The Archaeology of a Shipwreck

[Bears]

The Archaeology of a Shipwreck

 

[Bears]

Solidão - Pernambuco, Brazil, 1994.​

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It was not an easy thing, the archaeologist quickly realized, doing what he was doing. Ellison Wilder had received the letter just three weeks prior. The letter that would alter his life immeasurably. Along with the small brown envelope he had held in his hands came the news that it was only to be delivered postmortem.

Louis van Jude, one of the esteemed archaeologists commonly referred to as the oldguard due to their seniority in the field and the man that had made everything in Ellison's life possible, had passed. That was certainly not an easy thing... coming to terms with the sudden and unforgiving departure of life. That was before he had even opened the letter and read its contents. Before he realized he was being asked to continue the man's life work personally.

The first week had been entirely and restlessly devoted to making a decision, the second week was for questioning the choice he had made, and the third was for him to wait until the very last minute to change his mind and grab the quickest flight down to Brazil. Luckily for Ellison he had very little affairs to get sorted before leaving. Up until that evening his life had become rhythm and routine. It had become monotonous.

He hoped just as much as he worried that Solidão would change that.

Ellison flew first class and landed in Brasillia no worse for wear. The heat was stifling and the man was grateful that he had opted for comfort rather than appearance when he dressed. A large dress shirt, shorts, sandals. A pair of circle sunglasses rested on the tip of his nose. He looked the part of a tourist but the sweat treading on his hairline made him care increasingly less. He took another series of flights to come closer to Pernambuco before taking a final bus ride to Solidão.

It quickly became apparent though as the world as he knew it was transformed into stone streets, stone buildings and lush green hillsides, that his journey was not over. Ellison stood at the terminal stop as he had been instructed for a long while, sheepishly sitting on one of his suitcases and tucking the other between his bare legs. Locals stared and he smiled and waved but whatever they might have said was lost to him.

Eventually the farm hand arrived and Ellison would have been grateful had he come in a car rather than with two horses. Unsurprisingly, the young man did not speak English and Ellison found himself with very little choice. He rode for the first time, with great difficulty, and fell off at least three times before they finally pulled away from the main road and towards the villa.

Though there was no doubt that he was in a worse state that he had been when his plane first landed, the ride towards the van Jude estate was nothing but breathtaking. Farmland sprawled out as far as he could see, hills bordering them like nothing he had seen back in California. They came to a wall and the young farm hand disappeared behind a small wooden door in the side to open the gate for them.

Ellison's breath remained stolen even as the old oak wood split apart with a grand groan. It slowly revealed a stable off to the side and further in the distance--the beautifully traditional villa that he would be staying at for the next year. The farm hand was happy to rid Ellison of his bags so he could cover the last leg of the race without burden and the archaeologist opted to do so on foot having been uneasy riding for the entirety of the trip.

He had sweated through his shirt entirely, the striped baby blue fabric clinging against his skin tightly while his dirty blonde hair fell over his forehead in damp little tousles. Ellison was a mess but he was an awestruck mess. The van Judes had an incredibly beautiful compound, if anything.

He drew the eyes of workers as he walked the last stretch. His feet ached with a passion and his breath was short but a smile found his face all the same. He had set off in hopes of something different and so far Solidão provided. He just hoped, greatly, that the rest of his time in Brazil wouldn't be as difficult as the trek just to arrive.

The doors were grand and wooden just like the gate had been and Ellison took a deep breath as he knocked. He expected a call from the inside, or the clicking of a lock, anything that had a semblance to an invite inside. He was greeted by nothing. Brows furrowed, arms crossed, and his voice called out.

And still, nothing came.

Impatient, weary, and impossibly soaked, Ellison began to wander around the side, peering into windows and seeing very little as he trailed around the grand little manor. He wasn't sure how he ended up at the back but that's where the archaeologist found himself. His eyes were immediately drawn to the lap pool resting adjacent to the patio. The water was glistening, a beautiful shade of blue and green, that tempted him like the devil herself.

It was a respite from the heat and it called out his name like a longing lover but Ellison had just enough self control to tear himself away. A door leading into the kitchen was left open and that's where he finally entered. The archaeologist moved with a caution. There was no telling what waited for him. Louis had always been a private man and it was not like his letter had a long list of what to expect from his home.

He wandered through the dining room and the foyer before movement in the distance caught the corner of his eye. Ellison frowned as he sought after it. He cleared his throat, his voice naturally low but the rasp of it enhanced by how parched he had become over the course of the afternoon.

"Excuse me, I think I'm a little lost..." He called out brazenly, turning the corner and finding himself brought to a harsh stop.​

 

[Nav]

It was a good time of year for Dover van Jude, who, in the scorching Brazilian summer sun, could have spent her hours toasting in the warmth by the poolside. She migrated around the estate periodically, and that afternoon proved no different. After a morning spent in the stables, when it was still cool enough to do so, she took a refreshing dip in the pool, then warmed up again by sunbathing, before eventually padding her way to the back of the house, at the standalone sauna building.

She took the long way around, wearing nothing but her bathing suit. Her hand trailed along the honeyed stone of the chateau, which was smooth and warm to the touch. The straights walls were interrupted at the corners by pronounced, circular portions of the grey roof in a series of slopes and cones. Each grand window, arched at the top and double paned, bore bright red shudders. The gardens surrounding the dwelling were rolling and expansaive, fighting the very nature of the region, which was overwhelmingly dry and shrubby, by introducing lush beds of flowers that were riots of colour. Trees from all over the world sprung from the ground and stood like foreigners attempting to read airplane terminal signs in a language they didn't understand.

The manor was a perfect depiction of the man who had built it. It had grown old, and a bit worn from years of abuse from the glaring sun. Pieces of the stucco had pulled away, revealing blotches of the red brick beneath, and vines crawled over all surface, transitioned the tan to red seamlessly with veins of green. Yet, despite its faults and failings, it was still a thing of beauty. Dover's fingers chiseled into a corner of stone as she walked past the far end of the house and towards the sauna hut, stepping over a row of common Poppies—her grandfather's favourite. She undressed entirely and hunkered into the sauna.

Fifteen minutes spent in the sauna proved to be enough. No matter how she tried to relax, her limbs were restless. The quiet crackling of the sauna fire was met with eager jumping and jostling. She refilled the water basin several times, even though it didn't require more water, just to give her hands something to do. She'd been in such a state since the passing of her grandfather. The estate home just didn't feel the same anymore, she decided.

Her grandmother was nice enough company, but the woman was quiet… and spent many hours in her studies and rooms praying, or reading the Bible. That was all fine, but it left the house empty. Dover had wandered it endlessly for the past three weeks; she haunted every corridor like a ghost, searching for a renewed purpose that seemed unwilling to come.

She'd offered to help some of the farm boys with chores, but they all declined her aid—probably afraid their paychecks would suffer if they shared the labor. She'd swam, rode the horses when it wasn't too blazing hot, and went to town a fair amount, but life had lost its same purpose it possessed when she had her grandfather keeping her busy.

Finding herself thinking about her grandfather again, Dover frowned and pulled a towel around herself. She tip-toed back up through the backdoor of the house and scurried quickly through the halls towards her bedroom, hoping to escape the prying eyes of any house maid. The towel covered what it needed to cover, albeit barely, and she wasn't in the mood to give Juliana an eyeful.

Behind her, she heard foot steps and cursed below her breath, hurrying along. Her mind immediately went to Juliana, the house maid, who was bound to scold her—again—for not being properly dressed when she was unmarried. Trying to save herself a lecture, she swung into her room, excepting the chase to be over.

When the voice called out, she paused at the foreign masculinity—and the English, before whirling around and defensively snapping her hand to her dressed to grab a torch. It was hardly a weapon, but the weightiness of the handle could be enough to inflict some damage. Her heart thudded as she jumped back with a screech when the foreign man rounded the corner.

"Quem é Você?" she screamed at the very near top of her lungs, waving the flashlight out at him so he wouldn't take another step closer. Her other hand clutched at the top of her towel, simultaneously trying to drag it up to cover more of her breast, and pull it down, to cover more of her lower portions.

On the verge of screaming at the foreigner a second time, or leaping at him and beating him with the flashlight, her grandma stepped around the corner. The woman was old, but not the kind to be pitied with decrepit bones and feeble limbs. Rather, she was the kind who could still run an army kitchen given half a chance. She stood quite tall and slim, her long grey hairs neatly pulled back into a bun. Her face was made with discrete make-up, except the cherry red lips. Were her skin any paler, she would be garish, but against her sun-kissed skin, it looked right.

