2022-04-29 - Postponing The Inevitable

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Hey back from my hike. Hope Gray Harbor didn't burn down in my absence.

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Still standing so far. How was it? You ok?

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : It was good. I’m fine. Hungry tired and sore but fine.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : I look like I got in a fight though. Which is accurate

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : So...

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Ok, look. Putting this out there. I have sandwiches. And a shower, if you need it. If you aren't ready to go home yet.

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Or are you already there?

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : I mean... if you want to talk about it.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Just coming into town now. That doesn’t sound like the worst idea. One of my roommates is going to freak out and I’m not ready for that.

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Or not talk, for that matter.

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Well. I'm at the boat now, if you want to.

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : Promise I won't freak out.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : You have a shower in your boat?

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : It's not 5 star, but... yeah.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Fancy!

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : LOL you haven't seen it. 😆

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : Ok. Be there in ten min or so. But I smell. Consider yourself warned!

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : I spent months at sea, promise I've smelled worse.

(TXT to Mikaere) Jules : You say that now...

(TXT to Jules) Mikaere : I can take it.

Not long after the text exchange, Jules pulls up in the marina parking lot in her Camry. Before she strikes out for the docks, she rustles around in the back seat; she’s not going to take her whole hiking pack with her, but she does want a few items from it, which she stuffs into a lightweight, foldable drawstring sack. Thus equipped, she hauls the larger pack into her trunk (she’ll be damned if she leaves it in plain sight for someone to steal), locks her car, and heads for the boat.

What she said is entirely accurate. She’s got a black eye that is just starting to yellow. She’s still wearing a long sleeved shirt—a plaid button up with the buttons undone, a fitness tank top beneath—so her arms aren’t visible, but there’s bulky padding under one sleeve around her upper arm. The bruises and scrapes around one wrist aren’t exactly hiding either. And she does indeed smell ripe, like anyone who’s been on a five day hike with no showers would.

But as tired and banged up as Jules appears, she also looks satisfied. So it’s with a smile that she greets the boat’s owner. “Hey.”

Wā Kāinga is in her usual mooring spot ('usual' of course meaning, the one where Jules has seen her once before), and her owner? He's standing up on her deck, tying down her sail-- a sail that was not in evidence the last time Jules was here, which means progress has been made. Mikaere turns at the sound of Jules' approach, and though his smile is immediate, the up-and-down look he gives her-- not, this time, checking her out, or rather, not for anything other than a quick appraisal of damages-- holds a note of seriousness in it.

"Hey," he says, stepping away from the sail so that he can reach forward and offer her a hand. "Phew, you weren't kidding about the smell, huh?"

That's less serious.

"Successful, though. From the sounds of it."

"I warned you," is all Jules has to say to that as she grasps Mikaere's hand and steps aboard. She happens to use her dominant hand, which should make the ring of bruises that much more visible. It's the even discoloration and healing punctures left by a bite mark.

"Yep. It was. Looks like you've been busy." She indicates the sail with a nod of her chin, noticing this addition. "Is she seaworthy now, or not yet?"

"You did," agrees Mikaere, not without a smile. He hesitates, then, aiming to hold on to that hand so that he can lift it and inspect the ring of bruises. Only for a moment, though: this is less outright concern and worry, and more evaluation, somehow.

"Mostly," he adds, then, looking back up and giving Jules another smile. "I'll give her a test run over the weekend, all going well. You're welcome to join, if you feel like it. I'm hoping to move back aboard properly, once we're certain, though that means saying goodbye to a real bed, and a normal shower... on the other hand, I can't impose on your neighbour forever, can I?"

Jules doesn't pull her hand away. Instead, she watches Mikaere for a change in expression. "I told you my roommate's going to freak out," she says dryly.

"That sounds fun," she says in response to his invitation, tone returning to one that's more upbeat. "Assuming I don't get locked in my room, I'd love to join. I guess I can always see about sneaking out the window."

Then it's straight to the point: "So, shower?"

"Talk to Ava," Mikaere suggests. "She can get you all healed up, before you even walk in your front door. Then your roommate won't have anything to freak out about in the first place, and no cause to lock you in your room, either."

See? He's full of solutions!

He doesn't pause long enough to let her answer, instead gesturing towards the little door that leads to the ladder-stairs and down. "Below, and to your right. I'll warn you: the water pressure sucks, it never gets all that warm, and the water tank's not got that much in it. But it's a shower, and there's soap and a towel, and when you come back... well, there's a beer if you want it, a listening ear if you want it, and otherwise-- no questions need to be asked either. Ok?"

"Thanks." She doesn't say which option she'll take, but the fact that there are those options draws out a genuine smile. Before Jules heads below-deck, though, she says this much: "It might sound weird, but I don't actually want anyone to work their healing magic on me." She looks down at her own wrist with this admission, considering the damage. "I earned this fair and square. It doesn't feel right just to whoosh it all away."

Mikaere's pause is a thoughtful one. On one hand, maybe yeah, that does sound weird. On the other... his slow nod seems to suggest he's not entirely unable to grasp this. "I-- yes, all right. I can see that. Go, shower. I'll be up here when you're done."

He smiles, leaving that there for Jules until she's out of sight, below.

By the time she comes back up, he's sitting along the bow, staring out over the horizon. It's not an especially nice day, but that's never bothered him before-- and it's not actually raining.

Jules is neither particularly speedy nor slow. "Do you have a t-shirt I can borrow?" she yells up to Mikaere once the water cuts off. She doesn't immediately pop her head up or climb up the ladder-stairs. "All my clothes are dirty." She's not about to ask for something like clean underwear, but at least one item that's fresh would go a long way.

"Opposite direction, up towards the stern," Mikaere calls back down. "There's a cupboard in the cabin there." It means traversing through the tiny kitchen and the little eating area, with its table and built-in benches, right up to the cabin at the end, where there's a double (sort of) bed and, as promised, a cupboard. Mikaere doesn't own much, but there's a t-shirt there at least.

It's going to be pretty obvious where Jules got the t-shirt, but that's neither here nor there.

"Thanks!" From below, the sounds of her moving around below deck to retrieve the shirt. Jules is most definitely scoping it all out while she's at it, though she's too polite(ish) to downright snoop. A moment later, she comes back up top with her little drawstring bag in hand. Her hair's wet, loose and combed out, and her face has that freshly-scrubbed glow. While the shirt is quite large on her with the sleeves nearly to her elbows, one sleeve is promptly rolled up after she sits down alongside Mikaere. A long, scabbing wound runs down her upper arm, three parallel lines. With her sleeve hitched up so, she starts rummaging in her bag for the first aid supplies she's been using to treat and bandage it. No comment yet, though Jules is perfectly aware that Mikaere can see it.

"Does it hurt?" is all Mikaere wants to know, because yes, of course he's seen the wound, and yes, he's evaluating its seriousness despite Jules' earlier words about not wanting it healed.

His shirt looks good on her. Is he going to comment on that? Not at this precise moment, anyway.

"Yes." Jules generously applies Neosporin. Bandaging comes next, at which point she holds out the gauze and the sterile bandage. "Would you mind doing the honors? It's not the easiest thing to do with one hand."

Miracle of miracles, Jules actually asks for help.

"Of course," says the Kiwi, reaching forward so that he can take the gauze, and the bandage. He's not a doctor, not a healer, but he's the son of the latter, and managed to get himself half-way around the world without dying: a bandage is not beyond his skills. His hands are gentle, too. "Do you want to talk about it?" he wonders. "No pressure."

Jules holds still, arm extended, while Mikaere binds up her wound. "Yeah," she says after a few quiet seconds. "I do want to talk about it. Maybe not all of it. But--I got in a fight with a mountain lion." She starts the story from the middle, because it's what makes sense to her when her injuries are so on display. "They usually avoid people. But this one wasn't a normal one." She hesitates there, thinking through how to explain it. Whatever she says, it's going to sound, well, weird.

So she comes at it sideways, going back to the beginning. "My people used to go out in the woods on their own. Like a rite of passage, except they often did it more than once. That's what I was doing." She's watching him all the while, gaze steady instead of darting off to land on some safer object.

"Okay," he says. Mountain lions are not-- well, no, they're not something he's even remotely familiar with, coming from an island (two islands) that have no predators at all, natively: just lots of birds and insects. "You were actively seeking that kind of experience."

Beat. "I offered sandwiches. Do you need one? Have you eaten at all?"

The thought progression probably makes sense in his head.

"Yeah, I stopped at Lake Quinault for a day and got some food there before I started back. But a sandwich would be awesome." Her stomach audibly rumbles in agreement.

She carries on then, lest she chicken out and shut up all together. "I thought going out on my own like that would help me make more sense of what was going on with me-- I mean, with what I can do. So the cougar was like a test. I mean, it was testing me. I didn't go looking for it. I mean, I did, because I hiked out alone, but not the cougar specifically. I wanted to find a place where the different kinds of realities meet, like my people used to do. Am I making any sense at all?"

Mikaere lets her arm go, now, now that he's finished dressing her wound (though maybe he'd like to hold on to it longer: he doesn't). Sandwiches, as promised, are in the chilly bin (it's a New Zealand term, don't ask) tucked in along the prow, and having let go, he digs it out, offering one over. Nothing fancy: ham and cheese on bread, but it'll do.

"Okay," he says. "Yes, and also no. You went looking for what people around here call a thin spot, but not the kind that's actually here. And you met a cougar, who tested you, which was what you were after, in a way, but not the specifics of what you were after, because that was more... left up to chance. Yes?"

Ham and cheese meets with Jules' full appreciation. She's ravenous as soon as she has the first bite. She only answers after it's half-gone.

"More or less," Jules replies. "I thought-- if I'm gonna live here and be around all this weirdness, then I want to try to understand it from my own point of view. And back in the day, the Quinault and all the coastal tribes understood it and lived with it and made it part of who they were. They believed that some of them would come back more powerful, and everyone at least became more in touch with who they were, with their place in the world."

Another bite, and then she jokes, "Could've been way worse than a cougar. She was actually pretty cool. Could've been a giant man-eating bird. I'll stick with the cougar."

"She still... took a bite out of you," Mikaere points out. It's not judgement, just... statement of fact.

"Your reasoning is sound, though. Your people have lived around this place for-- longer than my people have been in New Zealand, by a millennia or two. They have to know a thing or two about how to make it work for them."

He hesitates, watching Jules. "You feel... more in touch with yourself, now?"

"Well yeah," Jules acknowledges. "That's who she is. It's how she was teaching me." She makes it sound so reasonable.

She nods, then. "Yeah. I do." It's a quiet affirmation. Her gaze goes out to sea while she polishes off the rest of her sandwich, and her expression is still, at peace. Then, looking down, she flicks crumbs off her borrowed shirt before glancing at Mikaere again with a smile that pulls to one side, like she's amused and a little dumbfounded at herself. "I think I've still got a lot of processing to do, though. I don't expect to understand everything about what just happened in just a couple days."

Jules carefully rakes her fingers through her hair to see if the sea breeze has teased any snags into her still-drying hair, and, if so, to work them out. "Do your people have any traditions like this?"

Does Mikaere understand? No. Does he understand enough to accept what it is, and not to pass judgement, to push? Yes.

He nods, allowing Jules' silence to extend for as long as she needs it to. Her smile, though, makes him grin in return. "I'd be surprised if you did, I think, given it sounds..." Intense. Big. Mind-blowing. There's so many words that he could use here, and none of them end up falling into place; he lets it go, his shrug attempting to answer for what words fail to provide.

"Not like that, no. Ceremonies and rituals, use, but most involve the community and not just the individual. Tā moko, for instance: tattooing. Imagine having your face or your body carved into with a chisel, while there are people around you, chanting and praying. I'm told it's a deeply personal spiritual experience, enough so that some people still choose the traditional experience."

“Ow.” Jules winces from the imagery, though it’s followed with a wry twist of a grin. So says the woman who fought a cougar. “Do you have any?” she asks, curious.

Without waiting, Jules continues, the comparison prompting further explanation.“To be fair, if I’d done this according to tradition, there would’ve been a dance to welcome me back. Like, the individual rejoining the community. The dances are all storytelling. But it would have been hard to organize now—I don’t even know if people from my nation know that dance anymore. So I’ll go back for the First Salmon Ceremony instead.”

Ow indeed, agrees Mikaere, silently, and through his expression rather than his words: the face he makes is real.

"That sucks. That you can't do it in the fullness of tradition. That so much has been lost. What's the First Salmon Ceremony?"

His answer to her question comes a moment later, as he reaches to take a sandwich from the cooler for himself. "And to answer your question: no, not yet. Traditionally, you had to be deemed worthy, first. Anyone can walk in to a tattoo shop and get what they want now, of course, but for me... I'd only do it if I'd earned it. My ma, she's had her moko since I was a kid." He gestures, fingers at his chin.

Jules shrugs; it is what it is. She has a nod for Mikaere's further explanation of that tattooing practices, along with a little quirk of her eyebrows when he indicates the chin.

She pulls her bare feet up to sit cross-legged, getting comfortable, as she shares her own further description. "First Salmon Ceremony marks the start of the salmon runs for the year. Each tribe up and down the coast has a different way of doing it. Some are more ceremonial than others, with shamans and dances and stuff, especially up in B.C. The way the Quinault do it, one person is picked to catch the first fish for the people, and someone says a blessing. That fish is then presented to the elders, and it's cooked for everyone. We do it like that in families, too. They say if you don't, and you keep it for yourself, your greed will overtake you, and there won't be a good run that year. So you share your first catch, and then the bones are returned to the river. You keep the head pointed upstream the whole time to show the salmon's spirit where to go. It's supposed to make it a good season."

Mikaere eats his sandwich as Jules explains, and between bites (mouth firmly kept closed as he chews), he grins-- or as close as he can do, under the circumstance. "That's great," he tells her. "Because... salmon are sacred to you, aren't they? You said that. It's good, having those things; the traditions, the ones you keep alive."

Abruptly, his grin broadens. "While you were away, we had a special day of our own. April 27: Moehanga Day. It's the day," look, such a serious expression, this time, "we Māori discovered England. And... okay, that's not serious. But, you know. I still think about it."

"Yeah." Jules nods to that, the salmon and their importance. His grin alerts her, drawing an eyebrows-raised, questioning look with a small smile of her own until the anniversary is revealed. It draws a little laugh, and her expression settles into amusement. "That's great. You gotta have those things, right?"

Then she's turning away from him, hitching up the sleeve of one shoulder (carefully; mind the bandages on that arm) and trying to pull it back a bit. It exposes part of her tattoo, though most of it's hidden by the black t-shirt and her bra strap. "I drew this when I was eighteen. Hmm, you can't really see it, one sec." Without ado, Jules pulls the shirt over her head, leaving it half-on, half-off, still on her arms -- hello. She's wearing her (dirty) sports bra, so it's not that risque, and apparently being seen in a sports bra doesn't faze her in the least. The tattoo on her shoulder blade is as big as her hand, fingers splayed, a circular rendering in black and red of a salmon, drawn in the style of this region's indigenous art. She looks back over her shoulder and twitches the strap to the side so it's more fully visible.

Simply, she says, "The salmon are who we are."

Hello, half-naked girl on his boat-- though Mikaere (mostly) keeps his eyes on the tattoo, tracing its lines with his eyes, his hands resting one atop each thigh. "Oh, that's-- that's really something. Beautiful. And you drew that yourself?" He's impressed, though his solemnity-- that earlier grin has faded, now, acknowledging what Jules is showing and sharing (and that doesn't mean her body, in this instance) with all due seriousness-- overwhelms that emotion too.

"The salmon is who you are. We don't-- in my culture, we don't anthropomorphise the animals that way. But I think I grasp it, at least a little. You carry the salmon around with you always. In your heart, and your mind, and your soul-- and now on your skin, too. It's scared, in that way. We don't mark our skins lightly."

Jules stays like that for a minute, back turned, to let Mikaere get a good look at her tattoo. Then she pulls her shirt back on and swings around to face him properly again. "Yeah. It's supposed to remind me who I am and my place in the grand scheme of things. Traditionally, we believe that salmon and all the other animals are people, just like us. Most people don't really hold on to all the old beliefs, but we still hold on to that, at least in the sense that we're not the center of things. That we're all part of the world together, that we're not better than the rest of it, that we've all got our part to play."

It would be wrong to suggest that Mikaere's not at least slightly disappointed to see the shirt go back on (though, like most men, seeing a woman in one of his shirts is a little satisfying; go figure), but the conversation's still more serious, and he's listening as much as he's looking, promise. "I like that philosophy," he says. "Ours is different in specifics, but not so much in intent. It's still our job to look after the world, right? We're all connected."

Beat. "I think I mentioned beer. Did you want beer?"

It would be wrong to suggest that Jules briefly took it off for completely innocent reasons, while we’re at it.

“Sure,” she amiably agrees. “Though I could also use a giant glass of water, too.”

Look. Make-outs were had, and they were fun. But boobs? Boobs are also fun.

"Beer and water," he promises. "Coming right up."

For this, he needs to disappear downstairs, though he's not gone long: there's a bottle of water (plastic, but at least recyclable), and then a six pack of beers to dump into the cooler, though two are extracted: one for each of them. Cans, this time, not bottles, so no need even for a bottle opener.

Jules is rather well-endowed in that area, too, though it's not as if she's flashing them around. Sports bra!

"Thanks," she says when Mikaere reappears. The water is her first priority. She's a smart enough hiker not to get dehydrated, but part of her recovery from this whole trip involves keeping it that way. Then, conversationally, Jules wants to know, "So what are you up to this afternoon? Or what were you up to before I shanghaied your boat?" It's not really the right term, but.

Mikaere cracks open his beer, reclaiming his position along the bow, his head tipped up to try and catch whatever sun (and alas, there's not much of it) that might be going.

"Have we been shanghaied? Does that mean you're in control now, and I am likely to end up walking the plank if I don't do what you want?" Yes, okay, that's a cheeky-- and a little smug-- grin going there, the Kiwi turning his attention back towards Jules so that she can see his expression properly. "Sails. Just checking them out, getting them ready. Making sure everything's in good shape. Keeps me busy. Besides-- I was talking to the harbourmaster earlier, too, about picking up some work. Tourist season starts tomorrow."

Jules wrinkles her nose in response, grinning right back. "Possibly," she plays along, making her tone and expression dip into a suggestively mysterious ambiguity. She takes several long gulps of water, drinking half the bottle straight away, and only then cracks open her beer. She gets up and steps up onto the bow, settling down right there alongside Mikaere, putting her water bottle down first before she drops down next to him. "Very cool. Sailing them around, I'm guessing? Out to sea and back?"

Jules goes for ambiguity; Mikaere lifts his brows, rather more a gesture of innuendo - subtle, but still there. As she comes up to join him, he nudges his leg up against hers, just lightly, but shakes his head. "I mean-- maybe some of that. Mostly, making sure their boats are ready to go out, they know what they're doing. You get tourists hiring things and not knowing what they're doing, so at least a little guidance is useful. We'll see. It'll probably get me through the summer, and it's work I've done before, so-- could be worse. I won't mind, spending my days down here, you know?"

