wish I could bottle the taste
Ordinarily, even the suggestion of Jack stepping willingly into a fire would have sent something immediate and splintered through her, old smoke caught low in the places where her body still remembers being timber and tar and a thing fire had once tried to take apart. But she knows what he means, knows the shape of the test he’s offering her beneath the provocation, and so The Ark only turns a crooked smile up at him over the steam of her wine, the expression sharpening rather than softening. "No," she says, giving her head a slow shake. "There are likely far too many healers around who’d get to you before I could." The last of it comes lower, almost indulgent, but there’s something predatory beneath the warmth of it too, some quiet claim curling around the thought of him hurt and reachable and hers to tend, as if the very idea of anyone else putting their hands on him before she could is enough to make the cold feel briefly less important.
Her brow lifts as she considers Colt again. A dark laugh slips from her, quiet enough that it disappears beneath the music and the crackle of the nearest fire, before she glances sideways at the Captain with blue eyes bright in the torchlight. "It’d be a clever time to do it," she says, her voice made casual only by effort. "When an Accepted like her can’t call down anyone for divine assistance." Jack will feel the hope for what it is before she gives it shape, blackwater-silent and still beneath the surface of her mind: the small, vicious wish that Vesper is doing precisely that.
The Ark takes another sip of mulled wine, holding the cup close where its heat can reach her palms through the mittens, though her attention has gone distant now, turned toward the harbour and the dark outline of herself waiting beyond New Haven. "I’ve noticed how little he comes aboard these days," she adds, of Vesper.
Her brow lifts as she considers Colt again. A dark laugh slips from her, quiet enough that it disappears beneath the music and the crackle of the nearest fire, before she glances sideways at the Captain with blue eyes bright in the torchlight. "It’d be a clever time to do it," she says, her voice made casual only by effort. "When an Accepted like her can’t call down anyone for divine assistance." Jack will feel the hope for what it is before she gives it shape, blackwater-silent and still beneath the surface of her mind: the small, vicious wish that Vesper is doing precisely that.
The Ark takes another sip of mulled wine, holding the cup close where its heat can reach her palms through the mittens, though her attention has gone distant now, turned toward the harbour and the dark outline of herself waiting beyond New Haven. "I’ve noticed how little he comes aboard these days," she adds, of Vesper.
'cause i'd drink up the look on your face
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.
