Vignette: In Pursuit of Tying Up Loose Ends
Bailey, in her pursuit of turning over a new leaf, decides to go back for her cousin Ranulf, and mend fences. It doesn't turn out quite as she'd imagined it might.
[OOC - I, as Bailey's player am heading off and will be away for six days. I figured I'd take the opportunity to explore some of what goes on off-camera in her life and as such, sent her on a 'mission'. Be good and don't blow up the island while I'm gone ;)]
The note is delivered by the very same young dock-scrubber that had so artfully done the knock-and-walk-in a few days back. Chances are he’s still feeling shame-faced enough for having done so that it wasn’t too hard for Bailey to have convinced him to make the delivery for her. Muted scents of the perfume Rio had given her are vaguely detectable on the paper, leading one to believe that she was wearing it at the time of writing the following:
Rio,
Please don’t be angry with Angys, I made him promise to wait until I’d sailed. I also told him you’d pay him for delivering this note, so you owe him an eighth-mark. Take it out of the marks I gave you.
I can’t tell you where I’ve gone, or why, but hope that you’ll understand. Don’t try to come and find me. I’ll be back when I’ve sorted everything out.
Forgive me.
Sin
P.S. I’m keeping the shirt you lent me after tearing my own clothing beyond repair.
The first fingers of Rukbat were only just starting to creep up and over the horizon when the Even’Star set sail. Only those few early risers around to witness her departure. First the foresail and then the mainsail crackled and filled with a snap as the morning breeze filled them. At her helm, Bailey exhaled softly, watching the by now familiar coastline of Ista fall behind her.
Determination set across shoulders clothed in a shirt hopelessly too big for her. Long enough that it obscured the tiny pair of shorts worn beneath it and rolled at the sleeves several times before tanned forearms were visible. She lifted the collar, inhaled deeply of the uniquely spicy scent lingering there and cast a glance back in the direction of the mist obscured docks half expecting to see the hull of the Orchid Rain looming behind her. Just as she’d planned, nothing but empty sea trailed her wake.
The brunette lifted the compass hanging about her neck and with a flick of her wrist sent the Even’Star cutting through the ocean in the required direction. Old and in need of a few sevens in the dry docks, the sloop responded as easily as a woman to a lover’s touch when given the right conditions.
Despite the circumstances that found her on the open sea, her expression turned from one of grim resolve to that of one filled with pure exhilaration for the taste of salt on her tongue and wind in her hair - freedom! Another correction and the vessel bounded forward eagerly. It was days like this when she yearned to just keep going and never turn back.
Her mood flattened a little when she was reminded of the reason she was out here. Ranulf. Guilt rose up and slid its fingers about her throat constricting her breathing until a knot formed in her chest. She should never have just left him like that, no matter how he may have treated her or what the consequences of the threats he’d made. He was family and family stuck together whether you agreed with how they did things, or not. That last violent storm had been enough incentive for her to go and try to patch things up with him. Besides, maybe he’d had enough time now to think it all through that he’d be willing to see things her way and give up this vendetta of his.
She was tired of living like that. It had been the very reason, amongst others, she’d left southern in the first place. All the lying, cheating and underhanded dealings that her family fell so easily into had just gotten too much for her. She wanted to be able to sleep at night with a clear conscience. To know that whatever she built up for herself was done so by the blood, sweat and tears of honest labour.
The wind shifted direction and threw a scented reminder from the shirt she wore back at her. The first run of bad luck (Okay, maybe not the first) and she’d fallen right back into her old ways again. A frown knit her brows together, the shame for that misdemeanour still tart on her tongue. But she’d given it all back, all of it, and admitted to what she’d done. That counted for something, right? Fingers plucked at the hem of the shirt in discomfort. The question was, would she have done so if the skipper of the Orchid Rain hadn’t been so damn appealing to her, or if P’draig and his little girl hadn’t been so kind and trusting. Then there were the new female friends she’d started to make. The first real ones she’d ever made. One of whom was the freaking Weyrwoman!
She liked to think she’d changed, that she’d simply had a relapse of habit.
Many hours and conflicting thoughts later...
Rukbat was starting to descend it s path when the jaggy peaked island came into view. The weather was still holding but a storm threatened off to the right. Quickly Bailey moored alongside the old wreck, and taking nothing but her old carrysack with her she scrambled across the sun bleached ribs and down onto the sand.
As she approached the undergrowth where the concealed path led to the campsite, she braced herself for the rage that was sure to come roiling off of Ranulf, possibly even a clout or two around the head. It was to be expected and she’d likely feel the same way given a reversal of their situations.
She almost tripped over something, stubbing her toe. With a muttered curse she glanced down and pale eyes found a boot lying at her feet. Bailey bent to pick it up, perplexity growing when she identified it as her cousin’s. What in Faranth’s name was it doing down here? Attention fixed to the path now it wasn’t long before she came across the other one. She stopped, turned, and stared down the way she’d come realizing that the undergrowth was pushed and twisted aside as if something had been dragged struggling along the thin foot path.
