DATE & TIME: july 13 1845, 2:30am LOCATION: the deck STATUS: closed for @captdowling
the sudden lurch reminds him too much of some nightmare-thing; closes his eyes and he can see the floor crumble underneath him, falling into the slick curve of something’s mouth, salivating. hungry. waiting. tells him, you can melt in the caverns of my stomach, acid bubbling and inviting. won’t that just be the loveliest thing?
he thinks he regrets that last drink.
he wants to pretend he is a braver thing, but no one has ever described the snow as courageous, only ever falling, tripping over clumsy feet and stumbling into familiar figures with small yelps that the cold swallows, laughing at him.
“ — sorry! sorry. i — i’m. i will move. my apologies.” he knows the jacket well, even with alcohol-addled vision. he does not meet the captain’s eyes. “i’m — is there... is there something? something coming? the bump, i — i keep thinking i can hear — i... nothing. forget me.”
“... but the bump — it is just... just nothing, right?”