what's a fella to do?

[Wesley deGrey]

'You’re a sailor, Wesley. You’re going to leave me anyway, even if we are together…'

He just kept hearing it over and over again. She might as well have taken a knife and stabbed him straight through the chest. None of it made sense to him, and she refused to tell him anything in order to make him understand. What was keeping her here? Wesley didn't think her some floozy, that she would have slept with the first man that gave her attention. No, they had something, there was something between them and she was denying it. She forced him away and he didn't know how to handle it.

For once in his life, Wesley deGrey took a chance on someone...and this is how it ended.

After leaving the small ballroom, refusing to look back to her, he contemplated going back to the party. But no, that would have been a very dumb idea, and there was no hiding the fact that he was hurt and angered, and he looked far too disheveled to use the excuse of "I went for a walk". He avoided everyone else and went back to his room to pull out that bottle of fine whiskey that his grandmother sent him for Yule. Something compelled him to pen her back after he was close to halfway through the liquor, and as close to inebriated as he was, he was pretty certain he left the letter on his desk.

Right?

His night wasn't to end there, because he promptly fled the castle with bottle in hand, and wandered his way towards the docks. Shane was most likely at the party, and he wondered if Elliot was asleep (since it was late) or he had gone somewhere for the holiday. Maybe Marcel was still awake. The question was, did he even want to talk about this with anyone? At the moment, he couldn't even think straight. He smelled of whiskey, of Helene's perfume. His jacket was nowhere to be found, and the first two buttons of his shirt were left undone where he hardly noticed the red lipstick stains upon the white fabric of the collar.

Up the ramp of The Anne, Wesley hadn't been watching his step and tripped over some coiled up rope. He staggered forward, managing to catch his foot and luckily not drop his whiskey, before turning to sneer at the inanimate object. "For fuck's sake!"

[Marcel Durand ]

[Marcel Durand]

It was getting late. Elliot was long since off to bed wherever he was, and while Marcel had gone back and eaten dinner with his family, he'd returned to the ship to sleep. He'd made the same old joke about babysitting the Anne that he always did, and his mother had rolled her eyes like she always did. The little ritual felt good, even if it always ached just a little to walk back out that door. His father had been off at the tavern with some friends after eating his dinner a little early, which honestly made their own Yule dinner a little nicer, just him, and Mum, and Mimi. Peaceful, somewhat.

He hadn't been in bed for long, though, when he heard footsteps on the ramp not too far from his head. The swearing voice told him right away who it was. What on god's green earth was Wesley deGrey doing back here after a ball? Wasn't he supposed to be staying at his own place, or with one of his brothers?

"Oi!" Marcel called loudly through the window, half to scold his friend and half to alert him to the fact that someone else was there rather than scare the living hell out of him. "Calm your tits, mate, s'not the rope's fault you're drunk."

"Lord almighty, you'd think one night out of the year I'd get some peace around here," Marcel grumbled groggily as he hauled himself up out of his bunk and ran a hand down his face. Guess he wasn't going to be sleeping any time soon. Drunk Wes was just as rowdy as sober Wes, and apparently, he was in a shit mood at the moment.

Something must have happened with Lady Lioness. Damn, and he really liked her, too. Must be messy, then. S'pose I can't blame him for being pissed."

"Stay where you're at, mate, I'm comin' to get you before you cuss out every damn thing on the ship," he called out to Wes again, a bit more amiably this time.

Then he did just as he said, climbing his way back out to the deck and hustling over to offer his friend a hand. "C'mon then, Scrooge, let's get you settled in."

[Wesley deGrey]

When someone called out, Wesley was actually startled- jumping a bit and whirling around quickly as if completely surprised to hear anyone was on the ship. He clearly knew better. Well, sober Wes knew better. "Huh?! Who's there?" Glossy blues frantically looked around in total confusion, becoming temporarily distracted by the waving flag on the mast, so dark against the bright moon.

'Calm your tits, mate, s'not the rope's fault you're drunk.' That brought the sailor to a pause; his free hand lifting up to rub at his chest as if expecting there to be breasts there. "I don't-" he began to stammer out but actually had some of his right mind left to shut up before he said that very stupid thing. "I'm not...drunk. I'm jus'..." Wesley suddenly jumped a little again, his feet spread wide and his arms out to his sides. "Oh my God...the room is movin'. Marcel, why is everything rockin'?!"

