as much as she hated to admit it, he’d gotten to her a bit. she’d stared at her chest a little too long in a thrift store dressing room before pulling her hoodie off, assessing changes in her body for the first time in a while.

he’d essentially informed her she was more than a pair of tits, as though she hadn’t already known, and she wasn’t sure how to take it. he’d sped off on a dragon before she could say much. part of her hated the crude, backhanded attention. the other part of her was curious, both with him, and herself, because most didn't dare to talk to her in such a way, and those that did typically wound up with a fat lip.

she was dressed in lighter, perhaps more cheerful looking attire in an attempt to blend in with the crowd on the boat. a black hoodie, while typically inconspicuous, would have stuck out like a sore thumb. she’d opted to still keep her tattoo covered, but this time in an unassuming baby blue shirt, tying up her hair in a way she wouldn’t normally.

she was aboard in an attempt to evade any trackers that might follow her to the submarine. go off the grid for a few days. that was her goal. kanto was dry. she knew they weren’t there anymore.

she’d ordered a good añejo from the bar, neat. though broke, one deserved quality liquor during such a time of impending doom. she’d been nursing it, making her way to the smoking area when she bumped into someone. mid-sip, she spit it back into the cup, sputtering. almost without taking a breath, she affirmed quickly, “i’m not following you.” then, she knocked back the rest of the ruined tequila, needing it.

'small world' didn't cut it at this point. if she'd been remotely superstitious, she probably would have thought it was a sign. the universe worked in mysterious ways, woo woo. but seriously, what the fuck and why.

quickly remembering where they'd left off once the shock subsided, she narrowed her eyes at him. not so slick, now. there weren't many places to run on a boat.

lulu and rinc had fallen in love at a table in a dingy kitchen playing cards. since he’d left her life, every morning, like clockwork—in prison, in kitchens that weren’t hers, in a goddamn submarine—she’d played solitaire until she won, on the first try, or the twelfth (she wasn’t always lady luck).

she'd pound caffeine, usually lacking sleep. she didn’t think about him. she meditated instead. seven below the eight, six below the seven, five below the six. straighten the stacks. it was how she shook the night terrors; there were simply things no amount of hazardously potent coffee could snap her out of.

up until tucking tail and running, in motostoke, she’d always been surrounded by gamblers—in one way, or another. maybe that was part of his allure. maybe that was part of her weakness. and maybe that was unhealthy, but who was she really, if not too fucked in the head to realize.

maybe it had turned her into a bit of a gambler as well, even if she never played with money.

regardless of what it all was, something kept her knuckles at her side and not off on their way to attempt to disrupt his good looks.

someone was following her, huh? what a conclusion to arrive at only to leave someone behind.

“oh, aren’t you perceptive. well, sénon,” giving the same inflection he had used every time he’d spoken her name; and for all intents and purposes, now, it was more her name than not, and the reminder that it wasn’t inflicted a stinging from her past, “i’m about to fuckin’ die. i’m processing.” she then leaned in a bit, even though he’d been looking away, to hiss at him, “how’s that for transparency?”

and then, if he’d looked, he’d have found on her face a toothy smile was more pirate than pretty in essence, and contained the underlying darkness of a hardened criminal she’d previously attempted to conceal from him.

“cheers, mate.” she raised an empty cup on her way in the opposite direction, the concealed cattle mark on her shoulder nearly checking him on her way past.



after a smoke, she’d been headed back to the bar to grab another drink, when she saw his flaming red hair in the adjacent open kitchen. of course he worked there. she turned on her heels and went for her room, where alcohol, though less fittingly luxurious, did exist. fuck that.




after a few shots had settled in her belly and hours had passed, her stomach rumbled hard enough that she had no other choice. with a deep sigh of reluctance, she’d slunk from her room back to the food spot. then, to her bitter misfortune, she found him to be the only remaining cook that side of the watering hole.

she pulled herself onto a stool at a bar-top for people who desired to ensure no one spit in their food, and ordered something from a passing cocktail server. then, feeling somewhat tipsy and inflammatory, she called at him, “FYI, i came to be served food, not lectures.” her expression was flat.

she squinted at him from the short distance. was he mocking her? she couldn’t tell for sure, but had a hunch. her stomach growled and she looked at him rabidly. lulu needed a snickers, and a refund.

when the food was placed in front of her, she was grateful. she thanked the server, but not senon, still mean-mugging him. as she ate, the sharpness of her scowl softened, the beast gradually soothed by the wonders of fresh fried fish. she ate quickly, mixing the food together a bit more for unnecessary efficiency than taste, although it was good that way. one could never suspect she’d once eaten over a white table cloth each evening.

