I hold him in a respected regard. I've no reason to doubt his word when it's given. He is not the most tender nor sensitive of men. His love until now has been work.
[Which makes his union with the redheaded woman across the fire more interesting.]
[ She signs again, realizing her assumptions of her new husband were true. ]
"Four months."
[ He had offered a good dowery for her and held enough respect through his business that her family's name would continue to be respected back home. She had already caused enough of a stir marrying Clint like she had. ]
[Four months. And here she is on the other side of the world. Well. Frank merely nods and scoots closer to the fire to dry what he can of his clothes. Staying here on the beach is not ideal. At least the girls have layers and layers of clothes. The waves crash in the darkness.]
[ She sighs heavily through her nose, knowing she probably made the wrong choice for her heart. But her family deserved better respect and her daughter deserved a father. Her own selfishness had been served years ago.
While her mother looks back into the fire, Anya goes back to munching on the fish. She waits a mouthful before turning back to the man, ]
Me? I...used to sail on tallship. I served in the Navy and after I was a merchant. Fever took my family so I was adrift. I came to this island and... seemed as though I was meant to be here.
[The most brief, possibly most removed he has ever been from telling this tale. The sweet little girl doesn't need the trouble of his life's story when her own has just begun with it's own share of tragedy. May it end here, he hopes.]
[ Natasha shakes her head at Anya again, a warning not to ask more about that. With their own loss still so painfully felt, Natasha feels it important not to tread on this one for him.
(Even as it makes her feel worse for her treatment of him since they arrived on shore.)
Anya goes back to being silent until she can't stand it and has to ask: ]
Were you ever a pirate?
[ Natasha presses her mouth into a line and rolls her eyes. She really does take after Clint in most ways. ]
[He chuckles warmly. The fire crackles and the rest of the night is quiet. Not even the wind too loud this close to the shore. Or perhaps the waves are the loudest, most soothing of things.]
No, little miss. I was never a pirate. They are not good people.
[ She wrinkles her nose and goes back to eating her fish with a grumble, knowing better than to say how "boring" that answer was. But it's not long after she's eaten her fill that she's yawning wide and rubbing at her eyes.
Natasha pulls out the blanket from earlier and opens it up, clearing her throat to get her to come over. There's a hint of a voice there but it's cut-off and barely formed. As soon as Anya is close enough, her mother wraps her in the blanket and scoops her back up in her arms. The child falls asleep like that, Natasha cradling her like she were still a babe.
Thin pale fingers gently stroke the child's face lovingly, occasionally tapping on the skin as if the piano keys were there. It's one of the ways she shows affection to her daughter, still feeling sadness in her own heart that she can't express that love verbally. ]
[The two of them together like that, it's beautiful. Mother and child with the firelight dancing high still. Frank tosses the uneaten carcasses out of their little camp so as not to attract unwanted predators. His eyes feel heavy but he still looks at Natasha. Eyes blink slowly as he reminds himself that the night is long and not yet over.]
[ Natasha eventually looks over to him, feeling his eyes on her. Green meeting brown once again and she holds his gaze this time. She wishes she could apologize to him for her behavior, apologize for the loss of his family. She's not sure she would've survived if she had lost her daughter, too.
But there's no way to communicate with him, is there? He doesn't know signing and he can't read. There's this horrid wall between them. One of silence and an emotional distance greater than what is between two people in any normal instance.
[Her voice isn't something that one can hear. And there's no denying she has a spirit. Those green eyes are stormy and filled with so much. The language is unknown to him. So he can only look back.
Frank sighs and gives the fire a poke.]
Sleep now, my lady. I'll ensure no harm will come to you.
[He can only guess that that is mistrust in her steady gaze. A man may come and feed them both, he may build a fire but he is not her husband. What a fat lot men have done to her. So young and so much she's lived through.]
[ She waits until he looks back at her to shake her head "no". With one hand, she tries to tell him what she thinks. She points to him ("You") and then presses the topside of that hand to her cheek, tipping her head to rest on it ("sleep").
She then points to herself ("I") and then two fingers to her eyes before moving them to the space around them, dark where the fire can't reach ("will watch").
