Chapter Text
It happened in a minute. Less even.
Jesper was minding his own business, waltzing down the cobblestones of the lowest stone bridge of Smeerensburg, slim fingers paging through the stack of letters in his hand, when the air around him seemed to shift.
Something changed, he could taste it. He could even smell it, an earthy coolness that suddenly filled the air. A chill ran up his back and for the first time in months, it wasn’t from the cold.
When he looked up from the neatly inked address he was reading, he saw it. There it was. A behemoth of an angry storm cloud that had manifested completely out of nowhere, rolling over the whole width of Smeerensburg.
Not a second later, with the blond post man’s mouth falling open at the sight of it, did a solid wall of rain began to fall, steadily inching its way closer to him.
SssssssssssssSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH it hissed over the distance, creeping steadily closer.
Jesper almost dropped his precious bundle of stamped letters when the biggest and brightest gash of lighting raced through the middle of that monster cloud.
When the ear splitting crash of thunder cracked the air, it made him literally jump and without even thinking about it, turned tail and ran.
The man clad in blue was never one to think clearly in a state of panic, Klaus or Alva could tell anyone that. It wasn’t the lighting that spooked him, even though he swore that particular crack of thunder made the earth beneath his feet tremble.
It was the rain. If he could take cover, he would be spared getting not just wet, but absolutely drenched.
Having snow fall on you from rooftops, or having the rare snowball chucked your way would just leave Jesper chilled to the bone and annoyed. Understandable, as children just couldn’t stay pure and proper all day, every day, year after year for the rest of their lives without getting a bit board of the mundane.
But being a soppy wet mess, with every inch of you soaked and your finely pressed uniform clinging to you like a second skin, and standing all willy-nilly in the middle of Smeerensburg’s sub-below zero temperature winter?
Jesper could just feel the pneumonia waiting to grow in his lungs. It killed his mother. And she was surrounded by doctors and servants to tend to her every little whim and pained cry in a silk sheet covered bed. What chance would he have here, in his creaky and snow covered post office, alone, and coughing himself to death.
So he ran.
And he ran the wrong direction.
He went down the docks.
“Oh, brilliant, you idiot!” he yelled out loud to himself. “You’re running AWAY from the rooftops for cover! Stupid, stupid, STUPID!”
But Jesper almost couldn’t hear himself over the threatening hiss at his back. It was too late to stop now. He could hear the rain behind him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up from the electric charge in the air.
Oh Christ. Just his luck. Just his stupid, non-existent luck.
The Ferryman’s boat. It was docked and securely knotted and roped to the only port in the whole city.
The boat, the white lump of rust stained metal and splintered wood, bobbed up and down in the thick white foam of the bay’s shore. With the storm rolling it, the ocean’s waves grew in height and speed. The ferry ship started to tug in it’s rope like an ill behaved dog.
Mogens, the heavy set Captain, was nowhere to be seen. Probably down at the Inn or bar, well out of the way of the storm’s threat. Probably smiling into his glass as he was comfortable seated somewhere warm, about to enjoy watching the serine rainfall. With Jesper’s luck, he guessed he probably even saw Jesper running like a scared lunatic being chased by rain through a bar window, the opposite way of town and was trying not to choke on his drink while he laughed and pointed.
Like it mattered. Jesper never cared what that mean spirited sailor thought about him. Though it did feel good to shut the window pane on him, all those months ago. With his boot no less, when the Captain’s shocked face came barreling through his post office’s window to mock him at his lack of mail, only to find the room bustling with a dozen or more children. Sand colored envelopes flapping above their heads like victory flags.
The memory distracted Jesper momentarily as he didn’t even know what he had done in his panicked sprint towards the only cover on this side the whole island.
He had jumped off the dock.
Jesper’s long legs kicked off the edge of the dock, no proper loading deck out before him like last time, and landed squarely on top of the boat’s deck. The boat rocked with his sudden thrust of his weight.
Torso bent and twisted, one leg sticking out, his arms flapping around feverishly to keep his balance, Jesper thought how cruel it would be if he overshot and stumbled into the frigid waters below.
When he steadied himself, his mail carrier whipped around him like a slingshot behind him, the stuffed purse smacking his back. Satisfied he wasn’t about to go over the side, he took a step towards the one-man bridge with no door (if you could even call it a ‘bridge’ on such a tiny toy boat).
He never made it to his shelter.
He barely heard wood scrape on wood before he’s being yanked backwards so hard, it hurt and he yelped out in pain and surprise.
The world whizzed by him when he was pulled. Ocean, dock, rain, sky, all become one big blue paint brush stroke. It was all flipped upside down as he was pulled downward, ass first into a hole, into a well furnished cabin, reds, golds, ambers, and spots of oak wood surrounded him.
Thud.
