~Kouryuu~

This is my first post of work! ^_^ It's of a story that I want to publish one day, so as much criticism as possible would be great! I'm not entirely certain if I like the prologue, so I'm either going to change it or drop it... not sure! lol! I'll post it up anyway.

My story is a fantasy seafaring tale! ^_^ Been watching too much Hornblower lately, I reckon! Lol! Anyway, I'm not settled on a title as such, but I've been calling it Ocean Soul, so we'll leave it with that for now! :]


Kiefer bounded forwards into the darkened alcove and pressed himself flat against the damp wall. He clamped his eyes shut as a dozen wardens sprinted by him, the dirt from their shoes flinging up into his face. A loose shard of obsidian drew blood on his cheek, but Kiefer did not cry out. None of them had seen him, and as they departed, Kiefer let out a sigh of relief. He was only glad that there had been no search dogs.

He waited until he could no longer hear the harried footsteps before he peeled his sweating body away from the wall and darted back into the torchlight of the mine shaft. Heavy iron chains linked his blooded wrists, and another set rattling around his ankles prevented him from running fast. He needed to run fast. He knew he could get them off, but there wasn’t time. It would take too long. His only chance was to run. To run as fast as he could. Not to hesitate. He was almost there.

Along the tunnel, an alarm shrilled, ringing in his ears over and over again in a pattern that in his frenzied panic came to sound like words. Must get out. Must get out. Must get out.

Sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes.


Must get out. Must get out. Must get out.

He came to a fork. For a moment he stood bewildered, trying to remember the map he had forced himself to memorize. Don’t hesitate. Must not hesitate. He couldn’t remember. His mind was blank. In his ears, his heart pounding drowned out the sounds of the sirens. He closed his eyes and sniffed the estranged air.


Must get out. Must get out. Must get out.

The sea. He could smell the sea. Kiefer darted to the left, ignoring the pain as the shackles dug into his flesh. Stronger. The scent was stronger. A bracing wind swept through the tunnel and Kiefer knew he was close. There was a cavern nearby where they kept the boats. He had to get to one of those boats.

He tripped and banged his knee on the stone. He felt the flesh split open and the warmth of blood. Don’t stop. Can’t stop. Groping the walls, Kiefer pulled himself to his feet. He cut his hand. He swore, but did not stop to rip the obsidian slither from the gash. He was running again. Fast. Strained.

There were some steps. He hobbled down them and saw the door. Shoulder first, he rammed into it with all the strength he had. The door fell away from its frame, and Kiefer stepped over it carefully so not to catch his chains. He was standing on the jetty now, water all around him.

It was two in the morning and outside a storm growled savagely, but Kiefer could not wait. He found a boat. A small one that he could easily manage by himself. He jumped into it. There was an axe on its decking. He picked it up and cut away its moorings. The force of the storm pulled it out of the docks, something of which Kiefer was glad because they moved fast, faster than he could have done by hand.

He was halfway out of the mouth now, but he knew he was not safe yet. He needed to get further out to sea. It was a suicidal plan to risk the wildness of that squall but no more so than staying here, and he knew they would not follow him out while the waves rode high. That gave him time. He needed time.

A flintlock pistol fired. The sound rang out in the cavern, but the lead ball was lost in the rain. Kiefer did not hesitate. He spun about, scooping up the axe in his bound hands, and let it fly with deadly accuracy. He did not miss. He knew he dared not.

Outside now, thunder broke overhead like an exploding keg of powder and a flash of white lightning hung in the darkness for a good five seconds afterwards. Stone-faced, Kiefer observed the waves, holding onto the single mast with worn hands. The rain was hammering in from the west, and even though he had been buried away in the darkness of the obsidian mines, Kiefer had smelt the storm coming long before the first rumble had sounded.

He was quite a way out now, and he counted the bucking waves, anticipating the one that might turn the boat over. The hull rose out of the ocean, slamming back down seconds later onto another rise of water. But Kiefer was laughing, the rain splashing down his face beside teardrops. The sound of the squall. It had been so long since he had heard its rhythmical tones. Guns sounded from the underground cave. But he was too far out now. He’d done it.

He looked back at the dark mountain island of Rigar Prison, slowly disappearing against the blackened horizon, and felt a sudden release in his chest. He’d done it. All he had to do now was ride out the storm.