It's the best she can do with how limited their speech seems to be with one another. ]
[ She gives a single nod. If her own eyes begin to grow heavy, she will wake him. But as it is, she isn't tired.
In the days after Clint's death, she barely slept. But sat up and stared out of the window when she wasn't comforting her daughter. Anya slept in her bed more than she did then.
And now, those memories kept her up. As well as circling thoughts plaguing her: did she really make the right choice in coming here? What if he was unkind to her, her daughter? She bottles her heavy sigh in and looks up at the sky. As the clouds continue to move above them, stars peek out.
Then, some time later, the moon itself.
Softly, once it looks like Frank as gone to sleep, she begins to practice her words. Or attempt to. It's more an attempt at sounds. She's too embarrassed to do it in front of anyone else. So she does them in the dark, when she's alone. ]
Sss-kah...kah...
Baahh...
Mmmm...Mmmuu...
[ The sound of her voice, faint and cut-off still, is carried away on the wind and sounds of the ocean. ]
[He had no intention at all of sleeping. Frank was warmed by the fire, the back of him chilled. Speaking to the young girl and her mother had roused thoughts he had long since hoped were buried. His fair-haired wife and two children were cozy as the colorful birds in the trees. They all had so much more to experience, to live through, to plan. Having them pass so quickly, one after the other was torture. Every night he had prayed that if God had a design that he take him and leave them. Such prayers were not heard.
This tropical paradise did not have any familiar streets or sights to remind him of the family he lost. The people of the land were inquisitive, smart, rich with culture and Frank was exposed to so many new concepts, words and it was easy to tell himself that he could be here anew. Nothing of the old would be recovered or restored.
Nodding off the image of a mother cradling her sleeping child is practically etched into his mind as he drifts away. With every breath for a moment he sees his long gone bride and the bundle of a girl like their first born. The waves heave and rush. Falling into sleep happens between blinks.]
[ Natasha stays awake, her memories of her past life and thoughts of her uncertain future more than enough to keep her awake through the night. The first light of dawn turns the sky a shade of violet before blue, growing lighter and more vibrant as the sun peeks over the ocean.
She gently nudges her daughter awake, so she can see it happen, holding her finger to her mouth to signal her be quiet. The poor man clearly needed the rest.
She leaves her child on the crate she had been sitting on all night and removes her own bonnet, her red hair tumbling out in waves and ringlets, glowing more brightly in the creeping sunlight, before strumming the keys on the piano again. ]
[The water keeps the temperature very cool, they stay huddled close to the low burning embers. Frank sleeps a lot more soundly than he would have expected. The world is painted in beautiful dark tones that are slowly melting to golden light. He rouses not because of the light, nor the waves.
The gentle sound of music coming over him. It's strange, different. At first he thinks he is dreaming. Why would there be music played like that, with sand beneath his cheek. He squints and finally opens his eyes. The sun is rising off of the water, the piano back lit and even more dark and imposing with the radiating warmth spilling over the flat lines of the crate. Natasha, the lady, seated on the bench cuts a softer figure, the light catching on her hair. He stays low to the ground, eyes still getting used to the light.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Which is all true.]
I did not know he had a need or want for a wife.
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"How long have you known him?"
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[Not a big detail but still one. It's a working relationship he's painting.]
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"What is your..."
[ Anya squints and Natasha uses a different word. ]
"...thought of him?"
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[Which makes his union with the redheaded woman across the fire more interesting.]
You have been in contact long?
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"Four months."
[ He had offered a good dowery for her and held enough respect through his business that her family's name would continue to be respected back home. She had already caused enough of a stir marrying Clint like she had. ]
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I hope that life here suits you.
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While her mother looks back into the fire, Anya goes back to munching on the fish. She waits a mouthful before turning back to the man, ]
Why did you come here?
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[The most brief, possibly most removed he has ever been from telling this tale. The sweet little girl doesn't need the trouble of his life's story when her own has just begun with it's own share of tragedy. May it end here, he hopes.]
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You had a family?!
[ But Natasha is quick to tsk at her daughter with her teeth, signing to her 'Don't ask such things!'. Anya just pouts in her mother's direction. ]
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[And just for her he forces a smile before taking a bite out of his own crispy fish.]
