Chapter Text
1819, Nevada
With a heave she descended the mare. Her muscles burned as her feet hit solid ground for the first time since sunrise, the ground as dry and cracked as the frontier for miles around. Straitening her hat against the scorching afternoon sun Nat strode towards her destination of the aging saloon. Dust swirled around her feet as she walked, pushing past the batwing doors and into the welcome coolness inside.
The interior was much like saloons she’d frequented in the past. Rickety floorboards creaked underfoot as low yellow light illuminated the bar and the patrons surrounding it. There were few tables and chairs scattered around the room, thankfully and largely unoccupied. Patrons spoke slowly to each other, as if no one dared break the lazy spell of summer heat. The smell of smoke and yeast hung thick in the air, permeating her lungs and head. They must brew their own beer, Nat thought.
Pausing for a moment to spare a glance towards the bar with just a few too many locals for her liking, Nat beelined for an empty table by the back of the room. One of the lights overhead flickered feebly as she sank into the chair, grateful for a solid seat after hours of riding. It was a welcome break, and one she rarely got lately.
With a deep sigh she stretched out her aching limbs, propping her shoes up onto the table and settling in to properly assess the scene around her.
The bar at the opposite side of the room drew most of the clientele’s attention. A lone bartender served the lot of them with a practiced grace that only came with age and years of service. From her seat Nat could spot a deputy and his sheriff as evidenced by their badges and pistol, a miner with soot-stained clothes and blackened nails, a bright-eyed youth who could have been anything from a bookkeep to a cowherd, and a young damsel in elegant clothing whom the youth couldn’t tear his eyes off of. A handful of other customers were seated sparsely around the room, either locals or passersby was anyone’s guess, and Nat really didn’t care enough to ponder.
Satisfied with her evaluation of the scene she tipped back her chair and drew her hat down over her eyes, smiling at the blissful darkness it brought. This way, she figured, she could get at least a few moments of peace before she had to be on her way once again.
Allowing the white noise of the bar, the sweet smell of tobacco pipes and the summer heat to set her at ease, Nat could feel herself slipping into a restful doze. Even as she felt herself drifting, she didn’t care to pull herself out of it, too exhausted and relaxed to bother.
Faintly in the back of her senses, Nat could vaguely process the scent of tobacco getting stronger. No sooner than she realized this did the sound of a chair scraping assault her eardrums. She ripped off her hat as she jolted awake, glaring at her disturber before her vision even adjusted to what she was seeing.
It was the damsel from the bar, a vision in a pale-yellow dress that made their smooth tawny skin seem even warmer. With sparkling dark eyes, plush lips wrapped around a pipe, and lustrous black curls pulled back into a bun, they were effortlessly beautiful in a way that made Nat pause and stare before remembering her predicament.
“Can I help you?” she scowled.
“Perhaps,” her interrupted mused, “You’re not from here, are you?”
Nat glared at them, questioning whether or not to give an honest answer. In the moments she spent debating her response she fully registered the tobacco pipe they were lazily smoking, and before she could think, “Those things ain’t good for you.” she blurted out.
“What, my pipe?” they said, withdrawing it from their mouth and staring amusingly at Nat. “I hardly recall asking.”
“It’s just… folks would say it’s not very ladylike, is all.” Nat grumbled, staring defensively right back.
“Ah,” her company said, laughter tinkling the edge of their voice, “But I am no lady, and I never know what is good for me.” They smiled, but placed their pipe on the table, nonetheless. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Nat regarded the discarded pipe apprehensively. “No, I’m not,” she finally admitted. “But that shouldn’t be rare. This town’s famous for traders and travellers. I’d expect y’all’d get plenty of visitors round here.”
“It’s true, we get many travellers through this town… but hardly many of your disposition,” they said, cocking their head at Nat as they relaxed slightly into their chair. “I’m Jay’na, by the way. You could call me Jay’na or Jay, whichever suits.”
“Heya Jay. I’m… Natalie. But you’ll call me Nat.” She supplied, tipping her hat in acknowledgement.
“Oh, I will?” Jay grinned wickedly, “And if I addressed you as Natalie?”
“I wouldn’t acknowledge it.” Nat deadpanned, not leaning into the tease.
