Aurora - Wings of the Goddess

This is a work of fiction. All characters are 18 or over.

***

An Uber sat idling at the curb outside the hotel. Throwing Vicky's gear on board, they climbed into the back of the black Mercedes, like soldiers mounting a transport in the wake of a long, bloody battle, wounded but euphoric, going home.

"First stop the bottle-oh." Beck cried- the old man's Veuve not forgotten- and the driver dipped his blue-turbaned head.

"That was all true," Vicky asked, taking Beck's hand as the Uber set off, "that story you told me. Wasn't it?"

Beck looked at Vicky then looked away. "Every last word."

"Those appalling people? And the boat? Threatening to eat you and everything?"

"All of it I'm sorry to say. And I didn't even tell you the worst bits."

"There are worse bits?"

Beck uttered a dour laugh. "You better believe it."

"Like what?"

"Trust me, Macca, you don't wanna know."

Vicky shook her head. "You poor baby. How on Earth did you manage to survive?"

"I didn't," Beck smiled and hooked her hair behind her ear, "I actually died. In a RIB. On the back of a yacht. Then I was reborn, at the business end of a rusty old speargun."

Vicky peered out the window for a while. "So who was your dad," she suddenly spoke up, "if you don't mind me asking? Do you know?"

Beck shot her a glance, then turned to watch the scenery scrolling by. "He was a Viking."

Vicky blinked. "He was a what now?"

"A Viking. At least that's what the Thing used to call him. He was a Norwegian backpacker, working on the mango harvest."

It was true. They'd met when the woman was barely sixteen, weighed half as much as her future self and still had most of her teeth. No Paris model but still good enough for a post-joint fuck, and by the end of the season she found herself pregnant. Then he was gone, with fulsome promises of a speedy return, to marry her and carry her away to a fairytale winter wonderland. Of course she never set eyes on her Viking again and six months later, destitute and alone, she gave premature birth to their child. A girl- blue eyed and blonde, just like her father- the perfect vessel for her mother's festering embitterment.

"That explains the hair." Vicky said quietly.

"And the teeth." Beck nodded. "At least that's what the dentist said, when Damon took me for my first ever check up."

Vicky had already surreptitiously admired the girl's unblemished dentition. "You don't have any fillings do you?"

"You mean those black things Damon has in his teeth? " Beck shook her head. "Nope."

Vicky twisted in her seat. "Can I have a look?"

Beck dutifully opened her mouth, revealing a flawless array of perfect white teeth.

"They're gorgeous."

"The dentist said it's genetic." Beck said airily. "Says I got 'em from my dad."

"Same as the eyes?"

"Uh huh."

Vicky nudged Beck with an elbow. "What about the brains? Did you inherit those too?"

"Of course." Beck grinned. "I got those from Damon."

* * *

The old man was down below when Beck jumped on board. "Dommy!" she called out in breathless excitement, "Come see what I found."

Watson hauled himself to his feet, rubbing his face. "Did you catch up with Vicky?"

"In a minute, Dom-dom. First come and see what followed me home."

"The answer is 'no'," The old man groused, scaling the companionway, "whatever it is. Cat, dog, flippin' dolphin, Tyrannosaurus rex... you're not keeping it."

"You're sure about that?"

Looking up, the old man found Beck standing hard against a sheepish young female, in a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a crumpled, button-up shirt. "Pleeeease, Dommy.." the little blonde wheedled, draping her arms around Vicky's neck, "I'll feed her and brush her and give her a bath every day. She won't eat much, I promise."

Watson fought the urge to scuttle downstairs, and barricade himself in his cabin behind his embarrassment. "Umm..." he said, uncertainly, "welcome aboard." Not the lamest thing he could manage but it was close.

Vicky made fleeting eye-contact then looked away. "Reporting for duty, Captain."

"Well come on," Beck chivvied, picking up Vicky's gear-bag and thrusting it into the old man's arms. "Let's get this tub untied and haul canvas."

Watson lowered the gear bag onto a side seat, secretly thrilled but equally rattled. Handing Vicky over, Beck hopped onto the hard and lugged a case of Champagne onboard. Then, without further ado, she cranked up the engine and set about casting-off. Several onlookers, most of them male, hung over the railing, watching the little blonde tomboy, all in her pretty floral skirt, busy at work below. Vicky, meanwhile, edged into Watson's arms and they exchanged an awkward embrace. The old man cleared his throat. "Sorry about all the... you know... unfortunate behaviour."

"Unfortunate?" Beck scoffed. "Didn't feel unfortunate to me."

"Rebekah!"

"Felt more like two feet long and four inches thick."

"Oh for... shoosh, Moosh. Can't you see I'm trying to apologise?"

