001 | CLOSED

[seaboard]

WHO: Gilia, Flint
WHAT: In little known variation of the legends, sometimes the albatross is a chatty weird girl.
WHEN: coughs
WHERE: Flint's ship.
NOTES:what could go wrong?

There is really only one matter for it - a lot of things seem strange here and she must know, if the Father-Sea is still with her. Especially now - especially now she was stranded in a war. She could not fight, the thought of touching a weapon drove her half to tears, and she was without her family to protect and in turn protect her. The great cliffs of St. Loe were not here to ward off all that strayed too far.

So she sheds her clothes, down to her shift, in the little room late at night while others are sleeping. It would be terrible if she alarmed them with what she intended to do. It seems their spirits were not so kind as hers. Gilia lights a candle, to summon her shadow, stands very still, remembers how her fathers' taught her to feel and hold herself.

(How proud she had been that day, not even Godfinn had done it quickly as she had.)

And takes one step back. Sinking immediately through the pool that was her shadow with only a faint slippery noise and brief splash, until there is nothing but a sheen of water on the floorboards and a low burning candle in the night.

When she opens her eyes - it's murky. The bay then, she must be in the bay. Kirkwall was a port, seeing all manner of things come and go, being churned up. The fish are sturdy thick looking things, little of them she can see in the dark. But for the first moment, this is the closest she can get to home, drifting at easy far below the water. Inky and cool, weightless and drifting as the current wild with no more want or need to do or be more than it.

But she cannot stay here, she knows, gently drifting up towards the moonlight that was thin and pale below the surface. Breaking it with a soft gasp before diving back below again with a eager little giggle, heading for somewhere to pull herself out of the water.

So that when the man catches sight of her and calls - 'Captain, there's a girl -' she has slithered up the side of the hull, clinging on but none the worse for ware. Staring up at the voice from the deck, deer in a bright light, watching waiting with wide eyes. Shivering from cold, just that little, her great mess of hair though soaked as the rest of her, not showing a single sign of diminishing as it spirals out wildly.

"May I come aboard, sir? I promise, I am quite good luck."