Chapter Text
The display of the setting sun where the sky meets the sea has always been something that painters try their hardest to capture-- where the clouds bleed into red, oranges and purples and pinks, where the birds fly above like perfectly cued actors in a theatre play, little black slits on a drying canvas. The waves are slow and lazy, dark depths hiding more secrets than the world could ever imagine. The boat rocks gently with the current, and as much as Grian had appreciated the breath-taking view, he can't help the deep dread slowly creeping out into his guts and clawing at his core; like a hideous sea monster playing with its next victim. His sandy curls whip in the wind, his freckled face and nose both red and tanned from being under the sun all day. His face wrinkles in annoyance, before he lifts his head from where it was hidden behind his arms as he leaned against the waist-high walls surrounding the deck. Impulse already told him that the weather was sunny and clear, and while he was taken in as a gunner man and engineer-- he's never been wrong with reading the weather in the years he'd been sailing as one of Grian's crewmates. Pearl had told him that there shouldn't be any of the Navy vessels in this course too-- not that they were actually hunted by the Navy, they're just... some merchants , after all, no matter how suspicious they were-- and Pearl was one of the best informants he could ever have on his ship. Mumbo had even done a full check on the ship before they left The Red Kingdom, and the head engineer had assured Grian that they were set to sail, with little to no repairs needed; and sure, Mumbo did tell him that they needed a bit of a repaint job and that their hull needed some cleaning, but aside from those, The Scarlet Macaw was good to go for months-long sailing.
So why is Grian having this deep sense of dread?
"You alright, Capt’n?"
Pearl's voice pulls him out of his internal turmoil, the light of the sole lantern hung by the mizzenmast reflecting worry from her kind, bright blue eyes. Her curly, sandy brown hair, almost the same colour as Grian's, was tied high with a red bandana, the same one Grian gave as her welcoming gift once she was part of the ship. Some of the loose strands dance in the wind, but she pays it no mind. She leans beside him, arms folded in front of her.
Grian sighs softly as he looks back down at his leather boots. He might have to tie them back up now that it's a bit colder. "Yeah, 'm fine. Jus’ worried, is all."
"D’you want to talk ‘bout it?" She had asked, turning to look at the now dark horizon, where Grian had just been looking at the setting sun earlier. Has it already gone? How long has he been standing there?
"It's... I don't really know how t’ ‘splain it well." He sighs once again, now turning his back against the sea. On the other side of the horizon, Grian sees the moon slowly rising, dragging out little stars in its wake. "But I suddenly just 'ave this deep, dark feelin’ in my chest. Don't exactly know why, but bein’ on these waters..." he motions to the gently moving waves, "it's... It's givin’ me a bad feeling."
Pearl looks back at him with slightly furrowed brows, more worried than malicious, a different reaction than Grian was expecting to receive after making such a vague statement. "That's... certainly somethin’. Before we left everything was good to go, but... If yer really worried ‘bout it, we haven't gotten that far-- so we can come ‘bout to The Red Kingdom's port. Pretty sure Impulse and Mumbo would be a bit confused, but if yer gut's doin’ the warnin’, then maybe we ought t’ listen, eh?"
Grian hums as he picks on the hem of his sleeveless, cream-coloured shirt. She had a point. As much as he had faith in his crew's abilities, trusting his gut feeling was as important. It was the first thing Grian had taught each of them before they boarded the ship, after all: told them that if they felt that something was wrong with Grian's decisions, they were free to point it out and voice their concerns-- even suggest things they would think would work better. They might have found it a bit difficult to speak against their own captain in the first few times, since they all had put Grian on such a high pedestal-- but as they grew closer, they slowly understood the importance of communicating with one another. The crew couldn't even count the amount of times their gut feeling alone had saved them at sea before.
So maybe Grian has to listen to his own gut feeling a bit more, he thinks to himself, as he tries to consider the rest of what they needed to do if they indeed, come about. They may have to find a new course and stay at The Red Kingdom's port for a while, but at least Grian would feel more at ease and more confident in their expedition. They would have more time to think about where to go, where to set foot next.
"...Alright." He finally gives, pushing himself off the wooden railing. "We'll turn back 'round. Mumbo! Impulse!" he calls, and a head of dark hair pops out from the lower deck, while another peeks from the map room, "We'll reset our course and go back t’ shores of The Red Kingdom, so I need you both to raise the sails. Pearl, make sure that you help with the riggin’ by the masts."
Pearl nods beside him, and Grian hops onto one of the shrouds, jumping along until he reaches the helm, dropping down swiftly on both of his feet. Taking a hold of the steer, Grian carefully turns them around, their patched up sails slowly folding into itself, settling by the crow's nest.
"Sails raised!" Mumbo shouts somewhere from the ship. Then, faintly, Grian hears him ask, "Pearl, why are we turning back 'round?"
Impulse waves at him from the deck as he climbs up the helm, his red bandana tied around his right arm. "What's up?"
"Didn't feel safe enough to sail on these waters. We'll stay in The Red Kingdom's port while we map out a new course. You said we still need some supplies from Azure Bay, right?"
"Yeah, we've just stocked up some food and water, so that's all good, but the gunpowder and other mechanical bits-- we might wanna top those up. The reserves we have are enough, but y’know." Impulse gestures towards the lower deck, where his and Mumbo's quarters were. The engineers did a lot of tinkering and have made a show for it by providing them items that prove to be useful in dire situations, so he knew better than to ask what they do with their respective explosive supplies.
So Grian nods in understanding, putting the steer on hold as they're finally heading towards the correct direction. "Alright. Let's jus’ map out a new course to The Battery that will also let us pass Azure Bay. Lower the sails back down, Mumbo!"
"I'm on it!" Was the faint reply, and Impulse dashes back to help lower it down. Grian drops onto the deck, and soon, the crew is walking towards him.
"I already told Mumbo." Pearl says, and behind her, Mumbo nods.
"You don't get those very often, so it's good that we're listening to it." The young shipwright adds thoughtfully, picking at the fraying edges of the red bandana tied on his wrist. It was like a uniform at this rate-- a crest of a family, an identification of some sorts; and Grian never really gave it so much of a thought. He just wanted to make the crew feel welcome-- and giving out similar coloured bandanas was the best thing he could think of. He never expected all of them to wear it so often, almost as much as he does, but remembering the flash of red in Pearl's hair, on Impulse's arm and on Mumbo's wrist-- it makes his chest stir with warmth he never thought he could ever find within the raging seas they often ventured.
"Yeah, I figured. While we wait to reach land-- what d’you guys want to eat for dinner?" Grian asked, clearing his throat and plucking his own red bandana tied on his neck, using it to push back his hair by tying it around his head. He tightens the knot of his red sash on his waist too, for good measure. He doesn't want it to fall into the fire once he starts cooking.
Impulse speaks up from the map room first, voice muffled by the thick wooden walls. "Jacket potatoes!"
"I do like the sound of jacket potatoes. We should eat them while they're still good." The shipwright nods.
"Yeah, the last time, we just 'ad them growin’ mould in the barrels." Pearl shudders, and Grian joins her as he disappears below deck.
"Yep. We're definitely eatin’ the potatoes now before they go bad. 'M not going through that again. I'd rather build another ship than clean a barrage of rottin’ potato barrels ‘n mouldy walls."
"You technically could have asked me to just replace that part of the ship, you know?" Mumbo says with a snort.
"Y’could do that?! Why’d you tell me that I 'ave to clean it up then?!" Came their captain's muffled reply, and the rest of the crew's laughter fills the ship's empty spaces.