Chapter Text
“It's too dark,” was his first thought as he and his brother stepped out onto the deck.
It wasn't very late, but any light shining from the moon and stars had been blocked by heavy, brooding storm clouds, leaving only the lanterns on the deck to light the way. He paled as the warm tranquility of the dining cabin dissipated into freezing chaos, those previously relaxing on the deck racing to get back inside and away from the rain harshly pelting their skin.
He swallowed thickly, and despite the freezing wind, he could feel his hands begin to sweat. He watched as an older Koopa was shoved in the commotion and let out a small yelp as he tumbled to the deck. Thankfully, he managed to get up before being trampled and disappeared into the crowd once again.
The mere thought of trying to traverse through the crowd, much less make it out in one piece, had his stomach bubbling with a fresh wave of nausea. He took his hat off his head and started wringing it in his hands as his body began to shake violently. He couldn't make it through there; there was no way, no way, no way…
He flinched violently as he felt somebody grab his hands, but calmed slightly as he realized who it was. His brother flashed him a reassuring smile and took his cap from his hands. He tried to reciprocate, but he could tell it came off as more of a grimace than anything. The calm look on his brother's face morphed into one of mischief as his hand reached up and began to ruffle his hair, eliciting a shaky giggle from him. He swiped at the air, nearly knocking his brother’s matching red hat right off his head. His brother pushed him back lightly and returned the green hat gently to his head.
“Va tutto bene, fratello!” He managed after their shared giggles died down.
“Let's hurry and get back to Ma and Pa's cabin before we get soaked!”
His brother took his clammy, shaky hand and squeezed it comfortingly before tugging him behind him and setting off into the crowd.
The sea of bodies welcomed them with pushes and shoves; a sort of damp heat enveloped them the deeper they went into the crowd. A whine of anxiety escaped his throat, but it was drowned out and lost in the roar of the thunder and waves. The farther they traversed, the tighter the space became. He could feel a sense of claustrophobia overcome him as the crowd seemed to bound around them tighter and tighter, squeezing them in like the canned sardines his nonno always ate.
Lightning crashed down as the ship tilted sharply; momentarily blinded, the crowd began to stumble to the side, knocking into each other while trying to keep their footing. The tilting of the ship had already thrown him off his balance, but the koopa that fell into his back knocked him right off his feet. He felt his short life flash before his eyes, or maybe that was just the lightning flash, as he fell. Luckily for him, he was close enough to fall into his brother's back, stopping him from meeting the fate of the older koopa from earlier. His brother reached behind to help him right himself, hand still gripped impossibly tight, steps never faltering. He made sure to burrow into his brother as close as he could get without tripping them both, after that.
After an eternity of pushing and pulling and tripping, a sliver of warm light broke through cracks in the crowd, and he swore he could feel its warmth on his cheek. Despite the shivers racking his body, he could feel a small smile of relief work its way onto his face. The icy rain that was biting at his skin, the way the freezing water soaked through his clothes and into his bones, none of it mattered when he knew the warmth and safety of his parents' cabin lay merely a few feet away. His brother peeked over his shoulder at him, clearly having spotted the same light, and gave him a wide smile. He could see his teeth chattering. He smiled back, teeth also chattering.
“See? There it is, fratello! Just a few more-”
The ship, sharper than before, careened to the side again, dipping low, cutting off his brother's sentence. Everyone aboard was swept off their feet and began to tumble down the deck. Shouts of shock, quickly morphing to terror, filled the air, loud enough to compete with the thundering ocean and sky.
Any sense of mind he had was lost to blind panic as he began sliding on his back with the rest of the group, screaming the whole way down. He flailed around aimlessly, trying to grasp onto something, anything, to prevent sliding into the endless darkness below. He yelped as he felt his shoulder jolt, and his descent came to an abrupt halt. The nausea he felt earlier came back with a vengeance as he dangled there, supported only by the grasp on his wrist. The people around him were still sliding down, their screams triggering more tears to run down his face. His shoulder began to burn, and he was suddenly hyperaware of the splinters digging into the parts of his body that slid across the deck, and the unrelenting rain mixed with tears, making everything blur together and impossible to discern.
