“Have a drink!” Sam said, slapping Alice on the shoulder. She had wandered out of the cabin just in time to find out that the Wolpertinger had been raided, and in her stores they found a stash of rare royal whiskey. The ship’s (formally) alive crew had navigated wildly off course and used up all their food and water rations. Desperate to eat and wildly drunk, those who hadn’t starved to death yet thought it a very good idea to risk taking over the Arabella. The irony of it was, that with their maps gone, they hadn’t realized they were only a couple days away from port.
In contrast to her earlier state, Alice was feeling happy, elated even. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was naturally talented at processing death, it being her third time around, or the six shots of quality whiskey in her body, but she was feeling pretty good. So when Sam offered her another glass, she didn't refuse.
“Atta girl!” he said, and everybody cheered. They were obviously having a good time. She reached out for another shot, but Sam stopped her, looking a bit concerned. “I’m not being greedy or anything, but you might want to slow down. Isn’t this your eighth glass?”
She waved her hand. “No, no. This is just my fifth,” she lied as he handed her the alcohol. The liquid burned her throat and made her eyes water, familiar warmth filling her stomach. She demanded another, but Sam just shook his head. “I’m gonna have to cut you off, Alice,” he said, a little drunk himself, “don't want you hurting yourself.”
Alice mumbling something about it being unfair that Brutus could take twelve shots, and stumbled off, glass in hand. She walked to the port of the ship, where she recognized the Captain, leaning on the railing, cradling a drink. He hadn’t even taken a sip, and Alice wondered if he would give it to her if he didn't want it.
He looked a sad, or lost in thought, she really couldn't tell. He was dressed casually, wearing a thin shirt and fitted black pants. As usual, the laces on his collar were undone.
Even in the dark, she recognized he was pretty handsome, something she hadn’t given much thought to before. She watched way the wind tugged at his hair, the way his darkly lashed eyes matched the sea, the gentle way his nose curved, little details she didn't notice before. In fact, he was more than striking. He was absolutely gorgeous.
More so, he was actually a pretty good person, and she had judged him too harshly. Had he not come to her rescue the first day on the ship? Had he not allowed her to stay in his cabin until she had recovered from her wounded head? Had he not forgiven her for attempting to selfishly kill him after he offered her his book and coat? Had he not given her easy and safe work until she felt confident enough to be around the men? He had treated her with undue kindness at every turn, and she had responded by thinking he was cruel and arrogant, every thanks said through gritted teeth.
Today, in the dark, she saw him in an entirely new light.
She continued to stumble toward him in her drunken stupor. When he finally turned to her, a mix of surprise and bemusement playing across his face, she tripped over an exposed plank. Dropping his glass, he caught her before she hit the ground. Steadying herself on his shoulders, Alice looked up into his eyes. She held on for what seemed like and eternity, and Augustus dared not breath.
“You dropped your drink,” she finally said sadly, as if it were a quiet tragedy in itself.
She looked into his eyes, then moved down to his mouth, studying his cupid’s bow. His lips looked soft and smooth, unlike the tense muscles of his shoulders. They were alluring, slightly parted, his tan skin accenting their peachy color. Shallow breaths escaped them and curled in the chilly night air, forming white clouds of steam.
Wholly focused, Alice gripped him tightly and rose to her tippy toes, slowly leaning in. She gently brushed her lips to his, and held them there for a moment. Everything seemed to pause. The ship was gone, the ocean was a distant memory, and like the glass, Alice and August were holding something fragile.
He grabbed her arms and gently pulled her back, until her feet were completely on the ground. She searched his face but he looked away. Even at night she could tell that he was blushing heavily.
“I think you should really get back now,” he said, his hand awkwardly on the back of his neck.
Alice meekly protested as he guided her to the cabin, stopping her when she tried to make a run for more drinks. He sat her down on the couch and took off her shoes, then swung her legs over and covered her with a blanket. She was already half-asleep, and he really hoped that the men hadn’t accidentally given her alcohol poisoning. After making sure she was breathing, he got up from the edge of the couch and began to make his way to his bed, but Alice grabbed the back of his shirt.
“Please don’t go,” she said meekly, her eyes closed. “August, please stay, I’m scared.” Her voice quivered.
August sat back down, her hand on his back. He stayed there until he was sure she had fallen asleep, and then went to his room to retrieve a blanket. Laying it out beside the couch, he placed his hand under his head and stared at the ceiling. Alice was talking again in her sleep, panicked, something about blood. He reached out and held her hand, until she started mumbling more calmly, her nightmare receding. After a little while she returned to her peaceful talks about the stories she had read.
In a strange way, her nightly talks soothed him. There was something relaxing about the way she talked, something that reminded him of a peaceful life. He wondered if he would ever be able to settle down, to live normally and honestly. It was a question he didn’t know the answer to, but for now he just let himself be swept away by Alice’s calming voice, as he closed his eyes and dreamt of an ordinary life.
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