Encounterlogs
Rogiers Odd Encounter Sr Neha 241118
The quiet night aboard Rogier's houseboat is interrupted by the appearance of a mysterious woman in the ocean, drawing him out from his online distractions into a real-world enigma. Rogier, initially reluctant, decides to investigate upon spotting her figure illuminated briefly by moonlight. Venturing to the water's edge, he discovers a woman seemingly in distress, swimming towards his location without any diving gear, her presence and appearance sparking a mix of curiosity and caution. Choosing to offer assistance, Rogier throws a rope to the woman, finding her shockingly cold to the touch but seemingly understanding his attempts to communicate despite not responding verbally. Her struggle to stay upright highlights her need for immediate care, leading Rogier to bring her aboard his boat.
Rogier's attempts to provide comfort to the woman unfold with unexpected revelations. She is mysteriously unaffected by the cold and barely responsive to his questions in multiple languages, hinting at a deeper enigma surrounding her identity and origins. The sight of her drenched and vulnerable stirs a protective and caring instinct in Rogier, pushing him to offer his own clothes and warmth. However, the encounter takes a significant turn when the woman, who had been silent up until then, utters a single, enchanting word, "No," in response to Rogier's intention to call an ambulance. Her voice, imbued with a haunting beauty, leaves a profound impact on Rogier, suggesting a connection that transcends the ordinary and challenges his perception of reality. This singular moment of contact hints at the beginning of a mysterious and potentially transformative encounter that is set against the backdrop of the cold, mysterious ocean and a night filled with unanswered questions.
(Rogier's odd encounter(SRNeha):SRNeha)
[Sun Nov 17 2024]
In a ramshackle bedroom
This bedroom is sparsely decorated, and rather modernist. A large panoramic window covers the entire east side of the room sports a panoramic window, halfway clean. A wall bed hides away in the north wall, dropped down, and lined with crisp purple sheets and blankets. The floor is made from linoleum tiling, and the walls are plated with faux wood. There's a low wall under the window, bulging half a foot out, with an accompanying lip over the window. A table rests on the western side of the bed, carrying a forty inch television, a CD player, and an Xbox Series S, no doubt for the sake of entertainment.
Overall, this is more akin to a coffin on the water than a bedroom.
It is night, about 30F(-1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Your target is abducted by a sea creature that's somehow crossed over into our world, it is up to them to survive for long enough that their allies can come help.
)
The world is cloaked in a solemn stillness this night, the lapping of waves against the hull of Rogier's houseboat a steady, unebbing rhythm. Outside the window, the waning gibbous is cloaked behind dark stormclouds that threaten to shed their tears upon the ocean, limned in silver with the moonlight that attempts and fails to pierce through their darkened, rain-laden forms. Shadows stretch low and eerie across the linoleum tiles, casting dark shapes across Rogier's bedroom.
His phone serves as distraction enough for the night, whenever he's taking a break from working on commissions or other, personal pieces of art. Scrolling through Twitter - or X, but everyone thinks of it as Twitter, really - provides the usual entertainment, some racy images and/or art, some political ramblings, memes about boxing, more memes about the newest Arcane episodes - spoiler-tagged, of course - and the occasional cat videos. Reddit won't be much better, really, but scrolling through more local apps might prove fruitful tonight.
"HAVEN MAN GOES MISSING IN OCEAN", says the local news, providing a helpful picture of the aforementioned missing man: blond hair in the sunshine, bright eyes, a familiar jawline, and the name right beneath: Adam Wheaton. He's recognizable at first sight.
The article reads as such:
Coastal authorities are searching for Adam Wheaton, 23, who was reported missing early on Friday morning after disappearing near Willow Cove. Witnesses claim they saw Adam walking alone along the shoreline around 2 AM, though no one reported hearing or seeing any signs of distress. His belongings, including shoes and a hoodie, were later found neatly placed near the edge of the water.
Friends and family describe Adam as a nature enthusiast who often enjoyed late-night walks by the ocean. "He said the sound of the waves helped him clear his head," said a friend. While officials have yet to determine the circumstances of his disappearance, they caution beachgoers to avoid the area at night due to unpredictable tides and hazardous currents. Search efforts are ongoing, and we all stand with Adam's family in this time of distress.
