A/N: Here you go, enjoy
Rock the Boat
0123
Sasha was now the proud owner of ten thousand Beli, give or take, as well as a surprisingly cute statue of her little boat, shitty Lean-To and all, made from the slag that Rocko couldn't salvage into anything sellable. It was fragile as fuck, apparently, but Sasha adored it. It was such a weird, janky little thing, an ugly mix of grays with little flecks of brass. Despite being made with what had to be the ugliest fucking metals she'd ever seen, the details were immaculate.
She may have thoroughly embarrassed Rocko by gushing over how fucking cute it was and promptly showing literally everyone her Mini-Boat. She was getting fucking buried with this fucking funky little statue, mark her fucking words. Though, it did bring up the subject of where she would keep it, which brought her to finally go and check on her little Rowboat to see what, exactly, Jax and his friends had managed to magic up.
Much wow! Big excite!
()()()()()
"Holy shit. Holy fucking shit!" Sasha breathed in honest, shocked, delight as she looked over her little boat. It had been covered in a tarp the other night when she had finally gone to bed—and wasn't it funny that sleeping on a tarp on the sand was more comfortable now than a bed? Fuckin' wild, bro.
Anyways, yeah, Jax and his buddies had covered her whole little Rowboat with a big ass tarp of its own, and hadn't let her near it that morning when she'd gotten up. She had spent the time in question ferrying her new collection off to Rocko to sell while Jax and his friends did their magic. And now, here she was, standing on the dock and losing her goddamn mind at what the shipwright had uncovered.
Her Rowboat of Before had been ten-to-fifteen feet of dark, sturdy wood, two small benches, and a large space in the back part where she'd been able to build her Lean-To. It was large for a Rowboat, more of a Rescue Boat from a larger ship, and was really made for at least two to three people to run smoothly. The only reason she'd been able to do what she could, was because of the oddly-long oars that had been provided, and the help of Blue.
Jax and his boys, however, had given her little boat a makeover.
They had somehow added a few feet to his length, making him definitely over fifteen feet long, in fact, it was definitely almost twenty. The dark wood he'd been made of had been joined by a darker wood, splitting parts of him, almost like horizontal tiger strips, and a protective-looking addition of metal was just peeking out of the water, covering the entirety of his underside. The two benches that had broken him into sections had been removed completely, although a smaller, cushioned-looking seat had been added to the very front, and narrow, bench-like add-ons now traveled along the inner edges.
A single sail now rose from the middle-front of her Boat, with a series of pulleys and ropes attached to a wheel, a vaguely-complex system that even her untrained eye could tell was made for easier handling. The training-wheels version of a single-person sailboat. And holy fuck how wild was it that these cray fuckers had made her Rowboat a fuck mothering Sailboat?!
Just.
Fuckin' wild, bro!
And, of course, there was the final addition to her little Boat.
Gone was the shitty Lean-To, and, in its place, taking up damn-near the entirety of the backend of her little boat, was a fuck mothering cabin. It was the epitome of Tiny House Living, of course, she could tell that just by looking at the outside, but it was a legitimate, actual cabin. It was tiger-striped, just like the rest of the Boat, with two porthole/windows and two doors, one leading to the tiny space at the very back of her boat where the rudder and anchor both were, and one being the main door. The doors and windowpanes were painted an off-white with little stitch-like marks and lines over them—Oh!
Like her Poncho!
"That's so fucking cute!" She squeaked, flailing her hands at the door and spinning to beam at the smoking Jax, one hand going to clench her Poncho and pull it away from herself, shaking it in emphasis.
"Thought I'd stick ta the theme ye got going," the shipwright grunted; Sasha clapped her hands again in delight and leaped into her boat, darting around and touching everything outside her new Cabin first, crooning and chattering aloud about how sleek and handsome it all looked and holy shit her little Boat was the absolute best, best and most handsome little boat on the Sea, fight her. Jax gave her a brief, grunted run-down about the lever-pulley system of ropes, too, when she stopped briefly to just stand at the wheel, running her gloved hands over it all with wonder.
"Figured we'd go the easy route with ya, lass," the old shipwright grunted, jabbing his fingers into different spots. "This way ya won't be runnin' all over in a storm, an' if anything snaps, it'll be easier ta replace. Looks ugly as fuck to any real shipmate, but it'll keep ya steady and safe." Sasha sniffed, tossing her hair haughtily as she ran reverent fingers over the latched pulleys and levers.
"I don't give a flying fuck about anyone else's opinions on my Boat," she told him firmly. "He's the best goddamn Boat and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise!" Jax snorted.
