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    Unclothed foot slapped down on the bare ass with enough force to leave a red blush on the nearly white flesh.

     

    You are still in my bed.

     

    Yawn expanded his lips as the elf's bare feet padded towards the open double doors that led to his bathroom. The cream silk on the bed moved, a cerulean cascade of curls emerging from the sheets to peek gray eyes up after the man as he pulled the ebony locks through his hands to one side, exposing the sinewy muscled back and dimpled cheeks. The fae might have been horribly insulted but instead the smile lit the corners of her lips before she stretched and wormed her way out of the sheets. Truth was, as insolent and dismissive a playboy as he was in the morning, the Lord of Megildur was one hell of an attentive lover in the evening. It was not the first time she had been kicked out of his bed in the morning, it wouldn’t be the last, and she was far from the only woman that shared the dismissal fate.

     

    Passing through the carved doors his dark hair shimmered with the morning sunshine as it glittered down through the glass ceiling that defied gravity, the limbs he had architected folding in beautiful sinews across the expanse to nestle the glass between the branches.  Expertly cradled against the mountainside, his shower was a natural waterfall that fell through a breach in the glass ceiling.  It was frigid in the winters, cold in the summers, and nirvana for the elf that was a part of nature more than the concrete jungles of man.

     

    As he stood hip deep in the stream, water cascading over his head, the sensitive ears listened to the fae vacate his bed, her lyrical hum wandering all the way out of the masterpiece that was his home. Eyes that reflected the depth of ocean waters closed as he ran his hands over the cascade of ebony on his head. She had been a distraction at best.

     

    The council had gone mad. They had their heads in the sand regarding this outworlder registration. They had decided they would stay put and offer no help to those outside their borders, nor would they bow to the registration.

     

    They were asking for war to come to their shores.

     

    Truth was a war didn’t concern the elf, it was the complete abandon of the outworlders that had yet to find their way to South America that boiled his blood. Just because they had been fortunate enough to get stranded on this world on the southern continent, didn’t give them the right to see the others as less than them. Well…..all were not as grand as him in his own eyes, but he also protected his own… something the council was SUPPOSED to be in place to do.

     

    Well the council might sit idle, but he wouldn’t. Wet strides pulled him out of the stream, robe snapped off the wall and wrapped loosely around himself as he padded through the stone hallways. If he was going to start intervening he was going to need a transporter and while Eris had proved good for hauling his cargo, he wouldn’t trust outworlders to an earthborn no matter how much he trusted already. No…. he needed an outworlder and he had heard rumors of one already doing exactly what he sought, ferrying outworlders out of harms way. They just needed a place to go. That was where the head of NARWA came in. Megildur had room for hundreds more outworlders, and the thankful tended to be loyal so it was a win-win for the elf.

     

    He needed to find that boatman.

     

    A quick call had transportation on its way. He was heading to New York. That was where the rumor came from, that was where he would poke around. It was time he took action.

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    • 2 weeks later...

    The heat wave annoyed him.  He could tolerate it, being on the water helped a bit, but the sun.  Khakis were the only thing he could bear to put on, hair tied on top of his head in a knot. He’d tried braiding it, but the constant slide of the plait against sweating skin was irritating. Strands loose in a ponytail made him itch. It all had to be piled on top.

     

    Knees bumped the side of the hull every so often when the boat undulated under waves rifled up from incoming ships into the docks.  Fresh coat of paint was almost halfway done, the boatman sitting on a suspended scaffold.  It reminded him of an old rope swing, but it did the job.  Forearm wiped over his cheek to rid himself of the paint spatter, resulting in more of a smear.

     

    Damn it.  Eyes peering up at the late afternoon sun, it was almost time for a break anyway.  He’d finish this square foot section and grab a drink.

     

    *npc*  “Calder, Calder Muireadach right?”

     

    Glance cast over his shoulder.

     

    “Yah?”

     

    Demeanor was nonchalant as he continued to paint the deep blue.  Of course, a man standing on a working dock in a business suit was more than alarming. Maybe he’d finally caught the attention of some shipping interests. Maybe they were there to arrest him. The guy was too pretty to be a cop. Shipping.

     

    *npc*  “Do you have a moment?”

     

    “Yah.”

     

    He finished the section with a final stroke and stood up on the scaffold, hoisting himself back up to put the bucket and brushes on the deck. Unapologetic about his paint stained skin, he rifled around in his cooler for a soda and cracked it open, he loved Mountain Dew.  It was harder to get than holy Hell, but damn he loved the stuff.  After a long swig, he wiped the can sweat off his hand and offered it to shake.

     

    “Calder, but you already know that.”

     

    The man nodded, *npc* “Richard Stevens.  You are a small freight ship.”

     

    “Yah.”

     

    Obvious.

     

    *npc*  “I’ve heard you’ve been successful in runs to what’s left of Britain, tried a South American run.”

     

    “Not tried, have done.  Round trip in twenty two days.  Thought there might be some interest in freight transport but with air travel a bit more lucrative to South America I haven’t gotten much more response for water transport.  More profitable for me to the Isles.  Dragons tend to not like planes.   Water seems to be the only way in and out. Not easy to fight pilots that want to fly up there.”

     

    He took another swig

     

    *npc*  “Would you consider talking with my employer about a potential transport opportunity?”

     

    He shrugged slightly, money was money.  A small transport?  Was this a smuggling bid?  It would probably piss the guy off if he said so.

     

    “As long as it’s on the up and up I’ll hear out anything that can bring in money to keep my boat painted.”

     

    The man smiled and nodded once.

     

    *npc*  “Is this where we find you?”

     

    “Few more days at least, until I finish painting.”

     

    *npc*  “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Muirdeach.”

     

    He nodded, watching the man walk off, finishing his soda.  It wasn’t the first time he’d been approached on the dock, he had a reputation for making trips nobody else seemed to want to try.  But, it didn’t always bring in the most reputable business.  He was interested to see how this one played out.  Tossing the can into the basket next to the cooler, he stretched a moment, then was back on the scaffold.  Boat wasn’t going to paint itself.

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    Normally he would have travelled via Eris. Woman had an air vehicle that was better suited to his status in this world. But she was an outsider and this entire endeavor was strictly for his own kind. He trusted her with his business, not his people. No earthborn could be trusted with his own.

     

    As it was he frowned at the small prop planes ragged interior as it bounced in for a less than smooth landing at the deserted Republic airport out in Long Island. It was a strip the veil crosser pilot used to stay undetected. The kid was not talkative which was something the elf appreciated, but he wasn’t the best pilot, which the elf found annoying.

     

    npc: Thanks for….

     

    The elf half lifted his hand in dismissal of the thanks as he trotted down the two steps that fell open on the side of the plane. Lights ahead turned on to show where the car was sitting.

     

    Finally, some luxury…. thank goodness.

     

    Sliding into the leather backseat he pulled the door shut as Enaleri put the sleek Lincoln Towncar into drive, the folder passed over her shoulder to him.

     

    npc: Looks like the one we are looking for is currently docked in the harbor making repairs to his boat.

     

    Mmmm

     

    He flipped through the sparse number of pictures of the man. Didn’t look like an Outworlder but looks could be deceiving. The friendly fae at the wheel was used to his curt behavior as she continued.

     

    npc: ….looks like we are not the only ones trying to find him either. Our Crea contact thinks the ones inquiring about him may be hostile.

     

    Earthborn parasites likely….

     

    Npc: Perhaps…..

     

    The sun was just beginning to dust the sky with dawns light as the towncar pulled in along the main dock of the harbor.

     

    npc: He might not want to be a part of it you know Durion.

     

    Her words held a humor in them as she put the car in park. The idea that anyone said no to the head of NARWA was an absurdity. Even she as a fae was drawn to the flame. More important than his charisma however, he actually protected their own, something she had seen the council didn’t seem to actually care about doing.

     

    Smirk lit his lips as he tossed the file onto the seat next to him and slid out of the car door, slamming it shut without another word.

     

    Hands slid into the pocket of the elegant Armani slacks as he strode down the dock that held the bobbing boat he had seen in the pictures at the end. The gray tone of the fashionwear beautifully framing the lavender button down underneath the blazer. It was actually a bit tamer than his usual fair, his ebony hair hung loose to flutter down at his hips as the morning breeze picked up.

