Das Begman: RP Scene 12
SUMMARY: The first undersea search, Part 1. Merrisol and Maggie determine the search perimeter.
CHARACTERS: Merrisol, Maggie, and Raphaela
The Wave Dancer sailed out of the last shadow and into Minosian waters, night falling over the waves and the visible landmass of Whitehold. A new course was charted for the same coordinates last visited by the Wandering Duchess five months ago, on a mission to rescue the Wave Dancer. Finding the spot serene and cloudless, they dropped anchor to await dawn's light. At that point, Merrisol answered a trump call from Martin and returned to Rebma on investigative business.. hey, what? No worries though, as he comes back a little after dawn, on Minos' side, via Maggie Trump. Sebastian and Raphaela had been below decks at the time; still recovering, it was suggested, from that insane storm shadow last evening. Best not to disturb them then, was Merrisol's decision.
Several minutes of chatting and preparations later, they are both standing several feet apart upon the side rail, Maggie in a one-piece suit and Merrisol still in his Rebmawear. Something in the just-passed discussion has left him looking spooked and concerned, but he's still determined to go through with the dive.
It seems rather a good day for the activity, with blue sky and even deeper blue water, a little too deep for anything beyond the surface to be seen with any clarity. The occasional silvery fin or flipper of a basking critter breaks the sunlit ripples.
Raphaela did not recover...I mean she's perfectly fine. She resurfaces and eyes the fashion choices, sipping water.
Maggie nods to some suggestion or comment in the conversation just passed, "Okay. Later, then." Her tone lowers and she could be adding the addendum to herself, "But not so far as to be forgotten." Looking over to see Merrisol balanced on the railing, her gaze flickers over his form, then rises and for a short while, she does not speak. It is Raphaela's appearance on deck that distracts her. Movement where there was none before. Slowly, her attention is forced from Merrisol to flit over to the other woman. Raphaela is offered a smile and a wave, "Morning. We're going diving. Care to join us?"
Raphaela pads over and sips coffee, looking over the railing. "What if Fuffy's fashion distracts me and I drown?" she says deadpan. Everybody is a fashion critic. "I suppose. Have to see what's situation. HOw deep is water here?"
Merrisol ohs, remembering the gold straps affixing the clinging mantled cape to his shoulders. No need to get fancy for this visit to the reefs. He unclasps the catch that is coyly hidden behind a sand dollar buckle, and shrugs out of the straps. Tossing it down to the deck, he initially assumes Maggie's eyes are follow the shiny of the gold. Then he too turns to see Raph, with a twist from the hips while he maintains balance upon the gunwale. "We're looking for a submarine, not a swimsuit," he reminds with an warning shake of head. Stooop messing with him, mean chick. "You know there is an alternative to drowning, but it requires trust. I don't know about the overall area, but the anchor chain went down a good 80 feet before it dragged. It might have hit sea bed, or a formation. Don't know yet." He will soon, though!
Raphaela studies maggie's outfit "I don't have proper outfit."
Maggie says, "Drowning is a bad plan." She glances back at Merri, her commentary momentarily halted as she takes in his appearance. Silly thing that she is, she had gotten sort of used to the sight of Merrisol in Rebman garb. Having the mini-cape removed brings his chest, shoulders and waist back into sharp relief. "Um..." Blink and breath, Maggie, blink and breath. She does so, then offers to Raphaela, "I probably have a spare, if you want to join us." It takes a moment for Maggie's somewhat stunned brain to process Merrisol's oblique suggestion and she brightens, "Right. You should do that for me too, actually, Kerf." Since she is not fond of the idea of drowning either. "Please."
Raphaela grins at Maggie and looks between the two "Actually...I'll let you two take the first dive." she sips her coffee, mirror eyes blank as she watches the two "I'll join you a bit later."
Merrisol looks startled and then exasperated by Raphaela's admission. Where... did she think they were going to be looking a -submersible-. In the trees? "...There are unclaimed suits in the laundered stores, as well," he says, ever organized and aware of inventory. And.. subliminally aware that there are probably more comfortable frocks in said stores to suit Raphaela's slender shape. He turns to Maggie, "Of course. I'll meet you down below." Kerf is awfully fussy about the technique, sounds like. His way or the highway, people!
Maggie nods to Raphaela, "Okay. See you later then, Raphaela." Turning to Merrisol, she lifts a brow but nods, "Very well." Facing front then, she lifts her arms and one leg, toes pointed. Poised for an instant, she is lightly spangled by sunlight as her pony tail is fluttered by the touch of a breeze. Her leg goes down to push herself upward and she angles forward, then straightens, cutting the water far below in a neat, almost splashless slice. Ripples mark where she vanished below and moments later a glitter of flame marks where she has returned some feet farther from the ship's side.