For a second, the seasoned sailor forgot that he had boarded a ship.

A couple of staggered steps, he found himself pressed up against the middle mast, and he clung to it like it was his only lifeline. That is, until his good ol' buddy came out to get him. Wesley was almost frantic again as he bumped straight into the man, an arm going around his shoulders. He lightly tapped Marcel in the chest with that whiskey bottle. "You, sir...are a godsend." Although he was quite clearly tipsy, Wesley actually did mean it. When he wasn't teasing him any other time, Wes would be the first to speak only the best of things about Marcel. He meant them. He meant it now.

[Marcel Durand]

Marcel couldn't help laughing at Wes's confusion about the ship rocking, although he managed to keep it to a quiet snort rather than the outburst he might have had otherwise.

He was no less amused to find Wes clinging to the mast as if he was afraid he was going to fall off the ship if he wasn't holding on for dear life. It took all he had not to laugh in his face. At least until he got a faceful of Wes's breath, which almost made him cough.

The other man positively reeked of whiskey, making Marcel groan as he guided him away from the mast. Something had definitely gone wrong. If it had gone right, Wes would be drunk off his ass with someone a good deal prettier than Marcel right now.

"You, sir...are a godsend."

"You're damn right I am, mate. You're lucky I don't toss you overboard into the ice water to sober you up some." Marcel declared. "But no, I'm going to get you back to your bunk and get you some water so you don't wake up with the mother of all headaches. Now, one foot at a time, there you go." He guided Wes off toward his bunk, although he was already wishing there were a few fewer ladders on the way there.

"Care to tell me why you're more whiskey than sailor right now, man?" he asked as they went.

[Wesley deGrey]

If he had any memory of this evening, he really had to remember to tell his grandmother that this whiskey was some really strong stuff. It was hitting him harder than even the finest of Tresterian whiskey. And it was good.

Clinging to Marcel as they headed towards his bunk, Wesley was adamant about watching every step he took, as if he didn't trust that the planks beneath his feet existed. They came to the first, short set of stairs, but he paused so that he could glare at his friend for his comment. "Why would you threaten me like that?" he asked, and genuinely sounded like an upset child, a kicked puppy. "You know I don't like the cold." Yet all was forgotten as he attempted those steps, only tripping down two before catching himself. And yes, the whiskey bottle was still in hand and intact.

Then came the ladder, and it looked far more daunting than it really was. We stopped at the top of it and sighed before Marcel's following question weighed heavily upon him, making him remember all that had happened, and why he was currently in this drunken predicament.

"We had a great time-" he began, turning to attempt the first couple of rungs on the ladder. He stopped to look up at his buddy, holding on with one hand as he leaned back. It was a miracle he didn't let go or slip yet. "I mean, I thought...I thought we did. And she...well, she was verypersuasive." The last two words slurred together as he was waving that bottle around in gesture. He tried to climb down another rung, then another. One more pause, he looked back up. "And you know what that vixen did? Doyouknow, Marce?" Of course he didn't know, so Wesley continued...but not until he fell the last couple of rungs, staggering on his feet before he was falling back against the hull beside the ladder. "She let me go, just...kept her secrets, and just...fuckin' let me go!"

The bottle came up to his lips so that he could take a heavy swig, wincing as it burned his throat. His voice was going to be shot tomorrow. "The sad thing is..." Nope, he didn't seem to be done. "I think I could've loved her." That realization in his current inebriated state made him suddenly burst out into laughter, but it was sarcastic, it was that kind of laughter you shared when you were trying to hide your pain. It was pathetic.

[Marcel Durand]

"Could've? Mate, you already do love her, don't be fuckin' dense." Marcel corrected as he hopped down from the ladder himself. He rolled his eyes and snagged his friend by the wrist with one hand so he couldn't pull away, then firmly removing the bottle of whiskey with the other. "And I think that's quite enough of this, thank you very much. You're quite sloshed enough as it is, I'd say."

He caught Wes round the shoulders again so he could guide him down the hall, and held the bottle as far away from the other man as he could while they walked. Wes wasn't giving him all the details, but he picked up enough around the edges to get the gist. They'd been doing just fine until Wes ran into something Lady Lioness wasn't comfortable sharing, and she took off like a flash. Sounded to Marcel like he'd tried to push too far too fast, and Lioness wasn't ready to trust him. Must be something nasty, then.

