#othrsouls

   ❝  𝐲𝐨𝐮   𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫   𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠            anything   different ?       change   it   up   from   dolly ?  ❞      

baz’s   nerves   were   alight;   he   felt   each   sway   of   the   boat,   heard   each   creak   as   if   it   were   his   own   bones.   there’d   been   murmurs   among   the   crew   of   trouble   at   home,   on   the   island.   baz’d   never   been.   he   was   too   new,   too   recently   recruited   to   have   been   to   the   island,   but   he’d   heard   stories.   the   bars,   bright   throughout   the   night   with   candles   and   song,   the   markets   that   smelled   of   mulled   wines   and   fresh   fruits.   a   pirate   haven.   and   the   queen.   she   was   lovely,   he’d   heard.   a   sight   for   sore   eyes,   and   clever,   too.   ❛   she’s   a   force   to   be   reckoned   with,   ❜   the   quartermaster   warns,   arms   tense   as   he   pulls   the   oars   toward   himself   ❛   but   follow   the   rules,   and   you’ll   do   just   fine   ❜   he   follows   with   a   toothy   grin.

the   boat   lurches   beneath   him   as   the   hull   hits   the   soft,   sandy   floor;   lurches   again   as   each   man   stands,   jumps   into   the   shallow   water.   baz   follows   suit,   grabs   the   hull   and   drags   until   the   rowboat   is   secure   on   shore.   and   then,   he   drinks   it   in.   the   island   is   surreal   in   its   beauty.   the   shore   leads   to   rolling   hills,   over   which   he   can   see   streets,   bustling   with   carriages   and   folks   of   all   sorts.   one   of   the   crew,   a   woman   older   than   him,   smiles   and   pats   his   shoulder.   ❛      welcome   home,   kid   ❜      she   smiles.   baz   nods,   unable   to   find   words.   his   chest   feels   heavy,   but   he   can’t   quite   place   why.   something   about   this   place   feels   right.

“hey, clarabelle,” jesse drawls as he limps into the med bay and settles himself heavy against the wall. he’s holding his whole body weight up against the doorframe with his robotic hand, near driving divots into the metal of the frame with how tight his fist is clenched. his whole body is aching something awful. “ange around? found myself up shit creek earlier, and let’s just say i couldn’t fashion myself a paddle in time. got a little roughed up,” he smiles weakly at her, “ain’t as spry and sprightly as i used to be. you mind lookin’ at this sorry mug for a while, if i sit and wait for the doc?”

Sherlock’s arms offered a warm shelter for his sister as her heart continued bursting through her eyes and nose, making absolutely no sense in her rant.

“Breakdowns like this are normal when kicking, Sherri.” He whispered as he pulled a long piece of toilet paper from the roll and used it to wipe her watery snot. “You’re currently trying to handle emotions, all those pesky things you used to dull out with the usage of drugs.”

He continued cleaning her face, suddenly thinking about a memory of doing the same when she was only three years old, and her wet crying had disgusted his child self enough to take the initiative to wipe her nose.