@deliverthem: YOU’RE BLEEDING.
"am i?" when you speak, you feel the split in your lip. reflexively, you bring a hand to your mouth to catch the blood that follows, a slow drip caught in the space between the thumb and index finger of your right hand. you lick blood off your upper lip, tonguing the broken skin, and then you notice flint's stare. he’s good at hiding his tells. not that good.
or maybe it’s just the getting shot, nearly drowned, and deposed from captaincy that has weakened his resolve. you eye him curiously, thinking of the monstrous visage that had crouched over the body of mr. gates. you haven’t seen that face again since that day, but you think of it, often. how closely it must linger behind the human mask.
a destructive, vicious part of you wants to see just how close. to tempt the beast out.
you smile at him. it’s charming and it splits your lip as intended. your own blood is warm and sour on your tongue. what would it taste like to someone like him?
“certain members of the crew took issue with this morning’s address.” you tilt your head, trying not to act like you’re cataloguing his reactions. “they wanted to make sure i was aware of that.”
surely flint wouldn’t show his true face now, here — he couldn’t afford to, not with his captaincy still in doubt until he can depose dufresne. and yet, you watch him watching you. you refrain from wiping your bloodied hand on your trousers, let the blood drip instead, and bead on your upper lip. the innocent concern tints your voice as you ask, “are you…” hungry “all right, captain?”
