10-18-2017, 10:05 PM
Many hours later, evening…
Dark clouds gripped the belly of the sky. The whitecaps rose and fell, frozen like the caps of mountains and colder than any rime of killing frost. They leaned, pulled, and jabbed at the metal flanks of Le Dauphin, seeming like shark’s fins in the fading light. Salt spouted upward in spumes of droplets, a sound like the crunch of bone grinding over the dark waters as the waves bucked and rolled, returning to the savage force of nature that had birthed them. It was terrifying. It was exquisite. It was jealous, guarded, and treacherously venomous, chilled breakers of oceanwater swallowing the ship’s sides like a spider devours her mate.
A young sailor toiled along one of the ship’s many decks, the grips of his boots sliding as a chaff of bracingly cold water spilled over it. His seaman’s gown, once a pale blue, was soiled and colored dark as coalsmoke by the raucous churning of the sea, his coppery red hair bristled and streaked with shining crystals of damp. He shivered, tugging the folds of his wet coat tight around his torso, shivering harder as the wetness crept under his skin. Yet still he soldiered on, stumbling against the onslaught of the briny deep and nearly pitching forward whenever he encountered slick puddle deposited on the deck by the tide.
Several minutes went by, the boy continuing to strike a labored but swift pace across the planked floor. A peal of laughter rang out from somewhere up above, bright as the tinkling of a bell over the steady growling of the waves. It was warm and comforting and everything that the sea was not. He envied that laugh. Not necessarily the owner, but the laugh itself. The sailor dearly longed to be as full of light, expelled from the lungs in a rush of unabashed warmth, chilling in the night air in one second and reaching another set of lungs in the next. He wanted so desperately to be warm, up there with the boozy festivities and twinkling fairy lights. The cold numbing in his limbs felt unreal.
At last he reached his destination, the all-seeing eye of a lantern up ahead casting its light over his gangly, soaked-through appearance. Two men stood beside a firing instrument aimed precisely over the side of the ship, the gaping black mouth at its end appearing to suck the darkness of the night inside it. They were smoking, too, the little beads of flickering light making them appear like blue phantoms hiding in the shade of a church tower, solemn faces illuminated all in yellow. The sailor stumbled blearily towards the light, his legs seeming to buckle slightly with every step.
“Finally! Over here, Sinkapace!” said one of the men, his pea coat stirring and serving to distinguish him from the shadows.
“D'you have it?” asked the man sat beside him, propped up on a crate beside the cannon. “I’m not likin’ how still it is out there, boys.”
He held a hand out to Sinkapace, askance, like a paranoid addict searching for his next fix. After a moment’s hesitation, too short for any one of them to think of commenting on it, the boy reached inside his coat. His hand emerged a moment later with a bundle of small rockets, each one covered in a unique pattern of colorful, crinkly paper. It was swiftly removed from his hands, both men leaning in to examine the explosives tied together with rope.
“That’s the stuff,” the second man remarked, and Sinkapace could see his satisfied nod even in the near-total blackness.
Passing it off to the first man, he went about examining the rest of the rockets in this manner, and only once this examination was complete did he dare relinquish them. The other began to stock the cannon, methodical clicks ringing out as every spare metal component clicked into place. Tubes packed with gunpowder were placed inside the gun, steady gloved hands ensuring that everything was in its proper position.
The careful mixture of charcoal, sulphur, and potassium nitrate ignited, and with a forceful jamming of the gun’s internal mechanisms, rocketed up into the sky.
An explosion of fire, noise, and trailing smoke rattled through the air. Vibrant ruptures of color, each one different, erupted into view and illuminated the dark waters below in a shattering dance of light and shadow. Red and emerald dragons spouted fire, spinning wheels of shimmering celestial silver spun in perfect time, and howling serpents of purest gold hissed through the night, cracking like pistols in midair.
The three men gazed up at the pyrotechnic display, listening to the crescendo of oohs and aahs from the topmost deck, the sound of a strident fiddle under-cutting the crackle of gunpowder.
"Ah, I love my job," said the man in the pea coat at last, flicking his cigarette over the rim to join the light-show. It slipped seamlessly down into the water, trailing orange slips of ash like a falling comet.
Despite the numbing cold overtaking his extremities, Sinkapace couldn't help but agree.
