Early morning greets the Flying Dutchman with massive rolling waves and howling winds from the north. The unusually cold gale bites at exposed skin with a savagery many are not accustomed to. The sun lay exposed from the clouds in a taunting gesture, only providing light and barely any comforting heat. Waves slam mercilessly into the ship from every direction, spewing across the deck and over the other side. Items that could be lost to the sea have been tied down for security, including the crewmen themselves. The bow hits each crest with massive force, thrusting her upwards in a violent manner. Stomachs sink to the depths as she plummets down into the base of another monstrous wave.
If Liliana's stomach had been full, it wouldn't have stayed that way for long. The nausea forced her to bed early. She decided being tied down to the bed was a proper idea if she was to get a moment's rest. Unwilling to undergo the captain's scrutiny, she tied the rope as tightly as she could before he came in for the night. She heard him laughing quietly to himself when he finally entered the room.
This morning, even he has braced himself against the fury of nature. His furniture is bolted to the floor, so it does not move about in stormy weather, but that doesn't mean he himself would not be tossed around in the fray. His crustacean arm clutches the table leg every time the bow points toward the sky. Even the weathered captain's stomach is twisting and writhing today, clouding his already foul mood. Reading his maps and writing in the log book does not help the situation any. The words blur and clump together as his eyes water from the nausea. He hasn't been sea sick since he first set foot on a ship in Scotland centuries ago, but today might be the day to end that long held record.
Accustomed to the violence of a life at sea, the Captain takes this storm with a grain of salt. Beyond the sea itself, there were far more pressing dangers that he had learned to overcome over the years. Sometimes, your greatest enemy is another human being. He had fought against ruthless pirates back when he was a merchant sailor, protecting his precious cargo with ever fibre of his being. He had seen his valuable and sometimes irreplaceable crewmen press ganged and murdered before his eyes in battles aboard his very own deck. It still amazes him to this day how spices and rum can be worth more than a human life to some.
How he loathes pirates and their ruthless ways. He ignores the similarities between them and himself now, not wanting to seem hypocritical to himself.
The course he sails now is still as dangerous as it was back when he was mortal. There are still thieving pirates, there are still vicious wretches that are more than willing to end his immortality to gain in their own interest. That is why he must remain steadfast, to never show weakness to the enemy. Everyone is his enemy now, he lives for himself alone. No one can be trusted.
He looks over to the girl who sleeps heavily through the tossing. He had decided to try a new tactic with her yesterday. Instead of raging on her - his normal practice - he chose to comfort her during her anguish. This new plan seems to have worked well; she let her guard down ever so slightly. Just the simple act of pressing his finger to her nose caused her to relax, to trust his judgment. He turns back to the table, unable to fight back a smile forming on his lips. He cannot help but admit that he enjoys arguing with her, as she had so boldly exclaimed. Their jovial sparring match released small amounts of buried stress from deep within him; perhaps she isn't so useless after all.
He often ponders the effects this young woman has upon him. Pain and anguish have been two emotions he has not been able to flee from over the years. But this girl causes new and foreign sensations to puddle deep inside his hollow depths. Does he actually, perhaps, enjoy the girl's company? He has laughed in her presence, something he would never do with anyone else, unless it was at their expense. But no, he derives pleasure from her mere existence. Her smile seems to brighten his day. But how can that be so? Since his betrayal, he has led a very misogynistic lifestyle. But she escapes his hatred as if she were granted permission by the heathen Gods themselves. How very odd.
He turns back to his log book. She has handled the weather quite remarkably, he notes on a page already cramped with his scribbled writing. Lately, most of his log entries have included this fascinating creature known as Liliana. She is a much more interesting topic than latitude and longitude or the goings on of his crew.
She must be accustomed to marine voyages for she has her sea legs. I would reckon she has spent some time on the waves. The ship she was on must have been sailing for a few weeks for her to be able to float so smoothly across the deck. Thankfully, she is rid of that enticing gown. I could not stand another minute of watching that skirt sway back and forth with every step, mimicking how her hips must move underneath.
His claw grasps the table instinctively as the ship pitches forward into another wave. A frantic call bellows from outside, announcing a rogue wave off the port bow.
"Shit!" Jones swears aloud and lies flat against the table. The ship jerks violently on to her side. More profanity is emitted amongst the mayhem, but this time not from the captain. Jones turns his head to see the girl now flying out of her slumber and being slammed hard onto the wooden floor. Unable to control himself, he smirks as she rolls on by him, his head following the path she travels.
Thud.
Thunk.
Thump.
"Looks like your ingenious plan has failed ye, miss." Jones laughs cruelly, noting the untied rope. "Be it that ye do not understand the fundamentals of knot tying?"
Liliana glares at him as the ship rights itself to its proper position. "It worked for the majority." She hisses foully under her breath.
"Hmm, and yet, ye still ended up flopping around on the floor like a baited fish."
"Oww…" Liliana mumbles as she rubs her elbows. Her fumbled journey across the floor has left them raw and bleeding. "Why must I bleed so much while aboard this evil ship?"
"What is with ye now?" Jones turns back to his maps, concealing the passage he had just written about her in his log book. She must never learn the truth about how he sees her. She would never understand.
"I have splinters." She mutters like a scorned child who has been placed in a corner. "Ouch!" She yelps at a vain attempt to remove them.
"Poor lass. Mayhap I should kiss them better?"
Liliana picks up on the sarcasm in his voice, and does not appreciate it. "You are such a foul man. You torment me when I hurt!"
