Living on Writer's Block

Ramona Redhawk bolted upright, shaking and gasping for breath, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. As she moved she was conscious of the familiar burning that started around her ankles and then raced in circles around her body, moving upward like a cyclone of burning sparks rushing over her. She gritted her teeth and fought against it, focusing as before on what she felt outside herself and on taking deep, even breaths. Her fists twisted in the wool of the blanket she’d brought with her in the switch between rooms, the familiar, matted grey material a slight comfort as she focused in on the individual fibers she felt as she pinched a little of it between her fingers. After nearly five minutes of pain she felt it recede again, decelerating its swirling path and then slowly beginning to retrace its steps and vanish back into nothingness. She drew a shaky breath, and her eyes stung bitterly.

“Why does this keep happening,” she ground out. “I’ve got to figure out a way to make it stop. Think, Redhawk; what helps? What helps, what helps, what helps…” she trailed off, grinding a fist into her forehead. “Something’s got to,” she whispered. People, she thought suddenly. More people. Spend your days with everyone you know, fill your mind with joy and happy memories; smother out the past. It’s behind you. Don’t dwell on it. You couldn’t do anything then, you can’t do anything now. You’ve defeated her. You won’t have to watch her cruelties anymore. She can’t hurt anyone anymore. You’ve freed the world of her, Redhawk. That’s what you can do. And now, live without fear of her and slowly her power will vanish. You won’t see her anymore. Fill your days… with happiness. She slowly raised her head, swallowing back the tears. She knew now. How hadn’t she seen it before? Drown out the memories, diffuse their power, and they would become less potent. She had more life ahead of her than behind, and she could easily fill her mind with happier images now. She smiled and stood up. Time to bake.

Combing her hair back from her head with her fingers, as she still had no comb or brush, she ducked out of her cabin into the sunlight, blinking in the sudden brightness. 

“G’mornen, milady Redhawk,” said one of the crewmembers as he rushed by.

“Good morning!” she replied brightly. As she turned toward the hatch that led down into the kitchen, she elegantly sidestepped one of the powder monkeys carrying an armload of sacks of gunpowder.

“Morning, Bart,” she greeted him. The black haired boy nodded and flashed a smile. “Time to restock already?”

“Aye, milady,” he grunted as he struggled by.

“Good luck,” she said as she continued on her way. As she ducked into the kitchen, Pierre looked up from a stool beside the metal fireplace where he was sitting with a book, and he smiled happily.

“Arr, yeh came, lassie!”

“Indeed I did, and why shouldn’t I?” she retorted cheerfully, tying an apron over her scarlet skirt.

He shrugged. “Some days yeh do, some yeh don’t,” he said. 

“Well let me tell you Pierre — I’ve figured out what I like to do best on this ship, and it’s to be right here, in this kitchen with you.” She grinned at her friend. “And so I intend to spend as much time as possible in here, making food for everyone and showing you just how much I’ve learned.” She helped as he creaked rheumatically to his feet.

“Ah, are yeh now? Have yeh learned yeh can’t gallivant off to another part of the ship while yeh’re fryen’ beef for th’ pasties?”

She wrinkled her nose at him in annoyance. “Of course I have,” she said.

… .. . .. …

She spent nearly all her time down in the kitchens now. She saw the whole crew every day, as they passed by the kitchen on various errands; not to mention that the smells wafting up from below, when the wind didn’t carry them away, drew a lot of visitors. 

As the days rolled into weeks, she developed her skill faster than ever, and soon was running out of material to learn. She’d tried every recipe Pierre’d written, and often had made them more than once. The crew had their favorites now, as well, and when she wasn’t spending her time trying to figure out how to adjust old recipes into new things, she spent her time learning how to perfect these favorites to make them just suited to the crew’s tastes. 

But there was also the problem of learning to adapt as her ingredients list began to run low. As the fruit began to disappear she learned the best methods of using every last piece in the most efficient way possible, using all but the most inedible parts to supplement her skill. Meat began to dwindle and so she learned how to turn the same amount of food for ten people into plenty for thirty, supplementing, adding, thinning; she became quite good at her craft, even within the limits of space and material, and the crew loved her for it.

One day, as she was trying to make a cake with the limited ingredients the ship had, Samuel ducked under the doorway and stood for a moment, watching her, before he leaned a shoulder against the wall and folded his arms. 

“Got a minute, Redhawk?” 

