#iranji

[attzi-gearburst]

Day 2 - February 20: Opportunity (Iranji)

Word Count: 675 Summary: Preteen Iranji is going to get out of Zandalar and away from his family. (AKA the short that just made me give in and buy a nautical reference book. At least he only needs to seem vaguely competent in this one.) Warnings: none @daily-writing-challenge

Iranji stood at the docks, a large pack on his back and a developing bruise around his eye, looking at the ships that were in port. He’d just finished talking to the harbormaster to see if she knew of any ships needing additional crew. He rubbed at one of his tusks with a thumb, a habit he picked up when they’d started growing out that year. His eyes were seeking one ship in particular; he had recognized its name, and vaguely knew their quartermaster from his father’s work.

Once he spotted it, he started walking, weaving through crowds of sailors loading and unloading cargo and supplies. He went largely unnoticed, likely due to his height and age, which was welcome. The Gral’s Bounty was at the end of the dock, and nobody challenged him when he came aboard. He asked around, and eventually found the quartermaster down in the hold, cataloging cargo. 

He walked into easy view, and then managed a soft, “Hey.”

The quartermaster looked up. “Iranji? Did your father send you? We don’t need anything repaired today.”

Iranji shook his head. “Looking for work. Want to join up.”

He stood still, letting the other man study him. After roughly thirty seconds of silence, he said, “Captain’s speaking with the navigator in the mess hall, last I saw. Tell him I sent you.”

Iranji nodded and tried not to look relieved. “Thanks,” he said, before turning and heading back up to the deck.

Getting the captain’s attention was enough to make his heart pound in his chest, but he managed to do it after a few moments of awkward standing. He said again that he was looking for work. It felt like he was about to be completely dismissed until Iranji mentioned the quartermaster had sent him.

Again, he was studied. The captain’s attention focused on his black eye. “You’re a little small, aren’t you?”

He forced himself not to bristle by telling himself he was going to get taller soon. He just needed a growth spurt to hit. “Good at repairing ropes and nets. Even better at climbing. And I clean.”

“What has you so keen on leaving Zandalar? You look cared for. You must have family.”

“My mother and sister are gone.” 

Based on the look the captain gave his eye, he didn’t need to explain if his father was still around. 

“Come with me.” The captain strode for the deck, and Iranji slunk after silently.

Once they were back out in the open, the captain grabbed two coils of rope that were waiting to be put away, tossing them to the deck. “Splice these for me.”

Iranji nodded, immediately sinking into a cross-legged sit and finding one end of each rope. He worked quickly, but the captain watched him the entire time, which made it feel like he was making only creeping progress. The captain didn’t say a word, and neither did Iranji, though someone was singing within earshot, and the nearby dock was loud enough to keep the silence from being truly uncomfortable.

Once he had finished, he rose to his feet and silently held out the spliced ropes for inspection. The captain studied his handiwork for a while, tested the splice by tugging on it, and then tried again by tugging with his bodyweight after looping it through the deck railing.  Eventually, he seemed satisfied. “Good work. Do you know your knots?”

Iranji nodded.

The captain beckoned Iranji over to the railing beside him. “Show me.”

His hands shook slightly as he made up every knot the captain asked for, but he must have made a good impression regardless, because the other man kept nodding. After several tests, he gestured for Iranji to put the rope down. After carefully coiling it back up, he did.

“We’ll take you on for one voyage. Anything past that is up to you and how hard you work. Do you understand?”

Iranji nodded and tried not to look relieved.

“You got a name, kid?”

“Iranji.”

The captain held out his hand, and Iranji immediately took it, giving it a firm shake.. “Well, Iranji. Welcome aboard the Gral’s Bounty.”

He left port aboard the Bounty that evening, and didn’t return to Zandalar for a long, long time.

