[ 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.
[ Natasha continues to play even when she looks up and can make out the man being awake. Or attempting to be. She tries to smother a smile, tilting her head back down and seamlessly morphing into a new song.
Anya, still on the other crate, spots him being awake finally and waves to him. ]
[The chirp of a voice cannot be denied. His smile spreads and he finally sits up. The sand clings to his skin. Frank has to brush it from him.]
Aye. Yes.
[The fairies or alleged spirits of the forest and sea didn't sweep them away in the night. And the music carries through. The expanse between the sand, sea and sky is filled up to the brim in a way one would never expect. He eases to his feet and stretches. The gulls flutter and chill of the morning is nothing on the way the light and the sound together just bright to life the morning.]
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
Anya, still on the other crate, spots him being awake finally and waves to him. ]
Sleepyhead!
no subject
Aye. Yes.
[The fairies or alleged spirits of the forest and sea didn't sweep them away in the night. And the music carries through. The expanse between the sand, sea and sky is filled up to the brim in a way one would never expect. He eases to his feet and stretches. The gulls flutter and chill of the morning is nothing on the way the light and the sound together just bright to life the morning.]
Did you and the lady sleep well, little miss?