Chapter 1: Whitman
Chapter Text
Part I
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The Ocean is full of oysters, as they say. Or is it: the ocean is your oyster? The fact is, Linebeck finds himself far too lazy to open them, once they're found.
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The shipyard worker died. Mercay Island has an opening for someone with a lot of expertise. He fits the bill perfectly. Steady job. Rewarding. Dawn till dusk, can hire some kid as an apprentice if he likes. Link would have been a stellar candidate, but the boy has more important ships to maintain, wherever he is.
He declines the position and resigns to focusing on his own vessel, which is leaking and creaking and running out of steam.
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
During one of his nameless, timeless travels, Linebeck meets Astrid for a second time. Maybe it was an accident, and he hopes so—he despises giving Astrid the satisfaction of foreshadow.
"I foresaw your arrival." Her eyes reflect, big and warped, in her crystal ball.
"No, you didn't."
"You're lost."
"Why else would I be here?"
Astrid smiles. "And yet you have a navigation chart, do you not?"
"I dropped it in the sea a week ago," Linebeck answers flippantly. In truth he's lost all of his charts.
"On purpose?"
Linebeck grows irritated. He feels sick and wishes for ale. "Aren't you the one who should know these things? I'm not the fortune teller here."
In spite of his aversion to such things, Astrid runs a hand over the crystal ball and fixes her attention on the so-called future. Linebeck realizes he doesn't care what she sees.
"I once told your companions," she begins, cryptically, "that their captain would prove his use in time. It brings me joy to tell you that there is truth in that. You have proven your use."
What Linebeck should be is happy. Or at least satisfied. Maybe even self-righteous. I told you so , says the Linebeck in the crystal ball.
"Why are you crying?" Astrid becomes a blur of purple and red, like treasure, like sunsets, like a particularly bad scar on his spine.
"Tomorrow's my forty sixth birthday."
Astrid hands him a handkerchief. "Happy birthday, Captain."
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Last year, Linebeck regarded his birthday with a hefty amount of pride. After all, accidents happen out at sea. The life expectancy is rather short on account of copious occupational hazards.
Phantom sword (minus the hilt) in tow, the S.S. Linebeck chugged south to Mercay, where the Old Man was to fashion the blade properly and infuse it with the Sands of Hours. A little too whimsical for Linebeck’s tastes, but nobody asked him.
"Guess what tomorrow is," Linebeck prompted, stitching a patch in his coat. At their current pace, they were scheduled to arrive at Mercay by dawn.
Link spared a glance of pitiful incredulity at Linebeck. "Tomorrow I fight Bellum."
"Well, there's that," Linebeck conceded. A tiny smirk grew on his lips. "But it's also my birthday."
Link rolled his eyes—with a flair of drama, mind you—and turned back to gazing out of the porthole.
"Forty-five years!" Linebeck exclaimed. He set down his needlework and leaned precariously on the hind two legs of his chair. "Forty-five years…"
"You're old," Ciela quipped from her perch on the spool of thread. She had been so uncharacteristically quiet that Linebeck had assumed she’d fallen asleep. "Look at you, Granny! You're sewing!"
"I'm stitching, puffball," Linebeck snapped. "Any good sailor can fix his clothing in a pinch."
"I see our captain has his priorities."
"You were being so quiet a minute ago. I could actually hear my own thoughts!"
"You're having thoughts? Wow! This is a new development!"
(In retrospect, Linebeck wishes he and Ciela could have been better friends.)
When Linebeck directed his attention from Ciela and back to Link, he found the kid was once again fixated on his little statue pirate girlfriend. Adorable.
Though Linebeck returned to stitching his coat, he kept an eye on Link. "So are you going to get me anything?"
Link hardly bothered to flinch. "What?"
"I said," he began with a smarmy grin. "It's my birthday tomorrow. Are you going to get me anything?"
