i see nothing better, i'll keep him forever, like a vendetta
The Ark only smirks across her coffee. Jack may possess patience enough to let plots ripen and enemies mistake silence for safety, but restraint has rarely survived where she is concerned. Not since Rae gave her a body, at least. Back alleyways, boltholes, shadowed corners aboard the ship, and any other place offering a few stolen minutes have provided ample evidence of that. Whatever discipline he practises with schemes and grudges, she has seldom been required to endure much of it herself, and for that she's been oh so grateful.
At the suggestion of meeting Finch, she rolls her eyes and takes another sip. She has already gathered enough about the thief’s inclinations to know that her usual methods of persuasion are unlikely to land quite as intended, though the distinction hardly discourages her. "We’ll see about that," she hums, confidence smoothing through the words. She has no interest in coaxing Finch into anyone’s bed, least of all hers when that place belongs exclusively to Jack, but getting him onto his knees is an entirely separate challenge. Devotion, fear, leverage, or simple humiliation can all produce remarkably similar postures, after all.
The touch of Jack’s mouth against her knuckles quiets the sharper amusement in her all at once. Her affection for him usually arrives dressed for war, all teeth and blood and the promise that she would break the world apart before allowing it to take him from her. It lives in every cannon she would fire at his command, every hull she would split, and every final blaze she would willingly become if it meant carrying him safely through the end of everything. This feels different, though. The warmth gathers beneath her throat instead of racing toward her hands, steady and almost tender where violence usually gives it shape. "Agreed," The Ark murmurs, satisfaction curving softly across her lips as her fingers settle more securely around his.
Naturally, the thought of making their days worthwhile immediately invites consideration of everything capable of souring them such that Flora’s name surfaces in her mind with the persistence of a weed forcing itself through a seam in the deck, unwelcome but difficult to ignore now that they are back in the queen’s territory for more than a passing visit. The Ark raises her cup again, watching Jack over its rim before taking a measured drink. "How long do you think it’ll take her to realise we aren’t just visiting?"
At the suggestion of meeting Finch, she rolls her eyes and takes another sip. She has already gathered enough about the thief’s inclinations to know that her usual methods of persuasion are unlikely to land quite as intended, though the distinction hardly discourages her. "We’ll see about that," she hums, confidence smoothing through the words. She has no interest in coaxing Finch into anyone’s bed, least of all hers when that place belongs exclusively to Jack, but getting him onto his knees is an entirely separate challenge. Devotion, fear, leverage, or simple humiliation can all produce remarkably similar postures, after all.
The touch of Jack’s mouth against her knuckles quiets the sharper amusement in her all at once. Her affection for him usually arrives dressed for war, all teeth and blood and the promise that she would break the world apart before allowing it to take him from her. It lives in every cannon she would fire at his command, every hull she would split, and every final blaze she would willingly become if it meant carrying him safely through the end of everything. This feels different, though. The warmth gathers beneath her throat instead of racing toward her hands, steady and almost tender where violence usually gives it shape. "Agreed," The Ark murmurs, satisfaction curving softly across her lips as her fingers settle more securely around his.
Naturally, the thought of making their days worthwhile immediately invites consideration of everything capable of souring them such that Flora’s name surfaces in her mind with the persistence of a weed forcing itself through a seam in the deck, unwelcome but difficult to ignore now that they are back in the queen’s territory for more than a passing visit. The Ark raises her cup again, watching Jack over its rim before taking a measured drink. "How long do you think it’ll take her to realise we aren’t just visiting?"
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.