[attzi-gearburst]

Day 1 - February 19:  Weakness (Iranji)

Word Count: 750 Summary: As usual, young Iranji has a hard day at home in Zandalar. Warnings: physical/emotional abuse (his dad is a bad man)  @daily-writing-challenge

Iranji was in the kitchen with his mother and sister, doing the dishes from lunch. His mother was washing, then handing each dish down to him to be dried. He took his job seriously, slowly and methodically drying off each one before handing it to his much taller sister, who would then put it neatly away. His mother and sister were singing songs together as they worked, and occasionally tried to get him to join in, but he just listened. 

He was a very good listener, which is why he was the first to hear the front door open. His eyes went wide, and he looked up at his mother, who immediately recognized that facial expression. She and his sister stopped singing immediately, and the work in the kitchen progressed silently.

“Once we’re done, go play outside, baby,” his mother murmured down to him. 

He nodded. Outside, where his father and brothers wouldn’t be able to track him down so easily? That would be ideal, even if it was really hot out. He could go down to the docks, where there would be a sea breeze, and ships to watch.

He ducked behind his mother when he heard footsteps, but that didn’t stop his father from immediately noticing him when he strode into the kitchen. His father stood, tall and broad, in the doorway, and pointed down at him.

“Your brothers and I need help unloading the cart. We’ve got a lot of nets and ropes to repair and very little time to do it.”

His mother held out a hand to keep Iranji from walking over. “Have Nuhia do it. Iranji can help me finish here.”

His sister stepped forward, but his father shook his head. “Boy needs the exercise.”

“He just got over a fever!”

“He’s always sick,” his father said, waving a hand dismissively. “Iranji. Get over here. And hurry.” 

His father glowered down at him, so he obeyed. He stepped out from behind his mother and silently followed his father out to the cart, which was stacked high with coiled, fraying ropes, tangled nets, and torn nets. Immediately, one of his older brothers tossed a rope at him, which he managed to catch without dropping. 

“Workshop,” his brother ordered.

Half an hour later, Iranji was wheezing, but the cart was nearly empty. He wanted to pause and breathe, but every time he stopped moving, either his father or his two older brothers would glower down at him and raise a hand in warning. So he climbed into the cart to get one of the remaining nets in the back, gathering it up in his arms to bring it to the workshop.

He fell getting out of the cart. The net broke his fall, thankfully, but the impact got him coughing loudly. He tried again to catch his breath, but before he could, a sharp pain in his side took the rest of his breath away. He doubled over, coughing harder, as his father stood over him.

“Get up.”

Iranji tried, but he was struggling to breathe, and only made it to his knees before his father kicked at him again. He doubled over again and lay on the net, quietly wheezing.

“You’re getting too old to play in the house all day, Iranji. Just because you look like a girl doesn’t mean you get to be treated like one in my house,” he heard his father say behind his coughs. “Get up, get that net into the workshop. And if it’s not fully repaired by dinner, you’re not getting any. I’ll find some way to make you carry your weight here.”

His father reached over the side of the cart, grabbing a long coil of rope, and shouldered it effortlessly. Iranji kept an eye on him, making sure he was out of kicking range before he tried to move again. 

Once the man was out of sight, his sister appeared, braving his wrath should she be caught by helping Iranji up. “Thanks,” he said as he tried to stand up straight.

A look of surprise crossed her face. It was rare for anyone to hear him speak. She glanced at the house, and then back down at him. “Come on,” she said, reaching for the rope. “I’ll help you carry this in so you can get started.”

He didn’t want her to get into trouble if she got caught, so Iranji shook his head. He gathered the net back up himself, ignoring the pain in his side, and walked for the workshop. 

His sister didn’t push the issue.

Thankfully, Iranji had the net neatly repaired before it was time for dinner. He might not be physically strong, but he’d always been good with his hands.  