Something snapped within Link. Linebeck wouldn't deny that. He saw it. Not anger nor fury, not a fuse frying to its very end. It was more like a heartstring, worn from weeks of plucking, at its final fiber.
"The world might end tomorrow," Link answered, with more apathy than Linebeck would have anticipated.
"If you lose, then yes." Linebeck, mood suddenly soured, dropped his needlework again. "But what's that got to do with anything?"
"Not many people get to know that," Link elaborated darkly. "Only you, Ciela and I. If I lose, everyone will die. So… I guess… I hope you've said and done everything you need to. That's your gift."
In the end, Linebeck didn't really want that gift, thought it a bit personal, and decided to bank on Link's victory. Which happened to be a success, due in part to Linebeck, thank you very much. And, if he had said and done all the things he needed to, Link's victory would have left him in a very messy world.
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
This year, Linebeck's birthday begins and ends with alcohol, interrupted only by a noontime mail delivery. The postman reads him his semi-annual death threat from Jolene (which, no, he would not like to report to the authorities). Linebeck is already too drunk to care and instead dictates a response:
Sink me.
Fallen cold and dead.
At one point, Linebeck had regarded the Old Wayfarer with a degree of contempt and was even mildly insulted to be mistaken for him. A life of leisure, yes, but of isolation as well: eating cheese, fishing, and collecting raunchy mermaid postcards. It almost sounds appealing, but Linebeck doesn't think he can handle the solitude much longer.
In many ways, much to his disappointment, Linebeck has become an old wayfarer, but the tales of the high seas in his repertoire aren't ones he enjoys reliving.
The cheese is moldy, the fish small, and the postcards—trite.
(Not to mention the beard he's tried to grow is thin and pathetic.)
The most recent ad in the Mercay Tribune reads this:
A slim, ruggedly handsome sailor. One-sixteenth Gerudo. Seen the world, once even possessed by a demon squid. Looking for attractive female partner or even just a few friends. Inquire aboard the S.S. Linebeck. Or the Milk Bar.
From the ad he receives three responses:
An absolute lunatic named Jeremy who is hungry and homeless claims he'll exchange friendship for food, so Linebeck pities him and prepares dinner for them both. He proceeds to steal half his alcohol and two hundred rupees before disappearing into the night.
Next, Fado: a spritely young woman who is both empathetic and stern, but lacks a pair of sea legs and loses every meal to the sea.
And then there’s Niebo.
Though Linebeck always had difficulties communicating with people, Niebo is wonderfully gifted at reading his poorly enunciated body language. She's his age, but most definitely not as exhausted. She comes from a long line of wealthy merchants and left for sea to hone her skills. As a result, she's an excellent navigator, allowing Linebeck to focus on maintenance while she consults the stars.
Together, they roam the southwestern quadrant, running odd jobs for fishermen and getting the occasional traveller to his or her destination. It's the adventuring life he never knew he desired, and Niebo is a wonderful companion. Though they are both approaching the latter half of their forties, Linebeck has never felt so young.
And yet all good things must come to their inevitable, horrendous, humiliating ends—
His friendship with Niebo develops into something of a high-seas romance, and the first night they stand before each other, undressed, the unimaginable happens:
"What happened to your back?" Niebo asks. Something other than concern hides behind her voice.
"Oh…" It is a hideous marking. Up and down on either side of his spine are white spots, like the buttons of a double-breasted overcoat. On the small of his back resides a massive eight-point star which has whitened around the edges but remains a foul purple at its core. She is, naturally, the first (and one of the last) to ever lay eyes on it.
"I said in my ad I was once possessed by a demon squid," Linebeck explains somewhat awkwardly.
"I thought it was a joke."
"It's not." He laughs a little, to lighten the mood. Which fails. "I thought it would attract the adventuring type."
Niebo extends her hand tentatively. "May I look at it? Closely, I mean."
He hesitates, but gives in and turns his back to her. He hears her gasp. With both of her hands she touches the scars along his spine. There is painstaking caution in her touch. She stops short of the scar's base.
