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A Story To Be Told; Pt. I - Crashing Waves
Topic Started: Oct 11 2013, 09:12 AM (2,042 Views)
PMD14
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Lighthouse Keeper

Crashing waves. The smell of the ocean. The sorrowful call, distant now, of the gulls. Her eyes slowly began to open and her senses started to come online, as if her brain was a computer booting up after a few dusty years of downtime. She could smell the salt water, feel the icy breeze on her bare skin, see the darkening sky high above, hear the crashing of the waves only metres away, and she could taste... blood.

Her senses online, the blurring of her vision now clearing up, only one thing remained - the memories. Bare, physically and mentally, she slowly sat up, the pebbles nicking and pinching at her skin. The sky was dark - whether or not the clouds brought impending rain, or it was merely late in the afternoon, was too hard to tell. It was cold, though - definitely cold, the ground definitely moist.

All around was confusion, the unknown, and her heart started to beat faster and faster as the contemplation of just what was happening hit home. She was sitting - half laying - on a beach. The water was some way away, a long stretch of tiny rocks eventually merging into the golden sand and then the waves. Beyond the dark waters stretched as far as the eye could see, eventually merging with the deep grey sky itself on the horizon.

The beach curved off in both directions, as if she was upon the edge of some small peninsula or island. Surely not... what about the city? A few memories now, peaking around the corners of her subconscious, as if they were hiding themselves from her revelation.

Opposite the water the pebbles met grass and bushes, leading off into a lightly packed jungle of sorts. Totally unfamiliar terrain, even to her.

To the right, down the beach a short way, there was a large shape silhouetted in the dying light. A box. A crate? Something that was definitely out of place, much like she was. As actions formed in her head, ready to transmit to her legs to get her up and moving, something else caught her eye.

Further down the beach, to her left this time, something laying against the sand. A person? It looked like a person, though the dubious shape was some way off. Unmoving.
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Waelon Blake | Jimmy Chamberlain | Eli Harmon
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At first, the chill brought a shiver to her whole body, and then the itching of sand in places that one did not want sand to be. She cast about near her, but there was nothing to dry herself or wrap herself in. She wiped the grit off from under her breasts, and ran her hands down each leg. Still it itched. She wiped her lip with the edge of one hand, coming away with a trickle of blood. She pinched her lip between teeth and sucked gently against the tear there. Shaking her head in protest against the missing memories, she walked to the edge of the water, feeling the transition of rock underfoot to sand, and finally wet moist edge of foaming salt water.

She paused there and stared at the figure off to the left. Watching as the dim light tried to illuminate it further so she could recognize it better. But no, too far away and too indistinguishable. She stepped into the cold water and hesitated for only moments before taking off at a run further into the surf and then diving deep into an oncoming wave.

Time didn't matter anymore. The salt water bath purged her skin of the unwanted grit and the chill helped to clear her thoughts. She swam hard, stroking into the current and then riding a crest back toward the shore. It could have been hours, or merely minutes. Her mind tried to race around her predicament, but failed. Eventually, she felt her body tiring. She slid the last wave into shore and caught the soft sand underfoot before standing. Her legs were strong, and as she stood, she ran her hands back through her long, dark hair, fighting the tangles that even now were attempting to embed themselves. She twisted the end of her locks into a half hearted braid and tossed it over her shoulder before setting out toward the figure on the far end of the beach.

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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me
Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now

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A cold wind swept in across the ocean as the stranger moved up out of the water and headed down the beach. By the time she arrived at her destination, which to her surprise she confirmed to be an unconscious man, it had started to rain.

The man was handsome, maybe in his forties, with soaked short brown hair and wearing a formal suit covered in sand and soaked through. It was as if he'd dropped straight out of a business meeting or off a fancy yacht and then been washed ashore. He seemed very still at first, but as the woman approached, the man began to stir, eyes slowly adjusting to the light rain that was falling down onto his face.