Raphaela would raise a 10 if she had it.
Merri waits for her to surface, thumbs up, then dives as well, despite not knowing the lay of the land below. All or Nothing. That seems to be today's theme. He pistons from the edge using both legs to achieve more distance and velocity with his arc, arms scissoring closed above his head to part the surface with his fingertips and go in full vertical. The world below the waves is vast and splendid, sandy bottoms, spotted with rock formations, fields of verdant sea grass, forests of kelp. And teeming with life aquatic of the most dazzling tropical colorations. The initial flurry of bubbles from pockets of trapped air disperses after 25 feet and he continues downwards a ways before curling upright. He takes a cursory look around in a 360-degree spin. The sea bed dips and rises, obscuring many a formation from full view, and reflections of light twist like serpents to confuse the underlying topography. No immediate sightings of predatory danger, although something in the immediate vicinity glints ominously. He makes for the surface again with a measured kick, and comes up in Maggie's vicinity. "This is the spot, all right," he reports presently. "But it was too much to hope that it would be -directly- underneath.."
Kicking back a little, Maggie trolls the water's surface with wide, wing-like movements of her arms. She watches Merrisol's dive, a flutter within sparked entirely by the sleek elegance of it. When he cuts the water, she waits expectantly for him to surface. When he takes his time beneath the waves, she draws in a long breath and curls, selki-like, below the wavelettes. Drawing her hair after her, the mass of it still floating above, she surveys the immediate area. Sea floor, kelp, sandy bottom, kelp, coral, glinting whatsis, sea floor and up she goes again. This time he arrives fairly soon and she nods once, "You know it is going to end up being right where I pointed when we were here before, right?" Her eyes sparkle and there is a teasing tone to her words, for she does not actually know where the sub has gotten itself off to. But, it would be funny, wouldn't it? Sobering, she drifts a bit closer, "We'll find it, Kerf. So... What do I need to do to get this Selkie's Kiss dealie?"
He blinks as he recalls that first rain-soaked night aboard the Wave Dancer, and smiles over the jest, but doesn't dare voice how wonderful a thought it is. Then the submersible definitely won't be there... just to spite them. He extends his hand to her beneath the surface, weaving their fingers together so the palms touch. "You just need to believe me when I tell you: the Sea will never take you from me while we are together," he says, his voice soft but resonant as it bounces up from the water's surface between them. "As we go down, let go of your need for air." When she's ready, he sinks, and draws her down with him.
Maggie smiles a bit in answer to his as she sees memory play over his features and she offers a slight wink. Of course it won't be right there, though it would be sort of glorious if it was. Her fingers are cool with the water and nerves, though they warm as his wind between them. Her palm touches his and she listens to the instructions given. For her, there is no hesitation. The sea will not take her from him as long as they are together. She nods, signaling that she is ready. As she begins to sink with him, drawn by his touch, she instinctively draws in a deep breath just before her head slips beneath the waves. The ponytail she wears streams out behind her, leaving a trail of deeply red tendrils to mark the way up. Slowly at first, she lets the air out of her mouth. Her eyes seek his and she expels the air from her lungs in a great rush of bubbles that rise to the surface in a froth that might seem alarming from above.
This is sort of what it must be like for high-flying trapeze artists. There is some measure of risk and trust in everything, of course, but a conscious commitment to live, or else imminently cease to live, on the word of another? In that one moment in time, whether hanging in mid-air before gravity snatches out of arms' reach, or sinking into the deep blue with just that one breath of air to sustain existence, the gesture of trust is beyond profound. Merrisol's eyes are there for her, no need to search, open and enraptured. Those bubbles stream away to a trickle in the space of seconds, but she doesn't have to go right to the edge of oblivion for the Sea to notice and give its blessing... figuratively. Belief and mysticism is a tricky thing for Merrisol, and perhaps the main reason he didn't want to discuss what he went through to gain such a secret, is that he knows that analyzing his understanding too deeply would bring about disastrous doubt. When he brings up his other hand, cupping her chin and then covering her mouth with his own in a lingering press, there is only intense wonder to be found in him, and an elegant simplicity of faith in his particular ritual. There is the sensation of breaching as water fills Maggie's mouth, sudden and unbidden, and inhaled rather than swallowed, due to the compressed state of the lungs. The pain of asphyxiation does not come, and since she is a pro at transitioning into Rebma, there should be no panic or shock either as it is much the same sensation in the end. Merrisol likewise doesn't turn it into a makeout session, and draws back after the first breath is taken underwater. His hand has already drifted from her chin, but he continues holding her other hand in his, the palms together and the fingers interwoven. "All right?" he smiles.
