nerd babe ◕‿ ◕｡

Aleixo is the first to admit that she’s…perplexed by problems she can’t resolve with blood, because that’s what she was taught. Kalli could spend an entire day like this detailing the complexities of her family and her servitude, and it would still escape her. She won’t press the matter for now. 

“What have I been doing, then?” she pinches Kalli’s side, playing, but draws her in with a hand on her back and complies. She was going to get to it eventually, of course. 

She’s always gentle with her, tasting her sweet pout and caging her in with the utmost care. She would demolish her father’s palace before leaving so much as a scratch–although Kalli doesn’t seem to mind the occasional bruise, sucked high on her thigh or under her breast. 

It wasn’t that long ago when Kalli first came to her, untouched and shy, and Aleixo brushed her curls aside at dinner and invited her to her chamber.

“Are you satisfied here, Kalli?”

No, Kalli most certainly doesn’t mind the occasional bruise left by Aleixo’s mouth.  In fact, she likes to press her fingers to them in the aftermath before the ichor in her veins can take them away.  Eyes flutter shut when Lex kisses her finally, but she’s gone again too soon.

Are you satisfied here?

What a question.  And Aleixo is the only person who ever thinks to ask her that.  It’s almost as nice as being kissed so carefully that her heart nearly stops with it.  She turns onto her side a little more comfortably, looks at Aleixo’s face with a soft smile.

It’s a hard question to answer.  She’s more satisfied here than she has been anywhere else, but it’s hard to be satisfied when this place is sort of a prison for them both.  Aleixo should be leading armies, should be shining with glory in battle.   

Satisfied and happy are not the same thing.  

Hiro is sort of halfway to the twilight zone already, but it’s the good part of the twilight zone where ventriloquist dummies aren’t coming to life and gremlins aren’t sabotaging airplanes. You know? Like dogs are driving cars and Al Gore won the 2000 election. He’s twitchy and fuzzy when Archie breaks him from his reverie, can barely get a solid grip on his inhaler. 

He inhales when he does, almost immediately alleviating the tightness in his chest, and breathes in relief. Sedation is cool but it’s not the safest thing in the world for him, so he’s glad the person sucking his blood seems to actually give a shit about his well-being and recognize when he needs a boost. That’s pretty cool. 

Slightly less blurry now, he grins stupidly and pats Archie a few times on the cheek. He’s a good buddy, this one, makes him feel nice and doesn’t let blood get on Hiro’s precious themed bed set. Who else is that considerate? He still isn’t over fucking Trev spilling wine on his Buzz Lightyear bean bag and he probably never will be. 

“Did I tell you my vampire name is Stephane Boudreaux, Baron of the Balkans?”

He kind of wants to take a nap, like hard, but the bed feels too intimate now and he does remember saying something about The Empire Strike’s Back. Somehow he always ends up watching that after midnight and falling asleep right around where Luke loses a hand, it’s like a tradition or something. He literally can’t remember ever watching the movie at a reasonable hour. 

Hiro does a gentle barrel roll to the floor, grabbing his rainbow pillow and tucking it under his arm before scurrying on hands and knees to the couch in the corner of the room. This lovely couch has seen much better days, but he thinks the patches and fabric sewn over the bald spots makes it seem hip instead of sad. Sailor loves this couch which means he can never ever toss it, even if the cushions are almost level with the floor at this point.

“Archie,” he gives up before he reaches his destination, one hand helplessly in the air, “Find the DVD, if you would.”

Archie sits back on the bed, back against the wall while he watches Hiro do a weird sort of roll onto the floor.  He is, by and large, the person with the strangest post-feeding behavior.  Most people like to lay around, want to be fed, or try and angle for things they can’t even honestly say they want. This is sort of a relief; it could be a lot worse.

“Okay, Steph,” Archie agrees.  It’s a little bit of an effort to shake himself out of his own blood-fueled haze, but he manages after a good ten seconds of just happy breathing. Getting up with a grin and going to look through the haphazard stack of DVDs by the television.  Moving quickly, he puts the movie in and then makes sure that Hiro’s got a blanket around his shoulders.  He’s occasionally sort of anemic, but he insists that the feeding really isn’t that big of a deal.  

There’s a brief moment where he considers protesting the dramatic vampire name thing.  But his name is fucking Archibald Haywood, so he really doesn’t get to talk shit.  But at least he named himself after an author he doesn’t even like as opposed to declaring himself a baron.