"It looks evil."
"I know. I know… I—" He faces her again and summons the courage to cup her face in his hands and kiss her. She is a sweet, wonderful woman. Without an ounce of hesitation he can confess he loves her.
To his astonishment, she backs out of his embrace. "I can't."
"What?" He unconsciously places his hands on the small of his back, as if covering guilty evidence. "It's been years. It doesn't affect me. Nothing's wrong with me."
"I realize this. Linebeck, I can just… I can sense something wicked within it." On an afterthought, she retrieves her clothing and begins redressing herself.
Embarrassed and suddenly hyper-aware of himself, Linebeck does the same.
"I'm no different than before you had seen it," He explains. A distance forms between him and his body. Nothing makes sense.
"I know. And I thought I was a better person than this. But I can't help what I feel." Niebo smiles sadly. "You understand, don't you, Linebeck?"
"Yeah," he lies affectionately. Maybe things will improve by morning.
They sleep beside each other but not together. And when he wakes, Niebo has gone ashore, leaving not so much as a note behind.
Without allowing himself a moment to grieve, Linebeck leaves port and seeks out Jolene.
Chapter Text
Part II
Life does a man a favor, when it leads him down to the sea.
Two-and-a-half years later, while Linebeck is trying with much difficulty to fight off something he caught from eating bad fish, Jolene torpedoes his ship. He hardly protests when she jumps aboard the vessel and barrels down into the cabin. Before she opens the door to his quarters, Linebeck decides he doesn't want to look at her and solves the problem by stuffing his face into a pillow.
The door opens with a slam. "What's wrong with you?"
Linebeck doesn't budge. "Sick."
"Get up. I have something for you."
Linebeck, owing no loyalty to Jolene, disregards her and continues to admire the cloth of his pillow. Until, that is, the she-pirate drops something on him that feels distinctly like…
Linebeck bolts upright. On his bed crawls a baby boy, on the cusp of toddlerhood, complete with a full head of brown hair and a semi-toothy grin.
"He's yours."
Heart hammering violently like a rogue drum, Linebeck can't seem to stop shaking his head. "No, he's not."
"Yes, he is," she insists. The child grabs a fistful of blanket and stuffs it in his mouth, smothering it in drool. "How can he be? How can you be sure?" Panic gathers in his chest, tight and painful. Air suddenly seems scarce in the room.
It's the wrong thing to say: Jolene narrowly misses a rant and settles for a tirade. "Well, let's see," Jolene begins, sauntering about the cabin. "About two years ago, an old, drunken sailor shows up on my ship while I'm at an important pirating conference and practically begs me to screw him. It's pathetic, but I'm merciful, so I put him out of his misery. Unsurprisingly, he leaves before morning, not even decent enough to buy me breakfast."
Linebeck buries his face back in the pillow but Jolene continues:
"Two weeks later I'm puking like a landlubber and after another two I've missed something very important—and it's then that I realize I'm carrying the baby of none other than the famous Captain Linebeck."
"Oh gods," Linebeck moans.
"'Oh gods' is right. And I tried to get rid of it, so don't start accusing me of being lazy. Tried all sorts of ridiculous, dangerous things. Voodoo potions from so-called spirits of the sea, eating raw, unprocessed chu jelly. But the brat is surprisingly resilient. He must get it from me." Linebeck has made Jolene angry many times in his life—but this is having consequences he doesn't think he's quite prepared for.
"I didn't…know," Jolene continues. Her voice wavers between calm and calamity. "I didn't know—I should have known—that this would happen. I don't hate him, Linebeck. But I don't want him. I can't want him. My life is changing in ways that I can't control."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried," she presses. Defeated, she sinks down against a crate. "I tried, but you are ridiculously hard to track down. Nobody even knows who you are anymore! Whatever happened to the great Captain Linebeck? You're just some drunk wanderer I managed to find only by following a trail of high-volume rum purchases and the scent of failure." The child clambers off the bed and stumbles into his mother's unwelcoming arms. "I ended up caring for Junior here longer than I anticipated. He's a year and change."
