THE ARK
Despite the weakness in Jack’s voice, the fact that he has regained enough of himself to be snarky has relief moving through The Ark’s mind like a warm seabreeze. It brightens the waters there such that the smirk she gives him is easier than anything she has worn since he appeared in the cabin half-carved open and caked in Feverlands filth. "And I mean every one of them," she purrs in response.
The Ark steps back when he rises, though every instinct in her resists the shape of it. Her gaze drops immediately to his left hand as he flexes his fingers, cataloguing what moves, what doesn’t, and what might yet need mending once the worst of the danger has passed. There will be time later to test the strength of his grip, to see whether tendons answer cleanly, to decide whether the damage has left anything lingering beneath the newly closed skin. For now, the fact that he feels steady enough to walk out on his own is enough for her.
Once he's gone, she turns to the mess left behind and begins to erase what she can. The grime on the desk goes first, then the bloodied streaks against the boards, then the ruined scraps of shirt that still smell of tar and swamp rot, before she sheds her own shirt and replaces it with a soft sweater made of cashmere from King's End. Heading up onto the deck to find Murphy, the first mate does not ask questions when she finds him, and she appreciates him all the more for it. She gives the helm back into his care, then tells him to adjust their course for a detour toward the Hollowed Grounds before they hook west, and by the time Jack returns, The Ark is back in his cabin where a fresh bottle of rum waits on the desk, along with a plate gathered from the kitchen: thick stew, bread to soak it up, and cheese (because blood loss and stubbornness both deserve more than liquor on an empty stomach).
The Ark steps back when he rises, though every instinct in her resists the shape of it. Her gaze drops immediately to his left hand as he flexes his fingers, cataloguing what moves, what doesn’t, and what might yet need mending once the worst of the danger has passed. There will be time later to test the strength of his grip, to see whether tendons answer cleanly, to decide whether the damage has left anything lingering beneath the newly closed skin. For now, the fact that he feels steady enough to walk out on his own is enough for her.
Once he's gone, she turns to the mess left behind and begins to erase what she can. The grime on the desk goes first, then the bloodied streaks against the boards, then the ruined scraps of shirt that still smell of tar and swamp rot, before she sheds her own shirt and replaces it with a soft sweater made of cashmere from King's End. Heading up onto the deck to find Murphy, the first mate does not ask questions when she finds him, and she appreciates him all the more for it. She gives the helm back into his care, then tells him to adjust their course for a detour toward the Hollowed Grounds before they hook west, and by the time Jack returns, The Ark is back in his cabin where a fresh bottle of rum waits on the desk, along with a plate gathered from the kitchen: thick stew, bread to soak it up, and cheese (because blood loss and stubbornness both deserve more than liquor on an empty stomach).
everything I want you know i'm going to get it
whether it's your fame or your cableknit sweater
you might've done it first but I know i'll do it better
whether it's your fame or your cableknit sweater
you might've done it first but I know i'll do it better
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.
