A collaboration between Kisshot & Raid
Deena giggles as her mother tips her forward. Esra's elbows lock. She almost drops her daughter when the man bumps into her. That is not to say he barrled over Esra and her children without any thought. She seen many men stumble about as they became accustomed to the way the deck bobbed and dipped with the movement of the waves. It was a miscalculated stumble. He waves his cane.
Strange. Her head cocks. He uses the cane like it's a prop rather than a tool. He limps around in a fashion like man who is not used to limping. Was he hurt in the fires last night? she thinks, but the disagrees with herself just as quickly. It was as if he didn't want to limp. Strange, she thinks again, bouncing Deena on her knee as the man spurts out something decidely not Arabic.
Shahid keeps staring at the man. She pinches his cheek, scolding him. It is the scar and mangled nose that kept the boys attention. And she thought they raised him better than that.
"Ow!" he wines, cupping his cheek, but doesn't protest. Despite the red blotch surfacing on his skin though, he looks back up at the man and asks: "Are you alone?"
Esra's been awake for far too long to keep up with her son. Not even this food that sweetens with things other than honey and fruit that are too tangy, can shock her fully awake. Thus, she has no idea what trouble this boy might get himself into.
A cool breeze wafted against Ben's skin, sinking into the gritty pores of his scar tissue. He had to force himself not to wince, which became even harder under the scrutinizing gaze of Esra. To his surprise, it was not her who had spoken up, but a young boy with an even sharper stare than he, though his was more of an innocent curiosity at Ben's mangled nose. Ben was not offended by the intense staring; however, he did not flinch as Esra pinched her son's cheek, leaving a slight red stain on his skin. He knew that was the proper disciplinary method and he couldn't argue with it, but it brought back the same haunting memories that now prevented him from continuing his own family line, as rich and fulfilling as its denizens' lives were.
"No," Ben answered honestly, "I'm with meu pai. My father. And some friends that I'm sure you'd love to never meet."
Ben isn't sure what the proper courtesy is, so he extends his hand outward to the boy in an attempt to shake.
Shahid grins, taking the man's hand and pumping it twice in an exaggerated fashion. His younger brothers push themsleves forward and insist on taking the man's hand themselves to mimic their older brother. Shahid allows them to do this for their attention will wander quickly enough; besides, they don't speak Portuguese (though it's arguable that Shahid himself doesn't, either).
"How'd you get the scar?" Shahid asks. Men always like to brag about where they've gotten their scars.
"Boy," his mother warns in Arabic; he looks back at her as she cradles Deena close. His baby sister nuzzels into her mother's arm as the indigo of the sky blends into the deep blue of the sea. "Excuse me," Esra says in Portuguese to the man.
A rush of shame, anger, and humiliation comes up from somewhere in Shahid's heart. He wants to correct her. Tell her that Captain Sharkas was too easy on her during language lessons and thus she makes a fool of herself before this young man. But she's his mother.
Scrambling to cover up the mistake, Shahid enunciates, "But you are alone now. You must eat with us."
People on deck look out to the sea and up into the sky. With the daylight gone, they remember what brought them all to this ship aside for a thirst for adventure. Esra kisses the top of Deena's head. Her eyes half lidded and mouth open. She has already begun to drool as sleep wraps around the baby.
Ben laughs at the onslaught of the handshake-hungry children, and gives them each a friendly, overly firm clasp. They didn't stay focused on Bento for long, however, losing interest almost immediately afterwards, leaving Shahid alone with his mother and quarry on the groaning ship. Unsurprisingly, the boy's first question is about the scar. Ben does not mind the interest -- it is an...engaging story to tell, if anything-- regardless, Ben does not think it suitable for children. At least not in front of their stern mothers in the daylight, where they could easily rip Ben into thick tears of meat (and scar tissue).
Ben smiles at Esra. "Sem problemas. It's no problem at all -- though it is perhaps a story for after your son plays host."
The party is still lively as Ben speaks with Esra and her family, but nothing fantastic happens. His eyes fall atop the Dread Captain as he scans the deck, irises almost dirtied from a hard living. Ben takes in the Captain's gait and his walk and how his hands move when he speaks. He observes his facial patterns and his ticks, coding it all into his memory. It takes a lot of willpower to pry himself from his target at all, but Ben knows he cannot be rude here; he has to return to his current job. Even sailors and widows will crave information at one point in their lives, as will Captains and cooks. Information is power. Knowledge is power. Such popular philosophy, yet most Portuguese don't realize how old its ancestry really is. Of course, most Portuguese Ben knows don't care about it to begin with.
Regardless, there's nothing like a long voyage at sea to create spiraling tensions between people-- people who will then seek information. Ben knows this.
No one knows how Bento Belo smiles so much, but, like always, his lips spread wide until his teeth are, again, glaring at Esra. "Shall we be off?"