She spoke something quickly to Dover, which was enough to get her to put the flashlight down. When Dover replied, her words were curt, and harsh, but she turned away and vanished in to her ensuite bathroom to find a robe.

"Uh, sorry," the old woman said, clearly grasping for any straw of English she could find. "You Mr Wilder?" the older woman probed. "I… Mrs van Jude."​

 

[Bears]

Standing in the middle of a large hall in the presence of a woman he never expected to find, Ellison was, admittedly, lost for words. It was not unlike how he had been when his sandals clicked against the sun baked cobblestone just outside the front door, not unlike how he had been when his muted blue eyes glazed over the lush greenery that encapsulated this villa of tanned brick and stone. His mind rushed with thoughts and questions alike but he quickly cast them aside to apologize as the blonde seemed to rear up for another attack.

"My apologies, my apologies. I... well, you see... there was nobody at the door and..." He attempted to explain, praying but doubting all the same that the looks of the blonde meant she also spoke English. His hands rose cautiously and behind the rim of his sunglasses the American's eyes were wide with concern and disarray alike. Ellison was usually quite proficient at articulating his thought, he prided himself on it really, but as he spoke now it was in a flurry of confusion.

The possibility that he was on the back end of a minor heat stroke did very little to restore his eloquence.

Luckily for him a woman he could only assume was his mentor's widow came to the situation before it could get out of hand. Now Ellison was not beyond running away were the woman to pounce, but exhaustion brought a shakiness to his knees that made him doubt his ability to get far. Even then he'd probably die before making it back to Solidão on foot.

In a conversation that transpired too fast for him to comprehend, the situation diffused and he was left alone with the older woman. Which, considering she didn't hold a torch to him like a damned baseball bat, he preferred. Still, when it became apparent that even Louis' wife couldn't speak a line of straight English, the archaeologist could not stop the sigh from escaping his parted lips.

"Please, call me Ellison." He said, readjusting quickly and offering the woman both his hand and a faint smile. Had Mrs. van Jude spoken with a little more proficiency, Ellison would have noted that he followed after her husband's footsteps and received his doctorate just a year prior. "I apologize for all the commotion."

The woman who held herself with confidence despite the obvious language barrier nodded though Ellison could not help but wonder if she truly understood what he was saying. If anyone in the next twenty five mile radius could fully understand what he was saying. He was just lucky, he supposed, that he wasn't much of a talker in the first place.

"I'd like to be shown to where I'll be staying for my time here, if that's alright. I'm terribly tired."​

 

[Nav]

The older woman tried to understand what Ellison was saying, but judging by the disjointed pause in her response anytime he spoke, she didn't understand him well. Unlike her husband and granddaughter, Mrs van Jude was born and bred in Brazil, and never bothered to learn her husband's native tongue, for he always chose to speak in Portuguese in the rare instances he was home.

Of all the years they'd been married, they'd spent the vast majority of them apart until his retirement years—and even then, he'd spent more days with Dover than he had her. Perhaps there was a small twang of jealousy in the old woman's chest when surveying Dover, and Ellison.

They were two people who stole her husband away. Alas, it had been her belated husband's last wish that this man come to their house to live, and to work. She'd decided against telling Dover until the man arrived; they'd have to have a conversation later that week. That night, however, was going to be a busy evening. So, when the man went on to ask about a room, Mrs van Jude smiled.

"Ellison," she clarified, her mouth struggling to get around the name in its entirety. "I have room, yes. Tonight, we have dinner. Friends, family," she explained, stepping to the side to lead him all of about fifteen feet down the hall before opening a closed door and waving it into the bedroom inside.

It was a quaint room—a single Queen bed with neatly done linens and a light sheet for a blanket. Flanking the bed was a single, wood desk and chair, and to the opposite side, an armchair with a bookcase. There was no television, no mini microwave… nothing a normal hotel might accommodate, but it seemed nice.

Nice except for the door immediately to the left upon entering, which led into a bathroom. The same bathroom Dover happened to be in. She was dressed, wearing a pair of jeans and a tattered old T-shirt from some American rock band, running her fingers through the damp locks of shoulder-length blonde hair.

Hearing them enter, her eyes flicked to the side, seeing the man who'd barged in on her and grunting with disapproval. She said something to her grandmother, almost pleadingly, but the woman didn't respond—instead, she merely waved her off with a hand.

"We have dinner at… five," the woman continued, pointing to the wall clock, turning to finally say something to Dover. Dover seemed to acknowledge the words, but did so silently by stalking through the opposite door of the bathroom into her own bedroom, and closing it behind her.​

 

[Bears]

At the mention of it, Ellison was certain that dinner would be astonishing. How could it be anything but? Judging from the amount of farmland surrounding the estate alone, the villa seemed to be planted on the most fertile soil. His mouth watered at the thought of the fresh vegetables and Latin spice, but it dried out almost immediately when relatives came into the conversation. Would any of them speak proper English? Ellison refused to count on it. Either way he wasn't a talker and social calls, while he was never outright bad at them, were hardly his cup of tea.

The archeologist would have never admitted it out loud, not in the man's home, but he did wonder whether his mentor truly thought it all out when he wrote that letter. It would have been foolish of Ellison to expect the majority to speak his language... but nobody at all? He was not entirely discouraged by the lack of communication, but it was disconcerting all the same.

So all the American could do was put on his polite front. He smiled, though it was far from genuine, and he kept both of his suitcases at his sides as he followed Mrs van Jude towards and his room.

His eyes would have been drawn to the dusty bookshelf almost immediately had the woman from earlier not been a few paces from where he stood at the entryway. She gave him a look and a sound of disproved and in return Ellison gave her a blank expression, his lips forming a solid line underneath the frame of his sunglasses and his distinctly European nose. What was her deal, he wondered, and who was she to begin with? A daughter? Louis seemed a man far too busy for a proper family, but he was also private enough that Ellison could believe the topic simply never came up in their years of work together.

The questions he asked himself mattered very little however, as his new neighbor soon disappeared behind an old wooden door with as much subtlety as a construction crane. Ellison was aware that what he was doing could be considered intruding but frankly—he was too damn tired and too damn sweaty to care. He came here to do a job and experience something new. Her friction mattered very little, or at least that's what he thought to himself as he turned and bowed his head in thanks to his hostess.

The archeologist closed the door behind him quietly, clicking the lock before turning to his left and closing the door leading into the shared bathroom with far less grace. Only then did Ellison finally let his bags drop to the wooden floorboards. His back fell against the door, pressing the cold fabric of his shirt against his skin, and a cloud of dust rose from where his luggage landed. For what the room lacked in utilities and maintenance, it made up for with its old school beauty. Tipping his sunglasses he wandered the space, a careful and practiced hand running across the different surfaces and collecting dust along the way.

Ellison came to the windows and threw the wooden shutters open in an effort to bring a breeze of fresh air into a beautiful but stagnant bedroom. He found himself with a view of one of the many gardens that composed the compound and vines crawled up this side of the villa. Some of which grew sidewards and dropped over the opening the windows made, offering Ellison some shade from the sunlight that poured through thanks to his actions. A smile found the man and he returned to the door to bring his suitcases onto the end of the bed. He opened one and laid out a change of clothes and then he opened the other and placed its contents all around the room.

From the second bag came various notebook, paper folders filled to the brim with files, a handheld video camera, and a bottle of authentic American whiskey. He took over the space of the desk rather quickly with these items, lining his pencils perfectly with one another before collapsing onto the bed with intentions of getting up and showering after a small nap.

With a breeze rolling in and sunlight filling his room, Ellison fell rather quickly into a deep and desperately needed slumber.​

 

[Nav]

After the door to the guest's room closed, Dover bee-lined from her own room and intersected her grandmother before she could go too far. The woman offered precious little in terms of facts and details about the man, other than that he was 'a friend of your grandfathers, and will be staying with us for however long he needs to complete your grandfather's work.' Dover spent several minutes begging for more information—pleading that they send the man away to somewhere else, anywhere else, but the old crone never budged on the matter. "It's be rude to send him away," she said, "your grandfather thought very highly of him. He stays here." There was no convincing the woman otherwise, despite Dover's best efforts.

The last thing she wanted was to be sharing a roof with the man, let alone a bathroom. While she had nothing against Ellison personally, in fact, she'd only ever heard the name a few times in passing, he represented everything within her that caused her ire. He was the man who had stolen all of her grandfather's time away when she was a child, he represented America, and he simply wouldn't understand how things worked in Brazil. She disliked him on principle, and had no interest in discovering any parts of his personality. In fact, the moment she watched her grandmother walk away and disappear down the hall, she vowed she'd never speak to the man… in English.

