(no subject)

[unshattered]

[oom: "Think bird."]

Abigail still hasn't warmed to the walls of the bar. She avoids it as much as possible, keeping to wandering the grounds and only coming in when she really needs to. She has to come in for meals – she hasn't found a way to avoid that yet, or at least not one she's willing to try. But she takes them from the bar in a small bag, and quickly carries them back out with her.

Though she usually heads back to the woods, today she sways along the lake, dawdling along the shore and taking her time and until she finally reaches the rocks along the far side. She settles among them, mostly hidden from view for others who might be out on the grounds, and curls up against the stone, opening her bag and pulling out a small metal thermos, which for a few minutes she just holds between her hands.

Comments

[scourgeofpiracy]

Out on the Caribbean inlet, with slow grace, a sailing ship rises from under the water.

The man who appears on deck doesn't bother with a rowing boat today. He simply dives off the side and starts to swim towards shore.

[unshattered]

Abigail goes still, for a moment.

But then, she seems to decide against leaving. Her eyes follow the ship, and then the man who dives from it, while her hands slowly move to twist off the cap of her thermos.

[scourgeofpiracy]

It doesn't take him long to reach shore, where he shakes off the excess water and straightens, seeming not to feel the cold despite his soaked clothes.

When he catches her movement, he peers in that direction. "Hello?"

[unshattered]

"Hi."

A thought rises in her mind, that maybe in all that stay-or-flee consideration she should have been at least a little fazed at watching a ship appear from under the water.

It seems too late now. Her eyes stay on him. "Aren't you cold?"

[scourgeofpiracy]

"No", he says simply, absently wringing out his shirt sleeves. "Call it a perk of my position... are you?"

[unshattered]

Abigail waits another moment, then nods.

She's already wearing a jacket and scarf, and she'd probably be happier with gloves, too.

But - "I didn't just swim out of the lake."

[scourgeofpiracy]

"No", he agrees cheerfully, "and you would very likely be freezing if you had. But I'm no longer quite - mortal. Nothing you need fear, but neither cold nor lack of food and drink can harm me now."

He does still eat and drink, but only because he wants to.

[unshattered]

She leans forward slightly from the rock, crossing her legs and releasing her thermos, placing it down in her lap.

"What's... not quite mortal?"

[scourgeofpiracy]

"I died", is the simple answer, "and then the captain of this ship offered me an extension of existence, if you will, which I was glad to take. We ferry the sea's dead to their destination."

[unshattered]

For the first time, her eyes flicker back to the ship.

"Doesn't sound like a great job."

[scourgeofpiracy]

"At times it can be disheartening", he admits. Usually when there are children to be collected. "But I can think of few better afterlives for a sailor."

[unshattered]

She blinks down again, but gets a small, wry smile. "Still might be better to not be dead."

[scourgeofpiracy]

"Perhaps", he allows. "But it comes on us all in the end, I made my choices - and I'm not unhappy with my lot. My name's James, by the way."

[cook_the_rude]

Along the shore, a familiar figure approaches, carrying what appears to be four small dead birds.

[unshattered]

Hearing approaching footsteps, Abigail instinctively shifts against the rock, further retreating behind them.

It's still a moment before she glances over; she doesn't want to, and knows not wanting to is silly and childish. But eventually, she does raise her eyes, and glance over her shoulder, as her hands grip tighter around her thermos.

[cook_the_rude]

The birds are white and black, and their beaks are a vivid orange. Only a little blood is clinging to their plumage.

Hannibal stops walking.

[unshattered]

She turns back, but doesn't try to slip out of sight again. Her mind is paralyzed with fight-or-flight options, the lake, the bag, the forest, the rocks -

For the moment, she stays still, listening for the footsteps to resume.

[cook_the_rude]

The footsteps come closer.

[unshattered]

Actual flight, the kind with wings, feels like the best option. But right now, it's not one she has.

Abigail doesn't turn again. She takes a deep breath, and twists off the cap of her thermos, touching it to her lips.

[cook_the_rude]

"Hello, Abigail," Hannibal says, sounding utterly calm and rather amused.

[unshattered]

She still keeps looking forward, toward the lake.

"Hello."

[cook_the_rude]

"I am very glad to see you here at last," Hannibal says, sounding positively gleeful, as if it was his own accomplishment.

[unshattered]

"I came out here to be by myself."

Her voice is calm, but also a little rushed.

[cook_the_rude]

"I am glad that I found you at all," Hannibal says. "I have missed you."

[unshattered]

She takes another deep breath, this time sniffling slightly. Her head lowers, her hair falling further over her face.

"Really?"