For a Song Pt. 11

I listen to the waves. I listen to the ocean. I listen to the gulls cry out over the water and look for anything in the water. Clams and mussels and refuse, all picked over and scavenged until it's all bleached clean. The noise flows through my mind and leavens nothing but picked bones. Clean white sands and clean white thoughts. Nothing, I am nothing, save of the lingering exhaustion that the morning slowly erodes.

Eliza shudders and shifts her grip on me. She is a good blanket. I mutter and shift my grip on Gawain. He does nothing, completely lost to his dreams. Good. I want stillness. I want quiet. I want the crash of the wake on the ice-cold sand. The noise weaves rime white threads in my mind. I think of songs and tunes it could hold watertight like a basket. There's something there, but I can't make it real without my strings. Those sit on the far wall, nice and snug and laid down to rest like a babe in the crib. Seen a lot, that poor thing. Bumps and bruises and waterlogged drownings and a handful of wounds. Poor thing needs care. Mutti probably has some oil and rags I could use. Get her nice and shiny and dark again. Tune up the strings and make her nice and tight. Too many thoughts. Too much thinking. Not enough calm quiet morning under a sea slowly growing more and more restless. I free my arm from a reap and let it rest in whatever I can that is comfortable. I try and dig a hole for my arm and can only really manage a little divot. It's still better, though.

Eliza snores and that's terrible. I am awake now. Gawain's not. Lucky him. He didn't have her mouth right next to his ear. My eyes are still closed, and I will not open them for anything ever. I am asleep. I will tell myself that until it is true again.

Mutti gets up too and I hear the house start to creak and groan around her. Too many things to do and she never gets a day off because that's just not in the cards. Her son is a lay about with no job and no wife. Her other son, though, is a much better person. Wife and a town and a nice shiny sheriff badge. Maybe even a few kids on the way. Who knows? Not the lazy son with a too small bed. My one free hand pulls our shared blanket up a bit. Eliza tends to kick and now I have to fix all her problems for her. She squeezes tighter and that makes me feel better. She is a very, very good cuddler, even if her size does most of the work for her.

A soft knock comes on my door and that's terrible. No more excuses and no more pretending.

"Don't say anything," whispers Gawain, "we're still asleep. She can't prove anything."

"I heard that Gawain," Mutti sighs, "Mom hearing."

He curses and I laugh. Eliza snores again and I think she's going to need an elbow to the ribs. She gets one and it only makes her hold tighter.

"Five more minutes," she mumbles. She gets a finger poking her cheek. That at least gets her eyes scrunched and angry. Improvement. Gawain starts wriggling.

"You have 3 minutes," Mutti sighs, "Can't believe I just said that. I was supposed to be the cool mom. But no, can't be cool anymore. Get your collective butts out of bed. I had a dream that I need to share with you."

That is a good enough reason to actually put forth some effort into all of this. And Eliza does take effort. Gawain gets free first and starts prodding. A finger to the cheek and that gets her angry and scrunched and irritable.

"You do that again and I will bite it off," she grumbles. He pokes again and Eliza does not keep her word.

"There are better ways to get me in the mood," she says, "I don't appreciate getting poked with it first thing in the morning."

"As much as I want that," I say, "Not what's going on. Strategy meeting apparently. Mutti had a dream and that means we have to listen to it."

"Thread dream," she yawns.

"Probably. Also, I'm getting a cramp in my leg, so I need to stretch it out."

She hums and doesn't like letting me go. But she does. She clambers over me because for some reason all of her can't wait a few minutes for me to get up.

I get to watch her back though. All of the muscles roll and pop and slot together. So much of her, so many of the looping lines. She goes wide, shoulders rolling and snapping, arms tense and tight. She takes her fingers wide and even that is a treat to behold. Then she bends over, and everything is beautiful. I can watch the muscle tear and flex as all the stillness is eased away. Her legs, long as the horizon, lead up to tight and toned and sculpted flesh that sets me racing. We have a deadline, though, and even my quickest can't beat that. And I don't want to be quick with her. I can't be quick with her. Her legs part a bit and she goes deeper. I watch the gap grow full with a devilish pair of eyes watching me gawk. I make no apologies. I have done nothing wrong. She smiles and rolls her eyes, like she had no idea what she was doing. It's perfectly natural to sleep naked and stretch languidly in full view of two men who have repeatedly and enthusiastically had carnality with her. Gawain pokes my cheek. I don't know how he avoided being mesmerized, but I imagine the threat of another scolding might be it.

