Chapter Eighteen: Romance?
Reanna stood before the cell in which she had imprisoned Devon. His spy had tried several times to speak with him, but Devon wouldn't reply, or even acknowledge the man's presence. It had been two days, and still he stared morosely at nothing. He hadn't even eaten any of the food she had sent down for him.
"You know, I probably did you a favor," she said. His lips tightened and he glared up at her--the first response she had seen from him since his ship had been destroyed.
"And how, pray tell, did you do me a bloody favor?" he asked, his tone icy.
"Well, for one, I did allow your men some time to get off of the ship, and two, your 'employers' have little reason to think you're even alive anymore."
"You know, I don't give a damn about my employers. I wouldn't have taken you to them anyway, I would have found a way to keep you hidden!" he protested.
"Oh, yes, and what would have happened to the Pearl? And you seem to forget that your employers would likely have you killed after a certain time had passed and you hadn't found me anyway! This way, there won't be any serious looking for you, they'll simply hire someone else now.
"Besides," she continued, "I am in the market for a good first mate. Ana Maria is nice enough, but she's not really cut out for the job, Mr. Gibbs is too drunk, and Cotton's parrot drives me mad. You'll be paid, of course."
Devon stared at her in utter disbelief. "You want me to be a first mate, when I was once captain of the Lady Pandora?!"
"Yes, Devon, I do. The job of captain has already been filled on this ship, and I'm not willing to give it up. Take it, Devon, or stay in this wretched cell until I decide to really kill you--and it could be years before I decide to do that."
He sighed wearily, sadly. "Fine," he agreed. "I'll do it."
"Jolly good, then," she replied brightly, unlocking the cell door.
"What 'bout me?" called the spy from the opposite cell.
"You can stay down here and rot, you bloody liar!" Reanna called back in answer as she and Devon went upstairs.
"Do try chewing, Devon, it helps," Reanna gently scolded later that night as they had supper in her cabin. Devon mumbled something in response, but she couldn't tell what he said for the food that he had stuffed in his mouth, but she noticed with some satisfaction that he started to chew it. They ate in silence after that, each concentrating more on their food than anything else.
After they had cleaned nearly all the food from the table, they both sat back in their chairs, satisfactorily full.
"I suppose you're right, Raven, you did do me a couple favors," Devon said.
Reanna looked at him in slight annoyance. "I wish you'd quit calling me that," she said.
"What? Raven? But it suits you, love!" he replied with a large grin on his face.
"I haven't yet earned a nickname, Devon, and so I would prefer that you call me by my given name."
"Ah, you haven't heard, then?" Devon asked, his grin even wider now. "Your crew has started calling you 'Raven Firestorm.'"
"Mmhmm, very amusing, but I don't really believe you," she replied, moving to one of the more cushioned chairs.
"No, really, I heard the people that brought food down calling you that! Of course, they only whispered it, probably because they knew that you'd react this way to it," he said, stopping to take a drink of the rum Reanna had provided. "At least they admire and love you--that can't be said of very many captains, especially ones that have taken over from a very well-loved one like your father was."
"He was murdered, you know," she said softly.
"I didn't know, I thought he had died of an illness," Devon said, sensing the depression Reanna had fallen into at the mention of her father.
"No, he didn't--though he was very sick. He got his throat slit by a man that disappeared soon after. I found him like that."
Her expression was so sad, and he couldn't help but feel sorry that he had brought up mention of her father. Her grief reached out to him, pulling him up out of his chair and beside Reanna's. Before he realized what he was doing, he had his arm around her shoulders and she was leaning against him, tears sliding down her cheeks, her rum forgotten and in a puddle on the floor.
They sat like that for a long while, and when he tilted her chin up to look at her face, her emerald eyes, still wet with tears, caught him in their spell. He cared not that her cheeks were blotchy and wet, and when their lips finally met he knew nothing but how good they felt against his, how right.
She pulled him deeper under her spell, intensifying the kiss as her need for comfort drew him closer and closer to her. God, what he would give just to be a little bit closer...but then she pulled away, turning her face down so that her hair obscured her expression.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice slightly husky.
"For what?" he asked, still slightly lost in how it had felt to be kissing her.
"I...I think you should go to your cabin for the night, Devon."
"What? After that?" he asked, a little incredulous. Hadn't she felt what he had? What he still did?
"Yes! Just...just go!" she shouted, lifting her face. She looked angry, but he could tell that she was hurt at the same time.
He stared at her for a while, the memory of the kiss fading into fury. She was dismissing him, just like that? What had he been doing kissing her, anyway? After what she had done, how could he even stand to look at her? Finally, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Later, Reanna felt incredibly lonely, and wondered what she had done to make him look at her the way he had before he had left so angry. It was as though he loathed her. She felt her eyes welling up with tears, but refused to shed them now. She laid awake for a long time, but finally fell into a fitful, unrestful sleep.
Devon had as much trouble finding rest that night, his feelings were so confused once his anger had been spent. There was something about her that he couldn't quite define, and he felt something decidedly odd whenever he looked at her. Since he had never felt it before, he poked at it incessantly, as though he would a scab, taking some amount of pleasure in the pain that it caused him.
He was so confused.
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Alright, two in one day! This means I can take a two-day break from writing, if I so choose! I guess I'm mainly trying to keep somewhat with the days of the month, trying not to fall behind, lol. So far it's working quite well!