He smiled.

But that, after all, was the easy part.



TAKI AWOKE ABRUPTLY, coming out of sleep gasping for breath. He sat up sharply encased in a horrid cold sweat, trembling. Wrapping his arms about himself for comfort, he let a few minutes pass before he finally dared to open his eyes.


He was in his room. For that alone, he was glad.


It was still dark outside, but Taki had seen enough early hours to know that it was morning. Wiping the sweat from his face, he turned and glanced at the clock on the table beside his bed. It was a miracle that he had somehow found the energy to wind it the night before, but the face now read four a.m.


Running a hand through his sweat soaked hair, he threw back the covers and got out of bed. He slipped his trousers on in the dark and went into the adjoining bathroom. There, he lit a candle and put it by the water basin. Briefly, he bathed, hoping the coldness of the water would make him forget those hours of sleep just past. In his heart, he knew that it would not, but he threw some more water up onto his head anyway.


He saw a haggard face in the mirror when he looked up, tired and characterless, and it took him a long time to realise that it was his own. He was twenty-two years old. With a handsome slender face and soft tawny hair tied back carelessly in a ponytail, he should have looked like an elegant young aristocrat. But his bright blue eyes, set beneath eyebrows that hid a reckless nature and a hot temper, were bitter and no longer held a personality. These days, Taki found it difficult to recognise himself.


He blew out the flame and went back into his room in the dark. He found a shirt and put it on.


Outside, the storm was settling. It had been bad all night, and the rain was still coming down hard against the west side of the house.


It was four-fifteen now.


He stepped out into the hall and headed for the stairs, treading as lightly as he could on the floorboards absent of coverings. On his way past, he gently pushed open the door of the room next to his own and looked in. The small body on the bed was still and breathing softly. He concentrated on the sound, trying to match the peaceful rhythm. But his heart, disquietened still, thumped against his rib cage as heavily as thunder. For a moment, he felt faint, as though the ground beneath his feet was no longer holding him. But it past. As did the nausea. Like it did every morning.


Claws raked down the back of his thigh, and when he looked down, two golden eyes set in a black face stared back at him. Vaguely, Taki smiled. He glanced quickly back into the darkened room, at the silent figure sleeping and at the pigtails showing just over the edge of the blanket, before pulling the door closed without a sound.


For a minute or two, he paused, unmoving, staring at nothing on the floor, so many unwanted images from his nightmare passing through his head and hurting him all over again. But then he turned away and headed for the stairs, the firm body of the black panther brushing past his leg halfway down and beating him to the kitchen.


It was cold there, chilled over from the night of high winds and rainfall. But Taki was thankful for the sharpness. A familiar puddle was on the bare stone floor, and he blankly eyed the roof and the mouldy patch where the rain would continue to drip through. Sullenly, he exhaled, and stepped over it, moving to the back door where Solaris was patiently waiting, and unlocked it. Afterwards, he pushed it open, feeling his heart gradually beginning to settle as a hard sea wind coming up from the mountains hit him straight in the face and made his lips quiver.


The panther hesitated for only a second on the step before leaping out into the tempestuous rain. She would find her own breakfast.


As for Taki, he didn’t bother to check the cupboards. He found there was little point searching for something that he already knew wasn’t there.


At the tap, he filled a glass with water, clouding as he drank some, and then sat down at the table. Letters from the day before were still lying there, unopened, so Taki picked them up. There were three altogether, but the hallmark on one caused him to pass a hand over his face and discard the other two. He stood up, pushing the chair away from him suddenly, and moved stiffly across the room to a surface where there was a knife. He scored the top, pulling the parchment out afterwards and unfolded it, reading over its contents quickly and several times through without blinking and, he realised afterwards, without breathing. He sighed tiredly when he had finished and dropped it beside the kettle.


Taki let his head hang freely against his chest, and for a moment, as his body began to tremble, he closed his eyes. Inside, the acid in his stomach was unsettling, and his feet aching to run away. He brought his hand back up to his face and held it there for sometime.


He was already trying so hard. No one could tell him he wasn’t. But even his hardest didn’t seem to be enough anymore. He felt a sweat bead on his hairline, blistering against his skin. He felt sick. And tired. So very tired.


Slowly, he raised his head again, opening his eyes only halfway, and exhaled.


