Chapter 0 - Love through the sea and air

In a world only vaguely like our own, a great sea existed. Land was far and few between and light and shadow were mere play things for the people at the top of the world. What people would consider gods or Super there, were merely unlikely rather than impossible. Powerful people, able to fell cities with their hands or raise forests in a moment. The weird and esoteric dominated. 

But it wasn’t a harsh edge. There was bad, as oh so there is in nearly every existence, but it wasn’t all consuming. Upon this land and in existence rested a simple man. He was currently playing the piano in the long night on his ship as it sailed the 12 seas. There use to be 13 but well, that’s a story for another time. 

It was a slow melody, chancing upon the outskirts of the song like rain at the edge of your hearing, tinkling through your brain like shards of crystal dropped on ceramic. It carried with it the feeling of wind and as he continued, it built. 

Soon the sounds changed from a tinkle of rain and wind to a breeze on the ocean waves, reverberating in a way reminiscent of the tides. Music, as one says, is the echo of the soul but oh so few people realize that there's so many ways to reach through it.  A man need not hear a song to remember its melody, a musician must first imagine a piece before he can even begin to create it, and nature’s sounds are just as beautiful, if not more so, than the grandest symphonies. The Player, a mantle he donned with pride, had even once known someone that through simple writing, could cause music to flow through his ears. No magic, no power, nothing extra, merely the words of a man. He had a library dedicated purely to him. 

As the Player reminisced on those songs he once heard through his eyes, he changed the beat still. From an ocean's calm waves and a sea breeze to a calm collision, a story of reaching an endpoint. The waters having continued until they had found land and begun to lap at the beach. A short trip, from calm waters to land, but not all of life's journeys are measured even in days. Sometimes the most potent of or calmest of trips can be over in mere hours. 

There was a hitch and his own music surprised him. It seems the melody wasn’t yet done. 

Suddenly, a jaunty tune began to play and it was as if a rambunctious group of sailors had met a port and were having a party. From the calm beach to the rumbling port, the music continued. It waved and waxed, as if a seagull flying over the men's heads while the light of sun shined brightly. Soon, the tone changed, mellower but more peaceful, like an old grandpa watching his kids play at a park with their own kids. Ah, the seagull had flown over the nearby town. 

This one would be interesting. 

The song came to an end, as the seagull landed on a perch. The Player smiled, knowing he might need to get someone a new house. 

And as the song came to a rest, like a peaceful landing, his ship moved. 

And he found himself in a town. 

“Captain! We’ve arrived! You’ve done it again!” 

The Player laughed quietly to himself. At first, he had been bitter, beyond bitter, about his own music. They called him ridiculous things like “The Teleporting Pirate”. Nonsense. Is walking teleportation? Is food just sustenance? Is a life just a word? No. He was just a player. That was all. His music traveled and so did he too go with it, bringing along those that would like to. 

Nowadays, he found it more than a little amusing. His crew understood that he wasn’t just using some power. He was playing a song. His smile became a little sad though. The music of the waves crashing along the beach had been… choppy. Too, murky. As if there was a bit more dredge than there should be unless the waters nearby were thick. He could not deny it to himself anymore. He was lonely. Oh so lonely. He yearned for someone who didn’t just understand him, as rare as even that was. No, he yearned for a true partner, someone that felt it like he did. The music, the soul, the mere join in simply being the player. It’s not that he didn’t consider himself a musician per se, but that missed the point. He was not grand, he didn’t care about titles, he didn’t lavish in his own abilities like a dog rolling around in his own filth or a king taking a bath in gold coins. No, he was merely the instrument that greatness truly came out and he was always happy to see what it was going to be. 

That, that’s what he wanted. Someone who for them, music wasn’t just part of their own soul, but a connection to something greater. A mouth, from which true greatness shined. In short, he wanted a more humble composer who felt like he had when first finding the arts and continued to revel in. He was not enough above dog wallowing, it just wasn’t in himself that he did so. 