The smile that touches her lips warms her gaze as her eyes meet his and in that moment, in silence with only the shuddering hush of bubbles rising, much is offered. She does not move when he nears for he did tell her of this ritual. As his lips cover hers, her free hand rises to lightly rest on his shoulder. The inrush of water, converted magically or mystically by passing through him from ordinary, familiar sea water into something her body can use to supply oxygen is a sort of miracle. She does inhale it and there is no sense of panic or confusion or consternation. She is familiar with Rebman living and this gift is given by her Kerf and her faith in him is greater than her understanding. Her hand lowers when he pulls away for this is not the time or the place for an overabundance of physicality. She does not release his hand, however, her fingers and palm warmer now. The smile never leaves her eyes and she nods, "All right. Shall we?"
He looks pleased they are moving on to business with no dwelling over the magic technique, something that only a moment before encompassed their world. "It's not that far to the floor here," he notes, though it does look just a tad far really. But he means relatively, for 100ft is a pothole compared to the real drops out there. "If it's around here, anyone could get to and from it with no problem as long as they had a breathing apparatus. As the Begman crew would." His voice lacks some inflection, but his expression holds relief. "So, even if my father was gone, it's not like the rest would have been trapped forever within." He looks at their joined hands, and casually opens his, releasing her. Nothing happens. 'Together' is apparently a broader definition in this situation. They continue to trail downwards towards the seabed but now Kerf adds in a lateral stroke, moving away from the ship's position towards an area cluttered with rocks.
Maggie is willing to take the magic at face value, apparently. Unburdoned by a Begman's analytical mind, surrounded by it practically from birth, magic just is for her. Glancing down, she mentally measures the distance from sea bed to surface, "I will take your word for it, Kerf. But, if that kind of breathing aperatus exists, I want some for the ship." Because while the sea might love him, it is an uncertain friend for her and hers. Even so, his belief and the relief on his face kindles her hope. And why not? It is a nicer notion than the expectation of finding an ex-crew aboard. "I am sorry about your father. I think I would have liked to meet him. He must have been an amazing man." She is not looking at their hands or really at him for her gaze is scanning the sea bed seeking either the ship they are looking for or evidence of its passage so when he begins to release her hand she glances down at them, then up at him. Nothing happens. She smiles and moves with him downward with more certain strokes.
"I wish I could tell you about him.. things other than what was in Lady Elizabetta's notes," he says as they go. A cloud of silver fish with blue racing stripes wends past below, scattering briefly then reforming beyond their cast shadows. "Perhaps my mother will be able to tell me more when they let me see her." So many things now depend on that elusive vessel.. if it doesn't turn up here.. Kerf reaches the first of the rocky inclines, and turns to look back up the way they'd come. The shape of the Wave Dancer is still a sizable dark smudge on the otherwise cool blue sky. Frowning speculatively, he shakes his head. "Too close, maybe," he mutters. "Let's establish a wider perimeter.." he indicates a new target distance, "..before we begin. Better than having to make multiple passes." Even so, a wider search area means spending a lot more time in the wrong spots, possibly, before finding the right one. He seems certain, however. Their previous deductions, after cross-referencing witness accounts, have pointed to the necessary presence of both brothers aboard the ship. Connecting that to the mirror transport from Begma, and the near likelihood that the destination had been either upon or inside the Begman sub, must mean that at one point, he had been at the sub's position and gone to the pirate ship from there, either seeking his father, or seeking vengeance. The distance from here? Wrong. So they move on.
Maggie nods, sympathy shimmering in her eyes briefly. The silver fishes move in a coordinated dance in order to appear to be a single, much larger organism. Below lacy fronds of seaweed dip and weave as currents stroke past them. Shadows glide unconcernedly below, rippling over sand and stone alike. Looking back as he does, Maggie pauses to regard the Wave Dancer's underside. A swell of delighted pride fills her for this is a new angle to look at her home. And it hits her, perhaps for the first time, that her best friend has been going on without his own 'place' for a long time now. Further, she realizes how selfish she has been. Listening, she nods and turns away from her own ship to give the search for his all of her attention, "Okay. I wish that we had a map with us, though. Something to mark off searched territory." And they move on.
"That's a good idea, Maggie.. maybe there's something we can use to mark off the search area at intervals, so the Dancer won't be the only reference point," he muses. They crest another slope of sedimentary-type rock... and come upon a large carcass of some unfortunate marine animal. It's been here a good while, as the bones have been mostly picked clean, although there are still a great deal of starfish and crabs poking around for last tidbits. The rib cage is large enough for both of them to swim through side by side. After looking it over for half a minute, Kerf declares it is a juvenile whale. Probably separated from its pod during migration and run into shallower waters by pack predators.