His body hits the floor, a plush rug, and then he hears two things at once. A heavy shutting of a trap door, heavy hinges and a bolt locking out the outside world and the white noise from the never ending, Sssssssshhhhhhhhhhh.
The sound engulfs the entire boat.
It doesn’t stop. It rains forever.
Lying flat on his back, Jesper rapidly blinks at his new surroundings. His hands coming up to cradle his dinged head.
One second he was above deck, a storm about ready to swallow him up it’s endless curtain of raindrops and now he was...where was he? Below deck? This hunk of junk of a ferry boat had a “below”?
“Had enough of the woodsmen, eh? Trying to get off this rock and steal my boat while you’re at it too, huh? Nothing doing, Postman.”
Jesper tilted his head up and standing above him was the one and only Ferryman. From his position on the floor, Jesper first and foremost saw Mogen’s round gut standing above him. Then still looking up, could only see the top half of his face, but if Jesper knew the man well enough, he didn’t need to see his shit-eating grin that must have been plastered on that mug of his. His turned up shinning fox eyes already told him that the other man must had been grinning ear to ear, staring down at him like that.
Mogens always did get a weird jolly out of tripping Jesper, like a bully child in the school yard. And now, he had thrown him to the ground with such gusto, he must have been having the time of his life.
He probably enjoyed giving him that hard yank backwards, catapulting him off his feet and sending him flying down, down below, crashing onto his backside painful.
Making him yelp out like a little school girl in panic must have been the highlight of the Captain’s dull existence
“Ow,” Jesper muttered, “ow, ow, ow.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. He tried to roll up on to his elbow before a fingerless gloved paw grabs the front of his uniform in a powerful grip. Mogens hoisted him up to stand not-too-gently.
Jespers too tall. He’s always been too tall. His sore head hits a beam above him as he’s straightened out vertically. He’s forced to slouch in the Captain's small cabin.
Jesper starts wagging his finger at Mogens, eyes scrunched up as he feels a beautiful headache starting to bloom. He’s about to really have the Captain have a piece of his mind, but he stops mid vowel, his eyes widening as he looks at the shorter man.
“Is...is that a rifle?”
Mogens was leaning as easy and carefree as an already rich oil man who had just struck a 20 foot long ravine of oil with a pick ax by accident.
“You’re very observant aren’t you. Observant Mr. Postman. Nothing gets passed you,” he smoothly drawls out, poking fun.
Damn that permanent grin of his. Jesper fumes mildly. Jesper’s scowl doesn’t stay long. It lightens when he realized what he was staring at.
The gun wasn’t what surprised Jesper. He had spent the better half of his first year here in Smeerensburg’s being actually shot AT.
His father had always had a large collection of firearms after all in their home.
It was the Captain. Mogens was standing with one hand in a trouser pocket, and the other cladding the underside of a double barreled shotgun. It’s muzzle pointing low at the ground.
Jesper realized that this was the first time he had ever seen Mogens without that warn out, heavy wool sailors coat with that comically high snapped up collar.
That familiar Captain’s cap was there, but underneath that large coat that fought out the unbearably cold, Morgans wore a large thickly threaded collared white sweater with a pair of simple navy colored suspenders.
Jesper shook his head to snap himself out of his gawking. He pointed to the well shined rifle instead.
“Why do you have that?”
“Why were you sneaking about on my deck?”
“I wasn’t sneaking!” Jesper protested. He placed a fanned out hand on his chest as if offended. The idea of someone like -him- being accused of thievery by the likes someone like -Mogens-.
“Trespassing then,” Mogens corrected himself.
His eyes dropped to a half lid and that lazy smile was still on his lips. He was already starting to put the gun away, stepping back and lifting the firearm onto two mounting hooks protruding out the wall.
“I wasn’t trespassing either. Well-” Jesper catches himself.
He stops to think. A long “uuuuh” coming out of his mouth when he couldn’t find a snappy enough response. Mogens was eyeing him lazily.
“Ok. Well, I guess. Maybe. I sort of was, but it’s not what you think.”
Mogens gave him a sideways glance. It was clear he didn’t actually care for the Postman's reasoning. When he found out it was just -Jesper- who jumped onto his boat’s deck, acting his usually foolish self, all threat from the situation melted away.
After his ship’s barometer and rain gauge spun out of control, hours ago, Mogens secured his boat and bunkered down in his cabin, as one did when a nasty storm was promised to pass overhead.
Once the older sea captain heard the sudden thud of a person’s weight above his head, then the the firmailr rhythmic steps of boots, he naturally assumed it was a thief. Someone who was hoping the captain of the ship had retreated to land to wait out the storm.
This wouldn’t be the first time some drunk Krum or idiotic Ellingboe tried to take off with his ferry.
