Casting Off

[Morgan LaLuna]

Morgan was standing next to a burly man in white and looking at the barrel he was gesturing toward, when he heard the whistle of the other two ships of the fleet moving off. So. Nearly time. They would wait in the harbor for the flagship Heathen to disembark and... The journey would start. He wasn't sure what journey it would become. Only that he'd chosen it. He'd been the one to make the decision. Everyone on these ships... had a choice. The acrobat turned captain motioned to the barrel as he stepped back, and turned on his heel as the man lifted it with a grunt, shouldered it, and disappeared below deck. Black hair blew in a tuft at the back of his head, hair pulled back, and he looked down into his hand at the red hat with the peacock feathers, pristine and beautiful, before setting it on his head. Young and fresh he looked, with his velveteen hat and his black pants that were loose to the knees, where they became form-fitting to fit into shiny black boots. A snow white shirt hung loose on his lithe frame, untouched and nearly starched to perfection, laces laid open at the chest to give a clear view of the blue tattoo on his collarbone. He figured if he was going to go sailing... He may as well dress like he was, no matter what the rest of the crew thought. And he certainly had gotten some looks.

He looked quietly out to the ships as they moved farther out from harbor, and then let his gaze fall to a chest that had yet to be moved into the captain's quarters, laid open for one last inspection before cast-off. Atop neatly folded clothes was a large chunk of amethyst, sparkling in the sun and catching the light just so, casting speckles of day across his face as he reached down and let his fingers barely run across the ridges of purple clusters of crystals. There had been a despondent sort of nothingness to his face before, but in letting his vision fill with the brightness, there was a softening in those amber eyes.


The car pulled up to the docks and slowly came to a halt before the passenger side door popped open and Gwen stepped out. Standing there, she closed her eyes, lifted her chin and took in a long, deep breath of that salty sea air. The smell brought a wide smile to those plush lips. She never thought she'd miss that smell, but, turns out, she had missed it more than she expected to. Lasting a few moments, RJ had gotten out as well and was at the back of the car, dragging her suitcase on wheels and a stuffed backpack out of the trunk and setting it on the curb for her.
"There you go. That should be everything." He said, standing by the luggage.

Those ice blue eyes slid open and she turned, making her way over to him first. Looking up and smiling, she wrapped a single arm around his neck and kissed his cheek before settling again and looking back up at him.

"Alright! Well, I guess I'll see ya when I see ya?" she said, getting a smile and a nod from the man in return. Seemed the relationship, though passionate and exciting at first, had burned too bright and burned out a little quicker than they both had expected. She longed for adventure and RJ, well, RJ missed Paris and wanted to go back. This time he would take his little sister with him so she could enjoy it as well. So they had agreed to part ways, at least for a little while anyway. One last hug was exchanged and RJ moved to get back in the car. Gwen, shouldering that oversized backpack with a grunt, took the handle of the other suitcase and started down the docks to find her new ride, and her Captain.

The docks were busy, as she knew they would be, and she looked for where she should go but couldn't quite seem to figure out her way. Flagging an errant dockworker down, who seemed almost too busy to be bothered, she asked where Captain Lafey's ship might be. When that dockworker hastily pointed to the huge ship she'd seen since arriving, that backpack fell off of her shoulder, thunking down on ground as she stared, wide eyed, at her new ride. "That...?" she said to herself, unbelieving. As if in answer to her own question, she happened to catch sight of that very captain, standing on the deck and looking out over the harbor and a slow, awe-inspired grin bloomed on those pink lips.

She'd been told they were going to be 'pirates' so she'd definitely dressed the part. Wearing baggy black pants that cinched tight at her waist and hung loose all the way to her ankles, she sported a black tube top and a dull pink bandana that fit around her head tightly. Picking that stuffed backpack up again, she hefted it onto her shoulder and took to rolling that suitcase up the gangplank until she made it up to the deck. As soon as she'd made it aboard, a different, harried crewmember snatch the backpack from her shoulder and the suitcase out of her hand with a rushed, "Welcome aboard, miss!" before he was off to stow her gear.