Maggie smiles, pleased to be a positive help. She scans the nearby ridges as they swim, seeking some evidence that they are on the right track. The slope takes her attention for a moment, the light and shadow patterns cast by the distant, blue shrouded sun and nearer lacy seaweed, darting fish and twisting coral delighting her imagination. Vibrant colors softened by the faintly greenish light swim nearby or wave from either side. Delighted by everything, Maggie is unprepared for the shock of seeing the nearly denuded skelleton of the young whale. While she does not pause, she swims a little more slowly as they approach the twin arches of white bone. A juvenile. She draws in a long inhallation of salt water and nods at his explaination. Her only comment about the beauty and sorrow of the scene is a nearly whispered, "Poor thing."
Kerf had slipped ahead to measure skull to tail and fin proportions in order to state his conclusion, and now absently shakes a many-armed starfish off his foot, to bowl harmlessly though the loose sediment. It collects itself and mopes off to find something else to tickle. "Yes.. whale calves represent an enormous investment.. almost a full year's gestation and two or three more besides just working up to the mating ritual." He sets down on the seabed again, in a clear spot, and rests his hand on the large oblong skull. "The Rebmans should have held those children close, after the cataclysm, if for nothing else than preservation instincts." He pivots and swims along the ribcage before the clear spot becomes overrun with scavengers again, and grabbing hold of two of the longer rib bones, he twists, then wrenches them from the spinal column.
Maggie lingers a moment or two near one of the rib bones. She runs her hand along the bone, honey-gold against ... well, bone white. Sinking slowly, she is followed by her hair like a living shadow bedecked and bespeckled by sea horses of every color, silvery minnows and one inquisitive clown fish. The tie that holds the ponytail in place has slipped quite a bit, giving her hair an hourglass sort of figure. "The Rebmans?" Kicking back up once her toes brush the seabed, she modulates her tone as he draws near again, "Do they shephard whale calves or are you talking about the missing Rebman kids?" The departing starfish is given a bit of a grin though it dies when Kerf cracks off one, then another of the long ribs, "Um. For... defense?" One hand drops to where her cutlass should be, but it is not at her hip and the futility of even magical fire down here hits her and she realizes that she is woefully unprepared.
He wields them both on either side for a moment, handspan just large enough to grasp around the thickness of bone, then lays both across one shoulder, cupping the bottom end in regimental style. "Perimeter markers," he says to Maggie, glancing curiously down at her hip.. oh yes. Weapons. "We'll get some in-water training in at some point," he nods, smiling apologetically. "There's nothing hunting in the vicinity and no reason for them to come this close to the ship. If we take any cuts ourselves however, we'll head back for the ship." Bracing one foot against another rib, he begins working on its neighbour. "I was speaking of the orphans of Rebma, and the way they have been disregarded by their own kinsmen. In investigating the disappearances it has been discovered that the orphanage has been loaning them out for city maintenance projects and to various noble houses as servants." This seems a somewhat familiar tale, doesn't it.. although Kerf himself isn't aware of those particular details from his pirate's orphanage upbringing. With another thunk of sediment, the rib comes free and is offered to Maggie, unless she's already harvested a few of her own.
Maggie sculls back a little to get a better vantage point to view the man with his giant bones. A memory teases at the back of her mind but refuses to make itself known. Letting it go, she nods, "Ah, good idea." Lowering then she chooses one down a way from his. Pulling and twisting it she works it slowly free. It releases with a snap and a thump that propells her a few feet away while she spins once and angles back again. Taking the longer bone from Kerf, she nods, "Okay." Shifting her hair from one shoulder to the next she settles the bones where her hair was. Focusing on Kerf, she looks horrified, but not surprised. "I dont'... I don't get it. Children are a people's future. I know you know this, but it is maddeningly stupid to treat them badly. How do they expect tomorrow to be better if they don't prepare for it today? We should talk to Martin. He has the power to make a difference now and it seems to me that is a really good place to begin."
Crabs and small eels rush into the empty sockets made by the parting of the bones, to grab up rotted bits of hide and cartilage from those hard to reach spots. "Martin had left some matters of city planning to the council or other officials.. when he learned about this he was quite distraught," Kerf relays, in Martin's defence. "The orphanage itself was in an awful state, run by a reprobate Siren. Martin allowed the remainder, 15 all told, to be trumped over to the palace, as it was not a good part of the city for flatlander-types to be traveling about in the first place. Based on a few bits of information we've gathered, I think the children are being swept away by some malicious form of current. The Sea is angry, it's been said, and is letting it happen. Adding to that the source of the red algae to be a disturbance down in the Soldieve Deeps.. it might be... well, Martin once spoke of a beast as living and slumbering there. Leviathan." Meanwhile, they begin perimeter marking. After a little while, they return closer to the ship, and Kerf swims up to check on the crew from the surface.
