Author Games: Tempest

Task One Entries: 9-16

Elliot Baris

Elliot Baris loved the sea. That was never something to be debated. He was a fan of everything—the smell, the sound, the wildlife, anything had an appeal in some form or another. That being said, it did not mean he was always on board. The sweet relief of solid ground was just as welcome as home nowadays, especially the older he got.

He was in the middle of strolling down a little street a ways away from the docks, watching those that passed by. There were a few locals, passing by quickly with clear destinations and smiles at their fellow neighbors and shopkeepers, but for the most part it was a string of tourists and traffic. The sweet smell of sugar hit him from one side, carried by the wind as an ice cream shop was in the midst of their busier season. A few racks of t-shirts were set out on the opposite side of the street, most listing useless slogans involving the sea in bright neon colors. A few restaurants were open as well, but most were having trouble dealing with the multitude of people wanting last minute meals before they set out for the afternoon. After all, Prospero was not the only ship taking leaving that afternoon, but one of several. It was a rather busy harbor truth be told.

Which may have been why the man was in no rush to return. Instead, he found his feet leading him away from the street, off of the sidewalk, and toward a small grouping of trees and a walking path that lined a view of one of the smaller inlets, personal boats and barges were tied to the concrete a short distance away. A smile fell onto Elliot's face as he watched them bob up and down with the shallow waves that had pushed in far enough to make a slight distance in the smooth surface. He traveled down the path until he found a bench sitting out and facing the water and collapsed onto it, the hard, hot metal pressing against his back.

There was something calm and quiet about the soft movements of the ocean so close by and the occasional walker. A jogger passed by and a few boats docked on the other side. A couple walked by with a sweet looking lab, it's tongue lolling out the side of its mouth and several seagulls passed overhead. Leaning back, the man rested the back of his head against the top of the bench and closed his eyes, lopping his fingers together over his stomach.

Time passed, shadows dancing over the top of his face. Light tickled his eyes from behind his eyelids in bright colors of green and red. Warm wind stirred with the humidity of the day around him, and a thick fog of air hung over the earth, heating up everything in its path until there was nothing short of a thin layer of sheen sweat on everyone and everything. Elliot was no exception to the heat. His finger was placed discretely between the white shirt beneath his uniform and his bare chest, pulling it out just enough to let in a thin stream of fresh air flow as he sat. His back was particularly sticky, the feeling of cloth stuck to skin was clearly present, and he could only hope he would look presentable in a few short hours.

"Well you look comfy." The comment came from his left, forcing the man to give quick turn of his head to the brunette standing only a few paces away. It was a mystery how she'd appeared there or how long she'd been watching him silently fan himself, but it made him smile nonetheless.

"Silent as ever, I see, Emmy," he commented, the nickname rolling off his tongue with a sincere familiarity.

The young crew member gave him a rather hard stare in response before her face softened again. For as long as he had known her, she was never one to hold a grudge, and it was just the two of them out here, far away from prying ears. "My apologies, Captain," she responded, emphasizing Elliot's title in retaliation. "I thought you heard me come up."

He gave a soft noise, close to that of a hum and gave up trying to get his skin and shirt to peel apart. Elliot chose instead to close his eyes again and give the warm metal seat beside him a soft pat. There was no response for a moment or two, although Elliot could clearly picture Emma pursing her lips tightly in response, only forcing her own posture stiffer. The clipboard she'd brought with her under her arm was likely clutched painfully close, and he hated to imagine her blood pressure could go any higher. "Did you need something?"