The fact that there was no escape seemed to sink in more and more each day. At first, Yale had been thankful to have a place to go. That, upon being stranded, he hadn’t been left entirely alone on a possibly dangerous shore. The home that had been gratefully provided for both he and Carver was still much appreciated, absolutely, but the more he sat in it, the more it began to feel like a prison.
Carver adjusted well. The second day, he had been up and moving. The loss of their crew seemed to weigh little on his mind as he started out that morning, and every next, with charismatic greetings to the few people in the hallway.
Yale hadn’t any interest in leaving the room. Honestly, he had just wanted to sleep, but after so many days of him stewing in bed, Carver had returned and was quick to prove that was no longer a possibility. He had ushered Yale out of bed, and while he hadn’t admitted to it, he was thankful for it. Leaving the house did lighten his mood to his extent, and it had also made him a little more comfortable in their surroundings. The village had been silent and dead the day they arrived, but people were out and about now. It was warm out with a breeze to keep it from being unbearable. The scent of fruit and flowers mixed with that of the ocean. They were greeted, spoken to, fed, and all in all, he found that the village was pretty nice.
There were about as many people living there as there had been on the ship, and they were all undeniably more inviting than the crew. He had been used to their raunchy behavior and foul odor, having lived there for nearly a decade at that point, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know what normal people behaved like. He appreciated it, really. He wasn’t part of them- he and Carver were both outsiders. And yet the way they invited them in felt like a family gathering. It reminded him of the Spring Festivals back home before his parents had passed. The few occasions when he got to see his cousins because they’d be brought over for the celebration week from a few towns over. Time with them was always fun.
This felt similar to that...
Vald had said that the remaining inhabitants of the town were all survivors of The Hag’s previous attacks, and he could tell that such a fact had brought them together. It was a kind of survival bond that didn’t surface when you were born in a city, safe with all the people around you, with no reason to get to know them. A kind of bond that was forged through cold hungry nights gathered around a fire after having lost their homes, friends, families…
At first, Yale had found himself jealous of that part.
When he had faced such loss, no one had been there for him in the same way that all of these people were with one another. But that bitterness subsided as he realized that, while that was true for his childhood, it wasn’t now. Not only was this village made up of those that were more than happy to bring in newcomers and do their best to help them, he realized that Carver was…
Well, He really didn’t know what to call him.
He barely knew him beyond the fact that he liked to get a little drunk and sing loud from the highest perches of the ship. And beyond the fact that he was undeniably charming. Was it friendship that he felt with this?
Or was it possibly something else stemming from the fact that that man had somehow maintained a perfect smile despite living on a damned pirate ship?
He'd learned in these few short days that, beyond his awful singing voice, he also liked to sing while he was in the shower, never slept with a shirt on, and would do little dance numbers when he was getting ready for the day.
Maybe it was both?
The day had been spent outside getting to know the townsfolk. There were no families left complete by Ross’ watery temper tantrums, and everyone had their stories. Most of who remained seemed to be younger or middle aged people, and Yale tried his best not to think too far into the reasons why that may be lest he spiral even deeper into the already blooming depression. He’d done his best to try and remember them all, but he’d estimate about forty people. He’d learn in time, he guessed.
Carver however, seemed to be having no problems at all.
Vald had mentioned the fact that many people lived together in the large spaces they’d built, and so that night when everyone elected to retire from a meager little feast they’d prepared in greeting to try and raise their spirits, they walked with a group.
The majority of the names had been lost on Yale already, but Carver was giving hugs, high fives, and cheerful goodnights to all those that passed by on their own ways home. There was something to be admired in his unending friendliness, and Yale wondered how a man like him had come to be in a group of sea-thugs like the Silverclaws.
“Do you ever stop talking?” Yale asked with a half cocked grin. He leaned against the doorframe of their own room as Carver walked back to him.
Despite having been the one to open the door, Carver hadn’t entered. He’d instead found himself completely occupied in a conversation about fishing with one of the few older men around. Yale suspected him to be about thirty years older than himself, with sun-bleached hair that teetered right on the edge of white from platinum blond.
“Do I need to?” Carver asked in return, thick arms crossing over a broad chest.
“No,” Yale answered. “You’re pretty entertaining to listen to, I’ll give you that.”
“You can just leave it at ‘you’re pretty’, no need to carry on.” One hand dropped from the position so he could draw a hand up and extravagantly fluff his own silky black hair.
“Yeah, that too,” Yale chuckled, rolling his eyes and pushing off the frame. As he straightened, he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes.
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The hall had cleared with Carver finally allowing the last resident to return home, all except the two of them, and one other he had just then noticed: Alice.
The curiosity didn’t come from the fact that she lagged so far behind the rest. Instead, it was because he couldn’t remember seeing her all day. He hadn’t thought about it at the time, but now that he saw her, it occurred to him. Apparently it managed to etch its way into his expression too, as Carver glanced back toward her as well. He had turned, flashing that broad smile of his as Alice noticed she’d garnered both of their attention. But unlike everyone else, she didn’t seem at all swayed by it, instead scoffing, grimacing, and rolling her eyes. She shoved open the door to her own room, slamming it behind her and leaving them once again alone in the hall.
There were no hard feelings to be seen on Carver’s face as he turned back toward Yale and gave an exaggerated shrug. He strode inside flopping back on their bed as he kicked off his still slightly soggy boots and stretched his arms over his head.
