"Listen, fuckers, I told you last week that if anyone got out of hand on account of drink again I'd ban it." Naturally, grog is the lifeblood of seafarers, so for Cap to even suggest this was laughable, and literally impossible to implement. They'd have cut him open and drained him before giving up their drink.
"Cap Vance, this bag of detritus has gotten into me personal private things and taken the only item that makes me look semi-decent." Seamus was losing confidence fast in the presence of the stern but reasonable captain.
"Seamus. Look at the boy. He's got one pair of trousers to his name and more fleas than teeth." Basically exactly what I said.
Just then, a violent hacking came from the Cap's hammock. The group, now dead silent and winding down from the adrenaline rush that comes from potential entertainment in the form of a maiming, turned in unison.
Fredrick. Poor, stupid Fredrick was coughing up something grey. I'm sure I don't need to explain where this is going, but I will anyway, because what's a protagonist if they can't be comic relief sometimes.
Seamus' face fell as he realised the implications of the soggy grey mass in the already-crusty hammock, and decided he'd rather just uncover some of the amphetamines he'd saved for a rainy day than have it out with a literal dog. He skulked away without looking at Gill.
Everyone let out a kind of injured sigh upon seeing one of Cap's only worldy possessions defiled by his most trusted confidante, but nobody really wanted to get involved, and so everyone filtered away grumbling about their day being wasted while Cap got to scrubbing and reassuring Fredrick that he wasn't angry, only a little shocked and sad.
Ari was on the opposite end of the dwindling crowd, and I realized she was stifling a laugh. The absurdity of it all clearly wasn't lost on either of us, as I was about ready to bite a hole in my thumb trying to hide my own amusement.
I caught her eye, and discreetly gestured to her to follow me.
We walked down the corridor to the kitchen and the second she closed the door behind her, we both erupted into fits of laughter so violent I almost pissed my pants, swear to Poseidon.
I'd never seen her laugh like this before. She has a kind of cackling laugh, a quick look into her mischievous side. I was still recovering when I noticed her looking at me. Almost...tenderly?
"Zahara, I- you have... Your smile is radiant, I never did tell you. But it reminds me of an eclipse, materializing slowly and occupying everyone's attention." I found myself not breathing. I was speechless. She was sitting across from me, creating poetry in the middle of the old gravy stain on the floor, just for me. For my ears alone.
Immediately the temperature in the room changed. I felt as if the ship was going to get thrown across the sea, as if a volcano would erupt, anything that would explain this tension building.
In the seconds it took me to think of all this, I'd crawled on all fours to kneel right in front of her. The roles reversed, I was now looking down at her. The ridge of her sharp nose, the jagged parting of her hair that would never even out. Even the grease smear on her collarbone looked like art to me.
In that moment, I understood what it felt like to be those dancing ravens she had drawn for me days ago. Lovers sweeping by, never quite touching, hanging above the world at deathly heights.
Before could stop myself, I'd grabbed her chin and firmly but tenderly pushed my lips to hers. After about a split second of shock, she responded.
She coaxed my mouth open, and the dance began again, this time finally making contact. Her velveteen tongue tickled my palate, and I giggled before pushing her to the floor and getting on top of her.
Her hands pinned, we kissed until we were gasping for air, drowning in each other. Her hands slithered under my shirt, cracked nails planting themselves in the soft skin of my back, dragging up to my shoulders.