Still, he’s going to go get the baron something to eat out of the kitchen.

Eilonwy was worried only recently that they’d be upset with him, but it’s clear to him now that these people care about him, and to some degree don’t want to see him go. That’s not something he’s experienced before, so it took him a long time to recognize it. His family expressed interest in having him near, though only to secure the longevity of their people. In a largely female population, and as one of the only males, he’s been designated since birth to sire much of the next generation. They don’t enjoy him, they need him.

So he doesn’t mind when they take notes on him, or ask him directive questions about his habits and his body, because it’s usually followed with an affectionate ruffle of his hair, a tasty snack, a kiss. It’s a small price to pay. 

“Good. Sorry.” Not really. 

Oh, he was wondering when Kira was going to kiss him. Not unhappy with the previous arrangement at all, but it was missing something. His hands find their way to Kira’s sides and he digs his heels further into the sand, only to crack his eyes open and squint at him when it’s far briefer than it should be.

Eilonwy can’t really imagine wanting to leave this beach or remove his hands, but he knows they have to at some point. He does like long walks near the shore, something thrilling about humans looking past him in the dim light like he isn’t very different from them, nothing to remark upon. While he likes being different, he doesn’t like the idea that he might be too different to walk among them without causing a stir. Sometimes it’s easy to pretend, sometimes it isn’t.

He thinks of the cascading lights off the pier and how they look in the misty night, the savory smells he sometimes catches in the wind. He doesn’t know what spectacle is there to see or do, but he’s intrigued. 

“That sounds fun,” he tests the words, hoping he used ‘fun’ right, “can we see the big…spinning thing?”

He doesn’t wait for his answer before he kisses Kira more insistently than Kira kissed him, ankles hooked together, unselfconscious of the salt in his mouth. This is what he wanted.

Akira hasn’t gotten to ask truly probing questions about Eilonwy’s world yet, but that makes sense.  Akira is not an anthropologist; his first instinct is not to ask about the intricacies of another society, but he should have probably gotten there now.  He’s just fascinated by the way Eilonwy works still, though.  There’s a lot about it he doesn’t understand, and Eilonwy loses interest pretty quickly when Akira asks a dozen questions about his eyelids.  

Even as Eilonwy speaks, most of Akira’s focus is on the light grip on his sides.  It takes him a few seconds to work out what the big spinning thing is, but then he grins.  He thinks about explaining that it’s also a ride, but before he can decide whether he should give Eilonwy time to consider it or not, he’s being kissed again.  But before he can even give Eilonwy the name for it, he’s being kissed again, and that’s just...a lot more important.

The taste of salt on Eilonwy’s mouth is actually kind of nice.  It’s that soft, ocean sort of salt, and it seems right on Eilonwy.  Or Akira’s a sap who really, really loves being kissed no matter the circumstances.  Or probably both.

He puts a hand carefully, hesitantly on Eilonwy’s waist while he kisses back.  His blood is rushing in his ears louder than the steady lap of the ocean not far away.  It’s a really, really good thing that Eilonwy isn’t experienced, because Akira would have embarrassed himself by now in any other situation.

He decides that because Eilonwy went in kinda hard on the kiss, he’s allowed to try just a little more with it.  His hand moves quickly from Eilonwy’s side to his cheek, carefully guiding him into a slightly different angle, tongue tasting the sharp burst of salt on Eilonwy’s bottom lip for a second before he pulls back and catches his breath with an almost abashed look.  

He’s really not sure if fish-people like that sort of thing.  Are tongues gross in their culture?  Tongues are kinda gross in every culture, admittedly, when not used correctly.  “Sorry?” he offers, suddenly very sure that he’s done something that’s going to get him slapped.  Which, what the hell, Akira?  It’s still just a kiss.

Eilonwy does feel his footsteps in the sand right before he feels him along his side, releasing a little breath at the head on his stomach, the hand in his. Of course it’s Kira, that distinct warmth and scent unmistakable to him. 

His eyes slit open just to look at him, a small smile creeping at the corners of his mouth. The free hand moves to Kira’s head to sift through his dark curls, careful with his claws when he scratches a little at his nape. 

“Hi, Kira.”