He looked up, squinting through the blur at his savior, which, unsurprisingly, was his brother. It was always his brother, bless him; one hand wrapped around a rope tied onto the deck, the other keeping him from his doom. He had a reassuring smile on his face, trying to calm him down. His brother always went out of his way to ensure his safety first, even in the scariest situations. He wanted to say something, maybe one of the millions of thoughts running through his mind, but catching a coherent one was just not possible at the moment. Instead, all he could do was offer him his impression of an encouraging, although shaky, smile.
Unfortunately, the moment of calm was gone as fast as it came. He watched as his brother's reassuring gaze contorted into one of fear as he slipped lower and lower. He was clenching his teeth and straining his whole body. The knuckles around his wrist were turning white from the effort. He could feel his breathing become shallower as he tried to wane off the impending sense of doom and the panic whiting out the edges of his vision. They dipped down the deck, pulling the rope taut the further they went, until eventually there was no more slack to give, and his grip on the rope broke.
They both released ear-piercing screams as they began to slide down the deck, catching the horrified attention of some passengers who had steadied themselves on ropes or railings. Some reached out for them, stretching as far as possible, yet barely grazing their sleeves. While he was sliding just out of safety's reach, his brother hit a stroke of luck. Sturdy hands caught him by the arm and pulled the scared boy into a safe embrace, soothing his panic for a millisecond before he realized his brother wasn’t beside him. He thrashed against the older Koopa’s hold, desperate to stick by his brother and save them both.
Eventually, his descent down the deck hit a sharp stop as he slammed into the ship's side railing, knocking the breath right out of him. He cried out in pain, clutching the railing, fighting his instinct to curl into himself as tight as possible. He could hear some of the other passengers offer him muffled encouragement, and see one even try to inch closer.
Unfortunately, the storm held no compassion for the ship or any aboard. Faster than expected, the boat began to right itself. Everybody who had begun to retrieve their bearings quickly lost them again as they were knocked back down, some even rolling to the center of the deck. The unlucky few hanging onto the rails lost their grip and began to drop like icicles off the side of a house, piercing through the turbulent waves below.
Static ran through his head as the juxtaposition pushed him right over as well. He felt his stomach jump into his throat as he descended through the air, flailing like a fish on a hook. A splash echoed through the air as he hit the water; the icy chill enveloping him instantaneously made his body go numb. The water burned so badly, he could have sworn he fell into an ocean of flames rather than salt water.
And he had thought the rain was bad.
A wave of fatigue overtook him as he kicked his arms and legs, trying to outswim the current. The burning all over his body was the only thing that kept him awake and coherent enough to finally break the surface.
He gasped sharply as his head resurfaced, trying to intake as much air as possible before getting knocked down by another wave. In the plethora of his scattered thoughts, he was only able to make out one.
“Everything is so loud.”
He could hear the echoes of people screaming from the ship, the booming thunder that followed the lightning, and the crashing waves of the turbulent ocean, desperately trying to pull him under one final time. As his panic increased, breathing became harder and harder to do; the constant fight against the water was no help. He could feel his awareness begin to fade out. His efforts to remain afloat became sluggish, and dark spots began to overtake his vision. The last thing he could see was the silhouette of his brother. He was leaning precariously over the railing, as if he wanted to follow him and jump over the side, but was held back by some passengers. His mouth was moving rapidly, seemingly yelling something…
but what was he saying? He just couldn’t make it out.
All the noises surrounding him, once sharp and ear-piercing, began to fade into a dull, indiscernible murmur in his water-filled ears, as he drifted deeper and deeper. The fatigue won him over in the end, and everything faded into a peaceful frozen darkness.
