#c:smee

[faline--stevens]

[hangs up the phone, not even bothering to acknowledge him until she walks over to the door. her hand is on the lock, not opening it yet.] There's a password. You have to tell me how amazing I am and promise that you will never go fuck someone else because it will make me insanely jealous and make me think all your jokes are lame. It's a very intricate password for obvious reasons.

[lilehooksman]

SMEE

You forgot to lock the office door again! Tell me why I shouldn't replace your hand with a hook as well... and why my floors were buttered!

As my assistant, it's your job to make sure this shit doesn't happen. So don't let it happen again, alright? Or I'll have to find a new assistant.

[doctor-braddock]

The Third Day | Brad & Smee

Braddock stands on the uppermost deck, the blazing sun on the horizon painting the ship and her tense form in vibrant colors. The wood turns a stunning purple, the shadows, a royal blue, and everything else is washed in shades of blushing pink and tangerine orange. The tea in her mug has lost it's warmth hours ago, her attention focused inward, her usual hatred for melancholy lost in the swirl of her thoughts. Smee's absence, and responding relocation, had thrown her into a state wholly unheard of for her, mostly morose, with a hint of anger and a touch of desperation that hung about her shoulders like a weighty shroud. She bowed under the force of her feelings, hands clenched against the banister, and continued to stare long and hard out at the sea, the gentle slap of water against wood doing nothing to calm her frantic thoughts.

It's only when she hears the slap of boots on the gang plank that she stirs, even minutely. It's a subtle change, her eyes loosing their glaze as she straightens, looking over her shoulder to see who has come aboard, and she gives a strangled sort of cough when she catches sight of Hook, splattered with blood and face a hard, unreadable mask, with an ashen-faced Smee in tow. She drops her mug out of pure surprise and a stifling sense of understanding, the tin clattering against the bannister before plopping into the sea below, and she pushes off of her original perch and makes her way past the few gawking deck hands till she catches her friend's attention. She shakes her head a little, too many things wandering through her head for her to properly form words, and reaches out, one hand grasping his arm before the other follows suit, looking at him with mouth slightly trembling. Eventually, after a burst of effort, she hugs him, as much for her as it is for him, and leaves her greeting at that for the moment. After three days without, it's obvious he's been worried about, at least.