He had a place in his Captain's bed, something he was told often he should be thankful for. Some broken, longing part of him was grateful. The rest of him seethed, boiled over with quiet rage. Stolen from his earned place as ship's boy on a merchant vessel, he'd been kept for his rare appearance and little else. The Captain's service, or left for dead.
The Captain could be kind. He often was. That didn't change the fact of Harold's imprisonment. He was a pet; a plaything that looked exotic. An ornament with duties and a talented mouth.
Alone and powerless in his fury, Harold had just... waited. Built on his rage and grief. Sometimes he'd spirit food away into one of the lifeboats, only to get desperately frightened and frantically put it all back again. This was one of those days.
Well. Harold's breath caught in his chest as he looked out over the sea. Perhaps today would be different. It didn't make sense, he knew it, he knew it was a longshot that could cost him a fair bit of skin off his back. Or his life. But... sails. Grey sails, on the evening horizon. Harold had only a vague, blossoming hope and a lifeboat that he'd come to think of as somehow his own.
One small act of defiance later, and Harold was ready.
He waited for the first quiet moment and hooked the lifeboat in. Carefully, he slid a few more useful objects and food into it. Deep breath, and he set his jaw. Could he do it, this time?
Grey sails. Oh, yes. How could grey be so beautiful? As delicately as he could, he removed the covering and swung out the lifeboat.
He cut the falls, deftly swinging from one of them himself to land in the boat. As quickly as he could find his hands he shoved off with an oar, into the evening.
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timeasmymeasure
Going for Grey
Date: 2009-09-19 10:15 pm (UTC)He had a place in his Captain's bed, something he was told often he should be thankful for. Some broken, longing part of him was grateful. The rest of him seethed, boiled over with quiet rage. Stolen from his earned place as ship's boy on a merchant vessel, he'd been kept for his rare appearance and little else. The Captain's service, or left for dead.
The Captain could be kind. He often was. That didn't change the fact of Harold's imprisonment. He was a pet; a plaything that looked exotic. An ornament with duties and a talented mouth.
Alone and powerless in his fury, Harold had just... waited. Built on his rage and grief. Sometimes he'd spirit food away into one of the lifeboats, only to get desperately frightened and frantically put it all back again. This was one of those days.
Well. Harold's breath caught in his chest as he looked out over the sea. Perhaps today would be different. It didn't make sense, he knew it, he knew it was a longshot that could cost him a fair bit of skin off his back. Or his life. But... sails. Grey sails, on the evening horizon. Harold had only a vague, blossoming hope and a lifeboat that he'd come to think of as somehow his own.
One small act of defiance later, and Harold was ready.
He waited for the first quiet moment and hooked the lifeboat in. Carefully, he slid a few more useful objects and food into it. Deep breath, and he set his jaw. Could he do it, this time?
Grey sails. Oh, yes. How could grey be so beautiful? As delicately as he could, he removed the covering and swung out the lifeboat.
He cut the falls, deftly swinging from one of them himself to land in the boat. As quickly as he could find his hands he shoved off with an oar, into the evening.