Closed Between sand and stars

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Klaire dodged his attack, that was more precise than his first one. Their swords met a few more times before she spun around him, holding his thumb and twisting his free arm on his back while holding her sword under his chin.

“You’ll have an instructor to teach you the basics, in case of an emergency.” She said close to his ear before pulling back, her voice breathier from the fight. “I hope you won’t have to use any of it, but it’s just a precaution.”
 
This time, Ishaan's wooden sword managed to connect with hers more than once, the soft clangs ringing through the night air, met only with the sound of shuffling feet. She was quick as a whip, suddenly appearing behind him to twist his arm back painfully, while her other hand took control of his weapon. He grunted in pain, feeling the rounded edge of the wood gently slide against the delicate skin below his adam's apple. Her presence was close, her words practically in his ear, and then she was gone. The pain dissipated, replaced by a slight ache. Yet he smiled, dark eyes drifting to meet hers.

She was impressive, even when she toned down her abilities to satisfy whatever ego he had. It made him wonder what her true capabilities were.

"A precaution," he mused thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side. Based on his first impressions, if the crew went down and he was the last man standing, his odds of survival were microscopic. That was a fact.

"But you think there's hope for me?" He asked. "And be honest, Byrn."
 
“If you practice, I think you can get quite good at it. You’re strong, it’s just the technique that’s not there yet.” Klaire said honestly, but was left with the impression this wasn’t the answer he was hoping to get. She leaned back against the banister, putting the sword down by her side.

“Most pirates have as much technique as you do, but they’ve been doing it for longer. They know how to cut through things, but defense is usually lacking. In two weeks you can learn how to protect your vital organs and hold your ground until I get to where you are.” She smiled, nudging her shoulder on his.

“I won’t leave you alone. If anything bad happens, I’ll be there to protect you.” She said, in a calm but assuring tone.
 
They were close, standing nearly shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the railing. Ishaan felt as she nudged him, almost playfully, pairing the action with words of reassurance. Words that he hadn't been expecting - if he was being frank. He would've thought he'd need a fair bit of work, and time, to even dare compete with pirates. Though she would certainly know better than him. "I'll hold you to that. I'd much rather you protect me than Officer Hofer."

With a soft smile still on his face, the man turned to face outward, placing the wooden sword against the side of the vessel. His forearms found the railing, and he gazed into the complete darkness. Well, not complete darkness. For his first night spent aboard the Dragonfly, he was lucky to have a relatively cloudless sky above, with hundreds of thousands of twinkling stars and a bright moon illuminating the deck. It was an incredible sight, one he hadn't ever dreamed of experiencing so closely.

"Did you always know you wanted this life?"
 
Klaire chuckled at the mention of her quartermaster. Hofer wasn't bad in her eyes, but she was definitely familiar enough with his sour side to understand where Ishaan was coming from.

As her laughter died down, silence fell between them. She wouldn't quite describe it as uncomfortable, but there was something about it. Something that made her breath a little shorter, and the hairs on her skin too aware of the 3 inches in between her arm and his. His question was welcomed to fill the void.

"I think so, yes." She answered after clearing her throat. "It's probably in my blood. You've met my uncle." She smirked at him and lifted off the ground to sit on the banister. Her dark blue wings were kept spread out to help keep her balance and with her chin up she looked back to the stars. "I can see why you like them. It's beautiful."
 
It's beautiful.

Despite the truth behind the statement, Ishaan found that that his gaze was drawn away from the beauty above, watching as Klaire took a seat on the railing. If it hadn't been for her wings, dark blue and nearly camouflaged with the night sky, his heart would've began to race for her. Now, it raced for an entirely different reason. His dark eyes watched as she crossed her thighs elegantly, her lower legs swaying ever so slightly. The man looked away, instead opting to look to her face. Now taller than him, and looking up at the sky, the best he could do was settle on her slender neck, and the soft curve of her jawline. "Yes, beautiful," he murmured, finally glancing up to the expanse beyond.

"I can't remember not appreciating them. My father, before I came under the care of Cilma, had taught me a couple things. We were actually from Syathnaes - small town outside Brimstone. It's interesting... how the stars have somehow led me here." To a point in his life that he'd somehow dreamt about as a child.
 
Klaire looked down at Ishaan a mere second after he turned his gaze away. She wondered what a man from Syathnaes was doing in Cósta Duba, and how he’d gotten into Cilma’s care. For a moment she considered asking right then and there, but perhaps it was too soon for that. Muffled voices from across the deck denounced the crew’s return from the supper she’d stolen Ishaan from.

“It’s getting late. We should eat something.” Klaire said, plopping down from the railing and waiting for Ishaan to accompany her downstairs.
 
Silence consumed them for a couple seconds, and then the sound of distant footsteps and voices pulled Ishaan's attention away from the stars. He glanced over his shoulder, barely able to see their outlines moving within the darkness. Giving Klaire a slight nod, the man pushed off the railing and followed after her, leaving his wooden sword behind. He wouldn't see the last of that weapon, not any time soon.

