Splinters and Skewers

Eamon: "I don't think that's up to code..."

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“Excellent idea!” The detective pipes rather boisterously in response to the cashiers attempt to prevent them from holding up the line any longer.

“Listen, Miss. I have my reasons for interrogating you specifically--now if you would step outside with me to prevent any nearby eavesdroppers from listening in," (as if his display didn't draw immense attention to them already), "I can clarify a few things for you. Perhaps you can do the same for me." He gestures towards the door.

"I git the feelin' I'm not gonna be left alone until I do this, am I?" Rachael tosses her head back and gives a loud sigh.

     ❝ It's about having a constant ❞, Mista reluctantly admitted. There wasn't a reason before to explain himself as things merely happened and he let them pass, but since the topic was on the table... why not further expand on that topic? Resting his cheek against the heel of his palm, he continued.

     ❝ It has always been about that to have someone that'll become both my cynosure and my refuge. Someone to return to once the day's over ❞. The gunslinger wasn't certain whether that description was being slow and steady, rather... It was like a mutual commitment, a rather heavy one that he wasn't certain about finding in this lifetime if he was being honest. Finding someone who could potentially understand the risks that getting involved with him meant, especially a death magnet like he was. Raw sincerity about how fleeting life could be and living to the fullest, no way he was finding that now.

     ❝ What about you? What's your ideal type of relationship, Rach? ❞.

"Hmm... I haven't thought about that for some time now." She laces the tips her of fingers together to give it some reflection. Relationships weren't high up on her hierarchy of needs now that she was a bit older. Her logical expectation is for them to fizzle out eventually. That doesn't stop her from having a shred of fuzzy envy towards the older couples she sees.

Is that what a fairytale feels like, she wonders? Having one person to adore for the rest of your days, flaws and all? To love them like a hand made painting. All the strokes and lumps of paint one on top of each other, never to be one smooth texture. The small splatters of off white acrylic on darker areas meant to bring depth, like dust caught in a ray of light. Oh, to adore the covered up imperfections and slips of the wrist as one whole work of art. Beautiful and unique, never to be identical to another. To be cast upon by someone else in that manner, though.

The thought fondles the lower apex of her heart. It ruffles up as a mourning dove does on a balcony in the morning sun. What an embarrassing reaction to give herself from a simple question. She places her hand over the side of her face he's standing beside. Her skin feels hotter. Most certainly going ruddy. It seems she was projecting a bit before. It is her who is the hopeless romantic between the both of them.

"Vincent, what th' fuck?!"

"Vincent, what th' fuck?!"

"Vincent, what th' fuck?!"

For Sinbad from Rachael @splinter-sister

"Come now, my lamb. There is no need for such harsh comment." The captain all but grins, ear to ear, as if he were merely a cat who got caught.

May be he was being a bit of an asshole, which he was known to be, and he honestly doesn't blame her for the comment. He only thought he was being a charmer.

"I know you liked the tease." Did she? He thinks. He had many enemies and he doesnt want her to feel that way, maybe he was meant to be hated.

Thats what the gods told him when he set sail and their constant battle, that he was hated. He was never wanted.