He tried to remember when he had gotten so far behind, but he couldn’t. It seemed now as though it had always been this difficult.


He swallowed back the last bit of water and placed the empty glass by the sink. Almost as an afterthought, Taki past his eyes over the clock on the wall. Four-thirty-five.


He flung back his head and cursed.


Pulling his jacket free from the hook by the back door, Taki managed to slip it on before darting out into the rain. Although, it didn’t make much difference as it was still soaked through from his trek home from work the night before. But the fact went unnoticed to Taki as he ran. He was going to be late.


He was going to be late and Taki would pay for it.


Pay for it hard.


And his last bruises had only just disappeared.

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Xtlk 1

I liked it very much, it was pretty easy to read. I think you should keep the prologue. That gave it a nice feel to the story. The only problem I see is a little repetitiveness.

For the first chapter I suggest you try to mix things around a little. Flip through characters thoughts/actions and narrative. Don't forget that the first chapter is the lead-in. You need to try and reveal more about the character and the situation he is in. Its good that you revealed a few minor internal conflicts. Try to expand on those.

Not bad...

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-Xtlk - My Hopeful Book!

A shattered daimond does not mend,
Yet pieces of glass are fused again.
The purest hearts are the ones that break,
The guarded and stained are the ones that remain.

~Kouryuu~

Thank you! :] That was only the first scene of the first chapter though. I tend to prefer writing chapters of about 10k words rather than anything shorter, and flip between characters and scenes more frequently. I'll post some more up. I'll end each post at the end of a scene. ^_^ Thank you for reading :]

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~Kouryuu~

The light of the moon is fading, dimming gradually with the impending dawn.


This far across the Crescent Sea, the storm had already ended. A thick fog was now rising from the ground like smoke, closing in tight around the grand timber and stone houses and filling the narrow streets of a large luxurious city.


A little way off, on the docks, two men waited in the dark. Twenty more fifty metres away. One was a lieutenant, identified easily by his uniform compulsory to men of his rank and in servitude to the Island Nations.


He was looking at the sky, a vague smile tipping the corner of his mouth.


The man accompanying him, of a rank below, but certainly holding more age, was Averstone, and he pulled the watch from his inside pocket and flipped open the front with trembling fingers.


‘Time?’


‘Almost five.’


The lieutenant exhaled. ‘A little longer then.’


‘He should be here by now.’


‘Relax, Jon. He’ll be here.’


Averstone grunted and huffed on his hands. ‘He’d better be. It’s damn cold.’


The lieutenant couldn’t deny it. The dawn would be a shivering affair. He let out a tired yawn and cast his eyes out over the dockyard. He could just make out the lights of some fishing vessels heading out to sea, noiselessly cutting their way away from the shore. And, unable to stop himself, he couldn’t help feeling just a little bit jealous.


‘It could be worse,’ he said aloud, his mind back-tracking a little.


‘How?’ grumbled the elder man, whose hands were now thrust deep inside the pockets of his weighty mariner’s coat.


‘Well,’ he replied, yawning again, ‘it could still be raining.’


‘Or you could be dead.’


The lieutenant flinched, his eyes widening. Instinct brought his hand to the hilt of his blade, but he did not draw it. He tried to spin around but the barrel of a firearm being pressed into his spine encouraged him to stay as he was. A lump arose in his throat, and through it, he could feel the hammering beats of his heart double.


Slowly, he brought his hands up either side of his face.


The voice that had come from behind him had been raspy, like the sound of rusty iron grating together, perhaps from a man who knew very well indeed how to strike terror into a person with only a few words.


‘Mister Steele?’ he guessed.


There was a light chuckle, but it sounded like rattling chains.


‘Ain’t that cute?’ said the voice, far too close to his ear to relieve him. ‘’E thinks I’m you, Cap’n.’


‘Hardly surprising, my friend.’


The lieutenant’s heart skipped again and his head sprung up and round to his left side. There was a second man there, leaning against the harbour-facing wall of the master’s hut. He hadn’t seen him there, neither of the officers had.


‘What, with my reputation and your manner,’ he continued.


The man behind chuckled again and stabbed once more at the lieutenant’s spine with the pistol.


‘You – you’re Cailean Steele?’ He flinched again and bit down on his lower lip as a hand suddenly gripped around the back of his neck.


