first mate Mr. Starbuck

roleplay blog welcome to witness this bi disaster, wreck of a man lose his religion in real time (do not AI with me this is pure human chaoswork!!)

[mister-starbuck]

EDITOR'S NOTE

I'm not making him vampire (at least for now?) But here's the fic in any case (eldritch horrors, madness, desperation, grief, love and the horrible concept of eternity)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/68423436/chapters/177095921

From now on i will be saying either EDITOR'S NOTE and it's "me" and without it's him

(Also i'm working, doing phd and writing 2 massive fics so i'm busy as hell so my replies could take time)

Okay okay we're getting this thing ongoing we're moving we're going

CHARACTER INFO

Nathaniel Starbuck, first mate of Pequod (i like Ethan Hawke's version so we're going with that but there's now mannerisms of Ted Levine's version too..)

Married to Mary Starbuck but the "great Nantucket polycule" is a thing tm

religious anxiety

Gay yearning

Misses wife & loves captain

Low-key having feelings of "ending it all"

Feelings of Doom

"Useless, dauntless bravery" in the face of everything

Feel free to interact - i'm also gonna write "log/diary" of some kind.. maybe?

[mister-starbuck]

THE LONG WAY HOME VOL 9

Editor’s note, previously; after many deaths and mutinies the ship has arrived to Tahiti, where even more deaths took place. Now a man in the inn has just told a tale of a shipwreck caused by a whale they all know too well.

/// @mrstubb-2ndmate WROTE ///

“We’ve been out for a long time. Incidents an’ the like.” Stubb added, probably unhelpfully. “We’re needin’ some more hands on deck, if you're looking.”

There were unsaid words, naturally, that hung in the air. It wasn't just the captain that had died. It was more than just him, because why else would they need more men? Something had killed them.

“Sailed out from Nantucket in..” He must've drunk an awful lot already, because the man seemed to have lost track of time. That, or all the sunrises he saw, thinking about that girl back home, had melded together. Wouldn't be surprised if it was either.

“How long’s it been exactly? Three years? Four? Three, right?” He glanced at Starbuck, eyebrows furrowed. Stubb was certain it was three. Then again, time seemed to pass different at sea. “I’m a Cape Cod man myself.”

/// END QUOTE ///

1841, Starbuck thought. ”Three years and two months. Four to home,” that was agonizing enough. Four years without Mary. His children wouldn’t recognize him. A stranger arrived from the sea and called himself father. He remembered it had been the same when he had himself been little.

”I don’t know what I want,” the man despaired. ”I want home but my salary from the last two years just disappeared with the ship. I own nothing. I don’t want home, either. Things are worse there.”

I’ll take care of that, Starbuck thought. I’ve already made the decision to stop at Havana. "I'll take care of that salary-issue." He refused to abandon people onto fate's hands. There was something lovely and anarchistical in the manner he could stop playing by the rulebook he'd been brought up with. What would God like better? Several dollars more in the bank or a dead man who could've survived if he'd got a share?

[mister-starbuck]

THE LONG WAY HOME VOL 8

EDITOR’S NOTE, PREVIOUSLY: Ahab has been killed, along with several others. The ship has been haunted by his ghost. The crew has managed to sail to Tahiti for more food, water and crew if that is possible. Starbuck, as the new Captain, has fired several men that attempted knifing Fedallah. This backfired when the said men attacked Starbuck, but are now all dead because he wasn’t alone after all. In the inn Stubb and Bulkington have encountered a strange shipwreck-survivor. Meanwhile Starbuck, Flask, Ishmael, Queequeg and Fedallah are teaming up to bury the dead before anyone notices. Statistics: 1 sunken ship (not the Pequod), 35 drowned men (see previous), 6 killed men (Ahab, the ships doctor, 4 sailors), 1 killed whale, 3 (?) mutinies, god only knows how many murder attempts

//// @mrstubb-2ndmate WROTE ////

Stubb hadn't noticed much difference in who was gone. He gathered that Flask had slipped off, but that could've been easily explained by any number of things. Perhaps he’s off trying butter for the first time in an eternity. The man mused, his arm thrown around another drunken stranger, caterwauling any old song that came to mind.

What he did notice, though, even in his state, was the bedraggled man looking like he'd just crawled back from the gates of hell. Didn't miss how Bulkington looked at him too. A shipwrecked sailor, alright. Stubb wanted to snort, sticking his pipe in his mouth, but held his tongue just quick enough to remember that there was a good chance the man was a shipwrecked sailor.

He slid down from his perch on some table, away from his new comrades of a roaring, woozy choir, and stumbled right on over to the man, who was now crying.

Couldn't help but be a bit nosy, huh?

“Cheer up now, lad, you're on dry land!” The first-mate offered, grinning through his teeth. Which, in fairness, probably didn't do much to help.

//// END QUOTE ////

Ishmael and Queequeg returned with the ’borrowed’ boat and the utterly wrecked and nearly-forgotten sail for a fabric.

Starbuck didn’t really do much else than stare at the blood drying in his hands. He tried to think of it with reason. The bay was too shallow for a burial, which meant that they had to wait for night or sneak the bodies onboard the ship, hide them somewhere (God knew it would be the barrels). Then he thought of it. That wasn’t a good plan, either. They had to get rid of the bodies as soon as possible, before they’d start rotting. Which meant tonight but deeper water. Perhaps using the ship herself as cover and just praying nothing got close enough to witness anything. It they kept the lights down it’d be as dark as the surrounding night. It was already gone dark. Besides he had to return to the ship and get himself looking like a civilized person again.

He told of these plans to the others, including Flask who seemed to look a little sobered up. The plan wouldn’t need much time, either. Sails, a few stitches, some weights, a prayer just to keep the ghosts out, done.

¤

”I’d like to stay on dry land for the rest of my life.. if it’s all the same to you, sir,” the man managed to reply. Either because of the shock or because of poor meals and fastly drank spirits he’d began to look a little tipsy. ”Have you got any idea what’s out there?”

Several curious (including Bulkington) had already began gathering around.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb snorted. He didn't allow his face to darken or his posture to slacken when thinking about what exactly he'd seen out there, because this was no time to dwell on the misery. They were safe. They were enjoying themselves. They were boozing it up!

“You’d be surprised! D’you want a drink, kid?”

//

Flask chewed the inside of his cheek. A habit that seemed more and more prevalent recently. It was grounding, he supposed, even if it probably meant the inside of his mouth was slightly worse for wear. He didn't often taste blood, at least. But when he did, he felt lucky to be tasting anything. Chewing his mouth was better than chewing nothing, some part of him thought.

“Sir, if it ain't too much to ask,” He murmured to Starbuck, choosing his words carefully. Now probably wasn't the right time, but nothing would be the right time. Everytime you thought you could have a moment of rest, something else happened! “How long do we suppose we're planning to stay docked here?”

Of course, they'd have to get moving eventually. They had to get home. But there was plenty still to do on the island, and after the last fiasco, Flask didn't quite want to leave just yet. Besides, they needed to bury the task at hand.

[mister-starbuck]

"Sure, sir," the man replied. He was in the somewhat lucky situation that it was absolutely useless to rob him because he had nothing on his name, even if the stranger's plans were to get him blackout drunk and attempt emptying his pockets. His gifted money had gone to a few nights in the inn and the two drinks he'd just had. He'd gone from crying to wondering how it had happened. It had started like any other chase. Any other.

//

"As little while as possible. Most of the provisions should arrive tomorrow or the days after. We're still low on crew, although we can make it to Lima with whom we have. There's no doctor to be found here, we'll need a bigger place for that," Starbuck replied. And pray for no accidents, he thought, but didn't dare to tempt fate with saying it out loud. "And because we're going to Lima in any case, we can leave earlier. A ship like ours needs more things to be fully stocked than this island can really sell, even if they'd be willing to."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“And how far would we be to Lima?” It was a silly question, but Flask wasn't thinking about keeping his questions quiet right now. It was keep your mouth shut and risk dying over something stupid, or survive.

“We can't leave here immediately. After experiencing something like that? The crew need hope to hold onto. That hope is this, dry land. If we take it from them too quickly to make some renewed impact, they'll be angry. We'll risk mutiny and losing more men.”

Mister Flask wasn't sure when he'd started to think so much. He wasn't sure he liked it— but he'd have to suck it up and get on with it, didn't he? Stubb was always saying something about adapting to what happens. He'd managed to do that unconsciously, adapt to the circumstances. It was that or die, and Flask wanted to live.

[mister-starbuck]

I want home, Starbuck thought but didn't say it. "Month or two, depending on the weather. Then about one year to home. But we could do shore leaves a little more frequently. It was him that was against them."

Ishmael and Queequeg had began trying to get the dead into their little coffins of sails. Starbuck went to help and tried not to look at the details too much. Ishmael had to take breaks and stare at something else for a while, too.

"The best I can think of is one week here. Reason being, this," Starbuck said and nodded at the bodies. "If they're found, we're in trouble. So if anyone has ideas on how to make sure that won't happen, tell me."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask nodded along. A week was good enough. A week meant they could recover, but wouldn't get too used to land to leave. A week meant they wouldn't be suspicious in leaving.

“Don’t talk about them, don't make reference to them. Don't even think about them unless someone else brings them up.” He didn't help the others. He had no intention of doing something like that again, and he had no reason to explain why.

“But if someone does, don't avoid the subject. It'll make it worse. Don't go into too much detail, don't say too little. We haven't seen them since they hightailed it off the ship. Don't do anything that could draw any kinda suspicion.”

He couldn't care less if his cautiousness gave away past experiences. If one of them saw fit to bring him down, which Flask heavily doubted they would, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to all three of them, as much as he respected the men.

[mister-starbuck]

Aren't you going to do anything, Starbuck wondered a little annoyed. Then again Flask hadn't killed anyone. Not that there wasn't some rumours going on. Then again most of the rumours concerning anyone was very likely heresay that'd got amplified by years of boredom. Then again he hadn't dared to inquire of anyone's past from Fedallah who surely could get to the heart of things.

"I know how to lie," Starbuck admitted. Although his lies had been mostly lying to his parents of where here'd been. Several young couples had joined the effort. When asked they had all been 'in the field reading the Bible' when in reality each had sneaked to a private setting of their own with a special someone. To make it perfect they had actually read the segments in advance just in case someone would ask. It was the only thing he could think of to keep himself distanced enough from what he was actually doing. Covering the tracks, finding rocks for weights. He told Flask to keep lookout just in case some unfortunate would get too close.

Eventually they got the bodies in their impromptu-hammocks. It had got completely dark. The burial was fast as usual. they 'rented' the boat again, rowed to the shelter of the ship, said the words, done.

Starbuck got to the ship to change out of the bloody clothes. He looked a little pale, a little too wary of his own shadow. Fedallah made him take a drink and stitched up the worst of the scratches. Luckily Starbuck could just wear the cravat to hide both the stitches and the bandages. The other on the side of his wrist was a common enough sight. He could just lie that he'd 'had enough', which wasn't technically a lie. He had considered something extremely stupid before he'd got attacked. Starbuck returned to the others, looking a little ill for the whole thing.

"Shoud we go back to the inn?" Ishmael wondered. He was getting a little hungry. A lot of activities had taken place. Rowing and sewing and dragging dead weight and.. something else earlier.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask’s hands felt strange. Like a liquid had dried on them.

He knew full well what it was, and that he was imagining it. Phantom blood coating his palms, digging under his fingernails, that he was unable to scrub out for weeks. Taunting him, almost. It had haunted him for an awful long while the first time 'round, he sincerely hoped it didn't this time. He didn't actually hurt anyone himself.

The cool night air felt stifling on his body, the sour smell of sweat seemed to follow him wherever he went— though that might've just been the fact that everyone he'd been around for the past few years at this point had been a sailor. There was a tang on his tongue, and the man couldn't quite tell if he'd finally managed to chew through his cheek or if it was in his head.

Ishmael did them all a favour by breaking the silence.

“Yeah, we should go back. Can't imagine they've missed us much.”

Best case scenario, nobody noticed they'd even left.

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck didn't feel like he wanted to be around people at all. He knew it was for the best. He felt dead tired when the adrenaline had gone down. The scratches felt itchy and hurting. Queequeg didn't look too affected even if he'd done most of it. Starbuck wondered how he could ever pay this debt back. If everything went well, it was because of him that Mary hadn't turned to a widow tonight.

He noticed Ishmael looking at himself like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Curious eyes and far too much going on behind them.

"We probably should, and we have to return this boat, too," Starbuck said.

// In the inn no-one had indeed noticed anyone leaving or going. They had started to get some elusive details out of the stranger. When they had inquired which ship he'd arrived with, he'd given the name. Then the next question had been where the ship was now when the Pequod was the only ship that had arrived in a few days. The man had replied 'gone' with the expression that he surely didn't want to talk about it. People started offering him drinks, someone offered a spare shirt and trousers for a tale. Someone else offered to pay for his stay in the inn. Curious, curious people.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb raised his eyebrows, having slotted himself right next to that poor sailor, fiddling with his pipe in one hand and holding a pint in the other.

“Didn’t happen to be to do with a whale of any kind, did it?”

The man purposefully left out any specific details. A white whale. By the name of Moby Dick. He wouldn't sound like Ahab, Stubb promised himself. Spouting off about some practically mythical beast and working himself up into a frenzy once the ship was too far from shore for the crew to decide that their captain was crazy and call it quits.

No, he wasn't like that at all.

Going crazy was gonna be Starbuck’scurse, if anything. Maybe Flask’s. But not his, he was sure of it. Sure man, mad men, what's the difference?

“It was a whaling ship, wasn't it?”

He was so absorbed in his conversation (or interrogation) that he didn't notice the returning men from his own ship.

[mister-starbuck]

The stranger turned to look at Stubb a little too fast. "It was a whaler, yes."

There was a pause. "With thirty-two men. Was."

He looked like he was about to start crying again. For some odd reason he didn't. He hadn't noticed the others arriving. Someone offered him food, he ate a little.

Starbuck got the details from someone that had been in the inn for the whole night. Suddenly a drink seemed like a good idea. Ishmael looked at him with disbelief when he downed two in one go and fidgeted with his cross trying to understand what had happened. Fate chose someone else. That's their Ishmael, he thought. They said there was a sail in the horizon just before we met... It.

"And it's got a lot to do with a whale," the stranger continued. He felt too distanced from the whole thing. He thought that he could've stayed here, somehow. Never, ever step on a boat of any kind ever again.

Starbuck had gone so pale that Queequeg stood closer to him just in case he'd actually pass out.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“Is it your first time out?” There was a sense of morbid fascination in Stubb’s tone. That, an attempt at comforting the poor young man, and deja vu.

(Moby Dick was just a great big whale, it couldn't have been it, surely! Any thought of him, of it, was just the lasting paranoia of Captain Ahab refusing to just die.)

The first mate glanced 'round the inn as he spoke, finally noticing the returning faces of his crewmates. He raised his eyebrows at Flask, who shrugged in return. “Can’t imagine a worse thing t’happen.” He patted the young man's shoulder. (Was it too forward to make a business offer? They were short of men on the Pequod, and the kid might want passage home. Perhaps his brother-in-law would applaud him for the forward thinking.)

“Wasn’t a specific whale, was it?”

[mister-starbuck]

"Not a first time out, no.. first and last on whaler, yes," the man continued. He hadn't noticed how the curious others kept quiet and waited for him to continue. "Or not if I want home from here."

"Spesific whale? Why would you ask, sir.. well," he started. "You're gonna think I'm a little mad but I swear on my soul this won't be a lie."

Starbuck had a bad feeling from the man's tale already. Now it got worse. I know what happened, he thought. I know. I just don't want to think of it. He saw how Ishmael stared at the man with a little too wide eyes, a little too aghast look. He knows, too, Starbuck thought. Has Fedallah told him that it's him that was going to survive?

"Well, it happened fast. I wasn't on the ship when it happened, I was rowing.. we.. It's.. well," The man took a drink, calmed himself down for a while. "They said it could happen and then I was there, holding onto the oar and watching as it happened. The ship was here, then it wasn't. The boats were there, then they weren't. It seemed to know what it was doing."

Starbuck thought of the coin that had turned around on its own. Fate had wanted thirty-two dead and a sunken ship. The coin had been thrown for someone else. He felt guilty, knew that there was no sensible reason for it.

The man looked around himself. "The whale was white."

Queequeg had thought that Starbuck was the one that looked like he was about to pass out and had looked at him to be able to catch him. He didn't notice Ishmael swaying during the tale, only realized him beginning to collapse on his side.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Ishmael could feel his throat clamping up within him, tightening almost painfully as if there was something caught there. A sob, perhaps. He could feel the tell-tale squeeze of incoming tears in his quickly flushing nose, and the corners of his eyes began to prick with tears.

He was trying something awful to fight the blur of fear in his sinking chest, having begun to wobble on his feet.

Fedallah had been right. Moby Dick had taken a ship, and there was only one survivor. But it hadn't been him. Had he avoided it? Had some other poor ship been in the wrong place at the wrong time and taken the Pequod’s prophecy?

Was he looking at himself, maybe? Was it truly a mirror that sat there at the bar, rather than a different person, and every member of his crew that stood around him were hallucinations of the brain after swallowing too much salt water?

It couldn't be— when those men had died, the ones that they'd dumped and hidden, it had been very real. Their blood, their cries of pain, the anguish in their eyes— it had been very, very real. Ishmael was a creative man, yes, but he certainly couldn't make all that up himself. Not the gore that had left them when they'd been cut down.

He also found comfort in the solid, warm, breathing form he'd fallen into— oh, goodness! When did he fall? Ishmael wasn't sure. But he knew he'd been standing upright a moment ago, and was particularly aware that he wasn't standing upright now.

Either way, he now seemed to be looking into the very much alive face of his dear husband. Surely his mind was not cruel enough to conjure up the image or feel of Queequeg by itself!

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck saw Ishmael collapsing and knew that he'd truly got the meaning. He himself felt too creeped out to really do anything. He knew that he could've offered the man a job and trying getting him closer to home.

That wasn't what he really got stuck on with his thoughts. He'd known on intuition what that whale was capable of. He'd had a bad feeling of the whole thing. And now someone else hadn't listened to theirs and got the entire ship sunk because of that.

Queequeg placed Ishmael sitting down and held him against him.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Ishmael found himself taking in very deep breaths, as if he'd been choking on water and was now desperate for fresh air to fill his lungs and carry him back to reality.

He twisted his fingers into Queequeg’s, squeezing the other’s hand tight enough to know he wasn't making it up. Eyes wide and shining with unshed tears, he fought off the urge to curl into a ball and hyperventilate. He could do that when he'd found somewhere warm, darm and safe to bury himself within. Not here. He'd look mad.

“It was the White Whale.” He whispered, just loud enough to hear. “It was our White Whale.” Ishmael daren’t utter the name, lest it jinxed them again.

[mister-starbuck]

"It was," Starbuck confirmed. He whispered something along the lines of 'God keep us all', which he usually said in distress.

"Your white whale?" the sailor repeated, he'd looked at Ishmael when he'd blacked out for a bit. "It's.. I don't think that's doable. It's death."

"I know," Starbuck said, he saw how the man understood what he meant. I know that all too well. What in God's name is going on here? I thought we were safe, and.. It attacked some other ship, no doubt after being attacked first. He thought of the thing that Fedallah had said a good while ago.

'It's the right of every living being to defend itself.'

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb crossed his arms. It seemed to him that the damned white whale would haunt them forever. And ever. And ever!

Ishmael’s head spun a little. This way and that, re-registering where he was again. Of course he knew— he was sitting beside Queequeg in an inn on an island, having survived a prophecy that had seemingly struck another poor man.

But for a moment— for a moment, he'd thought himself to be back in his schoolhouse, rambling on and on to small children about history and literature and whatever else It had been he taught, because it felt like a lifetime ago now. For that moment it seemed that all the drunken sailors surrounding him were naught more than boys! Boys who'd gone away to sea far too young, and risked far too much for it. Boys who hadn't a childhood on land to speak of, because the waves had watched them grow more than their families ever had.

Of course, that was all crap. These men were whalers. Professionals. Who killed creatures of great beauty for a bit of coin.

“It came for us.” Ishmael muttered, not meeting anyone's eyes.

[mister-starbuck]

"It didn't," Starbuck lied. "If it would have, we would be dead."