~~~
The air in Bubblaine was cool and crisp, carrying a slight electric charge with it. The carbonated ocean fizzed quietly as clouds from the previous night's storm slowly drifted away, leaving behind a leisurely sunrise. Inhabitants of the island were scattered all around, completing their assigned task of post-storm maintenance. From cleaning the mess of seaweed and debris from the shoreline to fixing any dwellings damaged by the harsh winds. The beach was filled with light chatter as the Bubblainians worked at their own pace, not really paying attention to the task at hand. Relaxation was always on a Bubblainian's mind first and foremost, after all.
Unless, of course, you happened to be the mayor of said island, a Gushen by the name of Mollusque-lanceur, whose voice you could hear from all the way across the beach.
His volume startled citizens from their conversations and seagulls off the water.
“Hurry, and lift with your backs! You do want to finish this before sundown, don't you!?”
Lanceur snapped, ushering his lackadaisical group to get back on task.
A collective sigh filled the air as everyone stretched out one final time and returned to their position around the fallen palm tree. The group bent down to get a good hold on the tree, grunting with effort as they strained to lift it off the ground.
The tree did not budge.
Lanceur scowled, severely unimpressed as they tried once more to lift the tree. Heaving as they pulled and pulled, slipping against the grainy sand, yet still not moving the tree. Lanceur's face turned a bright shade of tomato red, steam streaming from his head as he scoffed,
“Agh! Mon dieu, move! Get back! I will do it myself!”
He pushed past his citizens, too annoyed to pick up on their shrugs and sighs of relief. He picked up the long tree with ease, sparing a glance at those around him. They were sitting down in the sand and relaxing, as if they had done something particularly difficult!! The gall of them!
He huffed before making his way down the beach towards the rolling canyon, those around him making sure to give him a wide berth so as not to annoy him further. However, there was one inhabitant of the island who had no problem bothering an already ticked-off mayor.
“Oh, Monsieur Lanceur!” Came the shout.
“What?! Do you not see me in the middle of a task?!” Lanceur practically snarled, dropping the tree and swiveling around to face whoever dared to bother him when he clearly had his tentacles full at the moment.
His assistant, Escar, stood there in front of him. Arms folded, and eyebrows raised.
Lanceur's face dropped; he cleared his throat and lowered his gaze to the ground. Anger seemingly dissipating into the humid air. “Ah, Je suis désolé, Escar,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. “Was there something you needed?”
“Oui, en fait,” Escar replied, fixing him with a pointed stare. After a brief pause, he flashed Lanceur a small smirk. “I need you to calm down before your head boils over and you become Ragoût de Gushen.”
He chided playfully, causing Lanceur to scoff at him.
“Agh, lay off, Escar! If I don't take things on this island seriously, who will?” He shook his head. “Not those freeloaders, that is for certain!”
Lanceur waved him away before turning back to pick up the momentarily forgotten tree.
“You know, Monsieur, you push yourself too hard. Bubblaine is a place of relaxation, a place to have fun. It is what we pride ourselves on! How is anybody supposed to relax when the mayor himself is so uptight?” Escar questioned.
“You know why I am like this. Bubblaine may be an island of peace and fun, but it is also an island full of many weaknesses,” he stated. “Surely you remember the reason I was elected in the first place?” he gestured to the ocean.
There in the middle lay the focal point of the island, the Glass Tower, which resided above the Glass Palace. An ornate tower shaped like a champagne glass, it's what turns their regular carbonated ocean into sparkle water, a sweet and sophisticated beverage, kept secret only to those in the Seaside Kingdom. Some inhabitants even believed that it could bring happiness and romance to those who drank it. The glass tower was amazing and extravagant, but it also put a giant target right in the center of the island.
“Of course I remember! If you hadn't been there… I shudder to think about what would have happened to Bubblaine…” Escar grimaced.
“It wasn't just me, though, Escar. That is what I absolutely adore about this little community: everybody got serious and rallied together to drive those invaders away from here. We didn't even lose a drop of sparkle water! Even after that, everyone worked together to restore and rebuild, just as they are now.” He paused. “Well, somewhat, anyway.”
