time to roll the dice, you know i'm the type
If he were the sort of man one could slip past with a feigned errand and a sweet smile, she might have claimed she needed to speak with Murphy and vanished back toward the Exchange to finish what had been started. The thought flickers through her anyway—sharp, bright, unapologetic—and the faint, haughty lift of her eyes across his face carries not a shred of remorse for it.
But she huffs instead, turning away with reluctant obedience and crossing the cabin to sink down onto his bunk. The mattress dips and groans beneath her weight, familiar in a way that is almost mocking; she has felt him collapse there countless times, bruised and bloodied and stubbornly alive. The echo of that memory does nothing to soothe her. It only reminds her that this is the part she dislikes most; this stillness, the enforced pause.
She leans back against the headboard with an irritated sigh, one hand rising briefly toward her bandage before thinking better of it. From there she watches him move about the cabin, steady and practiced as he measures and mixes, and something in her chest tightens in a way she does not name. "You should have asked Rae to make one of my arms a cannon," she mutters under her breath.
But she huffs instead, turning away with reluctant obedience and crossing the cabin to sink down onto his bunk. The mattress dips and groans beneath her weight, familiar in a way that is almost mocking; she has felt him collapse there countless times, bruised and bloodied and stubbornly alive. The echo of that memory does nothing to soothe her. It only reminds her that this is the part she dislikes most; this stillness, the enforced pause.
She leans back against the headboard with an irritated sigh, one hand rising briefly toward her bandage before thinking better of it. From there she watches him move about the cabin, steady and practiced as he measures and mixes, and something in her chest tightens in a way she does not name. "You should have asked Rae to make one of my arms a cannon," she mutters under her breath.
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.