"No, no," Vicky demurred, patting his shoulder, "I'm the one who should apologise. I shouldn't have done my nut like that, going on like a jolly pork chop. I should have had faith. I should have shut the heck up and just listened."

"And I should have stayed up on watch." Watson grumbled. "You can walk the plank for that, you know. Deserting your post."

"Should'a, would'a, could'a..." Beck piped up. "Three most useless words in the English language."

Watson slung Vicky's gear-bag over his shoulder, then descended the companionway leaving Vicky upstairs. She watched Beck fussing over the controls for a moment then, grabbing her chance, planted a kiss on the little blonde's lips. "Thanks for rescuing me, Little Mermaid."

"You never leave your buddies behind." Beck said profoundly. "Hang on, no. That's the navy. Anyway, no worries, I'm just glad we managed to get you back. Now shoo, before I run us aground."

Pausing at the hatch, Vicky slung a leg in and found the top step.

"And could you tell the old boy to toss up my bikini?" Beck called after her, "The blue stripy one. And a T-shirt."

"Aye aye, Captain."

Watson appeared a moment later with the requisitioned items. They'd already cleared the marina and the bow was pointing northeast. "Where are we heading, just out of interest?" he asked, as Beck skimmed off her panties and pulled on her bikini bottoms.

"Saint Bees."

"Again?" Watson frowned. "Have you got shares in that bloody joint?"

"You know what?" Beck replied, "Let's just do a reset. Let's go back where the good times began. It'll be going on for dark when we get there. We can all have dinner and a nice cold bottle of Champagne. Hit rewind and just start over."

"Here..." Watson handed over Beck's heavily-blinged iPhone. "Call Tan. Leave a message if she doesn't reply. Tell her everything worked out okay."

"No worries, Dommy. The cat came back. That's what I'll say."

Watson slung an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Where would I be without you, Moosh?"

"I don't know." Beck shrugged. "Living under a bridge somewhere, sleeping under newspapers eating dog food."

Watson heaved a heartfelt sigh, "Oh well, can't win 'em all. You have the con. I'd better nip down and look after our guest."

* * *

There was barely time for a reconciliatory grope before the motion of the boat drove Vicky topsides. She hadn't been signed off on her sea legs yet and with Aurora on a beat, pounding into a one-meter swell and heeling thirty degrees, the new recruit was soon green around gills.

It was far more comfortable up in the cockpit anyway, where she could keep and eye on the horizon while chatting to Beck. And it panned out exactly as the little blonde had predicted. The sun was barely half an hour from setting when they dropped anchor, just in time to see the day-trippers depart, and they set up for dinner- fresh cray cooked on the stern-mounted barbecue, washed down with beer and... what else... French Champagne.

Everyone was feeling a little bruised in the aftermath and the conversation was superficial and stilted. But the food was good and the Champagne was excellent and as a huge moon rose the atmosphere brightened. There was still a way to go to regain yesterday's easy intimacy, and mutual embarrassment hung in the air like a fart in a lift. Not wanting to see the evening ruined by lingering hurts, Beck, in her inimitable style, came up with a cure. "Don't know about you guys," she announced, "but I'm getting cold."

Watson looked up. No small wonder. She was still barely dressed in her bikini bottoms and T-shirt. "Well go and put your hoodie on, idiot."

"I've got a better idea. Why don't we finish our Champers downstairs? Maybe we can play a card game or something."

Vicky shot the old man a glance. 'Something' sounded good, but she was full to the brim with cold humble-pie and didn't know quite where to start.

"What do you want to play?" Watson asked.

Beck looked at him, deadpan. "Snap."

Watson inhaled deeply through his nose then exhaled through puffed cheeks. "What do you say, Vicky? Time to retire?"

Vicky sat, shoulders hunched, hands pressed between her knees. "I guess. Umm... just so I know, where am I sleeping?" As much as she longed to, she couldn't presume she'd be spending the night with the old man, who clearly had other strings to his bow.

Watson looked at her, frowning. "The island, of course. Moosh, Sweetheart? Would you mind dropping her off?"

Vicky's jaw sagged and Beck hammer-fisted his thigh. "Don't be such a fuckwit, Damon Watson, or I'll be dropping you off on the island. Here," she said, leaning forward and getting to her feet, "I'll nip downstairs and make up the settee. Won't take a couple of minutes."

Watson excused himself for a pee off the swim platform, while Vicky went below to use the toilet. By the time she was done, the industrious little blonde had dropped the saloon table and created a king-sized bed out of the settee. She was just smoothing the sheets when Vicky crept up behind her. "Becky?"

Busy making the final adjustments, Beck looked over her shoulder. "What's up, Macca? You look cold."

