[ Ah, yes. Waking up. Next to a man they barely know.
Not. Siffrin's been more of the habit to take to a chair in the room (stolen from the common) or laying on their back on the floor, just because it's "more comfortable" to them that way. It's not a Hickey thing, it's... a Siffrin thing. Can't sleep someplace new, can't sleep next to someone they don't know, sort of thing. No offense.
The much needed rest puts them out until late afternoon, frankly, unless Hickey's loud enough to wake them earlier, so balls in your court. Siffrin's in a groggy state mostly. ]
... I'm okay. Really. I'm more used to sleeping on stuff like this, [ a pat to the floor, ] than I am in beds. I was on the road a lot.
[ ... Well. Even with their family members, that's how it was. But it still took a while before they got comfortable with bed sharing in inns and guest rooms of the grateful. ]
Well, so am I, at this rate. I spent some years in a hammock crowded up with the rest of the crew, and more recently, we slept on jagged stones. I'm happy to have a real bed, for a change.
[ And he has no problem spreading out, if Siffrin's determined to stay on the floor. ]
As long as you don't go 'round telling everyone I kicked you out. Why all the traveling?
[ In a literal sense, that is. There wasn't much home to run from. ]
The voyage was only meant to be a year, charting some new trade route through the arctic. A year's nothing. But then the ice trapped us in, and three years later, I'm freezing and starving to death in a barren wasteland, hundreds of miles from anything resembling civilization...
[ He sits up with a grunt, scrubbing his hands over his face. ]
It wasn't the outcome I'd had in mind when I signed on, suffice to say.
[ ...You know, he's heard so many bizarre things in the last two weeks that he's inclined not to think too deeply about Siffrin's situation. Amnesia may as well happen, sure. ]
That sounds disorienting, to say the least. Your home has also vanished... in a literal sense?
But I did have it, [ frustration bleeding painfully through their soft tone, turning it jagged for a moment, ] it's just...
[ ... Gone. ]
Memories come and go. I remember things somethings. And then they slip away. No one outside of the island remembers it at all -- they don't remember my home, my people, the stars in the sky -- but they exist and I had it.
[ Voice trembling, blanket clutched tight, curled up impossibly small into a ball.
...
A soft huff. ]
Sorry. The beginning of the week leaves me feeling... bad.
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sat
Not. Siffrin's been more of the habit to take to a chair in the room (stolen from the common) or laying on their back on the floor, just because it's "more comfortable" to them that way. It's not a Hickey thing, it's... a Siffrin thing. Can't sleep someplace new, can't sleep next to someone they don't know, sort of thing. No offense.
The much needed rest puts them out until late afternoon, frankly, unless Hickey's loud enough to wake them earlier, so balls in your court. Siffrin's in a groggy state mostly. ]
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[ Said from their supposedly shared bed. He's just woken up too, and hasn't yet mustered the drive to sit up. ]
I promise I don't bite.
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[ ... Well. Even with their family members, that's how it was. But it still took a while before they got comfortable with bed sharing in inns and guest rooms of the grateful. ]
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[ And he has no problem spreading out, if Siffrin's determined to stay on the floor. ]
As long as you don't go 'round telling everyone I kicked you out. Why all the traveling?
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... Not unfamiliar, honestly. The sea always makes their heart ache.
Siffrin shrugs, realizes Hickey can't see it, and tries to find a way to respond verbally. ]
... Just sort of... in the habit of it, going one place to the next. I like seeing new sights and hearing people's stories. What kept you at sea?
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[ He says it a bit wistfully, like he's talking more to himself than Siffrin.
There's a long pause before he answers the rest, though. ]
I've got no love for sailing. I joined up for a change of pace. Wanted to start fresh.
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[ The sea's a great place to do that to, Siffrin's heard. No judgement from down here, just curiosity. ]
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[ In a literal sense, that is. There wasn't much home to run from. ]
The voyage was only meant to be a year, charting some new trade route through the arctic. A year's nothing. But then the ice trapped us in, and three years later, I'm freezing and starving to death in a barren wasteland, hundreds of miles from anything resembling civilization...
[ He sits up with a grunt, scrubbing his hands over his face. ]
It wasn't the outcome I'd had in mind when I signed on, suffice to say.
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... Yeah. Sounds like it wasn't. [ A beat. ] I like sailing, probably. It feels... free.
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Probably? Have you ever been?
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[ That's the one thing they know for sure. That they haven't in a while. ]
... I guess I miss it.
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[ How odd. ]
Is that common for you? You don't seem bothered by it.
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[ Casually. ]
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[ Sorry. ]
It just blipped out of existence. Like my home. I guess that's probably why, since no one from there remembers either. Um, few as I've met.
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That sounds disorienting, to say the least. Your home has also vanished... in a literal sense?
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[ (How do you describe it.
You stare at the wall.
...) ]
Have you ever caught something out of the corner of your eye? Like a trick of the light.
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[ He thinks of the first time he saw the Tuunbaq with his own eyes. Didn't turn out to be a trick, after all. ]
That sort of thing is common in the arctic.
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[ Sorry for your awareness now Hickey. ]
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It's hard to miss something you never had in the first place, is what you're saying?
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[ ... Gone. ]
Memories come and go. I remember things somethings. And then they slip away. No one outside of the island remembers it at all -- they don't remember my home, my people, the stars in the sky -- but they exist and I had it.
[ Voice trembling, blanket clutched tight, curled up impossibly small into a ball.
...
A soft huff. ]
Sorry. The beginning of the week leaves me feeling... bad.