"Don't think ya understand what 'not giving a fuck' means, lass, but sure," he mocked, amused. Sasha stuck her tongue out at him, but listened eagerly as he ran her through every step and reason for which levers and pulleys did what and went where. She learned how to move in a storm, in a bad wave, in dead water—Which, if it ever happened, he showed her that the narrow benches lining the sides of her Boat doubled as storage, and inside where the new-and-improved weirdly-long oars, plus some extra just in case. Even the front seat had a secret, the 'seat' part lifting to expose a small grill, and, if you twisted the little lock next to that, the wooden 'front' that faced her legs popped open to expose what she recognized as a Live Catch Tub, so if she went fishing, she could hold her live fish until it was time to cook them up! AND! And, if she turned the cushion upside-down, it locked into place on the boat's edge and became a cooking space/tabletop!
Hell yeah, totally Tiny House Living!
Noice!
Finally, after a few extra minutes where Jax showed her the fastest way to get around the outside of her cabin to the Anchor and rudder, and the under-deck rope to said rudder that was a part of her wheel-contraption, it was finally time for her to investigate the inside of her new home. Jax even pulled the door open for her so that she could just.
Take it all in.
Somehow, someway, Jax and his friends had built was amounted to a studio apartment in the cabin. The left side was the 'living/sleeping area', with more of those cushioned benches that were clearly also storage units, ones large enough that they could clearly double as beds. There was a large, sturdy hammock above them as well, and several more shelves built right into the walls that had half-doors on them that clearly locked to secure their contents. Sasha was willing to bet that at least one of those benches had cushions that flipped like the one outside to make a table too.
The right side held the kitchen and food storage area. There was a surprisingly large 'cold' pantry, which was a boat's version of a non-electric fridge as far as Sasha could tell. A nice, deep sink, lots of storage and counter space. And a clean, cream-colored theme that broke up the dark tiger-striped wood that made it all up. There was even a thick, soft-looking circular rug in the center of the floor, a couple of built-in stools sat at the counter that separated the living/kitchen areas, making a pseudo-bar. Walking through it, eyes huge with delight as she touched everything, Sasha felt like crying as she found it all somehow fully stocked, what the fuck?!
"Don't get too weepy, brat," Jax grunted, clearly amused, as she opened a bench to find it filled with clothes, holy fuck? "Lots'a people on this island are older folk or folk who've already had their kiddos leave the nest. Lots of too-small, too-old, and unused things that're clutterin' up space. So, plenty of folk wanna get rid of it an' you're not in a position ta say no, are ya?"
"Who would say no to free shit?" Sasha asked, voice cracking as she found an actual fucking teddy bear, oh god. Cuddling the bear with a sniffle, she continued to poke around. There were two doors at the back of the cabin, one of them leading to the back of the boat, but the other was the bathroom. And in it, Sasha found a clearly refurbished, old-ass water pump that she vaguely knew was meant to siphon salt from seawater to make it potable.
"That ol' beast is also connected ta the heatin' pump," Jax told her from the bathroom doorway as she poked around, still clutching the teddy bear in her arms. "Won't reach th' kitchen, but you'll have hot water'n here, at least." He gestured towards the rest of the bathroom, and Sasha joyfully poked around the small shower that was impeded in the floor, so it even had a shallow bathtub. The toilet was simple, and the sink was much shallower than the kitchens, but in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, she found a ridiculous amount of Band-Aids, bandages, wound-cleaning supplies, about ten toothbrushes with just as many simple toothpaste tubes, and a bag of pads, holy fucking shit she loved this island, gods fucking bless.
"There's a bigger, emergency First Aide kit under th' sink, and another one in the kitchen under that sink," Jax told her, gesturing vaguely. "Everythin' in that cabinet is mostly for your usual cuts'n scrapes, for those hooks you keep nabbin' from the glorified fish o' yours. The kits're for things like bullets, slashes, stitches, all that shit. Local doctor and those with th' trainin' were adamant ya have it all, an' they all contributed. There're some tablets up top there, too, for if ya can't get fruit, Vitamin-C tablets ta keep the scurvy away." Sasha whined, overwhelmed, burying her face in her new teddy as tears escaped her eyes.
"Fuck why is everyone so fucking nice, oh my god?" She warbled tearfully. "Like what the fuck, holy shit, that's just? So nice? Like?" Jax snorted and clapped one of his large, arthritic hands onto her shoulder, squeezing gently.
"To be fair, lass, you're the most interesting thing to happen to this island in about ten years," he informed her with a chuckle. "We get Marines and Merchants through here periodically, o'course, but never any visitors, let alone any like you. An' you've got a baby face, as you say, and the personality of an anxious border collie. People like ya, lass. Even cantankerous old assholes like me an' Brooley." Sasha sniffled, forehead wrinkling as she lifted her face away from her bear to look at him in confusion.
