2010-06-30: The Wrong Port in a Storm



Date: June 30th, 2010


Tracy. Ivory. An island. This is not the sentimental reconnection you're looking for.

"The Wrong Port in a Storm"

Off Fiji

2 Days Later…

Stable and actually capable of standing, Former Senator Ivory Wynn is actually moving around quite well. The area looks quite familiar, as the boat he and his ex-lover rode in on is still smashed into the beach. Ivory still looks like he's much worse for the wear, but all in all, he seems to be much more healthy than he was losing so much blood, such a short time ago.

Ivory's currently crouched at the side of the boat, trying to inspect the damage that's been done. "It's bad. But with the stuff we found, I think we can fix it. Well enough to make sure we don't drown at sea." Ivory looks up. "Ocean. Whatever." He's much more calm, it seems, even as he looks over his shoulder to see what Tracy's doing.

And if she's got her bikini fixed.

What Tracy is doing is looking miserable. Even when she was living as a fugitive, she had a roof over her head — her situation was precarious, but her surroundings were civilized. After the whole stint where she was imprisoned, that is. Here, outside under the open sky, facing the elements (when she cannot, in fact, become the one that surrounds them on all sides: water), she looks — again — miserable.

Sitting on a piece of driftwood a short distance from the boat, the Beverly Hills-turned-Capitol Hill import is obviously not enjoying the worst camping trip of a lifetime. An old coat is draped over her form, dark green, a little dusty, with 'WILDL F AQUATIC F OUNDA ION' and a logo of a dolphin on the back — a relic from the place they found the supplies that got them through the last couple of days. And which will hopefully get them off the island.

Her feet dig into the sand. Eventually, Tracy drags her sullen gaze toward Ivory, though it's mostly the boat she looks at skeptically. "Are you sure?"

"Nope." Ivory says, immediately pushing himself back up to his feet and heading over to the pile of supplies and salvageable wood. "But I think it's better than the alternative." Ivory's not exactly sure how long the little bit of food they found will actually last them. So he's not even going to try and risk it. Not in the least. He's also not been nibbling on anything but the same bar for about a day. Tracy's a female. She needs the nourishment more than he.

The former Senator winces a bit as he grabs a nice hunk of solid wood and what's left of a hammer. There's no handle, so using it is going to be awkward. But he manages to get it back over to the boat, where he starts trying to line the wood up with the hole. "Listen. I'm sorry you're stuck here. With me." Ivory's voice is almost in a whisper. "I… haven't been completely honest with you." Dammit. He forgot the nails.

Tracy continues to give the boat a long, skeptical look — is wood really going to hold up? Her gaze barely changes when it slides to Ivory yet again, only a dull, tired lack of surprise showing in her eyes alongside the skepticism. She lifts her brows, then looks to her hands, clapping them together lightly above bare knees and fidgeting. Wishing herself away from here, undoubtedly. Before her ability left, it would've been so easy… "…annnnd…"

"Let's just say I kinda', while I was 'away'…" Meaning Dead! "… I kinda' pissed off a few people. In suits. In Italy. That are -really- big on family." Ivory's not sure he needs to explain it much better than that. "I maybe, sorta', kinda' owe them some money." Shrugging, Ivory turns to head back to the pile and digs through whatever to see if he can't get a couple of sturdy nails. "Anyway, to make a long and obvious story shorter, those guys? They've been trying to get to me for months. I got no clue how they found the boat, or me, but I swear if I had known you were splashing around the boat…" He sounds like he's feeling bad about this!

"You got the mafia on your back?" Tracy can read between the lines. She only sighs, lifting her brows above rolling eyes, looking out over the crystal blue of the water. "Like I said," she goes on, seeming blas over Ivory's apparent guilt, "you make a lotta enemies." After a moment, she plants both hands on the makeshift driftwood bench and pushes to her feet, heading over to the equally makeshift work station Ivory has set up. She gestures at the boat before folding her arms over in the too-roomy old jacket. "What else do you have to do to get this thing running."

"Look. Soon as we get back, you can run back to your life and forget you ever saw me, okay? Jesus." Yeah, Ivory's a little upset that he can't get some sympathy. But then again, he did mess her up pretty damn good. Messed up a good thing. Anyway, Ivory turns on his own Ice King status, ignoring her coming to look at all of his hard work. He waves a hand at her, his bandaged arm all in view also. "I gotta' check the engine. And make sure we got enough fuel to make it farther than the horizon, or we'll die. Kay? Kay." Attitude, much?

"That sounds like a plan," Tracy replies, half in mumble — bitter, but without the energy to have any real bite. She lingers a bit, glancing over the supplies dubiously — and beyond that, with some real concern — before turning to walk a few paces. She stops to stand rigidly, her back to Ivory, long hair an uncharacteristic mess over the back of the borrowed researcher's coat. Whatever her thoughts are, she harbours them silently.

