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She was really just still in her rebellious teenage stage, Ariel would always argue. The rules set by her father were really just begging to be broken; that was true of anyone's parents at sixteen. Ariel just hadn't let go of that mentality when she entered college. Even if it was her third year there. There was just something that kept her in the mindset of the child she was- living at home, probably. The O'Hallorans practically lived in the town that surrounded the school that Ariel went to, and that three of her sisters had gone to. And when you were a single parent sending seven girls to school, you did your best to save what you could- like, for instance, several thousand by commuting, as opposed to dorming. So Ariel lived at home, with her father, and three of six sisters, and did her best to stay out of the house for as long as she could. At some point, even this had become fine with her father; he had to loosen his group on even his youngest daughter at one point or another, but even then, he'd had rules for her to follow- a soft curfew, a rough range of where she could be, a request to know when she would be out. Nothing unreasonable, and nothing that Ariel wanted to adhere to.
So of course, Ariel snuck out, after curfew, without her father's permission or knowledge, and went past the radius he'd asked her to stay in. A rebellious streak that hadn't died down at twenty one, was all. She was old enough to vote, to drink, to be sent to war, Ariel reasoned with herself. She was old enough to do nearly anything that she wanted to. She would just have to show her father that this was the case. It was a juvenile way to deal with it, sure, but Ariel could only assume that it would work. After all- it never had in the past. Why not assume that that all changes now? And so this Saturday night was similar enough to many before, and it would be to many after. Once the house was silent, the young woman grabbed whatever she thought she would need- phone, wallet, shoes- and, quietly, exited through the back door. She climbed into a car- there were two, now, in the driveway, shared between her sisters and her father and herself; when all seven girls had been at home, and able to drive, there had been four to share- and tied up her red hair.
It, like most of Ariel's looks, had been inherited from her father. Well, and her mother- red hair, especially this vibrant, and blue eyes both were recessive traits. But her mother had passed, at a young age, and Ariel couldn't remember much about her- a few vague memories, all happy, but distant, and so she attributed her traits more to her father than both parents. Indeed, Ariel looked a lot like him: her soft jaw, her low cheekbones, her heart-shaped face, thin shoulders, and limbs that were just a little bit too long, and left them with something of a gangly walk. There had been many a time- particularly when she was younger- where Ariel would have liked very much to deny the resemblance, but there was no doubt that she was her father's daughter. Sometimes this similarity leaked into her personality, and into her sisters'; the insult "you're acting like Dad" had been thrown at each other in most spats between the O'Halloran girls.
Things had calmed down as they'd all grown older, though, for the most part. There was still some trouble, but they were all adults now, practically, and their father's parental role had nearly finished. Not so much that he would be okay with Ariel driving off for a midnight swim without his knowledge, of course, but that was really half of the fun of it.
Driving at night was relaxing. There were hardly any other cars on the road, and if there was anyone walking around outside, she couldn't see them. Most of the houses and buildings that she passed were dark, and the few that were lit were dim, silent, and shut off from the world. It was easy to feel like there was no one but Ariel herself in the world- everyone else was too quiet, too still, and they were gone, as far as she cared. No more expectations, curfews, rules, laws, no friends, no family. Not exactly a world that she would love to live in- far from it- but it was nice to pass through the place, in the car. The silence was welcome, for a few minutes. Then it was boring, old, stale, and replaced as Ariel pushed the radio on. The transition was jarring- even though she'd turned the sound on, she hadn't expected it to be that loud. She spun the volume down, and took a moment to glance at the number that represented it. Seven. Much lower than she would ever allow for in the day time, or her sisters would. Funny how everything adhered to just being quieter while the diurnal world slept.
Though it was quiet in the moments between parking the car, turning it off, and gathering her stuff, Ariel was more enveloped by the silence again when she got out of the vehicle and locked it. No seagulls now, no other people, just the susurrus of the ocean beyond the sand, and her quiet footsteps in it. Ariel got close to the shore before she stopped, and dropped her things; a towel, a bag with her phone, her wallet, and other little things, her shoes, and her clothes as the woman stripped to her swimwear below. Then she continued to the water, and stepped in, and pretended that the water lapped at her legs like the handshake of an old friend, or the excited, jumpy greeting of a puppy- if nothing else, it helped to distract from just how cold the water was at this time of night, despite the nice weather during the day. After several moments of working her way in to the sea, Ariel was more or less submerged. She took a step back and her breath, and dove under, and swam. She preferred the ocean so much to her campus' pool, particularly when it was empty like this. Yet it never lost the sense that it was teeming with life, a feeling only added by the mystery afforded by the lack of sight; Ariel could get lost swimming, and particularly when she swam alone in the ocean, and could ignore passing boats and the houses and people she swam by on the beach.