Sadly, such a lady, and yes, it did have to be lady despite what his crew liked to insinuate, was hard to find. He had searched and searched and came across many beautiful poets, songstresses, performers, and even a few players here and there. Sadly, they were all, missing the eternal song he knew and felt. They were, hmm, they were two incompatible songs. He didn’t know why, just that he knew how he felt. 

Sigh 

He grumbled with more annoyance, as even his sigh had accidentally brought him forward. A music travels and he with it. He just sometimes wished that he would only sing happy songs. But life is full of ups and downs. He would gladly accept some downs as long as he suffered no more tragedies. The music from them, always appalling, always lingering, always inescapable. Music is the expression of the soul and if the soul suffers, so too will the music. He found it beautiful in a way. Even music born from pure tragedy, can aid others in their own. Like a helping hand with scars reaching down to help lift you up while yours are still bleeding. He owned more than a few musicians his life, a few times over. 

He was getting lost in his own thoughts. He whistled and appeared outside his ship, underneath the sun, where his crew was waiting for him. 

“Captain! Glad to see you could join us you old bag of bones.” 

“Yeah, busy writing saucy poems again? We gonna accidentally end up in a succubus’s lair this time?” 

He blushed at that. Damn it, would they let it go? A succubus lair? Come on now, they only accidentally arrived inside a whore house the one time as he let his mind wander. It wasn’t that big a deal! 

“Oh I’d much rather he put us in front of a bakery like the last time.” 

“Bah, you and your stomach. Where’s your sense of fine wine and adventure? You’re going to get even fatter at this rate!” 

“Bah, you wouldn’t know a fine wine if it hit you over the head. I would know. I’ve seen it happen more than twice.” 

“Bah!” 

“Captain.” His second in command called out to him. “Why are we in a house?” 

What. The Player looked back and nearly grimaced, but kept his face reigned in. He didn’t need them to go on and on about this again like the last time he had made a mistake. It seems his loneliness was a little more pressing than he thought as his ship was partially inside someone's house. He instantly knew why they had landed here of all places. It was home. Not his home but someone’s home, that was for sure. And that was what a partner meant to him didn’t it? The end of loneliness, of finding a proper home, of being at peace. His crew was his family, but in the ways of brothers and sisters. This was a husband and wife’s aboad. 

“Peace and relaxation I guess.” 

They all knew it was at least a partial lie but that was the point. He wasn’t going to outright lie to his own crew, that way lied madness and sadness. 

The rest of the day proceeded smoothly, as his crew got to work fixing the house and paying for damages. He had luckily found some like-minded music lovers who doubled as carpenters and woodworkers early on in his life or he would have had it far worse. 

The rest of the day proceeded smoothly, with them turning in the bounty for a sea beast they had caught. It was a casual and normal day and perhaps that was the problem. It gave him time to think and dwell and hope and wish. The feelings of loneliness only came on stronger. He was already dreading having to play later today. His crew would know exactly how he felt, as they always did, and he didn’t want to bog them down with his own feelings. 

As he was walking out of the magister's house, however, he heard something. It was a violin but that wasn’t what had caught his ears. No. The music was, he couldn’t explain it. It was right. 

He sprinted, then kicked himself in the back of his mind, and sang. He was out in the middle of the village soon enough and looking up. The music had come from above.

Flying high in the sky, there was a ship. A flying ship. And from it poured out great melodies. It was a song like, he listened in. It was a complete whole, impossible to pluck single things from it. It was the dawn’s early light, meeting a new day. A feeling of the wings beneath your sails as you journeyed out to see another great adventure, another great passing story. Like a fairy floating on the wind, caught in a light breeze, flittering around a crew of happy but hardened veterans of battles. A comradery as they stared into the sunset, happy for they were together, sad, for the people they’ve lost and would never forget. A period of time of renewal and in that renewal and rejuvenation, reflection. And not all reflections were kind. An air of mourning suffused them all but not engulfed them. Like remembering the good times you had with a brother long lost, all those years ago. 

