Did anyone see the way her knees shook as she walked across the deck to her cabin? Did they see the way her knuckles turned white as they gripped the bottles in her arms? Did they see the cracks in her façade that were growing with each and every step? Never had her cabin seemed so far from the gangplank, never had her steps there seemed so slow. The flight into the forest of earlier had to have used up all her speed and it felt as if she moved like Molasses on a late December morn, in a world far away. 

But then she was in and slumping and only just remembering to call for Jax. Her heart pounded and the bottles felt as heavy as bricks but there was something strange to the moment, a feeling of giddy relief as if they had pulled something over on the crew. She had fooled them, let them think she was more than she was. Only Jax knew, and the part he knew was small. The sense of being open, even in that small way, was terrifying and she took the bottle he offered with alacrity and pressed her mouth to the lip just where his had been, taking in great mouthfuls like it was air and she’d run a marathon. 

She held up the bottle in the faint moonlight that filled her room to show him its lowered level as proof of her intention to drink, and drink hard. 

“No Children’s books.” She said as she set her bottles down and went about the business of making light for them to read by. Her childhood books were as lost as her childhood and she had no need for them now as it were. There would be no one to hand them down to. She shook off such maudlin thoughts. They had plenty to read and just as much to drink. She looked forward to both. 

As her lamp sputtered to life and she adjusted the wick the light lit her skin with an amber glow that complemented its honeyed tones and made the shadows hide her scar. She looked almost whole as she grinned at him in reflexive response to his own bright grin. On her it was a shaky expression that was clearly not one she was accustomed to but for all that it pulled a dimple from deep in her whole cheek and was charming for all of that. She slid out of her coat and stood in the vest that cupped her curves and the ivory silk shirt with its now stained cuffs. 

“No tricks with mouth or tongue, I promise. I will drink as honestly as you and we will see who stumbles and slurs first. But I will read first since you have already gifted me with poetry.”

She moved her hand in a sweeping gesture, offering up her shelves for his perusal. 

“Pick something for me to read to you, anything. If it is not in English I will translate, thought I cannot promise as the night goes on that my translations will be all that accurate.” Her honeyed voice goaded him with nothing like malice, to do his worst. Print and language was something she excelled at and if felt so good to be at it, a bet, a challenge but with something she had control over. Her smiled broadened, her dimple deepened and she sat herself on the edge of her bed, waiting to see what he would pick.