Biting down on her tongue, Dover retreated to her room. She was, perhaps, the only person in the city that spoke English with any lick of competency. She was fluent, in fact, and practiced regularly to upkeep it. With her grandfather, she'd spent two years in Memphis, and loved every minute of her time there. It was why she worked and saved so diligently to make it back, but it wasn't easy. She was a woman, for one, and unmarried, for another. Work was difficult to come by—none of the farm boys wanted her to take their labor, and other farms were hesitant to hire a white woman. Her grandma had offered on more than one occasion to foot the bill for her return, but she refused every time.

Again, on principle.

Biting the corner of her nail and peeling away a small piece of skin, Dover stared at the little wood box on her dresser. Her free hand fluttered against the lid, thumb brushing the expertly carved filigree and brass hinges. Instead of opening it, she pushed away and moved towards her closet. The aromas creeping their way up from the kitchen: rice, beans, frying chicken… was a quick reminder that she didn't have all afternoon to dilly-dally. Soon, relatives and friends would be arriving at the feast and festivities would begin. She'd wondered earlier, when her grandmother had mentioned a small party, what the celebration was. Now she knew; the man in the next room over already spoiled so much.

After changing into a deep pink sundress and sliding her feet into sandals, Dover made her way downstairs. The maid and her grandmother whirled around the kitchen like machines, the doors to the back patio flung open where a brick oven roared with a feisty fire leaping up around a cast-iron pot containing a form of bean stew.

Stalks of sugar cane from the farm had been cut down and brought it.

"Do-" her grandmother called, as an aunt walked in through the front door carrying a large basket of rolls—never having bothered to knock. "Can you get our guest?"

As more relatives and family members arrived, it became increasingly apparent that Dover was something of an oddity in the bloodline with her pale skin, blonde hair, and near-blue eyes, which juxtaposed oddly against the rich, burnt Sienna skintones, dark hair, and muddy brown eyes of her relatives.

The young woman huffed, but didn't argue. She hopped up the steps two at a time, arriving at Ellison's door before slamming it on it sharply a few times with a closed fist.

"Acorde!" she called to him, demanding he wake up. "Hora do janta." Without waiting to see if he'd get up and follow, she whirled on a heel and made her way back down the hall, the stairs, and into the sweeping downstairs rooms, filling with people.​

 

[Nav]

Ellison woke with an incoherent mumble. With eyes still closed, he lifted his head from where it laid flat against the linen, propping himself up on his chin. A small string of saliva ran from his bottom lip but it was the first of many hurdles he needed to go through before heading down. With a groan he rolled and laid flat against his back, his eyes opening watching the ceiling while he wondered if the blonde sleeping in the next room was even capable of speaking to him in any other way besides brazenly.

Guessing not, he sat up and stretched, his back popping in fifty different places much to his pleasure. Ellison stood, swallowing hard in an effort relieve the dryness that found his throat, before making his way to the bathroom. His eyes moved to the reflection in the mirror, Ellison looked the sweaty mess and he did the best to remedy it at the sink. He regretted not having enough time to shower, but returned to his room to change all the same.

The outfit he had laid out was rather similar to what he had been traveling in. He wore another baby blue button down, but one that was more appropriately sized, with the sleeves rolled up and a few buttons undone. Though his hair was dominantly blonde, the hair on his arms and chest were brown and Ellison slipped into a pair of khaki shorts before grabbing his camcorder and making his way to the door.

"You know... you could at least tell me your name." Ellison said to no one as he stepped out into the hallway. His face took on a blank expression as he realized he shouldn't have been surprised that the woman hadn't waited for him. Securing his hand in the strap of the video camera, Ellison found his way down and the house's breezy architecture was made lively more than ever with the amount of people that filled the space. The American swallowed, doing his best to not appear anxious as he doled out smiles and polite nods.

Ellison cut through the crowd, moving towards the kitchen where he assumed the only familiar face remained. Mrs. van Jude. The smell hit him before he even made it to his destination. It was aromatic and reminded Ellison just how hungry he had become over the course of the day but before he could find his hostess, he found the blonde.

Ellison bumped into her from behind, apologizing only until she turned and he realized who she was.

"Oh."

It might have seemed like a miracle after his limited interaction with her that the young blonde woman was that she was capable of smiling. Not just smiling, but doing so warmly. She spoke with another woman who was probably in her mid-forties, judging by the Rivera of grey streaking through her hair and the nest of wrinkles forming at the edge of her eyes. As Dover spoke, she did so with a great amount of expression.

Her hands were constantly moving and the smile brightened, as straight and perfect as any model's. Whatever Dover was saying seemed funny enough, for the older woman was laughing and shaking her head in bemusement.

Their conversation ended and Dover was about to move on to find herself a drink when something paused her, physically. Stumbling forward when someone hit her from behind, she whirled around, and came face to face with their unwelcomed guest.

Oh. That's all he had to say for himself? No apology for his rudeness? No apology for barging in on their lives? No apology for slamming his stupid face into her? She did what she could to contort her face in to something semi-pleasant, but the smile she put on seemed more like a grimace.

"Oi," She greeted.

A noise of thought came from Ellison's throat, a baritone pur really, as he seemed to mull over what to say. The both of them looked out of place in the center of it all, but Ellison could only see what was different about them rather than what was alike. An apology was in order, but the question was how genuine?

"I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." The archeologist sighed, running a hand through his own messied blonde waves. He wasn't sure if she could understand what he was saying so he offered his hand in an effort for something a little more universal.

"I'm Ellison by the way." He noted. "Sorry again... I'll be more careful."

He wasn't the evil she made him out to be in her head, perhaps, as he did apologise and go to offer his hand out towards her. She eyed it with some suspicion, understanding him perfectly well but settling on her previous thought: she wouldn't tell him she was fluent in English.

Instead, she shrugged and gingerly took his hand, giving a small shake. It drew some suspicious sideways glances, so Dover perched up and kissed both of his cheeks, as was customary in Brazilian greetings.

The sideways glances were satisfied and continued on with their conversations.

"Dover," she replied, gesturing towards herself.

Ellison watched the woman with a quirked brow while she watched his hand with great distrust. Had he misstepped? The archeologist read a little booklet on the flight over, but as she surprised him with the kiss on his cheeks he quickly considered the idea that it had been just tourist bait.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dover." He went on to say, returning his hand to his side and still gripping his camera with the other.

He swallowed and his mind raced to find a line of conversation to take up. He was frazzled by it all, more than he would ever care to admit, but none of it showed in his expression. Instead Ellison just put on the same easy smile he always did, swaying lightly as he balanced his weight between the heels and ball of his feet.

"Do you speak English or am I just going to have to learn Brazilian real fast?"

For a split second, Dover considered indulging him and admitting her fluency in his mother tongue, but ultimately thought better of it. He seemed nice enough on the surface— but he'd just shown up in her house a few weeks after her grandfather passed. The man who had raised her like a daughter, dotted on her, and sent her things like postcards from all his adventures. The thought was like liquid cement solidifying in her gut. His man, Ellison, knew nothing; clearly all he cared about was his own career and success.

Feh. Asshole.

Shaking her head, she withdrew from him. "Brazilian?" She questioned with a scoff. He didn't even know what language they spoke. "Portuguese?"

"Portuguese." He repeated after her, smiling politely even through the first of many stumbles to come. If he hadn't misstepped with his hand he certainly misstepped now. Ellison nodded, before shaking his head and pointing at it with his free hand. "Sorry, sorry. Still not one hundred percent on... you know?"

Ellison paused, frowning. Did she know? He felt like he was talking to a wall. A wall in a pretty sundress. A wall, he quickly realized, at least understood him enough to berate him.

"This... dinner. Is it something that happens often?" The archeologist spoke slowly, but his eyes watched her with a focus.

It would have been very easy to fall into English and tell him how she really thought of him— but then, what fun would that be? She knew her relatives kept looking to her, expecting her to break into English at any moment, but she refrained. Dover bit down on the edge of her lip at his question, flicking her oceanic blue eyes back to the crowd of family members.

Her family were mingling around the kitchen table and all through the bottom floor of the house. They were telling stories and laughing. The adults carried beverages in their hand, while the children ripped around playfully underfoot.

Uncle Joao had thrown the whole spit pig on the fire after the beans had come off, and people were taking bites of food straight from the plate with their fingers. They licked them clean, and didn't bother with things like plates or utensils unless it was the bean stew.