Easily picking the boy up and settling him on her hip, Jolene makes her way back to Linebeck. "There's only one other person who can take care of him."
"No." He scrambles out of bed, light-headed, pleading. The ship is stationary and yet he feels seasick. "I'm not a father; you can't do this to me."
"I can. You did this to me, you rotten bastard. If you had stayed, maybe we could have found a solution!"
"We did this to each other," Linebeck shouts. His own voice rings in his head. "We made a mistake—literally—but I guess you're too busy to even raise your own son."
"I am too busy! I have things to live for!" Jolene thrusts the child into Linebeck's unprepared arms. "You… you don't." Closing her eyes, Jolene takes a step back. "See?" She prompts, gesturing towards father and son. "You look…paternal."
He looks down at the child and then back at Jolene. The disdain in his glare could melt rock. The disdain bleeds into anguish.
"Oh, for the love of Din, would you quit crying?"
But he can't. Next month is his fiftieth birthday and all he has to show for half a century is a rotten liver, a deep-set scar, and a son, unwanted by both his parents.
"You're his mother. You have been for his whole life. Don't you feel anything for him?"
Jolene averts her eyes. Though the she-pirate is the closest thing he'll ever have to a partner, in whatever twisted sense of the word, Linebeck doesn't think he will learn to read her. In truth, he feels he hardly knows her.
"Not all women are maternal," she answers, unsure. "I certainly am not."
"And I'm not paternal!" He cries hysterically. "I'm not."
"He conflicts with my piratical lifestyle. How many pirates do you know with children?" He realizes she's watching him intently, searching for any changes in his bleeding expression. "He's just as much your son as he is mine." The child squirms in Linebeck's arms, reaching for his mother with tiny fists. "He's kind of an idiot, in fact. Which is why I named him Linebeck."
Jaw clean off its hinges, Linebeck balks: "Are you kidding me."
"He responds to it, too," She confirms with a twinge of sick humor. "Good luck trying to change it. Anyway, it should work out if you love him as much as you love yourself."
"I'll do anything. Anything, Jolene. Take all my money, everything, just don't do this to me!"
Jolene takes a step back. Then another. "His birthday is around the eighth day of spring. Just keep him fed and clean. He likes sea shanties."
"Please."
"I'll send money. Occasionally."
"Please, Jolene. I'm begging you." His sickness is too overwhelming and his namesake is weighing him down. Chasing Jolene down fades as an option as she bounds up the stairs and escapes on her own vessel. Linebeck II, as he would later be known, coos and nestles himself into his father's shoulder.
This is the World of Men, where just the strong survive.
Though men at sea tend to be hardened against disaster and catastrophe, the thin layer of courage and durability Linebeck has accumulated has been filed down to nothing over the course of the following three days.
He cries at the drop of a hat: he cries while he cooks dinner, he cries while he tries to give said dinner to his son. He cries when he realizes he has no idea what weaned babies eat. He cries, yet again, when the child calls him "Papa," and tries to cry himself to sleep. His face is hardened with tributaries of salt, but not even sleep will put him out of his misery.
So, the captain just waits. Eyes closed. Breath short.
"Linebeck," says a voice, after an indistinguishable amount of time has passed.
He recognizes the voice easily. This is it; insanity is knocking on his skull, awaiting surrender.
"Linebeck."
When he opens his eyes, he finds Ciela perched on his bedpost, lighting up the sickeningly dark cabin. Surprised, but somehow unperturbed, Linebeck sits upright.
"Where have you been?" With a sense of irony, he realizes that he's not too far off in picking up the conversation they last had.
"Guarding the Ocean, I guess," she answers woefully. "But I've been watching you. And…I'm sorry."
