Chapter Text
kaleidoscopes (v1)
“Oy,” a voice calls out. Dimitri whirls around to see a young man in a long, black coat walking towards him leisurely, brown hair falling past squinted blue eyes. A singular gold hoop hangs from his left ear in some asymmetrical attempt at bejeweling - and, somehow, it works.
The man looks good with it.
“That ain’t your ship. You gotta find someone else’s for wherever you’re going.”
Dimitri throws a skeptical glance at the magnificent galleon he’d been staring at earlier. Its solar sails continue to drift silently in the wind, offering no answer nor advice.
“And you, perhaps, could direct me to the captain?” He asks the stranger. Not his best work at persuasion, really, but he’s been having difficulty securing passage to what has to be the most obscure yet well-known kingdom in the region. Why Jack had suddenly decided to set course there, he didn’t know, but knew better to ask. Besides, his friend hadn’t looked so alive since the death of his sister - he’d cut the guy some much-needed slack.
And that meant trying to find a big-enough sailing ship that could brave endless depths, skull-cracking storms, and pounding oceans. Oh, and captains willing to take the challenge.
Which are, currently, zero captains. And so zero ships.
But Dimitri isn’t a man to take no for an answer that easily. He’ll find the right ship, goddamn it, and make his friend happy again. As happy as he can be once he sails to the mystery kingdom, and finds whatever mystery thing he’s been yearning for, anyway.
So he stands his ground and tilts his head to the side in what he hopes is a sultry way that will play to his favor, though the fact that he’s begun scrutinizing every part of the stranger’s appearance is completely unrelated to his very effective persuasion skills. The young man is slim, the dress shirt underneath the open coat thinly collared around a loose v-neck, tucked carelessly into what has to be the baggiest pair of high-waist pants Dimitri has ever laid eyes upon, ending in heavy buckled boots.
Still the stranger holds himself with a certain kind of rough grace, the indisputable air of a more-than-novice sailor and the aura of a royal.
Lords. He hopes this guy isn’t a royal. He’s had enough of those sneaking-out-as-a-commoner royals for a lifetime, thank you (this is a pointed jab at Jack and his low self-esteem). He prays to whatever god is out there that the stranger turns out to be a skilled, friendly sailor who just so happens to be blessed with good looks.
Yeah, that’s the ideal.
What he doesn’t expect, however, is for the young man to keep walking towards him even when they’re already within comfortable speaking distance - and comes closer, closer, until they’re barely a feet apart.
Dimitri doesn’t back down, and just smiles carelessly at the stranger, who’s close to a head shorter than him. The man doesn’t take offense to that, however, and continues to stare straight into his eyes in thoughtful silence.
“The captain?” He says, finally. His voice has become softer, still audible enough for the scratched edges of his accent to shine through, but considerably more quiet. Dimitri is hit with the sudden (useless) thought that perhaps this is the guy’s normal speaking volume. “You want the captain of the SV Solarfire?”
Dimitri finds himself without words as he’s virtually dissected by those searching, electric-blue eyes - and by some small mercy manages to snap out of it, just in time to whip his head around and catch sight of the scuffed, yet still legible writing engraved near the head of the ship. And there it is, in its golden cursive, clearly carved into the wood by a loving hand:
SV Solarfire
“Yeah,” he responds. And immediately tries not to kick his own leg. God, did he sound this bad back when he was with Anya? He’s sure he wasn’t. Where did all his smart, coy words go? Where did his persuasion charm go? For some reason, it’s all being lost on this stranger, who - even with the odd sweeping-bangs-undercut-rat-tail hairstyle, which somehow works just as well as the singular earring - is simultaneously more stunning and more visually unsettling than anyone he’s ever had to interact with. And considering he’s the cook of one winter spirit, that’s saying quite a lot.
Gods above, Dimitri, what’s going on with you? “I mean. Yes. If he’s around?” He pauses. “Or if she’s around. Anything is fine, as long as it’s the captain.”
The stranger’s eyebrows raise at his correction - then, after what has to be multiple heartbeats of silence, begins chuckling slightly.
Dimitri flounders visibly, which just spurs the young man to continue laughing. “What? Or is the - er - the captain could be a spirit, couldn’t they be? It’s - well - it’s hard not to assume, so my apologies - “
“You’re good,” The young man cuts past him, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. He looks like he’s got more frown lines than smile lines on his face, and this grin is one of the few expressions he rarely wears. “God, Amelia would’ve tolerated you.”
Choosing not to comment on the last sentence, Dimitri stares at him, feeling stupidly poetic, before tearing his gaze away before he can blunder and do something even more stupid.
