Lost in the Sea PV — Julien Morte

"𝕿hat was unexpected,” Benjamin wipes his forehead with a towel, then hands a clean one to Julien. “Let that be another lesson of how unpredictable the ocean can be.”

The Peregrine had just experienced a storm—an unforeseen one at that. The winds turned quite suddenly, Benjamin could only slow down enough to get them staying right outside the radius. Luckily there isn't any noticeable structural damage, just some soaked outfits and a five hour delay to their schedule, which was borderline nonexistent in the first place. Julien nods in response to his uncle’s “lesson”, despite having learned that one ages ago. It’s his and probably anyone’s first rule of sailing: do not underestimate the seas. The boy dries himself and wraps the towel around his neck, then returns to his favorite spot on The Peregrine—the bow. Witnessing the vessel cut through deep blue waves first-hand felt majestic; both the wind brushing against his face and the vision of separating water contribute to that bliss.

Beatrice and Javier decided that the storm was enough work for the day, so Julien didn’t have to study anymore. They already had no strict curriculum, so it wasn’t unusual for their son to get a day off due to random encounters or mood changes. Watching the clouds ahead start to clear, Julien stretches his back and lets out a relaxed sigh. He sometimes imagined what attending a magical academy would entail, could he ever get used to more structured methods of learning? The thought disintegrates with a firm dip of his neck. The boy's parents explained to him before, public schooling was too dangerous, the Mortes would be almost guaranteed to find him. Julien didn’t particularly want to go to Beauxbatons or anywhere else, a sailor’s life was perfectly fine, he loved it; but that cannot stop a young boy's imagination from making up alternate universes where he had a group of loyal friends like the captains in his storybooks, or another one where he received formal education and became an Auror—much like his uncle Ben's old dream.

As the sun rose a few more degrees, The Peregrine entered where the heart of the storm once ravaged through. Debris floats around them at varying distances, as if a nasty shipwreck occurred sometime in the night. Beatrice sighed with melancholy, Javier remained silent, and Benjamin kept steering. Nobody stopped Julien when he slightly leaned over the railings to get a closer look of the scene. It’s not some macabre interest, the boy simply wishes to learn more about the seas, even its unpleasant faces. There weren’t any victims immediately visible, and Julien isn't looking for them. He tries his best to analyze the wreckage, in attempt to figure out how a motor vessel—by the looks of the material—broke down to such a mess.

Just as The Peregrine was about to exit the horrid area, a reflective surface almost blinded Julien’s view. He squints, trying to make out the irregular shape that blocked some of the light, the thing attached to the debris but certainly isn't metallic. His upper body was almost hanging off the railings as he leaned even more forward, finally prompting Javier to knock on the inside of the window he had been observing his son from. The reminder didn’t reach Julien at all, as the boy’s attention is completely hooked by the unidentified object. Only after the ship started putting more distance between itself and the debris did he realize with a violent jolt what that was.

“Tonton!” Julien calls out to his uncle with the loudest shout he could muster, “There’s a person, port side!” He immediately felt the ship turn, though not abrupt enough to swing him off the railing, just the right amount to toss his breakfast upwards. Javier had come out from under the deck and started passing on Julien’s directions to Benjamin until the latter could see the large piece of metal himself. Julien stepped forward, wanting to look closer as they pulled over, but Javier blocked the boy’s view while Benjamin steps away from the helm to observe the body. Julien only heard some scattered phrases being muttered, “no signs” of something, whether the continuation is “life” or “decay” is obstructed. Whatever the case, Benjamin darts off to ready a raft and Javier follows him. Beatrice finally caught on to the situation and joins the effort, leaving the kid uncharacteristically clueless. He helped out on the ship before; manual labor, cooking, even some basic levels of navigation . . . you name it. Now there’s someone’s life involved. The stakes are too high for a ten-year-old to meddle in.

Julien finds out quickly that minutes tend to pass in seconds when there's nothing to do. From his perspective, the body was moved onto the ship in the blink of an eye, despite obviously being an exaggerated perception. He could finally see the person clearly, a boy around the same age as him, a couple years' difference at most. That makes Julien a bit uneasy, but he quickly recites another rule of sailing: remember that the seas are equal to all. The boy has dark hair, fair skin, and a more pointed nose than his. He possesses European features, though not from the part of the continent Julien’s familiar with.

“Poor boy.” Julien hears his mother mutter under her breath after Javier removed the boy’s wet clothes. She then silently reassures herself and wraps a bigger towel around his body. Benjamin gives her a look of perplexity, taking out his wand in preparation to cast the Hot-Air Charm. Beatrice wastes no time to grip his wrist as tight as her strength allows, then whispers sternly while staring straight into his soul with an unmistakable warning in her green eyes, “Why do you think we’ve been using muggle methods to clean ourselves all this time? Do you want to get killed?”

