It was cold.
Wake up.
Breaking through skin, searing into her bones…
Wake up.
She wanted it to stop.
Wake up.
She wanted to wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up!
With a gasp that seemed to pierce through the voices surrounding her, Margeaux's eyes forced themselves open, darting side to side; her skin covered in a cold sweat.
Eyes were watching her, whispered words talking of her and her actions, though she couldn't care less. It was a nightmare again, yet another vision of her father's dead body; it seemed to haunt her now. The blue and purple tint, the way his flesh looked hard and cold, like he had been frozen and nearly preserved. It made her sick to even think of such a thing, though she couldn't help it at times. Especially when such a thing was all that invaded her mind in her sleep.
The floor below her rocked with each wave that passed, and it took her a moment to remember where she was: on a boat to the Hunter's Exam. The constant motion seemed to throw her just the slightest off balance, and she had to hold onto the hammock she slept in until she could find her footing.
Maybe platforms weren't the best idea... But the thought was a bit too late, she couldn't return home to change now that she was almost there. The five inch platforms were attached to her feet, and unless she decided to go about barefoot—which she was determined to not happen, she was stuck with them.
Her predicament did earn her a few looks though—along with unnecessary comments and whistles from several of the men occupying the space with her. It honestly made her angry; it made her lip rise in a scowl and eyes narrow towards those men giving her such eyes, but it also made her happy that she had dressed conservatively. She couldn't have any of them trying to take advantage of her.
"Wah—!" She was suddenly thrown to the floor, and the sound of thunder gave her inkling as to why. She could hear the voices from above on the deck, and she immediately made her way up the stairs, hands gripping at the railing as she took her time to ascend the steps, and she was met with the sight of chaos.
Water had spilled onto the deck, the masts nearly torn from the sailors' hands and someone going as far as to jump off the edge of the ship; for what reason, she couldn't tell, though she immediately found herself running to the edge as well, and she dove after the boy clad in green, taking hold of his ankles, and she felt hands on her own. A sigh left her lips when she could feel herself being pulled up, and her fingers never once wavered on the boy's ankles, determined to save him and—wait—was that a sailor?
"You idiots! You could've died! Gone, never to be seen again! Or even in a fish's stomach!" A pout had made its way to her lips when she was faced with a blonde boy—or so he appeared to be—and a tall—so much so she wished to smash on his head with a hammer to shorten him—male yelling in her and the green clad boy's faces. She felt better though next to this boy, they were roughly the same height, of course, when she had her shoes off, which were off to the side, drying out. Thin arms crossed under her chest, and she found herself looking off to the side, towards the captain for any sort of help, though he seemed to be more interested in a bottle of alcohol and laughing at the two.
"I get it! I get it, okay? But I couldn't let them die without trying, plus you two were there to grab us." Her voice was quiet—almost too quiet in all honestly; seeming to be just slightly louder than a whisper, but it was her usual tone, never having been one to need to speak loudly. And it caught the three males off guard. The taller one leaned in, hand cupping his ear to almost mock her and her quietness, but she refused to repeat herself, and instead, opted to walk over to where her shoes, shirt, and skirt were resting. A tank top and shorts were definitely too little of clothes to be in, especially on the ship full of testosterone—though many of the other men were knocked out downstairs, still, and those who were awake were busy either treating the men or were sailors trying to get things back in order—and on the sea, which seemed to always put off a cool breeze that chilled her to her bones. A hand cards through wet hair, pushing the red strands from her face.
"Girl, what is your name?" A voice caught her off guard, earning a hum and a tip of her head towards the captain.
"Margeaux," her voice was once more a whisper, hushed yet light, and she found herself having to repeat herself once, twice—three more times before the green clad boy spoke up to tell the captain, and that had earned him a nod of her head and a small curl of her lips.
"Margeaux. A very pretty name, but why do you want to be a Hunter?"