered again in a lightly bemused tone. Taking a deep breath of fresh post-storm sea air, Ray re-filled his lungs, making his speech sound a bit more rejuvenated and energetic. “But that was really something. Really.”
It was there he took a brief moment to pause, opening a single eye and cracking a faint smile at the man as if they were old friends than possible kidnapper and kidnapped.
“Not bad for my first time, hmm? Being still alive after it and all that.”
The notion of it all must have been terribly comical, as the cloaked man actually showed a crack in his cold mask of an expression and gave an amused snort at the statement. The turn of events was somewhat pleasing, and somehow Ray was beginning to see the unnamed stranger as some sort of comrade. Whatever suspicions and desolate insecurities he suffered from previously had more or less been flushed out during his week of solitude spent in the confines of the supply cell. He had the adamant feeling that if the strange men had the intention of harming him, they could have done so easily at any point during his incarceration. However, he found himself completely unharmed. Perhaps mentally skewered by dark glares every now and then, but mostly physically unharmed (disregarding bumps and scratches from being confined in the cell full of angular cargo itself).
“You really are a strange one, Raymond Aldaine. Your fearlessness is almost impressive.”
“And you really don’t have to call me by my full name all the time, you know,” Ray responded without missing a beat, still tiredly resting his head against the damp wood. Cracking a slightly wry smile, he continued with his eyes still closed, “We’ve technically spent a week together already. Hasn’t necessarily been the best week, but it was still a week. Or maybe it was even longer.” He paused for a moment to make a vague upward twitch of his shoulders from where he lay, indicating something resembling a shrug of sorts. “And a death-defying storm, to top that all off.”
There was a long period of silence. Perhaps the man was not particularly fond of the idea. Or his jokes were inappropriate, which in a way, they were, again reconsidering the fact that he was brought aboard as a captive.
Ray sighed.
“Just Ray is fine.”
Another long period of silence.
“…Raymond.”
At that, Ray opened his eyes slowly in mild surprise, partly at the fact that the man had actually complied even a little, and partly because he thought he heard a faint (or maybe it was better described as “extremely miniscule”) note of fondness in the man’s voice. Then again, after the loud beating of the waves and the sounds of labor-weary shouts still ringing in his ears, he could also have been hearing things. Well. It would do for now.
“Close enough.”
If he had been let be, Ray was rather sure he could have spent the rest of the morning (and maybe even the rest of the day) simply lying out on the deck like a homeless starfish basking in the sun. Even though the breeze was beginning to feel increasingly icy through his damp clothing (his previously pristine white shirt was now torn and clinging to his chest, and his previously well-tailored pants looked as if they were no longer even fit for a peasant) and chilled skin, he felt completely at ease when reunited with nature. He would not have minded to stay there, really, but he was apparently getting in the way, as he realized people were walking around him all the while muttering and scowling at him as they went.
“Get up,” the cloaked man commanded sternly, a note of stoniness and frigidness returning to his voice.
It was a trend lately; good things never seemed to last as long as they used to. That, and perhaps his habit of lying about on the floor of a busy ship was probably a hindrance to the rest of the crew, as he was told last time.
“Back to the cargo cell?” Ray inquired with a light sigh of resignation, opening his eyes and staring up at the brilliantly blue sky.
Again, there was another lengthy pause, as if the man was contemplating the idea for a moment or reconsidering his options of some sort. It was a strong enough silence to make Ray tilt his head over in the man’s direction and gaze up at him questioningly. It was a motion that may have been too familiar of him to do, but just with their short, vaguely human conversation, Ray felt his confusion, distrust, and fear of the man more or less completely dispel.
“You need a change of clothes,” the man finally answered, turning on his heel to look away from the other man. With a sardonic sounding snort, he continued, “It would be ironically comical to see you die of pneumonia after surviving the Devil’s Storm. Now get up. You’re in the way. Again.”
That was definitely a surprise. Ray had to blink a few times just to reveal his surprise as the information slowly processed fully in his mind. Perhaps surviving in the storm had been some kind of test, and the fact that he had passed somehow was rather remarkable, he thought. But then there was always the likely possibility he was simply over-thinking things again, and the moment he was dressed in dry clothes, he would be stuffed back in the cargo cell like another piece of freight to be filed away.
“Thanks,” Ray began slowly, carefully dragging his wet and sore body to his aching feet. “It is getting a bit cold.”
Once he was upright and on his feet again (albeit wobbly), the man commanded again, “Come.”