     

    Cerulean orbs traced the lines of the vessel before the Ferragamo leather toe reaching out to lightly tap on the hull, "knocking" to see if the boatman was home.

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    He was hovering in silence, near darkness.  The bustle of the world, random noises, voices, yelling, stink of the air- was all gone.  Ears could hear the rustle of water- if that was even possible, feel the vibration on his skin from the thrum on waves on hulls; weightless, arms floating out from his sides as he remained suspended in a solitary world.  Current brushed the loose tendrils of his hair against his arms every so often, the sensation free, welcomed.  Eyes open slightly, having felt vibration on his dock, looking upward at the spindles of light trickling down from the surface.  A shadow near his boat, then the thump like a knocking on his door, whomever it was unaware that eyes were upon them from the deep.  A creature that this world had never known lurking beneath the depths.

     

    Hands pushed downward slightly, ascending his body several feet.  He could see the man from behind, waiting patiently.  Two in as many days?  Well dressed, looking for him.  Thus far, all he’d ferried came to New York.  It wasn’t illegal, technically he’d done nothing wrong.  It had occurred to him that someone would have issue with it eventually, most likely from Gallaway.

     

    Moments ticked by as he watched, patience of a saint.  Hands slid across the posts under the dock, weapons intact, before moving under his boat toward the ladder near the stern- hovering there for a moment.  Thumb ran along the patch in the hull.  It had been in dry dock for less than a week.  They’d done a good job.  Unless you knew it was there....

     

    Now the mysterious visitor.

     

    Hand reached up from the darkness to grab a rung and pull himself up, hair twisting and tailing down his spine in a rush of water.  Bare feet hit the deck.

     

    “Kicking tires?”

     

    Towel was whisked over his torso, reaching behind him to plait his hair.  It would take only a few moments to figure out if this string of visitors was going to become a problem.  He would solve it quietly.

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    Nostrils huffed as the ears tuned into the surroundings. Eyes were caressing over the concrete structures that dotted the harbor and across the bay. He loathed the cold indifference of these things the earthborn seemed to treasure. There was no life in the homes they built themselves. Their cities were "dead" things.

     

    Eyes returned to the ship, ears continuing to hone in on the soft lap of water and the first breach of its surface. For all his pomp and circumstance the elf was a patient creature. He had spent a lifetime waiting for his turn to rule, to step out of the squalor he had been born into. It had taught him infinite patience…… most of the time.

     

    The drip of water off skin tilted the ears faintly down under the dark curtain. Crystalline gaze drug over skin as the man emerged over the edge of the dock. The pale ink caught the attentive eyes, tracing over the muscles as the patterns were instantly recognized as exotic writing, a fact likely lost on the ignorant earthborn.

     

    This was his boatman….. he was sure of it.

     

    “Kicking tires?”

     

    Lips parted only to close with a genuine puzzled expression. Head tilted as eyes glanced around the area looking for something before cerulean orbs came back to the man, ebony brow lifting.

     

    There are no tires….. and why would I kick it if there was one here?

     

    The simple question exposed the elf as an outworlder. He did business with the world abroad but he secluded himself in South America with other stranded races. The nuances of earth expression were lost on him unless shared by the Iron elf that ran his ore division. He came in contact with the earthborn far more than the head of NARWA. As if on cue the billow of morning breeze caught the ebony silk that hung down his shoulders, exposing the elongated ears that curled back along his skull.

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    His own brow cocked slightly as he peeled a gray t-shirt over his torso and found his worn boat shoes, the back of the heel having been pushed down flat so he could just slide them on...  and off, if the need arose that he was in the water for some immediate purpose.

     

    There are no tires….. and why would I kick it if there was one here?

     

    Amused smirk lit his lips as he exhaled once through his nose and clicked the pin on his gangway, but he didn't answer.  If a potential employer, he would probably want to see the boat.  Not yet though, he didn’t make any move to extend it to the dock.  Not the same as the suit yesterday, that was for sure.  Of course you couldn’t be sure anymore if anyone that looked “normal” wasn’t.  He wasn’t, which meant possible employment by the obvious altered.  Or, bounty hunter. Traitor.  Any number of things.  He didn’t like either prospects.  Come to think of it, he really didn’t trust anyone lately.

     

    He nodded toward the dark bumpers attached to the side of the old wharf that kept his boat from bouncing into the dock, hands sliding into still wet khaki pockets.  They used to be tires, cut up for other purposes… somehow he knew it would be lost to the man… err…  elf.  Erm.. Nevermind.

     

    “What can I do for you.. Mr..?”

     

    Lean form stood for a moment and watched him calmly, then looked off toward another small “people mover” going out for the day.  Nod was slight and his hand emerged to acknowledge the other captain.  Good guy, ran people back and forth from Long Island to the mainland. Eyes moved back to the elf.  Relaxed, the picture of composed.  Inside?  He was indeed ready to drag the man into the depths and drown him at the bottom if necessary.  There were two types of people lately in New York… those that wanted his boat, and those that wanted to hire him for pennies and try to take his boat.

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    The vaguely confused expression didn’t vanish, only punctuated with a faint frown as the amused smirk was not missed. Clearly there was something the elf didn’t understand as the boatman clothed himself. The nod towards the dark bumpers didn’t really clear anything up for the head of NARWA as he quirked a brow at the man.

     

    “What can I do for you.. Mr..?”

     

    …Caranthir.

     

    While the soft accent could be mistaken for many things when he normally spoke, when his own name crossed his lips the lyrical heritage that belonged only to those not of this world was betrayed…. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say was proudly on display.

     

    Cerulean watched the exchange between boatmen. Was this really the one he was looking for? Seemed so…. amiable… with these earthians. If not for the clearly unearthly writing that had been on the skin of the man, he would have serious doubts the man was outworlder at all. As it was……

     

    Muireadach is it?

     

    The name was in the file, the lyrical pronunciation however was all his own. It had a cadence and syllable percussion like elven names, rolling easily.

     

    I have a long term business proposition for you.

     

    Head tilted slightly studying the man.

     

    One I believe you will be interested in because I have reason to believe you are already doing what I would be asking for in your free time.

     

    It was a subtle hint but yet not so subtle. The elf clearly had not gotten his information from a business deal. The original source had actually been an outworlder that this boatman had supposedly rescued. There was either truth to the story, or this man had no clue and would be a useless sell out like so many outworlders the elf had come across… groveling at the feet of the more populous of the planet.

     

    Perhaps we can talk inside?

     

    He was not risking the outside world knowing what he was doing even before it had begun.

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    Smile was in his eyes at the elf's confusion, but not on his lips, the relaxed visage more at home that he felt most of the time.  He’d been raised to exude relaxed confidence even in the face of danger or certain death.  Standing in front of an elf?  Fae?  …that was asking him questions of the sort he was reluctant to start answering out of the blue did actually fall into that category- as innocent as the conversation looked.  The man really did look out of place on his dock.  His slip wasn’t run down by any means, but suits were not the typical attire here.

     

    …Caranthir.

     

    He nodded, peering up through bleached frays that had fallen forward from his plait at the sun. He didn’t like the sun.  He loved the winter, the ice in the water.  He spent a lot of time in the water during the summer.  This guy, Caranthir, was definitely proud of himself, which these days was a death sentence if one was in the wrong place.  It was going to get him killed.

     

    Muireadach is it?

     

    “Mhm,” nod was soft again.  First time though in this big blue spinning globe that someone had been even close to pronouncing it correctly.  The gentleman yesterday had butchered it.  One thing he really hated about this world, people butchered names when they couldn’t pronounce them and were never interested in learning the correct way- as if their inability superseded the right for someone to be called their given name.

     

    Interesting though.  Two. Two visitors in as many days.  Knew his name to boot.  It didn’t sit well.  The first was usually the jumpstart, hoping to catch someone’s attention in order to catch the business.  The second was usually who he really wanted to talk to.  He’d been in situations where it had been the opposite, but not often.  He was on someone's radar, exactly where he didn't want to be.

     

    I have a long term business proposition for you.

     

    “Are you following up for Mr. Stevens from yesterday?” It was now apparent, that he himself also was not likely a native of New York; language cadence not quite Swedish… Norwegian… English… Russian… not quite anything, but he spoke and understood English as well as any native and was comfortable with that.  A stray line caught his attention and he went to wind it on a clamp.  Odd.  Clean snap.  There were no such things as clean snaps.  Eyes began to follow all of his rigging.

