[SE] buoy oh buoy

JACK

To the astonishment of absolutely no one, it's a very difficult thing to spring a surprise on the captain of The Ark, especially within the confines of his own ship. One might expect that to be because of his particular skillset, and one wouldn't be wrong, but mainly it's because his first mate tells him of any shenanigans well in advance. As such, Jack knows that there will be a party thrown for him at some point, and the crew all know that he knows. It's just a matter of when.

And when eventually rocks up a couple of says into Longnight, the bonfires and torches along the shoreline casting the beach in a merry glow, illuminating partygoers dancing and drinking and getting far too close to a few barbecues. One of those barbecues is responsible for the hefty amount of roasted meat, baked fish and grilled fruit and vegetables available on the deck of The Ark, which is also aglow with uncharacteristic fervor.

A couple of people are playing the fiddle and the flute, with an accompaniment of an upturned barrel for a drum, and among the chatting and boozing and general debauchery, a rough cheer goes up to signal Jack on his way past to his cabin. Raising his drink in a toast that is absolutely as compulsory as it looks, he rolls his eyes and knocks back the rest of his drink to hide his smirk and slinks into his cabin for a well earned fucking break from the madness.

sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places
(what the fuck is it doing between your teeth?)

Code stolen from Queen Sky

lay your soul onto mine

Flora had always been good at games—especially when they involved a bit of strategy, a bit of bluffing, and a lot of shameless charm. So, really, it wasn’t even a question of if she’d end up at a poker table on The Ark’s deck during Jack’s party, but rather how much she’d manage to win before the night was through.

Seated across from Bassian, Jack’s ever-loyal #3, she was a vision of effortless indulgence in a silky slip dress in deep, intoxicating red, its thin straps leaving her shoulders bare while the hem teased high against her thighs. A slit in the fabric revealed glimpses of sun-kissed skin every time she shifted, and she wore it with the same confidence she wore her crown. Gold rings glinted on her fingers as she shuffled her cards, and when she lifted her drink to her lips, her smirk was razor-sharp, her aqua eyes gleaming with mischief.

Bassian, bless him, was trying to keep up. Unfortunately for him, he was playing against a woman who knew exactly how to weaponize every advantage she had. (All the more effectively since meeting Jack).

The queen leans forward, ever so slightly, propping her elbows on the table so that the deep neckline of her dress does exactly what it was meant to do. "You sure about that move, babe?" She asks her voice all honeyed innocence, watching the way his gaze flickers downward for just a second too long. And that’s all it takes—one misstep, one distracted call, and suddenly the pile of winnings shifts in her favour once again.

Tutting softly under her breath, Flora's fingers tap against her growing stack of chips, coins, and—oh, look at that—one of Bassian's necklaces. She plucks the piece of jewelry from the pile, twirling it between her fingers with a triumphant grin. "I’m starting to think you just enjoy giving me things."

She might have kept at it all night, bleeding him dry of every last trinket he owned, if not for the sight of Jack slipping away from the revelry. Tilting her head, she watches as he slinks toward his cabin before rising and leaving Bassian to contemplate how thoroughly she'd robbed him. Her steps are light, her thoughts even lighter, buzzing with a bright, champagne-bubbly warmth from the alcohol and the thrill of the night.

By the time she reaches Jack’s door, the captain will have known she was on her way since before she'd slid her chair away from the table. He'll feel the giddy delight in her thoughts before she even reaches for the handle, but that doesn’t stop her from making a show of it anyway. Pushing the door open just far enough to slip inside, before pressing it shut behind her with a quiet click. She leans back against it, arms folded beneath her chest, one ankle crossing over the other in an easy, sultry stance. "Are you seriously hiding from your own party?"

JACK

By the time Flora arrives at Jack's cabin, her thoughts buoyant and fizzy like a laugh caught in the back of one's throat, the captain has already set out a glass for her and has poured them both a drink. Having slouched into his chair with his feet propped on his desk, he offers her a truly shit-eating grin that proves, one way or another, that he has also indulged in his fair share of alcohol so far this evening.

"It's my party and I'll hide if I want to," he informs her, raising his eyebrows as if to ask if she'd like to challenge him on that. Shifting to sit up, his boots landing with a thump against the wooden boards, he gestures for her drink. "I thought you'd have been busy tryin' to rob Bassian of the rest of his clothes. He just gave his shirt away to someone else at the cards table," he tells her.

