(07/03/15) Arlandria Journal 1
I went and fucked things right up.
In all fairness, it was probably a joint effort, but that doesn’t make it any better. I broke my number one rule. Lasted a while—been decades since I’ve done something so dumb. I don’t know what got in to me this time around. Showering around men has never bothered me. It can’t bother you on a ship with the Bloodsails for a crew. Most are men, and they don’t take too kindly to having to fit a woman’s habits and needs in. Accommodation isn’t their strong suit. They’d likely rather throw you overboard before having to change their routine.
So why this time? The privacy of it all played little part, I feel. His magic? Nah. That probably makes other lasses weak at the knees—and it was nice, no doubt—but it wouldn’t make me fold like I did.
Think it was the way he kept talking like he knew me. Like he cared. Fuck, the idea makes me want to wretch in hindsight. How fuckin’ pathetic do I have to be to crumple like that over a few sweet words. What right did he have to say those things anyway? About me being more “cynical” now, but also more honest. We knew each other for a passing night in a trade town. All I could recall about him was that damn mane.
He was one of many during that time. And I am not foolish enough to think it wasn’t the same in reverse. Life on the seas isn’t some desperate struggle for love. You take what you can, give nothing back. The heart of every pirate lies just beyond the horizon. Ain’t a single use trying to expect any different.
So what’s the point in words?
What’s the point in bringing up his sister and how much I remind him of her? Which must not be as much as he thought if he was so willing to do what he did.
He seems adamant to have it happen again, but I absolutely refuse. It’s a risk to the integrity of the ship—to my position as First Mate. I need to keep the other two confident in me, and that’s not gonna happen with several repeats of that little act. He can try all he wants, but I am done. And it’s not just ‘cause I am “depriving” myself, as he so claims. I don’t need what he can offer. No Death Knight does. At least physically, anyway. I hadn’t been close to anyone like that since being raised—and how can any of us? I was there on the front lines. I played a heavy hand in the decimation of Silvermoon—the slaughter of so many people. My people. He thinks I am just like anyone else? I am a monster, raised to be nothing but a war machine for an undead army.
I think he sees my passion for the sea, and he thinks that I am somehow normal. Or worse, he think I’m like him.
I died never knowing anything else but a love for the life I had chosen. The ocean took me—and I would have gone to Davy Jones happy if that’s where I ended up. It was the Scourge that rose me again and stole that life. It crushed any want I had left for that horizon, and replaced it with a bloodlust so strong that it gave me new purpose. And I wasn’t alone. The army wasn’t unlike a crew. And His voice wasn’t so unlike a Captain’s call.
It’s been hard getting myself back in a place where I can even see where my dreams lie. The Bloodsails treated me like garbage, but if it wasn’t for them, I don’t think I’d remember the adrenaline and excitement of chasing that dream. An endless journey with the wind at your back.
And that’s why I can’t mess this up.
A dark part of me will always exist. The part that enjoys the hunt—enjoys murder, in all its grotesque beauty. It’s ingrained deep. That excitement isn’t so unlike what I felt in that shower.
Which means it’s a dangerous, dangerous game I chose to play. I rolled the dice, and they came out on mine and Lantis’ favor this time. Who’s to say next time we will be so lucky? Ain’t never been too good at gambling. And beyond the disgust I feel when I realize he could care for a monster like me (only slightly lesser than the disgust I feel when I realize I think he cares at all, which is arguably false), there are just too many dirty strings that go hand in hand with relations like that. The kind that tie you down and put your destiny into someone else’s grasp.
That’s not a life I want. Freedom is in the journey—the chase. The fate of all seafarers and swashbucklers alike is to die never attaining that dream, so we can realize that it was the memories created along the way that formed a “destiny.”
Some may think that’s sad, but how can you ever live to the fullest if you become content where you are? Settling down, giving your heart over to be caged by another, living in a place where nothing ever changes—is that what my people call happiness? No. I know better.
I got to play it safer from now on. I am never going to be put in a position where my heart could be anywhere but at world’s end. And I will claw my way to it if I have to, but I will never stop moving.
Faerthurin Lantis thinks he can make me feel alive?
How ironic. He and I both know that the sea is the only one with that right. Anything else is only a temporary fix or a passing whim.
( lantisthepreyingmantis )