And so he went, following the man obediently and again doing his best to ignore the myriad of spiteful glares of contempt-though there may have been a few angry stares of un-admitted respect mixed in there after the endurance he had demonstrated in surviving the raging storm. As he went, another thought occurred to him on a slight whim.
“By the way,” he began thoughtfully and carefully, eyeing the back of the man’s dark, curly haired head, “You know my name-though I’m still not entirely sure as to how or why-but I don’t know yours. I don’t think I can keep referring to you as the Mysterious Cloaked Man in my mind anymore. Not after seeing everyone else on the ship dressed in more or less the same way.”
Although he could not actually see, Ray had the feeling that the man had rolled his eyes at him. It was probably then that Ray figured he should better think through the things he was going to say before actually saying them. He was not particularly making a goal of appearing to be a foolish child making terrible jokes in ill humor, but he was beginning to feel that he was coming off that way to the man, not to mention the other lot of cloaked strangers up on the deck that seemed to vehemently despise him despite having never even exchanged so much as a single word.
It seemed that his question was going to go ignored, as the man silently continued ahead at a steady pace. The atmosphere became rather stale rather quickly, and the only sound that could be heard between them was the faint squeaking of the floorboards beneath their feet. Ray took a moment to wonder if he had somehow done a terrible thing by asking for a name. It made sense to him, but that was just him. Not to mention his constant disregard for his situation was not particularly a benefitting factor either. It was an attempt somehow lightening the situation as a whole, a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. Undeniably, he was still on an unknown vessel with unknown people going to an unknown place. Being overly friendly in such a situation would have seemed like an anomaly to anyone. Ray supposed he really could not blame the man for being irritated, surprised, or even offended. But that was simply the way he tended to act.
“You really don’t know anything at all, do you?” the man asked gruffly, scoffing a bit as he did so. He had stopped walking and held his ground before a narrow wooden door with a painted gold handle. As he reached out to take the handle, he paused for a moment and inclined his head forward in the slightest manner like a sign of irritating resignation.
“Affa.”
Ray halted in his step and tilted his head slightly to the side inquiringly.
“My name,” the man finished emotionlessly, taking hold of the painted, gold door handle and pulling it back.
The door squeaked loudly as it opened, and for a moment, Ray thought he had heard the man-Affa, he had said-say something else under his breath, but the screech of the hinges and the croak of the wood drowned it all out. Nevertheless, he felt content and pleased somehow. While the purpose of his voyage had still yet to have been revealed to him, he was still getting by somehow. And he felt sure that his father would have been proud of him if he knew. His mother even, from wherever she watched him from, must have been protecting him with her thoughts.
His pleasant reverie was swiftly interrupted by the almost painful groaning sound of the heavy door closing behind him again. The horrendous and almost deafening sound made him wince a bit, but he managed to recover himself after a few moments and a shake of his head or two. The room he now stood in seemed a bit different from the rest of the ship-not that he had really seen much of the ship, but its atmosphere in general felt richer somehow. The walls around them were still plain and wooden, but the furniture here and there seemed to be of high quality and of some Eastern origin. The décor about the room was rather stunning, making it rather difficult for Ray to really believe that it was still a part of a ship. There were many things he could not even begin to fathom the uses of. Oddly shaped trinklets and strangely ornate furniture pieces dotted every corner of the room, looking like a quickly compiled collection after some rewarding treasure hunt. For a second or so, Ray’s imagination explored the possibility of this being some sort of pirate vessel he had heard rumors of. But the idea had to be rather swiftly dismissed as he reconsidered the type of men aboard the ship-they hardly appeared to fit the pirate image, really.
But after that, Ray was not even much more time to explore or even so much as stare in awe for another second or so before Affa returned to where he stood behind him. Ray blinked when he was suddenly pushed from behind sharply, sending him stumbling towards a folding screen of some sort. He managed to stop himself before he actually fell onto it and knocking something over or, god forbid, actually breaking anything. He was still rather confused, as it had been already made clear several times that Affa was not particularly a man who was fond of explaining the motive behind his actions. Following that trend, Ray still received no explanation and stood for a long moment in silence until a set of robes were tossed unceremoniously at his face.
The robes fell over his head and shoulders, temporarily obstructing his view. Slowly, he lifted his arms to remove the cloth from over his head. It was a soft but still tough fabric, something unfamiliar and very unlike the thick, rough fabrics he donned previously about the stuffy streets of London and Paris. While Ray examined the dark cloth and touched it experimentally, Affa approached him again and with some mild hint of impatience, straightened out the cloth for him.
