---

  ~Sunrise Saturday September 25th, 1909: light cloud, Beaufort 6 (windspeed ~24 knots); visibility moderate



Matt woke, for an instant not entirely sure where he was. The grey-blue of predawn lit the room from above and the risen wind filled it with rapid textured hush. Nothing stirred.

*tonk* *t-tonk*

The map of the place filtered into his brain, locating the sound. Downstairs. Kitchen window.

*t-tonk*tonk* *tonk*tonk*

He had duties to attend to very soon, including working out what to take up to the Captain as 'a start on breakfast'. The covers were warm but the knocking was incessant.

*tonk*

---

Hetty came awake.

"Hey," the Captain was saying, gently shaking her foot. It seemed she'd turned on her front at some point and pins and needles prickled through her gradually-numbing left arm where it lay beneath her. her uncle looked at her with slight concern, lit by the half-light of approaching dawn as much as the Light above. It seemed the lamp was out by now, the sea making its steady sound but few seabirds keening awake.

[Language unknown: "Hoder art somleshasyinwhi il k omac of preek ch olacli ant al Mr. Bese ain u a, e chwit strstahou il arhat eene ol thhou foloti mieing in. To ntnami?"] he asked.


Edit: on second thought, hiding your dreams. Also a couple of clarity fixes.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:48, Sun 06 Feb 2022.

Hetty winced as she started to shake her arm to hasten the flow of blood back to her arm. She didn't regret her uncomfortable night's sleep for a second. She just nodded at the question and her eyes widened. She sprang to her feet and hurried downstairs so she could quickly scrub the necessary bits-- she'd just bathed the other day after all. The blanket slid off and she shivered at the cool air.

"I'll see you in a bit then," she said and scampered down the stairs. She abruptly stopped in front of the curtain to her room. With a deep breath and a determined expression on her face, she entered. Normally there was something almost soothing about the sound of the bells, like a welcome just for her. That morning it almost sounded more like a warning.

Without taking too much time to think about... it, she stripped, used a bit of water from the small cracked jug to dampen a rag and ran it over the most essential areas, grabbed some fresh underthings, and pulled the nearest dress she could grab over head. Next was the longest part of her morning, trying to tame her hair...
This message was last edited by the player at 17:09, Sun 20 Feb 2022.

Hall remained beneath the blankets briefly, unwilling to leave the safety he felt within their warmth. For a moment, as the haze of sleep left him, he was on the beach again, losing the struggle to keep himself out of the water, his breath departing as he slipped beneath the tide. Shaking free of the half dream, he gulped air, momentarily desperate to know that he could do so.

His heart calming, he rose, forcing himself to only think of the present as he dressed hurriedly. He made certain to comb his hair and shave, mindful that the Captain would be taking stock of him this day, quietly assessing how he performed his work after his first watch in the lighthouse. Whatever lingered on the shore after dark, this remained his only hope for a fair living, a respectable job. He had to put his haunted thoughts behind him and focus on his duties.

Breakfast. The act of cooking seemed a sudden haven, something tangible and familiar to occupy his mind and hands. He moved to the stairs, taking them briskly as he considered what might be a pleasing meal for Miss Dowling and her uncle.

The tapping noise continued throughout Matt's abloutions, getting if anything more irritated and persistent. When he came down to lift his slightly salt-stiff jacket and trousers from the stove, the sound only got louder.

*TONKTONKTONK*

Pest did pause on seeing him, and that he was not Hetty - much to her chagrin - then seemed to shrug it off and continued to steadily apply for entry.

*TONK*TONK*TONK*

      *TONK*TONK*

It might be best to set the kettle on and boil a few eggs for that 'start', then stoke up the stove and consider beyond that once the dawn cleaning was done. At any rate, Pest clearly wanted in on whatever he was doing, particularly if it involved getting smoked fish out of the pantry cupboard to wrap a boiled egg in.

*TONK*

_

Matt set to work on morning tea and a handful of boiled eggs, accompanied in his efforts by Pest’s staccato requests for admittance. Once everything was warming, he sighed. As he retrieved a broom to sweep the kitchen, he opened the window, allowing the cold salt air entrance, along with the determined seagull.

Steam curled gently up the chimney alongside the stovepipe. Pest waited only until Matt's hands were out of easy grabbing range, then flew hastily into the room and fluttered under the table. There was a soft, uncertain *pit-pat* then a pause and sudden *pitpatpitpatpitpat* of webbed feet for a moment as Pest looked about and rapidly went out into the hallway, then a mildy ominous silence.

