Within hailing distance, he's barely be able to breathe. Just... not daring to believe that he'd made it this far. He fought to get enough air in to call out, and his call tapered uselessly once it hit his throat. Frustrated, terrified, and conflicted, he dragged enough of a breath and tried again.
The voice that rang back, however, cut through the air as though it were made for it; it would be hard to believe that it came from a man of only five and a half feet, if not for the fact it most obviously did: "Boat ahoy!" A standard hail. "Come alongside!"
Relief. Flooding, overwhelming relief. He became aware of a childish urge to punch the air, but ignored it and maneuvered the lifeboat as instructed. He was vaguely aware of the litany of "thankyouthankyouthankyou" pouring from his mouth; there was no way they could hear it, really, but there it was.
The man who had called to him didn't waste any time; the curious crew along the rails of the schooner threw a line over for Harold to climb up, even as the man barked back over his shoulder, "Coming aboard now, sir!"
He snatched at it like the lifeline it was, and gave a strange backward glance to the lifeboat he'd come to love. So many times he'd stowed things in it, the fantasy of escape bringing him the illusion that the boat was the only thing in the world truly his. A silent, split-second goodbye, and he scrambled his way up the line and to salvation.
"Secure!" the man yelled, then immediately turned to return to stand below the quarterdeck; another man joined him there quickly.
"Make all sail, gentlemen!" the fellow who had to be captain yelled from the quarterdeck above.
It became a flurry on deck; the crew pushed off the rails, and the two officers barked -- the one who had rescued Harold handled the mainmast, whilst the one who had come down to join him ran to the foremast. Shouts rang out in the approaching darkness as the officers ordered their respective watches -- setting stay's'ls, setting the gaffs, flying every stitch of canvas the Grey had aloft. A well-ordered crew, the deployment was swift; they were trimming quickly.
"Helm, ten to starboard!" the Captain cried out.
Harold stood. Some kind of freedom; he didn't know yet what he'd escaped to, but it was different and that had to be something. He stood with a thousand-yard stare and simply breathed. Eventually, he took a few careful steps to turn around and face the ship he'd called his home. Loss and relief in equal, wrestling measures.
[[OOC: This was written, in large part, by allmhadadh, we put it together to save tag space.]]
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Going for Grey
Date: 2009-09-20 12:31 am (UTC)The voice that rang back, however, cut through the air as though it were made for it; it would be hard to believe that it came from a man of only five and a half feet, if not for the fact it most obviously did: "Boat ahoy!" A standard hail. "Come alongside!"
Relief. Flooding, overwhelming relief. He became aware of a childish urge to punch the air, but ignored it and maneuvered the lifeboat as instructed. He was vaguely aware of the litany of "thankyouthankyouthankyou" pouring from his mouth; there was no way they could hear it, really, but there it was.
The man who had called to him didn't waste any time; the curious crew along the rails of the schooner threw a line over for Harold to climb up, even as the man barked back over his shoulder, "Coming aboard now, sir!"
He snatched at it like the lifeline it was, and gave a strange backward glance to the lifeboat he'd come to love. So many times he'd stowed things in it, the fantasy of escape bringing him the illusion that the boat was the only thing in the world truly his. A silent, split-second goodbye, and he scrambled his way up the line and to salvation.
"Secure!" the man yelled, then immediately turned to return to stand below the quarterdeck; another man joined him there quickly.
"Make all sail, gentlemen!" the fellow who had to be captain yelled from the quarterdeck above.
It became a flurry on deck; the crew pushed off the rails, and the two officers barked -- the one who had rescued Harold handled the mainmast, whilst the one who had come down to join him ran to the foremast. Shouts rang out in the approaching darkness as the officers ordered their respective watches -- setting stay's'ls, setting the gaffs, flying every stitch of canvas the Grey had aloft. A well-ordered crew, the deployment was swift; they were trimming quickly.
"Helm, ten to starboard!" the Captain cried out.
Harold stood. Some kind of freedom; he didn't know yet what he'd escaped to, but it was different and that had to be something. He stood with a thousand-yard stare and simply breathed. Eventually, he took a few careful steps to turn around and face the ship he'd called his home. Loss and relief in equal, wrestling measures.
[[OOC: This was written, in large part, by