"Would ye prefer I coo and coddle over ye like a spoiled infant?" He smiles at her negative expression. "I thought not…come here."
"No. I don't appreciate your pathetic attempt at sympathy."
"I said come here! Let me look at it."
Reluctantly, she climbs to her feet and clumsily approaches him through the rocking motion of the ship. She jumps slightly when he grasps her wrist with his cold, moist hand. Even his touch swarms with death. Her eyes follow his movement as he reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small bottle.
"Wh...What is that?" She questions him wearily.
"A poultice.'Twill help with the pain at least. The splinters will eventually work their way out of your skin." He notices how tense her arm is. "I can safely assume ye will not allow me to remove them."
"Will it hurt?"
"What?" He does not look up from the bottle he now examines for freshness. His fingers are still wrapped tightly around her wrist, making sure she cannot get away.
"Will that concoction of yours hurt? Will it sting?" She cringes as he reaches forward to place it on her arm. The strong tang of tar greets her nostrils.
"Nigh. Ye are strong, ye can handle it." He grumbles as his poultice-smothered fingers run smoothly over her abrasions, trying not to hurt her with the roughness of his hands. His senses tingle from the closeness of her body and the feminine plumpness of her flesh. If only he could touch her more often.
"Bloody hell! That does sting!" Prying her arm free, she shrieks as she backs away from him, her arm burning as if it were placed in wood stove.
"And dancing around like that helps it how?" Jones chuckles as she spins around flapping her arm in the air in a vain attempt to still the searing pain. "Now ye look like a drunken seagull with a broken wing. Your animal impersonations are really quite entertaining, miss. Can ye be a seal next?"
She stops in her tracks to send him another vicious stare as her patience runs out with this evil man. To hell with propriety! "No, but I can certainly play the role of a bitch!"
Another wave slams into the starboard side of the ship. Liliana loses her balance and flies forward into the captain's arms. She lands with force onto his chest, having no time to brace herself with her hands. Instead, her arms end up wrapped around the thickness of his neck and beard, her plump breast pressed into the flat planes of his hardened body. Her face almost touching his, his breath dancing along her skin, a rush of blood flows into her cheeks as she gazes into the azure pools of his eyes. The seconds that pass feel like minutes for both of them.
Instinctively his arms went around her body, saving her from the fall. Tentacles raveled around her arms, holding them in place on his muscular shoulders. Realizing that his hand had protectively covered her rump by accident, he removes it quickly. The heat from her body radiates through him and causes his stagnant blood to suddenly and inexplicably flow through his veins. If his heart was still in his chest, it would be beating erratically now.
"I'm…I'm sorry…" Liliana mumbles breathlessly, now blushing uncontrollably as she feels the puckering of each suction cup that is pulling gently on her skin.
"The wave…it was the wave…" Jones replies nervously as he helps her to stand.
"Yes, thank you." She watches in amazement as the thick tentacles slide off her arms and fall limply back in place on his chest. "For catching me."
"Couldn't let ye fall, miss." Jones clears his rasping throat. "What were we arguing about again?" He says in a desperate attempt to change the subject.
"It doesn't matter, now." She smiles while covering her cheek with her hand to hide her obvious blushing. Her mind races with the feel of the masculine body that was beneath her. That same body she secretly witnessed disrobed the other night, water dripping from his skin, strongly male yet sweetly vulnerable. That flat, chiseled stomach felt like she thought it would, even under the layers of vest and shirt. Enticing, longing to be caressed. He smells of the sea, brine and sunlight with a hint of rugged maleness.
He intuitively reaches out for her as she stumbles with another crashing wave. This time she braces herself by clutching the solid form of his crustacean claw with both hands. "Perhaps ye should go back to rest. There will be no need of ye flying about. When the storm settles, ye can thank me for my generosity by preparing a meal with the victuals we have collected from a recent harvest."
She hears his teasing words but they float past her as her eyes examine the claw in her hands. She notes the thick heaviness of it, it must weigh at least two stones. He must be incredibly strong to carry this massive growth around, she thinks in awe. Her fingers tenderly run over the surface, learning where he is smooth and where there are small bumps and lines. She looks up when she feels the perplexity of his stare upon her face. "My apologies, Captain Jones. Here I am gawking at you without your permission. But I wonder, can you feel this?" She looks back to the deep maroon claw and runs a single fingertip along its length.
I can certainly feel you. He swallows hard. "Nigh, it has very little feeling now."
"Did it hurt?" Her deep russet eyes stare fondly into his guarded soul.
"Becoming this way? Aye." He sighs deeply. "It still does from time to time."
She nods, still running her fingers over his arm, now smiling at the realization that he has not tried to stop her from touching him. "If I am to become like you, I hope I can be as strong." She pauses to enjoy the puzzled look upon his wrinkled face. "I don't believe you deserve your fate, Captain Jones."
He finally removes his clawed arm from her tender grasp. "What makes ye think that?"
Turning around, she walks carefully back to the bed and snugly ties the rope around her waist again. Covering her body with the blanket, she sprawls on her side and closes her eyes. "I just believe it, is all. Wake me when you want me to start the meal."
The Captain remains there in his seat, completely perplexed by this girl. The ship creaks and groans with the stress of the storm outside, the crew can be heard bellowing over the onslaught of crashing waves. But above all this surrounding chaos, a sound can be heard from deep inside the Captain himself. It forms as a twitch in his human arm and it catches his attention. He looks down at the impossible sight of what he has not seen in centuries. The underside of his wrist now has a small beating nodule just below his palm.
He stares in amazement at the return of his pulse.
