Jack insisted he get the stink off of him and go enjoy himself at the festivities. Carlos knew this was coming from less of a people person perspective (neither one of them were) and more in light of the fact that Carlos lived, breathed, and ate in his office (and occasionally had sex with the boatswain in.) If nothing else, it would get the blond off his back and maybe get his mind off of the possibility of politics on the ship - he tended to keep his nose out of it, but people were people after all.
If nothing else, he'd find a few trinkets for his children and sister. He never bought anything for Marilena, never knew what she liked, never mind the fact he didn't bother learning about her. They merely existed as a marital unit, not as a couple.
Carlos sighed, shaking the thoughts off of him and pressed forward, trying to turn this experience into a positive one. He knew he couldn't deliver food, but perhaps some Arosian merchants around Belorien were setting up shop to sell off trinkets and things pertaining to their region, as well as those from the North and West. He pressed his money bag closer to his person in his pocket, wary and watchful over the throngs of people. Such a nervous old man, Jack would've said.
Dalit had never been so glad for the crowds of people. Today had been what he would consider a good day and he was looking forward to filling his pockets even more with those so willing to part with coin for a few painted lies and pressed words.
He had long since given up his usual table after a group of rowdy seafaring folks decided to use it as an impromptu bar but didn’t mind. Being out in the crowd allowed him to hook those that would normally ignore the fortune teller. It gave him a chance, as well, to get lost in his own thoughts and not feel guilty by such actions.
Of course, he had to be careful. No telling what unfortunate soul he screwed over previously was out wandering the crowds. He was built for working on ships, not fighting and that thought always gnawed nervously at the back of his mind.
“You, Sir! A moment of your time? No, I hope you enjoy what waits for you at home. Madam, why do you look so down? Oh, your husband did leave you? I tried to warn you.” Dalit gave a short laugh as he ducked away into the crowd, off in search of coin, drink, or conversation.
Carlos heard a familiar sound, the voice of a certain ship-fitter. He didn't expect to see him which was a little strange as the man lived here and was near the docks. Work kept his blinders on so it seemed. He instead slipped into a tavern, preferring to nurse a cup of brandy over chatting up much of anyone. Though it did seem like people wanted to egg the more composed man for conversation, perhaps out of pity.
The tavern was mostly deserted, beyond the usual daytime drunks who prefered hiding from nosy passerby and the bustling festivities in their inebriated solitude. He ordered from a plucky, cheerful barmaid, keeping appearances by being a mostly harmless (and mildly awkward) flirt.
Coin was quickly drying up with merchants taking the majority of the attention of the patrons that milled about. Hands pressed against his pockets, thoughtful counting of the weight; just enough.
Money was mentally checked. A drink was in order, then, and perhaps conversation with a barmaid or two. Fortune teller smile crossed lips, stopping before it reached his eyes as he made his way through the streetways, over the docks and under crooked buildings.
Blinking in the sudden shade of the tavern, he thought to seek out his usual table but diverted sudden attention at a familiar face. The smile never left his face as he found a seat across the hapless soul that grabbed his view, as uninvited as any other in the place. “Wouldn’t have thought you the type to lurk in places like this.”
Carlos was more than a little surprised to be disturbed with his drink. He never understood his almost obsessive need to be his father, verbal and physical abuse notwithstanding. He looked up at the shipfitter, trying to think of a retort that would've seemed less insulting and more friendly, like jovial rapport. In the end, he held his tongue.
"We all need a drink every once in a while, I suppose. Nurses a migraine well," the doctor said, his usual companion not giving him a sense of bravery. There was something cold about him, almost as if he strove to keep a very strong, dignified appearance and it could have been potentially alienating.
He hated that about himself, but it wasn't like he'd tell the shipfitter that, or the fact his inability to not have a stick up his ass made him a rather lonely character.
Dalit gave a soft laugh at that, settling himself comfortably in his seat, the desire for a drink momentarily forgotten. “Don’t you have something for that on the ship, though?” He leaned back, watching thoughtful, ever amused as when they had first spoken. There was something about this man that the shipfitter enjoyed prodding at.
