Chapter Text
The process of preparing a boat for voyage is as simple as any other task, if you really think about it. The Sea Captain's boat is only a small one in comparison to, say, the Princess Peach, and he's regularly the only passenger taking off on it, so he only has to know if he's ready to go or not rather than fuss over a bunch of indecisive tourists.
When he was younger, about ten, his dad was insistent on making him run the river tour with him. Stubborn as always, and it was mostly not very fun until he'd actually gotten used to Eddy River, but he must admit, it was worth it in the long run.
He had learned to love the water beneath his feet, the way the boat rocked and pulled with the waves; though he does thank his dad for the experience he puts to good use now, it certainly wasn't the best revelation back then when a young teenage him realised he was cradled by the water more than his own father. Tough love, if that's how they put it.
The Sea Captain's eyes drift along the fog-lined waves in the distance, hands gripping the railing beneath his palms tighter, the cold burn it brings a grounding feeling he enjoys a little too much. A shiver wracks his body, and he watches the small cloud puff out of his mouth when he sighs.
Thinking back on it, he's glad now that he no longer has to help out at Autumn Mountain. The whole tourist deal isn't his thing. He does bring the Craftsman to and from Toad Town from time to time, maybe the occasional other passenger that wants to catch the Princess Peach after it's already departed–he's pretty sure he isn't actually allowed to do that, but it's not like the captain of that ship is aware enough to notice a few extra numbers–but other than that, he's not at all interested in bringing other people onto his ship.
It isn't like he advertises his services anyway, which is pretty much a blessing since he isn't burdened with a bunch of people coming over to tour the Great Sea.
What he's got going on isn't a business, if he's being honest. If someone were to approach him and ask to come along, then he wouldn't say no. He wouldn't say yes, either, and he'd sort of just hope that the person will get confused enough to leave him alone, but those determined enough to push and push until they're already setting off to sea with a triumphant passenger and him sulking at the wheel do manage to reap the rewards of being annoying enough to humble a captain such as himself.
At least it doesn't happen often, and he's forgotten by most residents of Toad Town except for the few who frequent the docks, but sometimes…
There's always one person who wants to head out to sea for some stupid reason or another.
Grumbling to himself, the Sea Captain pushes himself up from where he'd been leaning on the railing and looks down at the reason for his somewhat good mood now being ruined for the rest of the day. That reason stares right back at him, a smirk tugging at its lips in a way that makes him want to set sail at that very moment only to see that ghost of a smile vanish as he leaves his metaphorical dust in its face.
Alas, all he can do is turn to face the bane of his existence and put on a smile that's more grimace than smile, but the man standing before him doesn't look as though he cares or even notices.
“I assume you're not just here to wave me goodbye?” The Sea Captain looks at him expectantly, and spends a few uncomfortable seconds waiting for a response that doesn't come.
The man's hands are tucked snugly into his pockets, while his whole demeanor screams either ‘hippie’ or ‘hippie-pirate?’ because his mind can't come up with anything better than that. The guy's coat is thick and looks to be of a pretty nice material, though it's hard to tell with the patches that have been sewn on carelessly if the mismatched colours have anything to say about it. It's the kind of thing that you know used to be nice back when it was new, but years of wear and tear has turned it into something so scruffy you wouldn't be surprised if it'd been a find from a dump by someone with such bad tastes that they can't differentiate actual rips in clothing to that new style the Sea Captain sees a lot of kids wearing nowadays.
What he's trying to say is that he wouldn't have expected to meet anyone who would willingly wear something like it.
The man doesn't look too good himself, either. His face gives off the vibe of someone clearly banged up pretty badly, but without the actual things you'd come to think of, like a black eye or a busted lip. Instead, he's got scars that blend into his skin seamlessly due to passage of time, but a closer look reveals the long, stretching scars of cuts that span across the sides of his face, one even diagonal, beginning from halfway up his forehead, across his nose, ending just above the left corner of his lip. It's a face that whispers a rumour of a darker history in his ear, and the Sea Captain has to stop himself from getting too interested in this man before he even opens his mouth.