[attzi-gearburst]

Day 5 - February 23: Ambition (Iranji)

Word Count: 800 Summary: Healed and (mostly) recovered from the shipwreck he survived during Cata, Iranji sets his sights on a new ship. Warnings: implied death @daily-writing-challenge 

Iranji was sitting on the top boardwalk of Booty Bay, legs draped over the edge, arms laced through the fencing, with a bottle of whiskey at his hip. He was staring forlornly down over the bay, much as he had been since he was put ashore by the crew that had found him floating in the wreckage of his old ship. The port had seen better days, but it was still functional. He’d seen better days, too, but now that he was (mostly) used to his new eye and (definitely) out of money, it was time to find new work.

He’d heard about what had happened to his hometown, which was a large part of why he hadn’t been seen without a bottle of whiskey at hand in weeks. He knew he should make his way there, and look for survivors, but… he also knew what he had heard about what he would find. And he didn’t want his final memories of his family’s home to be of whatever state it was in now, feet below the water.

There was nothing there for him now, so it was time to return his focus to the sea. 

He had been sitting and watching ships come and go all day, waiting for one that spoke to him. For the past three days, none had, and the sun would be setting in an hour, which meant that no more would be coming in soon. He had half a mind to give up and resume drinking in the tavern, but he wanted to at least be able to say that he spent all day looking.

Just then, a ship came into view around the cape. His eyes went wide, and he stared at her as she was backlit by the fading sun.

She’s the one, he realized immediately; when seen through his odd eye, she nearly glowed. He staggered to his feet, knocking the whiskey bottle over the edge and into the water in the process, and immediately began making his way to the docks. 

Much as he had when he left Zandalar as a child, Iranji inquired at the harbormaster’s office, and quickly found out that the ship was called the Glittering Prize. She had been thrown off-course by the storms, apparently, and had come in to resupply before getting back on her trade route.

Iranji found the captain at the tavern by early evening, and ignored the hush that came over the table when he moved to speak with him.

“Hey,” he said in common. “Looking for work. Buy you a drink?”

The human man looked up at him, expression bemused. “I’ll not say no. You been on the water before?”

Iranji folded into a chair and beckoned a server over, paying for the man’s requested drink immediately, while praying that this worked, because he now only had enough money for one more night and one more meal. “Been sailing fifteen years.”

“Impressive. I hate to admit we’ve got space. Most of us made it out of the storms, but….”

“Not everyone,” Iranji said grimly. “Yeah.” The other people at the table went quiet and stared into their drinks.

The captain gave him a canny nod. “Looking for an ordinary seaman, but we’re largely an Alliance-race crew.”

“Not a problem.” He didn’t explain about his human wife, or his twin girls. The nerve was still too raw.

“Normally I’d be wary, but I think that lack of accent will be a perk, honestly.” The captain took a drink from his tankard when it arrived. “Fifteen years though… unless you’re bad at your job, ordinary seaman might not be the most glamorous position.”

“S’fine. Can work back up.”

“I’m just suggesting, there are other captains here looking to fill out their crew. You might get better pay.”

He shook his head, remembering how strange and perfect the Prize had looked coming in. Someone, or something, was watching over her, and he wanted to do the same. “Your ship’s worth taking a pay cut.”

The captain grinned. “Ha! Man after my own heart. She’s really something special.” Another drink, and then he added, “What’s your name?”

“Iranji.”

“Well, Iranji, thanks for taking care of my staffing issues. Report at dawn, and the first mate will get you settled.”

He held out his hand for the other man to take. “Thank you, Captain…?”

“Ashbury.”

“Captain Ashbury.” Iranji quickly got out of the man’s way and let him get back to his other conversations, choosing to head to his room for one last night on land. He was ready to be on the water again. And if he had the right feeling about the Prize, he was going to stay with her for a good, long while.

[attzi-gearburst]

DWC Day 1 Instinct/Neglect (Iranji)

Word Count: 1500 Summary: Iranji has a nightmare about a bad night from his past. Warnings: drowning, injury, death

@daily-writing-challenge

The storm came out of nowhere in the middle of the night. Iranji woke to the sound of wood cracking and groaning above him just as the ship toppled sideways, knocking him and his crewmates out of their hammocks and onto the floor of the hold. Abovedeck, someone was screaming, but between the roar of the wind and the waves lashing at the ship, it just sounded like noise.