So of course, Ariel snuck out, after curfew, without her father's permission or knowledge, and went past the radius he'd asked her to stay in. A rebellious streak that hadn't died down at twenty one, was all. She was old enough to vote, to drink, to be sent to war, Ariel reasoned with herself. She was old enough to do nearly anything that she wanted to. She would just have to show her father that this was the case. It was a juvenile way to deal with it, sure, but Ariel could only assume that it would work. After all- it never had in the past. Why not assume that that all changes now? And so this Saturday night was similar enough to many before, and it would be to many after. Once the house was silent, the young woman grabbed whatever she thought she would need- phone, wallet, shoes- and, quietly, exited through the back door. She climbed into a car- there were two, now, in the driveway, shared between her sisters and her father and herself; when all seven girls had been at home, and able to drive, there had been four to share- and tied up her red hair.
It, like most of Ariel's looks, had been inherited from her father. Well, and her mother- red hair, especially this vibrant, and blue eyes both were recessive traits. But her mother had passed, at a young age, and Ariel couldn't remember much about her- a few vague memories, all happy, but distant, and so she attributed her traits more to her father than both parents. Indeed, Ariel looked a lot like him: her soft jaw, her low cheekbones, her heart-shaped face, thin shoulders, and limbs that were just a little bit too long, and left them with something of a gangly walk. There had been many a time- particularly when she was younger- where Ariel would have liked very much to deny the resemblance, but there was no doubt that she was her father's daughter. Sometimes this similarity leaked into her personality, and into her sisters'; the insult "you're acting like Dad" had been thrown at each other in most spats between the O'Halloran girls.
Things had calmed down as they'd all grown older, though, for the most part. There was still some trouble, but they were all adults now, practically, and their father's parental role had nearly finished. Not so much that he would be okay with Ariel driving off for a midnight swim without his knowledge, of course, but that was really half of the fun of it.
Driving at night was relaxing. There were hardly any other cars on the road, and if there was anyone walking around outside, she couldn't see them. Most of the houses and buildings that she passed were dark, and the few that were lit were dim, silent, and shut off from the world. It was easy to feel like there was no one but Ariel herself in the world- everyone else was too quiet, too still, and they were gone, as far as she cared. No more expectations, curfews, rules, laws, no friends, no family. Not exactly a world that she would love to live in- far from it- but it was nice to pass through the place, in the car. The silence was welcome, for a few minutes. Then it was boring, old, stale, and replaced as Ariel pushed the radio on. The transition was jarring- even though she'd turned the sound on, she hadn't expected it to be that loud. She spun the volume down, and took a moment to glance at the number that represented it. Seven. Much lower than she would ever allow for in the day time, or her sisters would. Funny how everything adhered to just being quieter while the diurnal world slept.
Though it was quiet in the moments between parking the car, turning it off, and gathering her stuff, Ariel was more enveloped by the silence again when she got out of the vehicle and locked it. No seagulls now, no other people, just the susurrus of the ocean beyond the sand, and her quiet footsteps in it. Ariel got close to the shore before she stopped, and dropped her things; a towel, a bag with her phone, her wallet, and other little things, her shoes, and her clothes as the woman stripped to her swimwear below. Then she continued to the water, and stepped in, and pretended that the water lapped at her legs like the handshake of an old friend, or the excited, jumpy greeting of a puppy- if nothing else, it helped to distract from just how cold the water was at this time of night, despite the nice weather during the day. After several moments of working her way in to the sea, Ariel was more or less submerged. She took a step back and her breath, and dove under, and swam. She preferred the ocean so much to her campus' pool, particularly when it was empty like this. Yet it never lost the sense that it was teeming with life, a feeling only added by the mystery afforded by the lack of sight; Ariel could get lost swimming, and particularly when she swam alone in the ocean, and could ignore passing boats and the houses and people she swam by on the beach.