She brushed her hands off and wiped them on a rag nearby. “Depends what for.”

“I wanted to talk, that’s all.”

“Then you can just sit and talk here while I try and figure this out.” She turned back to the half-completed mixture, a puzzled look on her face. 

Samuel looked around for a seat but found none. Ramona looked round when he was silent, smiled swiftly, and moved a sack of flour off a chair and placed it on the floor. He sat down and sighed quietly, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes wearily. Ramona paused mixing the batter to look at him again, and her cheerful, cornflower-blue eyes turned sympathetic, muting the cornflower down to more of a grayish blue.

“You look pale, Captain. Is everything alright?”

He opened his eyes and nodded. “Yes, it’s fine, I’m just tired.” He sat up slowly and put his face in his hands, which today were bare of the black leather gloves he wore sometimes. He groaned softly before raising his head again and propping his chin on his clasped hands. He stared vacantly down into the corner. Ramona glanced back at him, her lips tightening.

“You’re not alright, Captain,” she said, and turned to the table where she put finished projects; she took a small loaf of sweet bread and handed it to him. She leaned back against the table where she’d been working, her hands gripping the wooden lip of the table at her sides. “When was the last time you slept, sir?” 

“Almost two days ago,” he said, ripping off a piece of bread and looking at it critically. “What’s in it this time?” He popped the chunk in his mouth.

“Mostly orange and lemon peel. I’m trying to figure out things to help them stay healthy as well as happy. Hopefully this will keep away scurvy, but I can’t be sure.”

“It’s good,” he said, and put another piece in his mouth. “Actually, this is a bit of what I came to talk about.” 

“Oh?”

“Yes. The crew’s changed since you joined, Redhawk. I’ve never seen them this way; they’re attentive to things beyond their duties, they ask about how their mates are doing, they sing while they’re working —”

“Haven’t they always done that?”

“Yes, but now they do it for no reason. Used to be, they sang to keep in time, but now they sing for no reason, wherever they are, whatever they’re doing. I heard Gorrill singing while he cleaned the cannons, and allow me to assure you, he’s never done that. You do more here than you think, Redhawk, and it’s not just the food.”

She watched thoughtfully as he finished the loaf. “I’m flattered that you think I did that, Captain, but I don’t think I changed things as much as all that.”

“Ramona, you’re not listening. Would a captain not know his own crew, would he not see when they change? I’m telling you, you’re a huge influence here. Bigger than I ever anticipated, bigger than I even hoped. You’ve done a lot for them, and I’m grateful, Redhawk.” He swept crumbs off his lap and stood up. “That’s pretty much all I wanted to say.” He turned his broad back to her and put a foot over the threshold.

Ramona found that she didn’t want him to go. “You don’t need to leave so quick, Captain. Can’t you spare a minute to talk to a friend?”

He turned back to her slightly, but didn’t answer.

“That didn’t change because I joined the crew, did it?” She dropped her eyes to the floor, a little sadly.

He sighed. “No, Red, it didn’t, but the crew’s saying things and I don’t want to encourage it.”

She smiled wryly. Of course, they would start talking like that, men though they be. “If you treat it casually and they don’t see the — erm, progress they expect, the rumors will die eventually.” When he didn’t say anything, she relented. “But you know them best. Go, if you must.” Her shoulders sank a fraction of an inch.

He sighed and put his head back to look at the ceiling. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

She knew she’d wanted to talk about something, but now, she couldn’t remember. Wrinkling her forehead in concentration, she tried her best to recall what it was; she failed. She huffed an exasperated breath through her nose. “I did, but now I forgot.”

He smiled and looked over his shoulder at her. “How’re those dreams coming? Better?” He turned to her, leaning an elbow against the wall.

“A little. Funny thing, though, the Matron and the old man are the only parts now, but they’re even more frightening than before. It’s like the terror of the others was pulled into them, and drained the others so that they vanished.”

Samuel looked at her for a moment, considering, and then he put out a hand and laid it on her shoulder. He squeezed it reassuringly. “Just remember, we killed those two already. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

She gave a small, grateful smile. “I remember. They won’t leave me alone, though.”

Samuel’s hand slid from her shoulder. “I’m glad to be a help to you, Red. Just let me know, alright?Seems you’re more important to the crew than I am nowadays. We ought to take care of you.” Then he turned and ducked out the door. Ramona returned to the cake she was improvising.