He thought of the utter sense of doom he'd got from the encounter. Sometimes that hint of knowledge was wise to be listened.

The sailor listened and realized that those others had met this thing, too. He wondered why they weren't gone. He wondered for a lift home, it seemed like they had no fancy of hunting anything any time soon. Or at least not that one. It was the Devil, he thought. A child of a God older than the kinds of men.

"I doubt it will attack anyone if it's not attacked first," Starbuck reasoned. Every sense he had said tried confirming him of the opposite. I doubt it wants nothing with our kind. It just wants to live its whale's life in peace.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb sighed.

He didn't want to take away from the situation, not at all. The poor, drenched fellow had gone through a lot— but it was really bringing the atmosphere down. He considered Starbuck's words; was the whole reason that damned white whale after them Ahab? Did it come for their ship because it saw his ghost, which apparently wouldn't leave them be?

Would Moby Dick follow them so long as Captain Ahab did, intent on revenge on a dead man? —Course not! That was the kind of thinking that led Ahab to madness in the first place.

“Say, where abouts did your ship sail out from?” He asked, the cogs apparently turning in the first mate's head. Massachusetts was the whaling capital of all the world— New Bedford and Nantucket especially. What were the chances this man was also from their way?

What were the chances he wanted passage home?

[mister-starbuck]

"Ireland, but I wouldn't like to return, sir," the man answered vaguely. The drinks had got to his head. He looked at the food that someone had given him like someone could've taken it away at any moment. He would defend his meal with any sharp object he'd had. The fear wasn't so irrational, after all. They sound American, he thought. There was some talk of an American ship arriving today. I could just take the flight. Take the risk and if they ever get home, try for a merchant ship. Anything else. There's hardly livelihood for me here.

Starbuck had thought quite much of the paper with that invocation of 'the behemoth of the seas' that had catched fire on it's own during Ahab's funeral preparations. He thought of resigning again. A haunted ship, a whale perhaps not of secular origin, murders, mutinies.. it was a mess. The whole situation had been a mess to begin with, a grande mess, but somehow this was still mess, amplified.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

As soon as one door closed, another one opened. Poor fellow wasn't from anywhere near them, but he didn't want to go back. Stubb decided he could still make an offer, if he played his cards.. right enough, at least.

“Long way from here.” He hummed.

He should've guessed Ireland based on the accent, but the night wasn't quite so young anymore, and Stubb was a few pints in by now to not register particulars of people's voices quite so much.

They needed to catch more whales if they were going to get any money out of this voyage. If they were going to get anything at all, minus a confirmation in a world much greater than humanity and a couple of near-death experiences out of the voyage. Hell, coin was the only reason half the crew were even doing what they did! It was an ever-present force in Mister Flask’s head, he knew that much.

“You need work, lad? Passage? Doubt you'd want to spend the rest of your days here, nice as it is. It's just a rest-stop for us.”

(To be fair, the sailor couldn't be blamed if he did want to peacefully live out the rest of his days here. Nice. Safe enough. Somewhere he wouldn't be hunted by a great big whale.)

[mister-starbuck]

"Thank you, sir," the man said. Then he looked towards the ocean and crossed himself, drank what he had left. He wanted out of here and he didn't want to leave. "I'll consider it. Might be for the best to sleep on it. When are you leaving?"

Starbuck had got the things connected in his mind. They were shortstaffed. There was a sailor that was out of work. It had taken his business sense longer than usual to awaken but he blamed it on the story he'd just been told.

"In a week," Starbuck replied. He knew he had started to do the same thing that Ahab had done, observing first and intervening later. He didn't feel too good about that notice. "When we've got the food, water and some repairs sorted."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb’s eyes lit up gleefully when Starbuck joined the conversation. It meant he could get away with it. It meant Nathaniel Starbuck, the good, devout Quaker that he was, was allowing him to try and capitalise on the other sailor’s disaster.

Granted, the Pequod had its own disaster, so it was mutually beneficial, but contracting a traumatized man to work on your whaling boat being followed by a great beast right after his own had been destroyed by the very same creature was a bit.. extreme? Intense? Cruel?

Inconsiderate, at least.

Still. They had no time for consideration, if they were going to be practical. They needed men, they needed money, and they needed to get going.

“What he said.” Stubb agreed, gesturing to Starbuck. “This is our Fir—” No, that wasn't right, was it? But then again, the actual title felt wrong coming out of his mouth.

“This is our.. Acting Captain.” He settled on instead. It was true, surely? True enough? He didn't know, he'd never been on a boat quite like the Pequod before.

[mister-starbuck]

The sailor jumped to the thing it implied. He was truly sloshed but there was something odd going on here. First mate, now Acting Captain. "Where's the actual Captain?"

"He died," Starbuck replied without blinking. Years of lying to going to Bible Reading Club when he was actually sneaking out to see Mary had made him an incredible liar. It came in handy from time to time. Sometimes lies saved lives.

Ishmael took a quiet look at him. I've been told by a mouse that you killed him out of mercy. Strangled him like the Hangman would. And now you're saing he just died? To a good little Christian he lies a little too easily. That was all too subtle. Way too subtle.

"And to be the actual Captain the shipowners would need to promote me, which they cannot do, because I sent them the letter of my predecessor's passing half an hour ago," Starbuck said. He kept his tone of voice in check. Nothing implied anything else than perhaps an accident. It was common enough, right? Old men die on sea all the time. Don't worry of it.

[mister-starbuck]

Evening Mr. Starbuck

Ahab says simply, lighting his pipe

@ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod

"Good evening, sir," Starbuck replies. How are you doing, he wants to ask but doesn't.

@ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod

[ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod]

Ahab takes a drag of his pipe, exhaling the smoke

*cue long awkward silence*

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck, however, didn't find the silence awkward at all. He wasn't that talkative, after all. Well, unless someone got him drunk and asked of Mary. He tried measuring how mad or sane Ahab was, trying to make a scale of some kind and carefully weighing the imagined signs of either.

"It's a quiet night, sir," he said after a while. Are you here to talk of something, he thought. Don't mention it, don't, he thought.

[ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod]

Aye, that it is.

Ahab says simply

[mister-starbuck]

"Is there something to do, sir?" Starbuck asked after a while. The other seemed unnaturally calm and that made him wary.

[ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod]

You're on watch tonight.

Ahab says walking away to his cabin

(my dumbass forgot to do his chat style for a while TvT)

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck nods and wonders if the Captain is going away to go mad again. If he's starting to isolate himself again, in a more severe degree that he usually does. Then again he might be thinking in a frantic loop. What else is a prayer than a circular thought?

[mister-starbuck]

THE LONG WAY HOME VOL 8

EDITOR’S NOTE, PREVIOUSLY: Ahab has been killed, along with several others. The ship has been haunted by his ghost. The crew has managed to sail to Tahiti for more food, water and crew if that is possible. Starbuck, as the new Captain, has fired several men that attempted knifing Fedallah. This backfired when the said men attacked Starbuck, but are now all dead because he wasn’t alone after all. In the inn Stubb and Bulkington have encountered a strange shipwreck-survivor. Meanwhile Starbuck, Flask, Ishmael, Queequeg and Fedallah are teaming up to bury the dead before anyone notices. Statistics: 1 sunken ship (not the Pequod), 35 drowned men (see previous), 6 killed men (Ahab, the ships doctor, 4 sailors), 1 killed whale, 3 (?) mutinies, god only knows how many murder attempts

//// @mrstubb-2ndmate WROTE ////

Stubb hadn't noticed much difference in who was gone. He gathered that Flask had slipped off, but that could've been easily explained by any number of things. Perhaps he’s off trying butter for the first time in an eternity. The man mused, his arm thrown around another drunken stranger, caterwauling any old song that came to mind.

What he did notice, though, even in his state, was the bedraggled man looking like he'd just crawled back from the gates of hell. Didn't miss how Bulkington looked at him too. A shipwrecked sailor, alright. Stubb wanted to snort, sticking his pipe in his mouth, but held his tongue just quick enough to remember that there was a good chance the man was a shipwrecked sailor.

He slid down from his perch on some table, away from his new comrades of a roaring, woozy choir, and stumbled right on over to the man, who was now crying.

Couldn't help but be a bit nosy, huh?

“Cheer up now, lad, you're on dry land!” The first-mate offered, grinning through his teeth. Which, in fairness, probably didn't do much to help.

//// END QUOTE ////

Ishmael and Queequeg returned with the ’borrowed’ boat and the utterly wrecked and nearly-forgotten sail for a fabric.

Starbuck didn’t really do much else than stare at the blood drying in his hands. He tried to think of it with reason. The bay was too shallow for a burial, which meant that they had to wait for night or sneak the bodies onboard the ship, hide them somewhere (God knew it would be the barrels). Then he thought of it. That wasn’t a good plan, either. They had to get rid of the bodies as soon as possible, before they’d start rotting. Which meant tonight but deeper water. Perhaps using the ship herself as cover and just praying nothing got close enough to witness anything. It they kept the lights down it’d be as dark as the surrounding night. It was already gone dark. Besides he had to return to the ship and get himself looking like a civilized person again.

He told of these plans to the others, including Flask who seemed to look a little sobered up. The plan wouldn’t need much time, either. Sails, a few stitches, some weights, a prayer just to keep the ghosts out, done.

¤

”I’d like to stay on dry land for the rest of my life.. if it’s all the same to you, sir,” the man managed to reply. Either because of the shock or because of poor meals and fastly drank spirits he’d began to look a little tipsy. ”Have you got any idea what’s out there?”

Several curious (including Bulkington) had already began gathering around.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb snorted. He didn't allow his face to darken or his posture to slacken when thinking about what exactly he'd seen out there, because this was no time to dwell on the misery. They were safe. They were enjoying themselves. They were boozing it up!

“You’d be surprised! D’you want a drink, kid?”

//

Flask chewed the inside of his cheek. A habit that seemed more and more prevalent recently. It was grounding, he supposed, even if it probably meant the inside of his mouth was slightly worse for wear. He didn't often taste blood, at least. But when he did, he felt lucky to be tasting anything. Chewing his mouth was better than chewing nothing, some part of him thought.

“Sir, if it ain't too much to ask,” He murmured to Starbuck, choosing his words carefully. Now probably wasn't the right time, but nothing would be the right time. Everytime you thought you could have a moment of rest, something else happened! “How long do we suppose we're planning to stay docked here?”

Of course, they'd have to get moving eventually. They had to get home. But there was plenty still to do on the island, and after the last fiasco, Flask didn't quite want to leave just yet. Besides, they needed to bury the task at hand.

[mister-starbuck]

"Sure, sir," the man replied. He was in the somewhat lucky situation that it was absolutely useless to rob him because he had nothing on his name, even if the stranger's plans were to get him blackout drunk and attempt emptying his pockets. His gifted money had gone to a few nights in the inn and the two drinks he'd just had. He'd gone from crying to wondering how it had happened. It had started like any other chase. Any other.

//

"As little while as possible. Most of the provisions should arrive tomorrow or the days after. We're still low on crew, although we can make it to Lima with whom we have. There's no doctor to be found here, we'll need a bigger place for that," Starbuck replied. And pray for no accidents, he thought, but didn't dare to tempt fate with saying it out loud. "And because we're going to Lima in any case, we can leave earlier. A ship like ours needs more things to be fully stocked than this island can really sell, even if they'd be willing to."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“And how far would we be to Lima?” It was a silly question, but Flask wasn't thinking about keeping his questions quiet right now. It was keep your mouth shut and risk dying over something stupid, or survive.

“We can't leave here immediately. After experiencing something like that? The crew need hope to hold onto. That hope is this, dry land. If we take it from them too quickly to make some renewed impact, they'll be angry. We'll risk mutiny and losing more men.”

Mister Flask wasn't sure when he'd started to think so much. He wasn't sure he liked it— but he'd have to suck it up and get on with it, didn't he? Stubb was always saying something about adapting to what happens. He'd managed to do that unconsciously, adapt to the circumstances. It was that or die, and Flask wanted to live.

[mister-starbuck]

I want home, Starbuck thought but didn't say it. "Month or two, depending on the weather. Then about one year to home. But we could do shore leaves a little more frequently. It was him that was against them."

Ishmael and Queequeg had began trying to get the dead into their little coffins of sails. Starbuck went to help and tried not to look at the details too much. Ishmael had to take breaks and stare at something else for a while, too.

"The best I can think of is one week here. Reason being, this," Starbuck said and nodded at the bodies. "If they're found, we're in trouble. So if anyone has ideas on how to make sure that won't happen, tell me."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask nodded along. A week was good enough. A week meant they could recover, but wouldn't get too used to land to leave. A week meant they wouldn't be suspicious in leaving.

“Don’t talk about them, don't make reference to them. Don't even think about them unless someone else brings them up.” He didn't help the others. He had no intention of doing something like that again, and he had no reason to explain why.

“But if someone does, don't avoid the subject. It'll make it worse. Don't go into too much detail, don't say too little. We haven't seen them since they hightailed it off the ship. Don't do anything that could draw any kinda suspicion.”

He couldn't care less if his cautiousness gave away past experiences. If one of them saw fit to bring him down, which Flask heavily doubted they would, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to all three of them, as much as he respected the men.

[mister-starbuck]

Aren't you going to do anything, Starbuck wondered a little annoyed. Then again Flask hadn't killed anyone. Not that there wasn't some rumours going on. Then again most of the rumours concerning anyone was very likely heresay that'd got amplified by years of boredom. Then again he hadn't dared to inquire of anyone's past from Fedallah who surely could get to the heart of things.

"I know how to lie," Starbuck admitted. Although his lies had been mostly lying to his parents of where here'd been. Several young couples had joined the effort. When asked they had all been 'in the field reading the Bible' when in reality each had sneaked to a private setting of their own with a special someone. To make it perfect they had actually read the segments in advance just in case someone would ask. It was the only thing he could think of to keep himself distanced enough from what he was actually doing. Covering the tracks, finding rocks for weights. He told Flask to keep lookout just in case some unfortunate would get too close.

Eventually they got the bodies in their impromptu-hammocks. It had got completely dark. The burial was fast as usual. they 'rented' the boat again, rowed to the shelter of the ship, said the words, done.

Starbuck got to the ship to change out of the bloody clothes. He looked a little pale, a little too wary of his own shadow. Fedallah made him take a drink and stitched up the worst of the scratches. Luckily Starbuck could just wear the cravat to hide both the stitches and the bandages. The other on the side of his wrist was a common enough sight. He could just lie that he'd 'had enough', which wasn't technically a lie. He had considered something extremely stupid before he'd got attacked. Starbuck returned to the others, looking a little ill for the whole thing.

"Shoud we go back to the inn?" Ishmael wondered. He was getting a little hungry. A lot of activities had taken place. Rowing and sewing and dragging dead weight and.. something else earlier.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask’s hands felt strange. Like a liquid had dried on them.

He knew full well what it was, and that he was imagining it. Phantom blood coating his palms, digging under his fingernails, that he was unable to scrub out for weeks. Taunting him, almost. It had haunted him for an awful long while the first time 'round, he sincerely hoped it didn't this time. He didn't actually hurt anyone himself.

The cool night air felt stifling on his body, the sour smell of sweat seemed to follow him wherever he went— though that might've just been the fact that everyone he'd been around for the past few years at this point had been a sailor. There was a tang on his tongue, and the man couldn't quite tell if he'd finally managed to chew through his cheek or if it was in his head.

Ishmael did them all a favour by breaking the silence.

“Yeah, we should go back. Can't imagine they've missed us much.”

Best case scenario, nobody noticed they'd even left.

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck didn't feel like he wanted to be around people at all. He knew it was for the best. He felt dead tired when the adrenaline had gone down. The scratches felt itchy and hurting. Queequeg didn't look too affected even if he'd done most of it. Starbuck wondered how he could ever pay this debt back. If everything went well, it was because of him that Mary hadn't turned to a widow tonight.

He noticed Ishmael looking at himself like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Curious eyes and far too much going on behind them.

"We probably should, and we have to return this boat, too," Starbuck said.

// In the inn no-one had indeed noticed anyone leaving or going. They had started to get some elusive details out of the stranger. When they had inquired which ship he'd arrived with, he'd given the name. Then the next question had been where the ship was now when the Pequod was the only ship that had arrived in a few days. The man had replied 'gone' with the expression that he surely didn't want to talk about it. People started offering him drinks, someone offered a spare shirt and trousers for a tale. Someone else offered to pay for his stay in the inn. Curious, curious people.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb raised his eyebrows, having slotted himself right next to that poor sailor, fiddling with his pipe in one hand and holding a pint in the other.

“Didn’t happen to be to do with a whale of any kind, did it?”

The man purposefully left out any specific details. A white whale. By the name of Moby Dick. He wouldn't sound like Ahab, Stubb promised himself. Spouting off about some practically mythical beast and working himself up into a frenzy once the ship was too far from shore for the crew to decide that their captain was crazy and call it quits.

No, he wasn't like that at all.

Going crazy was gonna be Starbuck’scurse, if anything. Maybe Flask’s. But not his, he was sure of it. Sure man, mad men, what's the difference?

“It was a whaling ship, wasn't it?”

He was so absorbed in his conversation (or interrogation) that he didn't notice the returning men from his own ship.

[mister-starbuck]

The stranger turned to look at Stubb a little too fast. "It was a whaler, yes."

There was a pause. "With thirty-two men. Was."

He looked like he was about to start crying again. For some odd reason he didn't. He hadn't noticed the others arriving. Someone offered him food, he ate a little.

Starbuck got the details from someone that had been in the inn for the whole night. Suddenly a drink seemed like a good idea. Ishmael looked at him with disbelief when he downed two in one go and fidgeted with his cross trying to understand what had happened. Fate chose someone else. That's their Ishmael, he thought. They said there was a sail in the horizon just before we met... It.

"And it's got a lot to do with a whale," the stranger continued. He felt too distanced from the whole thing. He thought that he could've stayed here, somehow. Never, ever step on a boat of any kind ever again.

Starbuck had gone so pale that Queequeg stood closer to him just in case he'd actually pass out.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“Is it your first time out?” There was a sense of morbid fascination in Stubb’s tone. That, an attempt at comforting the poor young man, and deja vu.

(Moby Dick was just a great big whale, it couldn't have been it, surely! Any thought of him, of it, was just the lasting paranoia of Captain Ahab refusing to just die.)

The first mate glanced 'round the inn as he spoke, finally noticing the returning faces of his crewmates. He raised his eyebrows at Flask, who shrugged in return. “Can’t imagine a worse thing t’happen.” He patted the young man's shoulder. (Was it too forward to make a business offer? They were short of men on the Pequod, and the kid might want passage home. Perhaps his brother-in-law would applaud him for the forward thinking.)

“Wasn’t a specific whale, was it?”

[mister-starbuck]

"Not a first time out, no.. first and last on whaler, yes," the man continued. He hadn't noticed how the curious others kept quiet and waited for him to continue. "Or not if I want home from here."

"Spesific whale? Why would you ask, sir.. well," he started. "You're gonna think I'm a little mad but I swear on my soul this won't be a lie."

Starbuck had a bad feeling from the man's tale already. Now it got worse. I know what happened, he thought. I know. I just don't want to think of it. He saw how Ishmael stared at the man with a little too wide eyes, a little too aghast look. He knows, too, Starbuck thought. Has Fedallah told him that it's him that was going to survive?

"Well, it happened fast. I wasn't on the ship when it happened, I was rowing.. we.. It's.. well," The man took a drink, calmed himself down for a while. "They said it could happen and then I was there, holding onto the oar and watching as it happened. The ship was here, then it wasn't. The boats were there, then they weren't. It seemed to know what it was doing."

Starbuck thought of the coin that had turned around on its own. Fate had wanted thirty-two dead and a sunken ship. The coin had been thrown for someone else. He felt guilty, knew that there was no sensible reason for it.

The man looked around himself. "The whale was white."

Queequeg had thought that Starbuck was the one that looked like he was about to pass out and had looked at him to be able to catch him. He didn't notice Ishmael swaying during the tale, only realized him beginning to collapse on his side.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Ishmael could feel his throat clamping up within him, tightening almost painfully as if there was something caught there. A sob, perhaps. He could feel the tell-tale squeeze of incoming tears in his quickly flushing nose, and the corners of his eyes began to prick with tears.

He was trying something awful to fight the blur of fear in his sinking chest, having begun to wobble on his feet.