He, too, tasted blood as he tried to sit up from where he lay, a small sliver of dried blood having run down his cheek from his mouth.

Like his new, circumstantial companion, Bartolomeo had no idea where he was, nor how he'd gotten there. Greeted only by a surprisingly bare woman, dark clouds and the crashing ocean, his first thought was a given: at least I have clothes.
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Waelon Blake | Jimmy Chamberlain | Eli Harmon
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Bartolomeo Colombo.

O.K. he knew that much. And this wasn't exactly the first time he'd woke up without being sure just where or why or how. So . . yeah. So?

Something witty would be appropriate given some naked woman was,.. uhm.. standing there. "Ciao." was about all he got out, he almost choked and very ungentlemanly spit out a glob of blood.

He got up to one arm to support him, then a sitting position. Bartolomeo looked up at the naked woman. "Allora." he said as he pulled of his wet jacket with difficulty, offered it up to her.

"Dove siamo arrivati?" He couldn't help himself, his eyes left her face and looked over her body. Then away, he should show some... sense of... hell, he'd woke up in worse spots.

Then he looked out over the landscape.

well, maybe.... not.


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====
ITALIAN-
Allora... So, eh,
Dove siamo arrivati? where are we?



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She wrapped her arms across her chest in a defiant pose when the man started to move, but kept her stance; aggressive and self assured. When he muttered something barely recognizable, and handed his jacket to her, she reached out and took it, slipping into it casually.

"Si, y quien crees que eres?"

She started to offer a hand to help him up, and felt a brief flush rush over her skin as she realized she was totally exposed.

"Yo no tengo la menor idea."

[spanish]yeah and just who do you think you are? I have no idea.

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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me
Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now

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Bartolomeo expected to feel terrible as he rose, with some help from the woman. But he seemed to be in fair shape. No hangover, no serious bumps or bruises aching. A little stiff.

"I have no idea." she said in Spanish. And she'd asked who he was. Or not so much asked, more like accused him... right, for a little leering. really? you're naked, in the middle of....

He held her hand a little longer than necessary as sort of a handshake. Barto's head moved around again. This must make sense, he'd remember soon. Just had to give it a minute.

"Bartolomeo Colombo." he said. Then his eyes returned to hers. His eyes looked over her face, trying to remember. Nothing. He replied in Spanish, "Barto if you like." Then he shook his head, continued in Spanish, a language he was pretty fluent in. "I.... don't know you. Am... I ... " No. He wasn't wrong about that. At least not that he could remember. And by the look of her face, she didn't him.

He released her hand and pulled at the wet clothing he wore, then started to look around again. This had to start making sense soon.

=================
no more translations for me. too much work! 0.o
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Mikey held her head as if feeling a headache coming on. His coat, although warm against her skin, felt itchy. She shifted it on her shoulders until it felt right, covering her back and folded across her chest. Her nipples brushed against the insides and she felt a tingle flush through her.

She shook her head at his questions. "No. I don't remember anything. Even my own name. Blank."

She straightened and looked back down the beach.

"But... there is a crate or something down that way. Near where I was. We should go investigate it."

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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me
Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now

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"Blank." he repeated, sort of... blankly as he looked around. Carefully he got away from the rocks and on to the sand. The girl seemed to be cold and uncomfortable. He wasn't exactly sure what he was offering. "Would you like some more... clothing?" A hand sort of motioned down his body.

Nothing would make much sense, the trousers maybe... or. He started undressing with the intention of at least getting her his shirt or undershirt. Even wet, layered clothing would be better. His socks maybe. After all they were.... umh... handmade.

"Look in the coat, label?" He indicated in a mimic motion to open the coat where {handmade for Bartolomeo Colombo} was stitched in Italian. How did he know that? And why couldn't he remember anything else. "I... " what do I do?

"... think that's a good idea." He had stripped off his shirts and offered her the choice of the long sleeve shirt or the undershirt. He'd checked the pockets, pants too. All empty. He looked away from the ocean and her to across the beach while she added the garment of her choice. What was there, up there, in there?