When heard the sporadic steps above him, making the ol’ girl’s hull groan and creak, did Mogens grab his rifle, fully loaded and stuffed with gun powder, did he open the cabin’s latch up, ready to fire into the unlucky bastard's head up above.
He was quiet and slow when he lifted up and opened the wooden door to the bunker. One eye already squeezed shut, the other looking down the hair lines, trigger finger cocked and ready.
But then he saw blond.
The back of the postman’s head. Bright blond hair under that unmistakable blue hat.
Jesper.
The dolt that wasn’t looking at his direction. Mogens hand on the trigger fell away and reached out instead to grab the Postman’s satchel that was right at his arm’s level.
He wasn’t going to let Jesper near the controls of his boat, even though he had no doubt what-so-ever that he wasn’t acting as a thief right now. The rich boy would have snagged something by the controls on accident. Probably. And Mogens would only find out that his wheel was jammed when he would be at the tail end of a tidal wave in the middle of the ocean before he found out about it.
He wasn’t going to take his chances though. Instead, as the wind was starting to blow the sheet of rain droplets their directions, with only seconds to spare before the real downpour was upon them, he yanked the boy back. He cavoted half way out the hole in the floor, extended his arm, and his thick fingers clutched around satchel's strap.
Like a fish caught on a line, Jesper jerked and flopped backwards when felt his feet leave the ground and the sudden feeling of being grabbed and pulled. He had thought he had gotten used to the feeling when Klaus physically lifted him up all the time.
Mogens on the other hand had no idea the young man could be so light. Light in the head maybe, a little dim, but when he pulled him back he didn’t intend for him to be picked right off his feet. He flung him easier than a flag caught in the wind.
He had to admit though, he did wince a bit when Jesper went thud and then thunk on the hard floor. But he seemed alright enough. Mogens didn’t offer him a helping hand up.
Mogens found Jesper to be a bit too aloof for his liking. Braty, too. Once he learned that the Postman was the son of a headmaster of the royal postal service...well. If the world royal was in anything tied in with the family business, it usually meant there was money involved. And Jesper came from a lot of it, from what Mogens heard in town folk’s gossip.
Jesper was well liked enough in Smeerensburg. Sure. But that didn’t keep the no longer feuding families from gossiping merrily at their cook-outs or brunches.
“So?” Mogens asks.
He ran a hand over the butt of the gun now back on the wall, brushing away invisible dust. The tall blond man just watching him.
“So what?” Jesper echoes back.
“Well there aren’t any mailboxes over here at the dock. And there sure as hell isn’t one on the deck. I thought you were pretty good at your job and knew that already. Or do you need Ol’ Captain Mogens to tell you that?”
Jesper made a face.
“No, thank-you-very-much. I was trying to beat the rain.”
“Beat the rain? Where you having a foot race with it to see who could get to the ocean first?”
Now Mogens sounded both baffled and intrigued. Maybe Jesper hit his head a little too hard on the rug. There was no beating the rain out on this side of the island.
Jesper let out a long exasperated sigh. “No,” he said again, a hint of braty mocking tone in voice, “I was not trying to beat the rain in a foot race to the ocean,” he chiacked in one single breath, hands now akimbo. He looked like an old nag with his shoulders forcibly bent over.
Then he crossed his arms stubbornly and much more quietly, “I just needed a place to duck under to avoid getting drenched.”
He shrugged when Mogens’ silence was clearly heard as ‘aaaaaaaand soooooooo you came out to the open docks beeeeeeeecaaaaaaause...’ “But I took the wrong route and ended up at the docks. It was too late to turn around to seek another roof. Then I saw your boat. I thought I could wait it out in your little Captain hut thingy.”
“The helm’s basket? You wanted to ‘wait out’ a category seven downpour in a crappy, old, barely welded together helm’s basket with no door? Which, I will remind you right now, is missing two of it’s window panes, if you didn’t notice,” Mogens stated.
“Oh brother,” he then added and gave out a hearty round bell laugh. He shook his head at Jesper. The blond man couldn’t help but seem to blush a bit at the expense of his own embarrassment.
Mogens looked at Jesper as if he was the dumbest creature on the planet. Dumber than any Krum or Ellingboe put together to create a new kind of stupid.
“Well lucky for you, I was here to snatch you up to nice, dry, safety.”
“Yeah lucky me,” Jesper snarked under his breath. He unconsciously flexed his starting-to-ache bent over neck.
Then after a moment of silence where the hull hummed with that never-ending pitter pattering of a billion raindrops hitting the sides of the boat, Jesper finally asked, looking about, “What is this place anyway?”
Jesper looked around what honestly reminded him of a rich man’s study, if it wasn’t for the fact it was no larger than a rabbit’s hole. But it’s small size made the rest of the furnishings feel warm and welcoming. It was all so cramped yet cozy.