Matt drew a bowl of fresh cold rusty water to scare the eggs, and set it down in easy reach. Having determined Hetty was not hiding anywhere nearby, Pest returned from the depths of the house at a glide, installed herself on the kitchen table and screamed solidly for two minutes for no other reason than being a seagull whose beak wasn't otherwise occupied. Outside, the other birds were waking, making their racket out on the cliffs, a quiet background every time Pest paused to take a breath.


*SKEEÉÉÉÉÉÉÉAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! SKI-SKI-SKI! SKIIIIÉÉÉÉÉÉÉAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! SKEEÉÉÉÉÉÉÉAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!*

The sun sufficiently instructed to rise and the only human in sight encouraged - Pest seemed to hope - to do something that might make food appear, Pest took to following Matt around on the nearest surface to wherever he was sweeping, still flaring warily away at any sign of being reached for, but occasionally daring a wheedling whistle now and then, hoping he'd feed her. Any indication that he might do so produced louder and more excited noises from a bird whose volume seemed to top off at twice the size her little body should be capable of.

---

At length Matt packed a handy basket with cosied teapot, teatowel, mugs and warm eggs, warmed a bucket of wash with the remnants from the kettle and let himself out into the brightening grey. Pest went and stood on the lighthouse threshold, screeching and bustling nigh underfoot to help him know he should open the door. When he set down the bucket and opened the latch, the wind seeking at his cuffs and collar, she dived in at once, flapping her way to swing up the stair in a graceful arc. Earthbound as ever, Matt toiled his way up into brightness, ignoring any quiet sounds of bare feet or shifting petticoats from Hetty's room where surely the young woman washed and dressed. Shortly it sounded like Pest had joined her, too.

The Captain proved to be folding the blanket when Matt reached the watch room. He nodded approvingly at both bucket and food, indicating Matt might set the latter on the desk. "Good Morning to ye, Mister Hall, good to see you're up promptly."

He checked his watch and gave a glance to the marker on the weight line that was close to full descent. "Mm. Let's have a share of what you've brought whilst the sun rises. Did you sleep well?"


edit: mechanical terminology
This message was last edited by the player at 02:01, Thu 17 Feb 2022.

She was still tugging at her brush through her hair when Pest flew in. "Morning Pest," she said. "I hope you didn't bother Mr. Hall this morning!" Hetty set the brush down and paused, hand outstretched as she she reached for something to pull her hair back with.

Her nose twitched as the faint smells of the food Matt had brought reached her. Suddenly the hair tie and the ordeal of the night before was forgotten, drowned by the rumble of her stomach. "Come on then," she sighed. A few moments later she joined her uncle and Matt. "Good morning, anything I can help with?" she asked.

Pest stood on the washstand and gave Hetty's empty hand a dubious look, then pecked at the thick ribbon Hetty had set out for a hair tie, in case that helped (or was secretly an undiscovered worm). Behind them the bed sat and the covers did not move.

When Hetty went out, Pest gleefully took up a post on her shoulder and then the desk beside the basket, whistling softly and plucking at the teatowel to suggest yes, a start on breakfast would be good. *kiiiii kiiiiiii kiiiiii*

"Hm, well after first tea you can set up the day's bread whilst Mr. Hall and I clean the panes," the Captain said, seeing that Matt did not look quite floury enough to have discovered where the cottage's starter was and set a loaf rising himself.

A pale coppery gold was flooding in from the top left-hand side of the room, window and stairwell both, mingling with the Light's bright white to leave everything seeming stark and delicate. A warm mug in hand would be a powerful comfort.

”I boiled some eggs, if you are hungry, Miss Dowling,” Hall offered, ”And I made some tea. Hopefully, it isn’t too strong for your liking.”

He frowned at the Captain’s question. ”I’m afraid I slept fitfully, sir. But that’s probably just owing to the island being an unfamiliar place. I’m certain that I’ll settle in soon enough.”

He took a sip of tea and made ready to join Captain Dowling in cleaning the glass.

The Captain glanced over a moment, but focused on peeling his boiled egg, sat on the stairs. "Ah, Hetty had a poor night of it, too: likely there's some pressure front headed in, what with the sudden wind. Still, I hope you fare better tonight."

They ate quietly and filled up on the warmth of strong tea as the watch room filled with dawn. With the sun risen the Captain bid Hall pick up his bucket and await orders, then climbed the stair and took the dark goggles to put out the remnants of last night's flame.

Given the all clear, Matt and his bucket of wash rose up into a world of blue and gold and deep green sea, the muffled sound of surf and seabirds rising from below. The Captain gestured where he ought to set the bucket and handed him a soft cloth when he'd come right up to the lens. "This is for 'er...mind not to look right in, just along the planes to make sure they're clean and with no kind of muck astuck. Have to mind your eyes, even just with the sun."