I swing my legs off the bed and don't bother to hide anything either. Even when they both stare at me just as I stare at them. It goes away. I did miss my shirt. It gets cold in the mornings. I look to the sky from my window. Rain, it looks like rain. I don't really appreciate that.

---

Mutti busies herself with a good kettle and putting all that warmth in her new charges. She does make good tea. Always a secret that my sleuthing could never uncover. Gawain's trying now and I don't know if he can pull it off. It's floral and sweet and light. It chases away the morning chill and that's all it needs to do. Could go for some eggs and bacon, but that's not on the table, so I don't think it's coming. I could go out and see if I could catch a fish, but then I'd be cold again. I settle for the tea.

"So, we have a problem coming down," Mutti sighs as she sets the kettle down and joins us, "Claire says we have a fleet coming in off the shore and that's going to be an issue."

"We already knew that," I say, "And we figured they would come in force. So, we sit them down and have a chat and do what we can. Who's coming?"

"Soddal and that's all she got. Not with the fleet and coming in hot. Worst case scenario, we have a rouge element. Tried to get her to give me more, but she had nothing. And we were also doing other things, so I didn't really care to ask. And there's not really that much we can do."

The rain starts and that makes us jump. Terrible thing, the rain. Cold and icy and sharp. Good roof over our heads though, no drips or spatters. I think we should start a fire. We have enough wood and there's something to be said of having a strategy meeting with hot tea and a roaring fire. The rain hits the windows and I like it. Makes me want to go back to bed and never get up. Mutti eyes her guitar so lovingly nestled against the wall and looks to me. She's smiling and I can't think of a better way to pass the time.

I return from my little trip to see her already tuning the strings and getting everything set up. She has a small stage, Eliza sprawled out on the floor and Gawain eagerly perched atop her waiting for the show. I think he's putting it on a bit, but I appreciate the enthusiasm. Mutti lets out a low whistle when she seems my instrument.

"Jackalope," she sighs, "You really need to take better care of that thing."

"It still sounds fine," I shrug, "And now she has character. I almost drowned in a river once and now there's this nice echo to it. Maybe I'll light her on fire next and see what that does."

She shakes her head, snow white hair flowing after. Tight, simply braid, kind of how she's always worn it. I am a disappointment as all sons are and she knows it. She gestures to a spot at her side and lets it happen. Nothing can be done at this point. Really, it's my parents' fault. I had a terrible upbringing in a house full of love and laughter and trust. No one can turn out well in such a state. I need abuse and bitterness and neglect. It's the only way artists can grow.

I have the first turn and I take it slowly. The cold has done terrible things to my girl, but the motion is warming up everything. Slow and gentle, letting the constant snare of the rain drive the hurried pace. It's a tug of war, time slowly marching on with the dogged gnashing teeth of seconds trying to get it all going down the road faster. There is a storm coming and there is nothing we can do but wait it out and pray that the world is still standing in the aftermath. Sad, I think, in a way, but also freeing. The world is beyond the spin of our hands, and all we can do is take the motion and spin with it. Blowing the wind like an autumn leaf, dancing through the clouds and falling to the earth. There is a bit of a bite on the edge as the cold snaps back into place, but I think it adds a good level of texture. Can't all be a mournful bittersweet dance of numbing pain. Has to have some action, if only for the sake of variety.

A polite applause comes from all of my audience, and I don't know what I was expecting. Insanity, loss of control, a pair of small clothes thrown my way. That would have been nice. I bow my head.

"Thank you," Mutti says, "I was worried for a moment. You're still good."

"Of course, I'm still good. How do you think I got money on the road?"

"Whoring yourself out. That's what I would have done."

"You made money as a combat medic. That's how you and Maman met."

"That's how we met too," Eliza sighs.

"Same side, or different side?"

"Same. I was technically his commander."

"She was," I say, "She took advantage of me."

"I sucked your cock," Eliza says, indignant, "I took nothing from you."