“Fine,” Jay sighed, “You’re no fun though.”
“Besides, what did you mean ‘my disposition’? What makes me any different from… anyone else who winds up here?” Nat asked suspiciously, but Jay only smirked.
“Those are some mighty fine boots you’ve got there,” they instead complimented innocently, nodding towards Nat’s feet still propped up on the table.
“And what of ‘em?” Nat retorted defensively, resisting the urge to swipe her feet down and under.
“They’re not the average riding boots you’d typically see around here, local or otherwise.” Jay noted, regarding them with interest. “In fact, I’d swear I’ve seen those types of boots only a couple times before, and you want to guess who they belonged to?”
Nat only glared in response, knowing exactly the answer but refusing to take the bait. She didn’t want to get into this, and fruitlessly hoped her silence would prompt Jay to drop the subject. She glowered in silence while she fought the instinct to stand and run.
“Sailors, darlin’,” Jay supplied anyways, eyes glittering with curiosity. “And not just any sailors either…” they trailed off, letting the sentence hang unanswered.
“…pirates.” Nat finished for them, her voice low and husky. “You’ve met pirates with clothes like mine.”
“Haven’t I ever,” Jay smiled indulgently. “Wickedly clever and brilliant at blending in, at first. But soon you’d start to realize the little giveaways that our local boys don’t have. Their skin worn from the salt rather than the sand, their strides a little too wide to be from riding horses, the calloused hands rough from rigging sails as opposed to rearing reigns.
“Don’t get me wrong, they fit in perfectly with our western men far more than them city folk ever have, and they could drink even the sheriff under the table. But aside from all that, aside from their physicality and social differences, do you know what really set them apart?” Jay asked, their shining eyes never leaving Nat’s frozen face. Barely registering that they asked her a question, Nat shook her head mutely.
“It was their spirit,” Jay admitted, a little laugh of incredulity coming out, “It was their recklessness and their perpetual desire to go go go. I’ve never seen anything like it,” they sighed.
“They didn’t chase their enemies out of hate, they weren’t spurred by the sort o’ territorial defensiveness our cowboys do. They didn’t have an end goal or an agenda for decisive victory. They were called by the spirit of the sea and were compelled by the thrill of adventure simply for adventures sake. They’ve got a real sense of community out there, and you’d not find our lone wolf types to know the first thing ‘bout that.” Jay sighed, the glazed look of wonder fading from their eyes. “But it was incredible to behold them, as rarely as they came round. They’d stay for a few days, never long, but you’d be sure as sin to have the most fun in a lifetime in those couple of days.” They smiled at the memory. “Some of them had boots like yours.”
Despite their gentle tone Nat could barely hear over the pounding of blood in her ears threatening to deafen her over the course of Jay’s stories, her thoughts whirring at a million miles an hour. Hearing Jay’s testimony in such detail brought it all back, made it all seem so real again. The past she had tried so hard and so long to escape was still tagged onto her like a chain around her ankles. She realized then that even the wide western plains of America would never be enough to escape the life she was trying to shake. It would always come creeping back to her, in the ghost of a whisper, the pouring of wild rain, the scent of salt, or the faint echo of a sea shanty. Nowhere was far enough. It would never be enough.
Before she knew it, she had stood up, her damn chair scraping gratingly against the worn floors. Her eyes were wild as she stared down at Jay, who had momentarily paused in surprise. “Did I say somethi-” they started, but Nat didn’t stick around to hear the rest. With only one thought in mind she pushed past the patrons in her path as she desperately made her way to the door. It was as if she had tunnel vision as the dark saloon grew even dimmer in her peripheral. She felt disconnected from her body, her legs weighing a ton and voices swirling in her mind as she stumbled through the batwings and emerged gratefully in the outdoors again. But she didn’t stop at the porch. Her legs- almost mechanically- compelled her body forward, passed the property entirely and veering in the direction of her horse, still tethered patiently to a post. Her fingers shaking as they undid her reigns, Nat lead her towards the back end of shops and stores, walking side by side for what could have been seconds or hours before they found themselves some sixty yards away from the main street, out in the open air. If she turned back, she could still see the buildings.
But the last thing you want to do is turn back now, eh, Natalie? The voice in her head supplied unhelpfully, the pit of dread sinking into her stomach once again.
