From the vantage point of the upper deck, the ship looked like the skeletal remains of a felled beast in a shallow watering hole. The ribcage now open, exposed. People ran around at the far ends like ants suddenly disturbed and lost from their leader.

What happened? 

Tej navigated what a jogging path around the outer edge of the cruise ship. Huge piles of deck chairs and sun loungers blocked the way in chaotic, tangled piles from the angle the ship had been tossed into, pressed against what was the inner wall. While the outside railing that once prevented fatal tumbles into the sea crescented over his head in the most disorienting way. 

At the far end he could see a serpentine twist of bright orange and sky blue tubes. Large tubes, pieces and parts of the waterslides on deck. Tej heard a chatter at that end, and occasional coupled timed splashes into the ocean. 

“Do you know what’s going on?” She appeared beside him. Maybe crawled out from under one of those stacks of chairs. Maybe she’d even been in one of those before… before what? 

“From what I can tell, people found a way off this fucking–” Ship. The notion this was merely a hungover dream/nightmare had begun to fade. What the fuck was he doing on a cruise ship, why was it here. Confusion still rattled through him. Tej tried to focus less on a boat and more on getting the hell out of there, for now.

Where even was here? He turned to study the stranger next to him. “I couldn’t find a way out down below, so. This might be the best option.” Or only option.

@darcycrawford

The worst things about stakeouts was the waiting. And waiting. Then waiting some more. The second worst thing about the stakeouts was Darcy’s annoying fidgeting habits. She was tapping ... again. Her fingers. On the passenger car door. “Will you stop that?” He moved his attention from the window to her, seating there next to him with that typical smug face of hers. “Jesus, I can’t believe I was sucked into this fiasco.” He’s had shitty missions before, but this one took the bloody cake. 

This was not, in any way, shape, or form, the way Malachi had envisioned spending Christmas this year. When he’d thought of it at all -and he hadn’t, much-, he’d pushed aside half-formed, dutiful thoughts of job related nonsense, and instead entertained vague visions of spending the holiday at the flat with his boyfriend.  Maybe watch a bit of Christmas telly, or maybe just enjoy a little too much of Anne’s excellent, and highly potent eggnog. He had not involved freezing his arse off, crouched down in the driver seat of an ancient tan Ford Sierra, half keeping an eye out for their next target, while listening with half an ear to Darcy’s annoying tapping. Finally, he snapped, moving towards her and slapping his hand over hers to make her stop. “Can you focus, please?” 

He reached for the back on the back seat then placing it neatly on his lap. He then opened it, pulling out a set of night goggles. “You know what the plan is, right?” He pointed to the house across from them with a sigh. They’ve been at it for a week. A whole week of pretending to like ... no love this woman. Of telling romantic tales of trips they had taken and places they still wanted to see. They had managed to befriend their target and his lovely wife, so at least his constant headache wasn’t in vain. “We sit there, make idle conversation, etc, etc. When its time to serve dessert, I’ll excuse myself and head over to their house. Set up the cameras and tap their phone. Shouldn’t take long. I’m sure you can figure out a way to keep them distracted with your ... charm.”

The temperature outside has plunged to brutal lows, that breath-stealing chill that precedes snowfall. It is only marginally better inside the car, though they at least have shelter from the wind that periodically pokes its way through suburbia. His breath paints pictures in the air before dissipating, its heat leeched out almost before it has a chance to leave his mouth. The lights in their target's house are still on, still cheerful, suggesting a warmth and homeyness that is entirely absent in their car. Silhouettes move against the windows; the flicker of a television throws shadows against a wall. “We should head back inside. Looks like he’s not meeting with anyone tonight.”

@darcycrawford

Darce?