She righted herself, which sent everyone who’d come out of their hammocks rolling. Iranji moved with this out of instinct, using the momentum of the sway to get himself closer to the stairs. He scrambled up them on all fours, and came abovedeck into absolute chaos.

The mast was gone, split and fallen across the middle of the ship, with the sails in the waves and taking on water. It had taken out half of the deck railings as it fell, leaving anyone on board at the mercy of the waves crashing over top of her. The weight of the broken mast had her listing, and that was making it harder for her to bounce back when a wave hit.

“Gotta get the mast off!” he shouted, looking around for anyone else on the crew. Three people scrambled from where they’d been clinging to things that were actually tied down. While they moved, Iranji turned and repeated his shout to the sailors still in the sleeping quarters. That done, he bolted to help the others already trying to shove the broken remains of the mast into the water so that the rest of the ship would be free.

They had to time their shoves carefully; if they pushed when a wave hit from their backs, the ship nearly capsized. Thankfully, his voice carried, and the others listened to his orders to heave and stop. Eventually, the sails themselves did the rest of the work, dragging the last bit of shattered mast into the water like it was being devoured. The ship immediately bobbed back upright, and a few of the people who had helped began to cheer. But Iranji felt anything but relief as he turned his full attention to the storm roiling above them. It was like nothing he had ever seen.

For one brief moment, it felt like the storm was looking back. He froze, rocking on the unsteady ship, staring up into the clouds, frantically trying to think of a way to survive this. Elaina and the girls needed him to come back.

That was his last thought before the lightning struck, coming directly down from the point he’d been staring into. It hit him slightly off-center, taking out his left eye as it used his body as a conduit to reach the ship. The sheer amount of water on the deck caused the bolt to travel further, and several of his crewmates fell to the remains of the deck just as he did.

The pain wracking his body was so strong that he wasn’t even fully aware that he could no longer see on his left side. He needed to breathe, but his lungs wouldn’t obey. He needed to get up, to save the ship, to check on the others, but his legs were useless. And even all of that didn’t seem as crucial as it should, because the sheer amount of pain he was in was preventing his body from working properly. It suffused him. It smothered him.

Elaina. Rhiannon. Reese. Again, he tried to inhale.

Elaina. Rhiannon. Reese. Another failed breath. His remaining vision began to go dim.

Loa save me. I’m not ready to die. My girls need me.

The ship rocked wildly, and an even bigger wave crashed over its side, catching his limp, disobedient body and pushing it right after the mast. The chill shock of the water on seared and whole skin alike was enough to make him finally, finally gasp for air, and he got a single breath in before he began to sink.

Loa save me. I’m not ready to die. My girls need me. He repeated it in his head like a chant as he willed his arms and legs to move. He was a strong swimmer, even in a storm, but this time the storm had struck first. He closed his good eye as he was pulled under by a wave and focused on holding his breath.

Beneath the water, he could hear the groaning of the ship as the waves beat at her mercilessly, but behind it all was the crystalline sound of water droplets hitting the waves, giving the entire debacle a sense of ethereal unreality. It was cold, it was quiet, and the rain was singing to him as he sank deeper into the only place that had ever felt like home.

Eventually, he had to exhale. As he did, he felt something large rise up beneath him, bumping into his back and stopping his descent. The skin of the creature felt like sandpaper, and the shock of it on his bare back made him suck in a breath. Salt water flooded his lungs immediately, and some of the pain he’d felt when the lightning hit returned. He tried to thrash, to do anything to resurface–

Iranji sits bolt upright, nearly falling out of his hammock, and begins gasping for breath.

Loa save me. I’m not ready to die. My girls need me.

Those old thoughts run through his head again, as he spins to drop his legs to the floor, turning his hammock into a chair. He rubs at his odd eye and sighs, trying to dredge up the rest of the memories. Once he did, they would leave him alone for a while.