"Where do you keep those hidden? Did you bring them just for me or are you planning on picking up another defenseless fool?" He asked playfully, as they descended down a dimly lit staircase. The lingering scent of their dinner wafted through the corridor, growing more intense they closer they got to the mess hall.
 
Klaire would come back to pick up the swords later. A cheeky smile made its way to her lips because Ishaan was completely right: She’d brought them just for him.

“They’re mine. I learned to fight with these swords.” She shrugged, walking past the officers going in the opposite direction. “Hadn’t touched them in fifteen years. Didn’t think I’d ever need them again.” If Ishaan had looked at it carefully, he would’ve noticed the marks of her hard work carved to the wood.

By the time they arrived at the mess hall everyone had already left, except for the cook, who was busy extinguishing the fire under the caldron. He didn’t seem too happy about seeing the two of them arrive late, even if one of them were the captain and his immediate boss.

“Ishaan, this is officer Coffelt. He’s our cook.” Klaire said with a smile, despite his scowl while serving two bowls of soup and putting it on the counter. “Thank you.”

Coffelt didn’t say anything back, letting out a huff on his way out. Klaire picked up one of the bowls and a spoon, walking over to the table.

“He’s probably tired.”
 
The wooden swords had come out of retirement - and just for him. It made Ishaan wonder about her current age, and more importantly, how old she'd been when she learned to fight. If her father and uncle were both military men, perhaps there'd been pressure to start early. Although that was rather impressive (if true, of course), but there was a hint of sadness he felt about it. What did her childhood look like? Was it nothing more than academics, strategy, and fighting? Why was he so curious to know?

Once in the mess hall, Ishaan gave the cook a polite smile and nod. He'd introduced himself earlier, while on his self-tour, and had gotten the same reaction. It didn't bother him, not then, and certainly not now. Their tardiness certainly wasn't ideal. The man took the second bowl and followed after Klaire, suddenly realizing just how hungry he'd gotten. "Yes, of course, probably," he said in response.

Taking a seat across from her, Ishaan glanced down at the slightly grey-looking soup. It didn't look appetizing, but he knew better than to judge a meal based on the appearance. Unfortunately, after taking a spoonful into his mouth, he was forced to come to the conclusion that sometimes it really was that simple. There was a slight saltiness to it, but nothing else. "This is... interesting," the man said, taking another spoonful to test if the first was an anomaly. It wasn't. "How long has Officer Coffelt been apart of the crew?" In other, more polite words, how long has he been a cook?
 
Interesting wasn’t good, Klaire knew that. Taking a spoonful of the soup herself, the first thought that came to mind was that uninteresting would be a better word to describe it.

“Not long. His mother owns a tavern.” She explained, as if trying to justify how he’d gotten the position. “I’m sorry, I know you’re used to better tasting food than this.” Actually she didn’t know, but rather assumed based on the looks of his kitchen. No one owned that many cookbooks and didn’t know how to cook. Klaire was used to eating whatever was put on the table.
 
For a moment, Ishaan went quiet, carefully considering ways to respond without coming across as ungrateful or rude. Food was food, they'd certainly get enough energy from the potatoes and chicken, but would it leave them wanting more? Absolutely not. Hearty meals with a little more seasoning could go a long way, especially with such a hard-working crew. After all, a satisfied crew was also a happy one.

Glancing over at Klaire, he watched as she continued to eat, solemn expression on her face. She certainly had more discipline and will-power than he'd ever have. Before she could dip down for another spoonful, Ishaan placed a gentle hand on her wrist, stopping her. "It's not something we can't fix," he said with conviction. Rising from his seat, he picked up his bowl before asking, "May I?" The man didn't wait for a response as he scooped the bowl into his palm then turned and walked towards the doors that housed the kitchen.

At least the kitchen was spotless. Decently sized, with wooden tables on either side, one longer than the other, and plenty of shelving and cupboards to house, at the very least, the basic necessities. Or so the man hoped. After placing the bowls down on one of the tables, Ishaan began to open and sift through the cupboards, closing only those that didn't have potential for usability. "Are you much of a cook, Kl- Captain?"
 
Klaire followed after him, anxious but excited about entering a room she wasn't supposed to get into. What was the harm in it anyway? She was captain after all, so was the kitchen really off limits?

"Will you laugh at me if I tell you I've never cooked before?" She grimaced looking over the utensils. There were knives, spoons, and some items she had no idea of what it was used for. She picked up a weird looking one, with a metal handle and a series of wire loops joined at the end and put it back down. "I can try, if you tell me exactly what to do."
 
It didn't shock him; some people simply never had to cook. It was the same as sword fighting. Why would he need to learn to fight with a sword when he grew up under the care of an old man who hardly left his store?

"I don't believe that for a second," he responded, opening up the drawer that housed the spices. Looking through the jars, Ishaan peaked over at Klaire, who awkwardly held a whisk in one hand. "You haven't made toast? Or a sandwich?" She shook her head slightly and he beamed in response, taking her answer to mean that she had. "Guess what? I consider that partially cooking."