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Cold. That was the first thing that registered in Eric's mind as he continued to flail through the water. Waves washed over and around him, their darkness overshadowing the moon that hung high in the sky. Wind whipped here and there, thrashing the young man until his head dunked back under water. He gasped for air as he came back up, sputtering and coughing as the salty tang of the salt water coated his mouth and throat. His eyes burned, just as his chest burned with a fire that seemed to try and quench the cold sensation of the water he was beginning to feel.
Was he going to die? Was this going to be the end of his life, dying out in the middle of the ocean, alone, cold, out doing something he had no business doing alone and in the middle of the night no less? Another cough came from his throat as he turned his head and looked to where his sailboat now rocked, the side broken with splintered wood from the rock that he had accidentally crashed into, the one that he had been unable to avoid in the short amount of time that he had first spotted it. The boat started to lean from the water seeping into it, a groaning sound coming from the lines and wood of it as it dipped, tried to stay afloat, but ultimately ended up tipping over and falling on it's side, sending another wave Eric's way. He tried to keep his head above as he braced himself, but when he jerked his right arm, putting pressure on his back, he grimaced with the pain that came to him, a hurt that caused him to hesitate, that moments hesitation causing him to go back under.
Blood seeped from the scrape on his shoulder that caused the pain, a scrape that had come from the rock he landed on as he was thrown overboard, the impact having nearly knocked him unconscious. Thank God it hadn't done that. He wanted to yell for help; he looked towards where he had come from but could see hardly anything but a few streetlights that were nothing more than speck like stars in the distance. Besides, even if he wanted to yell, he didn't think he would be able to. With his ragged breath, it was getting harder for him to breath, let alone try to yell for help, but what else could he do?
His dark hair clung to his face, his blue eyes were wide with fright, his fair skin paled, and the clothes on his body stuck to his skin, showing his toned physique. Grimsby and Carlotta often told him that he looked like the spitting image of his father with his mother's eyes, and while he has seem pictures of them, he cannot recall any memories of them, having lost them to the sea when he was young, too young to remember them.
He ended up in the ocean that night out of a rash decision, a decision that he now regretted, but one he, at the time, thought was perfect. Sitting in his bedroom on his bed, looking out into the dark ocean that mirrored the sky above it, the ache of getting out on the water, by himself, and enveloping himself in the salt twinged night air with the water lapping around him and his boat, had become such an urge to him that he had to do it. He had to take the chance, the chance to see how good of a sailor he truly was; after all, how could he say he was good, how could he say he was good enough to continue to use the scholarship he acquired for college, and how could he call himself one of the best on the sailing team if he couldn't navigate his way in the dark with only the stars to guide his way and with only his instincts to keep him alive?
Well, his instincts surely hadn't done him any good, nor had the light from the moon and the stars done him any good. The rock had come out of nowhere, hidden in the waves and under the water, but at that one point when the water receded and he spotted it, it was too late to turn around. It was too late to get out of the way, and like the Titanic rubbing against the iceberg that caused its demise, the rock had done to his. Grimsby was going to kill him when, or if, he got out of this.
And now he found himself in the water, afraid, cold, and growing tired. His lungs were beginning to choke with water, and when he went under again, this time he was unable to get himself back up. His mouth opened, sucking in water on accident, but that had done him in. His eyes closed, his lungs sputtered, and soon things turned dark as his limp body started to move along with the ocean, closer to the shore. Unconscious.
Was he going to die? Was this going to be the end of his life, dying out in the middle of the ocean, alone, cold, out doing something he had no business doing alone and in the middle of the night no less? Another cough came from his throat as he turned his head and looked to where his sailboat now rocked, the side broken with splintered wood from the rock that he had accidentally crashed into, the one that he had been unable to avoid in the short amount of time that he had first spotted it. The boat started to lean from the water seeping into it, a groaning sound coming from the lines and wood of it as it dipped, tried to stay afloat, but ultimately ended up tipping over and falling on it's side, sending another wave Eric's way. He tried to keep his head above as he braced himself, but when he jerked his right arm, putting pressure on his back, he grimaced with the pain that came to him, a hurt that caused him to hesitate, that moments hesitation causing him to go back under.
Blood seeped from the scrape on his shoulder that caused the pain, a scrape that had come from the rock he landed on as he was thrown overboard, the impact having nearly knocked him unconscious. Thank God it hadn't done that. He wanted to yell for help; he looked towards where he had come from but could see hardly anything but a few streetlights that were nothing more than speck like stars in the distance. Besides, even if he wanted to yell, he didn't think he would be able to. With his ragged breath, it was getting harder for him to breath, let alone try to yell for help, but what else could he do?