Well, ain't that a bummer.
But, well, honestly, that guy had seemed like a whackjob, right? He hadn't even returned Rogier's hoodie, which... well. Surely he doesn't want the hoodie the probably-dead guy left behind anymore. Still, maybe if Rogier had listened to him... Alas. Alack. It's too late now. Enough internet for the day, perhaps?
Well, shit. That was sad, but that guy had been... kidna nuts, yeah. Rogier's lost hoodie isn't mourned; he'd bought an identical one the next day. They only cost like, twenty bucks, so it'd really been no issue. Maybe if Rogier had listened to him? Maybe if /Adam/ had listened to Rogier, he'd be safely getting his brain checked. It's not that the Dutchman has no sense of empathy, but he doesn't quickly assign blame to himself over other people's ill-advised behaviour. He does click his phone off, though, and let out a sigh. Maybe he'd go have a drink for poor Adam. And not at the Trove, either. He'd had enough tequila for a while. He slides out of bed and grabs his hoodie and shoes, dressing himself up (very plainly) before he opens the hatch and heads up top, keen on getting himself out of the house for a while. Or out of the boat; same thing.
Getting out of the houseboat might be a good idea, for sure. The Haven nightlife is a little lacking, but it surely won't be too bad on a Saturday evening/Sunday morning, and Rogier might even find someone to hang out with and talk about how sad it's all been, and all of that. Or maybe a nice girl (or guy) will take him home so he doesn't have to spend too much time in the houseboat? Anything could happen, really. There's a high chance everyone he meets is going to be sloshed already though, considering how late/early it is.
All of those thoughts can wait for another time, though; for now, as Rogier's just opening up the hatch and heading up top so he can leave the place, there's a momentary glint of moonlit silver in the corner of his eye, there and gone too fast for him to make out what it was. The steady rhythm of the waves is broken by a sudden splashing, the sound sharp and unsynchronized. Out there, in the near distance is a figure, close enough for Rogier to make out the shape if not any specifics, swimming closer to his boat and lifting their hands out and up momentarily to call for attention, even if they don't try to speak out loud. Feminine, if he had to guess, though he doesn't see any diving equipment on them.
Are they drowning? It's hard to tell in the darkness, but surely it's better to be safe than sorry. Whatever the case may be, it's clear that they need Rogier's attention, and likely his assistance.
"God damnit," Rogier sighs aloud. He wasn't going to /not/ look into it with one guy missing already, was he? He turns back towards the ocean, eyeing the figure with their arms lifted before he steps back onto the dock, approaching the end of the pier. It's dark, so he fishes his flashlight out of his pocket and shines it out towards the woman - or what he assumes to be a woman - before lifting his hand up in turn.
"Are you okay?" he calls. "Try and swim closer if you need help." Already, he starts kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his unzipped hoodie. He's proficient with swimming - he'd been put through lessons as he went to school. He wasn't the fittest of people, though, and he'd never done any advanced lessons on lifesaving or the like. He was merely competent.
It is, indeed, a woman. Her hair is loose - who swims in the ocean with hair loose? - and long enough that it drifts in the water around her like seaweed. The beam of light from Rogier's flashlight hits her right in the eyes, which gleam in quite a cat-like manner as though there's a layer of light-reflecting surface behind their depths, right before she flinches away from the sudden brightness and shifts her hand to block the light.
Some more splashing announces her presence drifting closer to Rogier's houseboat, so clearly she needs help, if she's heard his words. She doesn't call out in return though, no words to be heard here, but she pauses near the hull, staring up at Rogier above deck as though waiting for him to send her some means of climbing up onto the boat.
He's not pulling her onto the boat itself, just the pier his houseboat's docked at - but being a dock, there's plenty of rope for him to do just that. He unwinds a loop from a bollard before giving it a good toss out towards the woman.
"Grab it before it sinks!" Rogier calls. He'd have to haul the thing up and toss it again otherwise, and he wasn't here for a god damn work out. Questions of just /why/ the good people of Haven had so few survival instincts flit across his mind, but he can't come up with any good answer. More of his mind remains dedicated to not just falling in if the rope gets tugged too hard. He hated getting his hair wet unnecessarily. It just takes so damn long to dry out.