How many posh studies had he visited when he tagged along with his father to a family friend and their luxury homes. With their grand personal library and cigar rooms that Jesper explored and dragged a small hand over every surface aimlessly while adults talked about boring trade and boring business.
Jesper saw a fine plush rug was under his feet, rich in pattern and design. Oil lamps in gold fastenings lined the walls and lit up framed paintings of scenic landscapes or beautiful studies of birds or bowls full of fruits.
A large map of the world rolled out flat covered a wall, clippings of newspaper article and what looked like to be hand drawings of plants thumbtacked into the wood. Lined school paper with what looked like random numbers and math questions scribbled in ink filled in the empty space in between everything.
Jesper doubted those doodles could have been drawn by Mogens. They were too good.
There was not much left to the cabin after that. A bed was nestled into the nook corner of the hull. It was neatly made with thick checkered quilts, which Mogens decided to right then and there to step to and sat down upon.
The last item was a simple small oak round table across from where Mogens sat now. More sprawled out maps laid open on top of it, making them look like a decorative table cloth, while pencils and and a compass moved side to side with the boat’s movements as the rain kept up it’s assault.
And on top of all that was Mogens’ dinner. A single plate with piles of streaming peas, mashed potatoes and two thick bratwurst. Fat slabs of butter was dripping over everything. There was a loaf of thickly sliced bread too and a shot glass. Next to it, a tall, full bottle of something clear. It’s liquid innards also swaying along with the movement of the boat.
Jesper only now noticed how good it smelled in the tight nit cabin.
Mogens also noticed Jesper eyeing his meal.
“You drink?”
“Huh?”
Mogens’ pantomimed with pinched fingers swinging an invisible glass towards his mouth.
“Drink,” he said dully, though with a bit of a grin, “Alcohol. You. Partake?”
Jepser narrowed his eyes.
“I know wh-” he signed curtly and shouldered off his satchel full of letters like that of a fussy child trying to kick off wet soggy socks of his feet, “-you know what. Sure! Sure. Why not. I’m stuck here with you because of, well, YOU, so yes, I might as well take a drink for my sanity and wait for the storm to clear.”
Mogens’ bobbles his head side to side at the suddenly provoked Postman.
“Oh oh, please, right this way, sir,” he said with a sweep of his arm, gesturing Jesper over to the other side of the table, “right this way.”
Jesper was about to ask something mean spirited, something along the lines of Mogens’ being too poor to afford two chairs, since the man was jestering for him to sit in, well, nothing. There was no second chair to sit in.
But then he thought of a better come back and was about to say something really witty- something really clever- something like “just because I get chased by dogs all day doesn’t mean I’m going to sit like one in front of you.” Oh YES. That was so smart! So good! So -
Mogens heeled the side of the wall under the table and then a little compartment built into the boat’s hull was being pushed in. It made a clicking sound. The compartment, Jesper could now see it’s hidden outline, popped out. And just like magic (well, logically Jesper knew it was just a rigged up hidden piece of woodwork, not that impressive, but he just wasn’t expecting it) there was a second seat.
“That old woodsmen isn’t the only one around here that can tinker with tools you know,” Mogens said.
Jesper took the seat and gingerly sat. Or tried to the best he could. The cabin was cramped as it was, even Mogens with his heavier build stepped mostly sideways from one end of the other, and Jespers long knobby knees turned inward so he could sit without hitting the underside of the table.
A glass was placed in front of him. It didn’t match Mogens’ cup.
A tight lipped pop rang out like a shot as the ferryman uncorked the clear bottle before them. He poured Jesper that offered drink, straight and true, no tricks, and then poured a hearty helping for himself.
He lifted his glass and waited for Jesper to do the same. When Jesper didn’t react, Mogens cleared his throat and gave him a steely eyed look. That moxie grin flattening.
“Bad luck not to cheers at the Captain’s table, especially in his own cabin. -Especially- on the water.”
Mogens seemed to have gained height just now, even though they were both sitting. Maybe because that friendly glint in his eye that was always there had been extinguished in the serious moment.
Jesper grabbed his glass quickly and the moment the glasses clinked, Mogrens’ grin slipped back into place. The glint in his brown eyes was fired back up. Followed by a real swig this time, he downed the shot.
Jesper did the same motion but nearly spit up the burning acid that coated the back of his throat. When the other man started to laugh at him again, he forced himself to swallow it, though he couldn’t suppress the light fit of coughs afterwards.
It burned. Badly.
It wasn’t the smooth rich flavored sherry he used to, and even those small glasses were few in between. Had he had any since being in town? He laughed at the idea of this one horse town having something in it’s bars or shops that was anything more high brow than beer and fermented potatoes.
Mogens’ slapped a meaty hand on Jesper’s shoulder across the tiny table.
