( winter is an odd time in the seafaring world, at least along the atlantic. it's not even the temperature of it –– rather, it's the unpredictability. there's ice, of course, but that isn't even one of their main concerns. overwhelming patches of fog so thick that one can't see their own hand in front of their face, appear out of nowhere, force stoppages in a voyage just as a precautionary measure. hurricanes occur along the southern coasts, cold, wet, and bringing a whole load of unexpected issues along with them.
ships themselves can be unpredictable, too. what was supposed to be a long weekend on land in america – a simple friday thru tuesday morning ordeal - ends up being much longer. a part of the cargo ship's bow was damaged during a particularly stormy voyage from the florida keys up to new haven, and it'll take some time to repair what with the ever-persistent winter making work conditions difficult for the workers here. all of the sailors were told that they should look for longer term accommodations, leave the old motel lifestyle behind for a few weeks.
gideon isn't sure what to make of it at first, really, too used to traveling from place to place so often he hardly knows where he is. ever since he left wallsend at fifteen, his soul's been completely and utterly restless. and yet...
he finds himself with a certain spring in his step when he returns to quinn's apartment to deliver the news. there's something in the way that she smiles, eyes all lit up when she hears that makes his heart jump. said heart will probably always belong to one meg dawson, but it doesn't stop this certain ... intrigue, he supposes, of his. he likely shouldn't even bother with all this, considering he will have to leave eventually, and there's the "age thing" that he'd rather do anything but discuss, but there is something about her, a magnetic quality, that he can't seem to shake. can't even seem to avert his eyes half the time, to be perfectly honest.
it's a saturday night, and they'd gone to a local pub earlier for a few pints and, okay, maybe a few shots, but it was hardly anything compared to the type of alcohol gideon fletcher can normally down on an average night out. he thinks himself buzzed at absolutely best, though his alcohol tolerance is fairly strong. they'd returned to quinn's apartment after a few hours, telling stories and laughing and generally having a good time.
that's how gideon finds himself here in quinn's bedroom -- a place he's only dared enter maybe three times in the days he's stayed here on her couch. now, though, he stands straight up, grins widely, flips a switch on the small stereo quinn has atop a dresser, allowing whatever the hell it is that she's got in that cd player of hers play. ) C'mon, Quinn. You've turned me down for a dance before, but your time has come. Time to face the music, love. And don't ya dare pull any of that "I'm no good" shite, because I know you're perfectly capable. Besides, it's only me we're talkin' here.
( he's never exactly been shy -- understatement of the century -- and he isn't about to start now. gideon extends a hand, lets his fingers ghost along her inner wrist and to her palm, featherlight and surprisingly gentle despite the roughness of his fingertips, and takes her hand within his own in a last ditch effort to get quinn to indulge him, if only for a few seconds. ) What do you say, mm?
sighs 2 deeply
ships themselves can be unpredictable, too. what was supposed to be a long weekend on land in america – a simple friday thru tuesday morning ordeal - ends up being much longer. a part of the cargo ship's bow was damaged during a particularly stormy voyage from the florida keys up to new haven, and it'll take some time to repair what with the ever-persistent winter making work conditions difficult for the workers here. all of the sailors were told that they should look for longer term accommodations, leave the old motel lifestyle behind for a few weeks.
gideon isn't sure what to make of it at first, really, too used to traveling from place to place so often he hardly knows where he is. ever since he left wallsend at fifteen, his soul's been completely and utterly restless. and yet...
he finds himself with a certain spring in his step when he returns to quinn's apartment to deliver the news. there's something in the way that she smiles, eyes all lit up when she hears that makes his heart jump. said heart will probably always belong to one meg dawson, but it doesn't stop this certain ... intrigue, he supposes, of his. he likely shouldn't even bother with all this, considering he will have to leave eventually, and there's the "age thing" that he'd rather do anything but discuss, but there is something about her, a magnetic quality, that he can't seem to shake. can't even seem to avert his eyes half the time, to be perfectly honest.
it's a saturday night, and they'd gone to a local pub earlier for a few pints and, okay, maybe a few shots, but it was hardly anything compared to the type of alcohol gideon fletcher can normally down on an average night out. he thinks himself buzzed at absolutely best, though his alcohol tolerance is fairly strong. they'd returned to quinn's apartment after a few hours, telling stories and laughing and generally having a good time.
that's how gideon finds himself here in quinn's bedroom -- a place he's only dared enter maybe three times in the days he's stayed here on her couch. now, though, he stands straight up, grins widely, flips a switch on the small stereo quinn has atop a dresser, allowing whatever the hell it is that she's got in that cd player of hers play. ) C'mon, Quinn. You've turned me down for a dance before, but your time has come. Time to face the music, love. And don't ya dare pull any of that "I'm no good" shite, because I know you're perfectly capable. Besides, it's only me we're talkin' here.
( he's never exactly been shy -- understatement of the century -- and he isn't about to start now. gideon extends a hand, lets his fingers ghost along her inner wrist and to her palm, featherlight and surprisingly gentle despite the roughness of his fingertips, and takes her hand within his own in a last ditch effort to get quinn to indulge him, if only for a few seconds. ) What do you say, mm?