Those are simple enough instructions. The woman swims closer to grab the loop of rope, apparently having no trouble spotting the line in the dark, and there's a tug that travels up its length towards Rogier when she's ready to be pulled up - hard, but not too hard, not threatening to pull him into the dark depths of the water. It's okay if it's just going to take her onto the pier and not the deck of his boat. She's not picky.
She's nobody Rogier can recall seeing around Haven before, from what glimpses he's caught of her features. Maybe she's a part of the rescue team out looking for poor Adam, or maybe she's just a tourist who'd chosen a bad time to visit, who can tell, really? Rogier has plenty of time for his mental questions and other related or unrelated thoughts; as she's pulled up, the woman manages to hit the side of the pier - maybe a supporting post? - with a thunk that sounds like it hurts, and she ends up dangling off the side for a little, the air knocked out of her lungs, before she finally pulls herself up the rest of the way with Rogier's help, ending up dripping water all over the wooden pier.
And... well. Once she's up there, catching her breath with ragged gasps, it's all too clear what the problem might be: she's entirely naked. Her long hair clings to her skin, her chest provided some minor measure of modesty by the dark locks, though there's enough pale flesh on display that it hardly matters at all. Embarrassment doesn't seem to be on the menu; she sits there, thighs pressed together and legs folded under her, and looks up at Rogier with a look that might perhaps be grateful, if he's paying enough attention to her face to notice. She still doesn't speak, but the meaning must come across regardless, with the dip of her thick lashes and the tilt of her head just slightly to the side, and the tiny smile that tugs at the corners of her plush lips while she takes in Rogier.
Rogier's not a teenager anymore, so the mere presence of a naked woman doesn't cause him to spontaneously combust, even when she's dripping wet and looking up at him. His cheeks may warm /slightly/. Mostly, though, he just swears under his breath, snatching up his discarded hoodie to toss to the woman before he crouches down a little.
"Do you speak English?" he asks. Then, cycling through his other languages in their own tongues, "Dutch? Arabic? Any kind of Berber?" He's a little hesitant to touch her, but he does take hold of her shoulder, trying to gauge her temperature.
"You should dry off and warm up. Come on. You can borrow some of my clothes."
Beneath Rogier's hand, the woman's skin is entirely /freezing/, though it's unclear how much of that is her base temperature and how much of it is the effect of the water - it does get pretty chilly these days, with winter rapidly approaching. She's not shivering though, which may be an absolutely terrible sign, considering the circumstances, and Rogier's hoodie lands upon her lap, going entirely ignored. She doesn't react to any of the languages he speaks, though something about her demeanor does give the impression that she understands what he's saying.
At the offer of drying off and warming up, the woman reaches out to place her hand on top of Rogier's, fingers clutching at him for support so she can find her way unsteadily to her feet. His hoodie drops right to the ground to get wet in ocean-water as she straightens on trembling legs, sways, and-
Oop, there she goes, right onto Rogier as her legs give out from beneath her. Walking seems out of the question, if she can't even manage standing.
Jesus. Rogier's not the strongest man in the world, but having a freezing cold, half-drowned-so-they-can't-speak woman collapse onto him rouses a protective instinct in him, and he quickly wraps an arm beneath her shoulders to keep her upright. He's got a stocky build, and he's not too tall, so he's never struggled too much with balance. Fishing his hoodie back up with a toe, Rogier cranes to the side to snag it up before he begins to slowly lead the woman up onto his houseboat. He only intends to keep her moving, pulling her along if needed - but if her legs completely fail, he'll try to lift the woman aboard.
Lifting might turn out to be necessary after all. The woman is dead weight when it comes to walking back to his boat, and just like how it works in swimming, she's going to make Rogier drown too if he doesn't carry her more properly. It's as though she's forgotten how walking works - perhaps it's just due to the shock of almost-drowning? Whatever the case may be, it's the second time in as many weeks that Rogier is going to have to harbor an almost-drowned swimmer in his houseboat. Hopefully this one ends up better than the last. If not, he might be cursed. That can be the only explanation, surely.