It’s been different since Akira kissed him, again and again, and Eilonwy kissed back. They’ve been freer with touch, freer with words. It feels almost weighted and scary, but not in a bad way? Hard to explain. He wants to sit next to him all the time, hear his voice all the time, sleep next to him all the time if that didn’t feel too much and forbidden. There are some things he doesn’t understand, some rules he can’t seem to follow. That’s okay, isn’t it?

Kira doesn’t seem upset about the leg thing, not that Eilonwy was truly worried about it. You don’t kiss just a…project, or whatever he was at first to them. Project, assignment, study–all of these things he was once, maybe still. Words that mean almost nothing to him, no equals in his own old language. 

“I lied about my leg,” he says it breezily, like that lessens it somewhat, “are you mad at me?”

He closes his eyes again, lets his hand tease under the collar of Kira’s shirt to dig his claws gently into the taut muscle there. Everyone likes their back scratched, he’s found, as long as he’s careful with them. 

No, you don’t kiss just a project.  And a project doesn’t make you feel happy to the point of bursting with it.  It’s that strange, early, giddy kind of happiness that teeters on the edge of terrifying.  It’s the kind that makes him bury his face in his pillow at night and grin shamelessly.  Which is probably...something he needs to work on.  

“I can see that,” he says, reaching out to touch at the place where he thinks the scar would be below the pants.  “No, I’m not mad at all.”  But Eilonwy doesn’t actually seem worried about it.  He turns his head back up towards Eilonwy’s face, making a contented noise as scratches at the skin of his back.  It’s a sound not unlike the not-quite-human ones Eilonwy makes when he’s pleased, and Akira mimics it with a grin.

He picked a good place, but he’s starting to realize that he can't actually kiss Eilonwy from here, and now he suddenly wants to again.  A tactical misfire, really.  There’s nothing but the gentle scratching of nails to keep him from fixing the problem.  He rolls a little, none too gracefully, until his elbow is by Eilonwy’s head and Akira is half lying on his side in the sand.  He’ll need to change later, but the alternative is not kissing Eilonwy on a beach where the sun still hangs pretty low in the sky.   

Preemptively, he pushes his glasses up on top of his head.  “We should go down to the pier tonight.”  It’s the middle of the fall; the temperature drops too low in the night to really attract a lot of tourists, so there’s no real pressure to act more ‘human’.  And they can walk around somewhere bigger than the small confines of the boat; Akira can show Eilonwy new things.  Apparently they’re going to be docked here for one more day while the captain fixes something wrong with the boat.

@belorps

It was still moonlit when he woke up before them, no lights to distinguish where the sea ended and the sky began. Just the gentle rocking of the boat and the peaceful breathing of the people on it, all long since lulled and sleep-warm.

Eilonwy’s eyesight isn’t very keen during the day; it’s actually easier to scrawl a note in the darkness, but he’s still not sure how legible it is. Spoken language he’s picked up easily, written not so much. 

He just needed to be in the water for a very long time, work his muscles against it and feel the salt in his pores–though he loves it, the air is not nearly as kind to him. Limp hair, oily skin, sweat…yuck. He is far too vain for that. 

So he exhausted himself in the depths, and now he’s basking on a small beach not far from the boat, sated and heavy-lidded. The sleek pants the frizzy lady bought for him are soaked through and gritty with sand, but he can’t be bothered to remove them. 

He could leave them forever, the humans. His leg has been perfectly healed for months and they would never find him, probably aren’t even roused yet to notice his absence. Should that be tempting? He finds that it isn’t.

If somebody happened upon him, he would be too worn to notice. It’s getting warmer and easier to tire when the sun rises.

Akira has been sitting on the deck of the boat for about an hour now.  The note had been pretty much illegible, but the intent had not been hard to figure out.  So Akira had made himself moderately comfortable on the deck of the ship.  He leans against the railing where he sits, notebook balanced on his knees as he considers taking notes.

He finds that taking notes on the way Eilonwy behaves seems...rude now.  There’s no ill intent behind it, but it just feels wrong.  Because now Akira knows the sound that Eilonwy makes when kissed, the way his breathing changes when you pull away. 

Objectivity is getting harder and harder.  Now sketching Eilonwy in the margins feels a lot more intimate than before.  He closes the notebook, balls up an extra sweater between his head and the railings and allows himself to fall back asleep for a little just as the sun touches the horizon.