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<Spanish still the language eh?>
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The waves continued to crash up against the shore, ferocity increasing as the rain became heavier. From where they stood there were only three options as far as direction went, some less appetizing than the others - sand, trees, sand and water.

The box that she had spotted earlier wasn't too far away, though night was falling and just what the pair were able to see was becoming apparent - the clouds were thick, and once the last glimpse of daylight was gone they wouldn't have the stars or the moon to help them. It was going to be a black night.

The large object itself looked like some kind of trunk, the type one might find in an old manor at the end of a bed, or maybe in some fancy quarters on board a cruise ship. It was half dug into the moist sand around it, the water lapping up against its sides, and a large rusted padlock clasped tightly around its clasp.


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Waelon Blake | Jimmy Chamberlain | Eli Harmon
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Mikey looked at the various clothes being offered and shrugged. She slipped the jacket off into one hand while snatching the long sleeve shirt in the other. She slipped one arm into a sleeve, switched the jacket over and then slid on the other sleeve, wrapping herself up in the damp cloth before throwing the jacket back on over her shoulders. At least now, she felt more presentable. Not that I'm modest or nothin' -- but who knows who this pendejo might be.

"Down the beach. Then we can go up into the jungle for protection, I think."

She led the way back to the chest, and after studying it for a short time, she tried to move it, but found it too heavy and too buried in the sand. The lock looked impenetrable and if there were anything of interest in it, it didn't look like they would get at it tonight.

She looked up into the darkening sky and wiped the raindrops off her forehead.

"Let's move into shelter and figure out what to do in the morning."

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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me
Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now

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Colombo watched her change, with interest again; though nothing sexual. He wanted to know if she was injured. What kind of shape was she in? Good news, she seemed whole, and healthy. No broom stick arms or spindly legs. A few more facts in the basket to consider.

They headed to the crate. The woman wanted to head into the jungle.

Bartolomeo didn't like that plan, not at all. If the tide was coming up, the box would be gone soon.

"Let's give it another try." Not that he'd given it one at all. He checked his pocket again where he was sure he'd find... find.... something. His pocket knife? All were still empty.

With careful consideration he walked around the crate, gave a couple kicks at what might look to be loose panels. Then did the same at the lock and the wood that held the lock. A determinatino set in. He looked for some sort of instruction, writing they might have missed, but it was too dark. Some manner of pushing a panel.

"Hmmm." He turned to the woman. "Tide could have it out in a couple of hours."

Another round of kicks followed, careful, deliberate, controlled; like a scientist trying to solve a problem.

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The second round of kicks the man issued seemed enough to budge the stubborn thing, some of the semi-liquid sand from one side flowing away underneath as the large container shifted ever so slightly. He was right, though, the tide was on the way and the area the pair had awoken would soon be a shallow grave.

The rains intensity increased as the pair work at the crate, trying desperately to move it, and the sky grew only darker. With only minutes of natural light remaining, the large hulking box finally came free and tipped on its side. Though cumbersome, they'd likely be able to roll it up the sandy incline now that it was free.

A flash of lightning soared across the sky, forked and bright, a rolling thunder soon to follow.
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"Maybe working together we can get it loose."

Mikey took up a position opposite Colombo, standing ready to grab whatever she could to get a purchase on the chest.



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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me
Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now

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"Si."

For the next long grueling minutes they lifted and pushed, turning the crate end over end. The first big push to get it out of the sand where it was dug in was the hardest, then it was a question of endurance.

Barto wasn't sure how far up the beach they'd need to go to beat the tide. The edge of the jungle for sure; but he was already feeling near total exhaustion. He motioned for the woman to stop, at least for a few minutes.

"maybe we should rest, watch the tide... push it in as the water lifts it."

Why didn't I think of that from the beginning?

