thoughtformed | [sweetest damn parrot you ever did see. slightly rough around the edges.]

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[sweetest damn parrot you ever did see. slightly rough around the edges.]

damn, this place really hasnt changed.
i remember the whores bein much friendlier though, what happened there.
maybe the getup aint doing it for them.
guess i could use a bath or somethin.
lieutenant-commander strider here, reportin in if they didnt already strip my rank and brand me a deserter.
who am i kiddin they probably had that done within a week lets be honest here.
cant get hauled out by filthy fuckin pirates for a decade and come back expecting to be in anyones good graces anymore am i right.
and shit, i almost forgot what land feels like.

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are you on the waterfront

shit, you tracked me down.
make it quick i aint got all day to sit here waiting for a bullet to hit me.

turn around

what, and make it easy for you?
why would i do somethin like that.

please
sir

Edited 2013-09-22 16:50 (UTC)

...
fine.
since youre so polite.
i was gettin bored of today anyway.

[So he turns around, lifting one hand to shade bright orange eyes against the sun. It makes spotting the person he's talking to almost impossible, but that doesn't mean he's not going to try regardless.]

[Bro's parrot flies back to him first, looking like it's had its first good meal in ages.

Following the parrot's flight path back, not nearly far enough away to be safe himself, a young man, not quite sixteen, lowers a strange spyglass and stands there awkwardly for a moment, not saying anything. Finally, he salutes respectfully, even as his gaze drops as low as it can.]

Lieutenant-Commander.

Hey, buddy, you--

[The greeting given to the parrot, his next words falter as he sees the boy following behind it. It's been ten years, but there's no way in hell he'd fail to recognise him.

He swallows, getting to his feet, and returns the salute.]

Front and centre, boy. Don't make me wait.

[He comes up, but stops just short of arm's reach, eyes still glued to his feet. He's pretty sure this isn't real, despite all evidence to the contrary. It can't be real. Maybe he has Lunar Fever again. Karkat would know. But Karkat isn't here.

So he stands there, practically humming with nervous, confused energy, and twists the spyglass in his hands behind his back while he waits for something to startle him awake.]

Dave.

[It's him, he knows it's him.]

You got nothin' to say to your old man?

[He nods, then shakes his head. His eyes flick up, then drop again like they're tied to heavy stones.]

Welcome back, sir.

[He fidgets for another moment, then stills suddenly. When he holds the spyglass out it's with a jerky movement, like his feelings are yanking him around like a puppet.]

You said you wanted this back.

Yeah.

[He takes it, and it's heavier than he remembers. He weighs it in his hand, turns it over and examines it for any wear.]

You took good care of it.

[A pause, then he speaks again, with some difficulty.]

How's your mother.

[If possible, he lowers his gaze even more, shakes his head, and shrugs minutely. With nothing to hold onto, he links his hands together behind his back.]

It's just been me, Dirk, and Rose for a while now.

[He manages to lift his head a fraction, enough to try to look Bro up and down.]

You okay? Ten years, that's. It's a long time.

Ah.

[Well, that's a kick in the gut as much as he should have expected it. He steps forwards, the spyglass in one hand as he brings the other up to Dave's shoulder.]

Yeah, I'm okay. Done some things I ain't too proud of to finally get here, so you can imagine... [Bad Things, Dave. You don't want to know.] I meant to come back. You gotta know that.

[He finally looks up for real, prompted by the weight of the hand on his shoulder. Instead of his disbelief in the reality of this moment, what shines through that flash of his eyes is his longing for it to be real. Then he nods, tries to clear his throat.]

I looked for you.

[Ow. Fucking ow.]

I--..

[He glances away, out towards the ocean, just for a moment before he looks back. A tiny smile pulls at one corner of his mouth.]

Sorry, kiddo. Wasn't in any position to be found. [Tilting his head, he lets out a short sound almost like a laugh, but not quite.]

And it's Dirk. My name's Dirk Strider.

[Dave huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, breaking his tense stillness to shift his weight in the sand. The sound isn't unlike the one his father just made.]

I know that. Sir.

[He finally stops twisting his hands behind his back and shoves them safely into his pockets.]

I joined the Navy, too.

You did, huh...

[Though he doesn't express it otherwise, there's a soft, warm pride in those three words as he lightly ruffles Dave's hair.]

... And your brother?

[He makes a face as his hair is mussed, but doesn't pull away quite as much as he would from anyone else who tried to touch him.]

Like he'd let me do anything before he got a chance to. 'Course he signed up.

[He finally ducks away from the ruffling hand and pushes his hair back into place.]

Doubt either of us has been active for a while, though. The law's been quiet around here since the Norman Conquest went to the bottom.

Heh. Some things ain't ever gonna change, huh. [Though, somehow, he thinks Dirk will be far less forgiving of his absence than Dave has been. There was always such a difference between the boys, even as children...

He frowns, giving a brief shake of his head.]

Heard about that. You were here?

[Hairstyle secured, Dave lets his hands fall empty at his sides.]

I was on it.

What.

[Just for a moment, it appears very much as if he's checking the kid over for injuries despite how long it's been. His eyes narrow.]

Tell me everything.

[Dave misses the once-over. His gaze is trained very much not on Bro, off to the side where his parrot's picking at a piece of driftwood.]

Not much to tell, sir. We were out-manned and outgunned and then we were just out-everything'd.

[He shrugs.]

But I'm a good swimmer.

[He sighs. He pushes a hand across his face and pinches the bridge of his nose hard. No wonder, then, that the small amount of times he was able to get a message out in the past year, no one answered. Hell, the birds were probably shot en-route.

There's a pause, then he gently presses the spyglass back into Dave's hand.]

You should keep this, kid. It's yours.

[He looks down abruptly, holding the spyglass in both hands. His fingers tighten, and he looks up again quickly.]

No, I--

[He tries to shove it back into Bro's hands.]

...It's fine. I don't need it anymore.

Or if I do, I'll just. Borrow it. Yeah?

[Please stay. Please stay and be there.]

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brotimaeus - 2013-10-30 13:45 (UTC) - Expand

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