The impromptu nap doesn’t last that long, but when he wakes, he sees Eilonwy prone on the shore.  For a weird, terrible moment he’s afraid that Eilonwy’s been hurt.  His whole chest sort of seizes up at the possibility, but when he squints, it looks like he’s breathing okay.  And there’s definitely no blood.  

By the time he’s plopped down next to Eilonwy on the beach, he’s sure he’s fine.  Actually...finer than he should be.  He lays down, puts his head on Eilonwy’s stomach as casually as one can do something like that.  

His fingers seek out the other’s, lacing together.  

So maybe this doesn’t come doctor recommended, but his asthma really is not that bad most of the time and also fuck the police. He likes Archie, and he doesn’t like a lot of people, which makes it a special thing–Archie would not have any reason to come around and argue Nintendo with him if Hiro wasn’t a blood donor, it’s that simple. Of course, he’s not going to just say that.

But he is pretty cute, thanks. 

The bite itself is pain like nothing else. It’s two very sharp teeth breaking and sinking into his skin, that’s not pleasant, and he can never help the weak little noise he makes, the first instinct to push him off and retreat. He grits his teeth and fists a hand in Archie’s shirt to get through it, before the trickle of warmth on his neck signals it’s over and he’s just light-headed. Endorphins, right? He could write poetry about it. 

Now it’s just…bliss. Bliss caused by opiate receptors in his brain trying to calm him down and also making him an easy target for death, but bliss nonetheless. He trusts Archie, implicitly, not to take too much, so it’s fine. This is as chill as a kid with like eighty-seven anxiety disorders can get, probably. 

The curled fist loosens so he’s just resting his hand on Archie’s back, the other one gripping his Terminator blanket so he doesn’t float away or something. His breath is kind of rattling around in his chest, and he knows his moans are coming out a little wheezy, which is probably really gross to listen to, actually? Sorry, Archie. 

“Don’t get blood on Sarah’s face,” he manages, the most important thing.

It’s not gross, actually.  Archie personally likes listening to the little sounds Hiro makes no matter how many times Archie’s teeth pierce skin.  The first sound is always another reminder not to go too far or too fast.  He hates to hear Hiro (or any of the others who regularly donate) in pain.  Maybe it’s silly, but a noise of pain always makes him feel guilty a little.  And the guilt is good here.  It keeps him more human.  Feeling human while drinking blood is a real challenge, actually.  

And the wheezy little half-moans are nice too.  They make Archie’s lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile even as he swallows down another mouthful, sweet and perfect.  Hiro’s not the only one a little loss in bliss at this point.  

A noise of assent at the instruction, and then Archie moves his hand to rest below where his mouth is.  He’ll catch any blood trying to make a path to Sarah’s face.  Woman was a goddam hero, she deserves that much respect at least.  

Admittedly, Archie’s not even that hungry.  He’d come over because that’s the schedule and he wanted to see Hiro.  Realistically, he could have probably gone another week or two just fine.  Maybe he visits his...friends so frequently for the companionship.  For the intimacy of feeding without any expectations.  It’s an inherently inhuman act, what he’s doing.  But it’s the closest he can get to anyone at any given time.  It’s nice.  Maybe it’s the feeling he’s addicted to as much as the blood.

Except he’d waste away to nothing without the blood.  Hm.

When he’s done, he very gently dislodges his teeth and licks the wound clean.  Carefully, he puts his fingers over the two distinct marks and reaches for where Hiro keeps the bandaids.  “Hey, Hiro,” he says, softly.  Tries to break him out of the haze a little.  He knows from some early experimentation that he could put someone in this sort of twilight zone for hours if he wanted to, but there’s no point in that when you’ve got willing donors.

Eilonwy has gotten away with those kisses by explaining them as a cultural practice, but it’s also true that he’s been teasing Kira. He looks forward to that good night kiss every day–warm and soft, however brief, and he’d sleep fretfully without it. 

This is different. He isn’t sure what to do at first, awkward and still with surprise, but then his skin lights up and he’s able to move again. It’s a slow, sweet thing, moving his mouth against Kira’s in gentle tandem, careful of his teeth.

He commits every little breath to memory, the sounds of their lips parting and catching again for just a little more, and then he pulls away before he can take too much. But he just presses his own to Kira’s stubbled cheek instead, hands balled in the sides of his sweater. 

He suspects it wasn’t much by human standards, hopes he didn’t disappoint Kira with his almost total inexperience. His people don’t kiss for fun, to feel a heartbeat in the other’s mouth or get light-headed. 

