Rendezvous

[Gwen Kasady]

Gwen lay on her bed, alone in her quarters. Turned on her stomach, she lazily flipped through the journal Morgan had given her to write in when they’d started their journey together. There wasn’t much there; only one real journal entry. She was never really good with the words. Something she felt bad about when looking through it now. The rest of the pages however, not bereft of ink, read more like a childish comic strip. The characters within were crooked stick figures at best, drawn with disproportionate heads and eyes, but there was one recurring figure on each page that was unmistakable.

Her hero: Captain Morgan LaFey.

Her bare feet held up behind her, they swayed back and forth alternately as she turned a page and gazed at the dramatic scene of their first fight at sea. To the left of the page was Morgan, ridiculous hat and all, with his sword and free hand held up victoriously as, to the right of the page, a mottled, grey lump of a figure could be seen moving quickly...you could tell that by the lines drawn behind him...as he bowled over their enemies. X’s for eyes and all. The red, cartoony teardrop shaped dots coming off of Morgan’s sword and the circle of red at his feet looked like it was drawn by a two year old, but she remembered. She was no artist extraordinaire. Far from it, and so, the doodles on the page would never compare to the vividness of her nightmares. But she would never forget.

Another page was turned and she was reminded of a dinghy haired boy that was taught a lesson with a fork. Yet another revealed a figure drawn all in red with eyes colored in with the blackest color she could find. Still didn’t do them justice, she thought. Intermittently though, as she turned her head this way and that and looked upon the poorly drawn images she’d made, cobalt blue eyes would drift to her closed door and then back to the page. A door would shut and she would look. The two crew members that were secretly lovers snuck past her door, whispering their sweet nothings as they made their way back to one of their cabins and she looked, that time with a crooked grin. Then back to the pages again as she had before for another turn and another memory. Until the last sound.

Somewhere up above, on the main deck of the ship, she heard a door with the subtlest of squeaks ease shut slowly and an oh so quiet click that signaled the captain had retired for the night. Gwen’s entire body stilled at the sound. The finger that turned the page stopped mid turn and the page fell like a feather to rest against the others. Her feet behind her slowed their sway until they stopped completely and unseeing eyes stared down at an image of a dark circle somewhere beneath the Heathen. She barely even dared to breath for a few moments longer.

Slowly, the woman turned statue canted her head just a bit and ice blue eyes slid to the ceiling in silence, waiting to see if there would be another sound. After what seemed an eternity and no other sounds accompanied the last, the first mate quietly pushed herself up and started sliding herself to one side of the bed. With painstaking control, one leg dipped over the side and a bare foot touched the wood of the floor, soon to be followed by the other. There was a reason her boots lay tucked neatly on the other side of the bed that night. Cautious gaze stuck to the ceiling, she tiptoed her way over to the entrance of her room.

Grabbing the handle of it carefully, she squeezed and winced as she turned it...mindful not to make a sound...until it opened just a crack and she peered out. Nothing. Out of her room she slipped, looking left and right, as she turned and closed her door with the same careful attention used to open it. Slinking down the hall next, bare feet carried her up the steps to the main deck one by one until her head slowly emerged and she peered out. Nobody. To the captain’s door she looked next with a squint, watching and waiting as if he would barge out of it suddenly and exclaim, ‘HaHA! Janky Bitch!’. Thankfully, he did not. The proverbial coast seemed to be clear and a cobalt blue gaze once again drifted over the deck and settled on the port railing.

Up and out she crept, still looking this way and that, as nimble, bare feet carried her to her intended destination, where sat a barrel. Slipping past the large obstruction at first, Gwen rested her hands upon the railing heavily and leaned over to look down into the water. The crescent moon that hung in the night sky offered little aid to her curiosity and she squinted, trying to see past the tiny points of light it offered instead. Surely the beast was still there. Wasn’t it?

“I can’t see you,” she whispered, pulling away and pursing her lips at not being able to catch a glimpse. If only there were some way she could get his atten....the barrel! Catching sight of it as she thought of some way to get his attention, a crooked little grin crept to her lips when she also saw the prybar left on top of it from earlier. This had been the way of it for the last few days. Every time a barrel was emptied it would be hauled away, only to be replaced with another, ready for the next feeding.