"Yeah?" He snaps. Reunions have never been his strongest suit. "Well you're five years too late. If you had, I don't know, checked up on me, anything, maybe I wouldn't be such a wreck."
With an indignant huff she jumps off the bedpost and lands on his hand. "When are you going to learn that other people can't solve your problems? I'm not responsible for your happiness. I have a lot of powers—as I'm learning—but none of them can make you happy."
Now he remembers how irritating he finds her. "Then why are you even here?"
"Because I missed you," she confesses. "And I was sorry we never got to be friends."
"We were friends. I just wasn't very good at showing it."
"Me either." She falls silent for a beat. Ciela is infrequently quiet, as Linebeck recalls. Very rarely is she at a loss for words. Maybe she's twisting her hands. Maybe she's biting her nails. "So you have a son."
"Apparently." In the corner of the ship, Linebeck II is in a makeshift cradle, an empty crate bastardized into a bed for a bastard child.
Ciela hovers past the sleeping figure and admires him for a moment. "He looks like you."
"I was kind of hoping he didn't," Linebeck answers honestly. "I'll spare you the humiliating sob story, which you probably already know, since you're so god-like or whatever."
Evidently finished giving the child a full look-over, Ciela returns to Linebeck. Sadness drips from her voice like honey. "Maybe… maybe you're more capable than you think."
"How can I be?" He whispers. "Every pet I ever had died."
"Don't be ridiculous."
There's a lull. From somewhere within him, Linebeck produces the courage to find the truth. "I was ready to die, Ciela. I wasn't going to—you know—but I was hoping the ale or a storm would do me in. Now I can't. With no one else to care for him, the kid needs me. I don't want him, but he doesn't deserve to die…but he also doesn't deserve a shit-for-brains, alcoholic old man as a father."
Ciela, out of pity or sympathy, runs her small hands on his thumb. "You're not—"
"Don't cry," he says, his throat pinhole tight in spite of himself. "I'm so tired of crying. I'm so tired of being alone. I used to think that this was what I wanted, but the last five years have been a whole lot of nothing. Link's looking for a new world, you're… doing whatever it is you do."
"You want a use," Ciela conjectures.
"I want… I want…" The truth is that he hardly knows what he wants, and that's what makes him so miserable. "What am I supposed to do?"
Ciela's tiny heartbeat reverberates against his fingers. "It wouldn't be difficult for me to send your ship in a particular direction," she offers. "Out of the Ocean King's domain. I'll give you a strong current and fair weather."
Though it's the most reasonable thing he's heard in half a decade, it simply isn't enough. "No. Um. Could you stay with me? Please? Ciela?"
"What do you mean?"
"Stay here. For a while. Tell me how to raise a kid, keep me company, keep me from losing my mind."
He knows her answer before she opens her mouth.
Always dutiful to people other than him, Ciela answers: "I can't."
"Of course you can't." Now he's hurt. Bitter.
"You know why I can't. You can't expect me to keep you happy, to…change your life. I have a lot of responsibilities as a Spirit. The order of the ocean rests on my shoulders."
"I need you."
He can hear Ciela's disappointment. "No, you don't. You didn't need me five years ago. Loneliness can make even an enemy your lover." An enormous silence blankets the room, not thick enough to hide under. "I'll stay until you fall asleep. And then I'll send your ship in the right direction. Okay?"
"Yeah." He blinks back tears for the umpteenth time and hates himself all the more.
"And Linebeck?" Ciela starts. Linebeck doesn't answer and instead prompts her silently to continue: "I doubt we'll meet again. So… goodbye. I guess."
Slinking back underneath the covers, Linebeck tries with all his might to stay awake. True to her word, Ciela stays with him, curled on his shoulder like a glowing epaulette.
When he wakes, he is again alone.
We're on the foam again, and now we're free.