He pulls his eyes back from tracing the pale lines on his face, and he waves his hand in a way that silently says ‘carry on’.
…Still no answer.
If it turns out that the Sea Captain is dealing with a mute person, then he wants nothing to do with this potential passenger. How do you even begin to ask where they'd want to go? A game of charades?
He folds his arms, foot tapping softly on the ground, and he hopes the man can hear it over the sound of the waves because he really wants him to know how impatient he's getting. He'd get back to preparations if it weren't for the fact that he doesn't enjoy an audience, and he's half debating whether he should try and shoo the man away like he does with the pesky seagulls always cawing at him from the same place the man is standing.
The Sea Captain would feel bad if he decided to go through with that if it weren't for the uncanny resemblance the man actually holds with them. Messy appearance? Check. Silent staring when he's acknowledged their presence? Check. Though, the lost look in the man's eyes is definitely something new–the seagulls are very much not lost, and know exactly what they're doing while annoying him.
With a heavy sigh, he walks down the small ramp leading to the dock, now standing only a short distance in front of the man. Up close, his appearance certainly doesn't get any better, and now he's beginning to wish he stayed farther back to at least do the man some favours.
“What? What is it?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment so he doesn't have to look at the still clueless face. It's infuriating, as if he can't understand a single word he's saying. The almost smile that'd been on his face has disappeared completely, replaced by an expression purely blank, and the Sea Captain can't say which one was worse.
“...sea.”
The Sea Captain wishes he could strangle this man.
“Excuse me?” He groans at the dejected look he gets in return for the sharpness his voice takes, and it feels like he's facing a kicked puppy and now he's just rubbing salt in the many wounds he apparently has–well, had. Despite being taller than him by a good few inches, five or six maybe, the man really knows how to shrink into himself. “Okay, okay, sorry. Yes, sea, we're by the sea. Is that all you wanted to tell me, or is there anything else you'd like to enlighten me with?”
Another blank expression.
“Alright, okay…” The Sea Captain mutters more to himself than to the man, though he's sure that if the man had heard him he still wouldn't have shown any sign of understanding anyway. Maybe he's on to something with that. So, the man's not mute. Foreign, then?
“What about a name?”
…
“What's your name? N-A-M-E.” He emphasises each letter with a hand to palm, though his efforts only result in the man tilting his head at the quiet noises his hands create. The Sea Captain feels like he's going to go insane with all his fruitless efforts; he's supposed to be out at sea right now, not entertaining whatever this stranger has going on.
Said stranger slips a hand out of one of his pockets, pointing it delicately towards the Sea Captain's chest. The Sea Captain wants to question what it is he's doing, but he's too distracted by the appearance of the hand before him. It's decently large, larger than his that's for sure, and it's got more callouses than he can count. They almost remind him of his grandfather's, the same rough hands he remembers from long ago when he was still alive and poking him teasingly with fingers large enough to make it hurt. It means he can put together the similarity that this man must take part in some sort of physical work, even if his scars might've been hint enough already. Hands that have been injured so many times without the proper care taken to them that they've never healed correctly aren't ones he's come across too often, most people in Toad Town never have it in them to get into jobs so taxing that they'd get to that point, so it makes him wonder where this man's come from.
Who is this guy?
His thoughts are cut to a sharp halt as the finger makes contact with his chest now, and the Sea Captain takes an immediate step back. He's not against physical touch by no means, but a stranger's touch is where it crosses the line. He raises his hands placatingly, even though he's not too sure what's going through the man's mind in the first place.
“What do you want from me?” He points at himself, mimicking the man's gesture. Not quite mockingly, but he's not against it if the man takes from it that he's not quite a fan of his presence, nor his pointing. “Do you want my name? God, you're like a child…” Exactly that. Like a child that needs an example first.
The Sea Captain places both his hands flat against his chest, speaking as slowly and as clearly as he can muster without any frustration slipping through, “I am Sea Captain.” He then pokes the man in the chest, taking pride in the slight tensing he gets from it, “Who are you?”