“Bubblaine's wonderful community is what makes it self-sustaining. We do not need anyone; we do not rely on anyone. Unfortunately, that also means that anyone and everyone is a threat to us. So, yes, I take the safety of all my citizens very seriously, for only one minor slip-up can bring ruin to us all. I care too much for all of you to let our home fall into ruin for the sake of fun.”
A moment of silence fell between them before Escar released a deep sigh.
“...I understand, monsieur, but remember you are not alone in the care of this island. Every Bubblainian has a-” he shuddered, at which Lanceur rolled his eyes. “... responsibility, no matter how much we hate that word, to this island.”
“Lanceur, we care for you just as much as you care for us. Please do not stretch yourself out too far. A burnt-out Gushen makes not for a wonderful leader, you know,” he finished, quirking his eyebrow mischievously.
“Tais-toi, grande gueule!” he scoffed, shoving Escar lightly with his tentacle, a small smile on his face.
The moment of peace was dashed as an anxious-looking Bubblainian called to them.
“Monsieur Lanceur! Monsieur Escar!”
The two turned sharply to face them, concerned about the urgency not typically heard by Bubblainians, well… ever.
“S'il vous plaît, venez vite!” she cried as she hurried up to them, breathing heavily.
“Nous avons trouvé quelque chose, euh…” She paused for a second, sparing a glance behind her. “Quelqu'un!”
“¿Qué?” Lanceur gasped, cold sweat forming on his brow.
“Que veux-tu dire par “quelqu'un“ ?” Escar inquired, face scrunched in apprehension and confusion.
“Peu importe! Montrez-nous!” Lanceur interjected, already making his way down the beach.
As the other two caught up, they hurried down the beach, dodging mid-morning volleyball games and pieces of trash washed ashore, before spotting a large crowd circling something... well, someone, apparently.
He could hear low murmurs of curiosity and concern from the crowd; however, they died down as soon as they noticed them. The crowd began to part to let him through, and as he made his way to the middle, he could feel sweat trickle down his head. Once he reached the center, his mouth fell open, and he could practically feel his eyes bulging out of his head.
There in the sand lay a little boy, soaked to the bone and covered in clumping sand, drenching everything beneath him. He was covered with a thin shawl, most likely given to him by the island's medic, who sat beside him. He swore under his breath and hurried over to them, kneeling on the other side of the boy.
“Madame Cowrie,” he said softly, “how is he? Where did he come from?” he spoke in slight astonishment.
“He is alive, Monsieur, albeit absolutely freezing and breathing shallowly. All I know is that they found him washed up by the tide pools.”
She tightened the shawl she had placed around his shoulders. “We need to move him inside and get him out of these wet clothes immediately. Will you help me carry him to my home, s’il vous plait? My back is not what it used to be, you know.”
“Oui, oui, bien sûr,” he said. ”Escar, stay here and keep watch over cleanup duty, will you?”
“Of course, Monsieur.” He nodded. “Bon, tout le monde, retournez au travail!” he announced to the crowd, shooing the nosy inhabitants away from the scene and back to their duties.
Lanceur scooped the boy up, shocked by how cold he was. His cravat was getting damp, but he could not bring himself to care. They began to hastily make their way through the crowd and across the beach, through the rolling canyon and deeper into the island where the Bubblainians' homes resided.
As they walked, he couldn't help but look down at their little castaway. His breathing was slow and shallow, barely noticeable, but it was there. He felt a pang of sympathy in his chest for the poor boy, freezing and all by himself: no telling how he would react once he woke up. Hopefully they could get him back to his family…
Stars, they were probably worrying sick about him!
When they finally made it to her home, they moved efficiently to make the boy as comfortable as possible. Madame Cowrie stepped away to make him a drink while Lanceur set him down on a wooden cot. He began to search the room for something dry to put him in, but their options for human clothing were rather limited… It made sense; human visitors weren't exactly common around here.
…Well, no visitors were common around here; he made sure of that.