As he lay dying on the back of the creature that had stopped him from sinking further, he’d heard a voice in his head: Rise. Regenerate. You will not die today. As he blacked out, the thing beneath him had begun to surface. But you will never again love anything as much as you love the sea. There is so much here for you to learn for me.

He’d come to in a gentle rain, draped over a floating crate, lungs achy and wheezy, left side of his body on fire. A large shark was circling around him, but Iranji had been too drained to worry about it for the moment. He’d lain there, focusing on his pain, willing himself to regenerate, because once his wounds were healed he’d be able to figure out how to stay alive.

The eye had taken the longest, and something hadn’t seemed quite right about his vision from that side when it was restored. In the moment, however, he’d been distracted by his left arm and leg: as the wounds healed, what reappeared was not skin, but scales, much like a shark’s. They were darker than his skin, but not as rough to the touch as shark skin would be. He’d shoved all that aside to be dealt with later and turned his attention to his surroundings, looking for his ship, for his crew.

Pieces of both had been in the water surrounding him. Sharks were feeding on the remains of his friends, but any time they’d tried to approach Iranji, the shark circling him had chased them away.

His shark companion had remained with him until a ship that had survived the storm found the wreckage and began to seek survivors. He’d been weak, and incredibly dehydrated, but he’d survived. The strange new crew that had saved him had kept looking at him sidelong, which had caused him to keep to himself when he wasn’t helping with repairs. Eventually, he’d caught sight of himself in a mirror while washing up, and realized why they were all so wary; his vision wasn’t the only thing strange about his newly-regenerated eye.

Iranji stopped rubbing at his odd eye and looked down at his shoulder, where the scales remained. One finger ran along the skin around his eye, where the scales also remained. He knew now that the loa Gral had saved him from drowning that night.

Twelve years after the Cataclysm, and he still didn’t know if Elaina and their daughters had survived, but the last thing Gral had said to him had turned out to be right: since that day, he was only content when he was on the water. And so, he simply hadn’t looked further once he’d learned that their home port was now completely underwater. Heartless? Possibly. But he was well aware that he’d come out of the water different; if she and the girls were still alive, it might be a good thing that they hadn’t been reunited.

He slipped out of his hammock and wove through the sleeping forms of the others until he reached the deck, taking deep, fresh breaths of salt air and enjoying the calm of the night.

There was nothing like this anywhere on land. He loved being first mate of the Glittering Prize, and despite the nightmares he was content.

[attzi-gearburst]

Day 4 - February 22: Distant (Iranji)

Word Count: 700 Summary: Iranji gets dragged out of an old memory. @daily-writing-challenge

Iranji was moving boxes out of the ship’s hold and down onto the docks, keeping a steady pace despite having been at it for nearly an hour. His fellow crew were doing much the same, though more than one side-eyed him as he tirelessly lifted, shifted, then repeated the work without so much as taking a break in between crates and barrels.

Finally, the quartermaster called him out. “Take a break, big guy! You want to go off drinking tonight that badly?”

“Nah.” Iranji shook his head, but set down his crate and stood next to her on the docks, where she was logging gear and equipment they were picking up. She laughed and looked up at him, expression amused. “Then what has you working so hard today?”

“Last stop before we head home. Get to see my girls soon.” Iranji grinned down at her, well aware that he looked at least slightly goofy.

She laughed again, and her expression turned from amused to oddly fond. “That’s right. I completely forgot that you’re a new father. This’s your first trip out since they were born, right? I remember we did at least one voyage without you. Maybe two?”

He nodded. “Stayed back when she was close to due, just in case. And then stuck around after, so she could heal.” 

And, honestly, so he could hold his daughters. Sometimes one in each arm, sometimes both in a sling across his chest while he helped his wife get back up and around. Her sister had been there, too, but had been far less interested in interacting with the girls. This had disappointed Iranji (though he hadn’t expected that the woman who had looked down on him for being a troll since the day they met to be any less racist towards his half-troll children). 

Something must have crossed his face, because the quartermaster’s expression softened further. “You miss them.”