Adam's appearance last week had sealed the deal for Rogier that he was going to do one of those CPR courses, but this second case now informs him that he'd better get to it sooner rather than later. No matter; he murmurs a quick, "Sorry, just let me get you up here..." before he scoops his free arm beneath the woman's knees, sucking in a breath (and his nascent gut before) lifting his knees up straight. He'd probably pay for the maneuver with back pain down the line, but the posture he maintained when doing his art work demanded a similar tithe of him, so whatever. Now he can speedily waddle the young woman onto the boat and down the stairs, where the space heater lies ready for a little warming action. He sits the woman down on the bed, then gets the heat going, then goes to find some more clothing and the same towel Adam had dried off with, which he sets down by her side.
He's not going to do the drying for her unless it's clear she can't do it for herself, to be clear. That one does go a bit far for his sense of personal modesty. He's already getting his phone out, too. He'll get the ambulance arriving /early/ this time.
The woman is definitely not in need of CPR, but maybe Rogier would know that himself if he'd taken a CPR course. She winds her arms around Rogier's shoulders when she's picked up, so her upper half is definitely working fine, and her weight, while perfectly able to be lugged into the houseboat and deposited onto Rogier's bed, definitely promises back pain. She's thin, but only a few inches shorter than him.
It's only when he's putting the towel at her side that the woman reacts, as though pulled out of a haze. There's few expression to be found on her face, but the sudden alertness is remarkably clear, and she picks up the towel to bring it up to her nose, glancing down at it with her darkly-lashed eyes. Maybe he should let her know that's for drying.
In the light of his bedroom, her features are more visible: her hair is black at first glance, but it gleams a dark green when the light hits it, seeming perpetually damp around her head like an oil slick even if it's not dripping water anymore.
And then Rogier's bringing out his phone to call the ambulance, and there's a sharp intake of breath as her attention drifts back towards Rogier. She opens her mouth to speak.
"No."
It's almost melodic, her cadence, even if she'd barely spoken the one syllable. Her voice is lovely, even after all the saltwater she must have inhaled, and it rings out like a bell, chiming out clear and sweet. Has he ever heard a voice so compelling before?
What kind of a question is that, even? Of course he hasn't. It's the sort of voice poets must write poems about. The sort of voice a thousand ships would sail for. The sort of voice he has to capture the beauty of, as an artist. This must be what he's made for.
Those are all fleeting thoughts that would pass a few seconds after she falls quiet, of course, but her meaning should be clear enough: she doesn't want him to be calling anyone.
Rogier's attempts to provide comfort to the woman unfold with unexpected revelations. She is mysteriously unaffected by the cold and barely responsive to his questions in multiple languages, hinting at a deeper enigma surrounding her identity and origins. The sight of her drenched and vulnerable stirs a protective and caring instinct in Rogier, pushing him to offer his own clothes and warmth. However, the encounter takes a significant turn when the woman, who had been silent up until then, utters a single, enchanting word, "No," in response to Rogier's intention to call an ambulance. Her voice, imbued with a haunting beauty, leaves a profound impact on Rogier, suggesting a connection that transcends the ordinary and challenges his perception of reality. This singular moment of contact hints at the beginning of a mysterious and potentially transformative encounter that is set against the backdrop of the cold, mysterious ocean and a night filled with unanswered questions.
(Rogier's odd encounter(SRNeha):SRNeha)
[Sun Nov 17 2024]
In a ramshackle bedroom
This bedroom is sparsely decorated, and rather modernist. A large panoramic window covers the entire east side of the room sports a panoramic window, halfway clean. A wall bed hides away in the north wall, dropped down, and lined with crisp purple sheets and blankets. The floor is made from linoleum tiling, and the walls are plated with faux wood. There's a low wall under the window, bulging half a foot out, with an accompanying lip over the window. A table rests on the western side of the bed, carrying a forty inch television, a CD player, and an Xbox Series S, no doubt for the sake of entertainment.
Overall, this is more akin to a coffin on the water than a bedroom.
It is night, about 30F(-1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Your target is abducted by a sea creature that's somehow crossed over into our world, it is up to them to survive for long enough that their allies can come help.