“The boy is dying Bea! Are you really asking me to prioritize something not immediately threatened over this shivering kid?” Julien raised his eyebrows, noting that his uncle seemed disappointed by his younger sister's unwillingness to help in the most efficient way. Benjamin tugs off her hand, casts the spell to warm up the unconscious boy, then tries to ignore the piercing glare shot his way by ordering Julien to go fetch some of his clothes for this boy to change into.

“May the high seas have mercy on thee,” Julien mutters as he returned while hugging a dark blue hoodie embroidered with wave-like patterns. One of his favorites, but for that same reason it always sits on the top of the stack, and Julien had no intention of delaying the boy's access to warm clothes just to look through the pile for something he’d be more willing to part with. At least it’s not one of his cooler outfits, just a mundane hoodie used mainly for blending in with muggles.

After re-examining his vitals and making sure there weren't any water retained in his lungs, the boy—now wearing the hoodie that fit surprisingly well—was moved below deck and tucked into a blanket near their enchanted fireplace. Julien sits himself down less than a pace away from him, his neck extending subconsciously towards the boy's face. As embarrassing and guilty it is to admit, Julien is quite excited to meet a kid near his age, even under this unfortunate circumstance. His gaze is glued onto the boy's shut eyelids, silently guessing what color the hidden irises are.

language: "Tonton" means "uncle" in French.
ooc: "letsgooooooooo"

𝕭rown. Darker than the hair, but unmistakably brown. Julien had guessed hazel, as he subconsciously associated the boy's unusual encounter with an equally rare eye color, but the reality of brown irises do not disappoint at all. The boy's dark brown eyes are filled with caution, borderline suspicion, though not to the point of hostility.

A few seconds were shared in silence before the Fols noticed the return of their guest's wakefulness. Beatrice rushes over first, kneeling next to the boy and repeatedly asking how he is feeling in French before Javier stepped in and asked the same question in English. Beatrice smiled awkwardly at her husband, muttering under her breath about how she was too anxious to think about potential language barriers. Javier pats his wife's shoulder, then looks back at the kid awaiting his response. However, Julien was the one who held the boy's gaze, which contained such intensity that he felt obligated to answer the question not asked out loud.

"We found you in a wreck," Julien started, "I'm Julien, they are my parents Beatrice and—well, 'Dad'. And he is my uncle Ben. I saw you first, uncle Ben sailed over to you and everyone else helped to get you on the boat. That hoodie is mine . . . but you can keep it." he pointed to each person as he mentioned them, deciding to omit his father's name in case the boy has any association with the Morte family. Then, he continued on explaining the situation with as much simplicity as he can: "We saw nobody else. Also no bodies. Only you were on a piece of metal, your ship was ruined when we got there." Julien's English has a notable French accent, with some sprinkles of Spanish he picked up from his father mixed in the depths for only the trained ear to hear. The family primarily uses French, and even though English is a universal language they speak in most ports, sophistication is not their main concern. As long as the meaning gets across, Julien's language homework would be judged as a pass. Sometimes, however, the boy blurts out an old fashioned sentence or two from the adventure books he read, giving people the impression that he came from either nobility or a different time, or that he's just crazy.

"We don't actually know if that's the whole ship." Benjamin spoke up in his naturally lower voice which the hulking bear of a man can manipulate to either soothe or intimidate, and today's circumstances call for the former option. "May just be parts of it. Other sections might've had more time before breaking down." The matter-of-factness of Benjamin's clarification emphasizes his professionalism. Like he is merely teaching another lesson of sailing to a beginner, his voice is not at all shaking despite the grimness of the subject. His grey-blue eyes look like cold gemstones on his angular face, his light brown hair not providing the usual warmth it emanates.

"Or maybe they just didn't break! That's possible, right? To lose a portion of the ship and keep going?" Beatrice's beautiful green eyes widened at her brother's hesitance to answer. She bit her lips and pat the poor boy on the shoulder, like the comforting gesture her husband had done to her mere moments ago, "Who did you come with? Did you see them before you got separated?"

Julien shudders at the thought that this boy's family is still somewhere in the ocean. Everyone he loves is on this ship, aside from the occasional uncles and aunt he sees when visiting Marseille. He cannot fathom being separated from them, and to think of their death—that's a reality he would never want to visit. The eye contact is still maintained, at least on Julien's part. He stares at the boy's face in search of an emotion, any information he can work with to shift the tone of the conversation if the boy didn't want to answer or started panicking due to any fearful memories.

ooc: "letsgooooooooo*2"

𝕬fter the boy said that he was still cold, Beatrice immediately turned to her husband, "Go get him another blanket, dear." She then rubbed a hand on the boy's back to try and warm him up as Julien started explaining the situation, again without using the Hot Air Charm, earning herself another look from Benjamin.