     

    One I believe you will be interested in because I have reason to believe you are already doing what I would be asking for in your free time.

     

    Blink was slow, but the hazel that looked back to him as he was finishing off the tie line had darkened slightly.  He yanked it tight and looked over the rest of the rigging within a few moments, enough length of silence to make most uncomfortable standing there. Mr. Stevens had been quite uncomfortable at the boatman's less than chatty interlude.

     

    Perhaps we can talk inside?

     

    He leaned on the gangplank, the small span of water between them separating their vast worlds, thump of water from his plait to the deck quiet and loud enough ironically to sound like a chiming bell.  He’d been betrayed by others like him, whether this man was an Outworlder or merely a homegrown bastard he didn’t know.  Long inhale preceded the metallic clank of the gangplank release, letting out the slow breath as metal lowered carefully and the surface of the water thrummed around the boat like heavy rainfall or sputtering surface fish for a mere moment.  There it was, his elusive… power.  Like a joke at all the wrong times.  It was there, he knew it, just out of his reach.  A puzzle he couldn't yet solve... a rope he was just inches from grabbing onto.  The settle of the aluminum to the dock groaned slightly, and the weird cosmic hoodoo glitch was forgotten like it had never happened.

     

    Footsteps were quiet as he beckoned the man on and raised the gangplank again after he’d come aboard, clinking the pin.  He didn’t like people just “popping in”.  Nearly silent footsteps made their way below deck, the scent of truly scrumptious coffee still lingering from a pot he’d made this morning.  The main cabin was quaint, but it was elegant and personalized.  Dark smooth woods, clean lines, minimal except for a wall of exotic blades on display.  Nestled slyly in the wall of exceptional specimens were his own.  He still used them.  He still needed them on occasion.

     

    He offered the elf a seat and stepped into the small kitchenette.  He was brewing coffee, not from some machine contraption… the old fashioned way.

     

    “I don’t have free time, Mr. Caranthir.  I ship things, that is my time.  I picked this coffee up on a trip to South America.  Wanted to see if I could actually make the trip, had a few friends that wanted to go, had some things to trade, it looked interesting.  Ended up keeping it for myself… that happens sometimes.  Want anything to drink, eat?  I have an amazing coconut water I picked up south, Kilbeggan I picked up in Galway. Not a fan of the Kilbeggan.  Anything from the Isles smells like turpentine to me.”

     

    He had a light palate.  Dishes clinked quietly.

     

    “I would say then… I’m a trader of sorts.  People want things, I go get them.  People want to go somewhere, I take them there while delivering other things.  I have a few regular routes, but mostly go where the business is.  Not sure how that could be helpful to you since I'm not large enough for mass freight, but I do go where most won't, which has it's interesting applications.”

     

    He took a long drink of his fresh ground heaven in a Japanese coffee cup, no handle... amazing to see unbroken pottery on a ship.  Seemingly chatty, it was anything but.  Useless information, yet so telling… and definitely revealing of intent in whatever answers the man had for him.  A verbal trap.  He was good at those.

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    “Are you following up for Mr. Stevens from yesterday?”

     

    Ebony brow quirked elegantly upward.

     

    Mr Stevens? Most assuredly not. And I would recommend caution if this was the individual that came in the late noon hour yesterday. My contact advised there was a good chance he was a Vanguard representative.

     

    It was becoming apparent the elf was no disconnected "outworlder". He waited patiently until the hazel eyes glanced back to him before offering to talk inside. Cerulean eyes did not watch the plank come down but rather the water between the boat and the dock. Something had caught attentive eyes and ears, brow quirking upward once more before letting the gaze drift back up to the boatman.

     

    Interesting.

     

    Beckoned over, the leather shoes covered the distance in just a couple strides. Hands gently clasped behind his back as he waited for the man to raise the plank, then followed him below deck.

     

    Nostrils flared at a familiar scent. His higher end line of coffee beans were percolating on the air. The harvests off his lands had distinctly rich smells and were not found elsewhere in the world that he had found. Cerulean slid over the dark woods, appreciating their exotic grain before pausing on the blades. They didn’t all have the look of weaponry made on this world.

     

    All things said the boatman was outworlder.

     

    “I don’t have free time, Mr. Caranthir.  I ship things, that is my time.  I picked this coffee up on a trip to South America.  Wanted to see if I could actually make the trip, had a few friends that wanted to go, had some things to trade, it looked interesting.  Ended up keeping it for myself… that happens sometimes.  Want anything to drink, eat?  I have an amazing coconut water I picked up south, Kilbeggan I picked up in Galway. Not a fan of the Kilbeggan.  Anything from the Isles smells like turpentine to me.”

     

    The elf listened in silence as he took the offered seat, the eyes lightly trailing over details others missed. One's surroundings said much about the owner.

     

    “I would say then… I’m a trader of sorts.  People want things, I go get them.  People want to go somewhere, I take them there while delivering other things.  I have a few regular routes, but mostly go where the business is.  Not sure how that could be helpful to you since I'm not large enough for mass freight, but I do go where most won't, which has it's interesting applications.”

     

    Ears had dipped a little as he listened to every word. Long breath pulled at the end of the speech before the elf finally spoke.

     

    Not looking for mass freight. That I already have. Far too "visible" for the task at hand.

     

    Crystalline gaze watched the hands work the old coffee brew press. It was a much better way to create the drink than those infernal machines the earthborn were married to.

     

    The coffee you are brewing comes from my lands. I recognize its scent easily… and your "friends" now all work for me. It was why they "wanted to go" to the southern continent in the first place. It was one of them that let me know of your…. work.

     

    Head tilted as the eyes finally settled on the boatman with an unnervingly direct gaze.

     

    I am looking for someone to regularly bring more "friends" to the southern continent… specifically from the Ireland region at the moment.

     

    It hung in the air ominously. Such an expedition, particularly on a regular basis, would definitely put the one ferrying in danger. The elf was asking a lot of this "business proposition".

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    Mr Stevens? Most assuredly not. And I would recommend caution if this was the individual that came in the late noon hour yesterday. My contact advised there was a good chance he was a Vanguard representative.

     

    Contacts, Vanguard and covert dealings.  He was deep in it now.  There was no outward response, or change of expression.  The Vanguard didn’t bother him, by the time they caught up with him he could be somewhere else completely, or sitting on a boat in front of them and they wouldn’t notice.  He. Lived.  The. Sea.  If he didn’t know better, it was his blood.  Anyone that challenged him on it would lose.  Overconfidence, maybe, but he refused to believe that with the loss of his powers he wasn’t a formidable force.

     

    The niceties were what they were; small talk.  He never tipped his cards.  The “prince” had grown up in politics and negotiation, this world was barely different in that regard.  Noting the elf asked or requested nothing, he pulled an apple from his small fridge and sat on a carved wooden stool by the table. Small knife from the block was retrieved with a stretch.

     

    Not looking for mass freight. That I already have. Far too "visible" for the task at hand.  The coffee you are brewing comes from my lands. I recognize its scent easily… and your "friends" now all work for me. It was why they "wanted to go" to the southern continent in the first place. It was one of them that let me know of your…. work.

     

    Picking up his mug again, he listened, the apple and knife held in the other hand.  Mug clicked quietly on the table, one foot hitching up on a rung. 

     

    I am looking for someone to regularly bring more "friends" to the southern continent… specifically from the Ireland region at the moment.

     

    Crack of the apple’s skin snapped in punctuation of his final statement, the slice of flesh balanced on the knife brought to his lips to eat.  He chewed a moment, lips pursing.

     

    “I don’t smuggle, labor or goods, if that’s what you’re asking.  I’m truly sorry if any passengers I’ve ferried led you to believe that.  I’m not sure what could have given them that impression.”

     

    It was a simple answer.  He wasn’t playing games, he was the game.  A man that wanted something didn’t beat around the bush.  Mr. Vanguard had beat around the bush.  This man was doing it too, but was clearly stating his needs in veiled fashion.  Mr. Vanguard just thought he was an idiot and would fall for the “make some money” line.  Not everyone was in it for money, and he most certainly didn’t need it to survive regardless of what he’d broadcasted to the man.