)
The world is cloaked in a solemn stillness this night, the lapping of waves against the hull of Rogier's houseboat a steady, unebbing rhythm. Outside the window, the waning gibbous is cloaked behind dark stormclouds that threaten to shed their tears upon the ocean, limned in silver with the moonlight that attempts and fails to pierce through their darkened, rain-laden forms. Shadows stretch low and eerie across the linoleum tiles, casting dark shapes across Rogier's bedroom.
His phone serves as distraction enough for the night, whenever he's taking a break from working on commissions or other, personal pieces of art. Scrolling through Twitter - or X, but everyone thinks of it as Twitter, really - provides the usual entertainment, some racy images and/or art, some political ramblings, memes about boxing, more memes about the newest Arcane episodes - spoiler-tagged, of course - and the occasional cat videos. Reddit won't be much better, really, but scrolling through more local apps might prove fruitful tonight.
"HAVEN MAN GOES MISSING IN OCEAN", says the local news, providing a helpful picture of the aforementioned missing man: blond hair in the sunshine, bright eyes, a familiar jawline, and the name right beneath: Adam Wheaton. He's recognizable at first sight.
The article reads as such:
Coastal authorities are searching for Adam Wheaton, 23, who was reported missing early on Friday morning after disappearing near Willow Cove. Witnesses claim they saw Adam walking alone along the shoreline around 2 AM, though no one reported hearing or seeing any signs of distress. His belongings, including shoes and a hoodie, were later found neatly placed near the edge of the water.
Friends and family describe Adam as a nature enthusiast who often enjoyed late-night walks by the ocean. "He said the sound of the waves helped him clear his head," said a friend. While officials have yet to determine the circumstances of his disappearance, they caution beachgoers to avoid the area at night due to unpredictable tides and hazardous currents. Search efforts are ongoing, and we all stand with Adam's family in this time of distress.
Well, ain't that a bummer.
But, well, honestly, that guy had seemed like a whackjob, right? He hadn't even returned Rogier's hoodie, which... well. Surely he doesn't want the hoodie the probably-dead guy left behind anymore. Still, maybe if Rogier had listened to him... Alas. Alack. It's too late now. Enough internet for the day, perhaps?
Well, shit. That was sad, but that guy had been... kidna nuts, yeah. Rogier's lost hoodie isn't mourned; he'd bought an identical one the next day. They only cost like, twenty bucks, so it'd really been no issue. Maybe if Rogier had listened to him? Maybe if /Adam/ had listened to Rogier, he'd be safely getting his brain checked. It's not that the Dutchman has no sense of empathy, but he doesn't quickly assign blame to himself over other people's ill-advised behaviour. He does click his phone off, though, and let out a sigh. Maybe he'd go have a drink for poor Adam. And not at the Trove, either. He'd had enough tequila for a while. He slides out of bed and grabs his hoodie and shoes, dressing himself up (very plainly) before he opens the hatch and heads up top, keen on getting himself out of the house for a while. Or out of the boat; same thing.
Getting out of the houseboat might be a good idea, for sure. The Haven nightlife is a little lacking, but it surely won't be too bad on a Saturday evening/Sunday morning, and Rogier might even find someone to hang out with and talk about how sad it's all been, and all of that. Or maybe a nice girl (or guy) will take him home so he doesn't have to spend too much time in the houseboat? Anything could happen, really. There's a high chance everyone he meets is going to be sloshed already though, considering how late/early it is.
All of those thoughts can wait for another time, though; for now, as Rogier's just opening up the hatch and heading up top so he can leave the place, there's a momentary glint of moonlit silver in the corner of his eye, there and gone too fast for him to make out what it was. The steady rhythm of the waves is broken by a sudden splashing, the sound sharp and unsynchronized. Out there, in the near distance is a figure, close enough for Rogier to make out the shape if not any specifics, swimming closer to his boat and lifting their hands out and up momentarily to call for attention, even if they don't try to speak out loud. Feminine, if he had to guess, though he doesn't see any diving equipment on them.
Are they drowning? It's hard to tell in the darkness, but surely it's better to be safe than sorry. Whatever the case may be, it's clear that they need Rogier's attention, and likely his assistance.