Panic set in. The brunette dropped her carrysack and started running, heedless of the branches that slapped back at her, raising red welts along exposed skin and tearing at the voluminous shirt. “Ranulf! Ranulf where are you!?” her breath coming in pants as she neared the campsite.
Skidding to a stop her eyes grew wide with alarm. Everything had been turned upside-down, the few items she’d managed to supply her cousin with lay scattered about, the campfire nothing more than a dark slash of ash and half-burnt wood. “Ranulf?” deep concern turning her voice small. No reply. “Ranuuulf!!” now pleading for him to come out as her panic deepened. Only the sounds of small nocturnal creatures preparing as night set in, replied.
Pale blue fluttered in the evening breeze at the corner of her eye. Taking first one, and then another hesitant step forward, Bailey plucked it off of the bush it had become trapped on. The piece of fabric slipped from her fingers when she saw the dark red stain spilling across the pocket and remaining buttons - blood! She stared at the section of Ranulf’s shirt in horror, frozen where stood. Somehow, They had found him, and could still be here. Silent as a shadow the brunette melted back into the undergrowth, swallowing down the terror that rose up.
The next day...
After having spent a sleepless night in the jungle, jumping at every sound she was unable to identify, Bailey stood stiffly to her feet, pale eyes making a thorough sweep of her immediate area. Nothing through the night led her to believe that They were still here. Moving as stealthily as possible she started to search for her cousin’s body, certain that he’d been beaten and left for dead. A thorough investigation of the campsite, and immediate area, yielded no results. At least none that could satisfactorily tell her exactly where her cousin might have been taken to. A bloodied dagger was found along with what looked to be the torn and stained back of Ranulf’s shirt.
Numb and in shock, the brunette traced her steps back to where she’d dropped her carrysack. Her head jerked up and she cast about trying to see the unseen as that now too was gone. Her heart felt fit to leap through her ribcage. “Oh fuck!” the curse spilled out in a shaky breath. They must still be here - somewhere.
Once again, it was terror that drove her to bolt like a bovine with a wild feline snapping at its heels. She burst out of the undergrowth and fled across the sands. Darting over the ribcage of the old wreck, Bailey was on board the Even’Star and weighing anchor almost as quickly as a dragon can between. She was a good few miles out to sea before she realized that in her desperate dash to get off the island and out of harm’s way, that she’d lost her compass.
It would be many days of navigating by Rukbat and the stars searching every island she came across for signs of her cousin, before a disconsolate, exhausted and starving Bailey would eventually limp her way back to the relative safety of the Istan docks.
[OOC - I, as Bailey's player am heading off and will be away for six days. I figured I'd take the opportunity to explore some of what goes on off-camera in her life and as such, sent her on a 'mission'. Be good and don't blow up the island while I'm gone ;)]
The note is delivered by the very same young dock-scrubber that had so artfully done the knock-and-walk-in a few days back. Chances are he’s still feeling shame-faced enough for having done so that it wasn’t too hard for Bailey to have convinced him to make the delivery for her. Muted scents of the perfume Rio had given her are vaguely detectable on the paper, leading one to believe that she was wearing it at the time of writing the following:
Rio,
Please don’t be angry with Angys, I made him promise to wait until I’d sailed. I also told him you’d pay him for delivering this note, so you owe him an eighth-mark. Take it out of the marks I gave you.
I can’t tell you where I’ve gone, or why, but hope that you’ll understand. Don’t try to come and find me. I’ll be back when I’ve sorted everything out.
Forgive me.
Sin
P.S. I’m keeping the shirt you lent me after tearing my own clothing beyond repair.
The first fingers of Rukbat were only just starting to creep up and over the horizon when the Even’Star set sail. Only those few early risers around to witness her departure. First the foresail and then the mainsail crackled and filled with a snap as the morning breeze filled them. At her helm, Bailey exhaled softly, watching the by now familiar coastline of Ista fall behind her.
Determination set across shoulders clothed in a shirt hopelessly too big for her. Long enough that it obscured the tiny pair of shorts worn beneath it and rolled at the sleeves several times before tanned forearms were visible. She lifted the collar, inhaled deeply of the uniquely spicy scent lingering there and cast a glance back in the direction of the mist obscured docks half expecting to see the hull of the Orchid Rain looming behind her. Just as she’d planned, nothing but empty sea trailed her wake.
The brunette lifted the compass hanging about her neck and with a flick of her wrist sent the Even’Star cutting through the ocean in the required direction. Old and in need of a few sevens in the dry docks, the sloop responded as easily as a woman to a lover’s touch when given the right conditions.
Despite the circumstances that found her on the open sea, her expression turned from one of grim resolve to that of one filled with pure exhilaration for the taste of salt on her tongue and wind in her hair - freedom! Another correction and the vessel bounded forward eagerly. It was days like this when she yearned to just keep going and never turn back.