Fedallah had been right. Moby Dick had taken a ship, and there was only one survivor. But it hadn't been him. Had he avoided it? Had some other poor ship been in the wrong place at the wrong time and taken the Pequod’s prophecy?

Was he looking at himself, maybe? Was it truly a mirror that sat there at the bar, rather than a different person, and every member of his crew that stood around him were hallucinations of the brain after swallowing too much salt water?

It couldn't be— when those men had died, the ones that they'd dumped and hidden, it had been very real. Their blood, their cries of pain, the anguish in their eyes— it had been very, very real. Ishmael was a creative man, yes, but he certainly couldn't make all that up himself. Not the gore that had left them when they'd been cut down.

He also found comfort in the solid, warm, breathing form he'd fallen into— oh, goodness! When did he fall? Ishmael wasn't sure. But he knew he'd been standing upright a moment ago, and was particularly aware that he wasn't standing upright now.

Either way, he now seemed to be looking into the very much alive face of his dear husband. Surely his mind was not cruel enough to conjure up the image or feel of Queequeg by itself!

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck saw Ishmael collapsing and knew that he'd truly got the meaning. He himself felt too creeped out to really do anything. He knew that he could've offered the man a job and trying getting him closer to home.

That wasn't what he really got stuck on with his thoughts. He'd known on intuition what that whale was capable of. He'd had a bad feeling of the whole thing. And now someone else hadn't listened to theirs and got the entire ship sunk because of that.

Queequeg placed Ishmael sitting down and held him against him.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Ishmael found himself taking in very deep breaths, as if he'd been choking on water and was now desperate for fresh air to fill his lungs and carry him back to reality.

He twisted his fingers into Queequeg’s, squeezing the other’s hand tight enough to know he wasn't making it up. Eyes wide and shining with unshed tears, he fought off the urge to curl into a ball and hyperventilate. He could do that when he'd found somewhere warm, darm and safe to bury himself within. Not here. He'd look mad.

“It was the White Whale.” He whispered, just loud enough to hear. “It was our White Whale.” Ishmael daren’t utter the name, lest it jinxed them again.

[mister-starbuck]

"It was," Starbuck confirmed. He whispered something along the lines of 'God keep us all', which he usually said in distress.

"Your white whale?" the sailor repeated, he'd looked at Ishmael when he'd blacked out for a bit. "It's.. I don't think that's doable. It's death."

"I know," Starbuck said, he saw how the man understood what he meant. I know that all too well. What in God's name is going on here? I thought we were safe, and.. It attacked some other ship, no doubt after being attacked first. He thought of the thing that Fedallah had said a good while ago.

'It's the right of every living being to defend itself.'

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb crossed his arms. It seemed to him that the damned white whale would haunt them forever. And ever. And ever!

Ishmael’s head spun a little. This way and that, re-registering where he was again. Of course he knew— he was sitting beside Queequeg in an inn on an island, having survived a prophecy that had seemingly struck another poor man.

But for a moment— for a moment, he'd thought himself to be back in his schoolhouse, rambling on and on to small children about history and literature and whatever else It had been he taught, because it felt like a lifetime ago now. For that moment it seemed that all the drunken sailors surrounding him were naught more than boys! Boys who'd gone away to sea far too young, and risked far too much for it. Boys who hadn't a childhood on land to speak of, because the waves had watched them grow more than their families ever had.

Of course, that was all crap. These men were whalers. Professionals. Who killed creatures of great beauty for a bit of coin.

“It came for us.” Ishmael muttered, not meeting anyone's eyes.

[mister-starbuck]

"It didn't," Starbuck lied. "If it would have, we would be dead."

He thought of the utter sense of doom he'd got from the encounter. Sometimes that hint of knowledge was wise to be listened.

The sailor listened and realized that those others had met this thing, too. He wondered why they weren't gone. He wondered for a lift home, it seemed like they had no fancy of hunting anything any time soon. Or at least not that one. It was the Devil, he thought. A child of a God older than the kinds of men.

"I doubt it will attack anyone if it's not attacked first," Starbuck reasoned. Every sense he had said tried confirming him of the opposite. I doubt it wants nothing with our kind. It just wants to live its whale's life in peace.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb sighed.

He didn't want to take away from the situation, not at all. The poor, drenched fellow had gone through a lot— but it was really bringing the atmosphere down. He considered Starbuck's words; was the whole reason that damned white whale after them Ahab? Did it come for their ship because it saw his ghost, which apparently wouldn't leave them be?

Would Moby Dick follow them so long as Captain Ahab did, intent on revenge on a dead man? —Course not! That was the kind of thinking that led Ahab to madness in the first place.

“Say, where abouts did your ship sail out from?” He asked, the cogs apparently turning in the first mate's head. Massachusetts was the whaling capital of all the world— New Bedford and Nantucket especially. What were the chances this man was also from their way?

What were the chances he wanted passage home?

[mister-starbuck]

"Ireland, but I wouldn't like to return, sir," the man answered vaguely. The drinks had got to his head. He looked at the food that someone had given him like someone could've taken it away at any moment. He would defend his meal with any sharp object he'd had. The fear wasn't so irrational, after all. They sound American, he thought. There was some talk of an American ship arriving today. I could just take the flight. Take the risk and if they ever get home, try for a merchant ship. Anything else. There's hardly livelihood for me here.

Starbuck had thought quite much of the paper with that invocation of 'the behemoth of the seas' that had catched fire on it's own during Ahab's funeral preparations. He thought of resigning again. A haunted ship, a whale perhaps not of secular origin, murders, mutinies.. it was a mess. The whole situation had been a mess to begin with, a grande mess, but somehow this was still mess, amplified.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

As soon as one door closed, another one opened. Poor fellow wasn't from anywhere near them, but he didn't want to go back. Stubb decided he could still make an offer, if he played his cards.. right enough, at least.

“Long way from here.” He hummed.

He should've guessed Ireland based on the accent, but the night wasn't quite so young anymore, and Stubb was a few pints in by now to not register particulars of people's voices quite so much.

They needed to catch more whales if they were going to get any money out of this voyage. If they were going to get anything at all, minus a confirmation in a world much greater than humanity and a couple of near-death experiences out of the voyage. Hell, coin was the only reason half the crew were even doing what they did! It was an ever-present force in Mister Flask’s head, he knew that much.

“You need work, lad? Passage? Doubt you'd want to spend the rest of your days here, nice as it is. It's just a rest-stop for us.”

(To be fair, the sailor couldn't be blamed if he did want to peacefully live out the rest of his days here. Nice. Safe enough. Somewhere he wouldn't be hunted by a great big whale.)

[mister-starbuck]

"Thank you, sir," the man said. Then he looked towards the ocean and crossed himself, drank what he had left. He wanted out of here and he didn't want to leave. "I'll consider it. Might be for the best to sleep on it. When are you leaving?"

Starbuck had got the things connected in his mind. They were shortstaffed. There was a sailor that was out of work. It had taken his business sense longer than usual to awaken but he blamed it on the story he'd just been told.

"In a week," Starbuck replied. He knew he had started to do the same thing that Ahab had done, observing first and intervening later. He didn't feel too good about that notice. "When we've got the food, water and some repairs sorted."

[mister-starbuck]

Evening Mr. Starbuck

Ahab says simply, lighting his pipe

@ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod

"Good evening, sir," Starbuck replies. How are you doing, he wants to ask but doesn't.

@ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod

[ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod]

Ahab takes a drag of his pipe, exhaling the smoke

*cue long awkward silence*

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck, however, didn't find the silence awkward at all. He wasn't that talkative, after all. Well, unless someone got him drunk and asked of Mary. He tried measuring how mad or sane Ahab was, trying to make a scale of some kind and carefully weighing the imagined signs of either.

"It's a quiet night, sir," he said after a while. Are you here to talk of something, he thought. Don't mention it, don't, he thought.

[ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod]

Aye, that it is.

Ahab says simply

[mister-starbuck]

"Is there something to do, sir?" Starbuck asked after a while. The other seemed unnaturally calm and that made him wary.

[mister-starbuck]

Evening Mr. Starbuck

Ahab says simply, lighting his pipe

@ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod

"Good evening, sir," Starbuck replies. How are you doing, he wants to ask but doesn't.

@ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod

[ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod]

Ahab takes a drag of his pipe, exhaling the smoke

*cue long awkward silence*

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck, however, didn't find the silence awkward at all. He wasn't that talkative, after all. Well, unless someone got him drunk and asked of Mary. He tried measuring how mad or sane Ahab was, trying to make a scale of some kind and carefully weighing the imagined signs of either.

"It's a quiet night, sir," he said after a while. Are you here to talk of something, he thought. Don't mention it, don't, he thought.

[mister-starbuck]

Evening Mr. Starbuck

Ahab says simply, lighting his pipe

@ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod

"Good evening, sir," Starbuck replies. How are you doing, he wants to ask but doesn't.

@ask-the-captain-of-the-pequod

[mister-starbuck]

THE LONG WAY HOME VOL 8

EDITOR’S NOTE, PREVIOUSLY: Ahab has been killed, along with several others. The ship has been haunted by his ghost. The crew has managed to sail to Tahiti for more food, water and crew if that is possible. Starbuck, as the new Captain, has fired several men that attempted knifing Fedallah. This backfired when the said men attacked Starbuck, but are now all dead because he wasn’t alone after all. In the inn Stubb and Bulkington have encountered a strange shipwreck-survivor. Meanwhile Starbuck, Flask, Ishmael, Queequeg and Fedallah are teaming up to bury the dead before anyone notices. Statistics: 1 sunken ship (not the Pequod), 35 drowned men (see previous), 6 killed men (Ahab, the ships doctor, 4 sailors), 1 killed whale, 3 (?) mutinies, god only knows how many murder attempts

//// @mrstubb-2ndmate WROTE ////

Stubb hadn't noticed much difference in who was gone. He gathered that Flask had slipped off, but that could've been easily explained by any number of things. Perhaps he’s off trying butter for the first time in an eternity. The man mused, his arm thrown around another drunken stranger, caterwauling any old song that came to mind.

What he did notice, though, even in his state, was the bedraggled man looking like he'd just crawled back from the gates of hell. Didn't miss how Bulkington looked at him too. A shipwrecked sailor, alright. Stubb wanted to snort, sticking his pipe in his mouth, but held his tongue just quick enough to remember that there was a good chance the man was a shipwrecked sailor.

He slid down from his perch on some table, away from his new comrades of a roaring, woozy choir, and stumbled right on over to the man, who was now crying.

Couldn't help but be a bit nosy, huh?

“Cheer up now, lad, you're on dry land!” The first-mate offered, grinning through his teeth. Which, in fairness, probably didn't do much to help.

//// END QUOTE ////

Ishmael and Queequeg returned with the ’borrowed’ boat and the utterly wrecked and nearly-forgotten sail for a fabric.

Starbuck didn’t really do much else than stare at the blood drying in his hands. He tried to think of it with reason. The bay was too shallow for a burial, which meant that they had to wait for night or sneak the bodies onboard the ship, hide them somewhere (God knew it would be the barrels). Then he thought of it. That wasn’t a good plan, either. They had to get rid of the bodies as soon as possible, before they’d start rotting. Which meant tonight but deeper water. Perhaps using the ship herself as cover and just praying nothing got close enough to witness anything. It they kept the lights down it’d be as dark as the surrounding night. It was already gone dark. Besides he had to return to the ship and get himself looking like a civilized person again.

He told of these plans to the others, including Flask who seemed to look a little sobered up. The plan wouldn’t need much time, either. Sails, a few stitches, some weights, a prayer just to keep the ghosts out, done.

¤

”I’d like to stay on dry land for the rest of my life.. if it’s all the same to you, sir,” the man managed to reply. Either because of the shock or because of poor meals and fastly drank spirits he’d began to look a little tipsy. ”Have you got any idea what’s out there?”

Several curious (including Bulkington) had already began gathering around.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb snorted. He didn't allow his face to darken or his posture to slacken when thinking about what exactly he'd seen out there, because this was no time to dwell on the misery. They were safe. They were enjoying themselves. They were boozing it up!

“You’d be surprised! D’you want a drink, kid?”

//

Flask chewed the inside of his cheek. A habit that seemed more and more prevalent recently. It was grounding, he supposed, even if it probably meant the inside of his mouth was slightly worse for wear. He didn't often taste blood, at least. But when he did, he felt lucky to be tasting anything. Chewing his mouth was better than chewing nothing, some part of him thought.

“Sir, if it ain't too much to ask,” He murmured to Starbuck, choosing his words carefully. Now probably wasn't the right time, but nothing would be the right time. Everytime you thought you could have a moment of rest, something else happened! “How long do we suppose we're planning to stay docked here?”

Of course, they'd have to get moving eventually. They had to get home. But there was plenty still to do on the island, and after the last fiasco, Flask didn't quite want to leave just yet. Besides, they needed to bury the task at hand.

[mister-starbuck]

"Sure, sir," the man replied. He was in the somewhat lucky situation that it was absolutely useless to rob him because he had nothing on his name, even if the stranger's plans were to get him blackout drunk and attempt emptying his pockets. His gifted money had gone to a few nights in the inn and the two drinks he'd just had. He'd gone from crying to wondering how it had happened. It had started like any other chase. Any other.

//

"As little while as possible. Most of the provisions should arrive tomorrow or the days after. We're still low on crew, although we can make it to Lima with whom we have. There's no doctor to be found here, we'll need a bigger place for that," Starbuck replied. And pray for no accidents, he thought, but didn't dare to tempt fate with saying it out loud. "And because we're going to Lima in any case, we can leave earlier. A ship like ours needs more things to be fully stocked than this island can really sell, even if they'd be willing to."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“And how far would we be to Lima?” It was a silly question, but Flask wasn't thinking about keeping his questions quiet right now. It was keep your mouth shut and risk dying over something stupid, or survive.

“We can't leave here immediately. After experiencing something like that? The crew need hope to hold onto. That hope is this, dry land. If we take it from them too quickly to make some renewed impact, they'll be angry. We'll risk mutiny and losing more men.”

Mister Flask wasn't sure when he'd started to think so much. He wasn't sure he liked it— but he'd have to suck it up and get on with it, didn't he? Stubb was always saying something about adapting to what happens. He'd managed to do that unconsciously, adapt to the circumstances. It was that or die, and Flask wanted to live.

[mister-starbuck]

I want home, Starbuck thought but didn't say it. "Month or two, depending on the weather. Then about one year to home. But we could do shore leaves a little more frequently. It was him that was against them."

Ishmael and Queequeg had began trying to get the dead into their little coffins of sails. Starbuck went to help and tried not to look at the details too much. Ishmael had to take breaks and stare at something else for a while, too.

"The best I can think of is one week here. Reason being, this," Starbuck said and nodded at the bodies. "If they're found, we're in trouble. So if anyone has ideas on how to make sure that won't happen, tell me."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask nodded along. A week was good enough. A week meant they could recover, but wouldn't get too used to land to leave. A week meant they wouldn't be suspicious in leaving.

“Don’t talk about them, don't make reference to them. Don't even think about them unless someone else brings them up.” He didn't help the others. He had no intention of doing something like that again, and he had no reason to explain why.

“But if someone does, don't avoid the subject. It'll make it worse. Don't go into too much detail, don't say too little. We haven't seen them since they hightailed it off the ship. Don't do anything that could draw any kinda suspicion.”

He couldn't care less if his cautiousness gave away past experiences. If one of them saw fit to bring him down, which Flask heavily doubted they would, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to all three of them, as much as he respected the men.

[mister-starbuck]

Aren't you going to do anything, Starbuck wondered a little annoyed. Then again Flask hadn't killed anyone. Not that there wasn't some rumours going on. Then again most of the rumours concerning anyone was very likely heresay that'd got amplified by years of boredom. Then again he hadn't dared to inquire of anyone's past from Fedallah who surely could get to the heart of things.

"I know how to lie," Starbuck admitted. Although his lies had been mostly lying to his parents of where here'd been. Several young couples had joined the effort. When asked they had all been 'in the field reading the Bible' when in reality each had sneaked to a private setting of their own with a special someone. To make it perfect they had actually read the segments in advance just in case someone would ask. It was the only thing he could think of to keep himself distanced enough from what he was actually doing. Covering the tracks, finding rocks for weights. He told Flask to keep lookout just in case some unfortunate would get too close.

Eventually they got the bodies in their impromptu-hammocks. It had got completely dark. The burial was fast as usual. they 'rented' the boat again, rowed to the shelter of the ship, said the words, done.

Starbuck got to the ship to change out of the bloody clothes. He looked a little pale, a little too wary of his own shadow. Fedallah made him take a drink and stitched up the worst of the scratches. Luckily Starbuck could just wear the cravat to hide both the stitches and the bandages. The other on the side of his wrist was a common enough sight. He could just lie that he'd 'had enough', which wasn't technically a lie. He had considered something extremely stupid before he'd got attacked. Starbuck returned to the others, looking a little ill for the whole thing.

"Shoud we go back to the inn?" Ishmael wondered. He was getting a little hungry. A lot of activities had taken place. Rowing and sewing and dragging dead weight and.. something else earlier.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask’s hands felt strange. Like a liquid had dried on them.

He knew full well what it was, and that he was imagining it. Phantom blood coating his palms, digging under his fingernails, that he was unable to scrub out for weeks. Taunting him, almost. It had haunted him for an awful long while the first time 'round, he sincerely hoped it didn't this time. He didn't actually hurt anyone himself.

The cool night air felt stifling on his body, the sour smell of sweat seemed to follow him wherever he went— though that might've just been the fact that everyone he'd been around for the past few years at this point had been a sailor. There was a tang on his tongue, and the man couldn't quite tell if he'd finally managed to chew through his cheek or if it was in his head.

Ishmael did them all a favour by breaking the silence.

“Yeah, we should go back. Can't imagine they've missed us much.”

Best case scenario, nobody noticed they'd even left.

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck didn't feel like he wanted to be around people at all. He knew it was for the best. He felt dead tired when the adrenaline had gone down. The scratches felt itchy and hurting. Queequeg didn't look too affected even if he'd done most of it. Starbuck wondered how he could ever pay this debt back. If everything went well, it was because of him that Mary hadn't turned to a widow tonight.

He noticed Ishmael looking at himself like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Curious eyes and far too much going on behind them.

"We probably should, and we have to return this boat, too," Starbuck said.

// In the inn no-one had indeed noticed anyone leaving or going. They had started to get some elusive details out of the stranger. When they had inquired which ship he'd arrived with, he'd given the name. Then the next question had been where the ship was now when the Pequod was the only ship that had arrived in a few days. The man had replied 'gone' with the expression that he surely didn't want to talk about it. People started offering him drinks, someone offered a spare shirt and trousers for a tale. Someone else offered to pay for his stay in the inn. Curious, curious people.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb raised his eyebrows, having slotted himself right next to that poor sailor, fiddling with his pipe in one hand and holding a pint in the other.

“Didn’t happen to be to do with a whale of any kind, did it?”

The man purposefully left out any specific details. A white whale. By the name of Moby Dick. He wouldn't sound like Ahab, Stubb promised himself. Spouting off about some practically mythical beast and working himself up into a frenzy once the ship was too far from shore for the crew to decide that their captain was crazy and call it quits.

No, he wasn't like that at all.

Going crazy was gonna be Starbuck’scurse, if anything. Maybe Flask’s. But not his, he was sure of it. Sure man, mad men, what's the difference?

“It was a whaling ship, wasn't it?”

He was so absorbed in his conversation (or interrogation) that he didn't notice the returning men from his own ship.

[mister-starbuck]

The stranger turned to look at Stubb a little too fast. "It was a whaler, yes."

There was a pause. "With thirty-two men. Was."

He looked like he was about to start crying again. For some odd reason he didn't. He hadn't noticed the others arriving. Someone offered him food, he ate a little.

Starbuck got the details from someone that had been in the inn for the whole night. Suddenly a drink seemed like a good idea. Ishmael looked at him with disbelief when he downed two in one go and fidgeted with his cross trying to understand what had happened. Fate chose someone else. That's their Ishmael, he thought. They said there was a sail in the horizon just before we met... It.

"And it's got a lot to do with a whale," the stranger continued. He felt too distanced from the whole thing. He thought that he could've stayed here, somehow. Never, ever step on a boat of any kind ever again.