“Fuck.” she swore, her eyes falling shut and she leant forward to support herself with her knees. “Fuck…” she breathed, a little more helplessly this time. She took a long, shaky breath to steady herself, then-
“FUCK!” she bellowed, whipping back up and screaming it into the open air.
Beside her, her horse snorted, giving her an apprehensive side-eye. Nat glared right back for a beat, then relented. “Sorry… this isn’t about you.” She sighed defeatedly, then slumped to the ground beneath her, suddenly feeling very tired. Her boots sank into the soft sand with ease, and Nat stared at the tiny grains that ate into the crevices of the soft leather, so similar yet so different from the sands she’d felt on beaches of the Pacific and Caribbean not a year ago. “Christ,” she cursed again, but with much less gusto than before. Tipping her head back and closing her eyes, she felt the warm dryness of the air stirred by a barely-there wind. She dug her fingers back into the warm sand and stilled them. She stayed like that for a moment, silent and unmoving, letting the past thoughts and present sensations ebb and flow into her conscience undeterred. She didn’t try to stop them this time, only allowed them to pass through like an old friend last parted on bitter terms- nostalgic and painful.
When she opened her eyes again, the sun was setting. Warm tones of orange and yellow streaked through a sky of deepening blues and purples, a mingling backdrop to a blood-red sun.
“Red sky at night, sailors delight.” She cracked hoarsely, a bitter smile not quite reaching her wistful eyes.
“Red sky in morning, sailors warning.” A voice from behind her continued, causing Nat to whip around.
It was Jay. They stood maybe ten paces away from Nat, hands folded demurely in front of themselves, gazing at Nat with soft, concerned eyes.
“What do you want?” Nat sagged defeatedly, turning back to the sunset.
“May I sit?” Jay merely asked.
“I don’t care.” Nat replied monotonously.
No reply. Nat didn’t turn to look, but a moment later she heard a soft shuffling, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Jay carefully sink into the sand beside her, some three feet away. Jay didn’t turn to look at Nat either, instead smoothing their skirts carefully and fixing their gaze on the sunset as well.
Moments passed in which neither of them spoke. Nat wasn’t eager to say anything at all, and it was Jay who broke the silence.
“I’ve always wondered why they said that old adage,” Jay mused. “I never thought to ask.”
A beat.
“Where did you hear it from, anyways?” Nat asked, not looking away from the horizon.
“A sailor. A few of them, technically. They stayed at my inn some seasons ago.”
“And you remembered it?”
“I thought it was intriguing. I had never heard it before. There was one summer’s day… a sailor came in at the ass-crack of dawn and called to his mate in sayin’ there was gonna be a red sunrise, and they ought to pray for their crew at sea.”
“…You’ve got quite a mouth on you.” Nat only jabbed.
“So do you, if I heard your howling correctly.” Jay retorted.
Nat supressed a smirk.
Jay did too.
“So... what does it mean?” Jay pressed after another moment of silence.
“It’s a... weather indicator. When we see a red sky at night, it means that the setting sun is sending its light through a high concentration of dust particles. This usually indicates high pressure and stable air comin’ in from the west. It means good weather will follow.” Nat admitted.
“And when it’s red in the morning?”
“A red sunrise is a bad omen. It can mean the high-pressure system- the good weather- has already passed, and a low-pressure system- a storm- may be movin’ in. Means rain is on its way.”
“I see.” Jay nodded.
“You’re pretty smart to know that” they offered somewhat kindly. “All that nonsense about pressures and particles and stuff. We only get one kind of weather ‘round here, and it’s hot and dry. Always.”
“It’s not so much about showing off and being smart. Cause out there, it’s just life or death. You’ve got to catch the signs early before the signs catch you. And God help you if you don’t.” Nat smiled, pain creeping back into her voice.
Jay was the first to tear their gaze away from the sunset to peer curiously at the face Nat was trying so hard to keep impassive.
“... and when you don’t catch it fast enough?”
Nat closed her eyes again, seeing the chaos of the storm rage inside her eyelids as fresh as the day it happened, so vivid was the memory that she could practically feel the rain pelting her skin and the screams of her crew barely audible over the thunderous roar of the waves. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke.
“Then you lose everything.”