Esra's not sure about what he said before, but through the lull in conversation and in her own mind, she's catches the last part. Off? she thinks. To where? She looks down at Deena because she finds this man's teeth too startling (too perfect). The girls drool bleeds through the fabric of her Jellaba.
"First, I am Shahid. Man of this family. Then, my mother, Esra Gad El Rab." He rests a hand on her shoulder from where she sits atop of the chicken cage and next to the goats. A throne as good as any. "Then my brothers, Samy and Ahmad." (The twins tease the goat by sticking their fingers between the bars of the cage and pulling back before it can bite them.) "And Deena, my baby sister."
Shahid gestures at the man. "And you, sir?" Esra stares. The way her boy's belly protrudes. How he holds his hand, palm up, when asking for this stranger's name. Tilting his chin down, but casting his eyes up. He looks just like Othman, she thinks. Horror overshadows the hunger for something dark and sweet or want for any female friend to speak with about the losses occuring last night.
"You are quite the man indeed, Shahid. Your family is lucky to have you." Ben answers as best he can, almost fumbling over his tongue as he tries to remember the proper tone to use with one so young. He hasn't spoken to a child since that night years ago, when his father's heart had collapsed and Ben had been barely young enough to escape the debris. The memories stung. Not as deep as the roaring flames that had escaped the 'dragon's' tonsils only hours ago, but deep enough to bother Bento Jr. He searched the ship, looking for a way out of repressed memories and tortured pasts, forcing his eyes to take in Esra's bald spot, Shahid's patriarchal pose, even the faint splash of breaking waves.
"I am Bento Belo Junior, man of what is left of my family. My father, Bento Belo Senior, is here with me as well." Ben was amazed at the strength of the boy's character and personality, which somehow left him answering as properly and honestly as possible. "I would avoid his company, my new friends, and maybe ignore meeting his eyes as well."
Ben's eyes were downcast for a moment, dirty irises rolling around like pinwheels in his head. Quickly, he shook his head loose and looked up at his "new friends", grinning. He reached out to grab their arms and lead them to some food, but pulled back in fear of seeming overly friendly and suspicious. He was getting rusty.
"Perhaps we could go below to the kitchen, for a more quiet setting? I leave the decision to you, Shahid, man of the family."
Shahid doesn't understand. Why should he avoid Bento's father? He has met the old man already, anyways. What harm is there in that? Out of a child's mischeivous desire, he makes no comment. It will be his secret. He has many secrets, indeed.
He pats Bento's arm, like Captain Sharkas would pat Othman's in reassurance of some scheme or plan. (Captain Sharkas had done this very same action after Othman agreed to come on the journey to Portugal.) "Good idea. Maybe my mother will make us my favorite dish, fatteh?"
"I will not," Esra says in Arabic, pulling at the collar of Ahmad's robe so that he doesn't scamper too far off. "There is food here to eat. This is the food you will eat."
Shahid stares. His mother never let's them eat foreign food. Something is wrong. Horribly so. Why? She has him and he will make sure everything will be fine. Doesn't she understand that?
It is the increase in shouts and laughter, though, makes her uncomfortable. "What does this man say, Shahid?" she sighs.
"He says we should go to the kitchen," her son translates.
She frowns. It is too private of quarters. She already missed her prayers for the day, working with patients only to realize how thirsty she is and that her prayer rug is still rolle dup in the corner of the guest suite she had with her family in Sintra's local Lord's house. the card games becomes more dramatic and the Captain sways. The seas is not rough enough for a captain to sway.
She doesn't want her children here. She doesn't want to be here. "Shahid, ask him to escort us to our cabin. It is time for--"
Samy begins to whine. His mother levels her greens eyes down at her son. He grumbles an apology.
"Shahid, ask the man."
How can he admit he doesn't have the vocabulary to do as his mother asks? Does he lie? Yes. She can't understand him anyways.
"My family and I must go to bed, my new friend," he says, taking Ahmad's hand. His younger brother grunts, but rubs at his eyes instead. The rocking of the ship lulls the conversation on deck. But maybe that was the crush of the darkenss around them?
"Our friend cannot take us down, mother, the Captain asks him to complete some tasks first," Shahid says in Arabic. "But I remember which way to go." And he walks towards the steps leading down to the quieter sections of the ship's belly.
Esra stares after her son, following him out of shock. Captain Sharkas would have been proud of the boy's manipulation. After all, he's the one who taught her son anything. The boy never listened to his father. On this ship, who will be the next one to poison her son's mind? She tucks her children into the bunk and wastes half a tarrow candle just to watch them fall asleep. Rubbing circles into her stomach she wonders who will take advantage of them next? She agreed to this journey because it was an oppertunity for her to return home, but now she feels as if she fell into a trap.
