The sun was glaring down and Simmons eyes burned as he stared at it, only a few pieces of colored glass keeping him from possible blindness. The ship was still in the water, not a wave to behold, the perfect conditions to take a sight. He let his fingers slide along the instrument in his hands the reflection of the sun was lowered slowly until its edge touched the horizon.
"Simmons what the fuck are you doing?" Grif's voice broke through his hard earned concentration, throwing off the sight.
"Trying to discern our position based on the movement of the sun. Not something you would understand."
"Why bother?"
"Because I want to know where we are."
"We know where we are, we're in the doldrums, we haven't moved in three days because there's no wind. Why can't you just use the position you plotted yesterday? Or the day before that? Or the day before that? They're all the same."
"Well it's still important to check."
"You're such a kiss ass. This is just your way of impressing the Captain isn't it? 'Oh look at me I'm Simmons I can do all the fancy math with the sun' blah blah blah."
Simmons rolled his eyes and went back to adjusting the sextant. There was just no explaining things to some people. At this point he no longer cared if Grif didn't understand the high ranking jobs at sea. There had been a few moments long ago where he had secretly hoped that Grif would prove to be as much a man of the world as their captain was. He certainly had the potential.
But then again he was a good for nothing, lazy fatass who was thousands of miles from home and, for the most part, seemed out of his element.
Satisfied at last Simmons wrote down the angle on the sextant and packed it away before he began his calculations in the chart room.
Was it too much to ask for Grif to appreciate what he did as navigator? He made sure they stayed on track and didn't get lost which was a lot more than anyone else seemed to be doing. Simmons had been studying for years to get to the rank he had now; learning the careful calculations and the precise movements to capture the stars on a rolling ship. Everyone else had come to admire him, but all Grif has to say on the matter is 'We haven't moved in three days.'
"Idiot" Simmons muttered under his breath as he brought out tools and plotted the position. He took a long hard look at the chart and the marks he had made on it, biting back an angry scream he felt rising in his chest.
"What the status Simmons?" The Captain called in to him.
"We haven't moved in three days sir" Simmons reported trying to keep himself calm. Pictures of Grif's 'I told you so' face playing in the back of his mind.
"Sounds about right. Carry on."
Simmons gritted his teeth as he left the chart room praying to God that the wind would start up soon. As soon as the wind started he would be useful again, and then certain stupid low ranked sailors would have to keep their mouths shut around him.