their connection manifests in secret, in a language sacred to only them; crafted without thought, communicated in silence. kiara carrera alone is the person who knows john jacob maybank to the very bone. she can read him without a word, cut through his facades; and comfort him even wordlessly, without intent. the water lapped against the hms pogue soothes, the moonlight rippling off of barely seen whitecaps upon it's surface; the night air cool enough to enjoy but not enough to chill their skin. though a chill rushes up his spine, tingles his fingertips as hands brush in the passing of a shared joint; her words evoking a puzzled expression to break out upon his face whilst lips draw in smoke. it plumes about their heads, grey mists rising to the starlight that appears to be the only tangible evidence of the connection that is only strengthening between them. " the fuck did that come from? " there is a laugh lighter than air passed through lips curved in a falsely confident smile. a conversation that borders upon his emotional vulnerability causing him to close up like a clam, put forth a version of himself that is shroud. " don't see why we wouldn't be. . . " gnawed thumb and pointer flicks the ash of their joint, a hissing that is barely audible as it hits the salt water beneath. the truth is he fears most of all that one day, all too familiar antics will prove just too weighing on the pogues; and what will he have then?