The man finally seems to understand something, whatever it may be from that, and a soft ‘ah’ slips from his lips. “Ohede.”
“...huh?” Just like earlier when he had spoken the word ‘sea’, this word is also pronounced with a distinct accent that the Sea Captain can't place in any language he knows. It sounds even weirder this time, because at least he could understand before that he was talking about the sea. Now, he's not so sure what part of what he'd said he was responding to, and whether or not it was a name or some sort of foreign word that actually meant something he didn't know the meaning of.
“Oohed?” The man frowns. “Ohd?” He then frowns deeper.
“Ode?” At this, the man nods a little too eagerly for his liking. Before he can react, he lunges forward and clasps both hands around one of his, shaking it wildly as a grin spreads across his face. The Sea Captain can see the chip in one of his front teeth.
“So your name's Ode, then?” The man retracts one of his hands, pointing at himself and repeating the word ‘Ohede’ happily, his other hand now holding onto the Sea Captain's loosely. He chuckles softly, pulling his hand away after a second, the ma- Ode's excitement deflating almost immediately like a switch had been flipped. “Alright, Ode, why are you here then?”
Ode blinks a few times, eyes darting to either side of him and then his head tilts a little to the side so he can look behind him. The docks are empty–have been the whole time they've been there, since the Sea Captain had gotten up early for his voyage–and upon this confirmation, he leans closer and reaches his hand inside the inner parts of his coat, digging for something that the Sea Captain can only hope is not a weapon or anything he can be attacked with. Soon enough, Ode pulls out a crumpled piece of old paper, one that's a yellowy-green and torn at the edges, while also falling apart bit by bit at every sharp movement Ode makes with it in his hand. It's got a single small strip of a dull red ribbon hanging desperately onto one side of it, from what he assumes was a previous tie to keep it as a scroll, the automatic curling up at the paper's edges evidence enough of that.
“You're here to show me some ratty old paper? I was expecting something a little more interesting than that,” The Sea Captain looks back at Ode's awaiting eyes and sighs, moving closer to get a better look at whatever it is he's trying to show him. Words clearly won't work with him, so at least he has some other solution, even if it looks like it's been around long enough to not only tell Ode's story, but the story of his ancestors who also held this exact same ancient piece of paper.
“Wait…” He gently plucks the paper from Ode's grip, which he's gladly allowed without any resistance. The Sea Captain squints at the crudely drawn shapes, over a background that's eerily familiar, yet he can't place it right away. It's sort of grid-like, with some notes scribbled down off to the sides of it, only just out of the way of what he can now recognise as a map. Or, well, a chart. The writing doesn't look as though the handwriting of it is too bad, but either way it's unintelligible to him as it's in a language consisting of quite the unique display of hieroglyphs. He's not too sure why Ode would write in such a way, but that's the only thing he can recognise what's noted down being. Maybe his ancestor theory wasn't too far off…
“Is this the Great Sea?” Ode, yet again, has a lack of recognition in his eyes when listening to him speak. He huffs tiredly, weakly pointing at the sea behind them, and then down at the chart, in which Ode practically lights up like he'd done something actually worth that kind of energy. “You have a chart of the Great Sea?”
“Great Sea!” Ode's voice booms, and it's now that the Sea Captain is especially glad that they're alone–he'd no doubt be getting some strange looks if anyone were around to hear the alarmingly loud man. He quickly places a finger to Ode's lips, shushing him while attempting to ignore the confused hum he gets from that.
“Yes, Great Sea. Don't need to get so excited over it.” He waves the chart in front of Ode's face, taking the finger away from his lips while watching carefully to make sure he doesn't get another outburst that'd surely wake the rest of the town. “Why do you have a chart of it? I'm pretty sure no one's ever gotten a chart of the Great Sea.”
He places a hand on his hip, shaking his head as Ode mouths the word ‘chart’. The Sea Captain pushes the chart back into Ode's chest, a little too aggressively, but his fingertips brush against the basically chiseled muscles beneath his shirt and oh my god how can one man's chest be so defined- but, anyway, the guy's strong enough not to stumble back when he basically shoves him.