Reanna stood before the cell in which she had imprisoned Devon. His spy had tried several times to speak with him, but Devon wouldn't reply, or even acknowledge the man's presence. It had been two days, and still he stared morosely at nothing. He hadn't even eaten any of the food she had sent down for him.
"You know, I probably did you a favor," she said. His lips tightened and he glared up at her--the first response she had seen from him since his ship had been destroyed.
"And how, pray tell, did you do me a bloody favor?" he asked, his tone icy.
"Well, for one, I did allow your men some time to get off of the ship, and two, your 'employers' have little reason to think you're even alive anymore."
"You know, I don't give a damn about my employers. I wouldn't have taken you to them anyway, I would have found a way to keep you hidden!" he protested.
"Oh, yes, and what would have happened to the Pearl? And you seem to forget that your employers would likely have you killed after a certain time had passed and you hadn't found me anyway! This way, there won't be any serious looking for you, they'll simply hire someone else now.
"Besides," she continued, "I am in the market for a good first mate. Ana Maria is nice enough, but she's not really cut out for the job, Mr. Gibbs is too drunk, and Cotton's parrot drives me mad. You'll be paid, of course."
Devon stared at her in utter disbelief. "You want me to be a first mate, when I was once captain of the Lady Pandora?!"
"Yes, Devon, I do. The job of captain has already been filled on this ship, and I'm not willing to give it up. Take it, Devon, or stay in this wretched cell until I decide to really kill you--and it could be years before I decide to do that."
He sighed wearily, sadly. "Fine," he agreed. "I'll do it."
"Jolly good, then," she replied brightly, unlocking the cell door.
"What 'bout me?" called the spy from the opposite cell.
"You can stay down here and rot, you bloody liar!" Reanna called back in answer as she and Devon went upstairs.
"Do try chewing, Devon, it helps," Reanna gently scolded later that night as they had supper in her cabin. Devon mumbled something in response, but she couldn't tell what he said for the food that he had stuffed in his mouth, but she noticed with some satisfaction that he started to chew it. They ate in silence after that, each concentrating more on their food than anything else.
After they had cleaned nearly all the food from the table, they both sat back in their chairs, satisfactorily full.
"I suppose you're right, Raven, you did do me a couple favors," Devon said.
Reanna looked at him in slight annoyance. "I wish you'd quit calling me that," she said.
"What? Raven? But it suits you, love!" he replied with a large grin on his face.
"I haven't yet earned a nickname, Devon, and so I would prefer that you call me by my given name."
"Ah, you haven't heard, then?" Devon asked, his grin even wider now. "Your crew has started calling you 'Raven Firestorm.'"
"Mmhmm, very amusing, but I don't really believe you," she replied, moving to one of the more cushioned chairs.
"No, really, I heard the people that brought food down calling you that! Of course, they only whispered it, probably because they knew that you'd react this way to it," he said, stopping to take a drink of the rum Reanna had provided. "At least they admire and love you--that can't be said of very many captains, especially ones that have taken over from a very well-loved one like your father was."
"He was murdered, you know," she said softly.
"I didn't know, I thought he had died of an illness," Devon said, sensing the depression Reanna had fallen into at the mention of her father.
"No, he didn't--though he was very sick. He got his throat slit by a man that disappeared soon after. I found him like that."
Her expression was so sad, and he couldn't help but feel sorry that he had brought up mention of her father. Her grief reached out to him, pulling him up out of his chair and beside Reanna's. Before he realized what he was doing, he had his arm around her shoulders and she was leaning against him, tears sliding down her cheeks, her rum forgotten and in a puddle on the floor.
They sat like that for a long while, and when he tilted her chin up to look at her face, her emerald eyes, still wet with tears, caught him in their spell. He cared not that her cheeks were blotchy and wet, and when their lips finally met he knew nothing but how good they felt against his, how right.
She pulled him deeper under her spell, intensifying the kiss as her need for comfort drew him closer and closer to her. God, what he would give just to be a little bit closer...but then she pulled away, turning her face down so that her hair obscured her expression.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice slightly husky.
"For what?" he asked, still slightly lost in how it had felt to be kissing her.
"I...I think you should go to your cabin for the night, Devon."
"What? After that?" he asked, a little incredulous. Hadn't she felt what he had? What he still did?
"Yes! Just...just go!" she shouted, lifting her face. She looked angry, but he could tell that she was hurt at the same time.
He stared at her for a while, the memory of the kiss fading into fury. She was dismissing him, just like that? What had he been doing kissing her, anyway? After what she had done, how could he even stand to look at her? Finally, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Later, Reanna felt incredibly lonely, and wondered what she had done to make him look at her the way he had before he had left so angry. It was as though he loathed her. She felt her eyes welling up with tears, but refused to shed them now. She laid awake for a long time, but finally fell into a fitful, unrestful sleep.
Devon had as much trouble finding rest that night, his feelings were so confused once his anger had been spent. There was something about her that he couldn't quite define, and he felt something decidedly odd whenever he looked at her. Since he had never felt it before, he poked at it incessantly, as though he would a scab, taking some amount of pleasure in the pain that it caused him.
He was so confused.
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Alright, two in one day! This means I can take a two-day break from writing, if I so choose! I guess I'm mainly trying to keep somewhat with the days of the month, trying not to fall behind, lol. So far it's working quite well!