bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
The Ark lets out a soft chuckle at that, the sound slipping low and amused from her lips as she reins in the immediate, flickering urge to test that theory before last call just to see if she could. Instead, she settles for a grin, sharp and easy. "Maybe on his day off, then."
She lifts a hand to her hair, fingers sliding through it in a slow, absent motion that suggests ease, though her eyes—when they flick back to Jack—give nothing away at all. The room might be watching, but she doesn’t look like she minds it. "It’s not trouble I’m worried about," she says in a low voice, one shoulder lifting in a small, casual shrug. "It’s the not knowing. If I knew what they were thinking, I could—" Abruptly, she stops herself, a quiet laugh slipping out instead as she shakes her head faintly. There’s no need to finish that thought, not with him.
Her attention drops to the table, and she presses a fingertip lightly against the wood, tracing a slow, idle circle. Water gathers there, beading beneath her touch before slipping free in small, deliberate droplets that follow the path she draws. The Ark glances back up at Jack then, head tilting slightly, curiosity sharpening the line of her mouth. "If I turned into a storm in here...or if I tried to lure one of them away.." she muses, her voice low and thoughtful rather than threatening, "..what would they do?" She knew what the morons on the docks would do, and while she knew that likely she wouldn't be met with the same crass and ham-handed response in here, what she didn't know was what might replace it.
She lifts a hand to her hair, fingers sliding through it in a slow, absent motion that suggests ease, though her eyes—when they flick back to Jack—give nothing away at all. The room might be watching, but she doesn’t look like she minds it. "It’s not trouble I’m worried about," she says in a low voice, one shoulder lifting in a small, casual shrug. "It’s the not knowing. If I knew what they were thinking, I could—" Abruptly, she stops herself, a quiet laugh slipping out instead as she shakes her head faintly. There’s no need to finish that thought, not with him.
Her attention drops to the table, and she presses a fingertip lightly against the wood, tracing a slow, idle circle. Water gathers there, beading beneath her touch before slipping free in small, deliberate droplets that follow the path she draws. The Ark glances back up at Jack then, head tilting slightly, curiosity sharpening the line of her mouth. "If I turned into a storm in here...or if I tried to lure one of them away.." she muses, her voice low and thoughtful rather than threatening, "..what would they do?" She knew what the morons on the docks would do, and while she knew that likely she wouldn't be met with the same crass and ham-handed response in here, what she didn't know was what might replace it.
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
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.