Starbuck had gone so pale that Queequeg stood closer to him just in case he'd actually pass out.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“Is it your first time out?” There was a sense of morbid fascination in Stubb’s tone. That, an attempt at comforting the poor young man, and deja vu.

(Moby Dick was just a great big whale, it couldn't have been it, surely! Any thought of him, of it, was just the lasting paranoia of Captain Ahab refusing to just die.)

The first mate glanced 'round the inn as he spoke, finally noticing the returning faces of his crewmates. He raised his eyebrows at Flask, who shrugged in return. “Can’t imagine a worse thing t’happen.” He patted the young man's shoulder. (Was it too forward to make a business offer? They were short of men on the Pequod, and the kid might want passage home. Perhaps his brother-in-law would applaud him for the forward thinking.)

“Wasn’t a specific whale, was it?”

[mister-starbuck]

"Not a first time out, no.. first and last on whaler, yes," the man continued. He hadn't noticed how the curious others kept quiet and waited for him to continue. "Or not if I want home from here."

"Spesific whale? Why would you ask, sir.. well," he started. "You're gonna think I'm a little mad but I swear on my soul this won't be a lie."

Starbuck had a bad feeling from the man's tale already. Now it got worse. I know what happened, he thought. I know. I just don't want to think of it. He saw how Ishmael stared at the man with a little too wide eyes, a little too aghast look. He knows, too, Starbuck thought. Has Fedallah told him that it's him that was going to survive?

"Well, it happened fast. I wasn't on the ship when it happened, I was rowing.. we.. It's.. well," The man took a drink, calmed himself down for a while. "They said it could happen and then I was there, holding onto the oar and watching as it happened. The ship was here, then it wasn't. The boats were there, then they weren't. It seemed to know what it was doing."

Starbuck thought of the coin that had turned around on its own. Fate had wanted thirty-two dead and a sunken ship. The coin had been thrown for someone else. He felt guilty, knew that there was no sensible reason for it.

The man looked around himself. "The whale was white."

Queequeg had thought that Starbuck was the one that looked like he was about to pass out and had looked at him to be able to catch him. He didn't notice Ishmael swaying during the tale, only realized him beginning to collapse on his side.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Ishmael could feel his throat clamping up within him, tightening almost painfully as if there was something caught there. A sob, perhaps. He could feel the tell-tale squeeze of incoming tears in his quickly flushing nose, and the corners of his eyes began to prick with tears.

He was trying something awful to fight the blur of fear in his sinking chest, having begun to wobble on his feet.

Fedallah had been right. Moby Dick had taken a ship, and there was only one survivor. But it hadn't been him. Had he avoided it? Had some other poor ship been in the wrong place at the wrong time and taken the Pequod’s prophecy?

Was he looking at himself, maybe? Was it truly a mirror that sat there at the bar, rather than a different person, and every member of his crew that stood around him were hallucinations of the brain after swallowing too much salt water?

It couldn't be— when those men had died, the ones that they'd dumped and hidden, it had been very real. Their blood, their cries of pain, the anguish in their eyes— it had been very, very real. Ishmael was a creative man, yes, but he certainly couldn't make all that up himself. Not the gore that had left them when they'd been cut down.

He also found comfort in the solid, warm, breathing form he'd fallen into— oh, goodness! When did he fall? Ishmael wasn't sure. But he knew he'd been standing upright a moment ago, and was particularly aware that he wasn't standing upright now.

Either way, he now seemed to be looking into the very much alive face of his dear husband. Surely his mind was not cruel enough to conjure up the image or feel of Queequeg by itself!

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck saw Ishmael collapsing and knew that he'd truly got the meaning. He himself felt too creeped out to really do anything. He knew that he could've offered the man a job and trying getting him closer to home.

That wasn't what he really got stuck on with his thoughts. He'd known on intuition what that whale was capable of. He'd had a bad feeling of the whole thing. And now someone else hadn't listened to theirs and got the entire ship sunk because of that.

Queequeg placed Ishmael sitting down and held him against him.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Ishmael found himself taking in very deep breaths, as if he'd been choking on water and was now desperate for fresh air to fill his lungs and carry him back to reality.

He twisted his fingers into Queequeg’s, squeezing the other’s hand tight enough to know he wasn't making it up. Eyes wide and shining with unshed tears, he fought off the urge to curl into a ball and hyperventilate. He could do that when he'd found somewhere warm, darm and safe to bury himself within. Not here. He'd look mad.

“It was the White Whale.” He whispered, just loud enough to hear. “It was our White Whale.” Ishmael daren’t utter the name, lest it jinxed them again.

[mister-starbuck]

"It was," Starbuck confirmed. He whispered something along the lines of 'God keep us all', which he usually said in distress.

"Your white whale?" the sailor repeated, he'd looked at Ishmael when he'd blacked out for a bit. "It's.. I don't think that's doable. It's death."

"I know," Starbuck said, he saw how the man understood what he meant. I know that all too well. What in God's name is going on here? I thought we were safe, and.. It attacked some other ship, no doubt after being attacked first. He thought of the thing that Fedallah had said a good while ago.

'It's the right of every living being to defend itself.'

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb crossed his arms. It seemed to him that the damned white whale would haunt them forever. And ever. And ever!

Ishmael’s head spun a little. This way and that, re-registering where he was again. Of course he knew— he was sitting beside Queequeg in an inn on an island, having survived a prophecy that had seemingly struck another poor man.

But for a moment— for a moment, he'd thought himself to be back in his schoolhouse, rambling on and on to small children about history and literature and whatever else It had been he taught, because it felt like a lifetime ago now. For that moment it seemed that all the drunken sailors surrounding him were naught more than boys! Boys who'd gone away to sea far too young, and risked far too much for it. Boys who hadn't a childhood on land to speak of, because the waves had watched them grow more than their families ever had.

Of course, that was all crap. These men were whalers. Professionals. Who killed creatures of great beauty for a bit of coin.

“It came for us.” Ishmael muttered, not meeting anyone's eyes.

[mister-starbuck]

"It didn't," Starbuck lied. "If it would have, we would be dead."

He thought of the utter sense of doom he'd got from the encounter. Sometimes that hint of knowledge was wise to be listened.

The sailor listened and realized that those others had met this thing, too. He wondered why they weren't gone. He wondered for a lift home, it seemed like they had no fancy of hunting anything any time soon. Or at least not that one. It was the Devil, he thought. A child of a God older than the kinds of men.

"I doubt it will attack anyone if it's not attacked first," Starbuck reasoned. Every sense he had said tried confirming him of the opposite. I doubt it wants nothing with our kind. It just wants to live its whale's life in peace.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb sighed.

He didn't want to take away from the situation, not at all. The poor, drenched fellow had gone through a lot— but it was really bringing the atmosphere down. He considered Starbuck's words; was the whole reason that damned white whale after them Ahab? Did it come for their ship because it saw his ghost, which apparently wouldn't leave them be?

Would Moby Dick follow them so long as Captain Ahab did, intent on revenge on a dead man? —Course not! That was the kind of thinking that led Ahab to madness in the first place.

“Say, where abouts did your ship sail out from?” He asked, the cogs apparently turning in the first mate's head. Massachusetts was the whaling capital of all the world— New Bedford and Nantucket especially. What were the chances this man was also from their way?

What were the chances he wanted passage home?

[mister-starbuck]

"Ireland, but I wouldn't like to return, sir," the man answered vaguely. The drinks had got to his head. He looked at the food that someone had given him like someone could've taken it away at any moment. He would defend his meal with any sharp object he'd had. The fear wasn't so irrational, after all. They sound American, he thought. There was some talk of an American ship arriving today. I could just take the flight. Take the risk and if they ever get home, try for a merchant ship. Anything else. There's hardly livelihood for me here.

Starbuck had thought quite much of the paper with that invocation of 'the behemoth of the seas' that had catched fire on it's own during Ahab's funeral preparations. He thought of resigning again. A haunted ship, a whale perhaps not of secular origin, murders, mutinies.. it was a mess. The whole situation had been a mess to begin with, a grande mess, but somehow this was still mess, amplified.

[mister-starbuck]

Chapter 4 of "Eyes of the Devil" (vampire starbuck and other gothic horror scenes) is out:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/68423436/chapters/177095921

[mister-starbuck]

Ch. 25 'Watch Over the Night' is out. That long-awaited Starhab-finale. A fight scene I've been writing for 6 months. Starbuck and his baptism of a kind. Flask finds something better than gold. Fedallah haunts.

[mister-starbuck]

THE LONG WAY HOME VOL 8

EDITOR’S NOTE, PREVIOUSLY: Ahab has been killed, along with several others. The ship has been haunted by his ghost. The crew has managed to sail to Tahiti for more food, water and crew if that is possible. Starbuck, as the new Captain, has fired several men that attempted knifing Fedallah. This backfired when the said men attacked Starbuck, but are now all dead because he wasn’t alone after all. In the inn Stubb and Bulkington have encountered a strange shipwreck-survivor. Meanwhile Starbuck, Flask, Ishmael, Queequeg and Fedallah are teaming up to bury the dead before anyone notices. Statistics: 1 sunken ship (not the Pequod), 35 drowned men (see previous), 6 killed men (Ahab, the ships doctor, 4 sailors), 1 killed whale, 3 (?) mutinies, god only knows how many murder attempts

//// @mrstubb-2ndmate WROTE ////

Stubb hadn't noticed much difference in who was gone. He gathered that Flask had slipped off, but that could've been easily explained by any number of things. Perhaps he’s off trying butter for the first time in an eternity. The man mused, his arm thrown around another drunken stranger, caterwauling any old song that came to mind.

What he did notice, though, even in his state, was the bedraggled man looking like he'd just crawled back from the gates of hell. Didn't miss how Bulkington looked at him too. A shipwrecked sailor, alright. Stubb wanted to snort, sticking his pipe in his mouth, but held his tongue just quick enough to remember that there was a good chance the man was a shipwrecked sailor.

He slid down from his perch on some table, away from his new comrades of a roaring, woozy choir, and stumbled right on over to the man, who was now crying.

Couldn't help but be a bit nosy, huh?

“Cheer up now, lad, you're on dry land!” The first-mate offered, grinning through his teeth. Which, in fairness, probably didn't do much to help.

//// END QUOTE ////

Ishmael and Queequeg returned with the ’borrowed’ boat and the utterly wrecked and nearly-forgotten sail for a fabric.

Starbuck didn’t really do much else than stare at the blood drying in his hands. He tried to think of it with reason. The bay was too shallow for a burial, which meant that they had to wait for night or sneak the bodies onboard the ship, hide them somewhere (God knew it would be the barrels). Then he thought of it. That wasn’t a good plan, either. They had to get rid of the bodies as soon as possible, before they’d start rotting. Which meant tonight but deeper water. Perhaps using the ship herself as cover and just praying nothing got close enough to witness anything. It they kept the lights down it’d be as dark as the surrounding night. It was already gone dark. Besides he had to return to the ship and get himself looking like a civilized person again.

He told of these plans to the others, including Flask who seemed to look a little sobered up. The plan wouldn’t need much time, either. Sails, a few stitches, some weights, a prayer just to keep the ghosts out, done.

¤

”I’d like to stay on dry land for the rest of my life.. if it’s all the same to you, sir,” the man managed to reply. Either because of the shock or because of poor meals and fastly drank spirits he’d began to look a little tipsy. ”Have you got any idea what’s out there?”

Several curious (including Bulkington) had already began gathering around.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb snorted. He didn't allow his face to darken or his posture to slacken when thinking about what exactly he'd seen out there, because this was no time to dwell on the misery. They were safe. They were enjoying themselves. They were boozing it up!

“You’d be surprised! D’you want a drink, kid?”

//

Flask chewed the inside of his cheek. A habit that seemed more and more prevalent recently. It was grounding, he supposed, even if it probably meant the inside of his mouth was slightly worse for wear. He didn't often taste blood, at least. But when he did, he felt lucky to be tasting anything. Chewing his mouth was better than chewing nothing, some part of him thought.

“Sir, if it ain't too much to ask,” He murmured to Starbuck, choosing his words carefully. Now probably wasn't the right time, but nothing would be the right time. Everytime you thought you could have a moment of rest, something else happened! “How long do we suppose we're planning to stay docked here?”

Of course, they'd have to get moving eventually. They had to get home. But there was plenty still to do on the island, and after the last fiasco, Flask didn't quite want to leave just yet. Besides, they needed to bury the task at hand.

[mister-starbuck]

"Sure, sir," the man replied. He was in the somewhat lucky situation that it was absolutely useless to rob him because he had nothing on his name, even if the stranger's plans were to get him blackout drunk and attempt emptying his pockets. His gifted money had gone to a few nights in the inn and the two drinks he'd just had. He'd gone from crying to wondering how it had happened. It had started like any other chase. Any other.

//

"As little while as possible. Most of the provisions should arrive tomorrow or the days after. We're still low on crew, although we can make it to Lima with whom we have. There's no doctor to be found here, we'll need a bigger place for that," Starbuck replied. And pray for no accidents, he thought, but didn't dare to tempt fate with saying it out loud. "And because we're going to Lima in any case, we can leave earlier. A ship like ours needs more things to be fully stocked than this island can really sell, even if they'd be willing to."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“And how far would we be to Lima?” It was a silly question, but Flask wasn't thinking about keeping his questions quiet right now. It was keep your mouth shut and risk dying over something stupid, or survive.

“We can't leave here immediately. After experiencing something like that? The crew need hope to hold onto. That hope is this, dry land. If we take it from them too quickly to make some renewed impact, they'll be angry. We'll risk mutiny and losing more men.”

Mister Flask wasn't sure when he'd started to think so much. He wasn't sure he liked it— but he'd have to suck it up and get on with it, didn't he? Stubb was always saying something about adapting to what happens. He'd managed to do that unconsciously, adapt to the circumstances. It was that or die, and Flask wanted to live.

[mister-starbuck]

I want home, Starbuck thought but didn't say it. "Month or two, depending on the weather. Then about one year to home. But we could do shore leaves a little more frequently. It was him that was against them."

Ishmael and Queequeg had began trying to get the dead into their little coffins of sails. Starbuck went to help and tried not to look at the details too much. Ishmael had to take breaks and stare at something else for a while, too.

"The best I can think of is one week here. Reason being, this," Starbuck said and nodded at the bodies. "If they're found, we're in trouble. So if anyone has ideas on how to make sure that won't happen, tell me."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask nodded along. A week was good enough. A week meant they could recover, but wouldn't get too used to land to leave. A week meant they wouldn't be suspicious in leaving.

“Don’t talk about them, don't make reference to them. Don't even think about them unless someone else brings them up.” He didn't help the others. He had no intention of doing something like that again, and he had no reason to explain why.

“But if someone does, don't avoid the subject. It'll make it worse. Don't go into too much detail, don't say too little. We haven't seen them since they hightailed it off the ship. Don't do anything that could draw any kinda suspicion.”

He couldn't care less if his cautiousness gave away past experiences. If one of them saw fit to bring him down, which Flask heavily doubted they would, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to all three of them, as much as he respected the men.

[mister-starbuck]

Aren't you going to do anything, Starbuck wondered a little annoyed. Then again Flask hadn't killed anyone. Not that there wasn't some rumours going on. Then again most of the rumours concerning anyone was very likely heresay that'd got amplified by years of boredom. Then again he hadn't dared to inquire of anyone's past from Fedallah who surely could get to the heart of things.

"I know how to lie," Starbuck admitted. Although his lies had been mostly lying to his parents of where here'd been. Several young couples had joined the effort. When asked they had all been 'in the field reading the Bible' when in reality each had sneaked to a private setting of their own with a special someone. To make it perfect they had actually read the segments in advance just in case someone would ask. It was the only thing he could think of to keep himself distanced enough from what he was actually doing. Covering the tracks, finding rocks for weights. He told Flask to keep lookout just in case some unfortunate would get too close.

Eventually they got the bodies in their impromptu-hammocks. It had got completely dark. The burial was fast as usual. they 'rented' the boat again, rowed to the shelter of the ship, said the words, done.

Starbuck got to the ship to change out of the bloody clothes. He looked a little pale, a little too wary of his own shadow. Fedallah made him take a drink and stitched up the worst of the scratches. Luckily Starbuck could just wear the cravat to hide both the stitches and the bandages. The other on the side of his wrist was a common enough sight. He could just lie that he'd 'had enough', which wasn't technically a lie. He had considered something extremely stupid before he'd got attacked. Starbuck returned to the others, looking a little ill for the whole thing.

"Shoud we go back to the inn?" Ishmael wondered. He was getting a little hungry. A lot of activities had taken place. Rowing and sewing and dragging dead weight and.. something else earlier.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask’s hands felt strange. Like a liquid had dried on them.

He knew full well what it was, and that he was imagining it. Phantom blood coating his palms, digging under his fingernails, that he was unable to scrub out for weeks. Taunting him, almost. It had haunted him for an awful long while the first time 'round, he sincerely hoped it didn't this time. He didn't actually hurt anyone himself.

The cool night air felt stifling on his body, the sour smell of sweat seemed to follow him wherever he went— though that might've just been the fact that everyone he'd been around for the past few years at this point had been a sailor. There was a tang on his tongue, and the man couldn't quite tell if he'd finally managed to chew through his cheek or if it was in his head.

Ishmael did them all a favour by breaking the silence.

“Yeah, we should go back. Can't imagine they've missed us much.”

Best case scenario, nobody noticed they'd even left.

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck didn't feel like he wanted to be around people at all. He knew it was for the best. He felt dead tired when the adrenaline had gone down. The scratches felt itchy and hurting. Queequeg didn't look too affected even if he'd done most of it. Starbuck wondered how he could ever pay this debt back. If everything went well, it was because of him that Mary hadn't turned to a widow tonight.

He noticed Ishmael looking at himself like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Curious eyes and far too much going on behind them.

"We probably should, and we have to return this boat, too," Starbuck said.

// In the inn no-one had indeed noticed anyone leaving or going. They had started to get some elusive details out of the stranger. When they had inquired which ship he'd arrived with, he'd given the name. Then the next question had been where the ship was now when the Pequod was the only ship that had arrived in a few days. The man had replied 'gone' with the expression that he surely didn't want to talk about it. People started offering him drinks, someone offered a spare shirt and trousers for a tale. Someone else offered to pay for his stay in the inn. Curious, curious people.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb raised his eyebrows, having slotted himself right next to that poor sailor, fiddling with his pipe in one hand and holding a pint in the other.

“Didn’t happen to be to do with a whale of any kind, did it?”

The man purposefully left out any specific details. A white whale. By the name of Moby Dick. He wouldn't sound like Ahab, Stubb promised himself. Spouting off about some practically mythical beast and working himself up into a frenzy once the ship was too far from shore for the crew to decide that their captain was crazy and call it quits.

No, he wasn't like that at all.

Going crazy was gonna be Starbuck’scurse, if anything. Maybe Flask’s. But not his, he was sure of it. Sure man, mad men, what's the difference?

“It was a whaling ship, wasn't it?”

He was so absorbed in his conversation (or interrogation) that he didn't notice the returning men from his own ship.

[mister-starbuck]

The stranger turned to look at Stubb a little too fast. "It was a whaler, yes."

There was a pause. "With thirty-two men. Was."

He looked like he was about to start crying again. For some odd reason he didn't. He hadn't noticed the others arriving. Someone offered him food, he ate a little.

Starbuck got the details from someone that had been in the inn for the whole night. Suddenly a drink seemed like a good idea. Ishmael looked at him with disbelief when he downed two in one go and fidgeted with his cross trying to understand what had happened. Fate chose someone else. That's their Ishmael, he thought. They said there was a sail in the horizon just before we met... It.

"And it's got a lot to do with a whale," the stranger continued. He felt too distanced from the whole thing. He thought that he could've stayed here, somehow. Never, ever step on a boat of any kind ever again.

Starbuck had gone so pale that Queequeg stood closer to him just in case he'd actually pass out.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“Is it your first time out?” There was a sense of morbid fascination in Stubb’s tone. That, an attempt at comforting the poor young man, and deja vu.

(Moby Dick was just a great big whale, it couldn't have been it, surely! Any thought of him, of it, was just the lasting paranoia of Captain Ahab refusing to just die.)