     

    The elf wanted it so badly, he had to come out and ask.  He was alluding… From Mr. Caranthir’s business proposition at face value, it sounded like he wanted labor for his coffee business.  Specialized labor, how did he know that the man wasn’t feeding off Outworlders and the gifted to work for him?  He didn’t. The guy would have to tell him more.  He would have to have the balls to ask him outright.

     

    “If you need workers, why don’t you just advertise for them and a fair wage.  I’m sure people need work and would be willing to travel to assist you.  I’d be happy to transport if they need it.  From Ireland, New York… anywhere.”

     

    Another slice was cut, entirely too easy from the finger motion in a single hand.  He chewed a moment again… brow quirking.  Eyes were watching the line of windows just above the elf’s head facing the dock.  The knife in his hand disappeared, and the apple spun on his palm before he took a bite out of it.  Feet slipped out of his shoes and he made his way silently up the steps to the deck.  Well then… he was entirely enjoying this covert conversation until now.

     

    “You might want to stay here, Outworlder,” voice was quiet before he opened the door and stepped out.  The simple statement was enough to confess everything, it was time to.  He heard those that he ferried talk, he didn't ask questions, all he had to do was listen.  The man admitted the coffee was his.  From South America.  They'd wanted to travel there.  They worked for him.  This was the man they were seeking for protection, not a labor trader.  "I’ll get rid of him.”

     

    Well, that cat was out of the bag.

     

    “Mr. Stevens,” he greeted, padding across the deck and picking up a bucket of paint as he made his way over.

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    He was being assessed. The cerulean gaze retaining their icy indifference as he studied the boatman in return.

     

    “I don’t smuggle, labor or goods, if that’s what you’re asking.  I’m truly sorry if any passengers I’ve ferried led you to believe that.  I’m not sure what could have given them that impression.”

     

    It is neither labor nor goods I seek you to handle. Nor is it smuggling.

     

    Eyes watched the ease with which the knife was utilized. A fighter. The elf was also trained but not in such mundane weapons, nor for such vulgar combat as hand to hand. He could strike an arrow through a victim's eye from further than most of these humans could see.

     

    “If you need workers, why don’t you just advertise for them and a fair wage.  I’m sure people need work and would be willing to travel to assist you.  I’d be happy to transport if they need it.  From Ireland, New York… anywhere.”

     

    There was the faintest crinkle at the corner of ageless eyes, betraying a frown.

     

    Oh yes…. of course… why had I not thought of such a thing…. and that way they can be more easily slaughtered as they answer the ad? 

     

    A stray ribbon of ebony silk was pushed back to wind behind the elongated ear as the pupils flushed in the watery abyss of vibrant irises ..

     

    As I said… I am not looking for a smuggler…. I need a rescuer.

     

    He froze, head turning slightly, the ears rotating back as he turned back to the man, words overlapping as the other seemed to already have taken notice.

     

    “You might" …you have… "want to stay here," ..company… "Outworlder,”

     

    Brow quirked as the man made his way out. So he noticed such things so easily. He was the right man. The head of Narwa needed such an outworlder to take on the burden of ferrying the others to safety. Someone that could protect them as it was the elf's experience that so many of them had not figured out how to be "powerful" in this world, living in fear and hiding. He found they were miserable at protecting their own lives.

     

    "I’ll get rid of him.”

     

    Head inclined in thanks, the elegant gesture betraying a royal lineage that he had built for himself.

     

    “Mr. Stevens,”

     

    Ears dipped, the eyes narrowing as he slid the phone from his pocket. He loathed the thing but found it a necessary evil at times. Flicking it open he pressed the speed dial for Enaleri.

     

    I' lunt adan na-or i adan o vedui aur. Ho lothron baur dambeth, ben gweri- ho na- ú- na n- telyg. Cheb-tir.

    ((The boatman is above with the man from yesterday. He may need rescue, or betray he is not to be trusted. Keep watch.))

     

    Phone snapped shut as sensitive ears listened beyond the walls of the vessel. The encounter would be telling. It was very possible the elf himself could be in danger if the outworlder had sold out to the Vanguard.

     

    It was a risk he was willing to take. The need was far too great.

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    • 2 weeks later...

    It is neither labor nor goods I seek you to handle. Nor is it smuggling.

     

    Spit it out.

     

    Oh yes…. of course… why had I not thought of such a thing…. and that way they can be more easily slaughtered as they answer the ad? 

     

    Spit it out.  He was about to ask about the ‘they’ when he spoke again.  Chewing slowed.

     

    As I said… I am not looking for a smuggler…. I need a rescuer.

     

    Of course.  He had thrown off that vibe from the moment the elf stepped into his cabin, either the man was just that good at reading, or word of his work had gotten that far.  A little of both perhaps.  The prince was definitely interested to see how much he actually knew.  If much, he would have to tell his passengers to be a bit more careful.  There was no way he could actually try to “hold back” when someone was attempting to keep a passenger from getting on the boat. 

     

    They noticed the ‘intruder’ at the same time.

     

    Noted.

     

    He wasn’t necessarily getting rid of the man for the elf, but it seemed mutually beneficial. Of course he could turn the guy in, but it would do nothing to get whomever this was off his tail.  An elf was in his cabin, they were here to sniff around, if that wasn’t a bullseye on his back… Vanguard most likely.

     

    The man was cordial enough, the Haugbui hopping deftly from his boat to the dock without the aid of the gangplank. Handshake was strong, the stuffy suit seemed…  nice?  Overly chatty.  He knew what would be said without even having to listen to it, paying more attention to what was going on around them.  He could listen without hearing, see without watching.

     

    He was being watched, listened to.

     

    It wasn’t just the stuffy, pretty elf in his cabin, it was from several directions.  An extra car or two in the parking areas near the docks, more joggers than normal maybe.  The bohemian boatman with the braid seemed just happy go lucky to listen to the man and finish his apple.  He looked at his shoe and adjusted it a few times.

     

    “I don’t think I… I’m what you’re looking for.  I mean,” he scratched the back of his neck.  “I do take people back and forth with my cargo sometimes... we all do, pay isn’t that good but it’s company you know.  Sometimes they’re helpful on the trip.  Are you looking to transport people from a company or something’?”

     

    He rubbed his neck again.  He played well.

     

    They were either fishing for identities of his passengers, or they wanted him to be a prison ferry.  Either were unacceptable.  Or to kill him.  That would make his day more exciting.

     

    “You know I hear there’s a guy… Joe, John maybe?  He comes and goes from the dock, not real chatty, keeps to himself.  Heard he makes runs back and forth to Ireland?  Galway I think.”  He finished his apple, holding the core and pointing with the same hand, “that boat over there with the gangplank down.  He’s there right now.”

     

    Lie.  Lie lie lie.

     

    The boat was for sale, and nobody was on it.

     

    Mr. Stevens seemed delighted, thanking him for his help, shaking his hand and walking off toward the far end of the dock by the end of the pier as he flipped out a phone.  He jumped back on his boat, pulling all the lines but one, and trotted down into the cabin.  Shoes were kicked off as he opened the side window, core tossed into the trash across the room.

     

    “Stay here,” he hissed, knife now in his teeth from somewhere, smoothly pulling himself through the window and dropping into the water without a splash. 

     

    Honestly… he hated swimming underwater out toward the pier.  Muck and debris, engines overhead until he slid up alongside the boat he was looking for and boarded silently from the side facing the ocean.  Eyes scanned the harbor, and he slipped in.

     

    Several moments later, slipped out and back under the water.

     

    He was just as quiet climbing back into the boat, not saying a word to the elf for a moment as he dusted water off himself with a towel and slid on his shoes.

     

    “I’ll drop you off up the coast.  If you leave now, everything you’ve asked for is compromised, and they'll probably try to kill me.  Sorry for the inconvenience,” he didn’t wait for an answer because there was no discussion, trotting up from the cabin and wrapping the last line before hopping up to the bridge and slowly pulling away from the dock.  Not any hurry, leaving calmly with the rest of the boats constantly trailing in and out.  Lever forward and he opened up into the bay like the others, effectively disappearing and leaving his deed behind.  Satisfied after almost fifteen minutes, he coasted to a stop.

