Vignette: Prize Ass!
She’d gotten more than one odd look crossing from the Orchid Rain to her own vessel wearing nothing but the towel, even a catcall or two and more than one lewd offer. It had taken just that short distance for the mortification of jumping to the conclusion she had, to be replaced once again with anger. This time however, it was being fuelled not by the idea of being someone’s dirty little secret aka ‘the other woman’, but rather by her own shame.
Heaping verbal coals upon her own head, Bailey stalked toward the small crate holding the few meager items of clothing that she possessed. Lips pressed into a thin line of discontent as she eyed them and then yanked a faded wrap-around skirt and a halter top stained with varnish out. Her nose wrinkled and she cast a glance in the direction of the unseen spice ship where her discarded clothing still lay somewhere in the mess of the upended cabin. Now she was down a pair of shorts and a cropped top. Just great!
“Moron!” she muttered, berating herself as she pulled the top over her head and tied the skirt at her hips. “Why could you just not have kept your big mouth shut and heard him out first. But nooo, you had to go jumping to conclusions with both bloody feet and accuse the poor man of cheating, on his dead wife no less. Jays!”
A sudden mental image of the big dark skinned man hopping around trying to dodge the bottle, scoop up his robe and protect the family jewels all at the same time popped into her head and her lips twitched. That quickly morphed into a wide grin which erupted into a full laughter. Now -that- had been funny as hell!
Still snickering, her steps carried her out of the tiny cabin, and up onto the foredeck where she perched on the prow wrapping her arms about her legs and staring off out over the water. The humour slipped off as eyes fell to a moon river shimmering across the dark surface. He’d asked her if she was crazy. Was she? She didn’t know. She didn’t know why she kept going back to him either. Why she should want to lay herself bare before him both figuratively and literally. Perhaps she -was- crazy. Crazy enough to stir an emotion he so easily accused her of but that she’d never experienced in that capacity before. For reasons she still wasn’t quite sure she could put a name to. She only knew that she didn’t want to lose him. Which was now a moot point, and she only had herself to blame.
The brunette sighed and rested her chin atop her knees. He’d never been anything but good to her and all she’d done was steal from him, accuse him of being a cheating bastard and then run away without even trying to make things right. Not, that she even had the vaguest idea of how to go about doing that. It probably didn’t matter much now anyway. There was no coming back from that one. The thought drew a sharp pain in her chest and she frowned wondering if perhaps something he’d given her to eat had been off. Which brought up the matter of his having thought she’d poisoned him at some point or another - What was that all about?
As Timor and Belior rose to their zenith and then started to wane, she sat there, puzzling over it all and trying to figure it out. In some ways, a ‘safer’ subject than the obvious trouble she may be in with regards to Ranulf’s disappearance. Eventually, the brunette gave in to sleep’s call and made her way back to her cabin where a restless night fraught with a tangled web of disturbing dreams danced and contorted behind closed lids.
Heaping verbal coals upon her own head, Bailey stalked toward the small crate holding the few meager items of clothing that she possessed. Lips pressed into a thin line of discontent as she eyed them and then yanked a faded wrap-around skirt and a halter top stained with varnish out. Her nose wrinkled and she cast a glance in the direction of the unseen spice ship where her discarded clothing still lay somewhere in the mess of the upended cabin. Now she was down a pair of shorts and a cropped top. Just great!
“Moron!” she muttered, berating herself as she pulled the top over her head and tied the skirt at her hips. “Why could you just not have kept your big mouth shut and heard him out first. But nooo, you had to go jumping to conclusions with both bloody feet and accuse the poor man of cheating, on his dead wife no less. Jays!”
A sudden mental image of the big dark skinned man hopping around trying to dodge the bottle, scoop up his robe and protect the family jewels all at the same time popped into her head and her lips twitched. That quickly morphed into a wide grin which erupted into a full laughter. Now -that- had been funny as hell!
Still snickering, her steps carried her out of the tiny cabin, and up onto the foredeck where she perched on the prow wrapping her arms about her legs and staring off out over the water. The humour slipped off as eyes fell to a moon river shimmering across the dark surface. He’d asked her if she was crazy. Was she? She didn’t know. She didn’t know why she kept going back to him either. Why she should want to lay herself bare before him both figuratively and literally. Perhaps she -was- crazy. Crazy enough to stir an emotion he so easily accused her of but that she’d never experienced in that capacity before. For reasons she still wasn’t quite sure she could put a name to. She only knew that she didn’t want to lose him. Which was now a moot point, and she only had herself to blame.
The brunette sighed and rested her chin atop her knees. He’d never been anything but good to her and all she’d done was steal from him, accuse him of being a cheating bastard and then run away without even trying to make things right. Not, that she even had the vaguest idea of how to go about doing that. It probably didn’t matter much now anyway. There was no coming back from that one. The thought drew a sharp pain in her chest and she frowned wondering if perhaps something he’d given her to eat had been off. Which brought up the matter of his having thought she’d poisoned him at some point or another - What was that all about?
As Timor and Belior rose to their zenith and then started to wane, she sat there, puzzling over it all and trying to figure it out. In some ways, a ‘safer’ subject than the obvious trouble she may be in with regards to Ranulf’s disappearance. Eventually, the brunette gave in to sleep’s call and made her way back to her cabin where a restless night fraught with a tangled web of disturbing dreams danced and contorted behind closed lids.