‘That’s Cap’n Steele to you, bilge rat.’


‘My – my apologies – sir.’


The grip ceased but the voice was still just as close. ‘Now, where’s Hurgoode?’


Desperate not to illustrate his anxiety any further, the lieutenant took a breath and said as levelly as he could, ‘I’m afraid the commodore is at home with the fever, sir.’


The man exhaled with a disdainful snort. ‘Is that right?’


Averstone was nodding frantically, but the lieutenant knew that it wasn’t a question.


‘And who are you?’ said the man by the hut.


‘Gray. L-Lieutenant Gray, sir.’


The man had been watching the sky the entire time, his arms folded across his chest neatly, but when he moved, Gray saw him properly for the first time.


His hair was loose, long and certainly beautiful, hanging just below his shoulders, and as bright white as the dog star. The morning wind had stirred his long fringe from behind his ears and it was now swaying attractively in front of two brilliant emerald eyes lined with long black lashes. Gray could not draw his eyes away from his face, so perfectly chiselled and elegant that even the most black-hearted a man would stop and stare at its exquisiteness. He hadn’t looked a particularly tall man leaning against the wall, but now that he was standing in front of him he could see his height was indeed above average.


‘Gray,’ he repeated. ‘A relation to the Count, I assume.’


His voice was just like his appearance, as smooth as silk, gentle, and as his tongue curved around each word Gray found his anxiety slowly loosening.


‘You know my father?’ he queried.


A light shrug lifted the man’s slender shoulders. ‘I am well informed of people, Lieutenant.’ He unfolded his arms and held out his hand. ‘I am Cailean Steele.’


Gray took his hand, uncertain what would happen if he didn’t, and shook it. He was still feeling greatly confused. This man – this man who could easily pass as an aristocrat in the King’s court – could not possibly be the infamous pirate he had heard stories of as a child. That face - certainly not the face of a mad pirate who would sink any ship that dared cross his path.


Steele closed his eyes and refolded his arms across his chest. A rhythmic laugh past over his tongue, and sounded like jingling glass. ‘You were expecting someone else, I think,’ he said.


‘N-no,’ the lieutenant said quickly, his cheeks turning bright. ‘It’s just … the stories … they’re not … you’re not …’


‘Stories are just greatly exaggerated facts, Lieutenant.’


‘Or no’ so exaggerated,’ hissed the man still behind Gray.


‘You may disarm yourself now,’ Steele said, nodding to him.


The pistol slowly dropped away from his back, but Gray waited until he heard it being uncocked before lowering his hands and turning around.


‘This here is my First Mate, Gentleman Solomon Howell.’


Gray nodded and bowed a little. He had heard stories about him too. Stories which, however, when put against Steele’s were still incomparable. After meeting both men, Gray could not help but think the reputations should be the other way around.


Howell was a taller man, towering over his captain of at least six feet seven, with broad shoulders and a well-built chest. His hair was long also, but blood red, tied back into a ponytail with a section of black twine. It was draping over his left shoulder, twitching gently in the steadily waning wind, and if it had been loose, Gray was surprised to realise that it could have easily reached his hips. Beyond that was a wild face, sun-toned and scarred in several places where cuts had been poorly stitched, completely unlike the soft porcelain skin of his master. But his eyes were inflamed, lashless, and sharp. And he had a look about him that suggested the wind and waves had clearly been decisive in this man’s life on more than one occasion. His tongue was twice as fierce as any, that was for sure.


There was no doubt in Gray’s head that First Mate Howell was the elder of the two men, looking at least forty-five, for he knew Steele was known to be only in his late thirties, even though, looking at him now, he appeared to have the cast of a much younger man.


‘Hurgoode is sick, you say?’ Steele questioned, his eyebrows dropping over his narrow eyes in concern.


‘Yes,’ Gray replied dutifully. ‘He has the fever, sir.’


‘I am very sorry to hear that.’


Gray nodded.

Etiquette. He hadn’t expected Cailean Steele to have etiquette. But he said anyway, ‘I will send the commodore your concerns, sir.’


Steele nodded gracefully.


‘And I suppose, you, boy, have been put in the good commodore’s place, ‘eh?’ said Howell, tucking his pistol back into his belt.


‘Yes, sir.’


