And we are beginning
Feb. 13th, 2016 01:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
furgoodThe crow's nest was punishment most days but today Meulin gladly took it. High in the rankings as she was--what rankings they had beyond captain and first-- she hadn't been up in the thing for ages. It swung from side to side more than she remembered, an awful exaggeration of the usual tilt from below. It was welcome. It took the heat from her cheeks and brought her back to the moment. The Highblood's ship is still within sight but fast disappearing. She sinks low against the mast.
It hadn't even been her all too obvious staring at the notorious and all too kind of hot pirate captain, fear mixing with appreciation into some strange emotion she wouldn't put a name to. It wasn't even how she stared between him and Kurloz, wondering if that sort of thing was hereditary and contemplating how the years would add to the younger of the two. It was definitely the wink he gave her when she backtracked on asking that wondering question aloud for her very not real friend. Like he knew. Like he knew she was asking for her.
If her flustering hadn't given it away, her escape up the rigging and into the one quiet solitary place in the ship certainly had displayed that well enough. Her hands drum along the wooden floor, the sound muted on one side and dull in the winds. She's going to stay up here forever. That's the only recourse for this. Or go down and tell him, like an adult, that she wants to jump him. He likes her, she's sure of it. She's just not sure he loves her.
No.
No that's stupid. He loves her. He kisses her hand and brings her warm drinks when she's stuck on night watch. They exchange pretty bits of things found on navy ships and beaches and bought in shops when they're in port. His purple beads decorate the ends of her hair, laying clinking layers on her chest, interspersed with the green she'd always worn. The rest of the stuff is decked out in tiny bits of shell and brilliant broken bits of gem he'd been tying into her hair since the day they met. She's woken up curled in his hammock far more times than is really acceptable. Even Latula, who had been lukewarm on him from the very beginning, had nudged her more than once, asking if they want a bunk to themselves. If there were hints to be had, she was drowning in them.
So why was she scared? Why was she hiding?
Her eyes peeks over the edge of the nest. Mituna had grabbed Kurloz for some talk and there they were curled up in a pile of ropes. Their gaze drifts up and she snaps back. Ridiculous. It's ridiculous.
Night comes and still she stays up there, ignoring her stomach rumblings at first and then its desperate pleas to be anywhere but at this height. Eventually, in the dim and dark, she made her way down. A shove at Derek sent up a harsh look and word at those sleeping on deck and some new deckhand up top, but she didn't stay to make sure. Her trust in the crew, and him especially, was as solid as the deck beneath her feet. And so, she made her way down below, blinking at the yellow lantern light and finding her way through the swaying bunch of hammocks. Her steps were hardly steady, tired and queasy as she was, but she still didn't expect them to lead her the opposite direction of her own vaguely comfortable hammock.
She stops before him. His hammock is a patchwork mess of colors, no matter how she tells him it's stronger to use one length of fabric. His blanket matches, ridiculously, in that it doesn't match at all. No two swatches seem to be the same color, the same fabric. It's made of the world. She adores it.
He's watching her, eyes half closed in sleepy contemplation. There's heat in his gaze, something that makes her shiver, that makes her feel safe. She doesn't know what she was afraid of, so it doesn't matter. He lifts the ridiculous blanket for her and she climbs up beside him. Usually when she climbs in second, she stays curled on her side, facing away from him and he nestles around her. Today, she clambers half on top of him, stealing his warmth and pressing her face against his shoulder and neck. There's pockets of cold in his heat, bits of bone and beads. A feather tickles her ear and she shifts up, squirms. His arm wraps tight around her. Soothing. Protecting. Has she ever felt this safe and warm in her life?
It's uncertain who initiates the first kiss. He turns to her and her lips find his, but it's not some storybook kiss. He doesn't lift her lips to his, she takes his like a prize and he kisses her just as eagerly in return. It's perfect, better than anything she'd dreamed. Softly, slowly, they explore, not too fast or too far, but enough. It's enough.
It hadn't even been her all too obvious staring at the notorious and all too kind of hot pirate captain, fear mixing with appreciation into some strange emotion she wouldn't put a name to. It wasn't even how she stared between him and Kurloz, wondering if that sort of thing was hereditary and contemplating how the years would add to the younger of the two. It was definitely the wink he gave her when she backtracked on asking that wondering question aloud for her very not real friend. Like he knew. Like he knew she was asking for her.
If her flustering hadn't given it away, her escape up the rigging and into the one quiet solitary place in the ship certainly had displayed that well enough. Her hands drum along the wooden floor, the sound muted on one side and dull in the winds. She's going to stay up here forever. That's the only recourse for this. Or go down and tell him, like an adult, that she wants to jump him. He likes her, she's sure of it. She's just not sure he loves her.
No.
No that's stupid. He loves her. He kisses her hand and brings her warm drinks when she's stuck on night watch. They exchange pretty bits of things found on navy ships and beaches and bought in shops when they're in port. His purple beads decorate the ends of her hair, laying clinking layers on her chest, interspersed with the green she'd always worn. The rest of the stuff is decked out in tiny bits of shell and brilliant broken bits of gem he'd been tying into her hair since the day they met. She's woken up curled in his hammock far more times than is really acceptable. Even Latula, who had been lukewarm on him from the very beginning, had nudged her more than once, asking if they want a bunk to themselves. If there were hints to be had, she was drowning in them.
So why was she scared? Why was she hiding?
Her eyes peeks over the edge of the nest. Mituna had grabbed Kurloz for some talk and there they were curled up in a pile of ropes. Their gaze drifts up and she snaps back. Ridiculous. It's ridiculous.
Night comes and still she stays up there, ignoring her stomach rumblings at first and then its desperate pleas to be anywhere but at this height. Eventually, in the dim and dark, she made her way down. A shove at Derek sent up a harsh look and word at those sleeping on deck and some new deckhand up top, but she didn't stay to make sure. Her trust in the crew, and him especially, was as solid as the deck beneath her feet. And so, she made her way down below, blinking at the yellow lantern light and finding her way through the swaying bunch of hammocks. Her steps were hardly steady, tired and queasy as she was, but she still didn't expect them to lead her the opposite direction of her own vaguely comfortable hammock.
She stops before him. His hammock is a patchwork mess of colors, no matter how she tells him it's stronger to use one length of fabric. His blanket matches, ridiculously, in that it doesn't match at all. No two swatches seem to be the same color, the same fabric. It's made of the world. She adores it.
He's watching her, eyes half closed in sleepy contemplation. There's heat in his gaze, something that makes her shiver, that makes her feel safe. She doesn't know what she was afraid of, so it doesn't matter. He lifts the ridiculous blanket for her and she climbs up beside him. Usually when she climbs in second, she stays curled on her side, facing away from him and he nestles around her. Today, she clambers half on top of him, stealing his warmth and pressing her face against his shoulder and neck. There's pockets of cold in his heat, bits of bone and beads. A feather tickles her ear and she shifts up, squirms. His arm wraps tight around her. Soothing. Protecting. Has she ever felt this safe and warm in her life?
It's uncertain who initiates the first kiss. He turns to her and her lips find his, but it's not some storybook kiss. He doesn't lift her lips to his, she takes his like a prize and he kisses her just as eagerly in return. It's perfect, better than anything she'd dreamed. Softly, slowly, they explore, not too fast or too far, but enough. It's enough.
