I don't think there's anything left of the canon that I can squeeze these two out of, so this fic is probably going to be left alone for a long while.
10.
Today reality is a bit blander. The saltine crunch of existence gums up around his teeth with a bit more vividness. He sits, his heart feeling mundane and his mind feeling vexed with the routine chore of breathing.
It's odd; cold—it's chilly in the captain's room today. But Keiss isn't shivering. His skin bears no goose bumps, his straight teeth are unmoving and unruffled, and he most certainly cannot see the perspiration in his breath float up into the wooden paneling.
Yet the truth still stands: it is cold.
It's been this way for the longest while—since Layle's gone proverbially missing.
Belle stops by often, going on about new info this and new info that—but Keiss is far-gone from any sort of hope that may linger, and Belle is not too far behind, judging from the flirty demeanor she's somewhat regained. He can't say he blames her as she lays her hand over his, giggling as she tells him about where the latest trail has lead.
"You know I don't have time for this, Belle."
She frowns—"No time for your best friend? He could be out there—"
"I meant this," he says as he lifts his hand from beneath hers and stands from the gaudily upholstered sofa. The smile shading his face is sad, eyes to match when she draws her appendage close to her chest and stares at is, flexing her fingers.
It's as if it was faulty.
After Belle has come and gone, Keiss sits again and breathes in the smell of the shipwreck. Salt, timber, preserved and rotted fish.
"Where the hell are you?" The words come out as if he has the worst case of dry mouth. He leans back into the cushions and pulls his worn bandana over his eyelids. His wrists lay limp and folded between his lax legs.
Breathe, Keiss, breathe—it's the best you can do, now.
In his dream, the air is humid and heavy like it ought to be. The smell of the ocean assaults his nostrils, and he can hear the crashing of the falls—a smack to the face and his clothes become weighty. There is no more air, and his sinuses fill with icy, stinging fluid.
He has to breathe, has to breathe—it's all he can do, but he can't.
Someone shouts his name, and for a brief moment his mouth is above the splashing current—he takes in a raspy breath of that humid and heavy air. A hand, a hand—
"Keiss!" but there's still nothing as he keeps his eyes plastered together—the water encases his body, and then fwoom. He can feel bubbles of air between the fabric of his sweater and the smooth, sun burnt expanse of his shoulder blades. Suddenly he's alive, he's so very alive when he resurfaces from the pit of the falls—what drips from his hair, his nose, his eyes, and his whole being is all around him; water, water, everywhere.
He makes slow strokes to the entrance of the cove—the sunset is bright and burns into his retinas. A deep breath, and he hefts himself onto the rock faced surface, small bits of gravel and sand kneading into his palms. Droplets splatter and dot the ground as he adjusts his favorite golden emblem'd bandana. Keiss is misty eyed as he faces the mast of the Selkie Guild.
That old man is fishing beneath all the nets and ladders again. His face is a blur—Keiss can't see the creases of his brow or the sparse white hairs of the man's eyebrows. There's a grunt-like sigh behind him, and then the sound of sopping wet Clavat.
"Sorry—" He hears himself talk. "I messed up back there."
"Looks like we're at the Sel–" the voice behind his cuts off into a mumble of white noise and snow.
"Yeah," Keiss replies anyway. "Home, sweet home–" He turns half way, and Layle pulls himself out of the water.
"I guess." The words fall out of his mouth and flutter; he feels as if a puff of smoke has just cascaded its way through his lungs and esophagus. Layle starts to talk again, and he undoes his jacket, the brass lock turning with a gentle movement of ringed fingers.
Keiss feels his own lips move, but nothing rings in his ears as Layle clicks the buckle of his body armor and crouches over his back, the back of his stained shirt shifting as he shoves his jacket into his tiny bag. The blonde's musings about Vaigali come out muted, and although the phenomena of the rhythm of his voice beating on Keiss' ears still remains, his face begins to dissolve into sand.
His full image echoes only once as he walks near the ledge of the cliff, standing near the Selkie.
"—had money—" a wry smile curls itself onto his features, and Keiss watches the way his lips shape and carve out the unheard syllables. "—long time ago."
He fades like a piano note and Keiss blinks unhurriedly, his eyelashes fluttering up with resistance. He drifts down down, down, down—whether or not it's towards the ground, he can't be sure. His shirt billows up and his bandana, trembling, heads upwards off his head as if it had tiny fruit fly wings.
Everything is tinged blue, and he breathes in like he's drowning, which is not at all, as his hair drags itself into his vision. When he lands, the air is frigid and dry, and the sky is frozen over with whiteness and the wind chafes his nose. Keiss shakes out a breath from his lungs. The gloves of his Altifaria issued uniform hug his fingers– "said you would ignore it until we settled the issue with the Yuke."
"I see no Yuke. Capture the fugitive."
Keiss pulls his wine colored eyes to the courtyard, where Layle should be, but isn't. There is not where a still figure is standing and there is not where a blond, 21 year old Clavat stands. There is no one there.
There is only a flattened expanse of snow and grayed, dead branches.
Keiss wakes feeling bleary. Everything is dark, and oh god, has he gone blind?
He starts and jerks himself forward, and bangs his knee of the cherry finished coffee table—a string of foul language follows afterwards when his head accessory flies itself down into his lap. With a steady yet quivering movement, the guild master checks his temperature.
Cold.
Yet, with his sticky fingers, he folds his bandana into a tiny triangle and sets it on the stoutly table and sets himself out for a walk.