time to roll the dice, you know i'm the type
His hand spreads against her hip and the contact is like a ballast; the churn inside her eases at once, storm-tide settling under the steady weight of him. What had begun to rise sharp and dark smooths into something deeper, heavier, no less dangerous. She feels the warmth of his palm through silk and lets it anchor her there on the arm of his chair, her gaze never leaving the man with the knife as Jack considers aloud the virtue of blood at a poker table. The faint scent of ozone prickles through the dim air and when lightning cracks up the blade she does not so much as blink, though she does lean subtly into Jack as the thug screams, drawn not only to the violence itself but to the power that coils so easily in his hands.
"Tch," she murmurs under her breath as smoke curls from the man’s fingers. "They haven’t had the benefit of your company long enough." Her tone is almost indulgent, as if she is discussing unruly deckhands rather than fools who have just invited ruin. A year in King's End should have been long enough for them to know better, but there was no account for stupid.
When Jack rises she allows him to help her up as though he is escorting her from dinner rather than into chaos, fingers sliding into his for a moment before she steps neatly to his side. Around them the bar explodes into motion, boots pounding across uneven planks, chairs toppling, curses flung like broken bottles. The waters of her mind do not settle this time; they flare alive with white forks of lightning and sudden swells that crash against the edges of the room. She will not cage Jack in a hurricane's eye of calm—that would be boring—but nor will she let him be heeled by being outnumbered.
So it is that a table will skid abruptly sideways as if struck by an unseen hull, clearing space at Jack’s side so that he can step away from an incoming blow. A chair will lift and clatter against the far wall in a sharp gust that seems to come from nowhere, leaving an open path at his feet. When one of the braver—or more foolish—men attempts to circle behind Jack while the Captain already has three men at his front, he'll find himself met by a concussive blast of air that slams into his belly and steals the breath from his lungs, sending him staggering backward with a wheeze.
"Tch," she murmurs under her breath as smoke curls from the man’s fingers. "They haven’t had the benefit of your company long enough." Her tone is almost indulgent, as if she is discussing unruly deckhands rather than fools who have just invited ruin. A year in King's End should have been long enough for them to know better, but there was no account for stupid.
When Jack rises she allows him to help her up as though he is escorting her from dinner rather than into chaos, fingers sliding into his for a moment before she steps neatly to his side. Around them the bar explodes into motion, boots pounding across uneven planks, chairs toppling, curses flung like broken bottles. The waters of her mind do not settle this time; they flare alive with white forks of lightning and sudden swells that crash against the edges of the room. She will not cage Jack in a hurricane's eye of calm—that would be boring—but nor will she let him be heeled by being outnumbered.
So it is that a table will skid abruptly sideways as if struck by an unseen hull, clearing space at Jack’s side so that he can step away from an incoming blow. A chair will lift and clatter against the far wall in a sharp gust that seems to come from nowhere, leaving an open path at his feet. When one of the braver—or more foolish—men attempts to circle behind Jack while the Captain already has three men at his front, he'll find himself met by a concussive blast of air that slams into his belly and steals the breath from his lungs, sending him staggering backward with a wheeze.
time to risk my life, not afraid to die, i'm a straight up villain
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.