"So long story short, she's got some big bad skeletons in her closet, and she won't tell 'em to you, eh? Sounds like she's scared, mate. And to be totally fucking honest with you, you gettin' mad at her for bein' that way is the pot callin' the kettle black." He gave his friend a look. "I mean, really. You've been coverin' up your problems since the day we met, and you don't see me trying to crack you open like an oyster to find out before you're ready to tell me shit."

They reached Wes's room just as Marcel finished his mini-lecture. He nudged the door open with his elbow, still careful to keep the alcohol as far away from his friend as he could manage.

[Wesley deGrey]

"What?!" he practically spat, as if he hadn't heard him correctly. But no, even in his current state, he heard his friend loud and clear, then had the audacity to roll his eyes in response. "What the hell would you know of it?" Oh no, let's not get mean, Wes... he silently chided himself, trying to curb the attitude. "Oi!" he exclaimed when the bottle was stolen from his fingers. "That's not yers! Nana sent me that..." It turned out to be the perfect gift apparently. He was going to need more if he was ever going to get over a pair of honey-brown eyes.

They were on the move again, with him stumbling left and right, and Marcel attempting to keep him on his feet while holding the whiskey out of reach. Somehow, he was succeeding, because Wesley had in fact tried to steal it back, and failed every time. For now.

All he wanted to do was get to his bed and wallow in this self-pity he suddenly found himself in. Or maybe it would be angry, he hadn't entirely decided yet. And while he thought the agonizing walk there was going to be silent, Marcel had other plans. All of a sudden, the sailor was berating him. Him! As if this had all been his fault! Those bright blues were wide and glaring at him as he stumbled straight through the open doorway, forgetting about the whiskey for a moment.

Staggering forward, he made the mistake of whirling around quickly, needing a moment to wait for the room to stop spinning. "Fuck, dammit..." he murmured, a hand going to his head. However, since he was rather used this, he was recovering a bit quickly and there was an edge to his tone; anything to try and mask the pain he felt over Helene's blatant dismissal. "You want to know why I'm mad?" This would be where Marcel should tell him no, to shut up, and just go to bed...but now Wesley was really not going to be quiet. Oh no, the man was going to understand everything.

"I just went for it, I just..." He paused and sighed, backtracking a little. "She was there in the corridor breaking down, unable to tell me why her own sister begged me to help her after something clearly went down with that prick Hewitt. She was denying me answers because she was trying to 'protect me'." Wesley had started to pace a little, wobbly on his feet, before turning his attention back to Marcel and fixing him with a hard stare. "Don't stand there and tell me that you wouldn't have tried to understand what went wrong, to try and help fix what was haunting her..." He was challenging him to argue that. Wes hadn't pried until this night. "Don't tell me you would have ignore the fear and tears in her eyes."

Frustrated, he ran a hand down his face, trying to clear his head and now angry at himself for being in such a fog. "It happened. This thing between us. She kept telling me to go so that I would be safe, but the way she just...held onto me, I just..." He was feeling dizzy, and found himself moving to sit on the edge of the small bed. "I kissed her, mate." For a brief second after, the expression on his face changed to something a little more devious, "Well, I did more than that, let's be honest." Just as quickly as it arrived, the look was gone and he was once again sulking there in defeat and confusion. "She didn't push me away, she lured me away with those eyes, those hips, and that dress-" Wesley had to stop himself for a moment before he got too lost, but he seemed to just sink further. "It had this slit right up the thigh..." Focus, ye idjit!

Blinking, his fingers filtered through his hair. "I...poured my heart out to her, Marcel. I desperately wanted her to come with me, to just leave, or to let me help her...and still she persisted, claimed that it was too dangerous for me, whatever it was, that I had to let her go. After everything, she let me go. I have my secrets, sure- everyone fuckin' does- but when hers makes her fearful, makes her worried for my well-being and not let me have a say? No. This is different. But hey, she got what she wanted, didn't she? I'm here, she's there. What does it fuckin' matter?"

That was the thing- it mattered a lot.

[Marcel Durand]

Marcel blinked, surprised by the sudden flood coming from his friend. Holy shite…

Okay, clearly he'd underestimated how badly things had gone between the two of them. He'd been thinking argument, but the fact that the two had a bloody tryst in the castle, then a heart to heart, before things went sideways...well. That was a lot. No wonder Wes had taken hard to drink.