“Do you remember seeing her today?” Yale asked as he followed and closed the door to their own room much more gently than Alice had hers. Little bit rude to disregard all those around her like that, but it wasn’t his concern he guessed.
Carver pondered the question as he leaned back, both arms having dropped to keep him propped up. “No,” he answered. “Don’t think I do, actually.”
A little ‘hmph’ left Yale as he needlessly glanced back in the general direction they’d seen her. “Wonder what her deal is.”
“Maybe we should ask her.”
“Yeah, that seems like a great idea,” Yale countered. “That display was just so inviting.”
“Never said it was gonna be polite,” was Carver’s response.
Yale arched a brow as the scenario of possibly confronting the axe wielding woman played through in his head. He didn’t very much appreciate the idea of getting hacked up by her. “She seems angry.”
Carver shrugged his shoulders. “That’s not our problem.”
While he was right, Yale couldn’t help but wonder if it may cause a problem in the future. Concerning as it was, he didn’t have the energy to sort through how he may fix that problem at present, at least in ways other than what Carver had suggested.
Instead of dwelling, something he was generally all too prone to doing, he slinked forward to slide onto the bed, laying on his stomach and nestling the pillows.
His actions called Carver’s attention to look back at him, and after a moment or two of contemplation, he felt the weight of his companion lowering next to him.
“Feelin’ okay?”
Yale grunted in response.
“Isssss that a no?”
A huff sounded against the pillows as he rolled onto his side. He stretched out one arm needlessly, letting it fall back so he could run his fingers through his short dirty blond hair. “It's just… Jarring still.”
The first day after they’d arrived, he had been distressed. It wasn’t until about the third or fourth, that he realized that he actually didn’t miss the ship or anyone on it. He missed the safety of a group and disliked the sudden change that he wasn’t the least bit prepared to handle. It had scared him to the point of staying in bed, but if he was to be honest, Carver helped. It wasn’t a group, but it was someone that he could find comfort in, so he at least appreciated that. And along with him, he realized that meeting everyone had made him feel a little more secure. He didn’t have to think for his own survival- he would have someone else to lead and show him the way. Maybe that was a childish fear, but it was his nonetheless, and he enjoyed knowing that he wasn’t on his own again. Even if this island, lovely as it was, acted as a prison for all of its inhabitants.
“How do you make it un-jarring?” Carver questioned, a brow arched.
“I’m working on that,” Yale answered. “...You being here helps.”
“Oh good,” he brightened. “No clue what I’m doing, so I’m glad that me existing does it for ya.”
“It does a lot for me,” Yale rolled onto his back to make it easier to sit up.
Carver’s lips cocked into a smirk that Yale didn’t catch with his back turned to the man. “Does it now?” He asked, his tone heavy with an exaggerated suggestiveness.
“---Shut up.”
He wasn’t wrong…
“Fine, but only cuz gettin’ any fun time stuff seems like it’ll be a hassle ‘round here.” With that, Carver rose to shed his shirt, turning back after to motion Yale out of his side of the bed.
“Getting.. Anything?” Yale scooted absently aside, the meaning dawning on him a moment later. He waved both hands to avoid having Carver give a real answer. The taller man crawled over him and flopped into bed, shoving down the blankets so he could toss them up and over himself.
“I’ve gotta sleep. Said I’d help maintencing the walls tomorrow, you should come along.”
With a quiet, idle ‘maybe’ Yale shed the vest that had been over a loose white shirt, and readied himself for bed as well.
He had had the urge to sleep all week, and had, for the most part, done a pretty good job achieving the goal. But now sleep wouldn’t come to him, and he would be ashamed to admit the reason was very simple: Carver’s suggestion. He couldn’t help but entertain the thought as he lay there in the dark. It was better than fear, but really, was it? He definitely preferred the thought of Carver touching him over the hopelessness of having no safety and nowhere to turn, but it was embarrassing to say the least. Especially since, the more he dwelled on it, the more he was positive he’d been joking.
One way or another though, it did lead him to a thought that was actually productive. Said “fun time items” were easy to make with the right mix of plants, and that track had led him to thinking of his guide again. There was a lot in there- not ones specifically identifying what herbs would make a good lubricant, but ones that contained certain oils and what would be harmful or healthy. He wondered what things he may find on this island- Not for what would make a good lubricant.
Alright... Maybe what would make a good lubricant.
For Science, of course.
It felt like he let an eternity pass before he gave up on sleeping. He had adjusted to lay on his side, facing away from Carver, curled in the blankets with his eyes forced closed, but even remaining completely still, he couldn’t manage. His thoughts were roaming from one point to the other with no sign of stopping, at least not at his will. They did momentarily hush at the sound of a door closing somewhere down the hallway, but all that did was ultimately add another point on which to think.
When he finally did abandon the attempt, he did so with a huff as he shoved the blankets off him. Carver slept far too heavily to wake at the motion, or even at the sounds of Yale pulling out of the bed to throw on his things and hunt down the knife that the other had managed to salvage when they were washed up. His journal had mostly dried, but it needed some work thanks to the water running some of the ink on some pages. It was surprisingly well maintained for what had happened to it, even if it was kind of warped and stiff.
He didn’t know what enemies may lay in wait beyond the village's walls, so he strapped Carver’s dagger to his belt after pulling on his boots.
He’d have to hunt down a brush and ink, and was curious to know whether or not the person that had just left their room would be kind enough to direct him to one.