"Dinner," she echoed after him. No, she thought, it didn't happen so often. A few times a year, but everyone wanted to come meet the American. Some of the younger, single women were eyeing him like he was the last dinner roll at a feast, giggling and whispering about his blonde hair and pale skin. The young men, meanwhile, watched him with disdain that he was the center of attention, even if it might not have seemed like he was.

Most were too afraid to approach him— too afraid of trying to communicate in English or interpretive dance to bother, but that didn't stop the stares. Dover was unique in the crowd herself, but to them, she was just Dover. She stopped being special some number of years ago.

Dover waved for Ellison to follow her towards the dining table that was brimming with various dishes— many constituted of rice, chicken, beans, corn, or some combination. Most were finger foods, and Dover reached over to peel a hunk of breast meat away from a whole cooked chicken and pop it into her mouth.

"Dinner."

Ellison's was a stranger to it all. Not just a stranger to Brazil where they spoke Portuguese, not just to the woman standing in front of him, but a stranger to the whole atmosphere of such a gathering. He was not used to the levity, to the quiet rumble of conversation and laughter among family. His own upbringing was stark, cold, and one that brought on a darkness he did not need weighing on him in that moment.

His mind went elsewhere, to those around him and their behavior. The stares were familiar at least. Whether it was Egypt or the Middle East, Alaska or Hawaii, it seemed within the nature of locals to want to see what exotic thing just came rolling in. Even if Ellison, in his dress shirts and shorts, considered himself anything but.

"Alright then." The archeologist cast aside his suspicions for the time being as Dover seemed to misinterpret his words. He didn't offer any resistance though, following the woman over to the dining table and watching her with a small grin on his face as she picked at the food. Ellison could hardly blame her, the food on the table looked sensational, an array of vibrant and hearty dishes plated on colorful ceramic. The American nearly followed her in suit, his hand and tongue twitching alike at the sight of the roasted chicken skin, but the sound of instruments playing redirected his attention rather quickly.

Just outside the kitchen, the yard that he had entered through was unsurprisingly filled with friends and family to the van Judes alike. Young children splashed about the pool, their older relatives gathering in circles to sing with their guitars and drink their spirits. A crowd of young women giggled at the sight of him while they danced and Ellison's brow raised along with the corner of his lips.

He cleared his throat quickly, turning back to Dover and motioning to the food with his camera. "May I?" He asked. The dinner and the air of life in Brazil would be a hell of an establishing shot for his documentary and notes.

She might not have liked the reasonings for the gathering, but even Dover could deny that she enjoyed the atmosphere. It was light and playful, loving, with the lush aromas of delicious food. The music and the dancing put a more genuine smile on her face, as did the chicken melting over her tongue as good as butter on a pan.

When she turned back to The American, he was busy motioning towards what Dover assumes was a camera but it was unlike anything she'd ever laid eyes on before. Narrowing her eyes at the device, she tilted her head and reached out for it.

Without permission, she ran the tips of her fingers over the lens cap and buttons. She wanted to get her hands on it, but once she realized who it belonged to, she yanked her hand away and gave him a nod of agreement, waving towards the food to welcome him to photograph it. She wanted to see the device in action.

Ellison watched her with a curiosity not entirely unlike the one she possessed herself at the sight of his camcorder. The American did not shy away as she motioned forward, his expression remaining pleasantly bemused as she examined and later pulled away. She gave her his consent and Ellison turned from her, flipping the side of the camera out to reveal a tiny blue screen. The archeologist pressed a red button on the other side of the device and the blue flickered out into a washed out image of the dining table with the date and time in the top right corner.

Ellison moved carefully and with purpose, pressing his eye through the traditional sight and first filming the food. The roast chicken, the steam rising from the rice, he went over all of it quickly before turning to capture the festivities all around them. When he slowed to a finish he landed on Dover and Ellison revealed that the side screen could flip entirely so their person in front of him could see exactly what was being filmed.

"Say hi?" He asked with a grin that was borderline playful.

Dover, beside herself with annoyance but badgering curiosity, didn't shy away as he dealt with his camera. He didn't seem to be taking pictures, she realized, but she couldn't quite make out what he was doing. It clicked then that it was a camcorder only after he began to sweep it back and forth. It'd been so long since she last saw one, or even thought about one, that it took a little while to register.

Solidão was archaic in its technology. It was povery-ridden, for one, and the people of the town were entrenched in ruts that went generations deep. Most held disdains for modern technology-- microwaves, televisions, computers. Such devices were making their way in from the larger cities by the younger generations, but the older people of the city resisted. As it were, their villa was technologically much more advanced than most homes, mostly because her grandpa brought all sorts of things back from his travels. She had a laptop, though it was mostly useless... there was no internet availability in the town. They'd only just gotten phone lines running through the city a few years back.

Hands propped up on to her hips, Dover continued to watch, startled when the camera turned to her and he flipped the screen so she could see her own image. It pleased her though, and she smiled, fascinated by all that could be done by the little device.

"Olá," she said, warmly. She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers, hoping he'd trust her enough to let her try. "Posso?" she asked.

Ellison watched the image of Dover's smile through the lens of the camera. He cleared his throat, rising up to see it in person. His eyes trailed downwards to the hand extended out to him, returning to meet the woman's gaze with a hint of confusion.

"Posso?" He repeated after her. Ellison blinked once, twice, and his face lit up with recognition when he realized what she was asking of him. "Oh... oh... posso." He seemed to hesitate, pausing to glance at both her and the device. The archeologist wasn't sure what her intentions were.

He figured it couldn't hurt to find out. Ellison nodded and took a moment to slip is hand out of the strap, turning it over and placing it flat on her hand.

Dover looked to him with a look of twisted amusement at his response. "No," she clarified, pointing her finger into her chest. "Posso..." When her finger pointed at him, she clarified, "você pode." Not that her little grammar lesson would be any help to him, especially since she was still too wary of him to admit she could speak English.

Dover might not have liked the man, but she treated his device with the utmost care when he handed it over. She slid her fingers through the strap and looked it over, pressing a few buttons and seeing all the things it could do-- from zoom in to zoom out, to slow motion. It caused a genuine smile to settle over her face as she explored it. Given the opportunity, she would have taken a screw-driver to the small screws, but it wasn't hers, and her grandpa had invited the stupid man... she might not have liked him, but she loved her grandpa enough not to disrespect his death wishes.

It still stung to know that his last hours were spent writing to some random, rude American, and leaving nothing to his own flesh and blood.

Turning the lens of the camera back on Ellison. "Diga oi," she said, repeating what he had told her in English: say hello.

The quirk of Ellison's brow turned into bit of a furrow when Dover corrected him. He remained smiling gently all the while, as intrigued as he was confused by their interactions. He left her for a moment as she began to fiddle, grabbing a plate and piling both beans and rice atop of it. He had just shoved the first spoonful into his mouth when she called for him and Ellison spun on his heel in reaction. His look questioned her again, while his mouth was treated to the rich heartiness of authentic Latin food. He made a noise with his throat as he swallowed, shaking his head and coughing before he could oblige Dover.

"Hello." He grinned, a hand coming to his chest as some of the rice clearly went down the wrong pipe. He coughed again and continued with a bit of pain in his otherwise pleasant expression. "Welcome to Solidão."

Dover couldn't help but snort at his comment. Welcome, she thought... welcome he was not, that was for certain. Maybe she'd get lucky and he would end up as one of the individuals vanished from the village. Probably not, as all those that had vanished had been women. Yet, her eyes trailed to his crotch for just a second. Then again, depending on how much of a man he actually was...

Smirking in her own amusement, she slid the camera from her hand and extended it back to him to take. "Obrigada," she thanked him, minding her manners even if she didn't particularly like him. He had, after all, allowed her to see his camera and the least she could do was be polite to him about it.

Ellison was being polite just like she was. It was why he smiled, why he entertained her and handed over the camera. He was trying to be seem pleasant because all throughout his career that's what worked. It got him contacts, associates, and on some occasions... a little fun. You didn't have to like a person to socialize with them, not truly. Ellison, who only ever liked a few people, realized that quite early on.

He took the camera with a nod, sliding his hand through strap so he could eat without it getting in the way. He quickly threw another spoonful into his mouth, but only so it could delay the conversation further. As he swallowed, Ellison made a motion with his hand and nodded over to a group of rowdy uncles happily drinking the night away.

Another thing he learned very early on, was that alcohol made everything a little bit easier.

