InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "and shepards we shall be."

Taeja Kim ☠ Jörmungandr (jormungandr) wrote in paxletalelogs,
@ 2011-01-29 11:04:00

Entry tags:

dionysus, jormungandr

my heart is on the ocean
Who: Stephen & Adam.
What: Strange things turn up with the tide.
Where: The beach.
When: Afternoon.
Warnings: None yet.
Notes: Lotto post! :D

It had been a long week for Adam, one filled with unexpected stresses and uncomfortable trials. Only three nights prior he had lost a patient during transport. The man had been a victim of several particularly nasty knife wounds, all of which had been difficult to treat while in transit to trauma, all of which had led to substantial blood loss before they had even arrived. Knowing this did little to assuage the guilt that nagged at him. It had been wholly unhelpful, too, in comforting the newest member of their small unit, a younger man whose first night on call had ended in such tragedy. Further frustration had come in the form of his schedule conflicting so sharply with Alex's; he had had no-one to talk to about these long, arduous nights, and felt her absence all the more keenly after their Christmas together.

Now, with every sinking step he took into the thick sand of the beach, Adam felt his tightly coiled tension begin to bleed from him. It was work of a different sort to push himself this way, abandoning harshly lit gyms for the glittering brightness of the ocean, but already he could tell it had been the right choice. The crashing waves seemed a comfort of a sort, familiar in a way they had never been in his youth. They called to him, and some part of him answered. His dark brow furrowed at the odd thought, but distraction proved soon in coming. He drew a deep breath, his footsteps slowing to a jog from his earlier, breakneck pace, his eyes narrowing as he saw a somewhat familiar face. He could not place the man's name, but he knew him for a relatively recent arrival at Pax - and though he could not recall precisely where, Adam felt he had seen him even before that. He gave a faint smile, one pale hand lifting in a tentative wave.

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thegodofrock
2011-02-02 02:54 am UTC (link)

Stephen missed his vineyard. He hadn't realized how much he had come to treasure the long walks in the country, absent from the rest of the world. He had always been a social creature in his youth, always surrounded by a myriad of people. Even at his vineyard he held frequent parties for his friends and fans -- and he had never thought his lonely walks to be of much significance until now.

Now, he craved the warmth and color of the countryside. He even longed for the smell of fertilizer. Somehow, ambling along had provided him with a sort of freedom that he hadn't even realized he'd achieved...

Either that, or he was just getting old.

His search for a walk in the outdoors had brought him here to the beach. It wasn't a particularly colorful beach like those you saw in photographs of Hawaii, but it was, at least, a quiet beach, and he was able to find the time to think.

The waves breaking against the shoreline provided Stephen with a sort of rhythm, and a melody began to unfold in his head. He tapped his pant leg gently as he hummed, as though there were a keyboard hidden in the denim.

"Gold," he muttered under his breath between hums. "Gold sparkles--no, it doesn't sparkle. It gleams." And still his fingers tapped out a rhythm on his thigh. "It gleams like... Who's that?"

Steven squinted at the approaching young man, whose hand was lifted in a wave. Immediately, the musician put on a pleased smile, assuming, of course, that he had been recognized, and lifted his hand to return the wave.

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jormungandr
2011-02-05 04:27 pm UTC (link)

As Adam drew near to the man his steps further slowed, until at last his pace was merely a brisk walk punctuated by steadily evening breaths. He was no longer panting when he reached the man's side, at least, rendering introductions far less awkward than they might otherwise have been. Closer, now, he tried to better assess the situation, to read his neighbor's expression and body language and judge his feelings on company. Should he show any signs of wishing to be alone, or being annoyed by Adam's presence, Adam could make a quick exit before true irritation set in.

"Hello," Adam said, a faint, tired smile playing on his lips. "I don't believe we've met. Adam Vejas." He wiped a pale hand on his black sweatpants, then extended it to this newly made acquaintance. "I've seen you around Pax Letale, I think. It isn't often I run into neighbors out here."

From the corner of his eye Adam saw something move, a solid form neither surfer nor swimmer being tossed about in the waves. He turned black eyes toward it, then quickly back to the man, not wanting to seem flighty or inattentive.

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thegodofrock
2011-02-07 05:23 am UTC (link)

"Steven Shiancoe," the rocker announced with a welcoming grin, reaching forward to shake the proffered hand without any hesitation, regardless of how sweaty it was or was not. He gave a glance around, as if surprised to find himself on the beach, and then he grinned.

"I like being outside when I'm working on lyrics. Old habits."

He, too, caught something in the corner of his eye. It was dark, definitely angular, which assured him that it wasn't a body. He eyeballed it, wondering if it was driftwood. What else could it be?

"And I like the waves. They're steady, almost echoing down the beach. It's a sort of rhythm."

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jormungandr
2011-02-10 02:07 am UTC (link)

Adam nodded, his agreement entirely unfeigned. Often he had thought of the waves as music of themselves, a sound similar to a heartbeat or a lover's rhythmic breathing during sleep. He found it so soothing, in fact, that for his beachside runs - few and far apart as they were - he left his mp3 player at home, perfectly content without his almost omnipresent tunes. These were Jörmungandr's thoughts more than his own, of course, but that truth still lay beneath his own awareness.

His head had canted curiously upon hearing the name; that, too, seemed familiar. Regardless, he liked the man's handshake, firm but not crushing, and pulled away with a distinctly positive first impression. "So you're in a band, huh," Adam said, in his hesitation drawing out his words. He tore his eyes away from the floating object, which took on a more decisive shape the closer it drifted. His curiosity was piqued, but he had no desire to appear rude. "I feel like I've seen you before. What's your band's name?"

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	thegodofrock 2011-02-11 04:39 am UTC (link)
	"Was," Steven corrected, eyes lazily focused on the very item Adam, too, was having trouble ignoring. He gave the younger man a sideways glance, a broad, pleased grin appearing on his aging features. Familiarity was close enough for him -- it was better than most folks his age gave him. "Steven Shiancoe of Mad Olympus. The one and only. You a fan?" (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

jormungandr
2011-02-13 07:21 am UTC (link)

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He measured his words carefully, wanting neither to offend nor to sound like some painfully elitist hipster. In the end there was nothing for it. "I liked your older material," he said. "I was a little young for it, but..." He trailed off, following Steven's gaze. "What do you imagine that is?" He took a few steps closer to the shoreline, his black head tipping to one side. "It looks like a damn steamer trunk."

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thegodofrock
2011-04-14 05:38 am UTC (link)

Not even Steven's curiosity about the incoming item could overcome his ego. Momentarily forgetting the strange sight, Steven turned to regard Adam fully. Seemingly solemn, he looked him over, mentally hazarding a guess as to his age. He was young; the fact startled Steven.

Then, suddenly, he laughed, and, reaching out, clapped the younger man on the shoulder in a friendly gesture of comradery. "To tell you the truth, so do I." His thoughts drifted back towards the approaching mystery, and he abruptly started towards it.

"Can't imagine what a trunk would be doing swimming around the ocean..."

His battered tennis shoes left dimples in the sand in his wake until, reaching the shoreline, he paused long enough to take them off. The trunk had drifted near enough to shore that it was an easy wade to claim it. With the water lapping at his knees and the steady waves helping to push the trunk ashore, Steven was soon pulling the battered box in.

It seemed to be going rather well until it hit the sandy beach, at which point the trunk seemed suddenly much heavier than it had floating in the water.

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