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Oct. 25th, 2012 02:05 amThe hold was deserted. Most of the crew was still aloft, trying to square away the ship in the storm. Tybalt had helped for a while, but as soon as the work seemed on it's way to being finished, he had slipped down below decks to the cabins to fetch a candle, and some writing supplies. But he had abandoned the cabins for a less likely to be occupied section of the ship as soon as he had. The last thing he needed was the rest of the crew realizing he was terrified of water of all things.
He had his pride to protect.
Settling on a barrel, he'd made a makeshift table of one of the crates and set about to writing another letter to his sister. It would be a long while yet before they got to a port that he could send it off to her, but he was really only writing to keep his mind off the storm above, so he supposed it did not really matter. The ship continued to rock and sway as it was tossed on the waves, and it was only Ty's balance that kept him from toppling over like some of the less secured stores.
Don't think about the swells. Don't think about the boat capsizing. Don't think about-
Shit.
Every muscle in Tybalt's body strained with the tension of keeping his balance and the nervously coiled strength ready to bolt to nowhere. Deeply rooted instinct compounded on top of well earned fears had the cat more on edge than he ever was, and for once not with the riled need to fight. No. The reaction he felt now was more a desire to find the smallest, darkest corner of the ship, dig his claws into the wood and hope to the King's good graces he would not die on this blasted pile of timbers over something as foolish as his own inability to swim.
He would not be beaten by his fears.
Taking another breath, he forced his hands to relax and stared at the ink blotted page, watching the ink slosh in the tiny glass well and slide back and forth along the crate. The pin went back to the paper, the candle casting swaying, flickering light on the stores as it was accompanied by the scratch of the nib on parchment.
He had his pride to protect.
Settling on a barrel, he'd made a makeshift table of one of the crates and set about to writing another letter to his sister. It would be a long while yet before they got to a port that he could send it off to her, but he was really only writing to keep his mind off the storm above, so he supposed it did not really matter. The ship continued to rock and sway as it was tossed on the waves, and it was only Ty's balance that kept him from toppling over like some of the less secured stores.
Don't think about the swells. Don't think about the boat capsizing. Don't think about-
Shit.
Every muscle in Tybalt's body strained with the tension of keeping his balance and the nervously coiled strength ready to bolt to nowhere. Deeply rooted instinct compounded on top of well earned fears had the cat more on edge than he ever was, and for once not with the riled need to fight. No. The reaction he felt now was more a desire to find the smallest, darkest corner of the ship, dig his claws into the wood and hope to the King's good graces he would not die on this blasted pile of timbers over something as foolish as his own inability to swim.
He would not be beaten by his fears.
Taking another breath, he forced his hands to relax and stared at the ink blotted page, watching the ink slosh in the tiny glass well and slide back and forth along the crate. The pin went back to the paper, the candle casting swaying, flickering light on the stores as it was accompanied by the scratch of the nib on parchment.
