i see nothing better, i'll keep him forever, like a vendetta
One maroon brow rises while The Ark gives the question the consideration it deserves, which is to say almost none at all. "Didn’t I?" she asks, lashes fluttering with an innocence too polished to survive the gleam in her eyes. As far as she is concerned, Bassian had already endured a more fitting punishment; being caught red-handed and left to drown in his own embarrassment had cut far deeper than any tongue-lashing or extra duties Jack might have assigned him afterward.
She has learned enough from watching Jack to pull the water from her clothes herself, though she is far less thorough about it. The dampness vanishes where it would chafe beneath her arms and between her thighs, while the rest remains scattered across her skin and clinging to the white fabric in bright, glistening traces. She has no particular interest in returning every drop merely because she can, clearly far greedier than Jack in that regard.
Taking his offered hand, The Ark slips down from the fountain’s edge and bends to collect her boots, carrying them rather than bothering to pull them back on. When she straightens, the look she gives him is cunning but warm, possession and affection threaded so closely through it that there is little point in separating one from the other. "You should come," she decides, her thumb brushing once across his knuckles. "I am still your ship." The truth of it has changed shape since Rae gave her flesh and a will of her own, but it has never loosened. Autonomy has not made Jack’s opinion irrelevant, nor has it erased the instinct to have him beside her while someone else puts hands to her hull. Whatever changes she might want, whatever refinements the old bastard might recommend, Jack would want to see them considered before a single plank was lifted or seam reopened.
She has learned enough from watching Jack to pull the water from her clothes herself, though she is far less thorough about it. The dampness vanishes where it would chafe beneath her arms and between her thighs, while the rest remains scattered across her skin and clinging to the white fabric in bright, glistening traces. She has no particular interest in returning every drop merely because she can, clearly far greedier than Jack in that regard.
Taking his offered hand, The Ark slips down from the fountain’s edge and bends to collect her boots, carrying them rather than bothering to pull them back on. When she straightens, the look she gives him is cunning but warm, possession and affection threaded so closely through it that there is little point in separating one from the other. "You should come," she decides, her thumb brushing once across his knuckles. "I am still your ship." The truth of it has changed shape since Rae gave her flesh and a will of her own, but it has never loosened. Autonomy has not made Jack’s opinion irrelevant, nor has it erased the instinct to have him beside her while someone else puts hands to her hull. Whatever changes she might want, whatever refinements the old bastard might recommend, Jack would want to see them considered before a single plank was lifted or seam reopened.
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.