Dark clouds gripped the belly of the sky. The whitecaps rose and fell, frozen like the caps of mountains and colder than any rime of killing frost. They leaned, pulled, and jabbed at the metal flanks of Le Dauphin, seeming like shark’s fins in the fading light. Salt spouted upward in spumes of droplets, a sound like the crunch of bone grinding over the dark waters as the waves bucked and rolled, returning to the savage force of nature that had birthed them. It was terrifying. It was exquisite. It was jealous, guarded, and treacherously venomous, chilled breakers of oceanwater swallowing the ship’s sides like a spider devours her mate.
A young sailor toiled along one of the ship’s many decks, the grips of his boots sliding as a chaff of bracingly cold water spilled over it. His seaman’s gown, once a pale blue, was soiled and colored dark as coalsmoke by the raucous churning of the sea, his coppery red hair bristled and streaked with shining crystals of damp. He shivered, tugging the folds of his wet coat tight around his torso, shivering harder as the wetness crept under his skin. Yet still he soldiered on, stumbling against the onslaught of the briny deep and nearly pitching forward whenever he encountered slick puddle deposited on the deck by the tide.
Several minutes went by, the boy continuing to strike a labored but swift pace across the planked floor. A peal of laughter rang out from somewhere up above, bright as the tinkling of a bell over the steady growling of the waves. It was warm and comforting and everything that the sea was not. He envied that laugh. Not necessarily the owner, but the laugh itself. The sailor dearly longed to be as full of light, expelled from the lungs in a rush of unabashed warmth, chilling in the night air in one second and reaching another set of lungs in the next. He wanted so desperately to be warm, up there with the boozy festivities and twinkling fairy lights. The cold numbing in his limbs felt unreal.
At last he reached his destination, the all-seeing eye of a lantern up ahead casting its light over his gangly, soaked-through appearance. Two men stood beside a firing instrument aimed precisely over the side of the ship, the gaping black mouth at its end appearing to suck the darkness of the night inside it. They were smoking, too, the little beads of flickering light making them appear like blue phantoms hiding in the shade of a church tower, solemn faces illuminated all in yellow. The sailor stumbled blearily towards the light, his legs seeming to buckle slightly with every step.
“Finally! Over here, Sinkapace!” said one of the men, his pea coat stirring and serving to distinguish him from the shadows.
“D'you have it?” asked the man sat beside him, propped up on a crate beside the cannon. “I’m not likin’ how still it is out there, boys.”
He held a hand out to Sinkapace, askance, like a paranoid addict searching for his next fix. After a moment’s hesitation, too short for any one of them to think of commenting on it, the boy reached inside his coat. His hand emerged a moment later with a bundle of small rockets, each one covered in a unique pattern of colorful, crinkly paper. It was swiftly removed from his hands, both men leaning in to examine the explosives tied together with rope.
“That’s the stuff,” the second man remarked, and Sinkapace could see his satisfied nod even in the near-total blackness.
Passing it off to the first man, he went about examining the rest of the rockets in this manner, and only once this examination was complete did he dare relinquish them. The other began to stock the cannon, methodical clicks ringing out as every spare metal component clicked into place. Tubes packed with gunpowder were placed inside the gun, steady gloved hands ensuring that everything was in its proper position.
The careful mixture of charcoal, sulphur, and potassium nitrate ignited, and with a forceful jamming of the gun’s internal mechanisms, rocketed up into the sky.
An explosion of fire, noise, and trailing smoke rattled through the air. Vibrant ruptures of color, each one different, erupted into view and illuminated the dark waters below in a shattering dance of light and shadow. Red and emerald dragons spouted fire, spinning wheels of shimmering celestial silver spun in perfect time, and howling serpents of purest gold hissed through the night, cracking like pistols in midair.
The three men gazed up at the pyrotechnic display, listening to the crescendo of oohs and aahs from the topmost deck, the sound of a strident fiddle under-cutting the crackle of gunpowder.
"Ah, I love my job," said the man in the pea coat at last, flicking his cigarette over the rim to join the light-show. It slipped seamlessly down into the water, trailing orange slips of ash like a falling comet.
Despite the numbing cold overtaking his extremities, Sinkapace couldn't help but agree.
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Gamzee Makara Wrote:S’aight. After all, dogs have a tendency to motherfuckin’ bite.