It meant staying exposed on the beach, but Barto didn't want to give up the crate. It was something to figure out, something to beat. Something to keep going. Crawling into the edge of the pitch black of the jungle... not appealing.
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Mikey considered for a moment. She relaxed, but stayed quite close to the crate. She shook her head, but didn't do anything to resume their efforts.

"Just think the water will just pull the crate back out with the sand. I wonder if we could use your jacket; get the edge of the crate onto it and use it to drag it further up. If we can just keep ahead of the tide..."




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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me
Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now

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That was a good idea. He'd wanted to go into the jungle and get something, lever or leaves or something. But the dark was just too much.

He hesitated though, his body had tossed everything into this venture already. Now instead of pushing it would be pulling.

"Yes, good idea." It would offer some sled-like advantage. "I'll lift, you get it under."

...

and then they would continue...











===========================
{OOC: I'm ready for them to reach the edge of the jungle, ok PMD?}
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Once the pair had figured out a mechanical method of moving the crate upwards, exhaustion wasn't even enough to stop them. As they went, the rain pelting them, seemingly harder every minute, the large box started to get heavier and heavier. Or were they just getting more tired?

After a grueling few minutes, though, the pair were at the trees edge, well away from the icy tide and with the box intact and beside them. Exhausted, the thick jungle canopy immediately offered shelter from the harsh rain, and the sound of the pair panting filled the air. Darkness was falling now, the trees blocking out the very miniscule amount of natural light on hand, though the frequent flashes of lightning helped them survey the surroundings.

Jungle trees, vines, rooty leaf litter. It was almost like they'd wandered into a rainforest.
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.. almost... ?

.. Almost real. It felt fake now, like a dream. Tired and wet. The heat though kept a chill off. At least for now. With night full on would they lose heat.

"We might as well try to sleep." Bartolomeo kicked away dead leaves from the ground. The idea of laying on some dark black spot in a dark black jungle was not appealing. Camping was not something he'd done much of. Very little. 'did I just remember that?' It was dirty. There were bugs.

'what else?' he stopped for a minute, struggled to get an idea of before. It wasn't a jungle that much was clear. He had no familiarity with this situation.

"Maybe just sit, leand against each other?" yet he knew once he got to the ground he'd be falling asleep, at least he thought so.

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Mike shivered with the realization that they had a long, cold, uncomfortable night ahead. She looked at her new companion and wondered about his intentions.

"Look. I'm still mostly naked, and I don't know you. Hell, I don't even know who I am. Sleeping is about the last thing on my mind right now, even if it's getting dark. There should be someway that we can get a fire started, at least. Boy Scout method or something... "


She kicked some of the dry leaves around. "Plenty of kindling. Get some rocks for a fire pit. Work by touch if we have to. We probably won't last the night just sitting down and waiting to die."


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But my heart is not weary, it's light and it's free I've got nothing but affection for all those who sailed with me
Stick with me baby, stick with me anyhow. Things should start to get interestin' right about now

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"Allora" Bartolomeo said in Italian under his breath, then went back to Spanish.

"You can have more of my clothes, but crawling around in this wet dark isn't going to be much help. I don't know how to start a fire, in the wet rainy jungle, or a charcoal grill without a match and lighter fluid." Again, some sense of his life, but without details.

He scattered on his hands and knees trying to find just what the ground was like. Wet, moist. Could they start a fire? Expend more energy than they'd save? Would a fire do anything to get them through the night? Was it going to get cold? Really cold?

"O.K. Let's try, but we'll be better off tomorrow with rest." He didn't really need to say that, but they were hungry. Tired. Needed rest. Nerves get frazzled then, NOT the time to work, contrary to popular belief. But he should... encourage her.

There seemed to be some twigs. Something crawly, which he ignored. He pushed the driest materiel, which seemed to be under the wet surface of dead leaves, toward the middle of their small little circle near the edge of the jungle.

"Here's some. You might be right." He didn't think so. Curling up on the pile of semi-dry leaves, now that seemed like a good idea.


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