“Kira,” he wants it again, but he’s trying not to whine, “I liked that a lot.”

Akira’s head is swimming with the kiss.  He doesn’t really have a lot of experience to compare against, but this feels like it must be a really, really good kiss, and it makes him borderline lightheaded.  Slow and gentle as it is, it’s too much already.  But he still whines a little when Eilonwy pulls away.  His teeth catch on his own lip, and he breathes through his nose a few times before he dares to open his eye.

He runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of Eilonwy’s neck while their cheeks rest together.  When he catches his breath and the blush slowly fades from his face, Akira has a little time to doubt himself.  He knows how Eilonwy is about touch.  Had it been wrong to push their current boundaries for that kind of kiss?  Is Eilonwy going to feel like he has to stay?

Despite the questions (ones that Akira will, no doubt, toss all night thinking about), he laughs delightedly when he hears the words.

“Don’t you dare laugh at my frail body,” as if it could be any more embarrassing, god, “You’ll jinx me.”

Maybe he’ll get lucky and he won’t need it today; usually it’s only when it’s been a while, or the pollen count is high, or he’s already…riled up, as unlikely as that is. It’s not like he’s a total invalid.

And now he’s worried Archie didn’t lock the door behind him. The last thing he needs is Lyss clomping down here to announce she made paprika mac n cheese, or whatever, and seeing something unholy and scarring. Archie has literally told them what he was multiple times, but it’s not like they have any reason to actually believe it. 

Hiro sometimes barely believes it.  But here we are. And he’s pretty sure, actually, that the door is locked, he thinks he heard the click. Whatever, whatever. 

“I’m really good,” but he appreciates being asked repeatedly, he does, “hurry up so we can watch Episode Five.”

“I’m not laughing at your frail body,” Archie assures him through another laugh.  “I actually think it’s pretty cute.  Well, cute until it tries to just quit.  Not cool.”  Honestly, the asthma is a sure sign that Archie should not be using him for blood.  It won’t kill him, but making an existing problem worse isn’t what he’s going for.  That being said, he’s asked Hiro about a thousand times if it’s okay, and Hiro gets more exasperated each time.  

The door is locked, but honestly if someone comes in, it’ll probably just look like he’s trying to give Hiro a hickey.  He’s not that messy of an eater.  

“Stop rushing me,” he says, sticking out his tongue.  It’s a process.  And Archie sleeps better in the day if he can tell himself he was good about it.  He runs his tongue over his teeth for a second before gently tapping the bottom of Hiro’s chin to tilt his head up.  Satisfied with the angle finally he gives a perfunctory swipe of his tongue over the particular spot (biting into completely dry skin is gross, okay?) before carefully biting down.

Like always, the first trickle of blood is so euphoric, so explosive that he makes a strangled sort of noise.  He never, never wants to hurt Hiro.  Not ever.  But there’s always a strange flash right at the beginning of a feeding that makes him think about how easy and possibly satisfying it would be to drain him (or whoever he happens to be feeding on) completely.  

Aleixo folds her in closer, unable to resist a lingering kiss to her neck. There is nothing in the world more beautiful to her than this disgraced daughter of the sea–worth her kingdom, worth anything in her power and more if it comes to that. 

But as much as she believes Kalli enjoys it here, cares for her in return–the circumstances of it are not ideal. Aleixo would free her in a second if it was of her volition, if her internment as a ‘handmaiden’ to a spinster princess wasn’t enforced by a god himself. 

“Not as much as I miss you,” now a scattering of kisses just under her jaw, teasing, “You don’t have to say it. But I’m going to find a way to release you from this, somehow.”

They have the favor of a goddess, already; Aleixo isn’t unwilling to test how far she can manage that.

The last thing Kalli wants to do is burden Aleixo with any more guilt over this.  She had not asked for this either, and Kalli feels incredibly lucky that this is a situation she can live with.  That she loves Lex more fiercely than she knew she could.  But there is no great curse to break; she is here because that is the way of things, because her station in life is to be under the jurisdiction of the gods.  

She tugs a lock of Aleixo’s hair teasingly, pouting a little.  

Eilonwy is not convinced by his words. No, he doesn’t mind what his family thinks, but his dismissal isn’t going to be of any help if and when they decide to come for him. 