The last did not sound quite convincing somehow, but the Captain took his own cloth and set to cleaning one side of the Fresnell lens just as he'd said, so there was hardly anything to object to. The light on the prisms' planes was fascinating to behold.

[[please take a draw, Matt.
edit: colouring speech]]
This message was last edited by the player at 06:55, Mon 07 Mar 2022.

Hetty's eyes brightened and she nodded. There was something so soothing about preparing the bread. When Matt mentioned eggs, she looked at Pest who was perched on her shoulder then gave Matt a conspiratorial look and raised a hand to cover her mouth. "I do like eggs," she whispered loudly.

With that, she moved past him with the gait she had developed to help Pest best balance on her shoulder to get some tea for herself and some breakfast. Steps and words eventually faded as the men went to tend to the lenses. Maybe one of these days she'd be able to be more involved...

She grabbed one of the eggs to begin peeling it. The day seemed so mundane after the night. Hetty paused, mouth open as she was poised to take a bit. Then she shook it and bit with more firmness than necessary into the egg. None of that, not with the memories still there. Maybe later she'd go to her room and search but for now, it was time to refresh herself. She finished the egg and poured herself a cup of tea to let it cool while she went to start the bread for the day.

Miss Dowling’s joke brought a smile to Hall’s face. He readily obeyed when the Captain gave his instructions, taking the cloth and setting to cleaning, glad for the simple mundanity of the task. Though he was careful to be thorough, he couldn’t avoid the occasional glance down at the rocks and beach below, wondering at how different they looked in the light of the sunrise.

Matt started from the top of his side of the lens carefully, looking outside often. He could just see the rocks that had seemed to hold the flotsam of a phantom shipwreck in the night: with the tide out they rose from rosy sand and straggled bands of shingle, delicately draped in sea foliage among pools. The beach remained attractive and the sea kept its secrets, the foam brighter over the shoals. There could be anything down there, as in the depths of sleep. There might be dreams.

Matt cleaned, and looked outward, and cleaned, and looked. On his second side of the lens, three prisms down, he looked back from the roil and break of waves below to see their reflection moving in the glass, and that of the sky.


"Hall!" Matt's attention was brought to the Captain's arm catching his roughly, and he almost staggered with the idea of impact in being snapped back to himself.

"Hey now, what did I say?" the Captain continued. "I know that look, that's a body who's looked into the lens, dazed himself. Keep that up you'll start fancyin' you see things in there, like Kirkness."

The older man relaxed his grip somewhat, realising he might have scared his companion. He let go, looked away, then back at Matt, his expression hard to parse. There was no real anger, but maybe fear, perhaps: fear for him. The Captain shook his duster warningly at Matt. "New rule: to be sure you survive the job, mentally an' if things should get confusing in a storm at night, don't see things."

His tone relented. "You go on and finish that side, no good getting leery of 'er, and then you go out on the walk with the bucket and sponge and make a start on the storm panes whilst I fetch out the papers. Mind not to go lean out agin the rail for no reason, though," he finished, and his look was serious, maybe sorrowful. "I hope y'can understand I'm trying to keep ye safe."

Outside, the wind and waves moved as they always had, and bright birds drifted. The ironwork around the lamp array was solid and normal, and no-one could fall through the lighthouse's solid stone, nor plummet tumbling into its inverson to stand on two feet at the top/depths as he stood now, in his new boots. A small shifting let him feel the motion of his bones and something of the salt stiffness in wool and leather. Still, he was whole and the waves rolled below, and there was a lens to finish and panes to wash.

Hetty wound her way down in the pale early morning light, the steam of her mug warming her hands and her friend on her shoulder. She did not look into her room, certainly not in or under her bed, stepping lightly down and down until she could pull the door open and step out into the swift pull of the wind. Pest made some muffled noise in half-complaint at being engulfed in a rush of still-unbound hair and pushed off to slide down the air like an arrow, land in the shelter of the back threshold and yell until Hetty came up to open the door.

Inside, it seemed Matt had got out the ingredients for pancakes, but half the tabletop was clear and Hetty only needed to set down her mug and fetch the slate from by the sink and the yeast from its cool spot (albeit followed by a loud seagull who though food might happen) to get going. Knowing enough to understand that messing with the bread was Trouble, Pest simply installed herself on the table to watch as Hetty made a well of flour and poured yeast and warm water into it, stirring the stuff with a pinch of sugar and salt until there was enough solidity to fold the flour over and start kneading.