As his uncle clarified what they knew about the ship's current state, Julien noticed that the boy's brown eyes blurred under a watery veil. Then a sniffle, then streams of tears overflowing and leaking down his cheeks after another pat from a concerned Beatrice. The additional blanket arrived shortly after, silently wrapped around the boy's shoulders by Javier.

Ah, he wasn't even in the same room with his parents when the accident happened . . . where were they? No matter now, but Crete? Sicily?

Barely containing his own sympathetic tears, Julien stood up abruptly at the boy's last question. "Don't you worry kiddo." That was something his uncle said pretty often to rid him of his worries, so Julien chose to use it now despite being no more than a kid himself. "Sicily, right? Uncle Ben knows where that is. He can sail there with his eyes closed."

"I cannot." Benjamin corrected his nephew with a faint smile, "But I can get us there if you allow me to keep my eyes open." He glanced at his sister for confirmation, and nodded when she agreed with a sense of urgency. They have no other place to take the boy, after all. The subtle smile from making a joke remains, but his tone shifted into a more serious one. "When we went down to pull you from the wreck, I detected minor remnants of magic—yes, we are wizards. Spared a glance long enough to find some old wards on the metal scraps once a part of the ship, probably near the engine room to prevent overheating or the opposite. The wards had scratches on them . . . well, the blank parts of the platings did too. Ship must be old, no longer receiving repair funds from whatever company or private family it belonged to." Something was muttered under his breath in French, Julien only barely picked parts of it up: "Damage on the wards . . . newer . . . atypical . . . " Realizing that he got distracted by his own thoughts and might have also been a bit too technical with the details, Benjamin took a deep breath and clapped his hands together to focus, "What I mean to say is . . . just to know what, or rather who to expect, can you tell us your name? At least your family name."

Julien understood immediately why his uncle asked that. Even though he didn't look Spanish, what if the boy was somehow affiliated with the Morte family? Javier did mention that they have many connections with Durmstrang students and alumi, maybe this boy is from Eastern Europe? His parents seem to have caught on to the risk too. Javier looked away, almost like a flinch. He gulped but restrained the urge to back away, still kneeling near the boy after putting that blanket around him. Dad had not been with the Morte family for so long, what if he doesn't know all the families they built relationships with? What if this poor boy is, unluckily, on a social vacation with the very people we've been trying to avoid since before I was born? What if as we come ashore, men in black swarm us and take us to—what if this was a trap all along? Julien tried to smile comfortingly at the boy, though he can feel it himself, it is crooked. He never had the talent of faking smiles.

"Hey kid, you know what? Let's make this fair." Benjamin pointed at himself, "I'm Benjamin Fol. Ever heard of the Fol family? A group of unorthodox pure-bloods from the origin of our bloodline, just wanderers wandering wherever we want to wander. If you don't wanna be a wanderer, that's fine too. My two little brothers are a courtroom archivist and an artist, neither are as physical as us."

Beatrice's mouth almost opened to the size of a Golden Snitch, then she closed it back up realizing her brother's intention. She smiled impeccably at the still-unknown boy, "Benjamin's my brother, as you might remember hearing from Julien just now. I'm Beatrice Fol, this is my husband Xavier Fol. He's a muggle and took my name after our marriage because he thought it was an interesting word to use as a surname. You know what it means? It means 'fool' or 'madman' in French." Javier didn't talk, his eyes still fixed on somewhere else. He cannot bear to look at the boy with the thought that he might have relationships with the Morte family, even if his inability to look him straight in the eyes made him more suspicious. It's a reflex developed after years of living in that cursed mansion in Toledo.

"And I'm Julien! Oh wait, I already said that. I meant to say that I'm Julien Fol! This ship is The Peregrine. We've been on here for most of my life! Nice to meet you, uh . . . " The hesitant pause was intentional. It felt weird prompting a response out of someone with manipulated speech, but Julien also knew why everyone was emphasizing their last name being Fol. The Fols are not associated with Javier's runaway yet, as far as they know, so it is a safer alternative to making up a name and ultimately getting the mask ripped. The creation of Xavier, on the other hand, was a necessary diversion. Julien hated himself for not thinking of that earlier. Why did I just introduce him as "dad"? That must've been weird . . . No point in dwelling on past mistakes now, Julien concentrated his gaze back on the boy, peering through his tear-glazed eyes in attempt to identify the nature of his soul, expectantly awaiting an answer.

Hopefully one that relaxes The Peregrine's suddenly tense air.

Julien had no idea what the adults would do if the boy is proven to be a threat to their safety. He really wanted to meet someone his age without it turning sour.

He really wanted a friend.

ooc: "letsgooooooooooooooooooo*3"