Extinguishing from his mind the possibility that it was all a panic and alcohol-induced dream, Linebeck trusts Ciela, setting course in the direction of the current and allowing fate to take care of the rest. As promised, the weather is glitteringly beautiful. Linebeck II is a month or two shy of a year and a half, so his speech is an indistinguishable garble that hovers between language and nonsense. Surprisingly, he's a fairly good walker, despite using a ship as his primary place of residence.
The boy will frequently ask about his mother, and Linebeck can only remedy the ache by distracting him with make-shift toys: spools of thread, a sack of cornmeal he turns into a doll, chunks of charcoal to draw on parchment (which quickly causes the ship's floor to turn into a mural)…
Though Linebeck isn't sure what constitutes an idiot for babies, he's sure his isn't one, despite Jolene's remark. In fact, he fully intends on teaching him the finer workings of the ship by the time he's five. If anything—and anything is always more than nothing—the kid is good company and entertainment. During the subsequent five days of sailing, Linebeck tells old legends and tall tales; he sings shanties and the younger hums and giggles along.
The joy he feels is masked with thick apprehension. One day, things will not be so simple. Someday, soon maybe, he'll run out of luck.
You'll all batten down the hatches, nothing matches the roar of the sea.
"Would you look at that?" Linebeck beams. The salty fog parts as their ship cuts through the water towards—finally—a destination. On the horizon is a great mass of land, about a half a day's time away. Linebeck II stands steadfastly at his father's side, mimicking his every move. Swiftly (despite his age, Linebeck feels swift again, like a young man) he lifts the boy onto his shoulders.
"On larger ships, they say 'Land Ho!' Can you say that? Land ho!"
"Land ho!" The younger shouts at the sky.
Linebeck's pride is immense. "Perfect! Just like that! My boy, you've got the makings of a fine sailor." Letting fate (or Ciela or the winds or the waters) take hold of navigation has been an exercise in meeting himself once more. He is an awkward father, in a constant state of insecurity, oscillating between tender and careless, but the feeling is surprisingly familiar. At every turn he overlooks novelty and finds only comfort.
The landmass (it's too large to be an island, hugging the horizon with a wider and wider breadth as they grow near) is reached by late afternoon, and as the ship slows and finds its way to a crudely made dock, Linebeck observes the settlement before them: a few dozen log cabins, most with a tiny garden in the vicinity, spot the coast line. A handful of cuccos cluck about, free range. Far, far in the distance is a striking tower that climbs high above the clouds and snow-capped mountains to the north. There is no end to this land.
Two men in bandanas are waving him in as he docks his ship and Linebeck (who has become more cautious than cowardly) considers turning around and high-tailing it into open water when a familiar figure drops his stomach into his feet.
Dressed in perhaps an even dopier green getup, it's Link! "Linebeck! Hey, Linebeck!" It's Link, voice deeper and head higher, but it's absolutely Link. The shore is insurmountably close and he wastes not a second in tossing the anchor down into the waves and drops the bridges as Link practically leaps onto the ship, beaming, out of breath (and are those tears?) and throws himself into Linebeck's arms.
"You're here!" Link says into Linebeck's coat. He may be older now, but the lad remains as youthful and vibrant as the day he last saw him. Even happier, maybe.
"My boy…my boy," Linebeck responds, holding him tighter and tighter. An eternity would have lasted just long enough for their reunion, but Linebeck II cuts it short by tugging on his father's coat.
"Papa, Papa."
Link glances between father and son, a pall of realization soon settling on his expression. "You have a child?"
"Well, yes," Linebeck answers, half-bashful and half-exhausted. "It's a long story. I'll explain later."
A toothy grin plastered irreversibly on his face, his reaction is one Linebeck could have never anticipated. Link hoists the boy onto his hip. "Aren't you sweet? How did you and your Papa find New Hyrule?"
"A ship!"
Link laughs. His face is brighter and happier than Linebeck had ever seen it. The lad is a marvel.