     

    “Well Mr. Caranthir, where to?” he called down to the cabin, buoy bell chiming in the distance over the span of water.  Hands pulled his hair from the plait and squeezed it out, this time just a ponytail.  He had made no decisions, but he wasn't about to sell this guy out to the Vanguard.  He shook the silver coffee mug.  Empty.  “Since everyone’s great timing effectively has blacklisted me from that harbor permanently, I need to know where to go.”

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    • 2 weeks later...

    Elongated appendages tipped and pivoted like bat radar as he listened beyond the walls of the vessel he was currently entombed in. True to his word it seemed the boatman was looking to get rid of the snoop above. Unless he was signaling the guy in a non verbal way about the elf's presence it seemed the boatman was true to his word.

     

    The stranger was looking to "hire" the boat as well. If his little snitch was right, this was all a trap to try and expose the boatman as someone that was interfering in the outworlder backlash in Ireland and Europe. Brow quirked as the man "sold out" another boater. Now that was interesting. His Intel didn’t mention any Joe or John working a route to Ireland.

     

     

    Brow quirked as the form came trotting down into the belly of the beast, the shoes discarded, a habit the elf had as well, he loathed the things. But somehow he doubted his boatman was doing it to get comfortable. The brow furled as he was ordered to stay like some common human. But whatever protest was about to spew from his lips was swallowed as the form slid out a small window and vanished. No splash.

     

    Now the elf was intrigued.

     

    Walking to the small portal he glanced out in time to catch a faint shadow in the water. So the man had gone down into the water. No splash meant the water liked him. A water elemental perhaps? A male water sprite? He wasn’t familiar with any but he had met all types of strange fae and sprites from worlds not his own.

     

    Interesting.

     

    He moved in the cabin, arms folded behind his back as eyes trailed over the nautical décor. He preferred his home hewn out of nature and the mountain, but he could see the appeal of this vessel over the damn steel and concrete jungle outside the walls.

     

    Ebony curtain slid around his shoulder when he instinctively turned as the wet boatman started coming back through the window quietly.

     

    “I’ll drop you off up the coast. If you leave now, everything you’ve asked for is compromised, and they'll probably try to kill me. Sorry for the inconvenience,”

     

    Down the coast…. if you don’t mind. I have no desire to go further north when everything I seek is south.

     

    The elf didn’t seem surprised that they would move without letting him off the boat. And clearly he wasn’t protesting it either. He had a suspicion the second visitor might have "disappeared" from the dock. He just had no desire to go further into the human world and north to him always meant humans.

     

    Phone was flipped open and a quick text sent to Elanari so she wouldn’t try to come fae-dazzle the boatman, letting her know to head south that they would re-dock some ways down to not attract attention. The gentle list of the boat was easily adapted to as the phone was slid away once more, his weight swaying naturally as the arms remained folded behind his back. As the boat pulled out of the dock, he was content to sit in the silence for now.

     

    “Well Mr. Caranthir, where to?”

     

    The boat had stopped and the elf lifted a brow up at the man. He didn’t know much about this coast line. Where was that spot the iron elf had mentioned could be a pick up point for their shipments?..... Ocean City wasn’t it? Something like two hour drive from the city so likely less than an hour by boat. Feet made their way up from the cabin to join the man, ebony instantly catching on the wind to ethereally float on the ocean drifts.

     

    I would say Camopi but I don’t think that is practical at the moment.

     

    The drop point for his shipments was on the Oyapock River on the Brazil border. Likely a few days travel. While he wanted to talk to the man a while and plan, he didn’t have days to spare either.

     

    Ocean City I believe is not too far from here?

     

    Ears fluttered back with the wind, eyes on the land, hint of a frown at the distant concrete structures before turning to look at the boatman.

     

    Give us a chance to talk about helping our kin survive this world….

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    Down the coast…. if you don’t mind. I have no desire to go further north when everything I seek is south.

     

    Nod was soft, eyes still scanning every movement in the harbor.  He’d sent people on a wild goose chase, but they’d known enough to come to him.  This was a slip he wouldn’t be able to frequent again for a while.  He disagreed though, everything north reminded him of what he remembered of his own home.  It felt the most, like home.  To each their own. 

     

    Safely away, he reached behind and squeezed the water from his hair with soft thumps, lifting a leather thong from his back khaki pocket and winding it around the topknot he’d created on the top of his skull.  Someone had called it a man-bun before.  What the fuck was a man-bun?  Did men not also use braids and ponytails?  Why were knots so frowned on….

     

    I would say Camopi but I don’t think that is practical at the moment.   Ocean City I believe is not too far from here?

     

    Holy hell, New Jersey.  He hated New Jersey, but it was relatively not well travelled so it was a decent idea for a drop-off.

     

    Give us a chance to talk about helping our kin survive this world….

     

    He throttled up gently toward New Jersey.

     

    “I have no kin here.”

     

    It wasn’t sarcastic or angry, just… the truth, a melancholy realism to his words.  Why was he doing this?  He’d asked himself that often.  Because maybe by helping those like him he wouldn’t feel so lost?  That maybe some of them would have the secrets of how to get back home?

     

    It also spoke volumes with only a few words.  He wasn't intimidated or compulsory to the obviously refined and high-born thinking elf.  He in fact, was exactly the same.  Not arrogance, expectation.  His voice was important, so was his presence, and one could feel it in the boatman's words.

     

    Bare toes wiggled slightly on the deck.

     

    “I hate New Jersey, for the record.  It reeks of machines and bent nature.  The water groans.”

     

    Voice was calmer, perhaps to lighten his sullen mood. He didn’t like that he was drawing attention, and he didn’t like that somebody was trying to box him in to some kind of scheduled agreement of sorts.  Maybe he wasn’t. Transportation had to flow, it was a feeling, like political movements.  Times were right, and wrong.  They couldn’t be rushed or counted on sometimes.

     

    “North, I would have more to show you but I’m not sure if I like you or your business yet, so New Jersey will have to do.”

     

    He was talking about the Draugr.  He’d thought about using it for the trips… but unlike his modern boat, it wasn’t as comfortable to passengers as this one was even though the Draugr was much safer.

     

    Perhaps in time.

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    Weight swayed almost undetectably with the waves under the boat, the silence lingering as he breathed the fresher air. The further from the smog and concrete of the city the more he felt himself, the more he could breathe.

     

    As the boatman knotted his hair up the elf thought nothing of it. His own often in intricate webbings of plaits. The plainness of the human males a concept foreign to him. The throttle of the boat shifted his gaze out to the open waters, dismissing the concrete jungle he despised.

     

    "I have no kin here."

     

    The elf was quiet at this. The cerulean gaze thoughtful as it watched the waters slap up in challenge of the movement of the vessel. It wasn’t often he was overly serious, but this endeavor, what it might mean, what he might risk for it; this he took seriously.

     

    Something in the weight of the boatman's presence told him he did as well.

     

    “I hate New Jersey, for the record. It reeks of machines and bent nature. The water groans.”

     

    Nostrils flared at the salty air with a nod before turning to sideglance at the man.

     

    I loathe all things this way. The stench of what the humans have made, of what they are so proud of, it offends the world they don’t even notice.

     

    The "arrogant" elf sounded pained. The land cried this far north and he felt he was the only one that heard it. Wind snapped the ebony silk around his shoulders.

     

    And you are wrong…..in this world that never wanted us…… we are the only kin we have…..

     

    Words were quiet as the gaze shifted again to the waters, the elegant brows dipping softly, expression distant.

     

    Lost single souls that have none but eachother.

     

    He had looked. He didn’t know why he had, no one from that world had ever done anything for him, yet he had looked just the same….. but thus far there had been none from his world but him. And it was a story he heard again and again from those he had taken into his care. They had looked, only to find none. They belonged to none anymore.

     

    That made them kin.

     

    “North, I would have more to show you but I’m not sure if I like you or your business yet, so New Jersey will have to do.”

     

    A faint grin slid over the melancholy expression as he glanced back at the boatman.

     

    And if you came down to Camopi, I could show you more…..and just what my business is.

     

    Hand slid over the snapping locks, deft fingers quickly plaiting the cascade to his hips, intricate knot at the bottom keeping it together without a band. Turning he rested a hip on the side as he looked at the man. The ghost of a frown was again over his brow as the head shook.

