The Ark
The sea falls away from The Ark like a lover stepping back, and gravity descends in its place, dense and unrelenting. Her body feels suddenly heavier than any hull she has ever known, and instinctively she tightens around Jack, her thighs bracketing his hips more firmly, her arm looping tighter at his neck. His hands at her thighs are a welcome anchor and she leans into him without shame, without hesitation, because for the first time she understands how much the water had been holding her, and Jack will feel the almost childish way her mind wants to go back into the water.
The sun, though...It pours across her shoulders and down her back, catches in the droplets clinging to her skin, and she shivers—not from cold but from the sudden, radiant heat of it—the way it kisses every inch of her at once. It is different from the filtered glow beneath the surface, different too from how it felt when she was dry.
When Jack tempts her with the sand, lowering her toes toward it like an offering, she studies it with the same sharp curiosity she once gave to unfamiliar harbours. "When," she whispers back, mischief brightening her tone, and lets herself slip from his hold, though one arm remains wound around him, unwilling yet to relinquish that point of balance or safety in this brave new world he'd brought her to. The crew are too far away to see them, but were they near enough, the pair might look like some hedonistic Adam and Eve risen from the sea, naked and shameless, standing on their own little slice of the world.
As the Ark's feet meet the sand, she recoils at once as it clings to her. Fine grains stick to her wet skin, pressing into her soles and between her toes, and she jerks one leg up with an expression of genuine shock. The texture is nothing like deck boards, nothing like water; it is dry and shifting and insistently present. She presses herself into him again, more startled than distressed, lifting her foot and flexing her toes as if that might dislodge the invasion, but of course the sand merely grits against her skin unpleasantly.
Her lashes, still clumped with saltwater, frame eyes made even brighter by the flush of colour across her cheeks, and her hair—already beginning to dry in the heat—falls in tangled waves around her. She studies the shoreline, then looks up at Jack with open disbelief. "And you all actually like this?" she asks, incredulous and amused in equal measure, her lifted foot still dusted in pale gold as if the beach might also claim some small part of her.
The sun, though...It pours across her shoulders and down her back, catches in the droplets clinging to her skin, and she shivers—not from cold but from the sudden, radiant heat of it—the way it kisses every inch of her at once. It is different from the filtered glow beneath the surface, different too from how it felt when she was dry.
When Jack tempts her with the sand, lowering her toes toward it like an offering, she studies it with the same sharp curiosity she once gave to unfamiliar harbours. "When," she whispers back, mischief brightening her tone, and lets herself slip from his hold, though one arm remains wound around him, unwilling yet to relinquish that point of balance or safety in this brave new world he'd brought her to. The crew are too far away to see them, but were they near enough, the pair might look like some hedonistic Adam and Eve risen from the sea, naked and shameless, standing on their own little slice of the world.
As the Ark's feet meet the sand, she recoils at once as it clings to her. Fine grains stick to her wet skin, pressing into her soles and between her toes, and she jerks one leg up with an expression of genuine shock. The texture is nothing like deck boards, nothing like water; it is dry and shifting and insistently present. She presses herself into him again, more startled than distressed, lifting her foot and flexing her toes as if that might dislodge the invasion, but of course the sand merely grits against her skin unpleasantly.
Her lashes, still clumped with saltwater, frame eyes made even brighter by the flush of colour across her cheeks, and her hair—already beginning to dry in the heat—falls in tangled waves around her. She studies the shoreline, then looks up at Jack with open disbelief. "And you all actually like this?" she asks, incredulous and amused in equal measure, her lifted foot still dusted in pale gold as if the beach might also claim some small part of her.
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.