The first mate glanced 'round the inn as he spoke, finally noticing the returning faces of his crewmates. He raised his eyebrows at Flask, who shrugged in return. “Can’t imagine a worse thing t’happen.” He patted the young man's shoulder. (Was it too forward to make a business offer? They were short of men on the Pequod, and the kid might want passage home. Perhaps his brother-in-law would applaud him for the forward thinking.)

“Wasn’t a specific whale, was it?”

[mister-starbuck]

"Not a first time out, no.. first and last on whaler, yes," the man continued. He hadn't noticed how the curious others kept quiet and waited for him to continue. "Or not if I want home from here."

"Spesific whale? Why would you ask, sir.. well," he started. "You're gonna think I'm a little mad but I swear on my soul this won't be a lie."

Starbuck had a bad feeling from the man's tale already. Now it got worse. I know what happened, he thought. I know. I just don't want to think of it. He saw how Ishmael stared at the man with a little too wide eyes, a little too aghast look. He knows, too, Starbuck thought. Has Fedallah told him that it's him that was going to survive?

"Well, it happened fast. I wasn't on the ship when it happened, I was rowing.. we.. It's.. well," The man took a drink, calmed himself down for a while. "They said it could happen and then I was there, holding onto the oar and watching as it happened. The ship was here, then it wasn't. The boats were there, then they weren't. It seemed to know what it was doing."

Starbuck thought of the coin that had turned around on its own. Fate had wanted thirty-two dead and a sunken ship. The coin had been thrown for someone else. He felt guilty, knew that there was no sensible reason for it.

The man looked around himself. "The whale was white."

Queequeg had thought that Starbuck was the one that looked like he was about to pass out and had looked at him to be able to catch him. He didn't notice Ishmael swaying during the tale, only realized him beginning to collapse on his side.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Ishmael could feel his throat clamping up within him, tightening almost painfully as if there was something caught there. A sob, perhaps. He could feel the tell-tale squeeze of incoming tears in his quickly flushing nose, and the corners of his eyes began to prick with tears.

He was trying something awful to fight the blur of fear in his sinking chest, having begun to wobble on his feet.

Fedallah had been right. Moby Dick had taken a ship, and there was only one survivor. But it hadn't been him. Had he avoided it? Had some other poor ship been in the wrong place at the wrong time and taken the Pequod’s prophecy?

Was he looking at himself, maybe? Was it truly a mirror that sat there at the bar, rather than a different person, and every member of his crew that stood around him were hallucinations of the brain after swallowing too much salt water?

It couldn't be— when those men had died, the ones that they'd dumped and hidden, it had been very real. Their blood, their cries of pain, the anguish in their eyes— it had been very, very real. Ishmael was a creative man, yes, but he certainly couldn't make all that up himself. Not the gore that had left them when they'd been cut down.

He also found comfort in the solid, warm, breathing form he'd fallen into— oh, goodness! When did he fall? Ishmael wasn't sure. But he knew he'd been standing upright a moment ago, and was particularly aware that he wasn't standing upright now.

Either way, he now seemed to be looking into the very much alive face of his dear husband. Surely his mind was not cruel enough to conjure up the image or feel of Queequeg by itself!

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck saw Ishmael collapsing and knew that he'd truly got the meaning. He himself felt too creeped out to really do anything. He knew that he could've offered the man a job and trying getting him closer to home.

That wasn't what he really got stuck on with his thoughts. He'd known on intuition what that whale was capable of. He'd had a bad feeling of the whole thing. And now someone else hadn't listened to theirs and got the entire ship sunk because of that.

Queequeg placed Ishmael sitting down and held him against him.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Ishmael found himself taking in very deep breaths, as if he'd been choking on water and was now desperate for fresh air to fill his lungs and carry him back to reality.

He twisted his fingers into Queequeg’s, squeezing the other’s hand tight enough to know he wasn't making it up. Eyes wide and shining with unshed tears, he fought off the urge to curl into a ball and hyperventilate. He could do that when he'd found somewhere warm, darm and safe to bury himself within. Not here. He'd look mad.

“It was the White Whale.” He whispered, just loud enough to hear. “It was our White Whale.” Ishmael daren’t utter the name, lest it jinxed them again.

[mister-starbuck]

"It was," Starbuck confirmed. He whispered something along the lines of 'God keep us all', which he usually said in distress.

"Your white whale?" the sailor repeated, he'd looked at Ishmael when he'd blacked out for a bit. "It's.. I don't think that's doable. It's death."

"I know," Starbuck said, he saw how the man understood what he meant. I know that all too well. What in God's name is going on here? I thought we were safe, and.. It attacked some other ship, no doubt after being attacked first. He thought of the thing that Fedallah had said a good while ago.

'It's the right of every living being to defend itself.'

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb crossed his arms. It seemed to him that the damned white whale would haunt them forever. And ever. And ever!

Ishmael’s head spun a little. This way and that, re-registering where he was again. Of course he knew— he was sitting beside Queequeg in an inn on an island, having survived a prophecy that had seemingly struck another poor man.

But for a moment— for a moment, he'd thought himself to be back in his schoolhouse, rambling on and on to small children about history and literature and whatever else It had been he taught, because it felt like a lifetime ago now. For that moment it seemed that all the drunken sailors surrounding him were naught more than boys! Boys who'd gone away to sea far too young, and risked far too much for it. Boys who hadn't a childhood on land to speak of, because the waves had watched them grow more than their families ever had.

Of course, that was all crap. These men were whalers. Professionals. Who killed creatures of great beauty for a bit of coin.

“It came for us.” Ishmael muttered, not meeting anyone's eyes.

[mister-starbuck]

"It didn't," Starbuck lied. "If it would have, we would be dead."

He thought of the utter sense of doom he'd got from the encounter. Sometimes that hint of knowledge was wise to be listened.

The sailor listened and realized that those others had met this thing, too. He wondered why they weren't gone. He wondered for a lift home, it seemed like they had no fancy of hunting anything any time soon. Or at least not that one. It was the Devil, he thought. A child of a God older than the kinds of men.

"I doubt it will attack anyone if it's not attacked first," Starbuck reasoned. Every sense he had said tried confirming him of the opposite. I doubt it wants nothing with our kind. It just wants to live its whale's life in peace.

[mister-starbuck]

THE LONG WAY HOME VOL 8

EDITOR’S NOTE, PREVIOUSLY: Ahab has been killed, along with several others. The ship has been haunted by his ghost. The crew has managed to sail to Tahiti for more food, water and crew if that is possible. Starbuck, as the new Captain, has fired several men that attempted knifing Fedallah. This backfired when the said men attacked Starbuck, but are now all dead because he wasn’t alone after all. In the inn Stubb and Bulkington have encountered a strange shipwreck-survivor. Meanwhile Starbuck, Flask, Ishmael, Queequeg and Fedallah are teaming up to bury the dead before anyone notices. Statistics: 1 sunken ship (not the Pequod), 35 drowned men (see previous), 6 killed men (Ahab, the ships doctor, 4 sailors), 1 killed whale, 3 (?) mutinies, god only knows how many murder attempts

//// @mrstubb-2ndmate WROTE ////

Stubb hadn't noticed much difference in who was gone. He gathered that Flask had slipped off, but that could've been easily explained by any number of things. Perhaps he’s off trying butter for the first time in an eternity. The man mused, his arm thrown around another drunken stranger, caterwauling any old song that came to mind.

What he did notice, though, even in his state, was the bedraggled man looking like he'd just crawled back from the gates of hell. Didn't miss how Bulkington looked at him too. A shipwrecked sailor, alright. Stubb wanted to snort, sticking his pipe in his mouth, but held his tongue just quick enough to remember that there was a good chance the man was a shipwrecked sailor.

He slid down from his perch on some table, away from his new comrades of a roaring, woozy choir, and stumbled right on over to the man, who was now crying.

Couldn't help but be a bit nosy, huh?

“Cheer up now, lad, you're on dry land!” The first-mate offered, grinning through his teeth. Which, in fairness, probably didn't do much to help.

//// END QUOTE ////

Ishmael and Queequeg returned with the ’borrowed’ boat and the utterly wrecked and nearly-forgotten sail for a fabric.

Starbuck didn’t really do much else than stare at the blood drying in his hands. He tried to think of it with reason. The bay was too shallow for a burial, which meant that they had to wait for night or sneak the bodies onboard the ship, hide them somewhere (God knew it would be the barrels). Then he thought of it. That wasn’t a good plan, either. They had to get rid of the bodies as soon as possible, before they’d start rotting. Which meant tonight but deeper water. Perhaps using the ship herself as cover and just praying nothing got close enough to witness anything. It they kept the lights down it’d be as dark as the surrounding night. It was already gone dark. Besides he had to return to the ship and get himself looking like a civilized person again.

He told of these plans to the others, including Flask who seemed to look a little sobered up. The plan wouldn’t need much time, either. Sails, a few stitches, some weights, a prayer just to keep the ghosts out, done.

¤

”I’d like to stay on dry land for the rest of my life.. if it’s all the same to you, sir,” the man managed to reply. Either because of the shock or because of poor meals and fastly drank spirits he’d began to look a little tipsy. ”Have you got any idea what’s out there?”

Several curious (including Bulkington) had already began gathering around.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb snorted. He didn't allow his face to darken or his posture to slacken when thinking about what exactly he'd seen out there, because this was no time to dwell on the misery. They were safe. They were enjoying themselves. They were boozing it up!

“You’d be surprised! D’you want a drink, kid?”

//

Flask chewed the inside of his cheek. A habit that seemed more and more prevalent recently. It was grounding, he supposed, even if it probably meant the inside of his mouth was slightly worse for wear. He didn't often taste blood, at least. But when he did, he felt lucky to be tasting anything. Chewing his mouth was better than chewing nothing, some part of him thought.

“Sir, if it ain't too much to ask,” He murmured to Starbuck, choosing his words carefully. Now probably wasn't the right time, but nothing would be the right time. Everytime you thought you could have a moment of rest, something else happened! “How long do we suppose we're planning to stay docked here?”

Of course, they'd have to get moving eventually. They had to get home. But there was plenty still to do on the island, and after the last fiasco, Flask didn't quite want to leave just yet. Besides, they needed to bury the task at hand.

[mister-starbuck]

"Sure, sir," the man replied. He was in the somewhat lucky situation that it was absolutely useless to rob him because he had nothing on his name, even if the stranger's plans were to get him blackout drunk and attempt emptying his pockets. His gifted money had gone to a few nights in the inn and the two drinks he'd just had. He'd gone from crying to wondering how it had happened. It had started like any other chase. Any other.

//

"As little while as possible. Most of the provisions should arrive tomorrow or the days after. We're still low on crew, although we can make it to Lima with whom we have. There's no doctor to be found here, we'll need a bigger place for that," Starbuck replied. And pray for no accidents, he thought, but didn't dare to tempt fate with saying it out loud. "And because we're going to Lima in any case, we can leave earlier. A ship like ours needs more things to be fully stocked than this island can really sell, even if they'd be willing to."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“And how far would we be to Lima?” It was a silly question, but Flask wasn't thinking about keeping his questions quiet right now. It was keep your mouth shut and risk dying over something stupid, or survive.

“We can't leave here immediately. After experiencing something like that? The crew need hope to hold onto. That hope is this, dry land. If we take it from them too quickly to make some renewed impact, they'll be angry. We'll risk mutiny and losing more men.”

Mister Flask wasn't sure when he'd started to think so much. He wasn't sure he liked it— but he'd have to suck it up and get on with it, didn't he? Stubb was always saying something about adapting to what happens. He'd managed to do that unconsciously, adapt to the circumstances. It was that or die, and Flask wanted to live.

[mister-starbuck]

I want home, Starbuck thought but didn't say it. "Month or two, depending on the weather. Then about one year to home. But we could do shore leaves a little more frequently. It was him that was against them."

Ishmael and Queequeg had began trying to get the dead into their little coffins of sails. Starbuck went to help and tried not to look at the details too much. Ishmael had to take breaks and stare at something else for a while, too.

"The best I can think of is one week here. Reason being, this," Starbuck said and nodded at the bodies. "If they're found, we're in trouble. So if anyone has ideas on how to make sure that won't happen, tell me."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask nodded along. A week was good enough. A week meant they could recover, but wouldn't get too used to land to leave. A week meant they wouldn't be suspicious in leaving.

“Don’t talk about them, don't make reference to them. Don't even think about them unless someone else brings them up.” He didn't help the others. He had no intention of doing something like that again, and he had no reason to explain why.

“But if someone does, don't avoid the subject. It'll make it worse. Don't go into too much detail, don't say too little. We haven't seen them since they hightailed it off the ship. Don't do anything that could draw any kinda suspicion.”

He couldn't care less if his cautiousness gave away past experiences. If one of them saw fit to bring him down, which Flask heavily doubted they would, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to all three of them, as much as he respected the men.

[mister-starbuck]

Aren't you going to do anything, Starbuck wondered a little annoyed. Then again Flask hadn't killed anyone. Not that there wasn't some rumours going on. Then again most of the rumours concerning anyone was very likely heresay that'd got amplified by years of boredom. Then again he hadn't dared to inquire of anyone's past from Fedallah who surely could get to the heart of things.

"I know how to lie," Starbuck admitted. Although his lies had been mostly lying to his parents of where here'd been. Several young couples had joined the effort. When asked they had all been 'in the field reading the Bible' when in reality each had sneaked to a private setting of their own with a special someone. To make it perfect they had actually read the segments in advance just in case someone would ask. It was the only thing he could think of to keep himself distanced enough from what he was actually doing. Covering the tracks, finding rocks for weights. He told Flask to keep lookout just in case some unfortunate would get too close.

Eventually they got the bodies in their impromptu-hammocks. It had got completely dark. The burial was fast as usual. they 'rented' the boat again, rowed to the shelter of the ship, said the words, done.

Starbuck got to the ship to change out of the bloody clothes. He looked a little pale, a little too wary of his own shadow. Fedallah made him take a drink and stitched up the worst of the scratches. Luckily Starbuck could just wear the cravat to hide both the stitches and the bandages. The other on the side of his wrist was a common enough sight. He could just lie that he'd 'had enough', which wasn't technically a lie. He had considered something extremely stupid before he'd got attacked. Starbuck returned to the others, looking a little ill for the whole thing.

"Shoud we go back to the inn?" Ishmael wondered. He was getting a little hungry. A lot of activities had taken place. Rowing and sewing and dragging dead weight and.. something else earlier.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask’s hands felt strange. Like a liquid had dried on them.

He knew full well what it was, and that he was imagining it. Phantom blood coating his palms, digging under his fingernails, that he was unable to scrub out for weeks. Taunting him, almost. It had haunted him for an awful long while the first time 'round, he sincerely hoped it didn't this time. He didn't actually hurt anyone himself.

The cool night air felt stifling on his body, the sour smell of sweat seemed to follow him wherever he went— though that might've just been the fact that everyone he'd been around for the past few years at this point had been a sailor. There was a tang on his tongue, and the man couldn't quite tell if he'd finally managed to chew through his cheek or if it was in his head.

Ishmael did them all a favour by breaking the silence.

“Yeah, we should go back. Can't imagine they've missed us much.”

Best case scenario, nobody noticed they'd even left.

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck didn't feel like he wanted to be around people at all. He knew it was for the best. He felt dead tired when the adrenaline had gone down. The scratches felt itchy and hurting. Queequeg didn't look too affected even if he'd done most of it. Starbuck wondered how he could ever pay this debt back. If everything went well, it was because of him that Mary hadn't turned to a widow tonight.

He noticed Ishmael looking at himself like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Curious eyes and far too much going on behind them.

"We probably should, and we have to return this boat, too," Starbuck said.

// In the inn no-one had indeed noticed anyone leaving or going. They had started to get some elusive details out of the stranger. When they had inquired which ship he'd arrived with, he'd given the name. Then the next question had been where the ship was now when the Pequod was the only ship that had arrived in a few days. The man had replied 'gone' with the expression that he surely didn't want to talk about it. People started offering him drinks, someone offered a spare shirt and trousers for a tale. Someone else offered to pay for his stay in the inn. Curious, curious people.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb raised his eyebrows, having slotted himself right next to that poor sailor, fiddling with his pipe in one hand and holding a pint in the other.

“Didn’t happen to be to do with a whale of any kind, did it?”

The man purposefully left out any specific details. A white whale. By the name of Moby Dick. He wouldn't sound like Ahab, Stubb promised himself. Spouting off about some practically mythical beast and working himself up into a frenzy once the ship was too far from shore for the crew to decide that their captain was crazy and call it quits.

No, he wasn't like that at all.

Going crazy was gonna be Starbuck’scurse, if anything. Maybe Flask’s. But not his, he was sure of it. Sure man, mad men, what's the difference?

“It was a whaling ship, wasn't it?”

He was so absorbed in his conversation (or interrogation) that he didn't notice the returning men from his own ship.

[mister-starbuck]

The stranger turned to look at Stubb a little too fast. "It was a whaler, yes."

There was a pause. "With thirty-two men. Was."

He looked like he was about to start crying again. For some odd reason he didn't. He hadn't noticed the others arriving. Someone offered him food, he ate a little.

Starbuck got the details from someone that had been in the inn for the whole night. Suddenly a drink seemed like a good idea. Ishmael looked at him with disbelief when he downed two in one go and fidgeted with his cross trying to understand what had happened. Fate chose someone else. That's their Ishmael, he thought. They said there was a sail in the horizon just before we met... It.

"And it's got a lot to do with a whale," the stranger continued. He felt too distanced from the whole thing. He thought that he could've stayed here, somehow. Never, ever step on a boat of any kind ever again.

Starbuck had gone so pale that Queequeg stood closer to him just in case he'd actually pass out.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“Is it your first time out?” There was a sense of morbid fascination in Stubb’s tone. That, an attempt at comforting the poor young man, and deja vu.

(Moby Dick was just a great big whale, it couldn't have been it, surely! Any thought of him, of it, was just the lasting paranoia of Captain Ahab refusing to just die.)

The first mate glanced 'round the inn as he spoke, finally noticing the returning faces of his crewmates. He raised his eyebrows at Flask, who shrugged in return. “Can’t imagine a worse thing t’happen.” He patted the young man's shoulder. (Was it too forward to make a business offer? They were short of men on the Pequod, and the kid might want passage home. Perhaps his brother-in-law would applaud him for the forward thinking.)

“Wasn’t a specific whale, was it?”

[mister-starbuck]

"Not a first time out, no.. first and last on whaler, yes," the man continued. He hadn't noticed how the curious others kept quiet and waited for him to continue. "Or not if I want home from here."

"Spesific whale? Why would you ask, sir.. well," he started. "You're gonna think I'm a little mad but I swear on my soul this won't be a lie."

Starbuck had a bad feeling from the man's tale already. Now it got worse. I know what happened, he thought. I know. I just don't want to think of it. He saw how Ishmael stared at the man with a little too wide eyes, a little too aghast look. He knows, too, Starbuck thought. Has Fedallah told him that it's him that was going to survive?

"Well, it happened fast. I wasn't on the ship when it happened, I was rowing.. we.. It's.. well," The man took a drink, calmed himself down for a while. "They said it could happen and then I was there, holding onto the oar and watching as it happened. The ship was here, then it wasn't. The boats were there, then they weren't. It seemed to know what it was doing."

Starbuck thought of the coin that had turned around on its own. Fate had wanted thirty-two dead and a sunken ship. The coin had been thrown for someone else. He felt guilty, knew that there was no sensible reason for it.

The man looked around himself. "The whale was white."

Queequeg had thought that Starbuck was the one that looked like he was about to pass out and had looked at him to be able to catch him. He didn't notice Ishmael swaying during the tale, only realized him beginning to collapse on his side.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Ishmael could feel his throat clamping up within him, tightening almost painfully as if there was something caught there. A sob, perhaps. He could feel the tell-tale squeeze of incoming tears in his quickly flushing nose, and the corners of his eyes began to prick with tears.

He was trying something awful to fight the blur of fear in his sinking chest, having begun to wobble on his feet.

Fedallah had been right. Moby Dick had taken a ship, and there was only one survivor. But it hadn't been him. Had he avoided it? Had some other poor ship been in the wrong place at the wrong time and taken the Pequod’s prophecy?

Was he looking at himself, maybe? Was it truly a mirror that sat there at the bar, rather than a different person, and every member of his crew that stood around him were hallucinations of the brain after swallowing too much salt water?