‘Have you ever done anything like this before, may I ask?’ said Steele. ‘Made dealings with – what is it that they call us, Solomon? – pirates, is it?’


Howell grinned callously. ‘Yeah, Cap’n. I reckon they does.’


‘Have you ever made dealings with pirates before, Lieutenant?’


Gray fidgeted badly, a sweat slowly beading its way up his neck. ‘Never, sir,’ he said. ‘This – this will be my first time.’


‘I see.’


‘But I have a good head for business,’ Gray added quickly and a little more desperately than he meant. He took a breath. ‘I assure you, Commodore Hurgoode’s absence, Captain Steele, need not be a hindrance to this transaction.’


The man seemed to look at him for some time after that, his bright green eyes perforating his own so profoundly that it refused him the opportunity to recoil. He felt the sweat growing around his collar, suddenly noticing how restricting his uniform was to breathe. But then the man smiled, a gentle movement of muscles that just tipped the corners of his mouth, and he dropped his eyelids with a single bob of his head. Every action, Gray decided, as well calculated as a dance.


‘J.J?’


‘Right here, Cap’n.’


Gray turned his head to his right where another man stepped out of the shadows. He swallowed heavily. Averstone and he had been surrounded all along and they hadn’t even noticed.


‘This is my Second Mate, Jeremiah Jenkins,’ Steele said.


The man bobbed his head at the lieutenant. Gray returned the courtesy.


Jenkins was also a tall man, of a height between his captain and Howell, and just as bizarre to look at. Two neat black braids fell down either side of the man’s neck and settled against his chest, a feathered charm tied in occasionally contrasting the dark colour. Just like Solomon Howell, Jenkins’ skin was weathered and almost golden in tone. Black eyes. As black as the horizon had been an hour ago, and its density made Gray feel uneasy.


‘Bring ashore the goods,’ Steele said to him.


The man nodded once, and then turned to Gray. ‘Does the lieutenant wish to inspect his cargo?’


Gray faulted. ‘O-of course,’ he said, hoping that was what was expected of him.


Cailean Steele seemed to agree with his answer which put him at ease a little at least, and Jeremiah Jenkins turned and disappeared into the fog.


‘You are quite right, Lieutenant,’ he said. ‘We can do business despite Hurgoode’s ill fortune. Solomon, perhaps you would lend a hand. I wish to depart before sunup if possible.’


Howell’s eyes hadn’t left Lieutenant Gray even once since he’d given up his pistol, but the officer was certain that even with that being so he was watching several other places at the same time. His soldiers, for instance, stationed a short distance away under the bridge, Averstone trembling behind him, and his captain.


He exhaled loudly, and turned on the heels of his long seaman’s boots and began to stalk along after Jenkins. ‘Aye.’


‘Perhaps, you, sir,’ Steele said, meaning Averstone, ‘would care to run along to your men and get them to help. They’re looking rather cold standing around in the fog. The movement would do them good. And yourself.’


Averstone was still looking very anxious, and when Gray told him to do as the captain suggested, he very quickly saluted and excused himself, merely, he thought, to get away.


Moon-white hair danced playfully in front of sparkling green jewels for a moment, and then Steele turned and followed.


‘How about you, Lieutenant?’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Care to carry out your inspection now?’

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Creator

Well it's a fic that's begging for crtique!

Ahem, I will not go into grammar and stuff but the content.

He waited until he could no longer hear the harried[ is this a new word? or mispelled, hurried?] footsteps

Along the tunnel, an alarm shrilled, ringing in his ears over and over again in a pattern that in his frenzied panic came to sound like words. Must get out. Must get out. Must get out. [What's with the repeat?]

Must get out. Must get out. Must get out.[Is this the character's thoughts? if so I think adding "" would be nice...]

He came to a fork.[Fork?]

OK..... finally comments, I think there are some sentences that can be rewritten as thoughts of the characters as I can see that there are like "must get out" .etc

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[http://sgslush.freeforums.org/

~Kouryuu~

Hi Creator!! Thanks for reading! ^_^ Hmm, the "Must get out" repeat is like it explained what he's come to hear in the sound of the alarm. An alarm doesn't sound only once, it repeats, over and over, pounding into your head.
Fork means fork in the track.
Harried is a word :]
Thanks!! ^_^

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~Kouryuu~

Okay, sorry about double posting, but I havent had any feedback in a while (dont think anyone like my work!! XD) so I'm gonna update regardless! :] Hope nobody minds.