There was a quiet joy in forming damp dust into something solid, drinking tea whilst the new-formed dough rested a moment and then pushing and folding the thing. Hetty swayed, steadily stretching the dough under her weight and gathering it, turning it to stretch again. All excess moods could be given to the bread, to later rise and dissipate as steam. The hard force of anger, the nervous jerking of fear, the troubled lean of sorrow that could not speak: all these made a better bread as much as happy exuberance. She swiped a dash of butter in the better to help the loaf keep and enjoyed the magical moment when he gluten finally 'took' and rendered the dough smooth. Hetty crushed it fairly flat and folded all edges to the middle to make a round. Pest requested some, since it looked like food, and just as always, Hetty rolled scraps stuck to the slate into a worm for her, which Pest sized and ate as always, and as always paused halfway and looked utterly disgusted by, but swallowed anyway. Perhaps she felt she had some duty to the bread ritual.

Hetty flicked water on the loaf, set a large bowl over it and installed the slate at the back above the stove to let it prove, leaving only her hands to clear up. She would have a few moments alone with her thoughts and her seagull before the men came down, the kitchen a quiet sanctuary in the wan early light.

”Yes, sir. Thank you,” Hall told the captain, embarrassed for having done the very thing he had been warned against, ”I’ll see to it, sir.”

Hall took several gulps of the cold morning air as he stepped out onto the walk. He was sincerely grateful for the captain being mindful of his welfare. That concern tempted him to share some of what he had experienced last night with the older man, in hopes that Captain Dowling might know how to guard against such dangers. Hall pushed the thought away as quickly as it arrived. The captain’s worry was mingled with fear. His words about Kirkness losing his mind meant that any talk of horrors lurking within the tide would only lead him to believe that Hall was already headed down the same path of madness.

He looked down, taking in the sight of the shore in the morning light, momentarily enjoying the rocks and the waves in the morning light. Discipline, he silently reminded himself. Careful not to look at the lens, he began washing each of the panes.

Don’t see things. The captain’s words hung in his mind as he worked.

The high salt wind whetted its edges against Matt's face when he came outside, as though to shave him to a yet further smoothness. The sea boomed and broke on the shoals in beaded rainments of aqua silk and long layers of white lace, exquisite and huge and distant below the wheeling gulls. There was a keen, fresh joy to this height and dawning world, even as the wet sponge fairly froze his fingers in the wind. The sting of the soap where it touched flesh scraped by barnacles the night before was a thin thread of distraction, but mostly he blanked his mind of what might sway beneath the waves, even if it was belly-up as it had lain on the beach. Captain Dowling came out with a satchel of old newspaper and nodded to his companion.

The older man scrunched one sheet at a time and vigourously went over what the wind had half-dried, leaving the glass heartbreakingly clear from his efforts. Matt watched him only a little, aware of his own part. The younger man was unsure if he was being watched more in return, though perhaps after being attacked by the last man to become fascinated by...whatever was in or with or beyond the lens an extra glance at intervals would be understandable. Hall worked, and the gulls screamed, and the sea gave its constant heavy breath along with the whipping wind.

At length they were back where they had started and the Captain patted Matt on the shoulder with the fondness due a good dog as they stepped back into the sudden windlessness of the lens room. All was a bright paleness now, the sky a soft silver like the shadows beneath a wing and the lighthouse the highest thing to be seen.

"That's as well, lad. Now come down and we'll see what like for pancakes."

Matt had a nice smile, she noted. And hers became a little less mischievous and a little warmer before she remembered her uncle was right there. Hetty felt much, much better after she'd finished setting the bread. All the tension had flowed from her muscles straight into the bread.

"Silly thing, you should be grateful that I still give you anything!" But her heart was not in the chiding. She had accepted responsibility for the bird the moment she decided to save her. And she didn't regret it, not really.

As she cleaned her hands, she glanced back towards the lighthouse where her uncle and Matthew had disappeared into the sky. How were they getting on? Her uncle was an easy man to like. Just like her father had been before.  Hetty busied herself tidying and wiping up anything she could think of as she waited for them to return, trying to distract herself from the events of the night.

[[GM edit: clarity]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:30, Mon 28 Mar 2022.

Hall nodded to the captain, pleased with the crystal clarity of the glass, but mindful that the elements would require that the whole chore be repeated tomorrow. He gave one last look at the sky, taking a gulp of the sharp, cold air before following Captain Dowling inside.