CHARACTERS: Merrisol, Maggie, and Raphaela
The Wave Dancer sailed out of the last shadow and into Minosian waters, night falling over the waves and the visible landmass of Whitehold. A new course was charted for the same coordinates last visited by the Wandering Duchess five months ago, on a mission to rescue the Wave Dancer. Finding the spot serene and cloudless, they dropped anchor to await dawn's light. At that point, Merrisol answered a trump call from Martin and returned to Rebma on investigative business.. hey, what? No worries though, as he comes back a little after dawn, on Minos' side, via Maggie Trump. Sebastian and Raphaela had been below decks at the time; still recovering, it was suggested, from that insane storm shadow last evening. Best not to disturb them then, was Merrisol's decision.
Several minutes of chatting and preparations later, they are both standing several feet apart upon the side rail, Maggie in a one-piece suit and Merrisol still in his Rebmawear. Something in the just-passed discussion has left him looking spooked and concerned, but he's still determined to go through with the dive.
It seems rather a good day for the activity, with blue sky and even deeper blue water, a little too deep for anything beyond the surface to be seen with any clarity. The occasional silvery fin or flipper of a basking critter breaks the sunlit ripples.
Raphaela did not recover...I mean she's perfectly fine. She resurfaces and eyes the fashion choices, sipping water.
Maggie nods to some suggestion or comment in the conversation just passed, "Okay. Later, then." Her tone lowers and she could be adding the addendum to herself, "But not so far as to be forgotten." Looking over to see Merrisol balanced on the railing, her gaze flickers over his form, then rises and for a short while, she does not speak. It is Raphaela's appearance on deck that distracts her. Movement where there was none before. Slowly, her attention is forced from Merrisol to flit over to the other woman. Raphaela is offered a smile and a wave, "Morning. We're going diving. Care to join us?"
Raphaela pads over and sips coffee, looking over the railing. "What if Fuffy's fashion distracts me and I drown?" she says deadpan. Everybody is a fashion critic. "I suppose. Have to see what's situation. HOw deep is water here?"
Merrisol ohs, remembering the gold straps affixing the clinging mantled cape to his shoulders. No need to get fancy for this visit to the reefs. He unclasps the catch that is coyly hidden behind a sand dollar buckle, and shrugs out of the straps. Tossing it down to the deck, he initially assumes Maggie's eyes are follow the shiny of the gold. Then he too turns to see Raph, with a twist from the hips while he maintains balance upon the gunwale. "We're looking for a submarine, not a swimsuit," he reminds with an warning shake of head. Stooop messing with him, mean chick. "You know there is an alternative to drowning, but it requires trust. I don't know about the overall area, but the anchor chain went down a good 80 feet before it dragged. It might have hit sea bed, or a formation. Don't know yet." He will soon, though!
Raphaela studies maggie's outfit "I don't have proper outfit."
Maggie says, "Drowning is a bad plan." She glances back at Merri, her commentary momentarily halted as she takes in his appearance. Silly thing that she is, she had gotten sort of used to the sight of Merrisol in Rebman garb. Having the mini-cape removed brings his chest, shoulders and waist back into sharp relief. "Um..." Blink and breath, Maggie, blink and breath. She does so, then offers to Raphaela, "I probably have a spare, if you want to join us." It takes a moment for Maggie's somewhat stunned brain to process Merrisol's oblique suggestion and she brightens, "Right. You should do that for me too, actually, Kerf." Since she is not fond of the idea of drowning either. "Please."
Raphaela grins at Maggie and looks between the two "Actually...I'll let you two take the first dive." she sips her coffee, mirror eyes blank as she watches the two "I'll join you a bit later."
Merrisol looks startled and then exasperated by Raphaela's admission. Where... did she think they were going to be looking a -submersible-. In the trees? "...There are unclaimed suits in the laundered stores, as well," he says, ever organized and aware of inventory. And.. subliminally aware that there are probably more comfortable frocks in said stores to suit Raphaela's slender shape. He turns to Maggie, "Of course. I'll meet you down below." Kerf is awfully fussy about the technique, sounds like. His way or the highway, people!
Maggie nods to Raphaela, "Okay. See you later then, Raphaela." Turning to Merrisol, she lifts a brow but nods, "Very well." Facing front then, she lifts her arms and one leg, toes pointed. Poised for an instant, she is lightly spangled by sunlight as her pony tail is fluttered by the touch of a breeze. Her leg goes down to push herself upward and she angles forward, then straightens, cutting the water far below in a neat, almost splashless slice. Ripples mark where she vanished below and moments later a glitter of flame marks where she has returned some feet farther from the ship's side.
Raphaela would raise a 10 if she had it.