And at the head, the one performing the song itself, suffused with an aura of responsibility. She had loved, she had lost, and she had failed. She knew this and felt it on her skin no different than the morning sunlight now pouring onto her. Yet beneath that, was happiness. It had not been an easy life but she had survived and so had her crew. Her men and women at arms, by her side. It was a familiar tale. 

But there, right beneath the second chord, between the dawn light hitting her skin and her radiating aura, there was a choppiness. He could feel it, a hidden choppiness. Of loneliness. 

Just like him. 

His whistle rang out, more a harsh bellow than anything, more of a soldier's quick march and sprint. Instantly, he was back at his Grand Piano and lifted it with one hand. And he sang, sang a song that he was coming. That there was someone else that not only understood but also felt the same way. That loneliness was an ailment and like any ailment, it can be treated and finally, cured. 

He found himself aboard a massive flying ship, in a grand hall. It had looked smaller from below but the area he was in now could fit a dozen houses. The ship must be the size of a massive mansion, at least. Maybe even a castle. 

Across from, stuttering the song to a close in light surprise, was a beautiful woman. Her physical beauty was great, yet, but it was her real soul that The Player was looking at. Her song had already told him plenty but hearing the last few notes up close, he knew his journey was over. 

She began to speak, about to ask who he was, about to ask questions that he would be glad to answer. 

Just not how he expected. 

He put his Grand Piano down and started to play. It was a simple song. What the accompanied only one feeling, at the moment. Hope. Pure and utter hope. Hope that the dark days would go away. Hope that he would not be alone forever more, for the decades or centuries to come. That he would find someone he could spend a life with, that he could find an equal and a partner, but most importantly, that he could find someone to share his love of music with. Share his passion and dreams. 

He need not have waited long for an answer. Soon, she had lifted a violin that transformed into a Viola before his eyes. She strung it once and then twice, sending notes of shock and unsurety, before she began to play. And The Player realized something. His loneliness was new, burgeoning, buried beneath the waves and his crew. But the, The Performer’s, was more raw. Older, brittle and broken. She had loved before and she had lost it. The Player’s tone changed into a mourning. Anyone The Performer had loved would have been like them. As she felt the music wash over him, his mourning only increased and it was but a candle flame to her roaring inferno’s worth of charcoal and dying embers. It was an old pain for her and new to him. 

The Musician. A title he had thought little of till now, but he felt it, as her strings were strung. A man, strong, gaunty, showboater. But his love was true, his music was his passion. He merely expressed it with flare and aimed for the audience. If his music was a traveler’s delight, and her’s an emotional change, then The Musician’s was the audience. His was that of spreading joy through the masses and people, not looking for others like them, but creating the same level of joy in people. He lived only to inspire. 

As he felt the tone change, start to dip into grief like a widow on the edge of tears, he opened himself up, telling of his own travels. Of finding people throughout the world, who loved music. Of the people that The Musician may have had a hand in inspiring or at least the type of world he had helped create. The singers in bars and taverns, the players in dusty alleyways, the kind parents and grandma’s buying their children harmonicas or taking them to concerts, of the old man he used to have sitting him on his lap and letting him play the family piano. Of the world of music that was left in the wake of someone so great. 

He didn’t try to hide it, but he also couldn’t let a note slip in of his awe that the world was so big. That there wasn’t just one other like him but at least two. That there could be more. Despite the grief filling his heart at the loss, it grew a little brighter at knowing there could be even more out there. 

The Performer’s answer was strong. Like iron yet smooth like water, it flowed across him, doing what even his music could not do. His music was inherently tied to travel, to the art of continuation throughout the world, to adventure. He followed the music and who wanted to join, could. Hers was the epiphany in the dark, realizing what you never knew, the bringing forth of emotions. Of the emotional intensity and its change. He saw before his eyes, why she was playing this grand hall specifically. Out from the floor rose a story, a scene of the past. He saw them, then, The Performer and The Musician and their journeys. Sailing the skies, fighting deadly monsters, but most importantly, his flare and his flavor, his instrument that was shockingly, his voice. Tears spread down his cheeks. A life taken too soon, though no amount of time would ever really be enough. He saw it all, the life and journey, experiencing what only she could give him. He could travel anywhere, truly, but not the past. 

