#perpetuallyadrift

@perpetuallyadrift

Name: Arthur Cirrakos

Age: It’s been too long... I’m afraid I don’t know anymore.

Do you like to cuddle?: More than just about anything else, yes.

Can we make-out?: I would never force such a thing upon you.  However, if you wished for me to kiss you, I would never refuse.

A night in or dinner out?: Those aren't options we really have aboard a ship.  However, I would enjoy taking you out somewhere during the next shore leave.

Whip cream or chocolate syrup?:  Would honey be an agreeable alternative?

Chocolates and roses?:  For you, anything.

What makes you a good Valentine?:  I give excellent hugs, and make a good pillow to nap against.  I also - care for you.  Very much.  And I would give up a great deal to have you happy and to see you smile.

Would you cook for me?: I would.  Gladly.  My skills are basic, but I could cook you some of the dishes my mother taught me before I went off to war.

Would you let me cook for you?:  I would enjoy anything you wished to cook for me.  

Where would you take me on a date?: If we could go anywhere?  Circe's isle.  I want the two of you to meet.  And I want you to see and experience a place that has meant so much to me.

Who’s paying?: I don't think it would cost us anything.  But if it did, I would pay those costs.

For @perpetuallyadrift

Orrock felt utterly miserable. Every part of his body could be classified as either throbbing, pounding or aching from his head to his feet. He leaned against the bulkhead, taking weight off his injured leg for a moment. The saber cut across his thigh was manageable but it still hurt to put weight on. His hammock looked to be a monumental distance away and he stood contemplating it. Making it from the orlop to the Midshipmen’s berth had been sheer force of will and he was falling short of it now. Of course the orlop had been crowded and loud and all Orrock wanted was peace and quiet until he could get himself back to rights.

The sky has just wept, and its tears made the ocean even fuller. The torn veil of storm clouds is chased by the wind, showing a bright silver lining at first and discloses a glimpse of weak white sun minutes later. The deck, however filthy and overridden with growths of seaweed and barnacles, glistens in the scarce rays. The crew never sought refuge from the heavy rain that so freshly passed, remaining on the top deck, unable to soak any more water for their bodies were perpetually wet. Maccus is the first one to end his leisure, serving as the example to others, as he lowers himself upon a barrel and produces a grinder from the ragged, rotten cloth he’s got left on him. The navy land rats show their noses at the sound of blade being sharpened. One of them is now occupying what used to be Maccus’ only shelter from neverending neighbourship of the crew any sailor is bound to tolerate – the first mate’s cabin. He less than a beggar, he’s got nothing, and yet they found what to rob him of. Reduced to a slave at another slaves’ command, he is nothing more than a bogey from fairytales for the people in blue. He abuses his new position sometimes by accidental glimpse of his teeth or a piercing glance of the only human eye he gloomily observes the world with. He sees some of them clinging to their crosses, turning away, suppressing the urge to turn their stomachs inside out – there is no place for illusion of being seen as a human being, as their equal. Pirate is bad enough, but this…This they have no word for, so they don’t speak of him at all. The crew – the real crew, Jones’ men, his men, he can tell by their faces, expected no more.

The steady shing! Of stone against metal puts him in a welcome lulling trance, in which he can fantasize in great detail of slaying every single man in a powdered wig around him. What cuts in is far from what he could imagine. Nether Jones, nor Norrington or Merser. It is but a young lad, the part of the crew that still had hopes for Heaven. From the corner of milky blue eye Maccus first notices the boots, undoubtedly too close to him to make the boy’s position an simple accident. It is him who’s desired to be talked to. For a good measure, he makes the young man wait. One minute, two minutes…At four Maccus graces him with a gaze, squinted under the sun, and emits a raspy “What?”

every ♡ gets a woo hector tip : accepting :  @perpetuallyadrift

“You can laugh or you can join me,” The nameless said taking another meringue from the big paper bag, his jeans and his chest were already covered in white powder, as well as his lips. “Everyone has a right for a little obsession. These things were discovered only in 17th century, which means, I haven't had them in my childhood.”