By the time Taki had gotten down the mountain to the track edging the cliff, it had completely stopped raining. The ground was soggy from the long night of it, mud and water splashing up his trouser legs right up to the knee as he ran. But, for the first time in months, Taki actually stopped, breathing in the fresh storm-spent air and looked out over Sheer.

The sun was rising, its fierce red disc fanning out over the horizon, streaking a naked sky with its pulsating colour. A great orange glow, iridescent on the waves that surrounded their island, bled out over the hillside and struck his face. He brought his arm up to shield his eyes. It was a reach that would bring tremendous heat later on he was certain.

He could see both of the isles that made of the three Gallanica Islands from where he stood. Vedra to the right; the tall pillars that supported the bridge from it to Sheer sticking up high in his line of sight. Past that, the small spire of the school’s chapel, and beyond that, a hundred houses whose roofs were gleaming golden in the early hour light.

He turned his head south-eastward to Tuya, the smallest of the three islands, connected to Sheer and Vedra only by chain ferry. It was a scrap yard. The whole island. And it was where Taki worked. It was hardly desirable, he knew, but what other job was someone like him able to get? He sighed, but it was only a momentary sound rolling off his tongue, because as he looked down he saw the ferryman preparing the chains to cross. He was going to miss the boat.

In hurried distraction, Taki turned left at the fork in the track and darted down the cliff path, meaning to be at the bottom in four strides. But in his desperate rush he failed to notice that the path was already occupied and collided with a blonde haired boy coming up, smashing into him so unprepared that the collision knocked him off his feet.

‘Argh! You damn fool! Watch where you’re going!’

Taki held onto his head for a moment, stunned, but then he lifted his eyes, squinting badly against the sun and frowned at the silhouette.

‘Marin?’

Rebalancing, the blonde lifted his own head and cast his eyes over the boy on the floor.

‘Taki?’ he presumed, his brow furrowed also.

Taki nodded, wiping his palm full of mud on the thigh of his trousers before accepting the hand that had been extended to help him up.

‘Wow! Taki, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said, lying as he felt his heart beginning to recoil away deep into his chest as too many memories of this man assailed his head. Marin Pellum. He was several years older than himself, dressed in a clean officer’s uniform with carefully cropped and combed golden hair. The eight men behind him were as neatly dressed in seamen’s attire, and he realised that he knew a lot of them as well. In any case, he was certain they all knew him.

‘Wow,’ Pellum said again, his eyes evidently wandering up and down Taki’s body. ‘Taki. What a surprise to see you.’

Taki half-smiled, feeling defeated when he let his eyes drop away from their penetrative stares.

‘You look …’ The man paused, a little too obviously, and then said, ‘Good. You look … good.’

He was a liar. As much as he hated it, Taki was aware of how shabby his clothes were, how unsightly his khaki green cargo pants looked with the hole in the knee, and how worn out his shirt appeared when it no longer looked white. It was just luck that his long three-quarter length black coat covered the ripped off sleeves. But he was guessing, from their faces, that with the addition of the mud his appearance must have been even uglier.

He nodded anyway and said, ‘You too,’ meaning the uniform.

The man thanked him.

‘What have you been doing with yourself?’ he asked, a careful tone in his voice. ‘I mean, after you left the academy. No one knew what happened to you. You just … disappeared and –’

‘I came home,’ Taki said.

Pellum nodded. ‘Most of us figured as much. I’m glad that you’re …’ He paused again, and Taki bit down on his tongue. ‘That you’re doing … okay.’

Liar, he thought again. Why did he have to run into these men now? He could sense his body starting to withdraw, an anxious feeling burning a sweat up the back of his neck and on his palms, and he hated it.

‘You seem to be doing okay also,’ he said.

The man laughed through his nose. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I got a post on Versus.’ He gestured behind him. ‘We all did.’

Versus. A fifth rate frigate captured from the Empire and refitted with Nation colours. Taki had seen it being towed into Tuya’s dock on its way to Amada for refurbishment. She was a poor sailer. Far too heavy in ballast to manoeuvre properly.

Taki simply nodded.

‘Maybe you’ve seen the rig we’re looking for?’