The stranger seems to find this amusing, however, and almost dissolves into a small laughing fit again (although really, it’s more like a giggling fit, with the unflattering snorts that have no business sounding not unflattering at all); still, he keeps a straight face as he backpedals slightly and beckons to Dimitri with a single calloused hand.
He’s making his way to the SV Solarfire.
“Come on,” the stranger says. He’s smiling. “We’ll work something out, aye?”
Dimitri blinks, then gives a lopsided grin of his own, hurrying after the young man with the electric blue eyes, and they make their way up the gangplank together.
Perhaps he’ll find the right ship - and the right captain - after all.
Oh, yeah. The Solarfire has to be the right ship.
Dimitri’s never been a ship guy, really; before he’d befriended Jack - the winter spirit - properly, he hadn’t really had the opportunity to run out to the docks and watch sailing vessels come and go - he hadn’t had the time, see, because of all the jobs and whatnot back at the manor. Still, the faint horn of a sailing ship departing from the shallow waters could be heard if he was sleeping lightly that morning, or woke up too early; even then he had to strain his ears to catch the hauntingly comforting sound. Yet he went about his everyday responsibilities without a concern about whatever sailed through his kingdom’s waters - he’s never paid much attention to them, anyway.
But being on the main deck of the Solarfire feels like nothing else. He cranes his neck up and he sees the long bars and pillars reach towards the sky, all crested with long, thick ropes that wreath around bold yard arms like magnificent snakes; then the solar sails, gentle when seen from afar but downright thrilling to see up-close, thick waves of some foreign fabric that curls and unfurls at the slightest touch of the wind.
Long story short, he feels small being loomed over by these towering structures - and somehow he feels safe, the galleon ship large enough to overwhelm him with so much height and keep the waters away from his feet.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” The stranger says brightly, catching sight of Dimitri’s terrifyingly awed expression and throwing him an approving glance. They’ve climbed onboard and are making their way to the captain’s quarters. “Not as big as the Legacy, mind, but she’s as good as any old ship. Can’t imagine sailing on any other one after I’ve been on her for so long.”
“Oh?” Dimitri lets his gaze wander back to the young man. Faintly, he stows away the mention of one Legacy at the back of his brain. “And how long would that be?”
The stranger opens his mouth - and hesitates; then glances back at him with a mischievous expression that’s being masked with mock solemness.
“Can’t tell ya yet. Private information.”
“Well, then.” Dimitri really has no control over his words on this ship with this man. They’re slowing down, close enough to their destination for the young man to afford throwing a intruiged look at him. “I guess I’ll have to get the captain to tell me once I’ve gotten them to let me on their ship.”
The stranger snickers, for some obscure reason, which makes Dimitri’s stomach do a sudden swoop (he almost trips on the smooth, wood-planked floor).
Then before Dimitri can ask if they’re interrupting the captain, he’s grabbing the sleek, simple knob of a pair of oaken doors, and - without knocking - pushing them open to reveal a semi-circular room.
It’s decorated modestly with a large set of translucent curtains, a small work desk flanked by a cabinet and a bookshelf on each end - with books and papers strewn all over the place, as if a tornado had stormed the place and thrown a horrible tantrum. The walls are surprisingly sparse, with a few yellowed maps with charted routes marked on them with dark red ink tacked up; otherwise, unless there’s an invisible ghost wandering the place somewhere, Dimitri can see not a single soul in the room.
The young man slips in after him, leaving a thin gap between the doors instead of closing them shut, and moves clumsily past all the papers on the floor, cursing quietly under his breath. Dimitri watches him in amusement as he manages to make his way to the desk without injury; and then makes room for the wary confusion that’s begun making its way into his chest.
“So,” he begins, awkwardly; then cringes and tries again. “Your captain?”
“The captain?”
And then the stranger is smiling again, though this time it feels like the weight of the cosmos is behind those eyes. He’s moved behind the desk and - for some unknown reason (as unknown reasons have been increasingly popular for this particular evening) - drops down onto the ornate chair behind it. The young man braces both elbows on the messy table and slots his fingers together like he’s striking up a business deal, gaze focused and eyes sharp, the earring in his ear trembling just the slightest when he tilts his head to the side in a subtle movement.
Dimitri can see the way the light from the curtained windows silhouettes the stranger, the way the glow seems to trace the man’s figure - and he shivers.
Because epics be damned, the dawning realization that’s just slammed him in the stomach with the weight of a thousand rushing bulls has got to be the greatest plot twist in the history of literature.
“Hello,” the stranger says. He raises a single hand for Dimitri to shake, as if Dimitri isn’t stunned into paralysis by the turn of events.
“Jim Hawkins. Captain of the SV Solarfire.”