You're made of the same salt as the sea

[session 6, 26.10.2023]
You’re made of the same salt as the sea
 
I join the others for dinner on the first night. It’s been a while since I’ve done good, honest work - not that the work we’ve been doing hasn’t been honest, it’s just. Not the type of physical labour I’ve gotten used to. We share stories of what we’ve been up to, Eira’s stories of catering to the noblefolks journeying with us, easily being the most interesting bit of gossip. I tell Rusalka that I’m happy to have them with me on a ship, eager to show them my other home. I haven’t been on this particular ship before, but that’s neither here or there. The concept of sailing once more, being part of a crew - even just for a little while - is what makes it home to me. The open horizon all around us, sea salt on my tongue and in my hair, the shrieks of the gulls and the eternal, eternal music of the waves. Rusalka shares that they’ve been working on the records of the ship, and how there’s definitely something fishy going on; somebody has been swindling funds into their own pockets. I tell them that would likely have to be either the captain or the boatswain, who would have handled the costs and other bookkeeping.
I’ve made friends with some of the sailors, I recall sailing a journey or two with one of them before, albeit only for a brief time. It’s easy to fall back into it all, finding my sea legs as if I had never even left the decks. I’ve seen it myself too, the signs of an approaching storm, but it’s nice to hear the same from the others. The waves have gotten choppy, the wind picking up. The temperature dropping, and there’s a hum in my ears, like the sea’s crashing waves against the inside of my skull, against each of my bones. I warn the others and everyone cringes, likely thinking the same as I… Luciano and Kazys have already been feeling ill, the journey not agreeing with either of them. Sudden rough seas won’t help them any. I assure them the storm ought to pass before the night is over, we’re breaking good speed.
 
It’s been a long day, and although I’m leaving Rusalka to sleep in the cabin, knowing that she’s with friends I’m not as concerned as I could be. Eira and I head back below deck to our own quarters, sharing with the rest of the crew. I take a moment to teach them how to set up a proper hammock, and just…crash. Sleeping in a hammock, comforted by the waves and the sound of an old ship creaking around me is comforting. Even with the storm, the waves picking up in intensity, sheets of rain hitting the deck above. I sleep like a baby.
 
I wake up early, my body knowing the rhythm of a ship - I shake Eira awake, much to their disappointment. I know how much they detest working, but I feel responsible to the crew and the captain. So, in the dim silence, we dress up and try to wake ourselves up, to get ready for the day when - there’s commotion above the deck, and it only takes us one gaze at each other to rush up the stairs. As we run, I knock on the door of the cabin I know Rusalka and the others sleep in, to let them know they should get up.
On the deck, there’s chaos.
 
Several, far larger than normal crabs…? Are on the deck, seemingly washed ashore by the storm waves - now blessedly gone, although Luciano and Kazys do both still look far too sickly to be standing on their own two feet, let alone participate in a duel of … whatever this is proving out to be. I pull Rusalka behind me and hear them scoff as me and Eira both pull out our swords and get ready to fight.
 
I should talk with Eira more, I really should. I appreciate them, and have come to trust them by my side in battle, their presence comforts me. Then again, I hope they wouldn’t think of that as flirting, because that’s not what I’m trying here. The first crab shambles closer to us, its noises almost too human-like, eerie in their pitch and desperation. It takes us far longer than what I had initially estimated, but eventually the deck is littered with crab carcasses, some of which are still bleeding.
 
I’ve never seen such huge crabs before - some of the more experienced sailors on board mention that although rare, they’re not entirely unheard of in these parts. Me and Eira climb up to the crow’s nest to see if there’s anything we can spot, the fight having left us both feeling anxious more than anything. We had both noticed that when stabbed, the crabs had sounded almost human in their anguish - certainly something that I’ve never seen before. We decide not to mention that part to the rest of the crew.
 
I lose myself in physical labour for the rest of the day, until Rusalka comes to find me in time for dinner - the captain wants to thank us for handling the situation so swiftly, and the cook has prepared a feast in our honour. She seems just as rustled as I about the fact, but we do not talk of what we witnessed earlier during the fight. My stomach grumbles, and I have to admit I am hungry. Ravenous, even.
 
The evening goes well, for the most part. I notice Kazys does not touch the food, instead choosing to eat the greens and bread available - perhaps he is the wisest of us, or perhaps he just simply does not eat meat. I do, and as long as I don’t think of the morning’s fight, I give my compliments to the chef. At some point, I find my way to say hi to Belinda and her group, chatting with them for a while. She tells me of what should happen once we arrive, how her master has sent her here specifically to gain favours and new connections, what seems to be a common nominator for many. By the end of the week, there ought to be one final party, but that’s not to say there shan’t be any others. She’s not too sure of what’s about to happen, it is her first time here after all. We agree to meet up once we arrive, and keep in touch.
 
Come evening, and I am restless. There’s not much for me to do, the skeleton crew of the ship not really needing my help anymore, so I dawdle, walk around the deck and just. Breathe in the ocean. At my side, the shell feels heavy, but comforting. I thumb the edges and creases of the smooth porcelain of it, each ridge and divot. I know Rusalka has noticed it, knows I keep it at hand, too close to be just a silly favour, a decoration. I cannot explain it, the comfort it gives me. If I carry it, it’s like my feet are buried into the sand as a wave crashes over my ankles, just pure salt of the ocean. It’s.. grounding.
 
Eventually, I find my way to the bar of the ship. Rather funny it should even have one, clearly The Lord of Milan is mostly outfitted to sail for the nobles and rich merchants, more for comfort and luxury than a ship truly needs, but it’s nice. The bartender is nice, too, I think his name’s Ned. He has a friend on the island, Carlisle, and I promise to deliver a letter to said friend if Ned wishes to write one - helping around has never hurt anyone, and I truly do enjoy doing that. Ned is thankful, and gives to us generously - wine flows, perhaps a little too strongly to be a good idea, but it is a good evening. The rest of my party have arrived after some time, and we spend a pleasant evening together, although curiously, Eira stays behind in the cabin. I try not to think too much of it. Tomorrow we shall set foot on Summer Isles.