Looking around in wonder and amazement, she watched as crew member after crew member scurried around, stowed equipment and got everything ready for their maiden voyage. It was then that she happened to look over and catch sight of Morgan again, looking down and admiring that amethyst stone. Walking over to him slowly, she waited until he stood back up before she slid a forearm over his shoulder and leaned against him. Lips smiling, ice blue eyes cast out to sea, she leaned closer on that arm and whispered quietly in the captain's ear.

"This is gonna be awesome!"


Morgan's hand reached for the lid of the chest and immediately slammed it shut when Gwen made herself known, and looked back at her with a crooked sort of smile that didn't quite reach his tired eyes. "Definitely. I'm pretty excited to get out on the ocean... See what there is to see." He looked out to the water, and reached up to pat Gwen's arm as the chest was taken away to be put in the captain's quarters beneath the steerage deck. He pursed his lips to watch it go, then turned to Gwen. "Did you pack everything you're gonna need? I ain't gonna sit here and hear no shit about how you done lost your good bra, or whatever." He moved toward the steps leading up to the steerage, and put his hands behind his back. Because that's how captains walked in the movies. With pride and confidence. Right?

He took that first step up, and there was a thud in his chest. Another step. Thud. Closer to the wheel, farther from home. Painful, and yet... it was like shackles slowly falling away from his body.


Gwen noticed how Morgan slammed that chest shut when she approached and if he thought she didn't catch the way that crooked little smile didn't touch his eyes he had another thing coming. She watched as the chest was taken away as well and then turned to him when he turned to her. "Yes, Morgan. I brought everything I'm gonna need. Even some extra bras." she said with a smirk, because bras were important when you were going out into the wide world. Besides, if she hadn't she could always raid his closet like she did at Wayside anyway, right?

When he turned and walked away, placing his hands behind him and grabbing a finger with one of them as he did, she thought he looked exactly like a proper pirate. According to what she'd seen in movies anyway. Crossing her arms in front of her, she watched him walk to those steps and then make his way up them slowly. In that moment she couldn't help but think of Willette, her other 'mom' back in Miami that had basically taken most of the street rats in as her own and acted as mother to most of them. Bad things happened on those streets or in those broken homes. Everybody knew it, but most times what happened was left unsaid and you laughed and joked with the other rats cause that's how you coped, right? She'd seen the articles. She knew something had happened, but unless he wanted to talk about it she was going to support him the only way she knew how.

Slowly, letting him get far enough ahead of her, Gwen walked over to those steps as well. Leaning up against the railing with her hip, she kept those arms laced in front of her and watched still. Watched until he made it to that wheel and took hold.


There was something reverent in the way Morgan stepped up to the wheel, something like awe when he touched the spoked handles of it. He seemed to hold his breath for a moment, and then looked over to the mounted compass in its little glass dome, running fingertips over the smooth surface. There was another sailor that stood nearby watching, a quiet sentry with a bushy beard and unreadable dark eyes. Morgan looked to Gwen, and tilted his head, a small nervous smile pulling at his lips.

"Think we could make it to Neverland to save Will?" Never mind that the pirates were the bad guys in the story. Never mind that he never seemed to know where the other was, or when he was awake. Or if he even wanted Morgan to help.


She gave him enough time to make it over to that wheel. To touch it. To feel those spoked handles and run his fingers over the glass dome of the compass. After a few moments of watching this, she took those steps too, one by one, until she was at the top of them with him. Taking up another lean, arms still in front of her, a slow grin spread those lips as she watched the marvel and awe in Morgan's eyes as he looked everything over.

When Morgan turned to her, a nervous smile dancing about his lips and he tilted his head, she tilted her head in return. Her smile wasn't as nervous as his was and she nodded her head. "Mhm! In fact, I think we can go wherever you want to go."


"Away from here. Anywhere but here. That's where I want to go." He stepped back from the wheel, and crossed his arms, seeming to hunch forward just a little. He looked down at a boot, sticking his foot out and pointing the toe up, heel set on the wood of the deck. "I think you know... why I wanted to do this, in the first place. And I'm pretty sure..." he looked away, to the city. "I want to be in a place that... doesn't remind me of..." he trailed off, and shrugged, rocking forward onto that foot with a solid tap when the boot tapped against the deck.

"I don't know what I'm doing. There, here... this guy..." he motioned to the stoic bearded man, "he's gonna teach me how to drive this thing."