“Y'know what, I don't even know why I'm talking to you right now,” He takes a step back, half turning towards his ship, “I have better things to be doing, none of them including talking to a guy who doesn't even know what I'm saying,” His feet begin to lead him back to the ramp, the wooden planks creaking softly beneath his feet, “And I'm pretty sure your chart isn't even correct, a bunch of those islands I've never even seen before-”
A rough, warm hand latches onto his wrist, keeping him in place with barely any force, yet his feet feel like they're planted in the ground without any chance of moving again while Ode's got him there. He experimentally tugs his hand against Ode's grip, and he feels the large hand hold onto him tighter.
“No.”
“Excuse me? I have to set sail before the docks start getting busy, and-” The Sea Captain falters, trailing off, the way Ode looks at him with such desperation leaving him at a loss for words. Maybe it's the because of how messy he looks, like he hasn't slept in an actual bed for days, or maybe it's the unblinking, glassy eyes that look like they're staring into his soul, or even just the now bruising grip he has on his wrist, but the Sea Captain turns back to face the disaster of a man who seems to have taken somewhat of a liking to him, if he can correctly assume.
“Alright. Fine. Have it your way.” He sighs, searching Ode's eyes for anything that'll help him understand what's going on, and being met with the now expected lack of anything he could use to gather a conclusion. Ode sends him a trembling grin, pulling the hand holding his wrist back towards his own chest, smoothing the Sea Captain's hand over the paper that's still resting there. It feels uncomfortably intimate, and the Sea Captain doesn't know what to think of it. “Just, please, tell me what you want. Do you want to come along?” he gestures towards his ship with his unoccupied arm, raising an eyebrow.
Ode presses the Sea Captain's hand harder against the chart, before slipping it into his hand and letting go of his wrist. He then points to himself, then at the Sea Captain, then at the ship.
“Alright, I guess I can take you with me.” He hesitantly holds up the chart between them, “But what are you trying to do with this?” He watches Ode tilt his head slightly, deep in thought for a few short seconds, before he points to a specific shape on the chart, one that looks like a skull. It's far off to the right of the chart, and he can't say he's encountered an island shaped like a skull while out at sea before.
Ode bows his head, voice lowering to a soft, almost conspiratorial, whisper in the Sea Captain's ear, “Fog.” One of his arms stretches out past the Sea Captain's side, waving towards the fog drifting over the horizon.
“I know about the fog, and that's why I think it'd be pretty dangerous for me to take passengers while it's still so thick out there…” The Sea Captain grumbles, turning his head to look out at the fog too, “Are you saying the island has something to do with it? Or are you just telling me there's fog? Because I already know that.”
Ode stares at him.
“...Alright. I'll take you to, uh,” He squints at the little skull drawn onto the chart. “Bonehead Island. That's a fitting name, don't you think?” Ode doesn't look like he understands at all, but he nods along anyway.
With a sense of finality, the Sea Captain claps his hands, the chart rustling at the movement. “So, are you gonna get on the ship with me, or is there anything else you need to do?” He exaggeratedly shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head and looking directly at Ode to get his message across. He scrunches his nose. Hopefully a shower might be on his list of things to do.
Ode stays silent while he thinks, one of his hands moving up to toy with the old bit of fabric keeping his hair tied up into a messy ponytail, its frayed edges worsening under his attentive touch. The Sea Captain rocks back and forth on his feet in the silence, all but twiddling his thumbs impatiently while he waits for an answer.
After what feels like way too long to have thought over what else needed to be done by someone who looks like they're poor enough to have little that they could think about dealing with, Ode grins at him, that same grin just like before.
Huh. He's also got a slight gap in his front teeth, too. The Sea Captain won't say it's a cute feature of his, but he won't say it's not endearing on any level.
Ode steps back. Then again, and again, until he's got his back to the Sea Captain and is striding his way out of the docks, with enough confidence like he expects him to be following along anyway.