His dark hair clung to his face, his blue eyes were wide with fright, his fair skin paled, and the clothes on his body stuck to his skin, showing his toned physique. Grimsby and Carlotta often told him that he looked like the spitting image of his father with his mother's eyes, and while he has seem pictures of them, he cannot recall any memories of them, having lost them to the sea when he was young, too young to remember them.
He ended up in the ocean that night out of a rash decision, a decision that he now regretted, but one he, at the time, thought was perfect. Sitting in his bedroom on his bed, looking out into the dark ocean that mirrored the sky above it, the ache of getting out on the water, by himself, and enveloping himself in the salt twinged night air with the water lapping around him and his boat, had become such an urge to him that he had to do it. He had to take the chance, the chance to see how good of a sailor he truly was; after all, how could he say he was good, how could he say he was good enough to continue to use the scholarship he acquired for college, and how could he call himself one of the best on the sailing team if he couldn't navigate his way in the dark with only the stars to guide his way and with only his instincts to keep him alive?
Well, his instincts surely hadn't done him any good, nor had the light from the moon and the stars done him any good. The rock had come out of nowhere, hidden in the waves and under the water, but at that one point when the water receded and he spotted it, it was too late to turn around. It was too late to get out of the way, and like the Titanic rubbing against the iceberg that caused its demise, the rock had done to his. Grimsby was going to kill him when, or if, he got out of this.
And now he found himself in the water, afraid, cold, and growing tired. His lungs were beginning to choke with water, and when he went under again, this time he was unable to get himself back up. His mouth opened, sucking in water on accident, but that had done him in. His eyes closed, his lungs sputtered, and soon things turned dark as his limp body started to move along with the ocean, closer to the shore. Unconscious.
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There was something very refreshing about the ocean at night. It wasn't quiet by any means, but it was much less busy than during the day, certainly. Ariel couldn't help her own splashing, and that sort of ruined the vision that she was going for, but if she just lean back and floated for a few minutes, she would hear the wind, the waves, the quiet flaps of the occasional late night seagull... Even her own pulse when her ears went under the water sounded less like a part of her, and more like a part of the world around her.
There was a latent fear of floating out too far and getting lost, though, particularly at night. Ariel might have been stubborn, reckless, and rebellious, but she wasn't going to be stupid about it. Particularly not when no one knew that she was out here. The beach was only a lighter shade of navy from the water; if she got too far, even that would be hard to tell, and she'd be lost forever. Much as the sea appealed to her, it wasn't exactly worth her life... Though Ariel would have given just about anything for a days-long seaside voyage, or something of the sort. Or deep sea diving, or... The possibilities weren't exactly endless, but they were enough. Not to mention that the water was sort of refreshing, particularly when it was as cold as it was on nights like these. Chilly, but not so cold as to be freezing. Admittedly, Ariel preferred the warmer nights a bit herself, but just about anything would do, she could tell herself on the nights that didn't send her home freezing.
Of course, she couldn't just float around forever. Every so often, she would tread, get her bearings, glance around, and maybe swim a bit more actively so as to keep herself warm. It was during one of these instances that she saw it- a small boat had hit a rock. There was something off looking about it, really, and Ariel had to swim a little closer to understand quite what she was seeing, and why it looked so wrong. She wasn't very far at all when she finally understood what it was that she was looking at, and only a moment later that she realized someone had to have been sailing the thing, and where the hell were they?
And it was further luck and coincidence that Ariel managed to find the young man. She had just started swimming around, and looking, and managed to find him. He didn't seem to struggle or swim at all, and she was terrified- what if she was too late? What if that was a corpse she was swimming after? The thought twisted her stomach, but not enough to make her swim away from him. At least he wouldn't be missing and looked for like this.
The worst part about the cold water that she had enjoyed so much was that she couldn't tell why he was cold. Did bodies chill that quickly, even? Or was he alive, fine, and just chilled from the water? The girl found herself breathing fast. Between that and carrying a body, oh god, a body, it was suddenly much harder to swim. She was farther from shore than she thought, too, but adrenaline helped- how long did it take her to get to the beach? Seconds? Minutes? Half an hour? Ariel couldn't tell. She just dragged the body to shore, and pulled it up as far as she could, then up a bit further. And then.... What? What did someone do with a body? She'd left her phone with her stuff, which was a ways down the beach. Biting her lip, Ariel leaned him on his back, and tilted his head to one side, and tried pressing on his chest, lightly.