He made a point of not looking at the lens as he moved to the stairs, now respectful of its hypnotic power. He wondered what it was that Kirkness believed he had seen within the blinding light, the question suddenly casting doubt on the note of warning that the man had left behind. Were the “night floors” nothing but the corridors of Kirkness’ tortured imagination, a dark emptiness that he wandered while in the throes of madness? Tempting as it was to agree with the idea, Hall found he couldn’t do so. After all, Kirkness had been right about what lingered near the shore.

One hand on the tower’s wall as he descended the steps, Hall cleared his throat and spoke to the captain. ”Sir, if you wouldn’t mind my asking, what manner of ships did you captain before coming here to Merigg?”

Pest stood a moment after Hetty's mock-scolding, then dipped her head and gave a very gentle, pleading whistle, as though to ask the Great Being, Provider of Food to forgive whatever humble tresspasses had passed her sight and place a food in the beak of this poor penitent. Surely the mighty haver of opposable thumbs might find mercy in her heart, mercy for a poor little bird who had almost definitely not pestered the new wickie into giving her scraps already.

*..kee...kee...keee...*

---

Out in the lighthouse, the Captain cleared his own throat with a sturdy cough. "Captain? Stockfish and timber, mostly: timber and stockfish. Some fresh fish down to the Yankees, but mostly salt cod and smoked salmons. Food for explorers and folk headed right the world around. Beats whalin' by a long stretch, I can tell ye."

They headed out into the wind again, the world brushed with brightness without the sun quite showing clear, wrapped in a coy mantle of cloud. The Captain paused briefly, holding onto his hat against gusts. "Hmm."

---

He went on and into the cottage, picking up some extra firewood as he passed, and frowned at Pest. "Get her off the table, Hetty, at least," he said, and sat himself in a chair to stoke up the stove somewhat before heaving up in a retreat around the table.

"I'll take a couple if they're going," he said, inspecting the pancake ingredients, then looked up. "Had a mind t'have ye fixing creels today, Mister Hall, to have you eased into the upkeep of things - is that work you've done before?"

Hetty couldn't keep the mock stern expression on her face or tone in her voice for long, not when Pest looked at her like that and made that sweet sound. She gave a long suffering sigh and her lips twitched in an effort to contain a smile. "Silly thing," she murmured.

She was gazing down at the bird tenderly when the two men entered. Her head whipped to face them, eyes wide as if she'd been caught in the act. "Aye!" she exclaimed. Hetty reached for the bird to move her somewhere else, trying to entice her into her arms with another scrap.

"Was thinking after I tend to the garden, I'll go get some eggs and see what else I can't find," she said. "Less you think there is something else more helpful."

”Yes, sir. I did some crabbing fairly regular when I lived in Maine. Easy way to keep oneself fed. It’s been a bit since I’ve patched one, but I’m sure it will come back to me,” Hall answered the Captain.

He mostly stifled the smile that came to his face when he saw Pest with Miss Dowling. The bird was likely good company. Hall sorely missed the dogs that had been his companions when he was young. Their simple presence, and having them to care for, had gone far towards keeping the deepest shadows of his home at bay.

Hall realized that he was standing awkwardly, mostly unaccustomed to being in a kitchen that he wasn’t performing some work in. Clearing his throat, he said, ”Is there anything I can help with, Miss Dowling?”

"Very good, very good. Maybe she'll let you help at the weeding or gathering in the dulse - Hetty, I know you're fond of the sea fare but we'll get through the hen's eggs before going into the stores out by." Captain Dowling nodded to himself.

"You should show Mister Hall our stacks, though: perhaps give him a tour of the island, that won't take long. Knock back the bread afore ye go and it'll be ready to bake by the time you're back."

*skirrrrrr...* Pest added from an awkward perch on Hetty's elbow, in case anyone had forgotten she was there, but forebore to yell.

"First, however," said the man who'd watched the seas until dawn lit them, "Pancakes."

---

So it was that Matt made pancakes and Hetty (mostly) restrained her seagull and Captain Dowling managed to keep himself awake throughout the cheerful chaos. For a perhaps half an hour it was as though the group about the kitchen table had been long companions, and this their home, all concentrating or exchanging easy words in the warm centre of the room. The Captain caught an accidentally-knocked can of syrup as it rolled with increasing speed towards the table's edge, checked the young people knew what they were doing with the day and rose to take his leave until the day was waning, still clearly owing sleep.

Hetty and Matt were left alone in the kitchen with her washing the plates and him drying, still companionable but now remembering they did not quite know each other. Pest tried to help by pecking at the soap, occasionally doing a headshaking little dance of discomfort whenever a fraction got into her mouth.

[[If you'd like to small talk, discuss dreams, omens, forbidden desires etc. or decide where you'd like to go next IC...]]