Mutti laughs and that is enough for her to start her own turn. A little fumbly, but just shaking out the last bit of mirth. She starts faster than me and goes even faster. Never thought she would turn into a morning person. Must be all those old joints getting her up with their aches and pain. Old hag can't really do anything else but share her misery.

And it comes through in harsh and grating. It hurts and it feels good. A knife to my arm to cut away the grime and callus. It is sandpaper on rough wood. Softening edges and rounded edges as razor wind slips through the gaps. I feel it in my limbs. I want to run and hit and thrash against existence and system until it is all rendered null and void. She always does such a good job with the needle and thread of noise. I close my eyes and let the tempo take my body.

And there is a knock at the door. The music stops and all the little tingles fade into nothing. The room comes to a frozen pane of glass. Mutti reaches out a hand to Gawain and a knife finds her palm wordlessly. Eliza takes a bit to get her scythe and we are all set and ready for the moment. As the most attractive face of the group, I take it upon myself to answer the door. IN the unlikely event of a friendly face, it would do us some good to give one of those back. I glimpse an umbrella through the window in my snooping, but I can't make out anything else. I think I hear a soft hick and sob from the other side of the door. That's fun. I take a moment to center everything and open the door with a warm, genuine smile.

I find the visage of pure, raw sorrow staring back at me.

"You're a bastard to track down," Gerardine says.

---

Eliza stares her down and I can't help but feel the tension start to affect me as well. I want something to break. I'm holding a good cup and that could do it. Then everyone would be mad at me and that would do something at least.

Gerardine does nothing but stare as Mutti busies herself with her new guest. More tea and now she has to make snacks. Too many people for there not to be snacks. Simple biscuits probably, but she can do those very well. If I remember, there is honey in a cupboard over on the right side. Or maybe the left. No, the right. Definitely the right. She reaches for it and sets it on the table.

Eliza keeps glancing towards her scythe, but I made her put it away. We have a guest and that means no violence. Unless the guest asks for it, but she hasn't so far. Just the tea.

She looks better now. Not quite as sad, but still carrying a somber aura on her like a pack of stones. I don't think that will be good for her back, but I am not in charge of her. If she wants to carry that with her, I did not give it to her. I do not force her to carry it. If anything, that's Eliza's fault. Gawain seems more or less content, but his foot taps give it away. I would be anxious as well, but my mom is here, and I can't be harmed. That's the rule.

"There's a fleet coming, and you're having tea," Gerardine scoffs.

"Would you rather not have tea," Mutti shrugs, "Cause I can stop."

"Tea's fine."

Mutti hums and keeps futzing and putzing around. She is rather good at that, I have to admit. Something I will probably have to learn at some point. Gawain's too playful and Eliza's too serious to find something to do at every opportunity. I'll learn, eventually.

"So," I say, "What brings you to town? Kind of missed tourist season. Too cold to go swimming and I don't think the whales are going to be around just yet."

"I came to warn you," Gerardine sighs, "And I don't know why I bothered. You already know and decided that it is all beneath you."

"Not quite," Mutti shrugs, "Just more out of our control. And we do have a plan. Try and talk them down. I got a couple speeches planned and if that doesn't work, then we have like three kweh birds. That's a good bit of hightailing if it comes down to it."

"You can't talk them down. They're full of fire. Gone the full route of heresy. An army of zealots coming down to burn the world clean."

Her voice starts to break, and the tears start to come down. A very easy crier, this one. She can cry. It's probably a good thing, in the long run. And she seems to still be functioning, more or less. Came all the way out here after our first little rumble. She takes a deep breath and calms down. I watch her eyes dart to Eliza and that is also a factor.

"I'm not letting another Blake happen," she whispers.

"I appreciate that," says Gawain, "I don't want another Blake to happen."

Eliza seems to be quiet and that is concerning. She can be quiet, but she doesn't like this quiet. Not quite ashamed, but definitely cowed in the moment. Hard enough to take a life, but in the midst of a battle, kind of gets lost in the shuffle. A widow come to track you down and give you a piece of her mind, that's another.

"We're still going to try," Mutti says, "None of us can pull a Claire, so we're left with what we got. And Eliza, sweetie, you're good at that part, but not Claire good."

She still huffs, but I think she accepts it. I never saw Maman in action, but I've heard tales. Half of them were tall tales to keep us entertained in the winter, the other half were there to put a little fear in us, as all kids should have of their parents.

