hold in the storm

MELITA

At the very least he’d bothered to speak to her, but the tempest was building behind her brows and steeling along her chin, defiantly raised, so perhaps he could see the pulsing wrath coiling along her semblance. She wasn’t aware (of so many things) that he’d be able to tell, pronounce the contempt, without even sparing a glance – but she balled her fists around portions of her dress just the same, striving to rein it in. “I didn’t particularly care for the trick down in the Fingers.” Because she thought she was a part of the crew, not tricked and deceived like the rest. Maybe she’d been mistaken, settled into an occupation that truly didn’t want her there.

Then, for the second, where she clenched her jaw, gaze sliding down along the ramparts of the ship. If she was going to get anywhere, she’d have to smother the fire, the cinders, the embers, coiling within, especially with this particular request. “Also, my uncles are getting married. I would like to attend.” The only drawback was that the event happened to be occurring at the same time they’d be settling sail.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts