#aurcrarising

          “Mark, what if they want to question me? Have you told them everything?”

“Commodore Norrington!” The smartly dressed captain stepped forward, offering his hand. The dockyard was bustling with activity as dozens of ships were being unloaded and unloaded, in various states of repair depending on when they were scheduled to leave dock again. The captain, Jack Aubrey, had just been given his orders for the HMS Surprise that morning, part of a fleet that would be under the Commodore’s supervision. “Captain Jack Aubrey, pleasure to meet you, sir.”

he wrapped an arm around her instead. she was so tired and he moved so carefully, she didn’t even realize what he was doing until she felt his hand against her side. the motion earned him a small, grateful smile, especially when she feels his head resting against hers. moving just as carefully as she did, she curls her fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

          It isn’t exactly unusual for Victor to end up in A&E, though he tends to avoid it for the more minor things— stitches, the easier dislocations, that kind of thing. This time, though, he’s pretty sure he’s gone and fractured something in his wrist, and apparently he can’t just ignore that type of injury completely. It’s been hours now, and patient as Victor is, he’s really beginning to need something to distract him. So he shifts up a seat, and asks: “Come here a lot?” His voice is soft, his tone gently teasing— people in hospitals can generally do with a little humour, in his experience.

          Ava can’t help but laugh. Look! People falling into stuff is funny, and there’s no way that she’s not going to laugh at someone for doing it! She’s just going to laugh at them, and then be helpful. Possibly while still giggling a little. She scrambles down the bank to the edge of the water, making at least some attempt to stifle her laughter as she reaches a hand out to the other girl. “Here— c’mon, I’ll give you a hand.” 

          No matter how many sunsets she sees, Sorrel still can’t stifle the urge to take pictures of them. This one is prettily outlined by the trees of the park and by buildings in the distance, though there are a few figures in the foreground she’s not paying attention to. That is, of course, until one of them becomes increasingly larger on the screen of her phone, until she glances up and is confronted by a none-too-pleased expression. Ah. “—Hi?”

          Felix sure hopes this piece of paper was important, because it’s been a while since he sprinted this kind of distance out of the blue and it, uh, sucks. He’s barrelled through crowded streets— with many shouted apologies and cries of excuse me, of course —to the next bus stop, some couple of blocks further on. It’s only his luck that there’s enough traffic that he arrives in time, horribly winded, and sticks his arm in the door just as the driver is about to close it. Another murmur of thanks, a tap of his travel card, and he finally finds his target. “I, uh—” Yeah, and he hasn’t really caught his breath yet either, “This is yours.”