"Aye aye, Captain," Gwen said in response. Morgan was her best friend, but he was also the captain of this ship. She needed to get used to saying it. She did know why he wanted to do this in the first place, and that was her way of both agreeing and letting him know she understood. She had agreed to come with him after all.

When he stepped away from the wheel, crossed his arms and looked down at the toe of that boot, which was sticking up now, there was a bit of a lean to her head as she watched him. She listened to what he said next with a few slow nods and a knowing smile. "I know."

What came next widened the girl's eyes and she straightened up, staring at him before looking to the stoic bearded man, then to Morgan, to him, then back. Captain or not, she was still gonna say it. "You don't know how to drive this thing?" Pink lips pursed hard and eyes squinted just a little harder at the man with the feathered hat. "You a whole ass bitch right now, that's what you are......Captain." Yep. She was gonna die!


He gave a rifle-crack laugh, and reached out to punch lightly at Gwen's shoulder. "And what about you? What's your janky ass gonna do on this fucking boat? Sit in your cabin and get fat off my food?" He shook his head, and waved his hand imperiously. "We're gonna have to find you something to do. Maybe you can swab the deck. Or I can tie you to the front of the ship like a figurehead! Mermaid Gwendy!" He stuck his tongue out petulantly before relaxing his arms and letting them fall to his sides. The smile on his face faded slightly as his tone became a bit more serious.

"Thanks for coming, Gwen. Really. I'm glad I have a friend to go with me."


She couldn't help it. Hearing that laugh and feeling that light punch to her shoulder she swayed a bit and giggled with him. Then her eyes got wide again and her mouth hung open, mock shock in all its glory. "Well...I'm not gonna get fat! That's for sure!" She really didn't know what she was going to do on the boat, other than not get fat. She tilted her head again when he said they were going to have to find something for her to do. She had thought it quite obvious what she could do. "I thought we were gonna do pirate stuff." She did like the Mermaid Gwendy idea though. It would be like that boat movie with the cute guy and she could act like she was flying. That's what went through her mind anyway. She didn't understand Morgan meant something different.

She stuck her tongue out back at him too, shaking her head from side to side as she did it! Then she straightened up a little and she looked at him, the smile remaining. "You're welcome, Morgan. I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world right now, except right here with you." The smile touched her eyes and she really did mean it, with all her heart.


The acrobat tilted his head and his smile grew once more as he tipped forward to embrace Gwen, arms wrapping right around her. "It makes me so happy to hear that..." he said, voice barely carrying over the sound of water slapping the side of the boat in gentle waves, the din of the docks and the crew making their final checks. He gave a tighter squeeze, and a small sniffle, when there was a bell being rung. He pulled away quickly, and wiped at his cheek with the heel of his palm, giving another mighty sniff.

"I think that might be our cue, babe. This is it. If you're having second thoughts, you better jump... if not..." he took on his best captain pose, hands behind his back and head high, the feathers of his hat fluttering in the sea breeze. "If not, First Mate Gwen... then be ready to help hoist that fucking anchor, and say goodbye to this fucking place."


Seeing that smile spread his lips again, hers did the same, a little wider than it already was. Leaning into the embrace, she wrapped her arms around him just as he had done her and closed her eyes tight, squeezing back when she was squeezed. "I'm glad."

When he pulled away, sniffing and wiping at his cheek, she gave a knowing smile before looking off to where that bell was being rung. Looking back to him when he said that this was it, she pursed her lips hard again and shot a couple of exaggerated blinks in his direction as she bobbed her head from side to side. "You're not gettin' rid of me that easy."

As she said this, Morgan was assuming his best captain's pose. She beamed when he called her 'First Mate Gwen' and gave a couple of excited claps at the thought. Taking it literally, she waved her hand and waved at everybody still on the dock, hustling and bustling around as she inched over to Morgan slowly. When she was right at his side, hand up and still waving, she leaned over and whispered quietly. "Do I have to help? I don't know how."