Grabbing a couple herbs and spices, along with an empty pot and an apron, the man arranged everything in front of Klaire. He poured the two bowls into the single pot, not to heat up, but to speed up the seasoning process. Then, he held up the apron, gently lifting it over her head and holding up the ties. "May I?" Ishaan asked, seeking permission to tie it behind her back. "A proper chef needs an apron. And I wouldn't want to be responsible for ruining your uniform."
 
He didn’t make fun of her, it was quite the opposite. Klaire couldn’t help but smile at his words of encouragement, forcing her lips closed while he put her apron on.

“What’s next, chef Riasos?” She rolled up her sleeves, ready to follow his orders. He gave her a knife and asked her to cut some vegetables, which shouldn’t be too difficult. She watched as he did the same, and couldn’t help but compare the two. Not only did he peel the beets in half the time it took her to peel the carrots, she accidentally Put a lot of it to waste by not knowing how to hold the knife properly. By the time she finished cutting it in uneven cubes he was already done with everything else and ready to mix it with the tasteless potato soup.

While Ishaan stirred the pot Klaire appeared by his side, leaning down to smell it. She wasn’t that hungry up until that point, but whatever he had done to it awoken her appetite and gave her an idea.

“I’ll be right back.” She said, taking off her apron and leaving in a hurry to get something in her room. That something was a wine bottle she’d brought to drink by herself during a lonely night, but she figured it’d be put to better use accompanying a special meal. She wrapped it under a cloth, hiding it from curious eyes, even though there was nothing wrong in having a glass of wine. Despite that, she was still glad she didn't run into anyone on her way back to the kitchen.

“Do you like rosé?” Klaire asked, placing the bottle down at the table and opening the cabinets to get two cups.
 
The good Captain was about as skilled as Ishaan had expected. It was slightly amusing of course, watching her struggle to cut up a couple vegetables into smaller cubes, especially when she had such impressive skills with a sword. However, he supposed cutting people instead of vegetables required a slightly different skill-set. Despite the amusement, he remained patient, though the teasing was just barely kept on the tip of his tongue. He had to remind himself that they weren't friends, not yet anyway, and that joking with his boss on his very first day might not be the best approach to take.

While she was gone, Ishaan completed the finishing touches on the meal. Content with the flavouring after his taste-test, he began to pour the soup back into their bowls. "Just in time," he said quietly, watching as she entered the room, now holding a bottle of pale pink alcohol. It caught him off-guard, but only for a second. Teasing and jokes were not appropriate yet, but dinner and wine was? Maybe he was being too restrictive.

"Absolutely. Special occasion?" Ishaan grinned, walking past her into the mess hall, placing their bowls in the exact same positions they'd been in a little while earlier.
 
While unscrewing the cork of the wine bottle, Klaire questioned herself about it being a special occasion. It was their first night on the job, that counted as a special occasion, right? In the end she shrugged it off, taking the filled cups with her to the table Ishaan had placed their soups.

"It's just wine. It doesn't need a special occasion." She answered, trying to sound casual and cool about it. They didn't have to make a big deal out of a simple dinner. It didn't matter if it was just the two of them, late at night in a dimly lit room… She realized she was getting nervous all of a sudden. "What did you think of the equipment? Is it suitable?"

That's it, talk about work. What better way to dissolve any tension between them?
 
If she said it was just wine than that's how Ishaan would see it. Just wine, a hearty meal, and a pleasant conversation. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Suitable?" The man said, excitement taking over his features. "I've never seen such an accurate sextant..." Off he went, describing some of the instruments he'd tested out already in order to map their course to Brimstone. "... and the radial arm? I-" He stopped, suddenly realizing she likely had no idea what he was talking about. "I apologize, yes, everything has surpassed my expectations so far."

He dipped his spoon into his bowl and took a sip. "You haven't tried it yet. Tell me, what do you think of our cooking?"
 
Klaire had no idea what he was talking about, but his excitement was captivating. She sipped on her wine, only managing to link some of the words to the instruments because of the superficial research she had to do to find it, but having no idea what they were for. She chuckled when he was done talking, dipping her spoon on the hot soup.

"Our soup is a little too generous." She said with an eyebrow raised, before softly blowing the spoon and having a taste of it.

Never would she have thought that mixing that many things together in a pan could taste this good. It bared no resemblance to the original despite it serving as a base, and Klaire couldn't help but close her eyes and let out a soft moan as she took another spoonful.

"You're an amazing cook and this is the best soup I've ever had." She wasn't kidding. Every spoonful tasted a little different depending on what vegetables got sorted and she ate, a little bit in a hurry, but not too much to the point of being impolite.
 
Watching intently as she brought a spoonful to her lips, Ishaan couldn't help but to chuckle at her reaction. "You flatter me," the man said, responding to her praise with a mere shrug. With her military background, surely she'd grown up with an upper class income, meaning plenty of talented cooks and the freshest food, right at her fingertips. Their little soup, haphazardly thrown together, simply couldn't compete. Still, he appreciated her words. "So, Byrn. Did you grow up in Costa Duba?" He asked, taking a sip of his wine.
 
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