Author's note: This story can be interpreted in several ways. As you can tell, it reads like an excerpt -- hence the mentioning of the party in the background and Liz and Barbs' presence on the Empress without any explanation as to why. I'm sure this, coupled with the vagueness already present, is probably going to make it confusing. I apologise in advance for this, hehe. It was originally part of a longer drabble, but I shortened it because I am an impossible perfectionist and the first section didn't sit right with me, for some reason or another.
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Elizabeth absently worried a stray flake of paint which had partially detached itself from the aft rail of the Empress, curling and rolling it between a sailor's cracked and calloused fingertips. Into the descending veil of night she gazed, her thoughts neither here nor there, (but her back turned decidedly toward the festivities, nonetheless). A heavy sound approached her then, sounding of boots against wood. She hadn't a need to check the source.
His presence halted beside her, shrouded in the darkness where the light of the lanterns could not reach. There was an unspoken question that hung in the air, punctuated by their breathing and the suddenly distant sounds of raucous laughter. She couldn't see the ocean any more, such was the thickness of the night, with only the gentle brush of the water against the junk's shallow hull to remind her...and the smell of the salt, and the wind. His smell.
"Captain, I -- " she began, following a nonsensical urge to explain herself, to provide a reason as to why she had sequestered herself so, but he stilled her with a quiet hand on her shoulder. She stiffened involuntarily, if only for a moment, acutely aware of the warmth and weight of his hand. Still he said nothing, which was just as well; the basic nature of the contact provided reassurance enough.