He let out a triumphant ‘a-ha!’ as he found a medical gown hidden deep in a back closet with some other garments. He unfolded it and gave it a once-over. A little big… but it should suffice for now. After he changed the boy into the gown, he propped him up with one tentacle and grabbed a nearby towel with another. He started drying his hair gently, taking care not to tug his curls. Madame Cowrie made her way over just as he finished, setting a tray down on the bedside table. She picked up the seashell-shaped cup on the tray.
“Monsieur, can you help me please?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
He held the boy steady as she helped him slowly drink from the cup, the sparkling water inside sure to refresh his exhausted self. After another small sip, she put the cup back down and Lanceur tucked the boy in tightly, trying to trap as much warmth in the blanket as possible. Silence lingered between them for a moment as they looked at each other, then back to the boy, both searching for something to say.
“Cowrie…. Where do we go from here?” Anxiety crept into his tone.
She looked at him, a little confused. “What do you mean, Monsieur?”
“What do we do with him after we get him all fixed up? We can’t keep him here.”
“...Well, I guess our first option would be to check with the neighbouring islands. See if anybody there is looking for him, or if they have news about any shipwrecks that happened last night…”
“And if no one claims him?”
She shrugged. “Then we broaden our horizons. Look beyond the Seaside Kingdom.”
“Non!” He gasped. “I cannot leave the island alone for that long unprotected, and I couldn’t ask of anyone to make a possibly fruitless journey like this.” He spoke, sounding almost offended at even the suggestion.
“Well, Lanceur, that doesn't really leave us with a lot of options now, does that? I do not see what the problem would be if, stars forbid, no one claims him, and he stays with us. Where is the harm in that?”
“Who will care for him, hm? Who will step up, because I am going to tell you right now it will not be me.” He spoke defensively.
She gave him a deadpan stare. “Who do you think?” she asked, looking him straight in his eyes, the boy’s teacup still in her hands.
He leaned back and shook his head fervently. “Non, non! I refuse! This is not happening. We will take him to another island and get him settled in with them-”
“You must be joking. I know you are not saying what I think you are saying; I don’t think I’m hearing you right.” She shook her head, annoyance turning steadily into anger the more he went on.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “...I am simply being realistic-”
“Really? Being realistic?”
…and snap! There goes her patience.
“Being ‘realistic’ is dumping him off on an unknown island with a bunch of strangers, and telling him good luck? Look at him!” She set down the boy's cup, a little rougher than intended, and motioned to him.
“He is going to be experiencing so much confusion and probably shock when he wakes up, and you just want to pile that on too? “Sorry, enfant, but you're not our problem, and we couldn't care less about you! Take care!” she said mockingly, causing him to scoff and turn away from her in a huff,
“I thought you were more mature than this, Lanceur.” His head snapped to her faster than she could blink and stared her down, and she held it, unwilling to relent as she had in the past.
For a moment they just stared at each other in a heavy silence, brows furrowed and faces hard. Light steam started rising from Lanceur's head. A heated sigh escaped his mouth as he briskly started pacing the room back and forth. Eventually, he spoke, softer than before.
“I do not know the first thing about humans or what they need or how they thrive...”
“Neither do I. Those are going to be things we will just have to learn as we go.” Another brief pause. It seemed as if he was actually… considering what she had said… Wow, she never thought she’d see the day.
“Where would we put him?” he questioned abruptly.
She cocked her head to the side, a little shocked that that was his first question out of everything.
“...You do realize this is all still hypothetical, right?”
“Humor me, s'il vous plaît.”
“D'accord, d'accord. Hm…” She hummed for a moment, pretending to be in deep thought, when really, the answer had been in her head the moment he asked the question.
“Well, I do happen to know of a certain lighthouse with a big, empty room…”
“You jest! A little boy all by himself, up in a tall lighthouse, a good distance away from the main island and everyone on it-”
“Oui, oui, oui, I do see your point; that is a little much…” she relented, but smiled as she went straight to her backup plan. “Then he can stay with me! That old lighthouse will still be around when he’s older, anyway. Good thinking ahead, Lanceur!”
“If you could take this seriously, madame, it would be much appreciated!” He snapped, face reddening.