     

    I have in my lands… fairies that had their wings ripped off….. elves whose ears have been sliced apart…. in one of my coffee fields…. a centaur works who was castrated by those…..filthy … humans….

     

    The disgust was palpable, as was the passion behind it. For all his arrogant elven playboy nature, this he cared very deeply about. These were his "kin"….. and he was looking for a better way to protect them.

     

    I offer them haven..... and a chance to feel worth again.....

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    Sugar.  It was the one thing on this planet he couldn’t get enough of.  Come to think of it, it was probably going to kill him at some point. He picked up the water bottle next to him and took a long swig, wishing it was a soda.  Maybe… the water was different here.  Maybe that was why he couldn’t do what he’d always been able to do… Maybe..

     

    He found himself loathing the lack of kin here and New Jersey all in one breath.

     

    I loathe all things this way. The stench of what the humans have made, of what they are so proud of, it offends the world they don’t even notice.

     

    Was that it?  He couldn’t “speak” to the water anymore?  He could still swim in it.

     

    And you are wrong…..in this world that never wanted us…… we are the only kin we have….. Lost single souls that have none but eachother.

     

    Brow rose slightly and he took another drink before twisting the top on and setting it in the holder.  That was a bit presumptuous.  A wannabe pied piper for every orphan sucked through the black hole into this world was making a huge assumption that every one of them wanted kin, or to be associated with all other Outworlders for that matter.  He really didn’t feel a pull for the others, he just wanted to find someone from his own world.  Hell, he really didn’t know what he wanted. Why the hell was he risking his neck to bring ‘fugitives’ to safety anyway?  It did help pay for things sometimes, but most of the trips he provided free passage, so it wasn’t that.

     

    “You’ve assumed everyone is lost, wants to be found, or even wants to be lumped into that category.”

     

    Hand patted his pocket and found the regular knife that he had been eating an apple with only a short time ago and had then found its way into someone’s throat shortly after.  It was tossed into the other cup holder next to his precious water bottle.  Mundane kitchen knife able to do something so skillful in a set of hands that knew how to use it.  Even he, without the substantial bulk of his powers, survived here.  Granted, he was somewhat normal looking by earth standards, but even an idiot could look at his tattoos, or his eyes for that matter and figure out fairly quickly he was not ‘normal’.

     

    And if you came down to Camopi, I could show you more…..and just what my business is.

     

    “Too hot,” he said rather absently, sandy colored strands whipping around his cheeks, a concealed annoyed sideglance cast to the man that kept talking.  He didn’t know why he was annoyed…maybe because he was being forced to think about what his purpose was now.

     

    I have in my lands… fairies that had their wings ripped off….. elves whose ears have been sliced apart…. in one of my coffee fields…. a centaur works who was castrated by those…..filthy … humans….

      

    Wow.  There was a lot of shit being slung.  He knew a lot of humans that wouldn’t even think of doing such a thing, he also knew those that would.  Every race it seemed had cruel pockets.  Hand picked up a set of binoculars.  There was another reason he hated New Jersey… shit ton of freighters left to rot, run aground and capsize.  He was looking for a buoy, slowing a bit a scanning the horizon.

     

    I offer them haven..... and a chance to feel worth again.....

     

    “By working for your business.”

     

    It was blunt, and full of implications, eyes still through the binoculars.  The man was here obviously to sell him something, a new purpose, a noble cause.  He needed to do better than delivering banged up Outworlders to work for the guy who made the cash.

     

    He seemed distant, almost standoffish, in actuality he was listening intently with the composure of someone in a high social position had been taught.  Normally… he was understated and quiet, staying off the radar.  Radar didn’t apply here.

     

    “Say you did gather up all these wayward and tortured lambs, and your coffee empire is brimming with Outworlders, what’s to keep your wingless fairies and castrated centaurs from being slaughtered if the tidal wave brimming in Ireland comes crashing over you?”

     

    It was a legitimate question.

     

    “If they can’t keep from being tortured, how will they defend themselves when the devil finally comes to their door again?”

     

    Boat was slowed again almost to a stop, radio picked up.

     

    “Maybe they should instead learn how to kill their attackers with a kitchen knife.”

     

    Thumb clicked down on the radio and he spoke quickly, listening for a response as he watched the elf.  Coordinates.  He didn’t want to rip his hull out again.  Eyes went back to the binoculars, scanning for change of wave structure, oil slick, something.  There should have been a buoy.  Sometimes the answers didn’t come quick.  He radioed again, sitting for a moment, the boat drifting slightly with the tide as he continued to watch the sleek passenger, the guy probably didn’t know what the hell he’d stopped for.

     

    “If they’ve lost the ability to live openly, then they need to learn how to take it back.”

     

    Was he really doing this?  Is that what it was?  Trying to pick a fight with the natives of this spinning blue orb by collecting outcasts? 

     

    “Waiting for coordinates of a recent freighter wreck in the lane, really don’t want to drag the hull,” he said quietly, looking out over the water.  He used to be able to speak to the water, create his own path. Realizing how bitter his expression had become, eyes glanced at the radio in his hand, now he depended on things like this.  “If people want to run, and you want to give them a haven, that’s admirable.  Just don’t sell that it’s safe.  Nothing is ever safe.  No haven in the world.  They need freedom, you only gain freedom by not being afraid.  Teach them to navigate the world without being afraid."

     

    He was giving himself advice too. Radio was returned to its cradle.

     

    "I've been flying blind out here for ten years after being ripped from a world of shores," inhale and exhale was long, eyes closing a moment. Come on... talk to him.  Where was it?  ...a goliath in the deep just waiting to tear his boat apart.  He didn't think the elf understood to what length he still felt like a bug on a sidewalk. "I am still not afraid."

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    “You’ve assumed everyone is lost, wants to be found, or even wants to be lumped into that category.”

     

    No…. not all are lost. I wasn’t. But so many are.

     

    Words were quiet as he stared to the southern horizon, the frown lingering.

     

    So many are and no one is caring…. no one is helping….

     

    Why did it bother him so much. There was a time he wouldn’t have cared. Peons to be used. That had changed a year ago when one of the nameless, faceless workers of his had been dissected and left in pieces at his doorstep as a warning. That warning had been met with an all out vicious and bloody response. No one would dare cross his borders now and if they did….. they were signing their own death warrants.  

     

    I offer them haven..... and a chance to feel worth again.....

     

     “By working for your business.”

     

    He didn’t miss the accusation in the words. It was a fair enough statement when one didn’t know better.

     

    Some yes… if they choose so. Others merely live on my lands, working it for their own sustenance alone. That choice is theirs… I just offer a place to escape this world.

     

    Tumucumaque National Park, the wild lands he had claimed as his own, were well over nine million acres. There was room for so much more than those he had already taken in. Room for them all to still claim their own haven and feel secluded even from eachother.

     

     “Say you did gather up all these wayward and tortured lambs, and your coffee empire is brimming with Outworlders, what’s to keep your wingless fairies and castrated centaurs from being slaughtered if the tidal wave brimming in Ireland comes crashing over you? If they can’t keep from being tortured, how will they defend themselves when the devil finally comes to their door again?”


    Let them COME…

     

    The venom in the tone dripped of palpable malice as the elf turned to face the man, cerulean glistening with the charge of heated power. There was a churn on the water's surface as seaweed billowed from far below the boat cresting into the light, erupting past its surface to shower the boat in drops of crystalline water as the wove together in intricate patterns, nearly boxing them in before they went limp and fell back into the waters. It was rare for the elf to lose control of himself, but the very thought that they would dare to bring the fight to his lands tripped palpable anger. Blue fell away from the stranger, as though ashamed of the display of fury, but the shoulders never slouched as he stared to the horizon once more, adjusting to the halted motion of the boat beneath his feet.

     

     “Maybe they should instead learn how to kill their attackers with a kitchen knife. If they’ve lost the ability to live openly, then they need to learn how to take it back.”

     

    The eyes were far quieter, control once again part of the more regal presence.

     

    I help them tap into what they think they have lost. They have spent so much time hiding they have suffocated what they were born with. Power blossoms where one feels safe, yet challenged. This world is not so dead as they often believe.

     

    Enalari was a good example of that. Her fae abilities were nearly nonexistent when he found her cowering from the world. Now she was a fae force to be reckoned with.

