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055. Waiting055. Waiting
Three months is a long time to wait.
Well, if we're going to be accurate, it's really two and a half months (yet it feels much longer).
To be precise, seventy-nine days have passed.
Up to this very moment, it's been one thousand, nine hundred and nine hours, twenty-five minutes, and fifty-seven seconds.
Thirty minutes ago, Sarah Hawkins received word that the RLS Legacy had finally docked in Spaceport Crescentia. She laughed, she cried, and she outright shouted in relief.
And now, here she is, standing in the spaceport, scanning the throngs and throngs of creatures and beasts and alien folk.
The wait is over.
The hours she's spent worrying, those moments of hopeless crying, the nights that she's spent up late into the wee hours of the morning--unable to sleep because of the constant fear that maybe Jim won't come back, maybe something terrible might happen like an attack by pirates or an asteroid collides with the ship or an abduction by aliens--it's all over.
034 Stars034. Stars
The mop drops into the bucket with a satisfying plunk.
"Finally," Jim mutters as he leans against the side of the ship and surveys his handiwork. The deck is glistening with a healthy helping of soapy water, even shining here and there where the light of distant stars are shining down.
"Finally!" little Morph exclaims, shifting into a miniature Jim and leaning back against real Jim's shoulder.
"Haha. Yup. Looks good, doesn't it, buddy?" Jim gives a little smile.
"Looks good, looks good!" is the high pitched reply.
Jim closes his eyes and allows himself to relax a little. Swabbing the deck took the better part of the past hour, and his arms were sore. Even after a month of doing this twice a day, it's still tiring.
"Ya missed a spot."
Jim's eyes snap open and he finds Long John Silver standing in front of him, grinning.
"What? Where?" Jim's eyes are darting back and forth across the deck.
Silver points to some barrels a little ways down, under which the deck is mo
005. Seeking Solace005. Seeking Solace
The rush of air on his face, the wind whipping through his hair, the cool, crisp air filling his lungs.
It feels amazing.
He lets out a whoop of excitement, releasing all of his frustration and irritation and anger out into this escape.
Everything's a blur, everything but the clouds up above that he's racing towards, climbing upwards at an almost ninety degree angle.
And then he stops.
He lets off his foot from the motor.
He collapses the sail.
He lets go of everything that's holding him back.
And he allows himself to fall.
"He's a smart kid, but such a rebel." Yeah, who cares what you think? I don't have to follow your rules. Let me do want I want!
"That boy should know better than to waste his time surfing and doing nothing with his life." I am doing something with my life. I'm gonna be an amazing surfer and one of the best engineers. Just wait, I'm gonna make you eat those words when I'm building your next solar galleon.
"He's cute, but he's
069. Annoyance069. Annoyance; or, A Typical Exchange Between the Captain and Her First Mate
"Look, Sammy, don't be daft. By all means, this voyage has been an absolute catastrophic nightmare thus far. I'll have none of your 'silver lining' rubbish."
"If you insist. Although, Amy, I personally still believe it's not half as atrocious as you're describing--"
"And have you seen how those bobbins are handling my sails? At this rate, they won't be fit for rags by the time we return."
"I'll make sure to keep a good eye on that."
"Please do. And for crying out loud, I've never seen more of an ignominious slob than I have that . . . that . . . Moron character. And who is his cohort again? Oxy. Can you imagine a worse pair? They complement each other terribly. If one does a poor job, the other must go and make it dreadful. Worst ropers I've ever laid eyes on."
"I understand, Amy. Would you like a cuppa?"
"You know, I don't mind if I do. Spot of tea may be just what I need right now. I believe I ma
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