The Ark
The sudden catch of wind runs through The Ark at the same moment it fills the sails, a clean, hungry pull that tugs at her hair and sends it streaming back in a red banner, canvas answering canvas. She laughs under her breath as the ship banks, the rush sliding down her spine like cold water finding a seam, and she glances back over her shoulder toward the helm. Murphy gets a crooked smile for it—not the siren’s promise, not the lure she’s been casting so freely tonight—but something steadier and shockingly sincere. The kind of look given to a man who knows where to put his hands and when to keep them there. The wind presses against her ribs, and she lets it, savouring the way it hums through wood and bone alike. Then she turns away and heads for Jack.
By the time she reaches him, her smile has shifted again, feline now, playful, eyes bright with mischief and heat. She comes to a stop in front of him and folds her arms slowly across her chest, the movement loosening the pearls strung there; a few slip free and scatter across the deck, clicking and rolling like dropped dice. "I’ve always liked him," she says, nodding vaguely back toward the helm as she nibbles at her lower lip, watching Jack through her lashes.
The affection that brushes Jack’s mind alongside the words will be warm and settled, salt-deep and sure. But there's no hunger in it, no sharp edge. Just devotion and pleasure, the quiet satisfaction of a ship knowing her first mate has always kept her steady when it mattered, and even when it didn't.
"But do you know what I'd really like?" And, because he's a telepath, of course he will. A cigarette.
By the time she reaches him, her smile has shifted again, feline now, playful, eyes bright with mischief and heat. She comes to a stop in front of him and folds her arms slowly across her chest, the movement loosening the pearls strung there; a few slip free and scatter across the deck, clicking and rolling like dropped dice. "I’ve always liked him," she says, nodding vaguely back toward the helm as she nibbles at her lower lip, watching Jack through her lashes.
The affection that brushes Jack’s mind alongside the words will be warm and settled, salt-deep and sure. But there's no hunger in it, no sharp edge. Just devotion and pleasure, the quiet satisfaction of a ship knowing her first mate has always kept her steady when it mattered, and even when it didn't.
"But do you know what I'd really like?" And, because he's a telepath, of course he will. A cigarette.
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.