Gently, of course. Didn’t want to upset that harassing thing that ran around. Fingers tapped the table top, sour suddenly at the thought of that annoyance that called itself Jack.
“But then again, I don’t blame you for wanting to get away for a bit.”
"Sailors are a difficult lot to get along with, but you learn," he said, something older coming out, as if he were an old soul, or as if he were a father. He was one, and he swore that's what kept his marriage on a tightrope. He had yet to find something for Magda or Lena, the boys proving much easier.
"I've no secrets of Ghost, if that's what you're here for," he relented. "I only know the crew's names and her's, but that's about it. I'm a doctor, not a captain."
He made a noise, agreement to the man’s comments. “Difficult is a kind way of putting it. I do not think sailors are meant to be gotten along with in the end of things,” he muttered, off handed. The shipfitter glanced around for a moment before returning his gaze to the other, cold suddenly.
“I know as much as I need to of her. If there’s something I need to understand about her, she’ll tell me.” He frowned. “How long you been with her?” He couldn’t help the sudden grin across his lips, amused at some wordless comment to himself.
"With Ghost? About five, six years, give or take," the medic replied calmly, a little bit thrown off by the comment. He managed to recall it was about Ghost and not his wife - he hated thinking about her just enough to keep up appearances.
Dalit looked all the more amused as he spoke, fingers still tapping over the table in some secret code to himself. “What else would I be talking about? Unless you have a wife or something somewhere.” The shipfitter gave a look suddenly that could only mean bad things were going to happen as a thought struck him.
It was the same look he often got when someone with too much money and not enough common sense sat at his table.
“What keeps you with her?”
Carlos looked at Dalit and responded, "My job, of course."
“Mm.” Dalit stared at him, unconvinced by the response but didn’t bother pressing it. “Do you like being on her? Do you enjoy being on the seas?” Rather odd questions to be asking, even for him, but he was just as curious about some people as he was about some ships sometimes.
And unfortunately for the medic, he just happened to have snagged Dalit’s interests for the time being.
Carlos looked at the shipfitter and thought it over, holding his tongue and replaying the question in his head. Did he enjoy being on Ghost, travelling the seas of Caesius? Surely he did if he did it year after year, staying far away from his children, his home, his sister. In truth, it had just become a safe routine. Things were easier this way.
"As much as one can, I suppose," he said with a shrug, relenting his brandy. He decided against drinking, should the shipfitter decide to pry a bit. He could lose his guard with Jack, and that was strictly in private or when they were around others who were loud and noisy.
Dalit shifted in his seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, fingers intertwined and silent for the moment. His head turned aside, eyes watching over the few people that were entertaining themselves with drink.
“You’re lucky. Docks are nice but there are too many rats squandering what they have here.” He couldn’t help the sudden sneer on his face, reminding himself that he had a good portion of those things squandered.
"Lucky?" Carlos said almost dismissively. Bandaging pirates for being fools was hardly what he considered lucky, but then again, it was certainly more entertaining than staying cooped up in the Akslepain, poring over medical texts in solitude. "Hardly, but thank you, nevertheless. How did you come to be here, a shipfitter?"
He gave a soft smile at that, deciding not to press the conversation.
For now at least.
“Men with luck don’t realize it.” Dalit gave a thoughtful look, gazing over the other’s face for a moment before he decided to speak. “Fate? An unexplained obsession to work with the ships? Anything like that I suppose you can say.” He shrugged slightly, rolling the question away.
“What drove you to the sea?”
My wife, he thought to himself but held his tongue. "It was the first job opportunity and I took it. I didn't think I'd like staying put and have to deal with inconsistency."
Dalit was a man of Conne after all, what with his unhealthy fascination with ships and the sea. Carlos didn't understand it, water like the boogeyman to a small child. For him, the sea was a massive graveyard with bones and souls who used the waves and tempests to haunt mortals they've left behind. It was rather ridiculous, being a grown man afraid of water, but water was natural; medicine was almost man-made. One had control, and the other was a whim.
Dalit was silent as the man spoke, gaze drifting around the tavern in thought. Part of him wondered if the others in the place thought the same as the medic and a faint smile drifted over his lips as memory touched his throat, seizing.