“Change into these,” he commanded with little to no emotion in his voice.
“So then I can match and blend in with the rest of you, right?” he replied jokingly, with a slight grin. Unfortunately for him, all he received in response was a singled raised eyebrow and a very Not Amused expression. Letting his grin recede a bit, Ray looked down at the robes-or cloaks, or whatever he was supposed to call them-again for a moment before asking again slowly, “What should I do with my old clothing?”
“You won’t need them anymore,” the man replied gruffly, shutting his eyes in mild irritation.
Ray made a vague buzzing noise at that response and pressed his lips into a thin line. After a moment’s thought, he shrugged lightly with a faint trace of a smile and stepped behind the folding screen. For a moment, he felt a bit awkward, as he realized the folding screen was thin enough that his silhouette was still cast across it. He paused for a moment and glanced slowly at the wooden walls. It was rare that he felt self-conscious (most of the time he was perfectly capable of doing most things without reserve), so it was a somewhat foreign feeling, but he supposed it could have been attributed to the novelty of the situation in itself. Shaking the self-conscious thoughts of strangeness out of his head, he lightly hung the dark robes over the top of the folding screen and began to strip off his dampened, clinging, not-so white shirt and water-logged pants.
The soft, dry cloth felt warm and comfortable against his chilled skin. He carefully pulled the robes over his head slipped on the provided pants. There was a brief moment in which the awkwardness returned, as he realized these new clothes were considerably looser than what he was used to. In retrospect, it was not exactly a terrible occurrence, as he had always found his former garments on the stifling side. But such was the life of the English nobility. A smidge of embarrassment swept across him at the strange new attire, but a sharp rap against the folding screen made him rapidly snap out of his overly sensitive daze.
“Sorry,” he apologized hurriedly, slapping on whatever else he had been provided. Some sashes here and there only served to further confuse him and reassert the undeniable fact that he was in the hands of foreigners with very different lifestyles, customs, and garbs. When he finished what he could manage, he stepped out somewhat abashedly, rubbing the back of his head. “I may have erred somewhere. It, uh, is very…loose.”
“The better for you to move in,” the man replied shortly, approaching him with one smooth stride. Then, like a father dressing his infant son, Affa undid and retied the sash around Ray’s waist, causing the younger man a mild bit of embarrassment. He smiled sheepishly and felt a slight blush spread across cheeks.
“Sorry,” he then apologized again in a slight mutter.
His repeated apologies went ignored, again, as a normal course of actions. Once the sash was tied properly, Affa stepped back again and turned in the opposite direction with one swift turn of his heel. Silence followed-another usual course of actions between them, somehow-until Ray finally managed to pry his lips open for a brief “thank you.”
All in all, the situation was still the same. Being lost and amongst strangers had not changed, only the fact the he had perhaps bonded a bit with this man, as odd as it was. But somehow, that was enough. Maybe there was still a great deal he did not know and perhaps he was being naïve, but all previous traces of fear and discomfort had more or less evaporated, if not earlier, then definitely by now. Perhaps he was still simple enough that just a bit of gentleness was enough of a reassurance.
“Don’t think you’re getting off easy now,” the man replied in response to the thanks. His tone was sandy and rough as it had always been, but there may have been a very faint twinge of kindness hidden beneath it as well.
“We lost many men to the storm,” he continued to explain as he strode towards the door again. “We need as many hands on the deck we can spare. You will be put to work.”
“As long as I can be under the sky and feel the wind, I can manage,” Ray responded immediately, a gentle expression of serenity crossing his face as he closed his eyes in contentment. His long-starved week in the cargo cell away from any signs of daylight had been a bit much. Anything that he could do to feel the sun on his face or see the stars twinkle at night again would have been enough.
When he opened his eyes again, Affa was looking at him from over his shoulder, an expression on his face that was too difficult to interpret. Then again, the man had been rather stoic on every other account, so the development was not particularly shocking. Unsure of how to react, Ray simply offered another smile that again went unseen, as the man turned towards the door again.
“Still so foolish.”
He shook his head faintly as he pulled the creaking door open again.
“But I suppose that is just another part of who you are.”
“Unfortunately!” Ray called after the man as he strode out the door, sheepish smile plastered on his face in a vaguely apologetic manner. He wished he could find the appropriate words to say in response to how he was beginning to characterize the man, but there were simply insufficient words. There were not enough analogies or descriptions, not enough images or words-only a dim feeling that was gradually growing brighter in scope and in depth.