He didn’t ask if he wanted another one. Jesper’s glass was refilled anyway. This time he didn’t have to raise his glass to meet Morgens. Mogens just smacked his glass to Jespers. Less of a cheer this time and more of a light heartedly acknowledgment of the other man’s presence.
Nothing more, nothing less.
There was no way Jesper was going to throw it down this time, hesitant to even have a second glass. But he picked it up anyway. He brought it to his nose and frowned when he couldn't detect a scent.
God he missed his father’s sherry.
“What the heck is this stuff?” Jesper wheezed out when he could catch his breath, a hand covering his abused mouth. A few more coughs escaping.
“Oh this? Some of Smeerensburg bestest moonshine. Ehhh, some vodka too that I threw in. Them Sámis you bring over here once a year also make a fine brew too. They offered me a bottle of something they made in exchange for chartering something over to the North part of the island. Nice folk.”
Jesper nodded along, even though his eyebrow was raised curiously at the odd clear cocktail in the bottle. Before he knew it, he was bringing the edge of the glass up to his lips again. A tiny sip was much more manageable.
Mogens’ gave him an approving nod and then one more smile before he took a folded cloth napkin and snapped it open with a flick of his wrist. He stuffed the corner end of it into his sweater’s turtleneck, picking up his knife and fork.
Mogens’ didn’t offer him anything off his plate and Jesper didn’t ask. They sat in a relatively comfortable silence while the never ending ‘sssssshhh sssshhhh shhhhhh’ kept them company in the dull white noise of the hull.
Sip after tiny sip, Jesper just nursed his drink and watched the boatman start cutting into his meats while also taking bigger mouthfuls of the moonshine.
Jepster was just about to mutter out a small “thank you”, a random lesson Klaus had instilled in him, among many others, in the dead of night during one of their runs- saying “thank you” to someone for performing even the smallest of good deeds, could resident with someone for much longer than one would think. And could come back as a good sign of will later to that person.
-“Oh, you mean like, karma?”Jesper asked quizzically.-
-“I don’t know who this Karma fellow is, but if he has nice things come back to him often, he must say thank you quit a lot.” Klaus said and snapped the reins of his reindeer with a smile.-
But Jesper didn’t say thank you. He suddenly thought of something else. With eyes wide and hand tightening on his glass, he burst out,
“Wait, wait. Wait a second. You’re telling me...you had this cozy little cabin here this whole time? But when you brought me to Smeerensburg for the first time, you almost let me freeze to death above deck in the bitter, frozen sea wind!?”
Mogens froze lifting a spoon full of peas into his open mouth. He looked up, searching his memory and popped the spoon in when he remembered what Jesper was talking about. He shrugged and chewed.
“I was doing you a favor!” he answered without hesitation, “I was just accumulating you to the weather, is all.”
“...Accumulating?”
“That’s right. I didn’t want the new postman to hit the shore and then die from the shock of cold once you popped that pretty little head of yours out the cabin port door like a freshly picked daffodil.”
Jesper’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“It was a four hour boat ride. Icicles grew on the brim of my hat.”
“Four hours of solid accumulating. You’re welcome.”
Looks like Jesper said thank you to Mogens without actually saying it. That bastard...
The leaner man was ready to pick a fight, but his anger melted away a heartbeat later. His shoulders dropped and the fist he had formed unclenched. He snorted through his nose instead.
The metallic scrape of Mogens’ teeth against the metal fork rang out again.
“Why are so mean to me?” Jepser asks.
“Keep drinking and maybe I’ll tell you.”
There was that damn smile again. Jesper took another tiny sip, deciding he would just sit there and glare for as long as he could.
As long as he was stuck here, thankful to say the least that Mogens pulled him down here instead of leaving him above deck shivering in the half exposed bridge, he might as well keep any pity bickering at bay.
At least for now.
The skipper was on his fourth shot and well into his meal when Jesper decided to speak again.
“I didn’t know Smeerensburg had crazy storms like this.”
“It doesn’t. Freak roll in, is what this is. Happens. But rarely. The whole town will become one big ice death trap when it’s over. Black ice freezes here quicker than the underside of a coal miner’s belt buckle,” Mogens explained through mouthfuls of peas.
He shrugged then as if to say “whatcha gonna do about it.”
“It, heh, it actually used to be funny to watch the Krums and Ellingboes use that to their oh-so-impressive-strategy-tactics. Lots of broken necks, I can tell you that much.”
Morgans’ gave a gruesome jerk of his neck and a mock wince of pain. His features curling up to show just how bad that must have hurt the poor bastard that was pushed down ten flights of stairs or sent flying over a balcony for no other reason than having a different last name from someone else.
Jesper was listening so intently that he was surprised when he lifted his glass again and found it empty. He looked down into the glass and sure enough, he had sipped his way through a second helping.
The moonshine’s bottle long neck hit the ellipse of his glass before he could protest yet another refill. The pure clear liquor poured freely again.
