[aw: voyage plot] well, treat me like the sea

Levent Kartal · 07-05-2012, 03:02 PM

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this post is exceedingly random; someone pm me if i need to change anything

The stench of brine, rocking waves, cramped quarters—ships and voyages were a nightmare to the Turkish man. Only recently had he been able to stare at the ocean itself without feeling sick to his stomach, so that he was even considering joining his fellow d’Artisans on the short trip was insanity.

Cream fingers twitched nervously at his side, his other hand occupied by a piece of paper, a blurry list scrawled across it with Turkish scribbling in the margin. He stood and stared at the beautiful boat as it was brought closer to shore, only barely stopping himself from balling up the paper with his anxiety. However, a paw rested against his leg, and the tomcat stretched himself up so he could nuzzle his friend’s dangling hand. He answered in kind, scratching gently behind the cat’s white ears, and smiled.

Wilson had been the one to truly convince him, mentioning a single word: home. What home meant had changed for Levent over the months—once, it was Istanbul, and then various inns along the road, and London, and the cottage outside Freetown, and his hut in Cercatori d’Arte. Wilson had been the only constant he could affix the description of “home” to, but he knew Wilson was thinking of the old trade routes, the Eurasian cities far more developed than in Nova Scotia. Maybe he was thinking about London specifically, their old haunt as teenagers. Levent had convinced himself that he would never see England or Turkey again just because he did not think he could survive another voyage by sea.

Baby steps—even if these steps were huge for the merchant. He swallowed, glancing down at the list in his hand. He’d written down some of the items he intended to bring with him, although he knew today only the over-achievers were prepared to load the boat. Over the next couple of days d’Arte’s ship would be loaded, until the day they set sail across the Bay of Fundy.

Consequently, the day he’d most likely die of a blasted heart attack.

Levent steeled himself and strode toward the others. He recognized them all by name and face, even if he couldn’t remember meeting them personally. He could already tell he liked Vasiliy (man had good taste) and the dark she-wolf (who had a pretty kestrel) and—well, he recognized the scent of the third, a well-dressed young male with a bunch of books under his arm.

“Let me help you with that, kitap kurdu,” Levent said smoothly, slinking toward the brown male and attempting to pull his books out from under his arm. He flashed a very outgoing grin at the Russian while doing this, even if Vasiliy was the source of all Lev’s current boat problems. Meanwhile, Wilson practically wrapped himself around his luperci companion’s leg, sandy eyes staring cautiously at the bird of prey.

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