Merri waits for her to surface, thumbs up, then dives as well, despite not knowing the lay of the land below. All or Nothing. That seems to be today's theme. He pistons from the edge using both legs to achieve more distance and velocity with his arc, arms scissoring closed above his head to part the surface with his fingertips and go in full vertical. The world below the waves is vast and splendid, sandy bottoms, spotted with rock formations, fields of verdant sea grass, forests of kelp. And teeming with life aquatic of the most dazzling tropical colorations. The initial flurry of bubbles from pockets of trapped air disperses after 25 feet and he continues downwards a ways before curling upright. He takes a cursory look around in a 360-degree spin. The sea bed dips and rises, obscuring many a formation from full view, and reflections of light twist like serpents to confuse the underlying topography. No immediate sightings of predatory danger, although something in the immediate vicinity glints ominously. He makes for the surface again with a measured kick, and comes up in Maggie's vicinity. "This is the spot, all right," he reports presently. "But it was too much to hope that it would be -directly- underneath.."
Kicking back a little, Maggie trolls the water's surface with wide, wing-like movements of her arms. She watches Merrisol's dive, a flutter within sparked entirely by the sleek elegance of it. When he cuts the water, she waits expectantly for him to surface. When he takes his time beneath the waves, she draws in a long breath and curls, selki-like, below the wavelettes. Drawing her hair after her, the mass of it still floating above, she surveys the immediate area. Sea floor, kelp, sandy bottom, kelp, coral, glinting whatsis, sea floor and up she goes again. This time he arrives fairly soon and she nods once, "You know it is going to end up being right where I pointed when we were here before, right?" Her eyes sparkle and there is a teasing tone to her words, for she does not actually know where the sub has gotten itself off to. But, it would be funny, wouldn't it? Sobering, she drifts a bit closer, "We'll find it, Kerf. So... What do I need to do to get this Selkie's Kiss dealie?"
He blinks as he recalls that first rain-soaked night aboard the Wave Dancer, and smiles over the jest, but doesn't dare voice how wonderful a thought it is. Then the submersible definitely won't be there... just to spite them. He extends his hand to her beneath the surface, weaving their fingers together so the palms touch. "You just need to believe me when I tell you: the Sea will never take you from me while we are together," he says, his voice soft but resonant as it bounces up from the water's surface between them. "As we go down, let go of your need for air." When she's ready, he sinks, and draws her down with him.
Maggie smiles a bit in answer to his as she sees memory play over his features and she offers a slight wink. Of course it won't be right there, though it would be sort of glorious if it was. Her fingers are cool with the water and nerves, though they warm as his wind between them. Her palm touches his and she listens to the instructions given. For her, there is no hesitation. The sea will not take her from him as long as they are together. She nods, signaling that she is ready. As she begins to sink with him, drawn by his touch, she instinctively draws in a deep breath just before her head slips beneath the waves. The ponytail she wears streams out behind her, leaving a trail of deeply red tendrils to mark the way up. Slowly at first, she lets the air out of her mouth. Her eyes seek his and she expels the air from her lungs in a great rush of bubbles that rise to the surface in a froth that might seem alarming from above.
This is sort of what it must be like for high-flying trapeze artists. There is some measure of risk and trust in everything, of course, but a conscious commitment to live, or else imminently cease to live, on the word of another? In that one moment in time, whether hanging in mid-air before gravity snatches out of arms' reach, or sinking into the deep blue with just that one breath of air to sustain existence, the gesture of trust is beyond profound. Merrisol's eyes are there for her, no need to search, open and enraptured. Those bubbles stream away to a trickle in the space of seconds, but she doesn't have to go right to the edge of oblivion for the Sea to notice and give its blessing... figuratively. Belief and mysticism is a tricky thing for Merrisol, and perhaps the main reason he didn't want to discuss what he went through to gain such a secret, is that he knows that analyzing his understanding too deeply would bring about disastrous doubt. When he brings up his other hand, cupping her chin and then covering her mouth with his own in a lingering press, there is only intense wonder to be found in him, and an elegant simplicity of faith in his particular ritual. There is the sensation of breaching as water fills Maggie's mouth, sudden and unbidden, and inhaled rather than swallowed, due to the compressed state of the lungs. The pain of asphyxiation does not come, and since she is a pro at transitioning into Rebma, there should be no panic or shock either as it is much the same sensation in the end. Merrisol likewise doesn't turn it into a makeout session, and draws back after the first breath is taken underwater. His hand has already drifted from her chin, but he continues holding her other hand in his, the palms together and the fingers interwoven. "All right?" he smiles.