He knows he won’t fight them. He would lose, these people would die, and for what? Warm blankets, books, kisses? Nothing is worth the lives of those who give him these things. Eilonwy has to return to his home, inevitably. 

But he smiles when Kira pulls up beside him, leans in to kiss his warm cheek once, twice and rests his forehead against his. They’re safe for now, aren’t they?

“I want to be here,” he rubs his cheek against the other’s, now, “I’m sorry.”

Akira feels his heart jump somewhere to the vicinity of his throat when he Eilonwy rests their foreheads together.  He grips at his arms, hoping that Eilonwy knew Akira certainly hadn’t been looking for an apology.  He’s not offended by Eilonwy’s fears.  Just wants him to know that, danger or not, Akira wants him here.  And so does the doctor and the captain.

But that’s a lot to say, and Akira really, really doesn’t know how to say it.  He puts a warm hand on the back of Eilonwy’s neck now, nose bumping his as Akira edges in a little closer.  The kisses between them have mostly been the goodbye ones that Eilonwy slyly asks for.  Everyone else gets away with just pecking him on the cheek, but Akira can’t say he minds, truthfully.

Maybe it’s the thought that Eilonwy might have to leave soon, leave for good, that has Akira a little desperate, but he puts his free hand to the side of Eilonwy’s face gently.  He’s careful when he kisses Eilonwy, but it’s softer and more lingering than the goodbye pecks he tends to deliver. 

Aleixo rolls onto her side to face her, face already tight with the look her father claims is ‘unbecoming’, like everything else about her. But there’s no honor in being the sole, female heir to an isle like Fleves, no prospects around the corner if she just smiled easily, so she’s not sure why it bears comment. 

Her hand, calloused from gripping a sword all her life, traces the smooth dip of Kalli’s waist. It would be impossible to forget that this lovely thing is of the gods, but sometimes Aleixo does find herself too comfortable with the grace of her presence here. It can’t always be like this, the indulgent mornings in bed and the scent of each other mingled between their skin.

“Don’t you miss your home?” like Alexio misses her, when she’s gone, “Why do you say it like that?”

Kalli gives a contented little noise at the touch to her spine, and she presses closer, slipping under one of Lex’s arms self-indulgently.  She doesn’t really know how to explain herself.

“I do,” she admits finally.  “But going home because I am told to, and going home because I want to are different.  It’s just that I --- dislike being tugged back and forth at the whims of --- ” Kalli sighs, knowing that Lex knows what she’s driving at, but Kalli knows better than to speak ill of Amphitrite or her husband out loud, even here.  Even with the Huntress’s blessing.

Hiro would rather die than admit to it aloud, but Archie’s carefree dedication to bad puns and general nonsense in his daily life is…really fucking adorable, actually.

He doesn’t know how most vampires are, but he thinks it would probably be easy to just assume a humorless life of bitter meanness after living for so long and watching the world die around you. Archie is an inspiration to us all, really. He deserves a BuzzFeed video, or something. 

If he wasn’t familiar with that look by now, he might have been a little hesitant to literally bare his throat to a guy who could kill him easily. But he trusts him more than he trusts probably anyone else, so he undoes a few more buttons and eases onto his back. 

“Your lil Capri Sun bought a box of Darth Vader Band-Aids,” like three times the price of regular Band-Aids, but worth it, “and they glow in the dark.”

Archie really doesn’t think of his life as watching the world die around him, really.  It’s not like that.  People die, and things change, but it’s more of a rebirth than a death.  Which is the quasi-deep stuff he doesn’t say.  But the world’s always offering up something new, and while he might miss some of the old things from time to time, he considers himself pretty lucky to get to see new stuff.  

How could eighteen year old Archie have dreamed up something as awesome as Star Wars, honestly?  That’s worth sticking around and being optimistic about.  Though, to be fair, the prequels had ruined that optimism for the better part of a decade.  

“That’s awesome,” he says, resting an elbow on either side of Hiro’s head.  “You’re sure you’re good?” he asks as he flashes his fangs with a goofy grin and moves a hand to touch his finger gently to the almost-invisible marks he left last time.  

   “ I will have to go home for a few days soon. ”  There’s an uncharacteristic bitterness to the words.  Why she should be subject to the whims of her sister’s husband is beyond her.  Especially after she had been sent here with no discussion.  To send her away from the sea against her will had been terrible, but to drag her back now that she’s finally comfortable and happy?  That borders on unfair.