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C H A P T E R F O U R
Children of the sea
Episode 001 (Romance Dawn)
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THE OCEAN WAS a cruel mother.
When Pandora opened the box, it was the ocean that adopted the catastrophe, hugging into the tides of her chest the cataclysm of humanity until only dust remained. Under the pressure of storms, it dissolved into the ripples of her body, and it was in syncopated elation that the ocean and ruination became one and the same, pious ecstasy for an impious body and mind. Her children were born from the shrapnel of destruction and nurtured in the decrepitude of the post-war (but what is tragedy if not a prerogative? The hero is born dead. The inevitable can't be avoided), so how could anything but the dogma of the sufferers be expected from them?
Much like every drop in the ocean had an inherent tendency towards catastrophic intentions and thirst for dereliction, the ocean's children were predestined for the fall (think of Antigone, Cordelia, Medea). Filth teaches filth.
Even as Tyche listened to the muffled sound of waves breaking into foam against the tall boundaries of Shells Town, hidden under the wrinkling of paper and clinking of trinkets, she felt nothing short of repulsion.
"Just find the map," Orange-girl exclaimed, rather irritated by the continued fidgeting of the brunet. The loud voice — only unwelcome insofar it posed the additional danger of being heard by inconspicuous marines, and Tyche was starting to wonder just what more could slide under their radar — pulled her out of the droning yell of a nightmare and back into the unlit room.
She couldn't say that she appreciated the sound of the brunet's boots squeaking against the marble floors as he pranced around, disorganising the previously spotless (albeit terribly dusty) office and blowing any mien of caution, or the twitching shadows in the room as he grew entranced by the paraphernalia around the windows, but she guessed that any help, as small as it was, constituted an addition to her plan sent by The Fates to be used wisely (she was clutching to the minuscule remains of control that she had over the situation, although every time the brunet dropped an obviously expensive trinket and sighed in relief upon noticing it had only been chipped and not broken, she was close to leaving the island and relenting altogether).
Of course, he didn't take the words of Orange-girl to heart (something which was expected by both women, since Orange-girl let a tired sigh that perfectly encapsulated the resignation that Tyche, too, felt). True to the joyful personality that she had seen him display all along, he barely, if at all, noticed the bite in Orange-girl's voice.
