i see nothing better, i'll keep him forever, like a vendetta
Her legs slide around the back of his thighs in one smooth motion, twining there with quiet certainty and holding him in place between her knees as though she were drawing a line taut and making it fast. When he repeats what Flora had said, one brow lifts and her mouth curves slowly, the expression edged with private satisfaction rather than cruelty. "The most dangerous man she’s ever known," she echoes, her tone low and almost contemplative as her fingers trail along the edge of his collar. "At least she got one thing about you right."
She pours herself a measure of the dark rum without looking away from him, the liquid falling thick and amber into the chilled glass, and she drinks it slowly, letting the heat spread and settle. The waters of her mind, restless and wind-cut since the exchange above deck, begin to smooth beneath that burn; the agitation does not vanish, but it finds its horizon again, a molten sun sinking low over steadier swells. As he speaks of loose ends and blind signatures, her hands move to his shirt and begin undoing the buttons one by one. "I don’t have much faith in his blind obedience," she says evenly, her palms flattening briefly against his chest as fabric parts beneath her touch. "But if everyone but you forgot who Flora was, where d’you think she’d run the moment it happened?"
There is no jealousy in the question, no edge of insecurity, only the certainty of knowing how certain currents pull. If memory were stripped from the world and identity blurred into fog, she has no doubt where Flora’s first instinct would drive her.
When he mutters that he hated it, the roughness in his voice settles into her and she lifts her gaze fully to him, nodding once. "I did too." She was fashioned to cut through conflict as much as to carry it, built to shield and to strike in equal measure, and being forced to hold her position while words and threats moved across her deck had required a discipline that scraped against her grain. She can endure damage, can weather splinter and strain without flinching, but watching Jack stand exposed while she kept still had felt like binding her own cannons and ordering silence. It had taken effort not to answer, not to draw herself out of the ship and step out at his side. That it would only have given Flora's bullshit an extra target to aim for had been the only reason she'd managed to stay put.
She pours herself a measure of the dark rum without looking away from him, the liquid falling thick and amber into the chilled glass, and she drinks it slowly, letting the heat spread and settle. The waters of her mind, restless and wind-cut since the exchange above deck, begin to smooth beneath that burn; the agitation does not vanish, but it finds its horizon again, a molten sun sinking low over steadier swells. As he speaks of loose ends and blind signatures, her hands move to his shirt and begin undoing the buttons one by one. "I don’t have much faith in his blind obedience," she says evenly, her palms flattening briefly against his chest as fabric parts beneath her touch. "But if everyone but you forgot who Flora was, where d’you think she’d run the moment it happened?"
There is no jealousy in the question, no edge of insecurity, only the certainty of knowing how certain currents pull. If memory were stripped from the world and identity blurred into fog, she has no doubt where Flora’s first instinct would drive her.
When he mutters that he hated it, the roughness in his voice settles into her and she lifts her gaze fully to him, nodding once. "I did too." She was fashioned to cut through conflict as much as to carry it, built to shield and to strike in equal measure, and being forced to hold her position while words and threats moved across her deck had required a discipline that scraped against her grain. She can endure damage, can weather splinter and strain without flinching, but watching Jack stand exposed while she kept still had felt like binding her own cannons and ordering silence. It had taken effort not to answer, not to draw herself out of the ship and step out at his side. That it would only have given Flora's bullshit an extra target to aim for had been the only reason she'd managed to stay put.
i see how this is gonna go, touch me and you'll never be alone
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.