As the story came to a close, as the memories and scenes of the past rang away, as the hints of The Musicians music faded sadly away, they seemed to regard each other for the first time. They had shown each other who they were in their music. To say they didn’t speak would be insane, they just said more with one song than years of talking could ever say. 

She smiled and he did as well, and they played a happy tune. Of finding new love and making new life. Of a seed growing from the earth, sprouting, and becoming a might oak tree, but not alone. There, in that glade, was another, slimmer oak. He smirked at that. The two grew together, facing the suns and the nights in a forest. The music tempo’d and the beat changed and now it was the open waters and the open sky. One above and so below. The boat below skipped around, going to random places like an excited dog running around, but always coming back to the one in the sky. While the one in the sky kept changing and morphing, becoming whatever it felt like in that moment. Sometimes following, sometimes remaining where it was and drifting lazily through the air, sometimes even going away from it. Together but also free. 

The song came to a close, with the boat in the water teleporting on top of the boat in the sky and the one in the sky catching it like a lover catching her husband in a hug. 

They looked up and smiled at each other and a memory and thought ran through The Player’s mind. 

He had once had a conversation with an absolute barbarian, that had managed to survive. As they were drinking, she had said something that had shocked him to his core at the time. 

“Fighting, dancing, and fucking are all the same, ya know.” 

He had sputtered and spilt his drink. Ah, to be young again. 

“W-What? How?” 

“Huh? Whatcha mean how? They are all the same. Ya move the same, ya do the same things, etc etc.” 

“I, don’t get it. Aren’t you trying to kill someone in a fight? That doesn’t really seem like, uh, dancing or… the other thing.” 

“Nah nah, you’re being way too, I don’t know, you’re just wrong. Ya gotta, like…” And she had thought. “They feel the same way.” As if that was the grandest statement ever said in the history of the world. 

He hadn’t understood at the time, but, after enough fighting, dancing, and fucking, he had finally understood. They were the same in how they felt. The same energy, the same underlying vibration along the world, was in all three. Not in the emotions, no, but in the actual movements and actions. Enough to the point that he had eventually agreed to the woman’s second point. If you were good at 1 of those 3, you’d be good at the other two if ya tried hard enough. 

As he looked at The Performer smiling at him, he considered whether he’d need to add “Duets” to that list. 

Luckily, he was a very good dancer, fighter and well, he’d soon get to prove the 3rd one he felt. 

With a whistle, he brought both of them into her bedroom. With a hum and a snap of her fingers, the whole room began to change until it looked exactly like his own bedroom, except with more space and an extra fluffy bed. He’d call her a showoff if he didn’t know her better. She just wanted him to feel more comfortable and, also, wanted a bigger bed. What a great woman. 

He looked and had to smirk, she had dissolved their clothes while she was at it. Well, kinda. He could see them neatly folded over in a corner. It seems like his wife was a bit more skilled than him in a few ways. 

She sang a little tune and he felt a blush come over his features. When on earth had he let that dang time he appeared in a whore house into his music?! Gah, he’s really going to have that event haunt him forever. 

He grabbed her underneath her fine ass and hauled her up onto the bed, falling on top of her. She giggled all the way. It was like a breath of fresh air, one he didn’t know he needed. 

Looking down at her, feeling her underneath him, his hands continually rubbing her firm backside, he was fondly reminded of his youth. 

In the beginning, he liked music, but that was it. Then, he started to become too obsessed with it. Music is not everything to the exclusion of all others. There is a line between the deepest loves and something poisonous and toxic. They are incompatible despite seemingly looking similar. He had pulled back, relaxed, grown. 

