It's lonely out here, Socrates

Socrates is curled over yet another letter. With this one being the third this month, they’re getting more and more insistent. He chews absently on the tip of his quill, frowning at the page. What do they want? 

Outside, the dull roar of merriment and partying fights for his attention. Socrates breaks focus for a moment, considering the guitar laying lopsided among the pillows adorning a hammock in the corner. He really should be having fun with the others. It’s just that- well he’s not sure exactly what. It’s more important than parties, though, he knows that.

“Oy captain! Y’preening yourself in there, or are you gonna join us?”

A sudden banging on the door shakes Socrates from decision purgatory. He jumps in surprise, quickly covering the open letter with blank parchment as the door to the captain’s quarters of the Florence swing open unceremoniously, revealing a young man with mussed black hair and a loose sailor’s outfit.

“Seanaddy, I thought I asked for permission before bursting into my bedroom unannounced.” While his tone is stern, Socrates can’t help the smile tugging at his mouth. 

“If you’ll permit my immense disrespect, esteemed captain, I figured I wasn’t gonna get a yes from you unless I dragged you from your rot hole kicking screaming now was I?” Socrates laughs lightly, pulling on a light black overcoat and fastening the buttons on his shirt as he leads the way onto the deck, ignoring Seanaddy’s smug grin. He has plans past the party, though, and pushes his way past the raucous outcries of his crew as they celebrate. He motions to Seanaddy, who follows him with a confused look on his face. Socrates glances at his first mate, who nods curtly and ignores Sean as they step off the boat and onto the sandy ground of the cove.

“Captain, if you don’t mind me asking, you plannin on getting lost in the woods tonight, or what?”

“Well, I was planning on relaxing a bit after today, but you’re free to go back to the boat if it’s boring you.” Most of his crew would take this as a sign to leave, but Sean was either too smart or too stubborn to care, and doggedly followed along behind him, albeit significantly quieter. They sidestep the rocks lining the small cove, crunch through the dewy underbrush characterising this area of the west, and enter the boundaries of the woods, Sean absentmindedly whittling a stick while Socrates hesitates a moment to breathe in the fresh, salty air. 

The atmosphere is light and full of energy, but Socrates ignores the opportunities it could bring. He needs to rest, after all, and this walk is more a distraction than anything else. He takes another deep breath, listening to the nearby crickets until an idea strikes him. 

“Oy, Sean, do you think it’s near midnight yet?” Sean glances up from his work, which is beginning to resemble some sort of utensil.

“Aye. I reckon it’s much past that if I had to guess.” He’s right. Socrates supposes that he’d locked himself away longer than he anticipated.

“Well in that case, want to see someplace I like to visit on quiet nights like these? It’s only a bit further on in the woods.” Sean shrugs, motioning for Socrates to lead the way. They meander a bit longer through the increasingly thick underbrush until it opens into a small clearing. There is a mound of soft mossy earth sat amidst the grass and vines of the surrounding forest, and Socrates runs his fingers along the leaves as he sits down, searching. Sean has abandoned his project, observing curiously as Socrates whispers something under his breath, brow furrowed in focus. Pausing his search over a particularly thick blade of grass, he brushes the tip of his index finger on it, closing his eyes as he does so.

As he murmurs soft words to the plant, golden sigils begin to show themselves among the patterns of the leaves’ fibers. Glowing dimly under the light of the moon, the patterns begin to leap from plant to plant, weaving their way between the hairs of moss and illuminating the entire clearing. Seanaddy can scarcely remember to breathe before the glow changes, gathering into droplets of gold and rising above the foliage. No, not droplets Sean thinks. They move more like something living, something like- “Fireflies. Captain, what-” But Socrates shakes his head, grinning slightly as he motions for Sean to join him. The fireflies flit around lazily as they watch, making no discernible noise as they circle the clearing aimlessly. Sean thinks he hears a low rattling from Socrates’ direction, unfamiliar but clearly content. They sit for a few more quiet seconds before Seanaddy breaks the silence. 

“Well, as lovely as this is, Socrates, you’ve never struck me as the quiet reflective type. Something different tonight?” Socrates doesn’t look back to reply, instead leaning back to gaze into the night sky.