     

    “Waiting for coordinates of a recent freighter wreck in the lane, really don’t want to drag the hull,”

     

    The elf merely nodded. Accepting the statement as truth but as he turned to look at the boatman a brow lifted at the bitter expression. Had he hit a nerve? Perhaps the boatman also had not found the skill to tap into this alien world. His words of safety resonated with the elf. That is what he felt as well. They needed to learn how to be brave again, to quell their fears.

     

    "I've been flying blind out here for ten years after being ripped from a world of shores, I am still not afraid."

     

    Which is why I approach you. The fearful cannot be led, cannot be helped…. by the fearful.

     

    Breath was deep as he felt the mists of the waters on his cheek, hip resting against the rail. Shores. The boatman came from a world of waters, that is what called him.

     

    Nature.

     

    The word was softly spoken.

     

    Mine was a world of mountains and streams…lush green that shot trees hundreds of feet into the sky.

     

    It was a rare confession..... of home.

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    So many are and no one is caring…. no one is helping….

       

    He was helping, sort of he guessed.  Was this guy helping by helping himself?  Not sure yet…

     

    Some yes… if they choose so. Others merely live on my lands, working it for their own sustenance alone. That choice is theirs… I just offer a place to escape this world.

     

    Did they know they had a choice? That was a question that would need to be answered.  He wouldn’t “deliver” anyone anywhere until they fully understood that they could step off the boat and disappear forever without feeling any responsibility to “work” their debt off.

     

    Let them COME…

     

    Eyes flicked to him.  Throughout the entire display, his expression never changed.  He had to admit, his thoughts were selfish.  Why couldn’t he do this?  If this man was an Outworlder as he claimed to be, then why had he held onto his abilities, while the boatman had not?

     

    “Why are you ashamed to be angry?” the candid thought tumbled off his lips really before he could stop it as the elf seemed to sullen.  It was clear at that moment that he'd been comfortable with the same fury, the same outburst of power enough to not feel threatened by it… actually the opposite.  The boatman held formidable power in his hands, or at least once had.  Enough, to not be afraid of anger, or death.

     

    I help them tap into what they think they have lost. They have spent so much time hiding they have suffocated what they were born with. Power blossoms where one feels safe, yet challenged. This world is not so dead as they often believe.

     

    Power blossoms where one feels safe.

     

    “That’s not true.”

     

    He didn’t elaborate.  He felt safe, and yet his power was impotent.  Bitter, thumb tapped on the button impatiently but not pushing it as his eyes scanned the horizon.  Head cocked slightly, listening to the water.

     

    Which is why I approach you. The fearful cannot be led, cannot be helped…. by the fearful.

     

    Not afraid, yet strangely so? 

     

    Mine was a world of mountains and streams…lush green that shot trees hundreds of feet into the sky.

     

    “I moved oceans,” he said quietly, pausing a moment before speaking one more time into the radio.  Not surprising he wasn’t being answered.  Not many made the trip south.  Past New Jersey there just wasn’t much there, and the water in between was dangerous, even deadly.   Pirates, submerged drag, who knew what else.  Receiver was snapped back into the radio as he stood and padded over to the side.  He could feel the damn thing, feel the currents against it, the vibration against his boat speaking to him like Morse Code, but he was no closer to knowing where it was than he was five minutes ago.  At one time he could part the water to take a look, swirl the tide to push the unwanted hunk of metal out of the ocean like a splinter in skin.  It just was not fair.  Hands held the railing tight for a moment, sigh quick before he eyed the elf.

     

    Fearless it was.  He let loose the anchor, he wasn’t expecting to set it hard anywhere, but it would keep the boat from going too far as he explored a bit to make sure the path was clear.  They could move in closer to the shore, but in truth it was more dangerous.  Sandbars, more wrecks.  Navigating the waters now truly was a deathwish.

     

    The clang he was not expecting, immediately halting and reversing the winch to a groan on the boat.

     

    All foul words in his language were brought to the tip of his tongue only to be silenced by the dash of his feet over the side, slicing into the water like a Navy diver to the one thing he didn’t want to see lurking in the darkness fifty feet down.  Forty feet to port and they had a clear path, but directly under was the mangled bridge of the empty tanker, and directly in front of them was over a football field of beast teetering on its bilge keel, almost on its side from what he could tell.  If he could dislodge the anchor from the buckled radar mast, they would be okay and on their way.  But the groaning he’d heard was still peppering the darkness, it was starting to roll over, even just shifting ten feet it would drag his ship under or tear the winch out.  Both would sink him.

     

    Try to dislodge or cut it loose.  He didn’t want to lose his boat, and didn’t know if the elf could swim.

     

    The split second decision was helped along by the anchor line snapping taught.  Downward.  It wasn't just the drift of his boat.  It was going down.

     

    No time. 

     

    Adrenaline surged and so did he, hand launching out from the deep to catch a cleat on the stern, propelling him onto the deck only to leap over sections as the boat itself began to turn from the line. It seemed all in one motion, blade not of this world suddenly in hand, there would be no time to do it proper; the boat was already tugging downward, the rope threatening to shear off anything above deck as it forced the vessel to turn.  Blade decisive, the snap was audible, momentum of the boatman tackling the elf to the deck as the rope furled free like a whip and cracked before getting sucked under, burning a clear scar into the rail that would have been flesh after sweeping both of them off the deck or pinning them to the rail as the boat went down.

     

    The ruckus underwater was heard and felt, but his boat merely bobbed and completed the turn it had been forced to start.

     

    Letting go of the elf and rolling onto his back, his unique blade was released with a clunk to the deck, the back of his skull following suit.

     

    “I think I know where the freighter is. Let’s get you to Ocean City,”  dark humor was apparent as he rolled up to take the helm again.

     

    He was definitely the man for the job.

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    “Why are you ashamed to be angry?”

     

    I hold no shame..

     

    The words were quiet as the breath came deeply.

     

    … most certainly not of anger. But loss of control is vulgar.

     

    It was a very elven thing to say. There were parts of his inbred heritage that he just couldn’t escape. Just as he could not escape that despite finding a home lush and green and now riddled with more "kin"… his home… his original home…. was more. The loss still evident as he spoke of his world with a distant tone that seemed to reflect back at him like a mirror from the boatman.

     

    "I moved oceans."

     

    The nod was faint but there. This strange world was so…. dead… in so many ways. It most assuredly lived, but not in the rich ways of other worlds. It was a child among the stars. Most those stranded on this world now had cultures that were older than this entire planet.

     

    Whomever it was the boatman was trying to raise on the box was either not there or ignoring him, that much was clear. Cerulean eyes blinked at the man as the sigh came and eyes met his own. He was still deciding. Deciding which way to go both on these water.. and in his life.

     

    Elegant brow quirked slightly back at the man before the anchor was let loose, the ears dipping away from the offending clank as the violent sound reverberated against the much more sensitive ear drums. The spray of words that followed were not understood but clearly not pleased by the turn of events. Lips parted but clamped shut as the boat took a sudden jerk. He knew very little about boats but he was certain whatever was coming next was not something the boatman was expecting or wanted to happen. A fact made all more evident as the man went over the edge.

     

    Blink was profound as head turned looking around the boat. He was miles from any land and not exactly an Olympic swimmer. If he had just been abandoned to his fate it was looking like a grim one.

     

    It was his turn to pepper the air with an array of vulgar expressions in a tongue this world did not understand. Hand reached over the side of the boat to call up the seaweed once more, the thick kelp weaving in tight basket to float heavy on the surface like a raft. He would just keep weaving and walk to the shore on a seaweed "boardwalk"…. only the amount of effort to do the intricate patterning was going to exhaust him long before his feet once more set foot on land.

     

    All of which passed his thoughts in a moment just before the boat took a sudden heave backwards and began to tip up on its hind end while turning.

     

    WHAT THE…..

     

    Concentration broken the few feet of "platform" loosened and began to drift away as his feet adjusted to keep his balance, elvish spewing from his lips just as the boatman launched himself up onto the deck.

     

    Shoes were kicked off, revealing sockless feet, one slapping on the wooden deck, the other against the wooden side of the cabin, clinging there like a spider able to stick to a wall as he engaged against the once living material to keep from falling over the side as the boat tipped.