“Which are you?” Jesper asked.
Mogens didn't bother to cork the bottle this time when he set it back down between them.
He lifted a bushy unkempt eyebrow at him.
“Come again?”
Jesper over exaggerated his finger pointing and took on the same slow tone Mogens did with him earlier.
“Which. You. Surname.” he pointed to Mogens and then toward a port window. “Ell-ing-boe or Krrrruuum,” he also over enunciated the family names to really drive his point home.
Jesper felt himself smirking for the first time in the captain’s presence. It felt pretty good. He took a larger sip of his drink while Mogens stared at him blankly for a moment.
“Aaaaah. Oh. Uhh, neither.”
The blond man’s smirk fell. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting.
“Neither? But-”
“But what?”
“Don’t you live-”
“Here? In Smeerensburg? Sure. But I live here.”
The captain’s arm reaches behind him and pats the boat’s interior affectionately. A genuine smile forms on his features as he continues to chew.
“Here?”
“Well sure. What? Or haven’t you ever noticed I have never on your route in the past year, postman.”
“I just thought you never got any letters because nobody likes you.”
Jesper starts to scramble to take back what he said. He meant, but he didn’t -mean- it. Once Klaus yelled at him with such fury, he kicked him out of his home for upsetting him.
He worried the boatman would do the same now, rain be damned and tell him to get the hell out. But he didn’t. The opposite. Mogens laugh was almost contagious. Jesper can’t help but smile, even though its nervous, because surely a very nasty insult was right behind one of those large belly snigger.
Mogens poured him more drink.
“People- ha- people here do hate me, but only because I was one of the few folk around here that remained neutral and still stayed in the town. Better to stick off the land when the whole damn island is trying to tear itself apart. I’m not one to be run out of town, no sir.”
He throws back his drink and breaths through his teeth. He refills himself another glass. The bottle was a little less than half full then.
“I’m also an asshole, but you already knew that,” he gave Jesper a wink over his shot glass. One more down the hatch. Another refill.
Jesper smiled politely enough and rolled his eyes.
“Klaus only makes toys for the itty bitty kiddos anyway, right?”
Jesper’s starting to enjoy the warm burn in his lungs as his drink becomes easier to handle. He perks up at the mention of his mysterious friend.
“Err, well yes.”
“If I write to the big guy a letter, will you come and deliver me a present?” Morgens tone went up three notches and he batted his eyelashes.
Jesper snorts and does an odd giggle. It was clear that the young man had poor practice in drinking.
“Sure. Whatcha want? A tugboat on a string?” Jesper feels himself getting drunk. He doesn’t usually laugh at his own stupid jokes.
Mogens found him funny enough though and the larger man slaps a hand on the table and cackles. A few pencils roll off the edge. They clatter around Jesper’s boots. He bends over to pick one up.
He examines the wood bleached writing tool in his hand, twirling it around with any easy flourish.
“You draw those?” he asks and tilts his chin up at the inked and pencil sketches on the edge of the large map on the wall behind him.
“Aye.”
“They’re really..uhh..really, um, good? Good. Never figured you to have talent in anything.”
Again, he’s caught off guard with how blunt he was being. He promised it was because of the liquor. He quickly adds,
“You should draw something for Klaus. He’s a fantastic draftsman, but I’m sure he could use some fresh inspiration. I mean how many times can you make the same rocking horse blueprints or nutcracker.”
Though the smile is still on Morgens’ lips, the snort he pushed out his nose is less than enthusiastic.
“Right. I’ll get right on that,” he says in a low gruff and takes another shot. He had finished his meal and the rain still flooded the world outside. It was time to just drink and chat.
They chatted about everything.
The more Jesper drank, which was becoming quicker too, he chirpped away about everything he could think of. Mogens more or less just nodded along, bursting out a quick chores of chuckles or more snorts when Jesper said something insightful.
It almost felt like he was trying to get Mogens to laugh.
They talked about Klaus the most. The rest of the town was rather boring. The town was famous for its fighting families, but if had only been two the two same factions since the dawn of time, well, that wasn’t too fascinating.
Klaus was at least interesting to chit chat about. He was neither Krum nor Ellingboe. He just showed up one day on the map and that was that.
Jesper tried to dig up any information Mogens had on him.
“Never knew him. Don’t think we exchanged a single word before, ehhh, well, before all this.” he waves around the room, referring to the whole “Christmas thing” that just happened a few weeks ago.
“But you knew his cabin was out there. Said-said he was a “real nice fella’”
“Yeah, so? Was I wrong?”
“Yeah. No. Yeah. Well. No. You weren’t. He wasn’t. -Isn’t-. Wasn’t not ever nice. Is nice.”
