When he opened his mouth and poetry fell out she was transfixed. Freezing in place like a moonlit statue as a host of memories flooded her. Bare skin, slow breath as ink was applied slowly, lovingly across her skin, preceded by kisses that made her burn. 

[i]“Your body is poetry love, I am making the outside match the inside.”[/i]

A brush, not a needle, she was too squeamish for the latter, but the black characters that had been writ on her skin temporarily in ink had been indelibly etched on her heart. Or so she thought. But then why this flutter? Why this freeze when poetry tripped out of the mouth of a man as like to mock as to praise? 

She did not understand him, not even a little. Perhaps that was it.

She blinked slowly, coming back into herself and finding that the broken bits of her very much wanted to smile. So she permitted it, a crooked, sad smile but one that reached her eyes and burned off some of the remaining madness. She could drink, she had learned more than just doctoring and sailoring in the Navy after all. He would learn this and his purse would be the lighter for it, or hers would. It hardly mattered. 

“I will take your bet Monsieur Jax and I will have your silver come morning.”

She slipped her arm through his, like they had at the dance and they walked back up the path towards the town. 

“Now what shall we read first and what shall we drink? I have a little of everything in print, but not much in the way of drink. We will need to stop and fix that.” 

They discussed options for drink and options for books while they walked, pairing them with all the care of a master sommelier. For certain he was mad to pair rum with navigation treatises. Rum certainly went better with some anthropological works. She wondered sometimes if he was contrary just to see her flush and fluster and tried her best to do neither. But then she wondered if he kept at it because watching her simmer and struggle to hold herself under control amused him just as much? This was likely and she could find her way to do neither and suffered greatly for it, but it was the sort of suffering that was almost as pleasant as it wasn’t and she could think of no way to end it short of leaving his company and she was loathe to do that.

Regardless they made it to the ship, arms full of a collection of bottles bought seemingly at random and several were opened and more than half gone. They had lost one along the way and though there had been mourning for its loss, life was about the living after all, ink indelibly etched on her heart or not. 

As they were hailed by the crewman on duty she paused and looked at him, her eyes open and vulnerable.

“I cannot be broken here. I cannot be less than what I play at.” She nodded, pleading with him to understand as she closed her eyes and let the mask slip back into place, her eyes when they opened were all ice. She hoped he understood that it was just for a moment, just until they were alone, safe with print and drink.