In Sanity
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[Prologue] [ Ch.1] [ Ch.2] [ Ch.3]
Ear shattering laughter erupted from a few tables over. A small group of teenage girls were gossiping and chatting about something trivial. Periodically they’d squeal and shriek, attracting the abraded consideration of the other consumers. It was obvious the girls knew and were relishing in the mass attention; even if it was irritated attention.
After the shrieks settled, Quentin turned back to her friend. It was obvious that she was upset about the conversation with June. In a rare moment, Quentin actually sided with her friend on the matter of her Mom and Carey. What they were doing was unfair to Mila, even if she didn’t live at home anymore. The part of her that had been on Carey’s side for so many years cracked. For the longest time he’d seemed so understanding, even when Mila was being hot-headed and declaring verbal war on him.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Was that defeat?
“There’s not much I can do. It’s going to happen no matter what I say, or do, or scream. I hate it.”
“Maybe my mom can talk her out of it? She’s pretty good at getting points across.”
“Apparently she already did. My mom ran it past her before telling me.”
Well, fuck. I was so sure that would work.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mila.”
The two friends sat in silence. Occasionally another collection of shrieking giggles would erupt from a few tables over, warranting some cringes and irritated glances.
“Just tell me you can stay stable until I’ve learned how to cope with this.”
Quentin didn’t know whether to try making that promise, or to be offended at the request. Stay stable? She wasn’t some type of maniac perched precariously on the edge of a knife. There was no breeze waiting to come along and push her from her post into some type of hysterical lunacy. Sure, she had her issues, but they were manageable. She was capable of being just as anyone else would.
Recognizing that this was not the time to explain to her friend - in a slightly venomous fashion - that she wasn’t some type of psychotic, she swallowed her words.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Please do,” Mila said, staring down at her food. “I’m going to need you to be the strong one while I work through this.”
I understand. I just can’t guarantee results.
Two days in Barraville. Two whole days in this house and this town. Two days without her medication. Her mind was slowly turning into more of a madhouse than it usually was.
Sometimes she was positive that Bethlem had relocated to her thoughts. They were constantly up and down, round and round. Cycling through the seasons at warp speed with no brakes.
It had been a long time since she’d found herself not chemically altered, and she was scared. Yet, part of her was excited.
She could be a pirate again.
Captain Quentin of the Bejeweled Buccaneer. A true swashbuckler on a perpetual mission to be successful in her ocean endeavours. Years ago she had a crew with her. A meticulously selected team of the most scurvy dogs this side of the seas. Those days were long gone. Since then she had grown up, become more assertive and ruthless. Having a crew was unimportant, she had herself.
Though, many times she’d find herself missing a certain member of her former shipmates. A slightly older lass with dark hair. She had been quite the swashbuckling wench, and a valuable asset to her ship. The lass had been capable of locating the most obscure treasures the sea had to offer, and asked for nothing less than a few doubloons. Never had she been a greed consumed pirate.
Captain Quentin had never been too sure of what happened to her. Many of the shipmates speculated that she’d jumped overboard. Quentin remained positive that if she had gone over board, she probably had a boat.
“Yes, she definitely had a boat.”
Boots echoed their presence throughout the Captain’s Cabin as she crossed the small space. Part of her always wondered why her quarters where not as large as they could have been. After all, she was the captain. Was she not entitled to a larger space to spend her time in solitude?
As she reached her desk and collapsed into the chair it was married to, she decided her current space was no longer suitable. Rotted planks boxed her into the ship. Seaweed that had once stuck on her boot lay strewn somewhere close to the sinking bed on which she slept - its clean up had never been high priority, she had better things to do. A small desk sat off in a corner, cluttered left to right with various texts and knick-knacks. The odd piece of gold crept out from its hole and allowed her to gaze upon its once buried glory. Yet, the fact that she possessed these treasures and trinkets and knowledge did not change her feeling towards the ship.
She was no longer in love with it.
There were significantly nicer ships out there for her to commandeer. Nicer ships on nicer oceans. Oceans that weren’t constantly consumed by treacherous waves, threatening to take her down at any moment.
One day, those ships would be hers, and the oceans would obey.
"But when?"
Very, very short update this time. And I apologize for that. It was going to be a touch longer, but I've been having some game issues and had some difficulties obtaining the necessary shots. Hopefully, I can get everything all fixed up by the time I'm ready to get the next chapter going.