"Where do you keep the spirits?" He asked verbally, though Ellison wasn't quite sure why.

Dover didn't mind the silence. In fact, she turned back to make a small plate of beans, chicken, and rice for herself and ate it with a fork, humming contentedly at the rich taste one would never be able to get anywhere else. Some of the boys were out back, poking at the pig spit over beers, and some of the younger men were demonstrating their strength and charisma in a rousing game of back-yard Bocce. Kids were being given split open chunks of sugar cane, and were slobbering down the tasty treats while running all underfoot.

Most of the women, young and old, were tittering away in the kitchen, all of their eyes occasionally drifting towards Ellison. It was clear he was the main topic of conversation and juicy gossip.

Dover, meanwhile, began to gravitate towards the others, pausing only when Ellison turned back to her once again. She raised her eyebrows at him, deciding how much she wanted to pretend she understood when an idea struck her. She set down her plate for just a moment and went out to the backyard, where the men kept their bottles of hard liquor. Pouring out a shot--not a cocktail--of home-made sugarcane liquor, cachaça, she brought it to him wordlessly. She held the small shot-glass between her thumb and pointer finger, staring at him with a smirk of expectation.

As Dover left to procure him a glass, Ellison found himself quickly approached by others. Women introduced themselves to him with honeyed smiles and vibrant laughter, children looked at the white man with big brown eyes filled to the brim with wonder. He could only smile and gesture to his full plate at each and every person who came. It was incredibly awkward, but Ellison figured things could be worse. They could hate him but he also figured that the night was still young.

Dover returned and Ellison quickly decided that he did not trust the look on her face. He didn't trust the contents of the glass either, but a part of him wondered if not accepting the drink would have been something incredibly taboo. Either way the glass found itself between his fingers and he looked down at the murky liquor with both trepidation and interest alike.

Ellison set his plate aside and threw his head back. The burn was intense, but there was a sweetness to the shot like nothing he had tasted before. He came back down blinking, cheeks on fire like his throat. The archeologist was sent into another fit of coughs.

"Thanks." He muttered. "That...was uh. Wow. Is it supposed to burn this long? Shit."

The alcohol exemplified manliness, and Brazilian culture as a whole. Eyes watched what he did with the shot, but when he took it, smiles of agreement filled the faces of the van Judes and their family friends. Dover clapped him once on the shoulder, but stepped around him and ventured into the backyard. The yard was fenced off with a charming little fence separating the grass from the gardens down below. Beyond, the long rows of sugarcane stood branching towards the quickly darkening skies.

Evening turned quickly to night. Stars ripped across the blackness and torches were lit to provide just enough light for mingling. As more upbeat music began to play, men took their women out into the yard to dance barefoot. They shimmied and shook in intricate, intimate numbers, which were as sensual as they were playful.

Single men ventured up to women to ask them to dance, and Dover was among them.

Ellison placed one hand on the edge of the table, watching behind a thin filter of Brazilian-shot-induced tears as Dover walked around him and outside the door. He coughed and he sputtered for a little while but the man felt better as he found a glass of water to drink. Ellison finished up his plate of food and interacted a little more with those too reserved to go outside before he found himself meandering through those wooden doors himself. There was a lightness to his steps that had been missing before, a warmth that settled into his belly which egged him on to be more courageous.

And Ellison, as reserved and intellectual as he was, was already a courageous man to begin with. It took guts to do the work that he and Louis had done, to venture off for weeks at a time on a dig deep in the jungles of Madagascar with little more than a hand drawn map and a band of mercenaries to protect them from whatever animal stumbled upon their camp.

What was a simple party compared to that? Child's play. Or maybe that was just the drink thinking that. Ellison didn't know, he was pretty damn inebriated.

The American settled down on one of the patio chairs with a gruff breath. He watched from afar as partygoers moved and swayed to the beat, a streak of jealousy finding him at how easy the movement came to them. He was not a terrible dancer, but his feet could not match those movements even if he had a whole day to practice beforehand.

A woman approached him with a wild mane of black hair. She was one of the younger guests, but clearly adult in her pretty floral dress. She smiled sweet and introduced herself but Ellison didn't quite catch her name. She asked him to dance in broken English and Ellison surprised himself by agreeing. He rose and her hand found his, drawing him deeper and deeper into the crowd. Ellison danced with the lot of them, the heat of the movement and drink alike staining his shirt with a pleasant amount of sweat as he got lost in the rhythm of the music.

Dancing was a van Jude pastime. They worked themselves into sweat and laughter, dancing barefoot underneath the swatch of stars until grandma pulled the first flake of meat from the pig's flank and announced that it was done. Two of the young, strapping lads, both third cousins to Dover, went to pull the charred animal from the fire and threw it across the table. It was a whole pig, tied to a spit stake by its hooves; the only thing it was missing was the apple in its mouth.

There were no silverware served to help eat. Instead, people came and peeled chunks off with their fingers, nibbling small bites in-between dances and conversation. The tender meat was seasoned with a spicy sweetness, and pulled easy off the bone.

Dover, with a shimmer of sweat across her forehead, pushed the blonde locks of hair back and laughed in conversation with another as she went to the pig, peeling a small slip of meat right off the animal's cheek. Grandma van Jude stabbed out one of the deflated, cooked eyes from the beast and held it up on the fork. As she did, the crowd went silent and turned to her as she began to speak in Portuguese:

"We have a guest staying with us now, an American, a friend of my husband. I'm sure you've met him, but his name is Ellison. It is my and my late husband's wish that you take him in and treat him like family."

Dover crossed her arms over her chest, the easy smile fading away from her features.

"And for good luck, we give him the right pig's eye." The old woman turned towards Ellison, extending the fork towards him with an encouraging smile. "For... for you," she spoke, barely managing out the correct English words.

Ellison danced closely with the woman in the floral dress. She held his hands at eye level, their hips swaying and moving in unison while his blonde hair fell damp over his forehead once more. Together, they sweated happily and by the time the music died down Ellison was sobered up when he placed a playful little kiss on her cheek. Perhaps he had crossed a line with such an action, but she seemed more than happy to return the favor with a close hug. There in an exchange of whispers he asked for her name again and made sure to remember it this time.

Alongside Giovanna, Ellison made the return to the patio where a table had been set up for what he could only guess was the main event. He watched the sight curiously, it was not his first roasted pig but it was a grand one all the same. It looked rustic, some sections more cooked than others, but the smell was divine and brought on a grumble in his gut once more.

Ellison swallowed hard as he took note of Dover taking a strip. Like everyone else though, his attention was brought to their old hostess and he grew quiet. He struggled to understand, squinting as he tried to make out something familiar among all the vernacular. He heard his name and he blinked—the little nudge Giovanna gave him reassuring him that he had heard right. Ellison stepped forward, trying not to look sheepish as it dawned on him that tonight had been a way to welcome his arrival.

"You are too gracious." He thanked her calmly despite being anything but. He was nervous and the crowd of faces watching him with quieted expectation only made it worse. Ellison turned up them, his blue eyes washing over the crowd until they landed on Dover's. She looked unimpressed with him or at least that's what he thought. It caused something inside of him to shift, the resurgence of a competitive fire that drove him into the position of Louis van Jude's assistant, that drove him to where he stood today.

The American smiled warmly at the crowd before, with very little hesitation, he took the fork and ate the eye whole. A streak of juice ran down his lip at the first bite, the spiced taste surprising him but not deterring him from pumping a fist up happily.

Ellison swallowed and he spoke even though he was certain no one would understand him.

"Thank you, thank you. I feel welcome already."

Tired of the fact that there was a man standing in their house— a man who stole most of the relationship she could have had with her grandpa before he died, and tired with the fact everyone was loving and celebrating him, Dover quietly excused herself from the party. Everyone, too busy with cheering and admiring as the American age the eyeball of good luck, didn't notice the young woman's departure.

Heading to the front of the house, she slid out into the night and wrapped her arm back around herself and pulled the zipper down. Stepping out of her sundress, she walked towards the pool in nothing but her undergarments.

Submerging up to her thighs, Dover sank back and sank deep into the water until it lapped up over her cheeks and the bridge of her lip.

"Stupid man," she growled, letting the water pull away the stress. "Stupid, ugly man."

Ellison found himself showered with affection. It was a little overwhelming, men he never spoke to offering him shots, women approaching him in hopes of getting a little of what Giovanna got. The American barely had time to actually eat any of the roasted pig. He had gotten a few good tears in before deciding he had enough of the adoring public. Sucking his fingers clean of the fatty grease, he took a step to the side, doing his best to try and sneak away to his room. He moved through the crowd, pretending that he really needed a bathroom break in order to dissuade anyone from following him.