The Sea Captain does, but that doesn't mean anything. He's curious, and the sooner he figures this man out, the sooner they can set out to Bonehead Island.
The Musée. That's where Ode leads them.
It wouldn't have been the first location that he'd have guessed Ode would take him to, no less for the personal business that the Sea Captain had specifically asked him to have sorted out before they left, but he should've known that a weird man would have weird things to get done.
Ode's the one to open the doors, stepping to the side and letting the Sea Captain walk through like some sort of gentleman, even if he certainly doesn't have the appearance of one. He follows him inside once he's entered the building, sticking close behind him like a shadow as he walks over to the Curator.
The man's at his desk as always, deeply invested in whatever he's writing about on the papers he's hunched over, hand and pen moving rapidly across pages that are struggling not to crumple under the pressure. The Sea Captain clears his throat loud enough for the Curator to hear, the sound of pen to paper stopping as he freezes. His head snaps up, eyes widening at the two standing awkwardly in front of him.
“Ah, Captain! I thought you were planning on leaving this morning?” The Curator picks up his stack of papers and straightens them up against his desk, pushing them off to the side so he can lean forward and fold his arms on it instead. His eyes drift over to Ode behind him.
“I was, I should've been gone by now but,” he, too, looks back at Ode, before focusing back on the Curator with a shrug. “I had a little distraction.” He can see Ode wave at the Curator through the corner of his eye.
“I see…” The Curator purses his lips, looking between the two of them before pulling his papers back over to himself, apparently deciding at that moment that they didn't deserve his full attention any longer. Though he gets back to writing as usual, his shoulders are tense, and he looks a little distracted as he writes. “And how does this affect me, Captain?”
“Well, I don't- I don't actually know exactly…” The Sea Captain flushed under the Curator's harsh gaze, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “He wanted to come here before we set sail. He's my passenger.”
“Sea.”
The Sea Captain gently pats Ode on the back, nodding solemnly. “Yeah, sea.”
The Curator stares at the Sea Captain in disbelief, eyes now darting between the two as he tries to piece the situation together, without success. He tries to carry on writing, but his hand has slowed and his handwriting gets messier as the ink bleeds into the paper where he accidentally lets it rest while his attention is unwillingly dragged back to them.
“Is he okay?” He points his pen at Ode, who smiles at the acknowledgement, even if he's clueless to their conversation. The Curator frowns at Ode's bright expression, and after a second he mimics the frown aimed his way, glancing at the Sea Captain questioningly like he's trying to make sure he's doing the right thing. The Sea Captain pats him twice on the shoulder as reassuringly as he can, and gives him a gentle push forward so he isn't hiding behind him anymore. Ode appears a little disgruntled at the new spotlight being put on him, and he shoots a betrayed look back at the Sea Captain.
“Probably, but I don't think he speaks any English except for a few words, and for those I'm not quite sure whether he just hears people say them and repeats it. He showed up out of nowhere and started asking about the sea and the fog that's been about recently, and now he's dragged me here.” The Sea Captain takes a deep breath, the Curator's soft hum prompting him to continue, “I have no idea what he wants, but he definitely knows how to be persistent. I hoped you might know what he wants.”
The Curator's expression betrays no sense of understanding any more than the Sea Captain does, and his brows furrow, mouth opening and then closing not even a second later. Ode doesn't do anything either, just standing there between them, and the Sea Captain wants to bury his face into his hands and scream.
He nudges Ode further forward, “C'mon Ode, that's your cue. Do something, say something, I don't care.”
Ode hesitates, looking more nervous than the Sea Captain's seen the man so far since they'd met, and he doesn't look to be doing much better confidence-wise with the way the Curator is practically glaring at him. He seems to make up his mind, as he steps closer to the Curator by himself this time and gestures up at the exhibit that the Sea Captain totally forgot about behind him. It's that old submarine, the one the Curator takes full pride in whenever someone visits the Musée. He will admit, it certainly has to be the best, and probably the biggest, display in the whole building, and it's become a staple of the place; it's the first thing you see when you enter, and the last thing you see when you leave.
