[SE] If I hit the bottom will I break?

melita

and she recklessly plays with matches

What did one do when finality reached and plucked and struck? Melita wasn’t entirely sure – her machinations commonly went to present and now, and caught in the flow of tenacity, time, hands, mouths, she really didn’t have an answer. The thereafter didn’t seem like much of a burden when there were other things to occupy her impulsive and brazen mind; senses not on the ocean or the boat, but him, responding to her audacity with his own compulsion, and there they were. She blinked, opening her eyes to see his, foreheads and lips brushing.

She snorted, breaking apart that tension with some bountiful laughter that spoke highly of liquor but also those needs carved out of somewhere; the impetuousness leading to only confusion as he touched, then pulled away. She might’ve offered something dumbfounded if he didn’t seem equally uncertain and rattled. “Yeah, well, you had plenty of opportunities,” she wrinkled her nose in response, hovering on the edges of asking what the hell they were doing, and then not wanting to dive deeper into the semantics and questions. Instead, her smile turned Cheshire and she swiftly maneuvered around, stepping over lines and her stunned companions features, to unfurl at the sails again. “Need to learn to take them,” was a recommendation on her impeccable challenges –

Of course, she wasn’t going to say that she didn’t know what came next either. So heading back might’ve been the next best thing to facing the precariousness they stomped upon.

[FIN]