her eyes didn’t leave him the entire time, a small fire still burning in her like a pilot light—although, the look in them started to look more like she was the one who needed the company.

once she’d finished, she sat there for a second, still staring, and then, without saying a word, got up and left.

minutes later, having figured he would have stuck around to clean, she returned with three shots of vodka, and three shots of tequila. she placed them on the glass counter between them, sliding the vodka to his side. her eyes looked at him again with the same unwavering stare. despite her own annoyances, she needed a drinking partner, and the past had shown him to be a solid candidate.

consider it a tip.

there was no smile to her face when he walked up to oblige her, or perhaps just take them for the sake of not letting booze go to waste. no petty ‘cheers mate’—just lingering eyes that held something even she wasn’t sure of yet. she kept up with him; one, two, three.

then, he slid more food in between them, and her poker face fell. first, her eyebrows furrowed a little at him, and then the smallest of small smirks played at the corner of her mouth. the stalemate of their stares, on her end, gave way to some of the energy that he’d brought out in her at the casino.

she didn’t touch the fork, but instead picked a fillet up in her hand as he did. stubborn as an ox and always playing some kind of game (hah), she would match him at any given opportunity. when in rome, and, for his effort, ‘i’m still going to fuck with you ‘til you’re tired of me.’

once finished, she left the last fillet between them, eyed the key lime pie, and then picked up the spoon and tried a bite. swallowing, she stared at him some more with consideration, and then the three shots regurgitated in the form of words. “you know, i don’t usually have a sweet tooth.” she wasn't sure if the next part was more truth or tequila. “maybe that’s why i like you.” he wanted to dish out backhanded compliments; she would give them right back. whether by choice or by fault, lulu only kept friends with thick skin.

and really, he had been quite sweet in that moment, and quite a bit throughout their interactions, but he was also tough and, seemingly, pitiless for the most part with her, coldness filling in the gaps, and they were those moments which drew her in, because they were familiar. she respected cold, no matter how she'd acted.

regardless, she would never pass up an opportunity to bust someone’s balls—especially if she liked them.

as he cleaned, she picked at the key lime pie still, not devouring it as she had the fish, but still enjoying it. “i see you haven’t opened that restaurant, yet.” he'd left with quite a bit of dough the night they’d met, and she’d not completed her mission for it—the only time that had ever happened. hopefully it was still somewhere in his pignitey bank. she gave it a moment, channeling the grinch when he'd grown a heart, and checked herself on the dickish comment. she ammended, sort of lowly, but still loud enough for him to hear, “you’re a great cook. you should.”

even with his eyes averted, she saw the darkness in him, like gravity.

she didn’t expect it to go soft. didn’t expect him to take her words and deepen them to some pit of emotional suffering, but he continued working while he spoke with his eyes pressed shut, alluding to some cryptic heartache. he had more to say, but wouldn’t. he was a rock, or at least attempting to play the role of one. she knew that feeling; that resistance. it was an infliction she’d so often turned her back on people for, now tickling her liquor-warmed mind:

empathy.

but how was she supposed to relate in a shell? she was there, not where she really wanted to be (if there was a such a place), dressed in an outfit meant to blend in with a hoard of people who had already gone to bed. she felt unlike herself, and the self that she normally felt wasn’t even her, and that was a bit of a mind-fuck. she didn’t know how to process the event of his own ice melting against the rare warmth of her own. her heart, while trembling, didn’t know if it was excited, or if it would rather batten down the hatches.

maybe he was just a fuckin’ sap, and in that case, they’d both caught her at a weak moment.

as someone who had little money, she knew what she'd paid for. they were on a luxury cruise, with a playground at their fingertips that maybe he was accustomed to, but one that she had not ever had the opportunity to indulge in during her short adult life. with nothing much to lose, she tried to catch his tear-ridden gaze, noticing, but not mentioning it, for too many reasons to even elaborate on.

“let’s go dancing.” she finally said, probably out of left-field. it came from a place where time, emotions, and problems, momentarily, didn’t exist. it all stopped, and for once, her heart allowed someone else's wisdom to take over:

‘this is how you get through it.' they'd told her. 'keep drinking, and keep moving.’

as reserved as she’d been as a child, a half-grown lulu had absorbed the things around her. as a dragon, she’d phased into any role they'd needed her to be: a hacker, a gunner, a piece of meat, even, before it came to life. she had eyes, hands, a mouth, and a body.

and that evening, there was nothing professional about it. death was on the table, and so was everything else. this man had hot blood and muscle, and a stare that didn't bore her. let the body indulge on a plane where the mind no longer had any solid ground to stand on.