He spit out some water. That was a good sign, right? She tried again, until there wasn't any more water, but that didn't mean much of anything. Ariel didn't know how to give CPR, or how to save someone who had drowned, or nearly anything, really. She blinked, then leaned down and pressed an ear against his chest. Well- there was a heartbeat, that was good, and... Was that breathing? Maybe. She didn't know. She stood, and she stepped over him, carefully, then ran. The sand was difficult to run against, but it didn't feel like too long before she fell against her bag of things, yet it felt like it was too long that she spent fumbling for her phone, and dialing the emergency number.
The conversation wasn't memorable. Ariel picked her things up and returned to the boy, just to sit and watch him breathe. It was, stereotypical as it sounded, serene; he looked more like he was just asleep, and there was just something appealing about the image. It was nerve wracking, too, as the minutes crawled by. Ariel sat, and dried, and eventually dressed. She even managed to finger comb her hair while she sat and waited, either for the ambulance or for the man to stir.
There was a latent fear of floating out too far and getting lost, though, particularly at night. Ariel might have been stubborn, reckless, and rebellious, but she wasn't going to be stupid about it. Particularly not when no one knew that she was out here. The beach was only a lighter shade of navy from the water; if she got too far, even that would be hard to tell, and she'd be lost forever. Much as the sea appealed to her, it wasn't exactly worth her life... Though Ariel would have given just about anything for a days-long seaside voyage, or something of the sort. Or deep sea diving, or... The possibilities weren't exactly endless, but they were enough. Not to mention that the water was sort of refreshing, particularly when it was as cold as it was on nights like these. Chilly, but not so cold as to be freezing. Admittedly, Ariel preferred the warmer nights a bit herself, but just about anything would do, she could tell herself on the nights that didn't send her home freezing.
Of course, she couldn't just float around forever. Every so often, she would tread, get her bearings, glance around, and maybe swim a bit more actively so as to keep herself warm. It was during one of these instances that she saw it- a small boat had hit a rock. There was something off looking about it, really, and Ariel had to swim a little closer to understand quite what she was seeing, and why it looked so wrong. She wasn't very far at all when she finally understood what it was that she was looking at, and only a moment later that she realized someone had to have been sailing the thing, and where the hell were they?
And it was further luck and coincidence that Ariel managed to find the young man. She had just started swimming around, and looking, and managed to find him. He didn't seem to struggle or swim at all, and she was terrified- what if she was too late? What if that was a corpse she was swimming after? The thought twisted her stomach, but not enough to make her swim away from him. At least he wouldn't be missing and looked for like this.
The worst part about the cold water that she had enjoyed so much was that she couldn't tell why he was cold. Did bodies chill that quickly, even? Or was he alive, fine, and just chilled from the water? The girl found herself breathing fast. Between that and carrying a body, oh god, a body, it was suddenly much harder to swim. She was farther from shore than she thought, too, but adrenaline helped- how long did it take her to get to the beach? Seconds? Minutes? Half an hour? Ariel couldn't tell. She just dragged the body to shore, and pulled it up as far as she could, then up a bit further. And then.... What? What did someone do with a body? She'd left her phone with her stuff, which was a ways down the beach. Biting her lip, Ariel leaned him on his back, and tilted his head to one side, and tried pressing on his chest, lightly.
He spit out some water. That was a good sign, right? She tried again, until there wasn't any more water, but that didn't mean much of anything. Ariel didn't know how to give CPR, or how to save someone who had drowned, or nearly anything, really. She blinked, then leaned down and pressed an ear against his chest. Well- there was a heartbeat, that was good, and... Was that breathing? Maybe. She didn't know. She stood, and she stepped over him, carefully, then ran. The sand was difficult to run against, but it didn't feel like too long before she fell against her bag of things, yet it felt like it was too long that she spent fumbling for her phone, and dialing the emergency number.
The conversation wasn't memorable. Ariel picked her things up and returned to the boy, just to sit and watch him breathe. It was, stereotypical as it sounded, serene; he looked more like he was just asleep, and there was just something appealing about the image. It was nerve wracking, too, as the minutes crawled by. Ariel sat, and dried, and eventually dressed. She even managed to finger comb her hair while she sat and waited, either for the ambulance or for the man to stir.
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