It was Mogens turn to dig. He wanted Jesper to spill the means and unearth some horrible secret. Something the the big man shared with Jesper in the dead of night. Jesper wasn’t the first, nor the last, to think the bear-like woodsmen who was always so suspiciously quiet and never ever came into town wasn’t indeed an actual ax wielding maniac.
The boat captain was hoping to hear something that would turn the town on its head. Something dark. Something evil! Something saucy. A body!
But there was a body, Jepser admitted sadly. His stare grew to a hundred yards into his glass.
There was a body. Only one. Buried deep in those pure white snow covered woods.
A little wife who left Klaus alone and childless.
He built her birdhouses. That’s why there were hundreds of toys.
Jesper said it was because she got sick. Got sick after trying to fill the huge home with dozens of kids.
Mogens shook his head and said, “No. Not sickness. Heartbreak.”
Klaus remained isolated from the town forever after that and from what Jesper was describing, was just waiting to die.
Chopping wood, making quirky little birdhouses, just waiting for his time to go. Alone.
How sad.
Jesper suddenly looked like he wanted to cry.
Mogens leaned over and tapped his glass to Jesper’s and together, in a somber cheers, saluted on Klaus’ behalf.
“He’s great though, you know? Do you him? He knows everyone. Literally. He just...knows. You know what else ‘knows’. The wind. The windssss magic, yo-you know that too, yeah?” Jesper said happily, drunken mood shifting from one extreme to the next in the drop of a hat.
Mogens couldn’t open his eyes up all the way anymore. They remained half lidded as he listened to Jesper babble on.
“Suuure, sure. Wind. Magic. Yup. Uuuuh... yup.”
He was starting to feel the haziness himself. Which was saying a lot. He must have drank three times more than the postman.
This wasn’t his plan tonight, to get drunk, but he had no complaints.
They also clinked their glasses together in a messy fashion when the conversation turned light again. They both agreed that the elder head Krum mistress must have been the world’s most beautiful women if she ended up looking like the world’s oldest living fossil. And that son of her’s…
“Think she pushed him out naturally?”
“Sure! Along with two draft horses yanking with all their might!”
Mogens patted his eyes with the back of his hand, crying, his face a tomato red now. The bottle nearly empty. Jesper gave up long ago on trying to sit up straight and could only prop himself up by his elbows on the table.
The bottle was empty.
Jesper was red in his cheeks and kept bobbing his head, fighting to stay awake. He was trying to stay in his seat.
“They’re good people though,” Jesper said, suddenly snapping up, spooked. A terrifying look in his eye. Almost as if he didn’t say something nice right after something not so nice, something bad might happen.
He slurred, what Mogens’ thought was ‘naughty list’, under his breath and Jesper frowned, eyebrows pitched up in worry. His head sunk down.
“Uh huh,” Mogens said and then stood. He swayed a bit, put his hands on his lower back and leaned backwards as far as his wide girth would allow him to, cracking his back in the most satisfying way.
Ka-kak-crack went his spine. He grunted happily.
Then he tilted his head curiously when he realized that the only sounds he heard was the waves of the ocean slapping the side of his boat and Jespers loud breathing. He squinted at the port window.
He could see the dock. The hull was no longer vibrating while encased in rain.
The rain stopped.
“Well would you look at that. We’re saved. Kaloo Kalay, what a day. Hey Mr. Pos-”
Mogens shut his mouth when Jesper, blacked out, had fallen face first onto the table. A moment later, fell out of his seat completely and happily continued to sleep on the floor when he hit it.
“Oh,” Mogens said and did the only decent thing he had ever done to Jesper in the past year or so he had grown to know him.
He could have left him there, but instead he hoisted the lad back up by his shoulders, somewhat, half way. He was having a hard time seeing straight himself. He lifted him up by the waist, encircling his arms around the stick figure that was passed out and gently slumped Jesper onto the edge of his bed.
The blond stayed up for half a second before falling backwards. His legs still firmly on the ground while his top half sprawled out on the captain’s quilts.
Mogens rolled his eyes at him.
“Oh by all means, make yourself comfortable,” he said out loud to deaf ears.
Jesper wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.
Unlatching the top doorway, Mogens stepped up the little ladder that unfolded for him and poked his head out. The rush of fresh air, cleanly doused in fresh rain and his forever beloved sea was incredible to feel against his drunken flushed face.
Stepping into it felt ever more amazing. Brisk. Cool. It was enough to almost sober him up. Almost.
He pulled himself out of the deck below and went to go stand at the back of the ferry. It was almost dark. The sun would set in a few hours or so. Stars had come out into the sea. They danced among the swaying waves in the setting twilight.
The eerie stillness of everything after a God-like-wrath flood was always pleasant. This wasn’t the first time he had been caught in an all mighty, all consuming downpour before.