"You found it, huh?" Linebeck surveys the settlement before him. After a lifetime of green-spotted-blue and the promise of water in all directions, the endless plains and distant mountains are overwhelming. He spots Tetra ordering around a group of men dragging a felled tree trunk along the dirt road.
"This is the Land of the Spirits of Good," Link explains as they walk from the ship and onto solid land. Linebeck II remains on Link's hip, making it look easy. "We've befriended the Lokomo Tribe. They're letting us settle here."
They end their short trek by one of the larger, more stately cabins. Tetra greets them with as much regality a pirate can manage. "It's good to see you again, Linebeck."
Setting down Linebeck II in Tetra's brief charge, Link pulls Linebeck off to the side. His head spins with confused joy and anxiety. "You don't have to make up your mind now, but would you consider living here? We're small now, but more will come sooner than you think."
Linebeck is shocked. He stares vacantly in response.
"I know you're a man of the sea," Link continues, "but there's no reason you can't keep your ship and a home."
Staring with feigned interest at his feet, Linebeck feels guilt boil up in his gut. He gives a noncommittal shrug. "I'm a different person, kid. I'm…kind of a wreck. Maybe New Hyrule would be better if I kept my distance."
"I don't care if you're different," he snaps, almost offended. "I'm a different person, too. We can't always stay the same."
Linebeck does not believe this. There is value in stagnation. "I'm telling you, Kid. Bad things follow me. I make disaster."
Link rolls his eyes. "Stop it. I know better than anyone that bad things will happen with or without you. It's up to you whether or not you want to help us overcome them." He pauses. "No pressure, of course."
This makes a surprising amount of sense to Linebeck. "Alright," he grins, and feels refreshed for the first time in an eternity. "I'm sold."
"Really?" Link exclaims. He claps his hands together and begins pacing thoughtfully. "We'll build a place for you and your son, somewhere near the shore, that way you can still travel when you need to. And oh!—How would you like to be a merchant? We'll need one if we're going to be a real kingdom, and no one knows treasure like you. You can set up a trading post of sorts! You know how to appraise treasure, don't you?"
"Yeah, kid. I do."
Linebeck has never been happier.
And the greatest favor life could ever give,
Is to let me live the life I want to live.
Notes:
The song included in this piece is "Life Does a Man a Favor" from the 1953 musical "Oh, Captain!"
Chapter Text
"Pa, can I take the ship out into the bay?"
"Yeah, I don't see why not," Linebeck answers. He stands up, joints cracking and popping with a little protest. "Just let me get my coat."
"No, I meant…" the boy sighs and his cheeks redden slightly. "By myself. There's this girl and—"
"Oh, a girl, is she?" He nudges his son playfully. "Take my advice son: don't bother with women. They always leave."
"No, Pa," Linebeck II folds his arms and leans dreamily against the window. Kid always had a dramatic flair. "This girl, she's smart, beautiful, funny…her father's a court engineer so she's well versed with trains. I thought it would be neat to—you know…"
"…Show her the ship. The other mode of transportation. Yes, I understand."
"So…can I?"
Linebeck pretends to deliberate on this. "I think you're old enough to manage the ship on your own for a couple of hours." He's witnessed his son's nautical abilities. He trusts him.
"Yes!"
"But—"
"But?"
"But you need to be home by an hour after sunset. I don't want to give the girl's parents a heart attack." He produces a look that borders on stern. "And stay safe. Okay?"
"Yes. Yes, Pa. Absolutely." The boy leaps into action and beams with excitement. "I'll be so safe the guards will apprehend the ship and ask—'Kid, are you aware of how safe you're being?'
'Oh, I'm sorry, Sir,' I'll say. 'I'll try to be less law-abiding in the future.'"
Linebeck laughs. He's not sure where he inherited his funny bone, but he sure is glad for it.
Notes:
Thank you for reading!
epic_fart_moment on Chapter 2 Sat 10 May 2025 08:56AM UTC
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