“Do you think you would return to your home?” The fortune teller paused, turning lion eyes on Carlos as a lewd grin choked him. “Or would Jack not want to leave Ghost?”
Carlos looked at Dalit with Capricorn eyes; stern, unmoving. If one were Jack, they'd assume he took offense to what Dalit said (and he did, but he wouldn't show it.) He then relaxed and thought it over. He knew Jack wouldn't want to leave Ghost, but for his own personal reasons. He and Jack never really discussed each other's personal lives. The medic assumed he had his own demons he didn't want the good doctor to know; just as well, Carlos was the same.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. I don't get along well with my wife," he said. "Women, though, what hasn't been said..."
There was a certain awkwardness tainting how he said that little phrase, as if he wanted to make a joke but didn't quite remember the punchline. In any case, he wasn't going to let the shipfitter of all people take a wild guess on their sex life. He knew the crew gave both of them a ration of shit but for the most part left them be, thinking not too awful much of a rather intimate relationship between two men (which wasn't that uncommon for sailors.)
Fortune teller laugh, fortune teller smile; Dalit cocked his head, amusement painted over, despite the looks given. “Unfortunate. But I suppose that is how some things go.” The man looked utterly content with himself for the moment, hands shuffling cards to quench the overwhelming craving of movement.
“Does she love you, still?”
Carlos shifted a little uncomfortably. "I don't think that's any of your business."
No. No, we don't. They were nothing more than two ships tethered to the same dock, not necessarily by choice.
He shrugged, dismissive. “Sounds like a no.” Dalit eyed him. “Looks like one too.” He began to turn the cards over, one at a time slowly, relishing the ever familiar motion.
“You don’t need to be so tense about it. Not like I have anybody to tell or...” He fell silent, shrugging once more with a smile much more gentle than before.
Carlos felt his stomach churn. He was always tense. That much wouldn't change. Instead he looked down at the card, an image of a man in a serene posture, but clearly hanging. He felt that way a little too often. He didn't say anything, instead vaguely wondering what the other three were.
There was the king on his throne, but with a staff of some sort. What made him a little bit surprised was the depiction of a nude couple embracing, lovers perhaps. He didn't believe in the notion stars or cards could determine fate, but it was a little unnerving to be told he wasn't as opaque as he hoped he was.
Dalit glanced up, taking notice of Carlos’s attention and straightened in his seat, shuffling the cards back into the deck before spreading them out in front of the medic.
“What do you want to know, ill-fated lover?”
Carlos looked at Dalit and then back at the cards. He thought of the ocean and his father and brothers. He thought of Jack and his wife, his children and this second life on a pirate ship.
"Why do you want to know?" he asked instead, turning the question on Dalit and getting defensive. "Is your life that dull that you want to snoop into a married man's life, however droll it's become?"
Ocean eyes washed over Carlos, hands still resting over the cards. He shrugged slightly, ever as amused with the situation. “My life is terribly dull at the moment but I wouldn’t say that’s why I want to know.” In fact, he couldn’t say he particularly cared but it was giving him something to do at the moment.
And he so loved to watch people squirm.
“You don’t need to be tense, de los Santos. What do you want to know?”
Carlos looked back at the cards, and he remembered his brother. Over and over again, he remembered his brother grabbing him, punching and yanking him, demanding he tell him secrets, what he knew, things he saw. He interpreted this as the other man looming over him, trying to pester him.
"I don't...know, alright. I just want. I want," he said simply, not wanting to go further than in his own head. I want security, I want happiness, I want a simple life where I don't have these urges. I don't want hiding.
Dalit watched him closely, a bit too closely than what should have been necessary. But he couldn’t help himself. This one was just so fascinating. “That, I have not heard yet.”
He pushed the cards over to Carlos, nodding to them. “Take one.”
It was the same card: the man hanging upside down.
The shipfitter frowned when the card was turned over, glaring slightly at it. “Aren’t you a hilarious bunch.” He swept the rest of the cards towards him, gaze turned to Carlos. “Letting go, reversal, suspending action, thought. Deeply important to you, apparently if it has shown up twice. You have a lot of emotion to let go of, de los Santos.”