"God damnit," Rogier sighs aloud. He wasn't going to /not/ look into it with one guy missing already, was he? He turns back towards the ocean, eyeing the figure with their arms lifted before he steps back onto the dock, approaching the end of the pier. It's dark, so he fishes his flashlight out of his pocket and shines it out towards the woman - or what he assumes to be a woman - before lifting his hand up in turn.
"Are you okay?" he calls. "Try and swim closer if you need help." Already, he starts kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his unzipped hoodie. He's proficient with swimming - he'd been put through lessons as he went to school. He wasn't the fittest of people, though, and he'd never done any advanced lessons on lifesaving or the like. He was merely competent.
It is, indeed, a woman. Her hair is loose - who swims in the ocean with hair loose? - and long enough that it drifts in the water around her like seaweed. The beam of light from Rogier's flashlight hits her right in the eyes, which gleam in quite a cat-like manner as though there's a layer of light-reflecting surface behind their depths, right before she flinches away from the sudden brightness and shifts her hand to block the light.
Some more splashing announces her presence drifting closer to Rogier's houseboat, so clearly she needs help, if she's heard his words. She doesn't call out in return though, no words to be heard here, but she pauses near the hull, staring up at Rogier above deck as though waiting for him to send her some means of climbing up onto the boat.
He's not pulling her onto the boat itself, just the pier his houseboat's docked at - but being a dock, there's plenty of rope for him to do just that. He unwinds a loop from a bollard before giving it a good toss out towards the woman.
"Grab it before it sinks!" Rogier calls. He'd have to haul the thing up and toss it again otherwise, and he wasn't here for a god damn work out. Questions of just /why/ the good people of Haven had so few survival instincts flit across his mind, but he can't come up with any good answer. More of his mind remains dedicated to not just falling in if the rope gets tugged too hard. He hated getting his hair wet unnecessarily. It just takes so damn long to dry out.
Those are simple enough instructions. The woman swims closer to grab the loop of rope, apparently having no trouble spotting the line in the dark, and there's a tug that travels up its length towards Rogier when she's ready to be pulled up - hard, but not too hard, not threatening to pull him into the dark depths of the water. It's okay if it's just going to take her onto the pier and not the deck of his boat. She's not picky.
She's nobody Rogier can recall seeing around Haven before, from what glimpses he's caught of her features. Maybe she's a part of the rescue team out looking for poor Adam, or maybe she's just a tourist who'd chosen a bad time to visit, who can tell, really? Rogier has plenty of time for his mental questions and other related or unrelated thoughts; as she's pulled up, the woman manages to hit the side of the pier - maybe a supporting post? - with a thunk that sounds like it hurts, and she ends up dangling off the side for a little, the air knocked out of her lungs, before she finally pulls herself up the rest of the way with Rogier's help, ending up dripping water all over the wooden pier.
And... well. Once she's up there, catching her breath with ragged gasps, it's all too clear what the problem might be: she's entirely naked. Her long hair clings to her skin, her chest provided some minor measure of modesty by the dark locks, though there's enough pale flesh on display that it hardly matters at all. Embarrassment doesn't seem to be on the menu; she sits there, thighs pressed together and legs folded under her, and looks up at Rogier with a look that might perhaps be grateful, if he's paying enough attention to her face to notice. She still doesn't speak, but the meaning must come across regardless, with the dip of her thick lashes and the tilt of her head just slightly to the side, and the tiny smile that tugs at the corners of her plush lips while she takes in Rogier.
Rogier's not a teenager anymore, so the mere presence of a naked woman doesn't cause him to spontaneously combust, even when she's dripping wet and looking up at him. His cheeks may warm /slightly/. Mostly, though, he just swears under his breath, snatching up his discarded hoodie to toss to the woman before he crouches down a little.
"Do you speak English?" he asks. Then, cycling through his other languages in their own tongues, "Dutch? Arabic? Any kind of Berber?" He's a little hesitant to touch her, but he does take hold of her shoulder, trying to gauge her temperature.
"You should dry off and warm up. Come on. You can borrow some of my clothes."