"Since you are here, though - go look in there." He gestures to the wardrobe built into one wall to prevent it from tipping over during rough seas, closed and locked with a small bronze key sticking out from the keyhole.

sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places
(what the fuck is it doing between your teeth?)

Code stolen from Queen Sky

lay your soul onto mine

Flora grins, pushing off the door and sauntering toward the desk where Jack has so generously poured her a drink. Snatching it up with a flick of her wrist, she takes a sip, letting the warmth of it bloom in her chest before sighing dramatically. "I wasn’t robbing him," she corrects with faux innocence, aqua eyes gleaming as she leans against the desk. "He just happens to be very, very bad at multitasking. And I just happen to be very good at exploiting that."

At the mention of Bassian’s shirtless state, she laughs, shaking her head. "His shirt I couldn't care less about. His pants though..." Grinning, she bounces her brows as she watches Jack over the rim of her glass. He looks good like this: relaxed, maybe even a little loose around the edges, and gods if it doesn't have something velvety and dark unfurling in the pit of her stomach.

But then he gestures toward the wardrobe, and her brows lift in curiosity. "Oh?" She tilts her head, lips curving into a slow, pleased smile as she pushes off the desk, padding toward the locked compartment with an exaggerated sway of her hips that has nothing at all to do with the waters cradling the Ark. The little bronze key glints in the dim light, and she reaches for it, twisting it with an easy flick of her fingers. The door swings open with a soft creak, and she peeks inside, eager and expectant. "If this is your way of trying to get me to do your laundry, you can think again."

JACK

"You were robbin' him blind, Flora," Jack says through a laugh that has the audacity to sound boyish in the privacy of his cabin and with enough liquor flowing between them. "Don't be too proud of yourself, though. Enough beer in him an' Bassian'll take his clothes off regardless. Ain't even a sex thing - I reckon he just likes bein' naked." Shrugging - because the captain is the last person to yuck anybody's yum, he settles in his seat and leans back to cradle his glass in his hands as she approaches the wardrobe.

"As if I'd trust you with my laundry," he quips with a wicked smile, before falling quiet in time for her to peek inside. Within, Flora will find a garment that's the epitome of one of these things is not like the others, given that it's a gown rather than the captain's selection of shirts and waistcoats. Delicate white lace threaded with impossibly fine strands of silver material, the dress is clearly intended to drape around Flora, its sheer nature revealing her curves beneath effortlessly.

Like a whitecap cresting beneath the stars, the garment will shimmer and shift even in the dim light should Flora choose to draw it out. "It's my party, so I can do that if I want as well," Jack informs her, of being the one to gift her something rather than the other way around.

sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places
(what the fuck is it doing between your teeth?)

Code stolen from Queen Sky

lay your soul onto mine

Flora snickers, shaking her head as she leans against the wardrobe, fingers still curled lightly around the key. "There's a difference between stripping down because you like feeling the sea breeze against your balls and doing it because you can't stop staring at my tits and keep folding way too early," she points out, her grin sharp, her aqua eyes gleaming. "I don't mind either way, obviously, but one of them means I get to take all his money." And to see him get all boyishly ruffled, which she adores.

But then she pulls open the door and actually sees what's inside, which all but slaps the smirk right off her face.

The moment she does, everything stills—just for a fraction of a second. It's instinct, really, the way her mind leaps to the obvious connection, a knee-jerk thought that she can't smother before it blooms in full. It looks like a wedding dress. White lace, delicate and shimmering, hanging among Jack's neatly arranged shirts and waistcoats like it belongs there.

The thought is ridiculous, though. Obviously. Jack isn't the marrying sort. Jack isn't even the serious relationship sort, except, well—he is, with her, but that was only because of a series of incredibly fucked up sets of circumstances that all but bound them together. But a white lace dress hanging in his closet? That's something right out of the nonsense she lets herself daydream about when she thinks he's asleep, so the fact that he's gone and made it real..

Flora's fingers ghost over the fabric, soft and reverent, before she forces herself to smirk over her shoulder at him, tilting her head just so. "Your hands will have to be real clean before I let you touch me in this," she teases, her voice breezy as if she might blow away the surely ludicrous thoughts trying to take hold in her mind.