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(Even as it makes her feel worse for her treatment of him since they arrived on shore.)
Anya goes back to being silent until she can't stand it and has to ask: ]
Were you ever a pirate?
[ Natasha presses her mouth into a line and rolls her eyes. She really does take after Clint in most ways. ]
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No, little miss. I was never a pirate. They are not good people.
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[ Anya does not hide her disappointment in the whine. ]
But they have so many adventures and treasure! And tattoos! Why don't you have any treasure? Or do you? I won't tell!
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[He still smiles at her and her enthusiasm.]
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Natasha pulls out the blanket from earlier and opens it up, clearing her throat to get her to come over. There's a hint of a voice there but it's cut-off and barely formed. As soon as Anya is close enough, her mother wraps her in the blanket and scoops her back up in her arms. The child falls asleep like that, Natasha cradling her like she were still a babe.
Thin pale fingers gently stroke the child's face lovingly, occasionally tapping on the skin as if the piano keys were there. It's one of the ways she shows affection to her daughter, still feeling sadness in her own heart that she can't express that love verbally. ]
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But there's no way to communicate with him, is there? He doesn't know signing and he can't read. There's this horrid wall between them. One of silence and an emotional distance greater than what is between two people in any normal instance.
At least, it feels that way. ]
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Frank sighs and gives the fire a poke.]
Sleep now, my lady. I'll ensure no harm will come to you.
[He can only guess that that is mistrust in her steady gaze. A man may come and feed them both, he may build a fire but he is not her husband. What a fat lot men have done to her. So young and so much she's lived through.]
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She then points to herself ("I") and then two fingers to her eyes before moving them to the space around them, dark where the fire can't reach ("will watch").
It's the best she can do with how limited their speech seems to be with one another. ]
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Whatever's in the dark doesn't stand chance against your will.
[Though he scoots closer to the flame and rubs his hands.]
You'll have to wake me when it's time for my watch.
[He's certain he won't sleep. Still who is he to argue?]
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In the days after Clint's death, she barely slept. But sat up and stared out of the window when she wasn't comforting her daughter. Anya slept in her bed more than she did then.
And now, those memories kept her up. As well as circling thoughts plaguing her: did she really make the right choice in coming here? What if he was unkind to her, her daughter? She bottles her heavy sigh in and looks up at the sky. As the clouds continue to move above them, stars peek out.
Then, some time later, the moon itself.
Softly, once it looks like Frank as gone to sleep, she begins to practice her words. Or attempt to. It's more an attempt at sounds. She's too embarrassed to do it in front of anyone else. So she does them in the dark, when she's alone. ]
Sss-kah...kah...
Baahh...
Mmmm...Mmmuu...
[ The sound of her voice, faint and cut-off still, is carried away on the wind and sounds of the ocean. ]
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This tropical paradise did not have any familiar streets or sights to remind him of the family he lost. The people of the land were inquisitive, smart, rich with culture and Frank was exposed to so many new concepts, words and it was easy to tell himself that he could be here anew. Nothing of the old would be recovered or restored.
Nodding off the image of a mother cradling her sleeping child is practically etched into his mind as he drifts away. With every breath for a moment he sees his long gone bride and the bundle of a girl like their first born. The waves heave and rush. Falling into sleep happens between blinks.]
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She gently nudges her daughter awake, so she can see it happen, holding her finger to her mouth to signal her be quiet. The poor man clearly needed the rest.
She leaves her child on the crate she had been sitting on all night and removes her own bonnet, her red hair tumbling out in waves and ringlets, glowing more brightly in the creeping sunlight, before strumming the keys on the piano again. ]
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The gentle sound of music coming over him. It's strange, different. At first he thinks he is dreaming. Why would there be music played like that, with sand beneath his cheek. He squints and finally opens his eyes. The sun is rising off of the water, the piano back lit and even more dark and imposing with the radiating warmth spilling over the flat lines of the crate. Natasha, the lady, seated on the bench cuts a softer figure, the light catching on her hair. He stays low to the ground, eyes still getting used to the light.
It's beautiful.]
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