Carlos was a bit surprised by that, the notion of letting go of emotions. What did he need to let go of? He didn't keep his emotions on that tight a lead, did he? He didn't have enough introspection to realize he needed to let go of more than feelings, but his ideals that were slowly, but surely, going to be outdated in the world. Traditions withstood the test of time only when they could adapt. He didn't know how, instead being a boulder near the sea, letting the water watch against him and slowly eat at him, but still reliable for shade and comfort.
Instead, he reached for another, this time drawing two that didn't seem to want to let go: the Emperor and the Moon.
“Mmm, interesting. Stability and power...Emperor is what it is, after all. But this one.” He tapped the Moon. “Tension...doubt, fear and uncertainty. Your past still haunts you and your journey is unsure.” He frowned, looking up at Carlos. “Do you have nightmares lately?”
Dalit was uncomfortably perceptive, Carlos was beginning to realize. He figured his silence would speak for him, opting to pull another card, this time of the aforementioned nude lovers.
He had some nightmares, recurring after stopping his treatment with Alois' medicine. He still wanted to offer to Jack, but wasn't sure if it wouldn't have adverse effects. He needed a better opportunity. They hadn't been too intense, but enough to keep him awake for the night before sleeping at his desk.
The shipfitter stared at the card, surprisingly enough looking upset as it stared at the ceiling between them. “This is...You’ve a decision to make about an existing relationship, not sure which one. But there will be a choice that needs to be made.” He shrugged slightly, turning lion eyes on Carlos, as sad as ever.
As amused as ever.
“If I were you, I’d pick Jack. He’s an ass but from your reaction, well.” He paused. “I’m not the one to make that decision.”
Carlos was not an emotional or violent man. Impulsive, yes, and defensive like a wild animal, but not rash or boorish. His mother raised him better than that, and his father expected more out of his second (weak, bright, unmasculine) son. For what must've been a good ten minutes, Carlos finally took a sip of his brandy. He thought it over and decided to come clean. Who knew if he'd ever see the shipfitter again, in any case. Ghost was set to sail in the near future to Aros, and then up north, but that was the extent that Jack told him.
"I made that decision a long time ago, before I even realized how attached I was," he relented softly. "We're mostly separated back home. She's taken another lover, and our marriage is open."
The drunks were too busy nursing their stale drinks to bother listening, words traveling as far as a poorly tossed copper piece. In this light, Carlos looked tired yet young, a man plagued by many a dream and expectation but in love nevertheless.
"We're still married for the children, but that's the extent of our relationship." It was so much easier talking to strangers, after all.
Dalit was silent as Carlos waited. He was silent as Carlos talked.
And even when he finished speaking, the shipfitter was quiet. He was contemplative, still in thought, passive in expression. “Why are you so torn up about it? Whose expectations are you not reaching?” Well, this was just fantastic. He was feeling sorry for somebody.
The word's swimming in his mind were all the same hissings that haunted him: mine, my father's, my ancestors'. He had it in him to have sex with women, but the very notion of seeing a naked woman, let alone copulating with her, sent his body into shivers and his stomach churning. Beyond the gynephobia, there was just emptiness. He didn't feel much of anything for his wife that was to be expected. He understood that marriage was a legal obligation, not always a romantic one, but the fact he merely existed with his wife and harbored a rather benign variation of ambivalence (apathy?) had always upsetted him. He always hoped that he could will himself into loving his wife, into being a man of the house.
Instead, he was a coward who preferred the company of men.
"Have you ever planned so far into the future that when your plans don't come to fruition, you feel like a failure," he asked softly.
This wasn't supposed to happen, he said to himself. None of this, him spilling his emotional baggage and especially not hinting regrets, was ever supposed to happen. "I don't regret Jack. I doubt I will. I regret my own inability to reach my almost unattainable standards I've set for myself."
Dalit never could wrap his mind around planning for the future. His parents had tried that and one ended up dead and the other a bitter asshole. He figured if something in life was going to happen, it was just because and there wasn’t any point in planning.
“Then perhaps you should change your standards. It isn’t healthy going through life like that. Me? No, I don’t plan things. If you do, something always comes along to set things around and it usually isn’t for the better.” The only plan he had was the cup he kept next to his bed. “You shouldn’t concentrate on things like that. It will drive you crazy.”
Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. A part of him figured that out a while back. His stomach burned when he was nervous and his head always ached when he thought too much. His body told him all the signs that he needed to relax or he would die of nerves alone. "If I've no goals to attain, then what's the point?"
That sounded so hollow, to live live with no goals. But it was just as hollow to only live life for goals; what happened when they were accomplished?
"I'm too old to be playing pretend, aren't I?" he asked, knowing the answer when the question was just in his head.
The shipfitter frowned, a look of annoyance crossing his features quickly; for a moment before it vanished to a strained patience. “Then you just change your goals. Life is not a set path and shouldn’t be treated as such. It is as alive as the oceans and just as uncertain. You shouldn’t try to set it in stone.”
Dalit gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Why would you say something like that? I wouldn’t think so. Although to be honest, I am not the right person to ask.” He allowed himself a smile, watching as he always did. Watching the medic, watching the people huddled around tables, watching the walls. “Do you think you are? Do you think you would end up disappointing more people by not pretending?”
Carlos sighed, attempting to nurse his brandy and it wasn't working. He never could eat under stress or when he was in thought. His systems just shut down and food was rarely an experience for him. "My father's last words were that he was disappointed with me. About what, I'm not certain. I have a wife, children, and I work as a doctor."
He breathed in and out. Why he was getting this out was beyond him, but some would say there was a therapeutic quality in discussing personal matters with strangers. There were no expectations, no demands to be fulfilled. And he needed the emotional honesty.
"My father always did prefer my older brother," he admitted softly, and there it was: the lighting showed sharp shadows under his eyes and around his cheekbones. It was like the depths of the sea were strangling him with ceremonial bones and familial ties.
The shipfitter managed to keep any sharp remarks about offing family members to himself. Many times he was grateful that his parents decided one son was more than enough trouble and as Carlos spoke, he thanked them again. The man’s brow creased in thought after a pause, contemplating for a moment that this had gotten too personal for his liking. But he had opened the door by prying.
At least the medic wasn’t crying.
“You shouldn’t concentrate so hard on what your father said or...didn’t say, or preferred. You can’t chase ghosts after they’ve spoken, it’s useless for yourself and for memory. You’ll just go about this way, making yourself sick. Trust me, more than one hollow man asked me about their dead whoever and it’s always been fruitless. Get out of the past. You have children, a job, and a man that obviously cares for you.” Dalit frowned, fingers tapping the table.
“So insistent upon looking ill. It doesn’t do your face well.”
Carlos thought the comment over, not entirely sure what to make of it. His face went from rather puzzled and curious like a confused dog's to a surrendering smile, knowing the humor or way of speaking was lost to him.
"Worrying is what one does when his father is too absent to help rear children," Carlos explained softly, remembering the many roles he had to play growing up. Changing diapers, teaching right from wrong, being more of a father to his siblings than his own father was for him. Carlos wasn't sure how to make of his childhood, his past, and let too much of it form him into the person he was today.
He looked at Dalit and then out the window and said, "I should probably get back to the ship. I don't like talking about personal matters and I don't mean to be an inconvenience with my yammering."
Dalit smiled faintly as Carlos spoke, thumbing absentmindedly through the cards. “Just keep your head on where you are now. It will save you time and misery.” The man chuckled, glancing over the medic once more.
“Inconvenience? No, this conversation has been a welcoming one. Been awhile since I heard honesty.” He picked up the three cards Carlos had pulled and laid down another as he stood.
The fourteenth card. The Death card.
“Don’t let it unnerve you. Change is a good thing. Self-awareness.” The fortune teller gave a sweeping bow, as mocking as ever in action. “I’ll be speaking to you later,” he called over his shoulder as he left, leaving the card before the medic.
Carlos looked at the illustration of death sitting upon a horse, looking down unto dying masses. It seemed grim, but if that's what death could be implied to mean, perhaps that was enough for him. He stood, pocketting the card, and left the establishment for the day.
And then Dalit smacked him on the back of the head and took the card back. :< “Jack would burn this.” And then he ran off, skipping and singing ditties~ .-.