Ode's eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights, more so from a strange excitement over the exhibit than the blinding white above. His long coat sways with his movements, his arms spreading wide as he shouts something the Sea Captain can't understand, and the Curator probably can't understand either. His eccentricity dies down a bit once he realises neither of the two are reacting to what he said. The Sea Captain watches his process, as he looks at the inscription below the submarine, then thinks for a moment, and then spreads his arms once again and shouts something along the lines of ‘Marhino!’.
The Curator and the Sea Captain lock eyes with each other, both seemingly coming to the same conclusion.
“Hey, buddy, do you mean the Marino?” The Sea Captain turns his head to Ode, who nods a little too aggressively. He picks up on the man muttering the word ‘Marino’ under his breath while squinting at the submarine, even if his pronunciation is still a little off, and before either of them can react Ode rushes up to the exhibit.
“Wait, you can't touch the display-” The Curator's arms shoot up, panicked, but too far behind his desk to stop Ode as he places a hand flat against the submarine, mumbling something under his breath that the Sea Captain can't hear from where he's standing. His head hangs low, forehead now resting against it, and the Sea Captain can't find it in himself to be interested in Ode's weirdness this time because he's trying so hard not to burst out laughing at the Curator's horrified expression.
“I think you were a little too late there, Cure.”
“Not a word, Cap.” He groans into his hands, refusing to even look Ode's way. He finally walks out from behind his desk to stand closer to the Sea Captain, looking unimpressed and tired as always. “I don't know why you brought this man here, and I want him out. Also, he stinks.” The Curator sighs, now watching as Ode all but hugs the submarine.
“That he does.” The Sea Captain snickers to himself, now finding some use out of Ode other than him being a fussy passenger, pissing off the Curator a much more worth it reward for having to deal with the man. “But c'mon, look at the guy! I don't think I've seen him this happy. Maybe that's all he came here for, to say goodbye to his, uh, favourite Musée exhibit.”
“How normal.” The Curator shakes his head, looking like he's getting even more grey hairs as his time around Ode grows longer. “Can I kick him out now? He's had his Marino time, I think I've given him more than enough leniency to even be touching it.”
The Sea Captain smiles, nodding and giving the Curator a small side hug before strolling over to where Ode is still admiring the submarine. “Time to go, big guy. I think if you stay any longer Cure might blow a fuse, and I'm telling you, neither of us want that to happen.”
“Marino…” Ode doesn't like the news, or, more likely, the tone of voice indicating that he's probably not got good news for him. He scowls, moving closer to the submarine. The Sea Captain rolls his eyes at the dramaticism, and grabs onto the collar of Ode's coat, weakly pulling him the other way.
“Ode, don't do this.” His feet stay firmly planted on the ground, though, and he–surprisingly gently–pulls his hand away from his collar. Then, to both the surprise of the Sea Captain, and to the Curator's despair, harshly slaps a hand onto the side of the Marino and points at his chest with the other.
“Mine.”
The Sea Captain feels a chill run down his spine. The word comes out like a growl, more animal than human as it rolls off his tongue, venom laced. Just the tone of Ode's voice is enough to make him back down a little, nearly stumbling in his urgency to give the man some space. He glances back to the Curator, sharing a somewhat fearful look between them.
“I…” Ode's eyes are deadly as they move onto the Curator, and the Sea Captain's beginning to feel bad about letting him come here in the first place. He wishes he was out at sea right now. The Curator trembles where he stands, hands reaching up to fix his glasses, even though they don't need fixing. “I don't know what you're talking about, sir. The Marino belongs to the Musée.”
Ode looks from the Curator's frightened expression to the Sea Captain's nervous one, and he sighs softly. Once again, he points at the submarine, then to himself, and then to the Sea Captain this time around.
“Y'know, I think he wants to take it with us on our voyage.”