"I'm not the best swimmer anyway," Eliza mumbles.

"There you go," Mutti gestures, "I've been working on my tea blends and that's something. So that's how we do it."

"You're insane," says Gerardine.

"Yes. Yes, we are. Here you go. Biscuits are going to be a bit, but that's how baking works."

Gerardine takes her cup in stride, reaching for the honey and adding a drop for her tastes. A little presumptuous, but she knows how she likes it. And she does like it. Enough to bring a tear to her eye. It gets sucked back in and nothing was wrong. She takes another sip and that's fun. Thinking and thoughts and another dreadful silence sets in between us. Mutti might need some help, now that I think about it.

"I'm sorry," Eliza says, "about how all that turned out."

"Look at me for a moment," Gerardine says.

She does. No real remorse or guilt, but a genuine regret. Not the time or place to second guess in the moment, but hindsight is crystal clear. Gerardine stands and keeps the gaze on her. Everything is calm and cool and collected, a measured response that leads her to stand before the other. Even sitting, Eliza is almost staring her dead in the eye.

Gerardine rears back and takes an open palm across her cheek.

"Are we even," asks Eliza, voice calm and even. Not even annoyed. A measured response for something that was a long time coming.

"Not in the slightest, but that's all I'm going to get," she says, "And Gawain, even if that was my idea, you pressed way too hard."

Gawain mumbles something apologetic. A large red print shines through Eliza's cheek. It works well with her lines.

"You hit anyone again," Mutti says, "I'm tossing you out. That goes for all of you."

"I'm done. Just had to get it out of my system."

"Fair. Biscuits are done. Here you go."

Gerardine returns to her seat and takes her snack. Everything's calmed down and that's something impressive. Maybe we all should get a free slap at someone else at some point. It would do a lot.

"I'm helping," she says, "And you can't stop me."

"Great," I mumble through my crumbs, "That's good."

"Not sure what I can do, but I don't know. Any ideas?"

"Can you make it stop raining," Mutti says, "I've worried my herbs are going to drown."

"I'll try, but no promises. There's a Finchwing on board and he's pulling some of the same tricks I can. Soddal likes rain, too, so I'm not sure she'll even listen."

"These walls have ears. You'd be surprised."

Gerardine just sighs and shrugs her shoulders. She closes her eyes and starts her communion. We still have time, though, before it all comes crashing down. Hours and minutes and seconds to while away. I think Kay left a whittling set in our room. Never picked up the trade myself, but I can certainly try my hand at it.

---

Splinters, so many splinters. Thumbs and fingers and hands all covered in little wooden thorns that stab and bite and throb. I don't like whittling. I don't like carving. I don't like anything that deals with files and knives. I do get a very good sharp stick out of the ordeal though. Sharp sticks might be the most useful thing ever. Nothing can beat a good sharp stick. Except maybe many sharp sticks all in a line, planted in the earth and covered with leaves. That could work for our little siege. No, the grounds' frozen over. Diplomacy is still the only way. Such a shame.

I'm getting a little stir crazy, and I can' really do anything about it. I had my little game with Gawain and Eliza deserves a turn, but it's hard to get in the mood knowing my mom is a wall away at best. Throw the endless sad sack in the mix and that makes it even worse. No sense of intimacy or privacy. The open road would be better, oddly enough. No walls at all out there, but also no one for miles around.

The rain has lightened a bit. Not quite stopped, but down to a little drizzle of gray water and gray blankets and endless chill. Endless and dull and dead. Things can still drown, but slower now. That's about as good as we're going to get right now. It's not sunny and warm, but it's better. I did get some oil soap for my guitar and even some clean strings. That will help too. Haven't gotten around to changing them, but I don't want to be overwhelmed.

A knock at the door does that anyway. I welcome them in. I hope it's Eliza or Gawain. Again, would be difficult, but we could do it.

It's said resident sad sack. Although she doesn't look particular sad or sack like right now. If anything, she's a bit tired, and that's close to sad, but not quite.

"First and foremost," she says, "I'm not here to fuck you."

I am a little offended, because I am very fuckable. But I also appreciate the candor on display. I like the game, but I also like not playing the game. Very few things I don't like at the moment.