JACK

"And you don't think it might be both?" Jack grins. Bassian might enjoy feeling the sea breeze against his balls and staring at Flora's tits giving her all his money, though the odds are good now that she's left the table that someone else will take advantage of his drunken good nature. (And terrible card playing skills). Enough about him, though - Jack tilts his head as the Doubletake first spies the dress he's had made for her, leaning his elbows against his desk to steeple his fingers under his chin, an eyebrow raising.

Of course her thoughts swarm him like she's just thrown a wedding veil over his head, the captain resisting the urge to scoff if only because he knows he'll amost certainly end up in her bad books, birthday party or no. "I ain't dumb enough to design you a wedding dress without lettin' you have a say in it," he points out. "My magic or no, that's askin' for trouble."

But clearly she's letting her daydreams run off with her, Jack's brows knotting in a frown. "I can get it dyed if it's a problem," he says.

sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places
(what the fuck is it doing between your teeth?)

Code stolen from Queen Sky

lay your soul onto mine

Flora bites the inside of her lip, rolling the thought around in her mind like a loose pearl between her fingers. There was no point in trying to outthink him; to reason through what Jack would have pulled from her mind, to know what this would make her think of, and then to try and guess at his motives.

Instead, she turns slightly, angling her body toward him, one hand still resting lightly against the delicate lace of the dress. "Why white?" she asks, her voice significantly softer and far less playful. There was a sapphire thread of some near cousin to hurt in her aqua stare as she tugs on a small smile. "You aren't the sort of man to have clean hands." Not metaphorically, and certainly not literally. "So.." so why white? Why not some other colour right from the start?

Her aqua eyes flick over his face, searching, though what she’s looking for, she isn’t quite sure. Jack isn’t cruel—not with her, anyway—so he had to have known what she’d think when she saw this hanging in his closet. It’s too deliberate, too pointed, and yet...not.

JACK

Jack is a lot of things, telepath included, but he isn't, in fact, psychic. And - apparently - he's as capable of a misstep as any idiot man, because he really hadn't known what Flora might think when she found the dress, and the sudden shadows in his expression say as much.

"You look good in white," he replies, as if that ought to have been an obvious motivator behind his choice. Golden skinned with sunkissed curls and adorned with all manner of jewellery, Jack has seen Flora in her fair share of white bikinis, sundresses, lace cover-ups and linens; more than enough to appreciate her from every angle in them, certainly.

But clearly there are layers to his decision that go well beyond you look good in white, and the captain gives a soft shake of his head and tips his head back to empty his glass of liquor. "I'll take it back and get it changed. Your usual tailor has all the templates, so it shouldn't take long."

Setting the glass down, Jack rises to his feet, to grab for the bottle, clearly intending on another strong drink before he goes back out to the party.

sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places
(what the fuck is it doing between your teeth?)

Code stolen from Queen Sky

lay your soul onto mine

Flora laughs, light and easy, like it’s all just been some big misunderstanding—like she hadn’t thought anything of it. "No, it’s fine," she says breezily, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "I do look good in white." Her voice is still warm, still teasing, because if she pretends nothing is wrong, maybe she can convince herself of that too. The thing was, she also looked good with shiny gemstones on her hand, but that didn't mean it was the sort of gift you could just give without any meaning. "Thanks, Jack."

Flora doesn’t let herself linger on it. Doesn’t let herself dwell on how quickly he’d offered to take it back, how easily he’d dismissed it as nothing more than a mistake. Instead, she carefully—deliberately—reaches out and closes the wardrobe door, the soft click of it sealing away whatever fragile, foolish thing had begun to bloom in her chest when she’d first seen the gown. The splintered edges of her disappointment pierce the back of her eyes as tears threaten to form, skewering the petal-soft warmth that had flushed through her when she'd first beheld the dress, but she shoves it down before he can call her bluff; before she lets herself make it mean something it doesn’t.

Offering him a quick, easy smile, she steps back, fingers smoothing over the hem of her dress as she tilts her head. "Well," she says, keeping her voice light, effortless, even as something inside her wilts. "I've got more of Bassian’s money to steal. And maybe the rest of his clothes, if I’m feeling generous." The laugh that follows is just a touch too bright, but she doesn’t give him the chance to scrutinize it.

Instead, she turns on her heel and slips out of his cabin.

~FIN