May, 2010
--
Captains-
We are being boarded. 43?17'59"N 47?43'59"W. No time.
-Hawke
--
It was windy, at the docks of Lowe & d'Thalia, and the sounds of shipbuilding continued regardless of it. In the drydock, with its high walls and ladders and flood lights for night work, the skeleton of a full-rigger was under way. And every once in awhile, Hayes's voice rang out in command.
On the shipping piers, Harold Lowe was looking out to sea, taking a break from the paperwork indoors to do so. The voyage on Te Maru had done him wonders; he had needed to go to sea, to renew both the salt in his blood and the close-knit intimacy of his relationship, and upon returning, he felt refreshed and ready.
He still hated paperwork enough, though, that he had to step away from it for a short time, here or there.
It was nearing summer, and the air smelled fresh and alive -- salt water mingled with the land-scents of wildflowers and heated concrete and myriad others that Harry loved. He could, and sometimes did, lose himself for hours in the world around him, even now. In his darker hours, it had been a respite. Now, it was mostly his pleasure.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, listening to the water and the building, and taking in the scents and the warmth.
When he opened them again, though, he was not entirely prepared to see what he did.
A merwoman, in fierce blues and greens and stripes, was holding up a corked and waxed message in a bottle.
Harry had lived in Rhy'Din long enough that he knew messages in bottles did work, though he didn't rely upon them for steady communication -- that usually took place via wireless in ports of call. Messages in bottles did arrive at destinations, but not always, and not on any reliable time-frame. They were as chaotic as the realm itself. So, business was often conducted via other means.
Harry also knew that when all else failed, a message in a bottle likely wouldn't.
His heart clenched when he recognized this bottle. He had commissioned them himself -- they looked like common enough wine bottles, to be sure, but literally layered into the glass of the side was a mage-imprinted logo of Lowe & d'Thalia, where it couldn't be sanded down by the sea. Thick, strong glass, made to weather long journeys.
The bottles had always been a last resort. They had never been used before, because thus far, no one had ever been pushed to quite that last resort.
Harry took the bottle with a tight nod of thanks to the merwoman. "Thank you. Wait here, please." And then, without another word, he turned to go back to the office and open this with Maia. Whatever the news, they would share it.
--
Captains-
We are being boarded. 43?17'59"N 47?43'59"W. No time.
-Hawke
--
It was windy, at the docks of Lowe & d'Thalia, and the sounds of shipbuilding continued regardless of it. In the drydock, with its high walls and ladders and flood lights for night work, the skeleton of a full-rigger was under way. And every once in awhile, Hayes's voice rang out in command.
On the shipping piers, Harold Lowe was looking out to sea, taking a break from the paperwork indoors to do so. The voyage on Te Maru had done him wonders; he had needed to go to sea, to renew both the salt in his blood and the close-knit intimacy of his relationship, and upon returning, he felt refreshed and ready.
He still hated paperwork enough, though, that he had to step away from it for a short time, here or there.
It was nearing summer, and the air smelled fresh and alive -- salt water mingled with the land-scents of wildflowers and heated concrete and myriad others that Harry loved. He could, and sometimes did, lose himself for hours in the world around him, even now. In his darker hours, it had been a respite. Now, it was mostly his pleasure.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, listening to the water and the building, and taking in the scents and the warmth.
When he opened them again, though, he was not entirely prepared to see what he did.
A merwoman, in fierce blues and greens and stripes, was holding up a corked and waxed message in a bottle.
Harry had lived in Rhy'Din long enough that he knew messages in bottles did work, though he didn't rely upon them for steady communication -- that usually took place via wireless in ports of call. Messages in bottles did arrive at destinations, but not always, and not on any reliable time-frame. They were as chaotic as the realm itself. So, business was often conducted via other means.
Harry also knew that when all else failed, a message in a bottle likely wouldn't.
His heart clenched when he recognized this bottle. He had commissioned them himself -- they looked like common enough wine bottles, to be sure, but literally layered into the glass of the side was a mage-imprinted logo of Lowe & d'Thalia, where it couldn't be sanded down by the sea. Thick, strong glass, made to weather long journeys.
The bottles had always been a last resort. They had never been used before, because thus far, no one had ever been pushed to quite that last resort.
Harry took the bottle with a tight nod of thanks to the merwoman. "Thank you. Wait here, please." And then, without another word, he turned to go back to the office and open this with Maia. Whatever the news, they would share it.