"Who, who's Brooley?" She asked him, sniffling and wiping at her face. Jax snorted again and handed her a handkerchief.
"That brat Krem. 'Tis his given name. Krem Brooley." Sasha stilled, handkerchief still covering her eyes, until she slowly pulled it down to stare at the now-smirking Shipwright in disbelief.
"His name. Is. It's… His name is Crème Brulé?" she choked out, eyes going wide with disbelieving glee as Jax grinned back.
"Damn right, though his Ma couldn't pronounce it in the proper North Blue way as you can," he laughed, grinning. "Couldn't spell it, either!'
"Oh my god that's fucking hilarious," she breathed, burying her face in the handkerchief again as she started giggling.
"An' he gets embarrassed as shit about it, too, which is even funnier," Jax told her, shit-eating grin making the ancient old man seem somehow younger. Laughing, Sasha could only shake her head and continue to carefully explore her new cabin, finding hidden shelves and spaces, poking through cabinets and unfolding cushions into tables and even a weird chair. Jax followed her around, pointing things out and naming off different parts and pieces of things. She even dug out one of the fancy First-Aid Kits to poke through.
"Doc included a lil book namin' and explainin' everything in there," Jax added as she poked in the box carefully. "Taped it to the roof of the Kit." Curious, Sasha peeled the little booklet off the lid and cautiously opened it, only to pause and stare.
The entire book was illustrated, beautifully and explicitly so. There were clear drawings of awful injuries, and then clear images of which tools you'd need for each one, and obvious step-by-step drawings of what to do, with arrows leading you through said steps. There were written instructions, too, but it was clear that this book was for someone illiterate.
Which she had to remember she was.
"Doc knows about your head injury, heard from that brat Iron Foot about it," Jax told her, voice carefully neutral as she shakily flipped through the book. "Said that if it took your memories and learned abilities too, it was probably permanent. Most cases of amnesia, see, only involve memories. You can still read and write and even cook, even if you don't remember how ya know it. Muscle memory takes over, trumps memory loss. But, you have the muscle memory for writin'. You can do the hand motions to write; can even spell out loud. It's disconnected in your brain, however. Like, knowin' how ta make a sandwich, knowin' how to eat it and enjoy it, but if someone hands ya one ya don't know what the fuck it is an', even after eating it, ya don't recognize it as one. Things like that? Doc says are almost always permanent. So, he made sure you'd be able to help yourself if you or someone gets hurt bad enough ta need the kit." Sasha felt tears fill her eyes again as she carefully traced an image of how to stitch a sword cut shut.
"That, um," she sniffled, wiping her nose with the handkerchief she still held. "Th-that's so thoughtful? It's just. So nice…" Sniffling again, she gently shut the book and put it back into the Kit, putting the Kit itself back as well and smiling wetly up at Jax. "I'll have to tell him thank you, when, um, when we're done here." Jax offered her a half smile before pulling her to her feet.
"Just one last serious thing ta get done, then the ship's free to leave harbor, lass." Sniffling but curious, Sasha followed the old Shipwright out of the cabin and then onto the dock. "A ship like this, so close to being Awake already?" There, on the dock near the end of her little Boat, was a bucket of specialty paint, bright white and waiting with a fancy-looking big brush. "He needs a Name." Blinking, Sasha watched as Jax picked up the brush and wrapped her fingers around it, his own going around her own, a clear offer to help her write her little Boat's Name. Tears burned her eyes again, and she just fucking knew her fucking period was about to come because fuck if she didn't cry like a bitch when it was coming up, fucking hormones, ugh.
"A Name, huh," she murmured hoarsely, dragging her eyes over her little Boat, her Home. He was the best, most awesome little Boat ever, but… "We're a small fish in a big ass pond," she stated, reaching out with her free hand to place her palm against the tiger-striped wood, a smile growing on her face even as she sniffled. "But even Sea Kings start off as little guppies."
With careful, confident swipes, Jax's hand steady and warm around hers, Sasha concentrated on the muscle memory of how to spell, trusting that the Shipwright would stop her from fucking it up too badly. And, after a few moments, in clear, white letters that she couldn't read but could feel, Sasha beamed at her little Boat, her Home.
The Sea Guppy.
"Let's grow together," she whispered to the Boat, the wood weirdly warm beneath her palm. "As Family."
And, as she beamed at the Boat, she could have sworn it felt like another hand was pressed against hers, instead of just wood.
Day Nine: Survived.