"Becky?" Vicky said again. She shuddered, hugging herself. "I... I don't know."

Beck flattened her palm on Vicky's forehead. "Not feeling seasick? I've got some Phenergan if you want."

"I don't know, Becky. I don't know."

Watson came down the companionway and joined the gathering. "What's happening, sports fans?"

"Dommy." Beck said, gesturing topsides with her eyes, "I think the shackle's come loose on the snubber. Do me a favour and nip out and check it?"

"The snubber?" Watson's face clouded in borderline confusion. "But I just..."

Beck narrowed her eyes. "Clunk! There it goes again."

Watson snapped his fingers. "Oh... the snubber. Right... Right away, Captain."

"Good boy." Beck nodded, then waited while he scaled the companionway. Once he'd gone, she stepped in front of Vicky and lay her hands on her shoulders. "Now what's this all about, Macca."

"It's just that... that... after this morning, I... I..."

"Vicky," Beck said, "repeat after me... 'The bad times are over the drama is done, the good times are back, it's time for some fun'."

"Did you just make that up?"

"Vicky," Beck said again flatly, "repeat after me... The sad times are..."

Vicky shook the little blonde's arms. "Becky listen. My confidence is shot. I nearly went back to that dreadful flippin' cult. If you hadn't come, if you hadn't opened your heart to me, I would have gone. And this time, I think, there'd be no coming back."

Beck thought back to that night at a distant marina, in the stateroom of a big, flashy stink-boat, and the boy who'd held a knife to her throat. Had her old man not forgotten his wallet she would have been raped, or possibly worse. And it had taken her days to get over it. Vicky had just suffered a similar shock and it was asking a lot for her to just shrug it all off. "Know what?" Beck said gently. "The best thing for you is a bit of a paradigm shift."

Vicky blinked. "A what?"

"Paradigm shift. You just need to change your perspective. And the best way to do that is with a brand new experience."

"Like what?"

"Well," Beck said with a suggestive smile, "it just so happens we have a sacred healing herb, known only to the shamans of Mongolia."

"Oh really?" Vicky asked, scepticism written all over her face. "What sort of herb?"

Beck arched her eyebrows. "A magic herb."

"And what do you do with it?"

"Well," Beck replied, imitating the act of rolling a joint, "first you wrap it in paper. Then you light one end and suck the magic smoke out through the other."

Vicky compressed her lips. "You're talking about marijuana, aren't you?"

"I could be. Or I could be talking about a magical plant from the mystical steppes of Mongolia."

"But it is marijuana, isn't it?"

Beck shrugged... she thought it had sounded so convincing. Tanya had been to Mongolia only recently and regaled Beck with tales of nomads hunting with eagles, of children racing their horses break-neck across the steppes, of sacred rivers and mountains, and the shamans, mystics, who still knew how to talk to spirits and animals. "Hang on," she said, "I'll just get a second opinion." Fingers in her mouth she let rip with an ear-piercing whistle, and a head soon popped through the hatchway.

"You rang?"

"Dommy? Can we give Macca some Milo?"

Watson descended the companionway and dropped to the floor. "As in the drink?"

Beck shook her head. "As in the mystical herb."

"Oh, I get it." Vicky said, "Milo. As in the Milo you're gonna have to give up."

Beck rolled her eyes. "Nothing gets past this one, does it? What do you think old boy?"

Watson ran a hand across his close-cropped pate. "Don't think it might be a bit much? Have you ever imbibed, Vicky?"

"If it's cannabis you're talking about then definitely not."

"Then maybe it's time." Beck said. "Just tonight. Just the once. Just to help you make a new start."

Watson was shaking his head. "Nuh. We can only corrupt this poor thing so much. It's probably best if we don't-"

Vicky put a hand on his arm. "No, Damon, no. If Becky thinks it's a good idea then I'm happy to trust in the goddess. Let's face it, the little bugger's been right about everything else. You'll look after me won't you Beck?"

"Look after you how?" Beck frowned.

"If I try to fly out the window or something."

"Trust me." Beck said.

"I do." Vicky replied.

Beck challenged Watson with her big blue eyes. "Dommy?"

The old man shrugged, patently reluctant. "I'll think about it."

"Yesss!" Beck beamed rubbing her hands. "It always means yes when he say's that."

"No! It means... oh fuck it... go on. Not the strong stuff, okay? Grab the 'Sunday Arvo'."

"On it!" Beck said and scampered up the companionway. Throwing open a cockpit locker, she rattled around in a fishy plastic tackle box, then returned a moment later with a battered old tin.

