Fic: The Red Vixen at Sea, Part Two
Jul. 20th, 2014 03:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalIt was a boat.
“That’s a boat, Rolas,” Melanie said, careful to keep a smile on her face. Rolas had actually gone to the trouble of blindfolding her after he’d thrown their bags into his skimmer and flown them for seemed like two hours, landing at a small private marina on the western continental coast. Evidentially he’d been eager to keep things a surprise. Joy.
Rolas grinned at her, a boyish expression entirely devoid of his usual glower as he led her up the short gangway onto the deck. “Yes. I call her the Windskimmer. I’ve had her since I was fourteen. She was a gift from my parents.”
It was a catamaran, a sailboat with a squarish flat deck set on two narrow, and flimsy looking, pontoons, about ten meters long all told. Most of the deck was taken up by the main cabin, with a sort of flying bridge on the top that seemed too close to the boom of the aluminum mast. Rolas led her inside, showing off a somewhat cramped but comfortable set of living quarters, with just enough room for a bunk bed, kitchenette, shower, and the Necessary, suitable enough for a teenaged male she supposed.
The happy expression on his face as he showed everything off to her was almost painful to watch. He wants me to love this as much as he does, she realized. This little secret slice of his boyhood that had brought so much obvious joy to him, before adult responsibilities had began to grind him down. So she kept her smile on and made appreciative noises as he led her back and forth, showing off the accommodations and (Rolas being Rolas) the first aid kit, life vests and lifeboat.
“So how often did you take this out?” Melanie asked at a break in Rolas' tour, as they paused at the bow.
“Three or four times a year,” he replied, leaning on the bow's railing. “I'd sail her up and down the coast, stopping wherever I wanted, or maybe just staying out at sea.”
“You and your friends must have had fun,” she said.
Rolas shook his head. “Never took my friends aboard her. This was my private place, just for me.”
And now you're showing it to me, she thought, feeling the knife twist a little more in her gut. How desperate was Rolas, how desperate did he think the situation between them was, that he would take her aboard? He wants to fix things between us. Good. But he's scared that it won't work out. Bad.
It's just a week. I can survive a week aboard this thing.
“So, what ports do you think we'll visit?” Melanie asked.
“Wasn't planning to visit any of them,” he replied. “I just want it to be you, me and the sea. You won't believe how vast it is, when you sail out of sight of land. It almost consumes you. I once spent six weeks just sailing in circles, with the radio, computer and clocks all shut off, doing absolutely nothing. It was wonderful.”
That actually sounded like her version of a very private hell. I shall endeavor to keep you occupied, Rolas. Very occupied.
TBC
“That’s a boat, Rolas,” Melanie said, careful to keep a smile on her face. Rolas had actually gone to the trouble of blindfolding her after he’d thrown their bags into his skimmer and flown them for seemed like two hours, landing at a small private marina on the western continental coast. Evidentially he’d been eager to keep things a surprise. Joy.
Rolas grinned at her, a boyish expression entirely devoid of his usual glower as he led her up the short gangway onto the deck. “Yes. I call her the Windskimmer. I’ve had her since I was fourteen. She was a gift from my parents.”
It was a catamaran, a sailboat with a squarish flat deck set on two narrow, and flimsy looking, pontoons, about ten meters long all told. Most of the deck was taken up by the main cabin, with a sort of flying bridge on the top that seemed too close to the boom of the aluminum mast. Rolas led her inside, showing off a somewhat cramped but comfortable set of living quarters, with just enough room for a bunk bed, kitchenette, shower, and the Necessary, suitable enough for a teenaged male she supposed.
The happy expression on his face as he showed everything off to her was almost painful to watch. He wants me to love this as much as he does, she realized. This little secret slice of his boyhood that had brought so much obvious joy to him, before adult responsibilities had began to grind him down. So she kept her smile on and made appreciative noises as he led her back and forth, showing off the accommodations and (Rolas being Rolas) the first aid kit, life vests and lifeboat.
“So how often did you take this out?” Melanie asked at a break in Rolas' tour, as they paused at the bow.
“Three or four times a year,” he replied, leaning on the bow's railing. “I'd sail her up and down the coast, stopping wherever I wanted, or maybe just staying out at sea.”
“You and your friends must have had fun,” she said.
Rolas shook his head. “Never took my friends aboard her. This was my private place, just for me.”
And now you're showing it to me, she thought, feeling the knife twist a little more in her gut. How desperate was Rolas, how desperate did he think the situation between them was, that he would take her aboard? He wants to fix things between us. Good. But he's scared that it won't work out. Bad.
It's just a week. I can survive a week aboard this thing.
“So, what ports do you think we'll visit?” Melanie asked.
“Wasn't planning to visit any of them,” he replied. “I just want it to be you, me and the sea. You won't believe how vast it is, when you sail out of sight of land. It almost consumes you. I once spent six weeks just sailing in circles, with the radio, computer and clocks all shut off, doing absolutely nothing. It was wonderful.”
That actually sounded like her version of a very private hell. I shall endeavor to keep you occupied, Rolas. Very occupied.
TBC