     

    It happened all at once and yet in slow motion. The bright eyes drinking in the blade he instantly recognized as from another world, the snap of the cable causing a nasty repercussion as the thing flung through the air seeking blood. Like a reed the elf was already bending away when the boatman's weight hit him and they both ended up sprawled on the deck as the sound of the impact of the whip cracked against the air to flinch ears downward. The first sharp bob of the boat spraying water over the deck before returning to the gentle up and down of the waves.

     

    Blink up at the sky was thoughtful. He might have been grazed as fast as the cable snapped and he himself was incredibly fast. But the boatman had been faster, protective instinct having driven him. There was a faint tickle of a smile on his lips as he started to become aware he was quite wet now.

     

    He had chosen well. This WAS the man to help him set their kin free.

     

    As the weight rolled off him he stared at the sky, squinting up at the single spot of sun as the boatman's head hit the deck.

     

    “I think I know where the freighter is. Let’s get you to Ocean City,”

     

    Chuckle was dark under his breath as he lay there staring at the sky a moment longer before propping himself on one elbow, left leg cocking upward. There was something more natural and alluring about the elf as he lay there contemplating the boatman. Soaked gray silk clung to his body, bare feet holding a nice stain of sun as he rarely wore shoes at home, the blazer askew on his shoulders showing the lavender button-up was now virtually see-through as it clung to a fit chest and the cascades of ebony silk that had a moment before been woven together now dressed wildly around him and on the deck. The subtle grin remained.

     

    You do know, I did not need a display of talent to make a decision.

     

    Smirk betrayed he knew it had not been done to showboat but the elf too had a dark humor. He was elvish but he was also something more. His mixed blood burned a bit hotter than the proper high born of his world. Hand pushed himself back off the deck, bare feet slapping softly on the watered boards as he brushed the dripping strands back behind his shoulders before shrugging off the wet gray blazer to toss on the railing. Perhaps it would dry, perhaps not, either way he didn't want the wet burden on his own form.  The lavender sleeves were unbuttoned and he began to roll them up to his elbows as he eyed the boatman.

     

    You are the right man. You know this to be true.

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    • 3 weeks later...

    … most certainly not of anger. But loss of control is vulgar.

     

    “Seemed controlled to me.”

     

    He knew that wasn’t entirely what the man was talking about, but it still was true nonetheless.  Lack of emotional control sometimes was the only thing that separated those that kept others alive from those that couldn’t.  He had passion and loyalty, which was rare from what he’d seen in this place over a decade.  People were too quick to jump to a side that would keep them safe, even if that meant betraying someone that was a protector previously.  This felt without honor more often than not.  It’s why he stayed aloof.  No ties, nobody that needed trusting, saved him the trouble of having to sort it all out- or making ties.  This was potentially a tie down.

     

    Even the serenity of contemplation somehow suddenly turned all to hell.  THIS was what he was worried about.  Doing a favor and getting burned. 

     

    Or being leaned on and not being able to save them.

     

    Brow unconsciously furled at the realization, his body already in motion.

     

    … and then it was over. 

     

    He had intended to get up and retake the helm, but didn’t quite make it further than that.  Lying there for a long moment- eyes focused on a stationary cloud, reminding him that the boat was still moving lazily in its circle.  Side eyes glanced to the elf at his smile, his brows quirking as they went back to the cloud.

     

    You do know, I did not need a display of talent to make a decision.

     

    A decidedly annoyed cocked brow returned to the elf that somehow ended in an amused eye roll.  This was how bromances started.  Exactly how.  Hands folded on his chest.

     

    You are the right man. You know this to be true.

     

    “No I’m not.”

     

    This time he was able to roll upward smoothly to his feet.  Hand ran along the grazed railing.  That would need repair.  He also needed to check his hull to make sure he wasn’t taking water.  He swiftly picked up the unusual blade, naturally spinning it through his fingers as he looked down at it a moment before padding downstairs to return it to the mount.  Bare feet then found the railing to walk along like a tightrope artist as he surveyed the sit of the boat in the water.

     

    “And if I’m ripped from this world tomorrow, what happens to them then?  Same thing that happened to those I was responsible for in my own.  Leaderless death.”

     

    Slowly the details could be put together in that vague man’s puzzle.  His quiet, casual exterior was something so much more dynamic in his own world.  Warrior.  Leader.  Loyal.  Fearless. A demeanor that screamed he wasn’t just a battle brute.  Never ending guilt that he’d done something to anger the universe and dump him here.  When he couldn’t be counted on, he couldn’t let anyone down, which made his next works hard to spit out.  The man would be insistent that he was some savior…

     

    “I wouldn’t have let you drown you know.”

     

    He spider-monkeyed to the spot over where his hull had been repaired.

     

    “Be right back.”

     

    Step to the side sluiced his form into the water once more to swim around the entirety over the vessel to check.  After a few moments, hand appeared on the railing before climbing back up.  He squeezed the water from his hair, shirt pulled off to squeeze over the edge and pull back on. Cargo shorts would dry well on their own.

     

    “Towels in the apartment if you need them.”

     

    They were nice towels. Everything about what he had was nice.  Meticulously well-kept though often not the luxury he was used to in his own world.  It was hard to replicate metals that looked like gemstones here, or fabric so fine it clung to skin like a second one.  Things just didn’t work here like home.  So, nice cotton towels it was.

     

    Back to the helm, the motor sputtered a moment to start, then hummed to life.  He’d probably pissed the guy off, wasted his time.  He didn’t seem like the type to like their time wasted.  Maybe he was the right man for the job, but part of that was whether or not he wanted the job.  He really didn’t feel like not being able to save everyone.  He knew that was an unreasonable hope, but was he ready to put himself in a position of have someone trust his strength, and not being able to follow through?  That was the rub.

     

    “Ocean City,” he said quietly.  “Be there a bit after I drop you off.  Have to find a new anchor.”

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    • 2 weeks later...

    Control was a funny thing. The boatman had been correct in that the power had been carefully controlled, plants bending to his exact commands. But the anger that had fed it had surged without his permission.

     

     As they both ended up flattened on the deck of the boat he caught the amused eye roll and could only broaden his own smile in return as the chuckle bubbled rich in his chest. Wet and flattened out on the deck of a boat was not exactly what he had planned for the day.

     

    You are the right man. You know this to be true.

     

    “No I’m not.”

     

    You are.

     

    It was said with confidence as the boatman rolled to his feel, the elf rolling fully up into a seated position, bare feet pulled up flat in front of him as his arms lightly draped over the raised knees. The man was agile, nimble on his feet. If that had not already been demonstrated, it was clearly evident as he maneuvered on the rails of his ship.

     

    “And if I’m ripped from this world tomorrow, what happens to them then? Same thing that happened to those I was responsible for in my own. Leaderless death.”

     

    When that time comes... I will find another leader.

     

    Quiet words betrayed an understanding and respect. This boatman was more than a mere sailor. Another place, another time, he had been someone that might have been doing what the elf was doing now. Hand placed on the ground beside himself to deftly push up to his own feet in the fluid motion of reeds on the wind.

     

    “I wouldn’t have let you drown you know.”

     

    Who says I would have drowned? Do I seem so inept on the water?

     

    There was a mirth in his tone as he squeezed the front of the transparent silk shirt to get some of the water from its fibers. Eyes flicked up as the man once more went overboard. Water elemental perhaps?

     

    “Towels in the apartment if you need them.”

     

    Chuckle was soft. Suits and water didn’t really mix, a towel wouldn’t do much at this point. Fingers slid over his shoulder to pull the wild plait forward to wring of its moisture.

     

    “Ocean City. Be there a bit after I drop you off. Have to find a new anchor.”

     

    Gives you some time to reconsider the request.

     

    Hips rested against the rail, arms folding over his chest as the gaze drifted to the horizon, across a vast ocean where he knew their brethren were dying every day.

     

    Ha na-ovor na gar-edraith er a rist-estent cín cuil na ceri, i-na edraith-al a guin-nith uir.

     

    His natural tongue slid like milk over butterfly wings, the cadence one that didn’t exist in this world.

     

    Very roughly translated in this vulgar tongue….. It is better to have saved one and cut short your life to do so, than to save none and live with yourself for all eternity.

     

    The eyes were still fixated on the distant horizon before the serious cerulean orbs came once more to rest on the man.

     

    I believe you were once the type of man this rung true for.

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