Whether Morgan or Gwen, or anyone else for that matter, saw him or not, there was a lone figure standing on the dock and leaning against the side of one of the buildings near where the Heathen was berthed. Heavy combat boots, comfortable jeans, a white T-shirt with camo blocks on the front of it made up the bulk of the outfit. A NY hat and shiny aviator sunglasses would mask most of the man's face from view, except those that knew what they were looking for. There was no eagerness or anxiety in the man's posture or actions. Only a calm patience that surrounded him as he watched that ship and heard the bell ring. When he did, a small grin would tug at the corner of pampered lips and he nodded his head a couple of times in approval. He was finally getting what he wanted, and this man was here to make sure it happened without a hitch. If Morgan just so happened to look in the man's direction as they passed, if he even
came into view, there would be a two fingered salute shot from tip of that hat in the captain's direction along with a grin that possibly showed off those perfectly white teeth. Once the Heathen drifted away to destinations unknown, so would that figure, turning and disappearing into the seat of a very expensive car and driving off into the distance. Morgan knew where he could come should the need ever arise.


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Once all had calmed down, and the sun had sunk low in the sky, a tired and wan entity falling into the embrace of the rapidly shrinking ridges of mountains of RhyDin, Morgan slipped into his quarters tiredly, arms sore from being made to turn that wheel himself. Here he thought the navigator would show him, but no… He had stood by and instructed the acrobat turned captain on how, exactly, one might pilot a ship. So much information tumbled around in his brain. Perhaps it was a good thing, for most of the day he thought of nothing other than the terms being drilled into his head, the movements he was to mimic with a very real resistance. He was not weak by any means, of course, but the alien movements and the work itself had worn muscles that had memories only of grip, tension in the grasp of soft silks that did not bite at his hands the way the wood of the spoked wheel did.

The moment he entered, there was the feeling of something amiss. Not necessarily bad, simply… different. And there, on the great desk, was the culprit. Two green bottles, one filled with a liquid he thought he recognized all too well that brought a smile to his face. Well, wasn’t this nice? The other seemed to hold within a rolled up paper, a message in a bottle, and he smiled at the appropriate sort of image it presented. The door closed behind him, and he strolled easily to the desk, rounding it and sitting in the high-backed and heavy chair with a relieved groan, and a deep sigh. Certainly, the day weighed heavily on those thin shoulders of his, and he reveled in simply sitting down. He opened a drawer, and pulled from it a pretty crystal glass, carefully placing it on the desk as he opened the verdant green bottle to pour spiced amber liquid into the delicate crystal glass. The sway of the vessel prevented a full glass, but that was fine, of course. Not like rum was a rarity. Not on this ship.

He corked the bottle, and grabbed the other, taking a sip of his drink before pulling the soft spongy wooden cork out with a pleasant -pop-, dipping a finger into the neck to pull at the rolled up paper within. He set the bottle back onto his desk before carefully unfurling the sheet, and immediately stilled, his vague smile at first disappearing, then curling into something softer as eyes were pressed by the rise of his cheeks, something altogether deeply pleased and yet perhaps sad, for there was the softest line of moisture that started to line the lower lids of his eyes. His hand covered his mouth as he set the page down on his desk, smoothing the memory of a curl from the page with a careful stroke of his palm. Colors jumped from the page, such vibrance and motion of pencil and at the bottom, a scrawl in ink that tugged at his heart, going so far as to lift his gaze from the page, toward the retreating horizon behind him in the window at his back. He lifted the glass from his desk with a sniffle, and stood, opening the drawer to deposit the rum somewhere much safer than atop a flat plane in a rocking room. This wasn’t something he could drink all in one go. He sipped at the glass, and looked around the walls, looking for just the right place… Before reaching for the page, letting the pad of his thumb brush the lines and curves of brilliance.

Morgan certainly intended to make good on what was written at the bottom of the page. He lifted his glass to some unseen visitor, and gave a watery sort of smile. “To living. And adventures.” A short toast, but then… He wasn’t exactly making a long speech at some proper event now, was he? A private moment of silence was had after a sip of the rich liquid in the glass, and he set the glass on his desk, pulling the paper from it and rolling it up, gently sliding it back into its home. Safe and sound. While he still had blissful silence, while he was still alone, he moved to his bed, and opened the small trunk next to it, settling the green glass into silken fabrics that would keep it safe even in the most tumultuous of storms.

As happy as he was to leave the place behind… He was happy to add to his small collection of things that reminded him of home. Something like family. Something to live for. Something to return to.