When the world turned into a washed out blanket, only to be pulled back up to relieve a clean sky and cleansed earth, it was remarkable to see it. To feel it. His ocean was renewed with a new coat of paint. What a sight it was.
Mogens breathed in deep and stared out into oblivion. Shame Jesper was such a lightweight.
He would have enjoyed the view.
///
Jesper wasn’t comfy.
There were incredibly rare (or ever), moments that Jesper had been comfortable while being forced to live in Smeerensburg. But right now...he was half way there.
He blinked lazily, like a cat that had too much milk to drink and leaned up. Ah, there was the problem. He was only HALF on a bed.
No, no. That wouldn’t do. His back felt so comfortable. It was only fair his legs could feel it too.
He picked his legs up and scooted himself into the top corner, where it felt like it was the warmest. He grabbed the only lumpy pillow he saw and buried his face as deep as he could into it.
He smiled. Oh that felt great. The pillow was cool against his heated face. And the mattress? Oh! Heaven! A hundred times better than the slab he tried to sleep on in his post office.
Was it as nice as his silk sheeted bed at home?
‘Let’s not kid ourselves, Jespy ol’ boy, nothing is as nice as my silk sheets. But this’ll do.’ he thought in his gin...vodka...hooch...moonshine and whatever else drowned brain.
Jesper took a nice deep breath as he felt himself drifting off again. Properly this time.
He clutched the pillow harder to himself. The pillow smelled of the sea. Salt and long ago worn out cologne that stained itself into the cotton blend.
And something else. Something familiar. Something that reminded him of home.
It was a hint of sherry. Oak soaked. The kind his father always bought.
He thought of home and allowed sleep to consume him.
///
Mogens opened the deck latch back up and went back down only to find the blond man curled up in the corner of his bed. Jesper’s soft rhythmic breathing made his back rise and fall.
Mogens shook his head at him.
The older skipper was about to turn about face and leave the postman be. Although, later, he would tease him mercilessly when he woke back up. He could picture it now, eyes a bit bloodshot and panicked that he had missed the rest of the day’s deliveries.
He would also miss his nightly rondevu with Klaus, Mogens thought, as the sun was steadily setting. The town’s lights starting to twinkle on, house by house.
Mogens couldn’t say what it was that came over him to do what he did next. He would blame the strong moonshine for it later and the light hearted feeling he had from his rather joyful chat with Jesper.
But he turned back to look at Jesper.
He stepped back to his bed and sat as softly as his bulk would allow him to on the edge.
Jesper didn’t stir.
Mogens leaned back on his arm, peering over to peek a glance at Jesper’s face. Yup. Out like a damn light. Mouth hanging a little open, his cheeks and ears had turned as bright red as his nose usually looked when he was delivering mail in the middle of a blizzard. His well kept hair mussed and falling every which way.
That’s when Mogen’s thick fingers reached over and did the damnedest thing. He brushed those loose blond strands out of Jesper’s face. He brushed them back over his forehead to join the rest of his thick blond mane.
The sleeping man kept breathing steadily. Mogens turned to look straight before him. He watched the clear skies above him through a port window. Well, as ‘clear’ as Smeerensburg would allow.
He didn’t know how long he locked eyes with the sky, but when he blinked, he turned back to look at Jesper again.
Nimble fingers reached out and picked the edge of Jesper’s collar, at the nape of his neck, and pulled the white cotton shirt down, exposing a bit of pale flesh at his back.
When Mogen’s lips touched the top notch of Jesper’s spine, he pressed a feather light kiss on the heated skin. He breathed in the young man’s skin. His hair.
Jesper still didn’t stir.
Mogens lingered a moment more before pulling himself back slowly. He imagined that if he was a woman, he would have left a perfect lipstick stamp of a kiss for everyone to whistle at behind, literally, Jesper’s back. A whistle that would catch Jesper off guard and confused as to why suddenly he was turning into a new target for everyone to pick on.
But there was no mark. There was nothing. Not even the lingering taste of the postman’s skin on Mogens lips. This wasn’t some romance novel that Mogens may or may not have read a few times out at sea over long uneventful nights.
Jesper would never know. But he would. And that was perfectly fine for the ferryman.
His fingers unpitched the fabric of the shirt.
He placed his hands on top his knees once more and propelled himself up to stand again. He adjusted his hat aimlessly. Instead of making his way back up to his deck, he picked up the pencil Jesper was twirling earlier in those long fingers of his.
Swapping seats with Jesper, sitting on the other side of the table, Mogens lifted the map up and pulled some blank white parchment from underneath it.
He started to sketch out the back of the postman’s head and the rest of his sleeping form, well into the night.
When the moon started to reflect in the ocean’s choppy waters, Jesper still didn’t wake.
He muttered a lot in his sleep.
And then a strange thought hit Mogens.
Had anyone ever sent a post to the town’s only postman?