The smile that touches her lips warms her gaze as her eyes meet his and in that moment, in silence with only the shuddering hush of bubbles rising, much is offered. She does not move when he nears for he did tell her of this ritual. As his lips cover hers, her free hand rises to lightly rest on his shoulder. The inrush of water, converted magically or mystically by passing through him from ordinary, familiar sea water into something her body can use to supply oxygen is a sort of miracle. She does inhale it and there is no sense of panic or confusion or consternation. She is familiar with Rebman living and this gift is given by her Kerf and her faith in him is greater than her understanding. Her hand lowers when he pulls away for this is not the time or the place for an overabundance of physicality. She does not release his hand, however, her fingers and palm warmer now. The smile never leaves her eyes and she nods, "All right. Shall we?"
He looks pleased they are moving on to business with no dwelling over the magic technique, something that only a moment before encompassed their world. "It's not that far to the floor here," he notes, though it does look just a tad far really. But he means relatively, for 100ft is a pothole compared to the real drops out there. "If it's around here, anyone could get to and from it with no problem as long as they had a breathing apparatus. As the Begman crew would." His voice lacks some inflection, but his expression holds relief. "So, even if my father was gone, it's not like the rest would have been trapped forever within." He looks at their joined hands, and casually opens his, releasing her. Nothing happens. 'Together' is apparently a broader definition in this situation. They continue to trail downwards towards the seabed but now Kerf adds in a lateral stroke, moving away from the ship's position towards an area cluttered with rocks.
Maggie is willing to take the magic at face value, apparently. Unburdoned by a Begman's analytical mind, surrounded by it practically from birth, magic just is for her. Glancing down, she mentally measures the distance from sea bed to surface, "I will take your word for it, Kerf. But, if that kind of breathing aperatus exists, I want some for the ship." Because while the sea might love him, it is an uncertain friend for her and hers. Even so, his belief and the relief on his face kindles her hope. And why not? It is a nicer notion than the expectation of finding an ex-crew aboard. "I am sorry about your father. I think I would have liked to meet him. He must have been an amazing man." She is not looking at their hands or really at him for her gaze is scanning the sea bed seeking either the ship they are looking for or evidence of its passage so when he begins to release her hand she glances down at them, then up at him. Nothing happens. She smiles and moves with him downward with more certain strokes.
"I wish I could tell you about him.. things other than what was in Lady Elizabetta's notes," he says as they go. A cloud of silver fish with blue racing stripes wends past below, scattering briefly then reforming beyond their cast shadows. "Perhaps my mother will be able to tell me more when they let me see her." So many things now depend on that elusive vessel.. if it doesn't turn up here.. Kerf reaches the first of the rocky inclines, and turns to look back up the way they'd come. The shape of the Wave Dancer is still a sizable dark smudge on the otherwise cool blue sky. Frowning speculatively, he shakes his head. "Too close, maybe," he mutters. "Let's establish a wider perimeter.." he indicates a new target distance, "..before we begin. Better than having to make multiple passes." Even so, a wider search area means spending a lot more time in the wrong spots, possibly, before finding the right one. He seems certain, however. Their previous deductions, after cross-referencing witness accounts, have pointed to the necessary presence of both brothers aboard the ship. Connecting that to the mirror transport from Begma, and the near likelihood that the destination had been either upon or inside the Begman sub, must mean that at one point, he had been at the sub's position and gone to the pirate ship from there, either seeking his father, or seeking vengeance. The distance from here? Wrong. So they move on.
Maggie nods, sympathy shimmering in her eyes briefly. The silver fishes move in a coordinated dance in order to appear to be a single, much larger organism. Below lacy fronds of seaweed dip and weave as currents stroke past them. Shadows glide unconcernedly below, rippling over sand and stone alike. Looking back as he does, Maggie pauses to regard the Wave Dancer's underside. A swell of delighted pride fills her for this is a new angle to look at her home. And it hits her, perhaps for the first time, that her best friend has been going on without his own 'place' for a long time now. Further, she realizes how selfish she has been. Listening, she nods and turns away from her own ship to give the search for his all of her attention, "Okay. I wish that we had a map with us, though. Something to mark off searched territory." And they move on.
"That's a good idea, Maggie.. maybe there's something we can use to mark off the search area at intervals, so the Dancer won't be the only reference point," he muses. They crest another slope of sedimentary-type rock... and come upon a large carcass of some unfortunate marine animal. It's been here a good while, as the bones have been mostly picked clean, although there are still a great deal of starfish and crabs poking around for last tidbits. The rib cage is large enough for both of them to swim through side by side. After looking it over for half a minute, Kerf declares it is a juvenile whale. Probably separated from its pod during migration and run into shallower waters by pack predators.