How am I expected to sleep? she thinks, unwrapped her scarf and folding it into a pillow. She touches her cheek. Her fingers are wet and her tongue tastes salt and her nose keeps dripping. She cries with a fist in her mouth as to not wake the children.
Strange. Her head cocks. He uses the cane like it's a prop rather than a tool. He limps around in a fashion like man who is not used to limping. Was he hurt in the fires last night? she thinks, but the disagrees with herself just as quickly. It was as if he didn't want to limp. Strange, she thinks again, bouncing Deena on her knee as the man spurts out something decidely not Arabic.
Shahid keeps staring at the man. She pinches his cheek, scolding him. It is the scar and mangled nose that kept the boys attention. And she thought they raised him better than that.
"Ow!" he wines, cupping his cheek, but doesn't protest. Despite the red blotch surfacing on his skin though, he looks back up at the man and asks: "Are you alone?"
Esra's been awake for far too long to keep up with her son. Not even this food that sweetens with things other than honey and fruit that are too tangy, can shock her fully awake. Thus, she has no idea what trouble this boy might get himself into.
A cool breeze wafted against Ben's skin, sinking into the gritty pores of his scar tissue. He had to force himself not to wince, which became even harder under the scrutinizing gaze of Esra. To his surprise, it was not her who had spoken up, but a young boy with an even sharper stare than he, though his was more of an innocent curiosity at Ben's mangled nose. Ben was not offended by the intense staring; however, he did not flinch as Esra pinched her son's cheek, leaving a slight red stain on his skin. He knew that was the proper disciplinary method and he couldn't argue with it, but it brought back the same haunting memories that now prevented him from continuing his own family line, as rich and fulfilling as its denizens' lives were.
"No," Ben answered honestly, "I'm with meu pai. My father. And some friends that I'm sure you'd love to never meet."
Ben isn't sure what the proper courtesy is, so he extends his hand outward to the boy in an attempt to shake.
Shahid grins, taking the man's hand and pumping it twice in an exaggerated fashion. His younger brothers push themsleves forward and insist on taking the man's hand themselves to mimic their older brother. Shahid allows them to do this for their attention will wander quickly enough; besides, they don't speak Portuguese (though it's arguable that Shahid himself doesn't, either).
"How'd you get the scar?" Shahid asks. Men always like to brag about where they've gotten their scars.
"Boy," his mother warns in Arabic; he looks back at her as she cradles Deena close. His baby sister nuzzels into her mother's arm as the indigo of the sky blends into the deep blue of the sea. "Excuse me," Esra says in Portuguese to the man.
A rush of shame, anger, and humiliation comes up from somewhere in Shahid's heart. He wants to correct her. Tell her that Captain Sharkas was too easy on her during language lessons and thus she makes a fool of herself before this young man. But she's his mother.
Scrambling to cover up the mistake, Shahid enunciates, "But you are alone now. You must eat with us."
People on deck look out to the sea and up into the sky. With the daylight gone, they remember what brought them all to this ship aside for a thirst for adventure. Esra kisses the top of Deena's head. Her eyes half lidded and mouth open. She has already begun to drool as sleep wraps around the baby.
Ben laughs at the onslaught of the handshake-hungry children, and gives them each a friendly, overly firm clasp. They didn't stay focused on Bento for long, however, losing interest almost immediately afterwards, leaving Shahid alone with his mother and quarry on the groaning ship. Unsurprisingly, the boy's first question is about the scar. Ben does not mind the interest -- it is an...engaging story to tell, if anything-- regardless, Ben does not think it suitable for children. At least not in front of their stern mothers in the daylight, where they could easily rip Ben into thick tears of meat (and scar tissue).
Ben smiles at Esra. "Sem problemas. It's no problem at all -- though it is perhaps a story for after your son plays host."
The party is still lively as Ben speaks with Esra and her family, but nothing fantastic happens. His eyes fall atop the Dread Captain as he scans the deck, irises almost dirtied from a hard living. Ben takes in the Captain's gait and his walk and how his hands move when he speaks. He observes his facial patterns and his ticks, coding it all into his memory. It takes a lot of willpower to pry himself from his target at all, but Ben knows he cannot be rude here; he has to return to his current job. Even sailors and widows will crave information at one point in their lives, as will Captains and cooks. Information is power. Knowledge is power. Such popular philosophy, yet most Portuguese don't realize how old its ancestry really is. Of course, most Portuguese Ben knows don't care about it to begin with.
Regardless, there's nothing like a long voyage at sea to create spiraling tensions between people-- people who will then seek information. Ben knows this.
No one knows how Bento Belo smiles so much, but, like always, his lips spread wide until his teeth are, again, glaring at Esra. "Shall we be off?"
Esra's not sure about what he said before, but through the lull in conversation and in her own mind, she's catches the last part. Off? she thinks. To where? She looks down at Deena because she finds this man's teeth too startling (too perfect). The girls drool bleeds through the fabric of her Jellaba.
