AURELIA
and my hands aren't clean
maybe they never will be
maybe they never will be
Aurelia smiled at the laughter that left him in a short burst, happy that she could bring the smile back to his face as he'd done for her moments prior. It was nice. He leaned in to tell her what the Hanged Man and the Halenani were, close enough that she could feel his breath, smell the linger of alcohol in it. "Mm, I see," She hummed, amusement softening her tone, though she grew more serious as he explained his role in the crew, eyes losing that playful, mirthy light. Her head tilted so that she could look across at him as he leaned back. He spoke and she listened, though subconsciously her hands fiddled with the sand, absently letting it run between her fingers over and over.
She felt more relaxed listening to him, letting the focus of her mind and the flow of the conversation turn away from herself. It was beginning to show in the shallowing of her breath and the release of tension from her shoulders, from the muscles running along the length of her arms, the way her eyes were half-open.
For a heartbeat, she felt the weight of her exhaustion. But she swallowed it and blinked her eyes wider in surprise at the cigarette as it drifted towards her. It extended from his calloused hand, worn by years spent in the trades he worked. Perhaps he was always a runner, perhaps in more ways than one. Maybe his hands were soft once. Now they spoke a story in the lines and wrinkles, in the nicks and scars. Did he take pride in them, in each valley and ridge landscaped by a life hard-lived?
Aurelia raised her eyebrows, bringing herself out of the buzz with a lift of her chin. She met his gaze with an awkward clearing of her throat, realizing he'd asked her a question and that the cigarette was still lingering, waiting for her.
"Yeah, um.." she lifted up her hand to brush the cigarette away from his fingers, feeling the resilience for herself. Fumbling for the words, she cleared her throat, glanced up at him and continued, "well, I'm not a runner... I'm not really anything. I've just been doing whatever needs done," she sighed, a defeated motion, "when I first got here I told Jack that this would only be temporary." It was a bitter smile that graced her features then, as she raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes away, drifting them to some far-off thing, "Naive of me." She brought herself back, though. Her green eyes were brightened by the light of the fire, reflecting that yellow light. She met his rich brown gaze, which was also lit by the ebbing flames beside them. "I've been meaning to talk to him about making more permanent arrangements." Realizing she was holding onto the cigarette, and that it was beginning to decline, she took a distracted puff. Her voice tensed from holding in the smoke, "Maybe he'll let me stay but, I'm not sure. I know nothing about ships, if I'm being honest, and he knows that."
She felt more relaxed listening to him, letting the focus of her mind and the flow of the conversation turn away from herself. It was beginning to show in the shallowing of her breath and the release of tension from her shoulders, from the muscles running along the length of her arms, the way her eyes were half-open.
For a heartbeat, she felt the weight of her exhaustion. But she swallowed it and blinked her eyes wider in surprise at the cigarette as it drifted towards her. It extended from his calloused hand, worn by years spent in the trades he worked. Perhaps he was always a runner, perhaps in more ways than one. Maybe his hands were soft once. Now they spoke a story in the lines and wrinkles, in the nicks and scars. Did he take pride in them, in each valley and ridge landscaped by a life hard-lived?
Aurelia raised her eyebrows, bringing herself out of the buzz with a lift of her chin. She met his gaze with an awkward clearing of her throat, realizing he'd asked her a question and that the cigarette was still lingering, waiting for her.
"Yeah, um.." she lifted up her hand to brush the cigarette away from his fingers, feeling the resilience for herself. Fumbling for the words, she cleared her throat, glanced up at him and continued, "well, I'm not a runner... I'm not really anything. I've just been doing whatever needs done," she sighed, a defeated motion, "when I first got here I told Jack that this would only be temporary." It was a bitter smile that graced her features then, as she raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes away, drifting them to some far-off thing, "Naive of me." She brought herself back, though. Her green eyes were brightened by the light of the fire, reflecting that yellow light. She met his rich brown gaze, which was also lit by the ebbing flames beside them. "I've been meaning to talk to him about making more permanent arrangements." Realizing she was holding onto the cigarette, and that it was beginning to decline, she took a distracted puff. Her voice tensed from holding in the smoke, "Maybe he'll let me stay but, I'm not sure. I know nothing about ships, if I'm being honest, and he knows that."
but they can still carry you home
when you're ready to sleep
when you're ready to sleep