It couldn't be— when those men had died, the ones that they'd dumped and hidden, it had been very real. Their blood, their cries of pain, the anguish in their eyes— it had been very, very real. Ishmael was a creative man, yes, but he certainly couldn't make all that up himself. Not the gore that had left them when they'd been cut down.

He also found comfort in the solid, warm, breathing form he'd fallen into— oh, goodness! When did he fall? Ishmael wasn't sure. But he knew he'd been standing upright a moment ago, and was particularly aware that he wasn't standing upright now.

Either way, he now seemed to be looking into the very much alive face of his dear husband. Surely his mind was not cruel enough to conjure up the image or feel of Queequeg by itself!

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck saw Ishmael collapsing and knew that he'd truly got the meaning. He himself felt too creeped out to really do anything. He knew that he could've offered the man a job and trying getting him closer to home.

That wasn't what he really got stuck on with his thoughts. He'd known on intuition what that whale was capable of. He'd had a bad feeling of the whole thing. And now someone else hadn't listened to theirs and got the entire ship sunk because of that.

Queequeg placed Ishmael sitting down and held him against him.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Ishmael found himself taking in very deep breaths, as if he'd been choking on water and was now desperate for fresh air to fill his lungs and carry him back to reality.

He twisted his fingers into Queequeg’s, squeezing the other’s hand tight enough to know he wasn't making it up. Eyes wide and shining with unshed tears, he fought off the urge to curl into a ball and hyperventilate. He could do that when he'd found somewhere warm, darm and safe to bury himself within. Not here. He'd look mad.

“It was the White Whale.” He whispered, just loud enough to hear. “It was our White Whale.” Ishmael daren’t utter the name, lest it jinxed them again.

[mister-starbuck]

"It was," Starbuck confirmed. He whispered something along the lines of 'God keep us all', which he usually said in distress.

"Your white whale?" the sailor repeated, he'd looked at Ishmael when he'd blacked out for a bit. "It's.. I don't think that's doable. It's death."

"I know," Starbuck said, he saw how the man understood what he meant. I know that all too well. What in God's name is going on here? I thought we were safe, and.. It attacked some other ship, no doubt after being attacked first. He thought of the thing that Fedallah had said a good while ago.

'It's the right of every living being to defend itself.'

[mister-starbuck]

THE LONG WAY HOME VOL 8

EDITOR’S NOTE, PREVIOUSLY: Ahab has been killed, along with several others. The ship has been haunted by his ghost. The crew has managed to sail to Tahiti for more food, water and crew if that is possible. Starbuck, as the new Captain, has fired several men that attempted knifing Fedallah. This backfired when the said men attacked Starbuck, but are now all dead because he wasn’t alone after all. In the inn Stubb and Bulkington have encountered a strange shipwreck-survivor. Meanwhile Starbuck, Flask, Ishmael, Queequeg and Fedallah are teaming up to bury the dead before anyone notices. Statistics: 1 sunken ship (not the Pequod), 35 drowned men (see previous), 6 killed men (Ahab, the ships doctor, 4 sailors), 1 killed whale, 3 (?) mutinies, god only knows how many murder attempts

//// @mrstubb-2ndmate WROTE ////

Stubb hadn't noticed much difference in who was gone. He gathered that Flask had slipped off, but that could've been easily explained by any number of things. Perhaps he’s off trying butter for the first time in an eternity. The man mused, his arm thrown around another drunken stranger, caterwauling any old song that came to mind.

What he did notice, though, even in his state, was the bedraggled man looking like he'd just crawled back from the gates of hell. Didn't miss how Bulkington looked at him too. A shipwrecked sailor, alright. Stubb wanted to snort, sticking his pipe in his mouth, but held his tongue just quick enough to remember that there was a good chance the man was a shipwrecked sailor.

He slid down from his perch on some table, away from his new comrades of a roaring, woozy choir, and stumbled right on over to the man, who was now crying.

Couldn't help but be a bit nosy, huh?

“Cheer up now, lad, you're on dry land!” The first-mate offered, grinning through his teeth. Which, in fairness, probably didn't do much to help.

//// END QUOTE ////

Ishmael and Queequeg returned with the ’borrowed’ boat and the utterly wrecked and nearly-forgotten sail for a fabric.

Starbuck didn’t really do much else than stare at the blood drying in his hands. He tried to think of it with reason. The bay was too shallow for a burial, which meant that they had to wait for night or sneak the bodies onboard the ship, hide them somewhere (God knew it would be the barrels). Then he thought of it. That wasn’t a good plan, either. They had to get rid of the bodies as soon as possible, before they’d start rotting. Which meant tonight but deeper water. Perhaps using the ship herself as cover and just praying nothing got close enough to witness anything. It they kept the lights down it’d be as dark as the surrounding night. It was already gone dark. Besides he had to return to the ship and get himself looking like a civilized person again.

He told of these plans to the others, including Flask who seemed to look a little sobered up. The plan wouldn’t need much time, either. Sails, a few stitches, some weights, a prayer just to keep the ghosts out, done.

¤

”I’d like to stay on dry land for the rest of my life.. if it’s all the same to you, sir,” the man managed to reply. Either because of the shock or because of poor meals and fastly drank spirits he’d began to look a little tipsy. ”Have you got any idea what’s out there?”

Several curious (including Bulkington) had already began gathering around.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb snorted. He didn't allow his face to darken or his posture to slacken when thinking about what exactly he'd seen out there, because this was no time to dwell on the misery. They were safe. They were enjoying themselves. They were boozing it up!

“You’d be surprised! D’you want a drink, kid?”

//

Flask chewed the inside of his cheek. A habit that seemed more and more prevalent recently. It was grounding, he supposed, even if it probably meant the inside of his mouth was slightly worse for wear. He didn't often taste blood, at least. But when he did, he felt lucky to be tasting anything. Chewing his mouth was better than chewing nothing, some part of him thought.

“Sir, if it ain't too much to ask,” He murmured to Starbuck, choosing his words carefully. Now probably wasn't the right time, but nothing would be the right time. Everytime you thought you could have a moment of rest, something else happened! “How long do we suppose we're planning to stay docked here?”

Of course, they'd have to get moving eventually. They had to get home. But there was plenty still to do on the island, and after the last fiasco, Flask didn't quite want to leave just yet. Besides, they needed to bury the task at hand.

[mister-starbuck]

"Sure, sir," the man replied. He was in the somewhat lucky situation that it was absolutely useless to rob him because he had nothing on his name, even if the stranger's plans were to get him blackout drunk and attempt emptying his pockets. His gifted money had gone to a few nights in the inn and the two drinks he'd just had. He'd gone from crying to wondering how it had happened. It had started like any other chase. Any other.

//

"As little while as possible. Most of the provisions should arrive tomorrow or the days after. We're still low on crew, although we can make it to Lima with whom we have. There's no doctor to be found here, we'll need a bigger place for that," Starbuck replied. And pray for no accidents, he thought, but didn't dare to tempt fate with saying it out loud. "And because we're going to Lima in any case, we can leave earlier. A ship like ours needs more things to be fully stocked than this island can really sell, even if they'd be willing to."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“And how far would we be to Lima?” It was a silly question, but Flask wasn't thinking about keeping his questions quiet right now. It was keep your mouth shut and risk dying over something stupid, or survive.

“We can't leave here immediately. After experiencing something like that? The crew need hope to hold onto. That hope is this, dry land. If we take it from them too quickly to make some renewed impact, they'll be angry. We'll risk mutiny and losing more men.”

Mister Flask wasn't sure when he'd started to think so much. He wasn't sure he liked it— but he'd have to suck it up and get on with it, didn't he? Stubb was always saying something about adapting to what happens. He'd managed to do that unconsciously, adapt to the circumstances. It was that or die, and Flask wanted to live.

[mister-starbuck]

I want home, Starbuck thought but didn't say it. "Month or two, depending on the weather. Then about one year to home. But we could do shore leaves a little more frequently. It was him that was against them."

Ishmael and Queequeg had began trying to get the dead into their little coffins of sails. Starbuck went to help and tried not to look at the details too much. Ishmael had to take breaks and stare at something else for a while, too.

"The best I can think of is one week here. Reason being, this," Starbuck said and nodded at the bodies. "If they're found, we're in trouble. So if anyone has ideas on how to make sure that won't happen, tell me."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask nodded along. A week was good enough. A week meant they could recover, but wouldn't get too used to land to leave. A week meant they wouldn't be suspicious in leaving.

“Don’t talk about them, don't make reference to them. Don't even think about them unless someone else brings them up.” He didn't help the others. He had no intention of doing something like that again, and he had no reason to explain why.

“But if someone does, don't avoid the subject. It'll make it worse. Don't go into too much detail, don't say too little. We haven't seen them since they hightailed it off the ship. Don't do anything that could draw any kinda suspicion.”

He couldn't care less if his cautiousness gave away past experiences. If one of them saw fit to bring him down, which Flask heavily doubted they would, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to all three of them, as much as he respected the men.

[mister-starbuck]

Aren't you going to do anything, Starbuck wondered a little annoyed. Then again Flask hadn't killed anyone. Not that there wasn't some rumours going on. Then again most of the rumours concerning anyone was very likely heresay that'd got amplified by years of boredom. Then again he hadn't dared to inquire of anyone's past from Fedallah who surely could get to the heart of things.

"I know how to lie," Starbuck admitted. Although his lies had been mostly lying to his parents of where here'd been. Several young couples had joined the effort. When asked they had all been 'in the field reading the Bible' when in reality each had sneaked to a private setting of their own with a special someone. To make it perfect they had actually read the segments in advance just in case someone would ask. It was the only thing he could think of to keep himself distanced enough from what he was actually doing. Covering the tracks, finding rocks for weights. He told Flask to keep lookout just in case some unfortunate would get too close.

Eventually they got the bodies in their impromptu-hammocks. It had got completely dark. The burial was fast as usual. they 'rented' the boat again, rowed to the shelter of the ship, said the words, done.

Starbuck got to the ship to change out of the bloody clothes. He looked a little pale, a little too wary of his own shadow. Fedallah made him take a drink and stitched up the worst of the scratches. Luckily Starbuck could just wear the cravat to hide both the stitches and the bandages. The other on the side of his wrist was a common enough sight. He could just lie that he'd 'had enough', which wasn't technically a lie. He had considered something extremely stupid before he'd got attacked. Starbuck returned to the others, looking a little ill for the whole thing.

"Shoud we go back to the inn?" Ishmael wondered. He was getting a little hungry. A lot of activities had taken place. Rowing and sewing and dragging dead weight and.. something else earlier.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask’s hands felt strange. Like a liquid had dried on them.

He knew full well what it was, and that he was imagining it. Phantom blood coating his palms, digging under his fingernails, that he was unable to scrub out for weeks. Taunting him, almost. It had haunted him for an awful long while the first time 'round, he sincerely hoped it didn't this time. He didn't actually hurt anyone himself.

The cool night air felt stifling on his body, the sour smell of sweat seemed to follow him wherever he went— though that might've just been the fact that everyone he'd been around for the past few years at this point had been a sailor. There was a tang on his tongue, and the man couldn't quite tell if he'd finally managed to chew through his cheek or if it was in his head.

Ishmael did them all a favour by breaking the silence.

“Yeah, we should go back. Can't imagine they've missed us much.”

Best case scenario, nobody noticed they'd even left.

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck didn't feel like he wanted to be around people at all. He knew it was for the best. He felt dead tired when the adrenaline had gone down. The scratches felt itchy and hurting. Queequeg didn't look too affected even if he'd done most of it. Starbuck wondered how he could ever pay this debt back. If everything went well, it was because of him that Mary hadn't turned to a widow tonight.

He noticed Ishmael looking at himself like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Curious eyes and far too much going on behind them.

"We probably should, and we have to return this boat, too," Starbuck said.

// In the inn no-one had indeed noticed anyone leaving or going. They had started to get some elusive details out of the stranger. When they had inquired which ship he'd arrived with, he'd given the name. Then the next question had been where the ship was now when the Pequod was the only ship that had arrived in a few days. The man had replied 'gone' with the expression that he surely didn't want to talk about it. People started offering him drinks, someone offered a spare shirt and trousers for a tale. Someone else offered to pay for his stay in the inn. Curious, curious people.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb raised his eyebrows, having slotted himself right next to that poor sailor, fiddling with his pipe in one hand and holding a pint in the other.

“Didn’t happen to be to do with a whale of any kind, did it?”

The man purposefully left out any specific details. A white whale. By the name of Moby Dick. He wouldn't sound like Ahab, Stubb promised himself. Spouting off about some practically mythical beast and working himself up into a frenzy once the ship was too far from shore for the crew to decide that their captain was crazy and call it quits.

No, he wasn't like that at all.

Going crazy was gonna be Starbuck’scurse, if anything. Maybe Flask’s. But not his, he was sure of it. Sure man, mad men, what's the difference?

“It was a whaling ship, wasn't it?”

He was so absorbed in his conversation (or interrogation) that he didn't notice the returning men from his own ship.

[mister-starbuck]

The stranger turned to look at Stubb a little too fast. "It was a whaler, yes."

There was a pause. "With thirty-two men. Was."

He looked like he was about to start crying again. For some odd reason he didn't. He hadn't noticed the others arriving. Someone offered him food, he ate a little.

Starbuck got the details from someone that had been in the inn for the whole night. Suddenly a drink seemed like a good idea. Ishmael looked at him with disbelief when he downed two in one go and fidgeted with his cross trying to understand what had happened. Fate chose someone else. That's their Ishmael, he thought. They said there was a sail in the horizon just before we met... It.

"And it's got a lot to do with a whale," the stranger continued. He felt too distanced from the whole thing. He thought that he could've stayed here, somehow. Never, ever step on a boat of any kind ever again.

Starbuck had gone so pale that Queequeg stood closer to him just in case he'd actually pass out.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“Is it your first time out?” There was a sense of morbid fascination in Stubb’s tone. That, an attempt at comforting the poor young man, and deja vu.

(Moby Dick was just a great big whale, it couldn't have been it, surely! Any thought of him, of it, was just the lasting paranoia of Captain Ahab refusing to just die.)

The first mate glanced 'round the inn as he spoke, finally noticing the returning faces of his crewmates. He raised his eyebrows at Flask, who shrugged in return. “Can’t imagine a worse thing t’happen.” He patted the young man's shoulder. (Was it too forward to make a business offer? They were short of men on the Pequod, and the kid might want passage home. Perhaps his brother-in-law would applaud him for the forward thinking.)

“Wasn’t a specific whale, was it?”

[mister-starbuck]

"Not a first time out, no.. first and last on whaler, yes," the man continued. He hadn't noticed how the curious others kept quiet and waited for him to continue. "Or not if I want home from here."

"Spesific whale? Why would you ask, sir.. well," he started. "You're gonna think I'm a little mad but I swear on my soul this won't be a lie."

Starbuck had a bad feeling from the man's tale already. Now it got worse. I know what happened, he thought. I know. I just don't want to think of it. He saw how Ishmael stared at the man with a little too wide eyes, a little too aghast look. He knows, too, Starbuck thought. Has Fedallah told him that it's him that was going to survive?

"Well, it happened fast. I wasn't on the ship when it happened, I was rowing.. we.. It's.. well," The man took a drink, calmed himself down for a while. "They said it could happen and then I was there, holding onto the oar and watching as it happened. The ship was here, then it wasn't. The boats were there, then they weren't. It seemed to know what it was doing."

Starbuck thought of the coin that had turned around on its own. Fate had wanted thirty-two dead and a sunken ship. The coin had been thrown for someone else. He felt guilty, knew that there was no sensible reason for it.

The man looked around himself. "The whale was white."

Queequeg had thought that Starbuck was the one that looked like he was about to pass out and had looked at him to be able to catch him. He didn't notice Ishmael swaying during the tale, only realized him beginning to collapse on his side.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Ishmael could feel his throat clamping up within him, tightening almost painfully as if there was something caught there. A sob, perhaps. He could feel the tell-tale squeeze of incoming tears in his quickly flushing nose, and the corners of his eyes began to prick with tears.

He was trying something awful to fight the blur of fear in his sinking chest, having begun to wobble on his feet.

Fedallah had been right. Moby Dick had taken a ship, and there was only one survivor. But it hadn't been him. Had he avoided it? Had some other poor ship been in the wrong place at the wrong time and taken the Pequod’s prophecy?

Was he looking at himself, maybe? Was it truly a mirror that sat there at the bar, rather than a different person, and every member of his crew that stood around him were hallucinations of the brain after swallowing too much salt water?

It couldn't be— when those men had died, the ones that they'd dumped and hidden, it had been very real. Their blood, their cries of pain, the anguish in their eyes— it had been very, very real. Ishmael was a creative man, yes, but he certainly couldn't make all that up himself. Not the gore that had left them when they'd been cut down.

He also found comfort in the solid, warm, breathing form he'd fallen into— oh, goodness! When did he fall? Ishmael wasn't sure. But he knew he'd been standing upright a moment ago, and was particularly aware that he wasn't standing upright now.

Either way, he now seemed to be looking into the very much alive face of his dear husband. Surely his mind was not cruel enough to conjure up the image or feel of Queequeg by itself!

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck saw Ishmael collapsing and knew that he'd truly got the meaning. He himself felt too creeped out to really do anything. He knew that he could've offered the man a job and trying getting him closer to home.

That wasn't what he really got stuck on with his thoughts. He'd known on intuition what that whale was capable of. He'd had a bad feeling of the whole thing. And now someone else hadn't listened to theirs and got the entire ship sunk because of that.

Queequeg placed Ishmael sitting down and held him against him.

[mister-starbuck]

THE LONG WAY HOME VOL 8

EDITOR’S NOTE, PREVIOUSLY: Ahab has been killed, along with several others. The ship has been haunted by his ghost. The crew has managed to sail to Tahiti for more food, water and crew if that is possible. Starbuck, as the new Captain, has fired several men that attempted knifing Fedallah. This backfired when the said men attacked Starbuck, but are now all dead because he wasn’t alone after all. In the inn Stubb and Bulkington have encountered a strange shipwreck-survivor. Meanwhile Starbuck, Flask, Ishmael, Queequeg and Fedallah are teaming up to bury the dead before anyone notices. Statistics: 1 sunken ship (not the Pequod), 35 drowned men (see previous), 6 killed men (Ahab, the ships doctor, 4 sailors), 1 killed whale, 3 (?) mutinies, god only knows how many murder attempts

//// @mrstubb-2ndmate WROTE ////

Stubb hadn't noticed much difference in who was gone. He gathered that Flask had slipped off, but that could've been easily explained by any number of things. Perhaps he’s off trying butter for the first time in an eternity. The man mused, his arm thrown around another drunken stranger, caterwauling any old song that came to mind.

What he did notice, though, even in his state, was the bedraggled man looking like he'd just crawled back from the gates of hell. Didn't miss how Bulkington looked at him too. A shipwrecked sailor, alright. Stubb wanted to snort, sticking his pipe in his mouth, but held his tongue just quick enough to remember that there was a good chance the man was a shipwrecked sailor.

He slid down from his perch on some table, away from his new comrades of a roaring, woozy choir, and stumbled right on over to the man, who was now crying.

Couldn't help but be a bit nosy, huh?

“Cheer up now, lad, you're on dry land!” The first-mate offered, grinning through his teeth. Which, in fairness, probably didn't do much to help.

//// END QUOTE ////

Ishmael and Queequeg returned with the ’borrowed’ boat and the utterly wrecked and nearly-forgotten sail for a fabric.

Starbuck didn’t really do much else than stare at the blood drying in his hands. He tried to think of it with reason. The bay was too shallow for a burial, which meant that they had to wait for night or sneak the bodies onboard the ship, hide them somewhere (God knew it would be the barrels). Then he thought of it. That wasn’t a good plan, either. They had to get rid of the bodies as soon as possible, before they’d start rotting. Which meant tonight but deeper water. Perhaps using the ship herself as cover and just praying nothing got close enough to witness anything. It they kept the lights down it’d be as dark as the surrounding night. It was already gone dark. Besides he had to return to the ship and get himself looking like a civilized person again.

He told of these plans to the others, including Flask who seemed to look a little sobered up. The plan wouldn’t need much time, either. Sails, a few stitches, some weights, a prayer just to keep the ghosts out, done.

¤

”I’d like to stay on dry land for the rest of my life.. if it’s all the same to you, sir,” the man managed to reply. Either because of the shock or because of poor meals and fastly drank spirits he’d began to look a little tipsy. ”Have you got any idea what’s out there?”

Several curious (including Bulkington) had already began gathering around.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb snorted. He didn't allow his face to darken or his posture to slacken when thinking about what exactly he'd seen out there, because this was no time to dwell on the misery. They were safe. They were enjoying themselves. They were boozing it up!

“You’d be surprised! D’you want a drink, kid?”

//

Flask chewed the inside of his cheek. A habit that seemed more and more prevalent recently. It was grounding, he supposed, even if it probably meant the inside of his mouth was slightly worse for wear. He didn't often taste blood, at least. But when he did, he felt lucky to be tasting anything. Chewing his mouth was better than chewing nothing, some part of him thought.

“Sir, if it ain't too much to ask,” He murmured to Starbuck, choosing his words carefully. Now probably wasn't the right time, but nothing would be the right time. Everytime you thought you could have a moment of rest, something else happened! “How long do we suppose we're planning to stay docked here?”

Of course, they'd have to get moving eventually. They had to get home. But there was plenty still to do on the island, and after the last fiasco, Flask didn't quite want to leave just yet. Besides, they needed to bury the task at hand.

[mister-starbuck]

"Sure, sir," the man replied. He was in the somewhat lucky situation that it was absolutely useless to rob him because he had nothing on his name, even if the stranger's plans were to get him blackout drunk and attempt emptying his pockets. His gifted money had gone to a few nights in the inn and the two drinks he'd just had. He'd gone from crying to wondering how it had happened. It had started like any other chase. Any other.

//

"As little while as possible. Most of the provisions should arrive tomorrow or the days after. We're still low on crew, although we can make it to Lima with whom we have. There's no doctor to be found here, we'll need a bigger place for that," Starbuck replied. And pray for no accidents, he thought, but didn't dare to tempt fate with saying it out loud. "And because we're going to Lima in any case, we can leave earlier. A ship like ours needs more things to be fully stocked than this island can really sell, even if they'd be willing to."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“And how far would we be to Lima?” It was a silly question, but Flask wasn't thinking about keeping his questions quiet right now. It was keep your mouth shut and risk dying over something stupid, or survive.

“We can't leave here immediately. After experiencing something like that? The crew need hope to hold onto. That hope is this, dry land. If we take it from them too quickly to make some renewed impact, they'll be angry. We'll risk mutiny and losing more men.”

Mister Flask wasn't sure when he'd started to think so much. He wasn't sure he liked it— but he'd have to suck it up and get on with it, didn't he? Stubb was always saying something about adapting to what happens. He'd managed to do that unconsciously, adapt to the circumstances. It was that or die, and Flask wanted to live.

[mister-starbuck]

I want home, Starbuck thought but didn't say it. "Month or two, depending on the weather. Then about one year to home. But we could do shore leaves a little more frequently. It was him that was against them."

Ishmael and Queequeg had began trying to get the dead into their little coffins of sails. Starbuck went to help and tried not to look at the details too much. Ishmael had to take breaks and stare at something else for a while, too.

"The best I can think of is one week here. Reason being, this," Starbuck said and nodded at the bodies. "If they're found, we're in trouble. So if anyone has ideas on how to make sure that won't happen, tell me."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask nodded along. A week was good enough. A week meant they could recover, but wouldn't get too used to land to leave. A week meant they wouldn't be suspicious in leaving.

“Don’t talk about them, don't make reference to them. Don't even think about them unless someone else brings them up.” He didn't help the others. He had no intention of doing something like that again, and he had no reason to explain why.

“But if someone does, don't avoid the subject. It'll make it worse. Don't go into too much detail, don't say too little. We haven't seen them since they hightailed it off the ship. Don't do anything that could draw any kinda suspicion.”

He couldn't care less if his cautiousness gave away past experiences. If one of them saw fit to bring him down, which Flask heavily doubted they would, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to all three of them, as much as he respected the men.

[mister-starbuck]

Aren't you going to do anything, Starbuck wondered a little annoyed. Then again Flask hadn't killed anyone. Not that there wasn't some rumours going on. Then again most of the rumours concerning anyone was very likely heresay that'd got amplified by years of boredom. Then again he hadn't dared to inquire of anyone's past from Fedallah who surely could get to the heart of things.

"I know how to lie," Starbuck admitted. Although his lies had been mostly lying to his parents of where here'd been. Several young couples had joined the effort. When asked they had all been 'in the field reading the Bible' when in reality each had sneaked to a private setting of their own with a special someone. To make it perfect they had actually read the segments in advance just in case someone would ask. It was the only thing he could think of to keep himself distanced enough from what he was actually doing. Covering the tracks, finding rocks for weights. He told Flask to keep lookout just in case some unfortunate would get too close.

Eventually they got the bodies in their impromptu-hammocks. It had got completely dark. The burial was fast as usual. they 'rented' the boat again, rowed to the shelter of the ship, said the words, done.

Starbuck got to the ship to change out of the bloody clothes. He looked a little pale, a little too wary of his own shadow. Fedallah made him take a drink and stitched up the worst of the scratches. Luckily Starbuck could just wear the cravat to hide both the stitches and the bandages. The other on the side of his wrist was a common enough sight. He could just lie that he'd 'had enough', which wasn't technically a lie. He had considered something extremely stupid before he'd got attacked. Starbuck returned to the others, looking a little ill for the whole thing.

"Shoud we go back to the inn?" Ishmael wondered. He was getting a little hungry. A lot of activities had taken place. Rowing and sewing and dragging dead weight and.. something else earlier.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask’s hands felt strange. Like a liquid had dried on them.

He knew full well what it was, and that he was imagining it. Phantom blood coating his palms, digging under his fingernails, that he was unable to scrub out for weeks. Taunting him, almost. It had haunted him for an awful long while the first time 'round, he sincerely hoped it didn't this time. He didn't actually hurt anyone himself.

The cool night air felt stifling on his body, the sour smell of sweat seemed to follow him wherever he went— though that might've just been the fact that everyone he'd been around for the past few years at this point had been a sailor. There was a tang on his tongue, and the man couldn't quite tell if he'd finally managed to chew through his cheek or if it was in his head.

Ishmael did them all a favour by breaking the silence.

“Yeah, we should go back. Can't imagine they've missed us much.”

Best case scenario, nobody noticed they'd even left.

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck didn't feel like he wanted to be around people at all. He knew it was for the best. He felt dead tired when the adrenaline had gone down. The scratches felt itchy and hurting. Queequeg didn't look too affected even if he'd done most of it. Starbuck wondered how he could ever pay this debt back. If everything went well, it was because of him that Mary hadn't turned to a widow tonight.

He noticed Ishmael looking at himself like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Curious eyes and far too much going on behind them.

"We probably should, and we have to return this boat, too," Starbuck said.

// In the inn no-one had indeed noticed anyone leaving or going. They had started to get some elusive details out of the stranger. When they had inquired which ship he'd arrived with, he'd given the name. Then the next question had been where the ship was now when the Pequod was the only ship that had arrived in a few days. The man had replied 'gone' with the expression that he surely didn't want to talk about it. People started offering him drinks, someone offered a spare shirt and trousers for a tale. Someone else offered to pay for his stay in the inn. Curious, curious people.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb raised his eyebrows, having slotted himself right next to that poor sailor, fiddling with his pipe in one hand and holding a pint in the other.

“Didn’t happen to be to do with a whale of any kind, did it?”

The man purposefully left out any specific details. A white whale. By the name of Moby Dick. He wouldn't sound like Ahab, Stubb promised himself. Spouting off about some practically mythical beast and working himself up into a frenzy once the ship was too far from shore for the crew to decide that their captain was crazy and call it quits.

No, he wasn't like that at all.

Going crazy was gonna be Starbuck’scurse, if anything. Maybe Flask’s. But not his, he was sure of it. Sure man, mad men, what's the difference?

“It was a whaling ship, wasn't it?”

He was so absorbed in his conversation (or interrogation) that he didn't notice the returning men from his own ship.

[mister-starbuck]

The stranger turned to look at Stubb a little too fast. "It was a whaler, yes."

There was a pause. "With thirty-two men. Was."

He looked like he was about to start crying again. For some odd reason he didn't. He hadn't noticed the others arriving. Someone offered him food, he ate a little.

Starbuck got the details from someone that had been in the inn for the whole night. Suddenly a drink seemed like a good idea. Ishmael looked at him with disbelief when he downed two in one go and fidgeted with his cross trying to understand what had happened. Fate chose someone else. That's their Ishmael, he thought. They said there was a sail in the horizon just before we met... It.

"And it's got a lot to do with a whale," the stranger continued. He felt too distanced from the whole thing. He thought that he could've stayed here, somehow. Never, ever step on a boat of any kind ever again.

Starbuck had gone so pale that Queequeg stood closer to him just in case he'd actually pass out.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“Is it your first time out?” There was a sense of morbid fascination in Stubb’s tone. That, an attempt at comforting the poor young man, and deja vu.

(Moby Dick was just a great big whale, it couldn't have been it, surely! Any thought of him, of it, was just the lasting paranoia of Captain Ahab refusing to just die.)

The first mate glanced 'round the inn as he spoke, finally noticing the returning faces of his crewmates. He raised his eyebrows at Flask, who shrugged in return. “Can’t imagine a worse thing t’happen.” He patted the young man's shoulder. (Was it too forward to make a business offer? They were short of men on the Pequod, and the kid might want passage home. Perhaps his brother-in-law would applaud him for the forward thinking.)

“Wasn’t a specific whale, was it?”

[mister-starbuck]

"Not a first time out, no.. first and last on whaler, yes," the man continued. He hadn't noticed how the curious others kept quiet and waited for him to continue. "Or not if I want home from here."

"Spesific whale? Why would you ask, sir.. well," he started. "You're gonna think I'm a little mad but I swear on my soul this won't be a lie."

Starbuck had a bad feeling from the man's tale already. Now it got worse. I know what happened, he thought. I know. I just don't want to think of it. He saw how Ishmael stared at the man with a little too wide eyes, a little too aghast look. He knows, too, Starbuck thought. Has Fedallah told him that it's him that was going to survive?

"Well, it happened fast. I wasn't on the ship when it happened, I was rowing.. we.. It's.. well," The man took a drink, calmed himself down for a while. "They said it could happen and then I was there, holding onto the oar and watching as it happened. The ship was here, then it wasn't. The boats were there, then they weren't. It seemed to know what it was doing."

Starbuck thought of the coin that had turned around on its own. Fate had wanted thirty-two dead and a sunken ship. The coin had been thrown for someone else. He felt guilty, knew that there was no sensible reason for it.

The man looked around himself. "The whale was white."

Queequeg had thought that Starbuck was the one that looked like he was about to pass out and had looked at him to be able to catch him. He didn't notice Ishmael swaying during the tale, only realized him beginning to collapse on his side.

[mister-starbuck]

THE LONG WAY HOME VOL 8

EDITOR’S NOTE, PREVIOUSLY: Ahab has been killed, along with several others. The ship has been haunted by his ghost. The crew has managed to sail to Tahiti for more food, water and crew if that is possible. Starbuck, as the new Captain, has fired several men that attempted knifing Fedallah. This backfired when the said men attacked Starbuck, but are now all dead because he wasn’t alone after all. In the inn Stubb and Bulkington have encountered a strange shipwreck-survivor. Meanwhile Starbuck, Flask, Ishmael, Queequeg and Fedallah are teaming up to bury the dead before anyone notices. Statistics: 1 sunken ship (not the Pequod), 35 drowned men (see previous), 6 killed men (Ahab, the ships doctor, 4 sailors), 1 killed whale, 3 (?) mutinies, god only knows how many murder attempts

//// @mrstubb-2ndmate WROTE ////

Stubb hadn't noticed much difference in who was gone. He gathered that Flask had slipped off, but that could've been easily explained by any number of things. Perhaps he’s off trying butter for the first time in an eternity. The man mused, his arm thrown around another drunken stranger, caterwauling any old song that came to mind.

What he did notice, though, even in his state, was the bedraggled man looking like he'd just crawled back from the gates of hell. Didn't miss how Bulkington looked at him too. A shipwrecked sailor, alright. Stubb wanted to snort, sticking his pipe in his mouth, but held his tongue just quick enough to remember that there was a good chance the man was a shipwrecked sailor.

He slid down from his perch on some table, away from his new comrades of a roaring, woozy choir, and stumbled right on over to the man, who was now crying.

Couldn't help but be a bit nosy, huh?

“Cheer up now, lad, you're on dry land!” The first-mate offered, grinning through his teeth. Which, in fairness, probably didn't do much to help.

//// END QUOTE ////

Ishmael and Queequeg returned with the ’borrowed’ boat and the utterly wrecked and nearly-forgotten sail for a fabric.

Starbuck didn’t really do much else than stare at the blood drying in his hands. He tried to think of it with reason. The bay was too shallow for a burial, which meant that they had to wait for night or sneak the bodies onboard the ship, hide them somewhere (God knew it would be the barrels). Then he thought of it. That wasn’t a good plan, either. They had to get rid of the bodies as soon as possible, before they’d start rotting. Which meant tonight but deeper water. Perhaps using the ship herself as cover and just praying nothing got close enough to witness anything. It they kept the lights down it’d be as dark as the surrounding night. It was already gone dark. Besides he had to return to the ship and get himself looking like a civilized person again.

He told of these plans to the others, including Flask who seemed to look a little sobered up. The plan wouldn’t need much time, either. Sails, a few stitches, some weights, a prayer just to keep the ghosts out, done.

¤

”I’d like to stay on dry land for the rest of my life.. if it’s all the same to you, sir,” the man managed to reply. Either because of the shock or because of poor meals and fastly drank spirits he’d began to look a little tipsy. ”Have you got any idea what’s out there?”

Several curious (including Bulkington) had already began gathering around.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb snorted. He didn't allow his face to darken or his posture to slacken when thinking about what exactly he'd seen out there, because this was no time to dwell on the misery. They were safe. They were enjoying themselves. They were boozing it up!

“You’d be surprised! D’you want a drink, kid?”

//

Flask chewed the inside of his cheek. A habit that seemed more and more prevalent recently. It was grounding, he supposed, even if it probably meant the inside of his mouth was slightly worse for wear. He didn't often taste blood, at least. But when he did, he felt lucky to be tasting anything. Chewing his mouth was better than chewing nothing, some part of him thought.

“Sir, if it ain't too much to ask,” He murmured to Starbuck, choosing his words carefully. Now probably wasn't the right time, but nothing would be the right time. Everytime you thought you could have a moment of rest, something else happened! “How long do we suppose we're planning to stay docked here?”

Of course, they'd have to get moving eventually. They had to get home. But there was plenty still to do on the island, and after the last fiasco, Flask didn't quite want to leave just yet. Besides, they needed to bury the task at hand.

[mister-starbuck]

"Sure, sir," the man replied. He was in the somewhat lucky situation that it was absolutely useless to rob him because he had nothing on his name, even if the stranger's plans were to get him blackout drunk and attempt emptying his pockets. His gifted money had gone to a few nights in the inn and the two drinks he'd just had. He'd gone from crying to wondering how it had happened. It had started like any other chase. Any other.

//

"As little while as possible. Most of the provisions should arrive tomorrow or the days after. We're still low on crew, although we can make it to Lima with whom we have. There's no doctor to be found here, we'll need a bigger place for that," Starbuck replied. And pray for no accidents, he thought, but didn't dare to tempt fate with saying it out loud. "And because we're going to Lima in any case, we can leave earlier. A ship like ours needs more things to be fully stocked than this island can really sell, even if they'd be willing to."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“And how far would we be to Lima?” It was a silly question, but Flask wasn't thinking about keeping his questions quiet right now. It was keep your mouth shut and risk dying over something stupid, or survive.

“We can't leave here immediately. After experiencing something like that? The crew need hope to hold onto. That hope is this, dry land. If we take it from them too quickly to make some renewed impact, they'll be angry. We'll risk mutiny and losing more men.”

Mister Flask wasn't sure when he'd started to think so much. He wasn't sure he liked it— but he'd have to suck it up and get on with it, didn't he? Stubb was always saying something about adapting to what happens. He'd managed to do that unconsciously, adapt to the circumstances. It was that or die, and Flask wanted to live.

[mister-starbuck]

I want home, Starbuck thought but didn't say it. "Month or two, depending on the weather. Then about one year to home. But we could do shore leaves a little more frequently. It was him that was against them."

Ishmael and Queequeg had began trying to get the dead into their little coffins of sails. Starbuck went to help and tried not to look at the details too much. Ishmael had to take breaks and stare at something else for a while, too.

"The best I can think of is one week here. Reason being, this," Starbuck said and nodded at the bodies. "If they're found, we're in trouble. So if anyone has ideas on how to make sure that won't happen, tell me."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask nodded along. A week was good enough. A week meant they could recover, but wouldn't get too used to land to leave. A week meant they wouldn't be suspicious in leaving.

“Don’t talk about them, don't make reference to them. Don't even think about them unless someone else brings them up.” He didn't help the others. He had no intention of doing something like that again, and he had no reason to explain why.

“But if someone does, don't avoid the subject. It'll make it worse. Don't go into too much detail, don't say too little. We haven't seen them since they hightailed it off the ship. Don't do anything that could draw any kinda suspicion.”

He couldn't care less if his cautiousness gave away past experiences. If one of them saw fit to bring him down, which Flask heavily doubted they would, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to all three of them, as much as he respected the men.

[mister-starbuck]

Aren't you going to do anything, Starbuck wondered a little annoyed. Then again Flask hadn't killed anyone. Not that there wasn't some rumours going on. Then again most of the rumours concerning anyone was very likely heresay that'd got amplified by years of boredom. Then again he hadn't dared to inquire of anyone's past from Fedallah who surely could get to the heart of things.

"I know how to lie," Starbuck admitted. Although his lies had been mostly lying to his parents of where here'd been. Several young couples had joined the effort. When asked they had all been 'in the field reading the Bible' when in reality each had sneaked to a private setting of their own with a special someone. To make it perfect they had actually read the segments in advance just in case someone would ask. It was the only thing he could think of to keep himself distanced enough from what he was actually doing. Covering the tracks, finding rocks for weights. He told Flask to keep lookout just in case some unfortunate would get too close.

Eventually they got the bodies in their impromptu-hammocks. It had got completely dark. The burial was fast as usual. they 'rented' the boat again, rowed to the shelter of the ship, said the words, done.

Starbuck got to the ship to change out of the bloody clothes. He looked a little pale, a little too wary of his own shadow. Fedallah made him take a drink and stitched up the worst of the scratches. Luckily Starbuck could just wear the cravat to hide both the stitches and the bandages. The other on the side of his wrist was a common enough sight. He could just lie that he'd 'had enough', which wasn't technically a lie. He had considered something extremely stupid before he'd got attacked. Starbuck returned to the others, looking a little ill for the whole thing.

"Shoud we go back to the inn?" Ishmael wondered. He was getting a little hungry. A lot of activities had taken place. Rowing and sewing and dragging dead weight and.. something else earlier.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask’s hands felt strange. Like a liquid had dried on them.

He knew full well what it was, and that he was imagining it. Phantom blood coating his palms, digging under his fingernails, that he was unable to scrub out for weeks. Taunting him, almost. It had haunted him for an awful long while the first time 'round, he sincerely hoped it didn't this time. He didn't actually hurt anyone himself.

The cool night air felt stifling on his body, the sour smell of sweat seemed to follow him wherever he went— though that might've just been the fact that everyone he'd been around for the past few years at this point had been a sailor. There was a tang on his tongue, and the man couldn't quite tell if he'd finally managed to chew through his cheek or if it was in his head.

Ishmael did them all a favour by breaking the silence.

“Yeah, we should go back. Can't imagine they've missed us much.”

Best case scenario, nobody noticed they'd even left.

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck didn't feel like he wanted to be around people at all. He knew it was for the best. He felt dead tired when the adrenaline had gone down. The scratches felt itchy and hurting. Queequeg didn't look too affected even if he'd done most of it. Starbuck wondered how he could ever pay this debt back. If everything went well, it was because of him that Mary hadn't turned to a widow tonight.

He noticed Ishmael looking at himself like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Curious eyes and far too much going on behind them.

"We probably should, and we have to return this boat, too," Starbuck said.