Sitting side-by-side, cross-legged on the settee, the two females watched Watson roll a stout cigarette. Wetting the glue with the tip of his tongue, he gestured with his eyes at the hatch. "Beck." he said, sealing the smoke, "Reality check."

Beck nodded. "Roger." Scaling the steps, she mounted the superstructure over their heads and turned in a slow circle, clearing the coast through three hundred and sixty degrees. Sticking her head inside, she called, "All clear!" then swung through the hatch and dropped to the floor.

"Tunes." Watson said.

"What do you fancy?"

"Steely Dan."

"Those old dinosaur wranglers?" Beck sneered. "Alpine."

"Steely Dan then Alpine."

Beck dialled up the MP4 and the strum of a guitar, followed by breathy female vocals filled the saloon. "Alpine then Steely Dan."

Watson looked around. "You'd better close the portholes. Just in case."

"Of what?" Beck frowned.

He flicked Vicky a glance. "In case Macca tries to fly out the window. We'll be up all night with the butterfly net."

"That's okay," Beck said and lay her hand on Vicky's thigh, "I'll hold her down."

Watson flashed up the joint and sucked it into life. Exhaling through pursed lips, he offered the smoke to Vicky. She stared at it for a moment, unable to move. "What do I do?"

"Have you ever smoked cigarettes?"

"Once. When I was about ten. It made me vomit."

"Right," Watson nodded, "just do the same with this. Without the vomit."

Vicky took an exploratory puff and doubled over, coughing, then handed the joint back, waving her hand. "No thanks." she said when she could speak again.

"What's up, Toots?" Beck asked, thumping Vicky soundly between the shoulder blades.

Vicky straightened, smearing her eyes. "Sorry guys, no can do. I just don't have the lungs."

Watson took a puff and passed it to Beck. "There is another way." Beck said.

Vicky looked at her, teary-eyed. Inject it? Snort it? Take it as a suppository? "What?"

"I can take a drag and breath it into you."

"Moosh!" Watson admonished and Beck raised a hand.

Vicky squinted at her. "Seriously?"

"Takes the sting out of it." Beck said earnestly, her blue eyes big and disarming. "It really helps if you're not used to smoking."

Electricity crackled through Vicky's body at the thought of Beck's lips on hers. Her nipples stood up and her groin began to throb, as it so often did when the girl was around.

"That poor bloody girl." Watson said under his breath. "Come on, Moosh. She's probably not ready for it."

"Then again she probably is." Vicky countered. "Okay, Becky. Lay it on me."

"Okay," Beck nodded, bouncing up on her knees, "remember, I breathe out, you breathe in." Taking a huge drag, Beck gestured at Vicky with her eyes and leant into her. Vicky's cushiony lips fused to Beck's and she opened her mouth. As Beck exhaled, Vicky drew the steamy mix of air and smoke from the little blonde's lungs, expanding her chest, filling her own. She closed her eyes as Beck's breath petered out, savouring the feel of the young girl's lips and the sweet, smoky taste of her saliva. Head down, hands in her lap, she sat for a while, then raised her head and exhaled.

The joint went backwards and forwards a few more times and Vicky sat eagerly waiting, poised to go mouth-to-mouth with the sweet little blonde, and when the tip of a little pink tongue touched hers she didn't withdraw. With the THC rapidly flooding her brain she felt herself detach, the music, Beck's choice, suddenly inside her. Eyes closed, arms raised, Vicky dropped her chin to her sternum. She shook her head, very slowly, in case it fell off. "Holy moley."

Beck nudged Vicky with her knee, as she idly shuffled the deck of cards. "You right there, Gorgeous?"

"Fuck!" Vicky swore, "I feel like I'm caught in a tornado. Everything's just whizzing round and round."

"Look out, Vick," Watson chuckled, "you're not in Kansas anymore."

"No. I'm not." Vicky replied with a slow shake of her head. "I'm somewhere special, somewhere magical. In a magic ship. With a beautiful little blonde goddess."

Beck looked at Watson with a big, beaming grin and tapped herself on the breastbone. "That's me."

"So who am I?" Watson frowned.

"The Dirty Old Man Of The Sea." Beck leered.

"You're my guru." Vicky smiled sleepily, "My teacher, my guide. You're my prince. My knight in... umm..."

"Please," Beck rolled her eyes, "someone get me a bucket."

Watson patted Beck's leg. "Shoosh, Moosh, I like where this is going."

Falling silent for a moment, Vicky pressed the back of a hand against her forehead. "Holy smokes." she rasped, "So this is cannabis?"

Watson dipped his head and peered into her eyes. Red. "How's it feel?"

"Like nothing I've ever experienced."

"Good? Bad? Indifferent? Come on, Vick, throw me a bone."