But. To his greatest joy, he had discovered that music was in everything. The birds singing, the creaks of an old boat, the sounds of laughter coming from a pub, sound and music were already everywhere. He didn’t have to be obsessed to just let it flow into him, to just enjoy the world’s sounds. 

So as he penetrated deep into his wife for the first time, he paid attention to it, and was in love all over again. The sounds of her little moans sent shocks through his systems he might never have known before, the slap of their flesh meeting was euphoric in more than one way, and hearing the bed creak was just a great amplifier to it all. He was an audiophile, what could he say? He wasn’t the only one as clearly, his wife wasn’t happy to just let him sit back and bask in the sounds alone. He felt her legs grasp him from behind and hard pull him in, causing a grunt to release from him. The look on his wife’s face was obscene. 

They continued, rushing, ramming, caressing, moving at their own tempos. It wasn’t unsteady or chaotic, but it was intense. It strangely reminded him of the time he had heard someone bang his first mate over the head with a metal drum and he laughed a little. Hearing him and hearing what he was laughing about through him, The Performer practically exploded with laughter. It seemed he was a better story teller than he thought. 

It wasn’t long before she was on top, her hair falling down onto his face, caressing it, as she slowly rode him. Moans and more filled the room. She even went ahead and smirked as she increased the sounds that her pussy sliding on his dick made. Slick, slick, slick. He wanted nothing more than to get on top of her and pound her, to really show her the type of sounds a metal drum could make, but it was her ‘turn’ and she wanted to be on top and to take it slow, to watch him suffer and tease him. 

She leaned into him, her chest against his, holding him tight, kissing him deeply and his mind exploded all over again. They made out, making tinkling sounds against one each others teeth with their tongues, having a mini-duet in their mouths. She lost, handily. Seems she needed more lessons in kissing. 

She pouted a little but he just smiled. He flipped her back, whistling to slightly maneuver himself. She was on her knees and hands on the bed and he was already plunging deep inside her. The tempo changed, now it was him crashing into her like repeated bomb explosions or the crashing of a gate by a battering ram. He let that image flow through his grunts and even amplified the sounds, feeling as she returned it with the image of a group of adventurers sneaking in through the back entrance. 

He nearly stopped, interrupting the pacing, but continued on, blinking in surprise, until he pulled out and aimed for her ass. He pushed forward and felt his dick be swallowed by her big ass. The sound she made as he anally penetrated her nearly made him cum right then and there. A strong mix of grunt and moan that sounded more like they came from a whore and having oh, so much more meaning to the two of them. 

As he got rougher and rougher, that sound only increased, and he realized his new wife might just be a little bit of a masochist. That hadn’t come through in any of their music, so she must have either hid it deep or not known it herself. 

He used a trick he had discovered but never actually used because of difficulty and niche. He penetrated and then let out slight harmonic grunts, filling it with the simple notion of back and then forwards. Nothing too complicated but the effect was immediate and incredible. 

He teleported, just slightly, as if he had moved back about oh, 8? 9? Inches while he continued to push forward. The effect, from his perspective, was constantly ‘falling’ or pushing forward. The effect on his wife though? It was as if he had removed the pulling back motion entirely, because he had, and she was just getting constantly rammed into by a dick that would suddenly be ramming into her again, without stop. She buckled and screamed out in pleasure at the incredibly rough treatment. He couldn’t keep it up for long, and soon, he grabbed her and plunged, without teleporting out or pulling back, as he released fully, feeling the wrackings of an orgasm rumble through her body. 

As he panted there, dick balls deep into the ass of The Perfomer, hearing each other pants and even the vibration of their bodies, he spoke the first actual words they had said to each other. It was normally an inefficient way to speak but he’d make an exception this one time.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

Simple, direct, and earnest. The feeling followed through their words and they collapsed on the bed together, holding one another. 

….though they would be quite busy for quite some time on that bed for the better part of a week. 