He nodded, looking down at his hands. “Not sure I’m gonna be able to handle how big they got this voyage.”

“They grow fast,” she agreed. “But no matter how big they get, they’ll always be your babies.”

He raised a brow at her. “Speaking from experience?”

“Yeah. A boy and a girl, both old enough to have their own families by now.” Her expression turned wistful. “You do yourself a favor, Iranji. Take as much time with them as you possibly can.”

“Will do.”

He meant it. The thought of his girls being so far away from him made his chest ache. He desperately wanted to be home with them, watching them grow and learn. Rocking them to sleep, singing in the dark of their tiny house at Steamwheedle Port, was the thought that had gotten him through the entirety of this trade voyage so far.

****

“Iranji?” A hand rested on his shoulder, and he came back to himself with a soft gasp. He blinked, coming back to awareness, and looked down at the infant in his arms. These days, the distance between his girls and himself was vast enough that he doubted it would ever be crossed again, but…. 

He ran his thumb along the boy’s downy blonde hair. “Yeah? Sorry. Reliving old memories with your son.”

“Thank you for holding him while I unpacked. Are you sure it’s okay for us to be here with you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Cap’n invited you herself. She loves kids.”

She sighed and nodded, and he watched the tension that had lived there for months finally ease from her shoulders. “And you’ll tell me, if you need space?”

“Plenty of places to sleep here, Beth.” She made a face, and he relented. “Yeah. But it’s gonna be fine.”

“Thank you, Iranji.”

He grinned and shook his head, then moved to carefully pass her son back over. “Nah. No need.”

While she snuggled her sleeping son, he looked around his quarters, thinking about what he was going to need to change for them. Another dresser. A crib. When the boy was bigger, soft padding for the furniture in case a wave hit wrong while he was toddling. 

Ira wasn’t his son. But he’d promised Tabitha that he’d take care of them both, and this time? 

This time he wasn’t going to be so distant. 

[attzi-gearburst]

Day 3 - February 21: Consequence (Iranji)

Word count: 450 Summary: Iranji needs to not. Warnings: implied cheating @daily-writing-challenge

A loud slamming noise jolted Iranji out of his pleasant, alcohol-filled stupor. He reached for his bedmate without opening his eyes, assuming that another fight had broken out in the tavern below their room, but the other man immediately started shaking his shoulder. 

Another slam. Iranji opened his eyes and stared blearily at the door as his bedmate kept throttling his arm.

“Get the door,” he whispered. “I’m not here.”

Iranji groaned and rubbed at his face, tossing the covers back with one hand and clambering to his feet. He wasn’t sure where his clothes were, and for the door’s sake, he was pretty sure he shouldn’t take the time to look for them. He couldn’t afford to pay for damages again. There was another slam before he’d made it completely across the tiny space, and he sighed as the sound made his head ache.

“Hang on,” he said once he reached it.

“Open the fuck up!”

 Iranji unlocked the door, but put his foot and shoulder both against it as he opened it a crack. “What?”

“I know he’s here. Open the fucking door.”

“Nah. Just me tonight.”

“Well, he’s not at home, and I find out your ship is in port, so where else is he going to be?”

He opened the door a little wider so his smirk would be visible. “That’s the reasoning? Might wanna get a better boyfriend.”

“Hey!” came a shout from behind him, immediately followed by a soft, “fuck.” “I heard that!” said the man assaulting his door.

Iranji grunted as the man on the other side of the door slammed his full weight into it, nearly sending him backwards. He had enough time to feel irritation (he was bigger and stronger than he used to be, sure, but clearly still not enough of either) before he ended up staggering.

The door-slammer swept into the room, completely ignoring Iranji, and immediately started screaming at his partner where he was cowering in the bed. Iranji grimaced against the noise and took a moment to collect his pants before simply leaving, heading downstairs into the tavern proper.

The bartender beckoned him over, so he approached. “Yeah?”

