adinfinita:
full reconnaissance, estrada had said. well, the sack over the barmaid’s head wouldn’t be necessary, but in the end the decision had come down to the obvious. the first place that a sailor would think to go? why, the nearest bar on shore, of course. at the risk of an unfortunate encounter with his former captain, the commander had elected for the second best option. the port’s hotel is a bizarrely decadent affair, olive green walls and stained glass windows gleaming in the late afternoon sun, with a museum of art as fine as any he’s seen in paris or florence within. there’s a lull to his steps, a sentimental desire to linger and soak in the splendour. and then he smothers it, strolling past the sculptures and walls lined with art.
“a ways to reach you? that’s awfully specific.” droll amusement, a little sliver of something to whet the appetite. the attendant peers at him with an inquisitiveness that tows the line of civility, a sirenlike lilt to their innocuous questions. one tangled right through the other as a wreath of wildflowers, or a serpent sinking its fangs into its own tail. he eyes the tea cupped in their palms, the curl of steam coming from the surface, and wonders idly if it’s laced.
you tell me first. tell me what kind of place you’ve painted this into, what kind of purgatory masquerading under a mosaic of sea shells and quaint grandeur this is.
“oh, i don’t intend on staying here. our ship is anchored not far from the docks. i thank you for the hospitality, however. it’s much appreciated after so many months at sea.” a smile crests his lips, angles crooked at the last second, artless as only a movement crafted into instinct could be. “i hope you don’t mind my saying but it feels strangely quiet around here. not just this lovely establishment of yours but the whole port. are we the first visitors you’ve had in some time?”
“specificity is the best way to keep the unwanted out of meaning.” they do not elaborate, merely keeps the same pleasant curve of lips as they greet their newest guest. there is a small nod of understanding when he expresses that he is not here to stay; expected. smoke from the tea in their hands curls its arms upwards like a babe reaching for a mother and they extend the cup to the commander, heads tilted coquettishly as they do, grins sharping ever-so-slightly.
an invitation. not to stay, but to exist in this space with them for as long as he can remember to.
“things are always coming and going. it is nothing more than a cycle of seasons. you are not the first, nor will you be the last — rest assured i will remember you regardless.” this is a comfort, should you let it be. this is a reminder, should you need it to be.
“would i be correct in assuming that you are not merely concerned about our little port’s tourism?” they have seen others like him, men lost to history thinking their names will mean something. they almost feel sorry for him, bites their tongue and decides to wait to see what the cold and the dark has in store for him before reacting. they can almost hear the winds with their secrets soon and perhaps one will be of him.
“it would do you well to ask what you wish, sir. i have nothing to hide, and i would be happy to be of service other ways if i cannot provide you a place to stay.” said smoothly, unblinking. polite. “remember, specifics. it would make things easier for the both of us.”