Sly gaze surveying the deck once more, slender fingers reached for the pry bar and slowly curled around it before her attention came back to the task at hand. As quietly as she could, she stuck the end of it between lid and barrel and slowly began working it open. The moment she did, it was clearly evident she had. The stench of salted fish immediately wafted, assailing her senses and forcing an arm over her mouth as she turned her head, unprepared for the assault. An assault that would surely gain attention if she didn’t move quickly. Turning her now watery gaze back to the fissure in the top of the barrel, she reached in with her other hand until she pulled out a thick, fat morsel from the salty brine. Fish in hand, she twisted and brought her elbow down on the lid to press it shut and abate the smell before it promulgated further.

“Hey…,” she whispered, turning to lean over the railing and again look down to the water below. “Squilliam…,” she called to the beast, her voice straining to stay a whisper, because of course he would be able to hear her. A few moments more and there was no change in the calm sea that held the Heathen in its sway. Only the familiar sounds of creaking wood and gently lapping water ebbed through the night. Frustration once more setting in, she twisted again, hauling the fish up and over the railing to dangle it like a carrot on a stick. “Squill...oh…,” she started, but her words were cut short when the surface of the water was pierced from below by one of those great tentacles. As big around as she was, her eyes widened as she watched it approach silently.

Without thinking, she took a few steps backwards in her awe and, in doing so, brought the salty treat with her. Squilliam’s searching tentacle followed eagerly, closing in on the prey she still had clutched in her dripping fingers. As if the realization hit her suddenly, she blinked and looked at the fish she was holding before holding it up towards the thick, rubbery flesh that was coming after it. “H..h..here ya go.” she said nervously. Slowly, almost delicately, the tentacle sought out the tiny morsel and wrapped around it, the grip tightening ever so gently to take the fish from her offering hand. Once Squilliam had a tight enough hold on his midnight snack, Gwen released the tail of the thing and reached out, grazing fingertips over the surface of Squilliam’s arm.


The retreat into the deep to feed the giant maw had already begun, but stopped when the touch of the girl was felt and lingered there for a while longer. Gwen, feeling the motion halt, tilted her head curiously and then flattened her palm out over the slick surface, drawing it down. It wasn’t unlike petting a dog really, once you got past the absence of hair, rubbery texture, size, suckers, wetness, the feeling of impending doom, the fact that what the tentacle was attached to was as big as the ship, but, other than that, just like a dog. Kind of. For a time the two remained, Squilliam with his tentacle draped over the railing while Gwen stroked and petted the powerful arm dotingly.

It had been a long day, and now that day stretched into night and Gwen brought her free, dry hand up to stifle a yawn that pushed itself up from somewhere deep inside. With the exaggerated breath, she patted Squilliam a few times to signal that the petting was at an end. “Alright, big guy. Time for bed,” she said tiredly. With those words, that great tentacle lifted and coiled before delicately nudging her twice in the direction of the stairs. “Hey!” she giggled, having no choice but to be nudged along. Turning around, she placed a hand at her hip and pointed a finger at the embodiment of Squilliam menacingly. “I’m going! I’m going! Bedtime for you too!” she added. Where in the world she had picked up the name Gwendy was certainly beyond her. Silly lost boys.

As if in answer to the girl’s chiding, that great, beefy tentacle lifted again and dangled the salted morsel it still held delicately in its grasp so she could clearly see it. Her other hand finding her hip, she rolled her eyes dramatically and gave a playful huff at the childish display. “Oh I suppose. But then it’s off to bed!”

As if in answer to Gwendy’s leniency and then demand, Squilliam’s arm tightened around the fish and dashed over the railing, disappearing into the depths to feed that hungry mouth. Gwen, watching on, couldn’t help but giggle at the antics and rolled her eyes again before turning and tossing a hand up in the air as she made her way back to her cabin, intent on sweet slumber.
“Goodnight, Squilliam!”