// In the inn no-one had indeed noticed anyone leaving or going. They had started to get some elusive details out of the stranger. When they had inquired which ship he'd arrived with, he'd given the name. Then the next question had been where the ship was now when the Pequod was the only ship that had arrived in a few days. The man had replied 'gone' with the expression that he surely didn't want to talk about it. People started offering him drinks, someone offered a spare shirt and trousers for a tale. Someone else offered to pay for his stay in the inn. Curious, curious people.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb raised his eyebrows, having slotted himself right next to that poor sailor, fiddling with his pipe in one hand and holding a pint in the other.

“Didn’t happen to be to do with a whale of any kind, did it?”

The man purposefully left out any specific details. A white whale. By the name of Moby Dick. He wouldn't sound like Ahab, Stubb promised himself. Spouting off about some practically mythical beast and working himself up into a frenzy once the ship was too far from shore for the crew to decide that their captain was crazy and call it quits.

No, he wasn't like that at all.

Going crazy was gonna be Starbuck’scurse, if anything. Maybe Flask’s. But not his, he was sure of it. Sure man, mad men, what's the difference?

“It was a whaling ship, wasn't it?”

He was so absorbed in his conversation (or interrogation) that he didn't notice the returning men from his own ship.

[mister-starbuck]

The stranger turned to look at Stubb a little too fast. "It was a whaler, yes."

There was a pause. "With thirty-two men. Was."

He looked like he was about to start crying again. For some odd reason he didn't. He hadn't noticed the others arriving. Someone offered him food, he ate a little.

Starbuck got the details from someone that had been in the inn for the whole night. Suddenly a drink seemed like a good idea. Ishmael looked at him with disbelief when he downed two in one go and fidgeted with his cross trying to understand what had happened. Fate chose someone else. That's their Ishmael, he thought. They said there was a sail in the horizon just before we met... It.

"And it's got a lot to do with a whale," the stranger continued. He felt too distanced from the whole thing. He thought that he could've stayed here, somehow. Never, ever step on a boat of any kind ever again.

Starbuck had gone so pale that Queequeg stood closer to him just in case he'd actually pass out.

[mister-starbuck]

THE LONG WAY HOME VOL 8

EDITOR’S NOTE, PREVIOUSLY: Ahab has been killed, along with several others. The ship has been haunted by his ghost. The crew has managed to sail to Tahiti for more food, water and crew if that is possible. Starbuck, as the new Captain, has fired several men that attempted knifing Fedallah. This backfired when the said men attacked Starbuck, but are now all dead because he wasn’t alone after all. In the inn Stubb and Bulkington have encountered a strange shipwreck-survivor. Meanwhile Starbuck, Flask, Ishmael, Queequeg and Fedallah are teaming up to bury the dead before anyone notices. Statistics: 1 sunken ship (not the Pequod), 35 drowned men (see previous), 6 killed men (Ahab, the ships doctor, 4 sailors), 1 killed whale, 3 (?) mutinies, god only knows how many murder attempts

//// @mrstubb-2ndmate WROTE ////

Stubb hadn't noticed much difference in who was gone. He gathered that Flask had slipped off, but that could've been easily explained by any number of things. Perhaps he’s off trying butter for the first time in an eternity. The man mused, his arm thrown around another drunken stranger, caterwauling any old song that came to mind.

What he did notice, though, even in his state, was the bedraggled man looking like he'd just crawled back from the gates of hell. Didn't miss how Bulkington looked at him too. A shipwrecked sailor, alright. Stubb wanted to snort, sticking his pipe in his mouth, but held his tongue just quick enough to remember that there was a good chance the man was a shipwrecked sailor.

He slid down from his perch on some table, away from his new comrades of a roaring, woozy choir, and stumbled right on over to the man, who was now crying.

Couldn't help but be a bit nosy, huh?

“Cheer up now, lad, you're on dry land!” The first-mate offered, grinning through his teeth. Which, in fairness, probably didn't do much to help.

//// END QUOTE ////

Ishmael and Queequeg returned with the ’borrowed’ boat and the utterly wrecked and nearly-forgotten sail for a fabric.

Starbuck didn’t really do much else than stare at the blood drying in his hands. He tried to think of it with reason. The bay was too shallow for a burial, which meant that they had to wait for night or sneak the bodies onboard the ship, hide them somewhere (God knew it would be the barrels). Then he thought of it. That wasn’t a good plan, either. They had to get rid of the bodies as soon as possible, before they’d start rotting. Which meant tonight but deeper water. Perhaps using the ship herself as cover and just praying nothing got close enough to witness anything. It they kept the lights down it’d be as dark as the surrounding night. It was already gone dark. Besides he had to return to the ship and get himself looking like a civilized person again.

He told of these plans to the others, including Flask who seemed to look a little sobered up. The plan wouldn’t need much time, either. Sails, a few stitches, some weights, a prayer just to keep the ghosts out, done.

¤

”I’d like to stay on dry land for the rest of my life.. if it’s all the same to you, sir,” the man managed to reply. Either because of the shock or because of poor meals and fastly drank spirits he’d began to look a little tipsy. ”Have you got any idea what’s out there?”

Several curious (including Bulkington) had already began gathering around.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb snorted. He didn't allow his face to darken or his posture to slacken when thinking about what exactly he'd seen out there, because this was no time to dwell on the misery. They were safe. They were enjoying themselves. They were boozing it up!

“You’d be surprised! D’you want a drink, kid?”

//

Flask chewed the inside of his cheek. A habit that seemed more and more prevalent recently. It was grounding, he supposed, even if it probably meant the inside of his mouth was slightly worse for wear. He didn't often taste blood, at least. But when he did, he felt lucky to be tasting anything. Chewing his mouth was better than chewing nothing, some part of him thought.

“Sir, if it ain't too much to ask,” He murmured to Starbuck, choosing his words carefully. Now probably wasn't the right time, but nothing would be the right time. Everytime you thought you could have a moment of rest, something else happened! “How long do we suppose we're planning to stay docked here?”

Of course, they'd have to get moving eventually. They had to get home. But there was plenty still to do on the island, and after the last fiasco, Flask didn't quite want to leave just yet. Besides, they needed to bury the task at hand.

[mister-starbuck]

"Sure, sir," the man replied. He was in the somewhat lucky situation that it was absolutely useless to rob him because he had nothing on his name, even if the stranger's plans were to get him blackout drunk and attempt emptying his pockets. His gifted money had gone to a few nights in the inn and the two drinks he'd just had. He'd gone from crying to wondering how it had happened. It had started like any other chase. Any other.

//

"As little while as possible. Most of the provisions should arrive tomorrow or the days after. We're still low on crew, although we can make it to Lima with whom we have. There's no doctor to be found here, we'll need a bigger place for that," Starbuck replied. And pray for no accidents, he thought, but didn't dare to tempt fate with saying it out loud. "And because we're going to Lima in any case, we can leave earlier. A ship like ours needs more things to be fully stocked than this island can really sell, even if they'd be willing to."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“And how far would we be to Lima?” It was a silly question, but Flask wasn't thinking about keeping his questions quiet right now. It was keep your mouth shut and risk dying over something stupid, or survive.

“We can't leave here immediately. After experiencing something like that? The crew need hope to hold onto. That hope is this, dry land. If we take it from them too quickly to make some renewed impact, they'll be angry. We'll risk mutiny and losing more men.”

Mister Flask wasn't sure when he'd started to think so much. He wasn't sure he liked it— but he'd have to suck it up and get on with it, didn't he? Stubb was always saying something about adapting to what happens. He'd managed to do that unconsciously, adapt to the circumstances. It was that or die, and Flask wanted to live.

[mister-starbuck]

I want home, Starbuck thought but didn't say it. "Month or two, depending on the weather. Then about one year to home. But we could do shore leaves a little more frequently. It was him that was against them."

Ishmael and Queequeg had began trying to get the dead into their little coffins of sails. Starbuck went to help and tried not to look at the details too much. Ishmael had to take breaks and stare at something else for a while, too.

"The best I can think of is one week here. Reason being, this," Starbuck said and nodded at the bodies. "If they're found, we're in trouble. So if anyone has ideas on how to make sure that won't happen, tell me."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask nodded along. A week was good enough. A week meant they could recover, but wouldn't get too used to land to leave. A week meant they wouldn't be suspicious in leaving.

“Don’t talk about them, don't make reference to them. Don't even think about them unless someone else brings them up.” He didn't help the others. He had no intention of doing something like that again, and he had no reason to explain why.

“But if someone does, don't avoid the subject. It'll make it worse. Don't go into too much detail, don't say too little. We haven't seen them since they hightailed it off the ship. Don't do anything that could draw any kinda suspicion.”

He couldn't care less if his cautiousness gave away past experiences. If one of them saw fit to bring him down, which Flask heavily doubted they would, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to all three of them, as much as he respected the men.

[mister-starbuck]

Aren't you going to do anything, Starbuck wondered a little annoyed. Then again Flask hadn't killed anyone. Not that there wasn't some rumours going on. Then again most of the rumours concerning anyone was very likely heresay that'd got amplified by years of boredom. Then again he hadn't dared to inquire of anyone's past from Fedallah who surely could get to the heart of things.

"I know how to lie," Starbuck admitted. Although his lies had been mostly lying to his parents of where here'd been. Several young couples had joined the effort. When asked they had all been 'in the field reading the Bible' when in reality each had sneaked to a private setting of their own with a special someone. To make it perfect they had actually read the segments in advance just in case someone would ask. It was the only thing he could think of to keep himself distanced enough from what he was actually doing. Covering the tracks, finding rocks for weights. He told Flask to keep lookout just in case some unfortunate would get too close.

Eventually they got the bodies in their impromptu-hammocks. It had got completely dark. The burial was fast as usual. they 'rented' the boat again, rowed to the shelter of the ship, said the words, done.

Starbuck got to the ship to change out of the bloody clothes. He looked a little pale, a little too wary of his own shadow. Fedallah made him take a drink and stitched up the worst of the scratches. Luckily Starbuck could just wear the cravat to hide both the stitches and the bandages. The other on the side of his wrist was a common enough sight. He could just lie that he'd 'had enough', which wasn't technically a lie. He had considered something extremely stupid before he'd got attacked. Starbuck returned to the others, looking a little ill for the whole thing.

"Shoud we go back to the inn?" Ishmael wondered. He was getting a little hungry. A lot of activities had taken place. Rowing and sewing and dragging dead weight and.. something else earlier.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask’s hands felt strange. Like a liquid had dried on them.

He knew full well what it was, and that he was imagining it. Phantom blood coating his palms, digging under his fingernails, that he was unable to scrub out for weeks. Taunting him, almost. It had haunted him for an awful long while the first time 'round, he sincerely hoped it didn't this time. He didn't actually hurt anyone himself.

The cool night air felt stifling on his body, the sour smell of sweat seemed to follow him wherever he went— though that might've just been the fact that everyone he'd been around for the past few years at this point had been a sailor. There was a tang on his tongue, and the man couldn't quite tell if he'd finally managed to chew through his cheek or if it was in his head.

Ishmael did them all a favour by breaking the silence.

“Yeah, we should go back. Can't imagine they've missed us much.”

Best case scenario, nobody noticed they'd even left.

[mister-starbuck]

Starbuck didn't feel like he wanted to be around people at all. He knew it was for the best. He felt dead tired when the adrenaline had gone down. The scratches felt itchy and hurting. Queequeg didn't look too affected even if he'd done most of it. Starbuck wondered how he could ever pay this debt back. If everything went well, it was because of him that Mary hadn't turned to a widow tonight.

He noticed Ishmael looking at himself like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Curious eyes and far too much going on behind them.

"We probably should, and we have to return this boat, too," Starbuck said.

// In the inn no-one had indeed noticed anyone leaving or going. They had started to get some elusive details out of the stranger. When they had inquired which ship he'd arrived with, he'd given the name. Then the next question had been where the ship was now when the Pequod was the only ship that had arrived in a few days. The man had replied 'gone' with the expression that he surely didn't want to talk about it. People started offering him drinks, someone offered a spare shirt and trousers for a tale. Someone else offered to pay for his stay in the inn. Curious, curious people.

[mister-starbuck]

THE LONG WAY HOME VOL 8

EDITOR’S NOTE, PREVIOUSLY: Ahab has been killed, along with several others. The ship has been haunted by his ghost. The crew has managed to sail to Tahiti for more food, water and crew if that is possible. Starbuck, as the new Captain, has fired several men that attempted knifing Fedallah. This backfired when the said men attacked Starbuck, but are now all dead because he wasn’t alone after all. In the inn Stubb and Bulkington have encountered a strange shipwreck-survivor. Meanwhile Starbuck, Flask, Ishmael, Queequeg and Fedallah are teaming up to bury the dead before anyone notices. Statistics: 1 sunken ship (not the Pequod), 35 drowned men (see previous), 6 killed men (Ahab, the ships doctor, 4 sailors), 1 killed whale, 3 (?) mutinies, god only knows how many murder attempts

//// @mrstubb-2ndmate WROTE ////

Stubb hadn't noticed much difference in who was gone. He gathered that Flask had slipped off, but that could've been easily explained by any number of things. Perhaps he’s off trying butter for the first time in an eternity. The man mused, his arm thrown around another drunken stranger, caterwauling any old song that came to mind.

What he did notice, though, even in his state, was the bedraggled man looking like he'd just crawled back from the gates of hell. Didn't miss how Bulkington looked at him too. A shipwrecked sailor, alright. Stubb wanted to snort, sticking his pipe in his mouth, but held his tongue just quick enough to remember that there was a good chance the man was a shipwrecked sailor.

He slid down from his perch on some table, away from his new comrades of a roaring, woozy choir, and stumbled right on over to the man, who was now crying.

Couldn't help but be a bit nosy, huh?

“Cheer up now, lad, you're on dry land!” The first-mate offered, grinning through his teeth. Which, in fairness, probably didn't do much to help.

//// END QUOTE ////

Ishmael and Queequeg returned with the ’borrowed’ boat and the utterly wrecked and nearly-forgotten sail for a fabric.

Starbuck didn’t really do much else than stare at the blood drying in his hands. He tried to think of it with reason. The bay was too shallow for a burial, which meant that they had to wait for night or sneak the bodies onboard the ship, hide them somewhere (God knew it would be the barrels). Then he thought of it. That wasn’t a good plan, either. They had to get rid of the bodies as soon as possible, before they’d start rotting. Which meant tonight but deeper water. Perhaps using the ship herself as cover and just praying nothing got close enough to witness anything. It they kept the lights down it’d be as dark as the surrounding night. It was already gone dark. Besides he had to return to the ship and get himself looking like a civilized person again.

He told of these plans to the others, including Flask who seemed to look a little sobered up. The plan wouldn’t need much time, either. Sails, a few stitches, some weights, a prayer just to keep the ghosts out, done.

¤

”I’d like to stay on dry land for the rest of my life.. if it’s all the same to you, sir,” the man managed to reply. Either because of the shock or because of poor meals and fastly drank spirits he’d began to look a little tipsy. ”Have you got any idea what’s out there?”

Several curious (including Bulkington) had already began gathering around.

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Stubb snorted. He didn't allow his face to darken or his posture to slacken when thinking about what exactly he'd seen out there, because this was no time to dwell on the misery. They were safe. They were enjoying themselves. They were boozing it up!

“You’d be surprised! D’you want a drink, kid?”

//

Flask chewed the inside of his cheek. A habit that seemed more and more prevalent recently. It was grounding, he supposed, even if it probably meant the inside of his mouth was slightly worse for wear. He didn't often taste blood, at least. But when he did, he felt lucky to be tasting anything. Chewing his mouth was better than chewing nothing, some part of him thought.

“Sir, if it ain't too much to ask,” He murmured to Starbuck, choosing his words carefully. Now probably wasn't the right time, but nothing would be the right time. Everytime you thought you could have a moment of rest, something else happened! “How long do we suppose we're planning to stay docked here?”

Of course, they'd have to get moving eventually. They had to get home. But there was plenty still to do on the island, and after the last fiasco, Flask didn't quite want to leave just yet. Besides, they needed to bury the task at hand.

[mister-starbuck]

"Sure, sir," the man replied. He was in the somewhat lucky situation that it was absolutely useless to rob him because he had nothing on his name, even if the stranger's plans were to get him blackout drunk and attempt emptying his pockets. His gifted money had gone to a few nights in the inn and the two drinks he'd just had. He'd gone from crying to wondering how it had happened. It had started like any other chase. Any other.

//

"As little while as possible. Most of the provisions should arrive tomorrow or the days after. We're still low on crew, although we can make it to Lima with whom we have. There's no doctor to be found here, we'll need a bigger place for that," Starbuck replied. And pray for no accidents, he thought, but didn't dare to tempt fate with saying it out loud. "And because we're going to Lima in any case, we can leave earlier. A ship like ours needs more things to be fully stocked than this island can really sell, even if they'd be willing to."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

“And how far would we be to Lima?” It was a silly question, but Flask wasn't thinking about keeping his questions quiet right now. It was keep your mouth shut and risk dying over something stupid, or survive.

“We can't leave here immediately. After experiencing something like that? The crew need hope to hold onto. That hope is this, dry land. If we take it from them too quickly to make some renewed impact, they'll be angry. We'll risk mutiny and losing more men.”

Mister Flask wasn't sure when he'd started to think so much. He wasn't sure he liked it— but he'd have to suck it up and get on with it, didn't he? Stubb was always saying something about adapting to what happens. He'd managed to do that unconsciously, adapt to the circumstances. It was that or die, and Flask wanted to live.

[mister-starbuck]

I want home, Starbuck thought but didn't say it. "Month or two, depending on the weather. Then about one year to home. But we could do shore leaves a little more frequently. It was him that was against them."

Ishmael and Queequeg had began trying to get the dead into their little coffins of sails. Starbuck went to help and tried not to look at the details too much. Ishmael had to take breaks and stare at something else for a while, too.

"The best I can think of is one week here. Reason being, this," Starbuck said and nodded at the bodies. "If they're found, we're in trouble. So if anyone has ideas on how to make sure that won't happen, tell me."

[mrstubb-2ndmate]

Flask nodded along. A week was good enough. A week meant they could recover, but wouldn't get too used to land to leave. A week meant they wouldn't be suspicious in leaving.

“Don’t talk about them, don't make reference to them. Don't even think about them unless someone else brings them up.” He didn't help the others. He had no intention of doing something like that again, and he had no reason to explain why.

“But if someone does, don't avoid the subject. It'll make it worse. Don't go into too much detail, don't say too little. We haven't seen them since they hightailed it off the ship. Don't do anything that could draw any kinda suspicion.”

He couldn't care less if his cautiousness gave away past experiences. If one of them saw fit to bring him down, which Flask heavily doubted they would, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to all three of them, as much as he respected the men.

[mister-starbuck]

Aren't you going to do anything, Starbuck wondered a little annoyed. Then again Flask hadn't killed anyone. Not that there wasn't some rumours going on. Then again most of the rumours concerning anyone was very likely heresay that'd got amplified by years of boredom. Then again he hadn't dared to inquire of anyone's past from Fedallah who surely could get to the heart of things.

"I know how to lie," Starbuck admitted. Although his lies had been mostly lying to his parents of where here'd been. Several young couples had joined the effort. When asked they had all been 'in the field reading the Bible' when in reality each had sneaked to a private setting of their own with a special someone. To make it perfect they had actually read the segments in advance just in case someone would ask. It was the only thing he could think of to keep himself distanced enough from what he was actually doing. Covering the tracks, finding rocks for weights. He told Flask to keep lookout just in case some unfortunate would get too close.

Eventually they got the bodies in their impromptu-hammocks. It had got completely dark. The burial was fast as usual. they 'rented' the boat again, rowed to the shelter of the ship, said the words, done.

Starbuck got to the ship to change out of the bloody clothes. He looked a little pale, a little too wary of his own shadow. Fedallah made him take a drink and stitched up the worst of the scratches. Luckily Starbuck could just wear the cravat to hide both the stitches and the bandages. The other on the side of his wrist was a common enough sight. He could just lie that he'd 'had enough', which wasn't technically a lie. He had considered something extremely stupid before he'd got attacked. Starbuck returned to the others, looking a little ill for the whole thing.

"Shoud we go back to the inn?" Ishmael wondered. He was getting a little hungry. A lot of activities had taken place. Rowing and sewing and dragging dead weight and.. something else earlier.