"First, I am Shahid. Man of this family. Then, my mother, Esra Gad El Rab." He rests a hand on her shoulder from where she sits atop of the chicken cage and next to the goats. A throne as good as any. "Then my brothers, Samy and Ahmad." (The twins tease the goat by sticking their fingers between the bars of the cage and pulling back before it can bite them.) "And Deena, my baby sister."
Shahid gestures at the man. "And you, sir?" Esra stares. The way her boy's belly protrudes. How he holds his hand, palm up, when asking for this stranger's name. Tilting his chin down, but casting his eyes up. He looks just like Othman, she thinks. Horror overshadows the hunger for something dark and sweet or want for any female friend to speak with about the losses occuring last night.
"You are quite the man indeed, Shahid. Your family is lucky to have you." Ben answers as best he can, almost fumbling over his tongue as he tries to remember the proper tone to use with one so young. He hasn't spoken to a child since that night years ago, when his father's heart had collapsed and Ben had been barely young enough to escape the debris. The memories stung. Not as deep as the roaring flames that had escaped the 'dragon's' tonsils only hours ago, but deep enough to bother Bento Jr. He searched the ship, looking for a way out of repressed memories and tortured pasts, forcing his eyes to take in Esra's bald spot, Shahid's patriarchal pose, even the faint splash of breaking waves.
"I am Bento Belo Junior, man of what is left of my family. My father, Bento Belo Senior, is here with me as well." Ben was amazed at the strength of the boy's character and personality, which somehow left him answering as properly and honestly as possible. "I would avoid his company, my new friends, and maybe ignore meeting his eyes as well."
Ben's eyes were downcast for a moment, dirty irises rolling around like pinwheels in his head. Quickly, he shook his head loose and looked up at his "new friends", grinning. He reached out to grab their arms and lead them to some food, but pulled back in fear of seeming overly friendly and suspicious. He was getting rusty.
"Perhaps we could go below to the kitchen, for a more quiet setting? I leave the decision to you, Shahid, man of the family."
Shahid doesn't understand. Why should he avoid Bento's father? He has met the old man already, anyways. What harm is there in that? Out of a child's mischeivous desire, he makes no comment. It will be his secret. He has many secrets, indeed.
He pats Bento's arm, like Captain Sharkas would pat Othman's in reassurance of some scheme or plan. (Captain Sharkas had done this very same action after Othman agreed to come on the journey to Portugal.) "Good idea. Maybe my mother will make us my favorite dish, fatteh?"
"I will not," Esra says in Arabic, pulling at the collar of Ahmad's robe so that he doesn't scamper too far off. "There is food here to eat. This is the food you will eat."
Shahid stares. His mother never let's them eat foreign food. Something is wrong. Horribly so. Why? She has him and he will make sure everything will be fine. Doesn't she understand that?
It is the increase in shouts and laughter, though, makes her uncomfortable. "What does this man say, Shahid?" she sighs.
"He says we should go to the kitchen," her son translates.
She frowns. It is too private of quarters. She already missed her prayers for the day, working with patients only to realize how thirsty she is and that her prayer rug is still rolle dup in the corner of the guest suite she had with her family in Sintra's local Lord's house. the card games becomes more dramatic and the Captain sways. The seas is not rough enough for a captain to sway.
She doesn't want her children here. She doesn't want to be here. "Shahid, ask him to escort us to our cabin. It is time for--"
Samy begins to whine. His mother levels her greens eyes down at her son. He grumbles an apology.
"Shahid, ask the man."
How can he admit he doesn't have the vocabulary to do as his mother asks? Does he lie? Yes. She can't understand him anyways.
"My family and I must go to bed, my new friend," he says, taking Ahmad's hand. His younger brother grunts, but rubs at his eyes instead. The rocking of the ship lulls the conversation on deck. But maybe that was the crush of the darkenss around them?
"Our friend cannot take us down, mother, the Captain asks him to complete some tasks first," Shahid says in Arabic. "But I remember which way to go." And he walks towards the steps leading down to the quieter sections of the ship's belly.
Esra stares after her son, following him out of shock. Captain Sharkas would have been proud of the boy's manipulation. After all, he's the one who taught her son anything. The boy never listened to his father. On this ship, who will be the next one to poison her son's mind? She tucks her children into the bunk and wastes half a tarrow candle just to watch them fall asleep. Rubbing circles into her stomach she wonders who will take advantage of them next? She agreed to this journey because it was an oppertunity for her to return home, but now she feels as if she fell into a trap.
How am I expected to sleep? she thinks, unwrapped her scarf and folding it into a pillow. She touches her cheek. Her fingers are wet and her tongue tastes salt and her nose keeps dripping. She cries with a fist in her mouth as to not wake the children.