“Can’t let you back after this. Three times? People have learned to start leaving when you show up. Pay for the room and go, please.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “...Fair,” he admitted. “Can sleep on the ship.” After rummaging in his pocket for a moment, he produced the required coin, and then headed for the door with a tired, slightly drunk sigh.

“Grow up a little and get better taste, kid,” the bartender called after him.

“Not a kid,” he muttered as he stepped out into the night. He was over seven feet tall. He hadn’t been a kid in a while.

[attzi-gearburst]

Day 4: Children (Iranji)

Word Count: 450 Summary: Sometimes a family is a human woman, her half-elven child, and the troll who adopted them both. Warnings: It’s fluff!

@daily-writing-challenge

Iranji’s feet hit the deck of the Glittering Prize as Silas pulled him through the portal, taking him from the Contingent’s office in Booty Bay to somewhere in the middle of the ocean in a matter of seconds. The second he felt the wooden planks beneath his toes, he breathed a sigh of relief and rolled his shoulders, letting tension he didn’t even realize he was feeling drain from his muscles. “Thanks,” he told the Forsaken warlock, who nodded back.

He didn’t bother getting out of his armor before heading down into the kitchen, where he knew Tabitha would be. Stooping to get through the door, he looked down to make sure he didn’t step on any toys. Thankfully, they were scattered closer to the middle of the room.

“Hey,” he said softly, trying not to startle her.

Tabitha turned from where she was prepping to make dinner and smiled, pushing her wavy hair behind her ears. At the same time, he heard a shriek from near his feet, and looked down to find Ira scampering furiously his way.

“Daddy!” The little half-elf stopped in front of him and held up his arms, his expression one of absolute glee. Other than his gently pointed ears and faintly glowing eyes, he could have been a clone of his mother.

“Welcome back,” Tabitha said.

Iranji bent over and pulled Ira up into his arms, giving him a hug before settling the boy onto his shoulders. He immediately grabbed one of Iranji’s tusks for stability, and his mother winced.

“Sorry, I’ve been trying to tell him not to do that. We even had a talk about it this morning. Ira, stop.”

“But he has handles!”

Tabitha nearly choked.

“It’s fine,” Iranji chuckled, leaning carefully against the wall. “Can’t say no.” When he’d decided he didn’t mind being called daddy when Ira was learning to talk, he’d known it was all over.

“I’ve noticed,” his mother said dryly. She turned back to the counter and resumed chopping.

“Did you bring me a present?” said a small voice in his ear.

“Maybe,” Iranji said, turning his head to the left and winking at his passenger with his odd eye.

“Did you bring me a present?” He could hear the smile in her voice.

“Maybe,” Iranji repeated. “Need any help?”

“No. Well, actually, if you could play with Ira for a little while, I’d be able to get dinner done faster.”

“Razz’ll like that.” Iranji straightened up. “C’mon, kid.”

“Giddyup!” the boy replied, grabbing his other tusk and turning Iranji’s head towards the door.

It probably said a lot about the general dynamic of the crew of the Glittering Prize that their first mate making horse noises and “galloping” across the deck toward the private quarters didn’t turn a single head.

[attzi-gearburst]

Day 6 - February 24: Devoted (Iranji)

Word Count: 1000 Summary: I love how it took Iranji almost a full year to articulate why he's helping these two.

@daily-writing-challenge

Iranji’s feet hit the deck with a thud, and he grunted as he felt the ship rocking beneath them. Port and Starboard appeared on either side of him with loud squawks, and then immediately flew up into the rigging to roost for the night. He nodded in thanks to Silas and then looked up at the sky to orient himself, checking to see which constellations were in view to get an idea of where the Prize was on the water. His shoulders relaxed when he saw a familiar skyscape, and he took a deep breath before heading to his quarters.

Nothing else he’d found in the world during his lifetime felt quite like coming back to his ship. A few things had come close, over the years, but the Glittering Prize remained the most consistent source of calm in his current life.

That didn’t make her the only source. When he got to what had been his door, up until about a year ago, he knocked firmly, to see if the other one was still awake.