He was halfway up the stairs with a cast off glance caught her in the window. The pool, surprisingly enough, was unoccupied save for one soul. A soul, whose exterior was the closest to his within the next forty five mile radius.

"Dover?" He breathed, daring to pull himself away from the path back to his room so he could watch her for a moment through the open shutters. She was such an odd woman and Ellison still did not know why she alone stood out among her family. Was she adopted? How was she even tied to Louis? Ellison was curious, more than he would ever care to admit, and he found himself drawing closer.

He joined her outside in a courtyard that was undisturbed compared to the rest of the home. It was quiet, just the sound of her wading in the water combatting the faint sounds of the party behind them. He nearly called out to the woman before his foot tipped a clay pot, the small little ceramic breaking and Ellison jumping behind a nearby bush to not seem like a creep.

He quickly realized that a bush wasn't the smartest idea considering his intentions.

Dover ended up on her back. The cool water bouied her against the hot summer air until she was relaxed. The gentle splashes pulled all the stress from her body until all she could think about was how nice the breeze felt, and how funny the music sounded with her ears below the surface. She might have floated there forever if she could.

The shattering of ceramic against tile caused her to snap up. Her feet planted on the floor of the pool as she swam for the edge and pulled herself up on to it, flicking hesitantly through the darkness and falling out for whoever was there to stop being stupid.

No one replied, but the bushes rustled and Dover furrowed her brow. Thinking it was one of her younger cousins playing a prank, she marched towards them and yanked back the green boughs.

The face was not of a guilt Juliana or Marcio, but of the American. For the second time that day, he'd seen her in less than appropriate attire. Squeaking in surprise, blushing too hard to be angry, Dover yelped and tucked her arms across her bra.

Ellison found himself in an incredibly awkward situation. He supposed he couldn't claim full innocence, he had made the conscious decision to step outside after all. His intentions were far from lecherous however and it was a great shame that he wouldn't be able to explain that to Dover in a way she would understand.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." The archeologist began as calmly as he could. He stepped out into the open with her but made sure that his eyes did not wander. In fact, his gaze remained firmly locked with hers, but only because he had nothing to hide. Anything beyond honesty would only make things more awkward.

"I was just on my way up and I saw you out here. I didn't mean to catch you off guard but I didn't see the uh... pot." Ellison went on to explain, sheepishly motioning towards the little plant that had fallen on its side. He sighed, slicking back the blond tousles that had gone astray during the party.

He closed his eyes and pointed back toward the door. "You probably don't understand a single thing I'm saying but I was not creeping, I swear. I'll just leave and pretend this never happened."

Dover stood staring at Ellison like a deer caught in headlights. The party was still roaring in the background, so she hadn't expected him, of all people, to be there. A large part of her wanted to yell at him for being such a weird creep about the whole situation, but what was she supposed to do? She was standing in front of him in her undergarments, clinging her hands to her tiny frame, all wet and drippy.

There wasn't much she could say, unless she unleashed a torrent of English on him and she wasn't ready to admit her language capabilities to him yet... or ever.

Gulping down a huge lump in her throat, she flickered her eyes towards the shattered pot as he explained and waved towards it. "Uhhh..." was all she managed to mutter out before clearing her throat, the shade of red in her cheeks deepening to a near-neon tone. "Ok."

"Ok?" Ellison repeated after her, dumbfounded. He expected to be attacked verbally at the very least, but instead it seemed she was content to let him go.

For now, anywyays.

"Ok." He repeated a little more firm this time around. He wasn't about to stick around and see Dover change her mind. Judging from Louis' letter, Ellison would be here for a long while. He didn't need to make that any harder than it was. "Alright, I'm going. This never happened. What happened? I have no idea." The archeologist cleared his throat once more before turning on his heel and walking away briskly.

Ellison went up the stairs, through the hall and into his room, locking it behind him. He figured Dover would come up soon so he took the opportunity to shower—stripping himself quickly only to realize that he had broken his camera when he jumped into the bush. He cursed openly at the revelation, but had no time to fix it until tomorrow. Ellison showered, quickly, in fear of a third awkward run in between them. After he slipped into a pair of boxers and fell onto the bed. The party went on for sometime, but when it ended Ellison could not know... by then he was long out in hopes of resting up for a rather busy first day.​

 

[Nav]

"Avó!" Dover cried at seven-fifteen in the morning, about an hour after sunrise. The entire villa was drenched in a deep amber shade of sunlight. The sun in Brazil rose like a flower opening, gifting its petals unto the world. Amid the dancing raindrops of dew was a blush of scarlet, the warmth of tangerine. The young woman ripped open her blinds and windows to let her room air out a bit before swinging into the hall, calling down to her grandmother for the second time.

The young woman had just gotten out of the shower. Her blonde hair was slicked back and pooling a bit of moisture at the collar of her tanktop, which she slid over her bathing suit. Sunglasses perched on her head. Paired with it were a pair of scantily short shorts, and flipflops. Her skin was a gentle hue of brown, which brought out the unusual blue in her eyes.

She skipped down the steps, smiling as she went, having long forgotten about the visitor in the guest bedroom adjoining hers to the smells of breakfast sizzling from the kitchen and the beckoning of the beach on a hot summer day. Outside, the birds were a flourish of noise—chirping and squawking like mad—before it got too hot for them to be out of their shady refuges. She found her grandmother in a simple, pale blue dress in the kitchen. She wore an apron, and was slicing up a loaf of bread to be serves with jams and preserves her hands had made the summer before. The maid was at the skin, humming inwardly to herself as she washed the dishes and placed them into the rack to dry. She didn't look up when Dover swung across the tile, but grandma van Jude did.

"Where are you going, filha?" her grandma asked in condescending Portuguese, raising her brows and creating a pillow of wrinkles in her forehead.

"To the beach," she replied, "te amo." She leaned into kiss her grandmother's cheek, but the old woman snapped her fingers around Dover's chin and studied her with a gaze that caused the blonde to squirm with discomfort. Sweat gathered between her shoulder blades and she whined to be let go.

"Take that boy with you," grandma instructed, releasing her adopted daughter's chin and turning back to the bread. "I'm sure he wants to go see where your father was doing all of his studies. And speak to him in English, would you? Jealousy is very ugly on you, filha."

Dover snorted, looking to the maid who bore a slight smirk at grandma's words, though she didn't dare lift her eyes from the sudsing water.

"Fine," Dover agreed, folding her arms over her chest when her perfect afternoon was ruined yet again by that dumb American. "But I don't want to speak in English. He should learn Portuguese! I'm just helping him out to learn quicker."

Grandma waved her off and she stalked around the house, looking for the creepy, stalking, dumb American. The only positive was maybe he'd bring his camera along… she wanted to get her little hands on that device a second time. Perhaps if she could get ahold of it when he wasn't looking, she could rip it apart. It was only fair, after all. She was going to waste her time on him, so, she might as well get something back out of it.

"Americano," she called, knocking on his door, but moving away when she got no response. "Americaaaaano. Onde está voce?" She called out, asking where he was, even though she knew she wasn't going to get a response.​

 

[Bears]

Ellison very rarely dreamed and the night following his arrival at the villa was no exception. He hit the bed like a lump of bricks and he woke feeling the very same way. There was an unnatural heaviness to his limbs, but he forced himself to a stand all the same. One of his arms itched of bug bites, but he quickly noticed one of the shutters he had failed to close properly had swung out sometime during the night. The American stumbled through the room and over to the bathroom, forgetting completely that it was ajoined to Dover's as he went through his morning routine. The man peed, washed his face and brushed his teeth. He kept all his personal items tucked neatly into the corner, he was sure that Dover would have been more annoyed at him otherwise.

When he returned he got dressed. The sun was out and as warm as ever, so he opted for another oversized button down and shorts. There was a lot to do today so he dressed for comfort. He was looking to do some exploring, some work and note taking. He was looking to review his shots from last night but then he remembered he couldn't and that annoyed Ellison deeply.

He ended up deciding to start his day with some light reading. Solidão and the van Judes were like nothing he expected and between Dover and the pig's eye his next journal entry was bound to be a good one but his mind was to sluggish to write anything coherent. Ellison did not know what time it was when he stepped out and made his way downstairs. He only knew that the pool looked astonishing the way that the light beaded down against the tiles. He found himself drawn to it, walking along the side and dipping his toe to check the temperature. In his hands he carried his broken camera and a book he pulled from the shelf.