On the other hand, that didn't actually change his evaluation.

"Alright, mate, you got me there, you did the right thing. But it still comes down to her being scared out of her wits. Why the hell else would she be running away from you?" He sighed and ran a hand over his short-cropped curls as he leaned against the door frame. Fuckin hell this was such a mess. Way outside what one sober sailor and one drunk one could solve on their own in one night.

"Listen, Wes, I'm not sayin' you've got to be happy about it, but I can see where she's comin' from. If whatever the hell this is has her scared that bad, and she cares for you as much as you clearly care for her...well, obviously she'd want to protect you from it. She's bein' stubborn as hell and more than a little bit stupid, but that sounds a lot like someone else I know." He raised a brow, making it clear exactly who he was talking about. "Sounds like a match made in heaven and hell, mate. She's just as crazy as you."

Marcel sighed. Maybe it was better that he'd stayed single this long and hardly even saw a woman that wasn't his mother or sister. Seemed like they caused as many problems as they solved.

"Anyway, mate, nothin' you can do about it tonight, and definitely not while there's more whiskey in you than in the bottle. Sleep it off, and maybe things will look clearer in the morning."

[Wesley deGrey]

Wow, Marcel actually listened to all of that drunken nonsense? Although Wesley hadn't been exaggerating, it had certainly been a lot said in just a couple of breaths. The sailor looked at the other one in quiet admiration, as if he was about to slur out how much he loved the guy for being such a great friend. Awe.

Suddenly Marcel was talking, and he blinked hard, trying to listen and concentrate. Wesley didn't think his friend would have any answers, but deep down he was desperate for someone to tell him what to do. He had already tried and failed miserably, it seemed. No matter what he said or did, Helene still rejected him, still pushed him away and refused to tell him the true reason why.

'She's bein' stubborn as hell and more than a little bit stupid, but that sounds a lot like someone else I know.' That look Marce gave him right after that made him pause. Excuuuuuuuse me, Marcie? His face contorted into annoyance, and it was clear that he was struggling to figure out a comeback in his very inebriated state. For once, Marcel might have won this one, if only because Wesley couldn't even stand up straight.

Well, that, and the kid was right.

Groaning in annoyance, he fell back against the small bed, just laying across it sideways. His forearm rose to drape over his face as if it would be enough to hide him from his shame. "In the morning, I'm tellin' Elliot we're gettin' a head start on the next shipment. I can't...stay here. I shouldn't have even gone to that fuckin' party." Alright, looks like he was reverting to the anger stage of his drunkenness now. "So, if there's anyone you want to say goodbye to, do so now. Or hell, stay home for a couple of weeks. You deserve it."

[Marcel Durand]

Marcel scoffed. "Like hell I'm letting this ship leave without me on it. You 'n Sul 'd have it on the bottom of the ocean in fifteen minutes!"

Still, despite his grumping, he snagged his friend by the ankle and yanked off his boots, then tossed an extra blanket at him. "Get some rest, mate. Things'll look brighter in the mornin, I'm sure of it."

He headed for the door, only to turn back and add, "And even if it doesn't, I've got your back, Wes. You know I always do." And with that he was off to get some sleep himself--he'd have to make it an early morning if he wanted to say goodbye to his mother and sister before they were off.

[Wesley deGrey]

"I love the amount of faith you have in me, Marcel," came Wesley's muffled reply in partial amusement, but he was still clinging to his anger at the entire situation he had found himself in. Then he waltzed right onto this ship and spilled it all to the first person he saw. Fortunately, he trusted the younger sailor, but even still. It was depressing, embarrassing, and just everything in between at this point.

The sleep was beginning to creep over him, though, and he barely realized Marcel had graciously removed his boots, feeling the blanket fall against his chest and some of his face. He just shifted his head a little so that he could breathe. "Yer a good man...hope you know that, mate..." The words were quiet and slurred, but hopefully Marcel heard them, because even in his drunken state, he meant them.

He was talking of things look better in the morning, but Wes nearly grumbled at it. No, it wouldn't be better- he just knew he was going to have to figure out how to get over this hurdle. Helene had made her choice, so he had to move on.

As Marcel said something else, Wesley was already half asleep. He mumbled something, and it was probably some sort of thanks or praise again, but it would be inaudible before he completely passed out.

[ end scene ]