After a few seconds, the door opened, and a blonde human woman looked up at him, smiling happily. “Iranji,” she said, voice soft.

“Hey. It too late?” he asked in common. 

Tabitha shook her head and opened the door fully. “He’s not asleep yet. Come in, please.”

He ducked the doorframe and stepped into the small room, which in recent months had been completely overtaken with children’s things. His attention went first to the crib bolted against the wall, where he could hear soft noises that indicated the half-eleven infant inside was, indeed, still awake.

He hung his rifle on its rack and then began unbolting his pauldron. “It okay if I hold him?” 

Tabitha raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t want to get cleaned up first?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Will once he’s down.” 

“Go ahead. But at least come sit and let me do your hair.” She sat down on the bed, crossing her legs, and gestured for him to sit down on the floor in front of her.

He took a moment to scoop Ira out of his crib, then smirked over at her. “That bad?”

“Look, I didn’t learn how to take care of your hair only to not do it,” she said with a soft laugh. “Come on. I know it relaxes you.”

He silently moved her way, taking care to hold her son close as he settled onto the floor as requested. The boy fussed, and Iranji immediately started murmuring to him in Zandali, rocking him gently until he settled again.

Meanwhile, Tabitha began running her fingers through his hair, occasionally pausing and retwisting parts that needed it. He closed his eyes and let himself relax as he felt her fingers work. 

“I know you were iffy on growing it out, but I think the white streak is going to look really striking when it’s longer.”

“Thanks,” he said. He wanted to turn his head to smile at her, but knew from experience that she’d scold him for moving. 

“It’s late now, but I can help you wash it tomorrow,” she said after a moment. “It’s a little dry, too, but I know you have oil. Priority on the wash, though. There’s… I’m pretty sure this is blood.”

“Probably,” he replied. “Not mine,” he decided to add for clarity before returning to humming to her son.

“Thank the Light for that,” she said. “More work with your goblin friends?”

Iranji chuckled and nodded. “That easy to tell?”

“Salvage doesn’t usually send you home covered in other people’s blood, so yes.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, he humming and rocking Ira to sleep while she sorted out his hair. The boy was a blissfully heavy sleeper once he actually went down, which Iranji always personally attributed to the way his ship rocked on the water. He always slept best here, so it made sense to him that everyone else would, as well.

Still, he hummed, just to help speed things along a little. Old habits died hard, after all, which is why he didn’t go quiet when the boy slipped off to sleep. Tabitha liked his voice, anyway.

A few minutes later, her hands fell to his shoulders. He turned his head, odd eye focusing on her in a silent question.

“So,” she said, voice soft. “Do you think that tonight I can finally get you to tell me about your family?”

He looked down at Ira, and didn’t respond for an uncomfortably long time.

“I’m sorry–” she began, pulling back from him. He cut her off, though he kept his voice quiet. “Nah. I’ll tell you. Been ten years. It’s okay.” 

If she were someone he was sleeping with, he never would have agreed to say anything. He didn’t like sounding either old or responsible to a bedmate, but the two of them had had a unique dynamic since the day they’d met. She was living in his quarters, and he was helping her take care of her son, so it was probably time for her to know just why he was so good with infants.  It was going to take words, which were difficult for him, but at the same time… he would do anything for Ira. And she needed to know why. 

He told her about meeting Elaina when he was twenty, and about their twin daughters, who had come along a few years later. The words came haltingly, but he found them.

She was crying by the end of the night, but that’s what happened when you talked about living through where the Cataclysm hit hardest. He caught her looking his scar over more than once, clearly drawing conclusions about just what had caused it, but she didn’t ask outright. He appreciated that, because he wasn’t sure he had enough words in him to cover that story, too. If her son hadn’t been sleeping peacefully in his arms for the entire conversation, he might not have even been able to finish talking about his girls.

He expected nightmares once they went to bed, but as happened so often these days, all he dreamed of was the open ocean.