The archeologist buckled down, setting side his camcorder and quickly getting into a comfortable position. He lied on the edge with his head looking up towards the sky. His sunglasses and book alike gave shade where it was most needed and the American swayed one leg in the water while propping the other up by the knee. From an open window above him he heard Dover's voice call out a nickname that could only be mean for him and he stopped reading before he could properly start, tipping his sunglasses and looking up annoyedly at the disturbance.

He decided she could find him if she needed to speak to him so bad. He decided she could also not find him. That worked for him too.​

 

[Nav]

She would have given up on finding him if she didn't already know that 'I couldn't find him' wouldn't be a valid excuse in her grandmother's book. After searching the room and the backyard, she ventured out to the only other logical place he might be: the gardens, and the pool. She strode meaningfully across the yard, yet still careful enough to step over and around the flowerbeds and bushes to not ruin the gardeners' hard work. He wasn't at the wrought iron bench in the center of the shrubbery, but when she swung around to the other side of the villa home, she caught a glimpse of his blonde hair turned gold in the morning light.

He was sprawled out over the edge with one leg dipped into the water. His fingers curled around a book and something of a sour look on his face. Hands propping up onto her hips, Dover stepped over the decorative tile and nudged the tip of her toes into his side. "Americano," she said down to him, squinting against the sun that had risen to a point in the sky where the light was glaring and intrusive, instead of romantic and pastel. She was still unconvinced that she wanted him to know of her English, but was struggling to figure out the best way to say 'grandma says you're going to go with me to the beach, and don't think to argue, because she will spank you' without a common tongue.

Biting down on the edge of her cheek, Dover looked to the surface of the pool, which flittered with sparkles in a cool, morning breeze. "Erm… oceano?" she asked, deciding ocean to oceano may be the simplest thing for him to understand. She lifted a hand, pointing towards the far horizon. The ocean, and the beach, was nothing more than a smudge of slightly discolored bands over the horizon—hardly noticeable except for the reflection of the sunlight over the water creating something of a diamond-like effect.

Waving a hand between them to signify 'us,' she again pointed towards the beach. "Oceano… vamos ao oceano." We go to the ocean. She hoped it'd be clear enough in her sign language what she meant. As much as she enjoyed the pettiness of refusing to speak to him in English, it was frustrating at junctures such as this, when she was forced to spend time with the one person she liked least in all of Brazil.

She could see almost immediately why her grandfather liked the man so much. They were very much alike in a lot of ways. Like him, her Louis used to spend his days poolside, his nose nuzzled in a book or journal, constantly reading or fervously scribbling notes. More than once, Dover had tried to gain his attention—to take her to the beach, to get in the pool and swim with her—but he never did. He was always 'muito ocupado' – too busy, Filha, too busy.

No wonder he loved some strange American boy more than he loved anyone else. They were practicaly the same god damn person, but at least Dover could choose to hate the American. She couldn't hate her grandfather; she'd always wanted his praise.

Waving her hand impatiently, she moved a few steps away from the pool.​

 

[Bears]

The book was dated and taken from the collection that rested on the shelf in his quarters. It was in English and Ellison took refuge in that, enjoying being able to hear someone else's words and understand them without pause. The content of the novel itself was rather dry, the first couple chapters setting up a rather traditional coming of age story, but it was enough for Ellison to just feel familiarity through the dialogue.

It was natural in his line of work to be surrounded by locals who knew nothing of the English language. The awkward motions and long pauses he experienced so far were no strangers to him, but this was the first time in a long time the archaeologist had ventured out without a colleague, without an associate to bounce theories off of. Louis van Jude had filled such a role for him, and Ellison the same. They spent countless hours together like father and son slaving away in the most remote locations. It seemed like torture then... but now? In the wake of such a man's passing?

Ellison just found himself missing that companionship terribly.

It was for that reason alone did Dover find him by the poolside with such distaste written on his face. His expression did not lighten as her toe found his rib and tickled him, but his sunglasses hid the brunt of the unpleasantness while he sat up straight. Ellison set the book down and his lips curved into a deeper frown at her interruption, but the expression on his face quickly devolved into confusion and later--realization.

Dover, for some god forsaken reason, wanted to take him to the coast. It was not a terrible idea really, the water was both Ellison and Louis' specialty after all, but the thought of travelling with a woman who seemed to dislike him--as warranted as her friction was--hardly put the spring in his step to rise. He sat there questioning her with the quirk of his brow, his eyes shifting from the woman to his broken camera underneath his shades. Just great, Ellison thought. He wouldn't even be able to document his first ride out.

The American sighed, rubbing his jaw with one hand and pushing himself up with the other. A sole leg glistened in the sun, the leg hair drooping against the added heaviness as he gathered his things. "Give me a moment. I'll meet you at the front." Ellison went on to say before disappearing into the villa. Upstairs he packed a smaller bag with the essentials--bottled water, his notebooks, a broken camera. He figured he could try to repair it along the way.

Once he was done he descended and as promised, found Dover just outside the foyer. He grinned but put a poor amount of effort into making it look genuine. "Alright then, lead the way."​

 

[Nav]

Dover tensed her jaw at the sight of his displeased face. The muscles in her cheeks went tense and her eyes strained to maintain any sort of kindness in them. The frustration built and she thought she might explode—she took a deep breath to try and quench it, but it was a futile attempt to fight an intense storm. She wanted to shout, to have a tantrum and beat her hands on the ground like a toddler. She wanted to vent, let it out, but she couldn't. To whom would she express those terrible feelings to? Those feelings of inadequacy and jealousy and hatred? Her grandmother would scold her, her family and friends already adored the American…

There was no one left and she had to bite down on her tongue as hard as she could to prevent words she didn't want to say from slipping past. When he finally agreed, telling in her detail that he'd meet her at front before leaving—she exhaled, hard, in frustration. She'd been hoping he'd disagree enough with her that he'd refuse the beach. Someone else could take him. Giovanna knew the way, and she lived only a few blocks down the street… hell, any one of her cousins could take him, but grandmother had made her decision, and there was no weaseling out of it.

Trudging towards the front to wait, per his instructions she could understand but wouldn't admit it, Dover sat on the stone railing and waited. The annoyance made her hang limp like wet laundy on a cold, still day. Every muscle gave into gravity, and she no longer had any desire to go to the coast. The coastline was her favorite place in the whole world to go. It was quiet and serene. There were never many people there, if any at all, and she could relish time at her own pace. She could swim, or sunbathe, or read a book, take her horse for a gallop—now, it would be ruined.

He took his sweet-ass time but when the American finally returned, Dover slid from the bannister and slung her small backpack across her shoulders, meeting his hostile grin with a grunt and a deadpan expression before turning her back to him and wordlessly leading the way.

As they walked, she wondered how he thought they'd be going to the coast. It was a walkable distance, but it would take them nearly all afternoon beneath a blazing hot sun to make it. There was a car they could take, but grandfather had never gotten around to teaching her how to drive, so that left only one option: horses.

She didn't glance back over her shoulder as she proceeded down the small slope leading towards the small, European-style stable with the peaked, gable roof and bright right paint. "Cavalo," she said, pointing to one of the horse's noses as they stepped into the aisle.

The stable houses about eight animals and each one poked their head over the half-wall door to their stall as they entered. One nickered, all ears and heads pricked in their direction. Name-plates decorated the front of each stall, alongside a hanging bridle and halter. They owned saddles, but Dover never bothered when just going to the beach. It was a relatively short ride, and truthfully, she took a small bit of amusement in wondering what the American would look like bouncing along without a saddle.​

 

[Bears]

Ellison could only shrug with feigned indifference as Dover set off without so much as a word. She seemed so volatile, so unpredictable, that a part of simply had to him wonder how her mind worked. One moment she was shouting at him, glaring as he entered the neighboring room and slamming the door behind her just to put distance between them. The next she was in the lens of his video camera, catching him off guard with a warm smile before asking if she could hold it.

One moment, she was inviting him to the coast... and the next she could barely stand to look at him.

Ellison could understand dislike, he harbored far too much to not, but this was getting childish and she could not understand the depth of his pettiness. The American's eyebrows narrowed, his eyes falling on the blonde of her hair before trailing down to the sway of her hips. Her skin was like his but bronzed, and the woman, whoever she was, Ellison decided would not best him. He came here for a change of pace and to do a job. Nothing more, nothing less. Dover was simply going to have to learn to live with it until he was gone.