“I am! I just answered your perilous inquiry with a most helpful response!” she exaggerated, dragging out her words and holding back a laugh at the annoyance growing on his face.
Then, out of the blue, he says, “Do not get attached.”
She recoiled a bit at his tone, a hard and icy thing. “I'm sorry?”
“You heard me, Cowrie; do not get your hopes up and get attached to that boy.” He spoke coldly, as if trying to ice-pick her feelings right out of her.
“Me? Am I the problem? It would be nice if you gave ‘that boy’ a chance. How could anyone possibly get attached when you are trying to push him off the way you are?” She asked, as harshly as she could muster to mask the hurt she was feeling.
“I am trying to spare your feelings! Trust me, you will thank me!”
She looked at him incredulously. Surely, he could not be serious.
“You are already making plans for his future here; what about when we find his family, hm? What then, when you’ve already grown attached to the boy even more so than you are now, when he can’t even speak? Would you be able to watch him go, or would you try and keep him here?”
She gasped, gravely offended at the accusation.
“Of course I wouldn’t stop him! Why would you even say that?!” She could feel her face begin to burn; maybe it was even turning a reddish color too… Maybe even matching Lanceur’s, at this point. She was surprised her head hadn’t begun to steam.
As they went back and forth, their volume steadily increased with every reasoning, every excuse, and twice as much with every personal jab.
“Strong emotions make us do crazy things sometimes, Cowrie.”
“You don’t get to project your feelings onto me just because you’re scared! You’re acting like such a…” Her sentence trailed off as she noticed a subtle shifting silhouette out of the corner of her eye, and turned her face to the bed.
“Acting like ‘such a’ what?” Ignoring him, she waved his question off and beckoned him over to the bed.
“Enough. Look.”
Lanceur made his way back over to the bed to see what she was referring to. The little boy had begun squirming on the bed, stretching his limbs out wide as threads of consciousness began returning to him.
They held their breath as he slowly cracked open his eyes, rubbing the bleariness away before slowly lifting himself, propping himself up on his elbows and staring at them in a bleary daze.
Unable to stand the silence, Lanceur cleared his throat. “Good morning, castaway. You had quite the night, huh?”
After he said that, he could see the gears in the boy's mind beginning to turn. His breathing, which had slowed and deepened, quickly turned shallow and panicked.
“Che sta succedendo? Dove mi trovo? Chi sei?!” Sitting up fully, the child began stuttering, eyes wildly searching the room, tears welling in them.
Lanceur’s face scrunched in confusion, entirely unfamiliar with the boy’s tongue. He looked over to Cowrie to see if she recognized a word of it, but she looked just as lost as he felt.
“Easy, easy, enfant. You are safe now; there is no need to be afraid.” She reassured softly, as if hoping to return the child to his calm state through her tone alone.
“She is right,” he chimed in, studying the boy's face as they spoke, trying to tell if he could understand them.
“You are safely residing in Bubblaine, an island hidden away in the Seaside Kingdom. I am Mayor Mollusque-Lanceur, and this is Madame Cowrie, island physician.” He spoke softly.
“It is very nice to meet you; we don’t get visitors very often. Can you tell me your name, please?” She smiled encouragingly.
The boy wiped his face with his arm and opened his mouth to answer but paused, face scrunching up and eyebrows furrowing deeply. The two glanced at each other, concerned as the boy stared at the spot in front of him, looking like he had an answer on the tip of his tongue.
“Il mio nome, il mio nome è…” He tried, words trailing off into nothing before the tears he had wiped away came back with a vengeance. “Io... non mi ricordo il mio nome!!!” He cried, sobs wracking his body as he curled into himself, hiding his face in his knees.
Startled, Cowrie sat on the bed beside the boy and gently put her hand on the boy’s shoulder; he flinched away, and she quickly took her hand back, resting it in her lap.
“Shh, shh, it is alright; there is nothing to cry about…” She hushed him gently, trying her best to soothe his no doubt frayed nerves.
She looked over to Lanceur, a few steps away from the bed, moving back and forth, from tentacle to tentacle, practically oozing a desire to help in some way.