“What?” The Curator flounders, nearly dropping the glasses in his hands as they clenched them into tight fists. “He cannot just take the Musée's most popular exhibit! I-It's worth a lot–I think–and he has no right to do that. This submarine is old and has a lot of history, e-even if I don't know much of it myself.”
“Marino. Mine.” Ode looks at the Sea Captain expectantly, like he believes he's going to be on his side. “Khap'taan?”
The Sea Captain huffs, “It's Captain. Also, Cure's right. You can't nab the Marino just ‘cause you feel like it.”
Ode tilts his head, and then stands there silently, unblinking. It's awkward, and neither the Sea Captain or the Curator know what to say.
“...So, hypothetically, if we were to borrow the Marino, how would we get it to my ship?”
Wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, the Sea Captain sighs as he finally gets to relax after all the trouble of getting the submarine hooked up to the back of his ship. They'd spent more time in the Musée than he would've liked, and now the Sun's higher in the sky and there are more people up and about in Toad Town who were all able to stare as they passed by.
It was a whole process, with the Curator begrudgingly helping him find someone else who would help get the submarine across town–not without a ‘you owe me’. Ode, despite being the one who started all this trouble, did as little to help as was possible, standing around cluelessly as any orders sent his way were both ignored and not understood. It got to the point where the guy the Curator recruited to help out just told him to stand there and do nothing. At least then, Ode followed that order whether he understood it or not.
And now, he's standing beside the Sea Captain and the Curator, gleaming at the submarine now attached to the ship like it was his life's work.
“Good!” His voice has returned to that booming quality it had earlier, and with the way the Curator flinches at his other side, he can tell it's not appreciated. The Sea Captain gives Ode a short side hug, rubbing his back a little before retracting his arm.
“Yeah, it's good.”
“No it is not!” The Curator squawks next to him, folding his arms indignantly. “I can't believe I let you convince me into lending you the Marino.”
“It'll be fine, Cure!” He laughs fondly, ruffling the older man's hair as he walks ahead. “The thing's in good hands, pinky promise.” Ode trails along after him, gasping softly once he'd realised that the Sea Captain had left his side and working with long strides to fix that.
“You better not be lying, or I'm going to break your pinkie if you break that promise, you hear?”
“Loud and clear!” The Sea Captain hurries through the motions of getting the ship ready to set sail now that he and his one passenger are on board. He leans over the railing, saluting at the Curator after everything was ready for sailing. “You gonna cry and wave your handkerchief at us as we depart?” He smirks down at the Curator, getting an exasperated eye roll in return.
“You know I won't.”
The Sea Captain makes his way to the wheel, shouting over his shoulder, “Don't kid yourself Cure!” He listens to the bark of laughter he can hear behind him, grinning to himself as his ship begins to move from the dock.
“Stay safe out there! And don't let that weirdo you've got with you try anything, alright Cap?”
“You know I won't.” He doesn't specify which part of that he was answering, but they both know anyway. The Sea Captain glances behind him, watching Ode wave energetically at the Curator. He frowns at Ode, though the Sea Captain can tell that it's more fond than annoyed this time, unlike how he'd been with the man earlier. The Curator then directs his attention to him, his frown morphing into a soft smile, one he knows is reserved just for him.
He and the Curator actually have more history than most would think, and a lot people don't even realise they know each other, but since he was a child he knew the man; it was through his father, the two being old college friends. And so, the Curator became almost like a second father to him when he came to visit Toad Town while he still lived at Autumn Mountain. He knows the Musée like the back of his hand with how many times he came to visit.
Now, looking back at the man as he leaves for however long this'll take, the Sea Captain feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He waves at the Curator, and the Curator waves back.
“Good bye, Cure!”
“Okay, you don't know me well enough to call me that!”
The Sea Captain chuckles, turning back to face the foggy sea and wiping the tears with his thumb. This wasn't how he planned on his day starting, and he can only hope he doesn't have to go through any more Ode-related problems as he leaves behind the one person he knew he could go to for help.
And, he really hopes that the Curator doesn't make him clean the whole Musée again like the last time he owed him a favour.