time to roll the dice, you know i'm the type
The Ark lifts one brow at him, slow and unapologetically cocky, and meets his gaze head on. "Yes," she says with utter indignance, only used to being brought the very best that Caido had to offer. There is no apology in her for wanting more either, for wanting to be sharper, faster, less breakable than she is, such that she'll roll her eyes lightly at his remark about cannon arms and empty ships, but the gesture is fond rather than dismissive. Wanting to be better has never something she'd been polite about, because it's never something he's ever been polite about with either of them.
As Jack steps in to help her, she lets him without hesitation; the blood-sticky fabric peels away under his careful hands, and she stands still as he works at clasps and ties, his fingers deft and familiar. Layer by layer he frees her until she is bare, long red hair spilling over her shoulders in a bright cascade that veils only a portion of her breasts without truly concealing anything. The curve of her hips, the line of her thighs, the strength in the set of her stance remain entirely unhidden, and she feels neither shy nor self-conscious beneath his gaze; this body is new, but it is still hers. Still his.
Her eyes flick toward the desk when he mentions the coin, and she nods approvingly, lips curving into a sly, feline smirk before shrugging one shoulder and moving backward toward the bunk, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight when she reaches it. "You have always listened before," she agrees, meaning when she was timber and beam and wheel beneath his hands. "But it might be harder now that I have more complicated thoughts to communicate." Her gaze glints darkly before she reaches back to press her palm against the wall behind the headboard, fingers splayed against the wood in a way that makes her shiver with the echo of sensation she feels. "Maybe we could install something," she muses, still smirk. "A switch I can flip." Something tactile, something made of wood. (wink) "I'm sure Murphy would appreciate me not rattling the whole hull just to get your attention."
As Jack steps in to help her, she lets him without hesitation; the blood-sticky fabric peels away under his careful hands, and she stands still as he works at clasps and ties, his fingers deft and familiar. Layer by layer he frees her until she is bare, long red hair spilling over her shoulders in a bright cascade that veils only a portion of her breasts without truly concealing anything. The curve of her hips, the line of her thighs, the strength in the set of her stance remain entirely unhidden, and she feels neither shy nor self-conscious beneath his gaze; this body is new, but it is still hers. Still his.
Her eyes flick toward the desk when he mentions the coin, and she nods approvingly, lips curving into a sly, feline smirk before shrugging one shoulder and moving backward toward the bunk, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight when she reaches it. "You have always listened before," she agrees, meaning when she was timber and beam and wheel beneath his hands. "But it might be harder now that I have more complicated thoughts to communicate." Her gaze glints darkly before she reaches back to press her palm against the wall behind the headboard, fingers splayed against the wood in a way that makes her shiver with the echo of sensation she feels. "Maybe we could install something," she muses, still smirk. "A switch I can flip." Something tactile, something made of wood. (wink) "I'm sure Murphy would appreciate me not rattling the whole hull just to get your attention."
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.
