her fight and fury's fiery, oh but she loves like sleep to the freezing
"What do you make of Colt so far as a leader?" The Ark asks it lightly enough, though her brow lifts as she turns the question over between them. Her mind supplies the pieces without invitation: the goats the rancher had tried to bring aboard, all startled hooves and poor sense on Colt's part; the strange crate of hobby horses; and Vesper, whose footsteps had grown heavier and heavier across her boards the more time he’d spent in Colt’s orbit. None of it is proof of anything on its own, perhaps, but together it leaves an unpleasant shape in the water.
She passes the cigarette over with a smirk that shows a hint of white teeth. "As if I ever could," she says before pulling in a breath. The waters of her mind grow cold then, unusually so, not turbulent but glassy and frigid beneath the surface, at odds with the warmth she usually guards so closely. "Unless your reports are wrong...I haven’t seen much mageglass coming out of the Eurybia." Her oceanic gaze falls pointedly on Jack, holding his for a moment before she continues. "The waters around the Crag are rough. It might be that regular ships can’t get close enough to anchor, much less get their crews onto the island."
Reaching for another rolling paper and the pouch of tobacco, she begins to arrange the next cigarette between practiced fingers, her expression almost idle despite the anticipation gathering beneath it. "But it’d be easy for me to anchor above the island," she says. "And maybe easier still for... oh, I don’t know. A small crew of you,whoever needs a KQ that new thief of yours, and maybe one of the girls to get in and out before anyone even notices you’re there?" Whether Jack would keep the mageglass or take advantage of its rarity and sell it for an exorbitant amount, both had their merits of course, the choice of which would largely depend on whether the Captain wanted to keep pretending at honesty a while longer while the waters were still smooth, or to get back to his roots and make waves.
She passes the cigarette over with a smirk that shows a hint of white teeth. "As if I ever could," she says before pulling in a breath. The waters of her mind grow cold then, unusually so, not turbulent but glassy and frigid beneath the surface, at odds with the warmth she usually guards so closely. "Unless your reports are wrong...I haven’t seen much mageglass coming out of the Eurybia." Her oceanic gaze falls pointedly on Jack, holding his for a moment before she continues. "The waters around the Crag are rough. It might be that regular ships can’t get close enough to anchor, much less get their crews onto the island."
Reaching for another rolling paper and the pouch of tobacco, she begins to arrange the next cigarette between practiced fingers, her expression almost idle despite the anticipation gathering beneath it. "But it’d be easy for me to anchor above the island," she says. "And maybe easier still for... oh, I don’t know. A small crew of you,
sweet and right and merciful, all but washed in the tide of her breathing
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.
