#astrea.

He stands, trying to perhaps not look as helpless as he suddenly feels. Laurent is careful with his expression, keeping it placid and as neutral as the hard pucker of his eyebrows and purse of his lips will allow.

He's staring at the hull of the Widow's wake, half turned over on her port side. There's a hole in her belly and she's bleeding water like a stuck pig.

Laurent frowns so heavily that he feels his skin stretch like leather.

"This is not ideal." he says out loud, careful to keep what could be the bubbling of hysteria out of his voice. It sits on his shoulders through, like noose made of chains and it chokes him to the point of cotton mouth.

He glances to his left, to where a small blonde woman idles just like he's doing. He stares because for a brief, heart stopping moment, she reminds him of his sister. They look the same, the same colouring, the same wide eyed stare. He almost reaches out, before something close to sick grief shackles his hands to his sides. Laurent opens his mouth instead, closes it, opens it again and hates the fact that he's hesitating so much.

"You look lost." he settles on something neutral and forces himself to keep looking at her, because she wasn't his sister and maybe that would help prove it.