Ivory stares at Tracy for a moment, before he gets to hammering the nails through the wood to try and patch this hole up. He does it in silence, aside from the occasional obscenity due to having to hammer with just the mallet part of the hammer. His thumb is going to be the least of his worries, if they don't get that boat up and running. Every once and a while, there's a pause for him to try and kiss away the pain of slamming the hammer head into his thumb, but the patch job seems to be coming together in a bit of a solid manner. Slowly but surely.

Tracy eventually turns around — it's with a shift of her arms and a small, impatient gesture of one hand at her elbow, tired of doing nothing, of being useless in this particular scenario. Edgy, distracted, she wanders closer, a reluctant smile flashing tightly over her mouth — there and gone. "Where'd you learn to do that, the Discovery Channel?"

"Daddy owned a boat." Ivory quips, not really wanting to look up at Tracy. He's too busy getting everything nice and patched up. It's crude, but it looks like it'll hold. If they don't hit a storm or something. "Mama loves the water. So he would take us out on it every summer. I just kinda' picked it up." There's another shrug, before the hammer head is flung over his shoulder and he rolls up to standing, crossing through the sand to get around to where the boat's engine is. "I'm no mechanic, trust me. But I think I can get you out of here." That's… different than the original plan.

Is it? Tracy eyes Ivory more intently for just a few seconds, honing in on his wording — and not the family boat history. A furrow settles itself semi-permanently between her brows as she watches him, even as the intentness drains out of her gaze. "And you," she amends for him. She turns slightly where she stands, following his course toward the engine without actually moving from her spot. "You're gonna steer us back to civilization."

"Look. I go back there? I'm dead. You said it yourself, like fifty times, I make a lotta' enemies. No reason to give them any more reason to come after me. Somebody else could get hurt who doesn't need to be." Ivory only looks up from the engine then. Since she is who he happens to be talking about. "I'll show you what to do. It's a piece of cake. You'll be back to somewhere in no time. Without me. That's what you want, right?"

An uncomfortably taut smile pulls at the woman's mouth as she becomes increasingly unsure. "Yeah, but…" Tracy starts off lowly, looking Ivory up and down suspiciously. She turns to look out over the Pacific, too, the vast horizon and expanse of blue nothingness. "…No one's— come to rescue us. If you'll stay here. You'll be as good as dead anyway."

There's no response, because Ivory's been fiddling with engine parts and trying to concentrate. Some things have been twisted and replugged in. Cleaned out. But he's back around and in the boat in no time flat. "Eh. We all gotta' go sometime, right?" Ivory shrugs and turns the key. It does nothing. Ivory frowns and kicks the damn thing, which gets the engine turning over and running, very roughly, but running. "Ha." He then looks back at Tracy. "Come here. Let me show you how to do this…"

On the engine's start to life (such as it is), Tracy approaches, but it's Ivory she's eyeing, not the boat. "You're serious." Her brows lift again as she studies him. "You expect me to leave you here without looking back?" Maybe he does; maybe he thinks she's heartless. "That's as good as killing you myself," she says resentfully. "Just— don't be stupid about this, come with me. But then," a goading, humourless smile appears; Tracy glances away, "Underneath all that apparent ambition, you always were a quitter."

Ouch. Twisting the Knife, much? Ivory stares at the boat, almost tipping right over from the cold words that definitely were meant to hurt him. The visible wince is played off, though, with a twisted smirk that makes no sense whatsoever. "Fine." That's all Ivory has to actually say on the subject matter at hand, presently, because arguing with a woman just doesn't seem like it'll be a good idea right now. He's much too busy playing his cards wrong. "Let's go. Before a storm hits and we're stuck here longer." Ivory just whirls back around to the controls, waiting impatiently for the blonde get comfortable so he can drive this damn thing.

The vaguest hint of a satisfied smile softens Tracy's harsh expression. A familiar success in her world: her words doing what she wants them to. But the satisfaction is barely there, and no smile lasts for long, as the blonde moves around the boat to haul up some "supplies" tangled up in netting for easy carrying. Very minimal food, water — they found what they could. Hardly enough for a journey at sea, but hopefully it won't be that epic of a journey. She's not feeling — or looking — too optimistic as her feet hit water and she climbs in the boat behind Ivory, depositing the supplies and sitting down with both hands locked to the sides. "Comfortable" isn't exactly a descriptor to be used for Tracy at this moment. "This better work…"

"I told you a long time ago that I wouldn't let anything happen to you." Ivory's words come from his mouth, but his eyes and hands are focused on this boat actually pulling away from the beach. Which, it kind of is doing. The engine is still kind of weak, but it seems to be harboring some hidden horsepower. Ivory's just taking it easy on the controls for the moment. Until they can get to a better position in the water. "I meant it." Ivory's already made up his mind that Tracy's not even listening to him, so the statement is more for his own reassuring that he's going to be doing the right thing when they make it home.

Probably a wise state of mind on Ivory's part because, even though Tracy is, in fact, listening, she's looking off into the horizon and stoically looking for all the world that she isn't — that she's ignoring everything he says. As the boat gradually gets turned around in the water, she eases an arm over the side, dipping a few fingertips into the ripples made by the weak rumblings of the vessel, her expression turning thoughtful — disturbed; maybe wistful.


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License