Her mood flattened a little when she was reminded of the reason she was out here. Ranulf. Guilt rose up and slid its fingers about her throat constricting her breathing until a knot formed in her chest. She should never have just left him like that, no matter how he may have treated her or what the consequences of the threats he’d made. He was family and family stuck together whether you agreed with how they did things, or not. That last violent storm had been enough incentive for her to go and try to patch things up with him. Besides, maybe he’d had enough time now to think it all through that he’d be willing to see things her way and give up this vendetta of his.
She was tired of living like that. It had been the very reason, amongst others, she’d left southern in the first place. All the lying, cheating and underhanded dealings that her family fell so easily into had just gotten too much for her. She wanted to be able to sleep at night with a clear conscience. To know that whatever she built up for herself was done so by the blood, sweat and tears of honest labour.
The wind shifted direction and threw a scented reminder from the shirt she wore back at her. The first run of bad luck (Okay, maybe not the first) and she’d fallen right back into her old ways again. A frown knit her brows together, the shame for that misdemeanour still tart on her tongue. But she’d given it all back, all of it, and admitted to what she’d done. That counted for something, right? Fingers plucked at the hem of the shirt in discomfort. The question was, would she have done so if the skipper of the Orchid Rain hadn’t been so damn appealing to her, or if P’draig and his little girl hadn’t been so kind and trusting. Then there were the new female friends she’d started to make. The first real ones she’d ever made. One of whom was the freaking Weyrwoman!
She liked to think she’d changed, that she’d simply had a relapse of habit.
Many hours and conflicting thoughts later...
Rukbat was starting to descend it s path when the jaggy peaked island came into view. The weather was still holding but a storm threatened off to the right. Quickly Bailey moored alongside the old wreck, and taking nothing but her old carrysack with her she scrambled across the sun bleached ribs and down onto the sand.
As she approached the undergrowth where the concealed path led to the campsite, she braced herself for the rage that was sure to come roiling off of Ranulf, possibly even a clout or two around the head. It was to be expected and she’d likely feel the same way given a reversal of their situations.
She almost tripped over something, stubbing her toe. With a muttered curse she glanced down and pale eyes found a boot lying at her feet. Bailey bent to pick it up, perplexity growing when she identified it as her cousin’s. What in Faranth’s name was it doing down here? Attention fixed to the path now it wasn’t long before she came across the other one. She stopped, turned, and stared down the way she’d come realizing that the undergrowth was pushed and twisted aside as if something had been dragged struggling along the thin foot path.
Panic set in. The brunette dropped her carrysack and started running, heedless of the branches that slapped back at her, raising red welts along exposed skin and tearing at the voluminous shirt. “Ranulf! Ranulf where are you!?” her breath coming in pants as she neared the campsite.
Skidding to a stop her eyes grew wide with alarm. Everything had been turned upside-down, the few items she’d managed to supply her cousin with lay scattered about, the campfire nothing more than a dark slash of ash and half-burnt wood. “Ranulf?” deep concern turning her voice small. No reply. “Ranuuulf!!” now pleading for him to come out as her panic deepened. Only the sounds of small nocturnal creatures preparing as night set in, replied.
Pale blue fluttered in the evening breeze at the corner of her eye. Taking first one, and then another hesitant step forward, Bailey plucked it off of the bush it had become trapped on. The piece of fabric slipped from her fingers when she saw the dark red stain spilling across the pocket and remaining buttons - blood! She stared at the section of Ranulf’s shirt in horror, frozen where stood. Somehow, They had found him, and could still be here. Silent as a shadow the brunette melted back into the undergrowth, swallowing down the terror that rose up.
The next day...
After having spent a sleepless night in the jungle, jumping at every sound she was unable to identify, Bailey stood stiffly to her feet, pale eyes making a thorough sweep of her immediate area. Nothing through the night led her to believe that They were still here. Moving as stealthily as possible she started to search for her cousin’s body, certain that he’d been beaten and left for dead. A thorough investigation of the campsite, and immediate area, yielded no results. At least none that could satisfactorily tell her exactly where her cousin might have been taken to. A bloodied dagger was found along with what looked to be the torn and stained back of Ranulf’s shirt.
Numb and in shock, the brunette traced her steps back to where she’d dropped her carrysack. Her head jerked up and she cast about trying to see the unseen as that now too was gone. Her heart felt fit to leap through her ribcage. “Oh fuck!” the curse spilled out in a shaky breath. They must still be here - somewhere.
Once again, it was terror that drove her to bolt like a bovine with a wild feline snapping at its heels. She burst out of the undergrowth and fled across the sands. Darting over the ribcage of the old wreck, Bailey was on board the Even’Star and weighing anchor almost as quickly as a dragon can between. She was a good few miles out to sea before she realized that in her desperate dash to get off the island and out of harm’s way, that she’d lost her compass.
It would be many days of navigating by Rukbat and the stars searching every island she came across for signs of her cousin, before a disconsolate, exhausted and starving Bailey would eventually limp her way back to the relative safety of the Istan docks.