‘Bullen!’ Marin Pellum snapped round and glared down the tallest seaman. The man shut his mouth. ‘You think twice before you divulge classified information if I were you, sailor.’

‘Yessir.’

Taki frowned. ‘What rig?’

For a moment the officer wasn’t going to say anymore, but the burning desire to show off his position discoloured his face so visibly that Taki just stood and waited for him to shrug and continue.

‘I suppose you could help us as you live here. And us being old friends and all,’ Pellum decided. ‘It seems that someone ran aground on the shoals this morning. Don’t want a body washing up to scare the local folk, do we? If you see anything, you’ll let us know right?’

Taki nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘God only knows what idiot was out sailing in that storm last night. Someone with a death wish maybe.’

‘Wasn’t you, was it, Taki?’ sniggered one of the boys behind Bullen.

Taki squared his jaw, but failing once again to hold their smarmy expressions, he let his eyes drop away, immediately hating himself afterwards for letting it happen.

‘Nah, couldn’t be him,’ said another. ‘Everyone knows he can’t sail no more.’

Acting-Lieutenant Marin Pellum flicked back his arm and caught the sailor square in his chest with a closed fist, hitting him hard enough to encourage the grin to disappear not only from his face but from the faces of all the men.

‘Quit it, Roades,’ he said.

‘It’s all right,’ Taki said, feeling suddenly nauseous. ‘Leave it.’

It wasn’t like they were wrong anyway. He couldn’t sail anymore. Who would give him a ship?

‘I’ve got to go to work,’ he said, so desperate to get away from these uniforms and these faces.

‘Work? Somewhere near here?’

Taki cringed, but nodded anyway. ‘Tuya,’ he said simply, knowing whatever pride he had left had now been entirely spent with these men.

‘The scrap yard?’

He heard a repressed snigger. Taki said nothing.

‘Well, whatever pays, right?’ Pellum said pensively. ‘Come on, lads, back to work for you too. Don’t mind if we get on, right?’

Taki shook his head weakly. And Pellum grinned.

‘See ya later, Captain.’

Taki waited until he could no longer see the officer’s bright blonde hair, before continuing down the path. He knew that as soon as he was out of sight the whole gaggle of them would be on their knees laughing, scoffing at him, joking about what he had once been and what he had become.

Captain.

He felt sick in his stomach.

They had all called him that once. Fondly. Back in the days when his father was sailing. Back when he had had dreams. Back when he had been brilliant.

Taki fought back the pain burning deep inside his heart. Things were different now. So much different. No one called him that anymore.

Why wouldn’t his past leave him alone? Why wouldn’t they let him forget?

But deep down – deep down he knew that his torment was for life.

And the ferry had already left.

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ClancyBoy

People can be so cruel

I liked it.

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"Mother Hitton's Littul Kittons wait for you down there. Little pets they are, little little little pets. Cute little things, they say. Don't you believe it. No man ever saw them and walked away alive. You won't either. That's the final dash, flash. That's the utter clobber, cobber." --Cordwainer Smith, Norstrillia.

~Kouryuu~

Lol! xD Oh well! Thanks for reading Clancy! ^_^

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Baron

I also like it thus far. More coming?

Rob

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Truth-Teller

Remove all of the word, "was" and your writing is sound infinitely times better.

Write it as if it's happening now, not several years ago.

Storm Eagle

I feel that this is extremely well written. I woulld LOVE to see more.

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Work in Progress...The Quill...I'll be sure to post it once finished rereading it for the seventh time and revising.

~Kouryuu~

Really? O.O
I thought this was a write-off on this forum!

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Telcontar_Jack

"Write-off"?

...don't make me smack you.

Seriously, this is some off the better, if not best, writing that I've seen in a while. Keep it up.

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"Nobody move!...I dropped me brain!"
Pirates of the Caribbean, At World's End

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYIsErMv8no

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRcj6CAhe7s

"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, here goes...I mean Amen," said Ransom, and hurled the stone as hard as he could into the Un-man's face.
-C. S. Lewis, Perelandra <---I love that...

~Kouryuu~

DOOD!!!! YOU'VE AVATAR ROCKS!!! XD

One of the best books and movies ever! :]

Thanks by the way. I will post more when I get on my laptop tomorrow.

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