Date: 10-24-796, morning ------- Location: The Greenest Dolphin, Forecastle Cabins
There are a few clouds in the cold blue sky, but no sign of the sandstorm from the day before. The morning wind, while biting and blustery, is whipping at the sails and pushing the freighter evenly across the waters of the Adelantean.
(Hektor): Hektor, the darkly-tanned crewmate who appears to be the designated deck-swabber, has been somewhat derelict in his duties for some days. But the previous night, at the bidding of the ship's rigger Jiraya, he managed to go into the passenger cabins and clean up the encrusted vomit that had collected there.
This morning, he's returned into the cabins -- shuffling between sleeping bodies and full hammocks, grumbling and (now unnecessarily) pushing around the heavy mop that he now clutches in both fists.
(Belhajj): Jostled to wakefulness by the bump of a heavy mop against his hammock, Belhajj looks fitfully about, muttering in Tessouare. "Who's'a'what's'it?" He manages in Sirdabi, dark eyes falling across Hektor "You are alright, friend-swabber?" He asks, head tilted, curious about the grumblings. Nearly falling from his hammock in a wrestling match with the massive stone slab he always carries, and apparently sleeps with, Belhajj stands, hoisting it to his shoulder like a strongman at work "It is too early for to be working. Come, pray the prayer of awakening with me and the sacred stone, it is not too late." He says, perhaps a shade too loud for the quietude of the morning cabins.
(Hektor): "Pray?" grumbles Hektor in heavily-accented Sirdabi, with a scoffed grunt that indicates he'd rather swab decks. He looks over at the waking man, then starts to shuffle away, but the massive stone slab catches his eye. Heavy brows furrow as he stares at the object, and then slowly shifts his focus back at Belhajj's expression. Held in both hands, the mop has gone still, no longer bumping about between passengers.
(Belhajj): Walking with a care that belies his size, and the weight of the stone he carries, Belhajj weaves through the hammocks, over to Hektor. "Touch the stone." He suggests, his baritone voice a rumble in the quiet of the sleeping quarters. Command given, the mountain of a man turns, balancing the stone and positioning it's flat surfaced towards Hektor, as though Belhajj is, himself, a form of instrument stand or display. "It's singing is prayer alone." He whispers, following Hektor around the deck with strange insistence.
(Hektor): Hektor peers at Belhajj some more, grumbling gruffly under his breath in Elukoi, and then finally sighs and goes quiet before reaching out one thickly-callused index finger to give the stone an oddly-tentative little poke. "Huh!" he comments, at the answering noise it makes.
Then he pokes it again. The slab sounds again softly through the scattered sleepers...
POKE POKE POKE
Now Hektor is prodding Belhajj's stone with the same level of insistence that Belhajj was following him around with, earlier.
POKE POKE POKE POKE POKE
(Belhajj): Despite Hektor's insistence, or perhaps because of it, Belhajj begins to smile more broadly. In some naive attempt to bring music to it, Belhajj nods along with the asynchronous, random taps, treating them like an avant-garde rhythm he's having a tough time getting the hang of. "Mm-mm-MMmm---MMM-m-mm-mm" He hums in his baritone rumble, trying his damndest to catch the teasing, meaningless -tapping-prodding-poke of Hektor. His humming, grumbling, rumbling attempts at forecastle-cabin-jazz begin to illicit other sorts of grumbles and gaffs and groans as the swaying sleepers begin to be woken by the rising cacophony. "SHUT UP!" comes the screaming, grunted command of a disquieted crew mate roused from some mermaid dream.
(Hektor): As Belhajj hums, Hektor begins slowly to grin. His own prodding of the stone develops a rhythm, too -- but then, someone screams (understandably) and he scowls in that direction. One fist grips his mop tighter. And then he breathes in, breathes out... and looks back to Belhajj.
There's a nod. A watcher might get the sense that somehow when Hektor was aggravated previously, now he's calmed. Instead of unnecessarily bumping around with his mop amidst the sleepers in the passengers' quarters, the darkly-tanned crewmate turns out towards the main deck, to greet the light of the new day.
(Belhajj): Wincing at the scream of the wakened sailor, Belhajj cringes away from the noise. Instinctively, he clutches the stone as one might a small child, wrapping both broad arms around it's width and bring it close to his center of gravity. Noticing the serenity of his primary audience, Belhajj returns the nod to Hektor and watches him go. Curious, he glances down at the stone, his ward and his worship and drums a few fingers across the quartz-riddled phonolite, a sweet song singing out in the freshly broken silence. Slowly, he returns to his hammock, fingers still drumming as the ship wakes up around him.
(GM): OOC: The scene fades to black.