Maggie smiles, pleased to be a positive help. She scans the nearby ridges as they swim, seeking some evidence that they are on the right track. The slope takes her attention for a moment, the light and shadow patterns cast by the distant, blue shrouded sun and nearer lacy seaweed, darting fish and twisting coral delighting her imagination. Vibrant colors softened by the faintly greenish light swim nearby or wave from either side. Delighted by everything, Maggie is unprepared for the shock of seeing the nearly denuded skelleton of the young whale. While she does not pause, she swims a little more slowly as they approach the twin arches of white bone. A juvenile. She draws in a long inhallation of salt water and nods at his explaination. Her only comment about the beauty and sorrow of the scene is a nearly whispered, "Poor thing."
Kerf had slipped ahead to measure skull to tail and fin proportions in order to state his conclusion, and now absently shakes a many-armed starfish off his foot, to bowl harmlessly though the loose sediment. It collects itself and mopes off to find something else to tickle. "Yes.. whale calves represent an enormous investment.. almost a full year's gestation and two or three more besides just working up to the mating ritual." He sets down on the seabed again, in a clear spot, and rests his hand on the large oblong skull. "The Rebmans should have held those children close, after the cataclysm, if for nothing else than preservation instincts." He pivots and swims along the ribcage before the clear spot becomes overrun with scavengers again, and grabbing hold of two of the longer rib bones, he twists, then wrenches them from the spinal column.
Maggie lingers a moment or two near one of the rib bones. She runs her hand along the bone, honey-gold against ... well, bone white. Sinking slowly, she is followed by her hair like a living shadow bedecked and bespeckled by sea horses of every color, silvery minnows and one inquisitive clown fish. The tie that holds the ponytail in place has slipped quite a bit, giving her hair an hourglass sort of figure. "The Rebmans?" Kicking back up once her toes brush the seabed, she modulates her tone as he draws near again, "Do they shephard whale calves or are you talking about the missing Rebman kids?" The departing starfish is given a bit of a grin though it dies when Kerf cracks off one, then another of the long ribs, "Um. For... defense?" One hand drops to where her cutlass should be, but it is not at her hip and the futility of even magical fire down here hits her and she realizes that she is woefully unprepared.
He wields them both on either side for a moment, handspan just large enough to grasp around the thickness of bone, then lays both across one shoulder, cupping the bottom end in regimental style. "Perimeter markers," he says to Maggie, glancing curiously down at her hip.. oh yes. Weapons. "We'll get some in-water training in at some point," he nods, smiling apologetically. "There's nothing hunting in the vicinity and no reason for them to come this close to the ship. If we take any cuts ourselves however, we'll head back for the ship." Bracing one foot against another rib, he begins working on its neighbour. "I was speaking of the orphans of Rebma, and the way they have been disregarded by their own kinsmen. In investigating the disappearances it has been discovered that the orphanage has been loaning them out for city maintenance projects and to various noble houses as servants." This seems a somewhat familiar tale, doesn't it.. although Kerf himself isn't aware of those particular details from his pirate's orphanage upbringing. With another thunk of sediment, the rib comes free and is offered to Maggie, unless she's already harvested a few of her own.
Maggie sculls back a little to get a better vantage point to view the man with his giant bones. A memory teases at the back of her mind but refuses to make itself known. Letting it go, she nods, "Ah, good idea." Lowering then she chooses one down a way from his. Pulling and twisting it she works it slowly free. It releases with a snap and a thump that propells her a few feet away while she spins once and angles back again. Taking the longer bone from Kerf, she nods, "Okay." Shifting her hair from one shoulder to the next she settles the bones where her hair was. Focusing on Kerf, she looks horrified, but not surprised. "I dont'... I don't get it. Children are a people's future. I know you know this, but it is maddeningly stupid to treat them badly. How do they expect tomorrow to be better if they don't prepare for it today? We should talk to Martin. He has the power to make a difference now and it seems to me that is a really good place to begin."
Crabs and small eels rush into the empty sockets made by the parting of the bones, to grab up rotted bits of hide and cartilage from those hard to reach spots. "Martin had left some matters of city planning to the council or other officials.. when he learned about this he was quite distraught," Kerf relays, in Martin's defence. "The orphanage itself was in an awful state, run by a reprobate Siren. Martin allowed the remainder, 15 all told, to be trumped over to the palace, as it was not a good part of the city for flatlander-types to be traveling about in the first place. Based on a few bits of information we've gathered, I think the children are being swept away by some malicious form of current. The Sea is angry, it's been said, and is letting it happen. Adding to that the source of the red algae to be a disturbance down in the Soldieve Deeps.. it might be... well, Martin once spoke of a beast as living and slumbering there. Leviathan." Meanwhile, they begin perimeter marking. After a little while, they return closer to the ship, and Kerf swims up to check on the crew from the surface.