The Ark
Her grin flashes quick and bright, all teeth and confidence. "And handsome," she adds easily, smirk settling in as she looks him over without apology. "But then you had to be. Bastards don’t get away with half as much if they aren’t."
Her eyes don’t waver at his admission, don’t soften in pity or turn away from the weight of the truth. She just looks at him, steady as ever. "Your scars are my scars," she says at once, before her gaze drops then, to where his hand still holds hers, to the silver slash across her palm that mirrors damage she knows down to the grain. "Same way you’ve always felt every one of mine."
She lets the silence stretch when he says he’s tired. Not awkward, just open water. Sleep, she knows, has never fixed what’s wrong when a course is off, especially not with Jack. She doesn’t quite know how to soothe him in this shape—not with hands alone—but her fingers curl more firmly around his just as the Ark herself seems to settle, a deep, familiar sigh running through deck and beam and hull around them. "That’s 'cause sleep isn’t what you need," she says calmly. "You need a new bearing."
Her eyes lift back to his, intent and certain. "For all the new places you’ve taken me. For the berth in King’s End. It’s felt...aimless." Her eyes flick briefly to the porthole, to the black emptiness beyond it. "You've never felt like this before." She looks back at him then, chin lifting just enough to catch his eyes again. The corner of her mouth hooks upward. "Find us a new bearing, Captain. Then you'll be able to get your rest."
Her eyes don’t waver at his admission, don’t soften in pity or turn away from the weight of the truth. She just looks at him, steady as ever. "Your scars are my scars," she says at once, before her gaze drops then, to where his hand still holds hers, to the silver slash across her palm that mirrors damage she knows down to the grain. "Same way you’ve always felt every one of mine."
She lets the silence stretch when he says he’s tired. Not awkward, just open water. Sleep, she knows, has never fixed what’s wrong when a course is off, especially not with Jack. She doesn’t quite know how to soothe him in this shape—not with hands alone—but her fingers curl more firmly around his just as the Ark herself seems to settle, a deep, familiar sigh running through deck and beam and hull around them. "That’s 'cause sleep isn’t what you need," she says calmly. "You need a new bearing."
Her eyes lift back to his, intent and certain. "For all the new places you’ve taken me. For the berth in King’s End. It’s felt...aimless." Her eyes flick briefly to the porthole, to the black emptiness beyond it. "You've never felt like this before." She looks back at him then, chin lifting just enough to catch his eyes again. The corner of her mouth hooks upward. "Find us a new bearing, Captain. Then you'll be able to get your rest."
Her touch is like a tempest, her whisper is a breeze,
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees
Code stolen from Queen Sky
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
