Chapter Text
From where he was perched, this was heaven. Light crept through the cracks of the ship dancing on the rotting wood and remnants of golden extravagance; a palate of blues and greens. Not to mention it was quiet. The ideal escape for a boy with a brain loud as the crashing surf 24 by 7. He knew he couldn’t stay here forever, but oh how he wished he could sink into floor. To be apart of the sea’s claim on the damned ship. How beautiful that even in death, there was beauty. His eyes flitted to the port hole as he surveyed the wreckage. He could try to swim around the deteriorating vessel only to inevitably be flung into the sharp rocks of no man’s trench by the current; a swift delivery to an agonizing death. Or, he could swim out the way he came in, right into the hands of a very, very, pissed of Stan. Maybe some light death wouldn’t be so bad.
“Richie Fucking Tozier if you don’t come out of that death trap I swear to Jove!”
Richie could see the impatient flick of Stan’s tail; an almost angry, maroon, appendage, adorned with flecks of gold. An indication of the King’s guard. A tell tale tail. Richie chuckled at the thought. He was being foolish. Richie had chosen Stanley Uris, heir to the Royal Guard, to be his imperial companion for the boy’s sharp wit, and sharper tongue. But the operative word here was chose. For all intents and purposes, Richie was Stan’s boss.
Algae danced to the floor from over head at the sound of Stan’s tail thwacking the side of the ship. For all intents and purposes, if Richie stayed tucked in this mess of a ship, Stan was gonna kill him. Death or Death, Tozier? Richie cast a withering glance at the porthole once more, just as the current smashed a loose piece of coral to pieces. Maybe I’ll get lucky.
“Richie! Now!” and as if sent by Hades to deliver Richie to death, himself, Stan lodged himself in the opening of the ship, eyes narrow slits of rage.
“Alright, alright, Jove’s ass! I’ma comin’ ol stan.”
“Jove’s a– his what?” Stan looked incredulous.
“Ass, Staniel. It’s– ah actually I’ll let Mike tell you.” Richie nuzzled his friend’s golden locks as he swam around him, and back into open water.
“So this is another twolee thing.” It was a statement, not a question. Stan knew all to well the intricacies of Richie’s obsession with the beings. Twolee. Merfolk’s term for land dwellers, the two legged ones, their legends called them. The word bounced around Richie’s brain and took hold something fierce. Richie’s interest in the beings started off good natured. Just a young boy’s curiosity. And he was glad for it, most people were. Twolee legends were some of the only things that kept the boy still, and it allowed Richie to meet one of his most beloved friends, and royal archivist, Mike Hanlon. Richie brought himself back to the moment. He swam for the palace on his back, gaze cast up to the cresting waves, making sure to keep his pace slow. He aimed at keeping his demeanor playful, carefree; his usual MO. He just couldn’t get his face to cooperate, though. Stan, watching his friend intently as he swam at Richie’s side, let out a long sigh.
“Rich, the throne’s coming for you whether you like it or not. Avoiding your lessons, playing hookie in twolee leftovers, driving me out of my fucking mind, none of that is gonna make it any easier. It certainly won’t make it go away.” Stan’s words were biting, but his tone held no malice. He looked at his friend with sympathy. Even if it weren’t for Richie’s long standing obsession with twolee culture, the boy wasn’t interested in ruling East Sea. Call him what you want, but Richie wasn’t be made to be moored or anchored down by bureaucracy and expectation. Not to mention, much of Richie’s observation of his father, was the man ruling without intention or empathy. It was why so many in East Sea suffered, without so much as an apology from a currency, power hungry kingdom. No. Richie wanted none of it. But the both of them, pledged to the crown and of the crown, respectively, knew want wasn’t a factor here.
“You’ve got an obligation, Richie” Stan continued, practically reading a script of things he’d said to Richie many times before, rattling off items on an endless royal roster, but Richie wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes came to rest on the cresting waves once more as he felt a familiar beckoning tug at him. Before he could realize it, his body followed suit. Richie could hear his heart thump in his ears as he approached the surface, a distracted Stan none the wiser. A toothy grin spread across his face as he recognized the familiar disturbance of surf that indicated his presence. Richie peaked above the waterline, eyes coming to rest on the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
The board thrummed beneath him as he cut through another wave. The rush of flying across the water lit up his face as he shifted footing. There wasn’t a single thing he loved more. He brought his weight down on the rear of the board and pushed up, whipping his body over the crest and back down again, trying to get the height he wanted. He was going to ride this wave for all it was worth.
“Eddie be caref-ful!” Bill’s voice called over the sounds of water rushing around him.
The man wore a wide smile, but his words hung with caution. Eddie let out a hearty laugh, a sound meant to chastise his friend’s worry. The pair had learned to surf together, after plenty of pleading, both Bill to Eddie and the both of them to Eddie’s overbearing mother. Eddie came into the activity a neurotic, asthmatic, mess. He was still all of those things, but he’d found an easy confidence in the water that forced those flaws to make some room for something more. More was the exact word on Eddie’s lips as he completed the maneuver. He was chasing the rush of feeling his gut bottoming out as he finished an aerial. He felt a familiar pull, as the tide wound itself up once more. Bill paddled out to meet him.
“You trying to dr-drrown out here? If you wanted me to play lifeguard you could’ve just asked.” Bill said with a pointed smirk.
Almost perfect, eddie thought to himself. He smiled at how much his friend’s speech impediment improved in the water. Where Eddie’s confidence earned him a salve for his shortcomings, Bill’s offered reprieve. Eddie had seen Bill’s stutter at its worst, words seeming like they pressed and clawed at the boy’s tongue and teeth to stay lodged in his throat. His speech therapist believed the impediment came from a lack of control, and that’s where the suggestion of surfing had come from in the first place. Say what you would about creepy Keene, but the man knew what he was talking about.
“Ah, c’mon Billy. You know I could surf circles around you.” Eddie laughed as he turned his attention to the horizon. There was a huge swell coming in, definite barrel potential. Eddie readied himself as Bill caught sight of the wave.
“Hey man, I don’t know if we should c-catch this one. We’re close enough to the trenches as is, who knows wh-where that’ll t-take us.”
“Bill, no way am I turning tail right now,” Eddie gestured broadly to the incoming wave. “That’s gonna be a fucking bomb! Best surf we’ll see all day.” and before Bill could protest anymore, Eddie was off. Confidence is one word for it, the other’s just fucking stupid. Bill called out to Eddie, but the guy was already in position. All he could do was try to get out of the way and trust that his friend’s stupidity was matched by his ability. As Eddie dropped into the barrel, it was easy to see that it was. Eddie kept steady, but reveled in the feeling. He threw his head back, eyes shut in a euphoric rush. He was sure he could stay out there forever, to just make a home in the feeling. As he came back into himself he could vaguely hear Bill calling out to him, assuming it was in celebration. Eddie opened his eyes to find two realities had asserted themselves into this moment. One, he was rapidly approaching the massive rocks of no man’s trench, with no clear evasive course. Two, from just beyond the curl of the barrel, a mop of deep brown curls caressed two piercing blue eyes. Eddie gasped, taking an uncalculated step back and throwing off his balance. He stumbled, and wiped out; strong arms around his midsection, and those same piercing eyes, the last two things on Eddie Kaspbrak’s mind.