Beneath Rogier's hand, the woman's skin is entirely /freezing/, though it's unclear how much of that is her base temperature and how much of it is the effect of the water - it does get pretty chilly these days, with winter rapidly approaching. She's not shivering though, which may be an absolutely terrible sign, considering the circumstances, and Rogier's hoodie lands upon her lap, going entirely ignored. She doesn't react to any of the languages he speaks, though something about her demeanor does give the impression that she understands what he's saying.
At the offer of drying off and warming up, the woman reaches out to place her hand on top of Rogier's, fingers clutching at him for support so she can find her way unsteadily to her feet. His hoodie drops right to the ground to get wet in ocean-water as she straightens on trembling legs, sways, and-
Oop, there she goes, right onto Rogier as her legs give out from beneath her. Walking seems out of the question, if she can't even manage standing.
Jesus. Rogier's not the strongest man in the world, but having a freezing cold, half-drowned-so-they-can't-speak woman collapse onto him rouses a protective instinct in him, and he quickly wraps an arm beneath her shoulders to keep her upright. He's got a stocky build, and he's not too tall, so he's never struggled too much with balance. Fishing his hoodie back up with a toe, Rogier cranes to the side to snag it up before he begins to slowly lead the woman up onto his houseboat. He only intends to keep her moving, pulling her along if needed - but if her legs completely fail, he'll try to lift the woman aboard.
Lifting might turn out to be necessary after all. The woman is dead weight when it comes to walking back to his boat, and just like how it works in swimming, she's going to make Rogier drown too if he doesn't carry her more properly. It's as though she's forgotten how walking works - perhaps it's just due to the shock of almost-drowning? Whatever the case may be, it's the second time in as many weeks that Rogier is going to have to harbor an almost-drowned swimmer in his houseboat. Hopefully this one ends up better than the last. If not, he might be cursed. That can be the only explanation, surely.
Adam's appearance last week had sealed the deal for Rogier that he was going to do one of those CPR courses, but this second case now informs him that he'd better get to it sooner rather than later. No matter; he murmurs a quick, "Sorry, just let me get you up here..." before he scoops his free arm beneath the woman's knees, sucking in a breath (and his nascent gut before) lifting his knees up straight. He'd probably pay for the maneuver with back pain down the line, but the posture he maintained when doing his art work demanded a similar tithe of him, so whatever. Now he can speedily waddle the young woman onto the boat and down the stairs, where the space heater lies ready for a little warming action. He sits the woman down on the bed, then gets the heat going, then goes to find some more clothing and the same towel Adam had dried off with, which he sets down by her side.
He's not going to do the drying for her unless it's clear she can't do it for herself, to be clear. That one does go a bit far for his sense of personal modesty. He's already getting his phone out, too. He'll get the ambulance arriving /early/ this time.
The woman is definitely not in need of CPR, but maybe Rogier would know that himself if he'd taken a CPR course. She winds her arms around Rogier's shoulders when she's picked up, so her upper half is definitely working fine, and her weight, while perfectly able to be lugged into the houseboat and deposited onto Rogier's bed, definitely promises back pain. She's thin, but only a few inches shorter than him.
It's only when he's putting the towel at her side that the woman reacts, as though pulled out of a haze. There's few expression to be found on her face, but the sudden alertness is remarkably clear, and she picks up the towel to bring it up to her nose, glancing down at it with her darkly-lashed eyes. Maybe he should let her know that's for drying.
In the light of his bedroom, her features are more visible: her hair is black at first glance, but it gleams a dark green when the light hits it, seeming perpetually damp around her head like an oil slick even if it's not dripping water anymore.
And then Rogier's bringing out his phone to call the ambulance, and there's a sharp intake of breath as her attention drifts back towards Rogier. She opens her mouth to speak.
"No."
It's almost melodic, her cadence, even if she'd barely spoken the one syllable. Her voice is lovely, even after all the saltwater she must have inhaled, and it rings out like a bell, chiming out clear and sweet. Has he ever heard a voice so compelling before?
What kind of a question is that, even? Of course he hasn't. It's the sort of voice poets must write poems about. The sort of voice a thousand ships would sail for. The sort of voice he has to capture the beauty of, as an artist. This must be what he's made for.
Those are all fleeting thoughts that would pass a few seconds after she falls quiet, of course, but her meaning should be clear enough: she doesn't want him to be calling anyone.