As they made their way across the compound, Ellison took note of an open garage fashioned similarly to the stable it resided next to. There was a red jeep tucked away in the corner, a dusty tarp covering the whole of it. She looked like she could use some love and the mechanic within him twitched. Unfortunately they passed by it without a word from Dover and Ellison decided he did not care enough to interject.

They approached the stable quickly and Ellison took note once more of the large wall that surrounded them. He wondered what material it had been carved from, but such thoughts were quickly cast inside as they entered. Looking at all the horses, Ellison crumbled just a little internally at the thought of riding. There was still an ache in his crotch from the last time.

Dover spoke and from behind his shades, Ellison's eyes followed. He found himself looking at a chestnut colored beast different than the one he had rode in on. The American assumed that she was telling him to mount that one specifically so he walked on over, his eyes grazing over the name plate while he approached.

"Beduino?" He echoed out loud, unsure if it was a girl or a boy even from this distance. Ellison turned back to Dover and it dawned on him that they wouldn't be using saddles and he crumbled some more, but refused to let her see it. Cautiously he stepped inside, greeted by the musk of a horse before realizing rather quickly that Beduino was a he.

"Alright then." Ellison let out a breath in an effort to steady himself. He grabbed a hold of the fence separating the stables, pushing himself up so his butt landed on it before using the gained height to get on top of Beduino. When he landed it was a little harder than he intended and Ellison groaned quietly, hoping Dover hadn't been watching him.

"Where do I... hold?"​

 

[Nav]

It was hard to hate a man who know so little about something, that he looked riculous doing it. As Ellison got himself busy, so did Dover. She proceeded to one of the stalls with her personal favourite horse, a dapple-grey mare named Samba. From the stall door, she pulled the bridle free and looped it over her shoulder before sliding the door back, humming quietly to herself. Tender fingers touched the horse's soft nose, whispering some mute greeting to the animal before flinging the reins over its head and going to slip the bridle up and over its ears.

It was during that time that the American managed to get himself mounted, but without putting a bridle on. The chestnut bobbed his head out of the stall door left slightly ajar, ears pricked, causing a genuine laughter to rush through Dover. She's wrongly expected him to have some horse experience, but judging from his predicament… he had none.

Without getting on, Dover slipped the reins to her own horse's bridle around the crook of her elbow and pulled the grey horse along until they were standing by Beduino's stall. She bridled him for Ellison, so he wouldn't have to get off and do it himself (and, truthfully, she didn't want to wait for however long it would take him to figure it out). Flinging the reins over his neck, she tossed them on to Ellison's hands, motioning wordlessly for him to take them with a mildly vindictive smirk on her lips.

Having helped Ellison, Dover stepped up on to one of the wooden slats of the stall walls, which made her just tall enough to swing a leg over Samba's back. The horse stood boredly still and din't move until Dover nudged her forward with her heels. They walked steadily from the barn, hitting a dirt path that must have known plenty of traffic. Flip-flops barely hanging off her feet and leaning back with one hand on the horse's rump, the other tangled up in drooping reins, Dover was the picture of relaxed.

She felt at ease on the back of a horse, and allowed the grey mare to lower her head and follow the well-worn path without much guidance. The ocean breeze whispered like a lover, placing salty kisses on her cheek and tousling the sandy blonde locks of her hair. On days like that, it filled the sails of the harbor boats, fluttering their flags and pushing along the clouds. The ocean was still a bit of a ride off, but every five minutes closer, the smell of water and salt became all the more pronounced.

All the while, Dover didn't say a damn thing to Ellison. In fact, she was too busy pretending he didn't exist to bother looking back to make sure he was still upright on his horse. She only assumed he was, as she hadn't heard too much of a ruckus from behind her, but Beduino was known for inadvertently dumping riders over his love of plush, fresh greens.​

 

[Bears]

Ellison allowed himself to be assisted because he needed it--not because he wanted it. Not from Dover anyways. He watched her silently as she readied his horse, his arms folded across his chest and a focus in his otherwise mused blue gaze. He watched her so intently because he was determined to be self sufficient come the next time he needed to ride out.

Ellison was never the one to turn down a guide but Dover's smirk alone was enough to make him consider going against that principle.

But for all the determination that he possessed, Ellison was anything but an experienced rider. Beduino lurched forward and the American could not help the gasp that parted from him. It was quiet enough that he was sure it hadn't been heard but loud enough to bring a redness to his cheeks. His hands found the reins, perhaps a little too eagerly, and before he knew it Ellison was moving out of the stall and back into the sunlight.

The American let out a sigh before pushing up his sunglasses which had fallen down the length of his nose in all the struggle of getting on. Though he had learned the basics through trial and error just yesterday, riding to the villa had been a trying experience, and now more than ever he wished Dover had been merciful enough to offer him a saddle. Each bump that Beduino found resonated upwards, hitting Ellison's crotch and shooting a wave of discomfort throughout his entire body. He just had to take solace in the fact that Dover's decision to ride ahead prevented her from seeing him struggle.

It took Ellison a good long while to get accustomed to the lack of padding and even then the archaeologist was sure he'd need a dozen or more rides before he was anywhere close to comfortable atop of a horse. Beduino was treating him kindly, at least for now, and Ellison found a position right enough that he could actually enjoy the scenery all around them.

There was something comforting about being on a simple dirt road. There was less expectation put on him, less pressure to seem polite or knowledgeable. The hint of salt in the air invigorated him and Ellison found himself growing more and more excited to see the coast, even if the woman leading him to it was happy to act like he didn't exist. When he wasn't watching the greenery all around them, he was watching Dover, attempting to emulate her relaxed posture and immediately stopping once he wobbled.

Eventually, the countryside gave way to the ocean where the wind flew more freely and Ellison's eyes twinkled with something anew. He was excited to get into the glimmering water, even if he hadn't brought a change of clothes, but that excitement was brought to a pause when his streak of luck seemed to run out. Beduino, true to his nature, found the roughage by the seaside to irresistible to pass up.

One moment, Ellison was taking in the view of the beach and in the next the world was thrown upside down. Ellison himself was thrown too, right off the back of the horse as Beduino stooped down to eat. It was not a quiet gasp that left him, but an audible shout followed by the rustling of leaves and for the second time since he met her, Ellison found himself crawling out from a bush.​

 

[Nav]

The coastline curved as if drawn by an artist's hand, the golden sands making a thick band between the waves and the vegetation beyond. Between the boats that left for fishing and the shoreline, were sandbanks snaking their way through the briny waters before sinking once more. The small, wet pebbles that lined the beach sparkled in the light of the overhead sun. The water was almost still, like it was too hot for even the ocean to move. Small waves occasionally gurgled against the beach with little force, leaving a foamy trail whenever they receded.

Dover perked up the closer they drew. She sat up further, removing her slouch from her hand and allowing a smile to grow. If she had any recognition that her companion was still with her, it didn't show on her face. Rather, she urged her horse into a slightly quicker walk, eagerly awaiting a day of sun-filled lounging with her toes poking into the water. There was not a single other soul around for as far as the eye could see, except the fishing boats, but they were off into the deeper water and were little more than a worming mirage on the horizon.

The thump caught her attention, as did the flash of chestnut fur from the corner of her eye as Beduino jogged ahead and stopped himself at a particularly luscious bush, nipping off the new, tender buds with his lips. Dover pulled her own horse to a stop, glancing back in time to see an American lump pulling himself from the pricker bushes with a grumble.

In one swift movement, Dover slid down the side of her horse and went to grab Beduino's reins, yanking him away from his mid-morning snack and dragging the reluctant animal back towards Ellison. She held out his reins in one hand, and extended her other down to him to help him up. She was a little amused by his lack of equine coordination, but the last thing she needed was to kill the American that everyone else in the village adored. She'd be despised for all time if he passed away in her care, so while Dover wasn't particularly fond of the blonde man, but she didn't want to see him break a leg—or worse—either.

"Você está bem?" she asked, motioning towards him in a way that made it fairly clear that she was asking if he was okay. He looked okay, from her perspective. A little bruised, perhaps, and a few scratches from the fall, but nothing seemed grotesquely out of place. He might have had a mild concussion, but if he treated her with the same brisk disdain he had before, she would count him as 'acceptable' in the mental state. She still wasn't quite ready to admit her fluency in his language yet, and she wasn't sure she'd ever be.

The last thing she needed was for him to be rude and weird in English, and know she could understand. Plus, the last time they had an English speaker visit the village, she spent the entire duration of his stay being his translator, and she hated the expectation that man had put on her to follow him around dutifully, like some kind of seeing eye dog. She imagined Ellison would have the same expectations if he knew.​