In turn, Jules smiles a sly smile and bumps her shoulder against his when she sits. Or rather, against his upper arm, given the height difference. It’s not the side that’s all bandaged up. “Absolutely,” she answers. “That’s what I did for summer gigs too. I mean, not the sailing part, because I don’t know how to sail, but doing tours with tourists. Kayaking and hiking. Best way to spend the summer months out here.”

Look. Jules bumps her shoulder against his, and what's a man to do? He leans down-- all the way down-- to press a light kiss to her shoulder, shirt-covered though it is. "Tourists: you hate them, but you also love them. Need them. It's the way of it, unfortunately. I'm pretty sure I'll veer dramatically between loving and hating it, but that's the way it goes, ay? At least I can encourage them to watch out for seals."

Mikaere earns himself a soft smile for that one small kiss. Jules lets herself lean against him in return, companionably close.

“That’s the way it goes,” she agrees. “And it’ll be good to have you watching out for them. No mysterious disappearances and boating tragedies.”

It's pretty nice, really, having a woman lean up against him. Mikaere's arm draws around her-- not close enough to contain, but very present, nonetheless-- and he laughs, the sound probably reverberating between them. "I can't promise that," he says. "But I think I might drop a bunch of fresh meat off, while out in the bay, just to make a point. The mermaids, they need to eat, and I get that. Not a problem. Doesn't mean they need to eat us."

Jules looks pretty content with this situation, and it shows. The smile hasn't changed, and her shoulders stay relaxed when Mikaere puts his arm around her. This close, he should be able to feel her steady breathing. "I'm sure they'll appreciate it. They might even start following your boat around like porpoises. Maybe you can make that part of your marketing, if you do end up sailing them around. 'Come with me and you'll probably see a porpoise pod!' Or seals. Whichever."

"That's only a good thing until they decide dead cow isn't as good as live human," points out Mikaere, not that it has stopped his laugh. "And then I end up with a reputation for sending poor young men to their doom, and I'm generally opposed to that."

Still, he's grinning for it.

"What are your plans for the summer? You'll be out of school in June, I assume?"

Jules lets out a small snort. It's not ladylike. She's not ladylike. And she doesn't care. She's happy the way she is, drinking beer with a guy on the bow of his boat.

"Yeah, mid-June. It's a quarter system, so it's a little funky. There's summer classes, and I might see if there's anything that appeals to me, or if I just want to work this summer and take time off. Haven't decided yet, though I don't think I'll take a full load. They don't offer as much in the summer as it is."

"Fewer students, I guess," Mikaere agrees, lightly. It's not that he's asking questions without being interested in the answers, and more that it's not an answer that requires a lot in reply. "And I bet it'll be good for you, too, to get a break. Of course, selfishly, I'm hoping you'll use some of it to come out on the water with me. Trip up the coast, maybe? Or down. Either's fine by me."

"I'd like that," Jules replies, tilting her head up and to the side to look up at him properly. "If you wanted to go up, I can point stuff out, show you around a little. Like I said, I don't know how to sail, but I do know the waters, and I've taken boats with motors out, though generally not too far unless it's with other people. If you want to go down the coast, then it'd be exploring something new together." Her voice is warm by the end of this remark, smile a little shy, though she's not blushing. Just: she said together.

Mikaere's smile, by way of return, is almost earnestly warm. "Good," he says. "Because I'd like to do that. Both ways, even. Show me the places that you know, and then we can go and see places you don't, too." Beat. "Together."

And maybe, this time, his hand is sliding down her shoulder so that he can reach for her hand and squeeze it.

To which Jules -- who is definitely starting to feel a little bit of heat come into her cheeks -- replies, "I think I can manage that."