“Lanceur?” She spoke softly
.
“Yes? Can I do anything?” he looked at her, responding immediately.
“Yes, actually, can you go grab some more blankets from the hall, and also make a new brew of tea? Your choice of blend.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” She smiled softly, apologetic almost. He returned it.
Stepping into the hall, he softly closed the door behind him and made his way to the closet, digging around for something warm and comforting. His head was a mess, and quite frankly, he was glad to distract himself with a helpful task. He was so absorbed in his search that he didn’t hear the front door open or close, or even notice the familiar voice calling him from the entrance. A hand was patted on his back, and he nearly gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned around.
“Escar, great carbonated sea, you scared the steam right out of me!” He shouted at him, cringing a little at how loud his voice was. Hopefully it didn’t disturb anyone in the other room.
Snickering, Escar gave him a half-apologetic-half-amused look. “Sorry, sorry, monsieur, not my intention at all, I swear it!”
“What was your intention then?” He inquired impatiently.
“Ah, yes, to show you this!” He lifted a hat and handed it over to Lanceur. “Someone found this washed up not too far from where they found the boy, monsieur. I’m sure it’s no coincidence!”
Lanceur took the hat and began to inspect it for any hints about their little castaway’s past. A green oversized cap with a capital “L” embroidered on the front, and no special indicators or hints anywhere else. Not even a tag inside the hat.
As he continued his inspection, Escar spoke quietly, a tone he had never really heard him take before. “Er, Monsieur… How is Bois flotté doing?”
Lanceur paused his search and stared at him incredulously. “... Bois flotté? Driftwood? Seriously?”
“That's what everyone on the island is calling him; I did not come up with it!!” Escar defensively rushed out.
“Yet you are still calling him that. Agh, the people on this island are too nosy; and what a ridiculous nickname…” he shook his head.
“Well, can you blame them? This is a new thing for us all! We actually have a visitor that isn’t unwanted! Also, I think the name is well fitting!”
“Well, as of right now, that is the closest thing we have to a name…” Lanceur sighed.
“Regardless, he seems to be alright physically, though I assume Madame Cowrie still needs to run a more clinical check,” he paused for a second, searching for the right words to say.
“But he is very… confused. Still a little dazed. Which is to be expected, but…”
“But what?” Escar asked.
“He seems more than just confused… he seems a little lost. It is hard to tell, though, because we can’t understand him,” he finished slowly.
“What do you mean ‘can't understand him’?“ Escar’s eyes scrunched.
“He is speaking a completely different language from us, Escar, and neither Cowrie nor I understand a word of it.”
“Oh wow, I can’t say I was expecting that… What a mess… So you don’t understand him, and he doesn’t understand you?”
“I think he does understand; he just doesn’t know how to convey it right now. Hopefully after he calms down and settles a bit, he’ll be able to.” He tried to reason, hoping that it was true, and soon… Bois Flotté could tell them his real name and home.
Escar sighed. “Oh, I hope so, mon ami. I hope so.”
“Well, not too much we can do at the moment.” He waved off the sadness of the situation that was starting to creep in. In need of another distraction about now… a-ha!
“Since you're here, come help me brew some tea. I believe we have all earned it.”
“Oh, Yes! A lovely brew of hibiscus is just what we need right now!” They hurried on into the kitchen and got to work on their tea, Lanceur grabbing the kettle and Escar grabbing some cups. They were quiet, surprising for the two of them; the kettle was filled and put on the stove, but both seemed stuck in their thoughts.
“Monsieur…” Escar broke the silence.
“Hm?” Lanceur hummed, gaze remaining on the sea-foam-colored kettle.
“Do you think we’ll find his home?” Escar asked, again in that soft tone unusual of his boisterous self, while scooping spoonfuls of dried hibiscus flowers into their cups.
For a moment, silence. As Lanceur searched his mind for something encouraging or comforting, nothing came. So, he replied as honestly as he could.
“…Only the sea will tell, Escar. Only the sea.”