Looking at the weathered husk of a beach house, with its layers of chipped paint and tired charm, puts Skyler in mind of a grumpy old man. By all accounts the structure should've fallen long ago, but it'd stubbornly held on against storms and the passage of time.

It was perfect.

Against all odds, the foundations had needed little work. Which meant it was time for her and Angelo to put their DIY skills to the test. Arceus help them.

"Bet that old sea dog's goin' to have a nice retirement." After he'd swindled them down to the very marrow, that is. 

Climbing up the stairs to the roof affords Angelo a nice view of Skyler's delectable shorts-clad bottom - somewhat tainted by Dorado's malevolent glare. 

"But he won't have this."

Skyler opens up her arms to encompass the idyllic landscape of beach, jungle and ocean, and the house groans as if in response. Perilously close to her feet, shingles shudder and clatter down into the living room.

Whoops.

angelo vestri

☉

Skyler and Dorado look down at the new decorative centerpiece in the living room. As if to add insult to injury, a few more shingles break loose and join in.

'Arceus damn it' is the least offensive curse that she spits out.

Now that Skyler was up here, she could see the parts where the wood had rotted through and allowed the roof to collapse into the house.

She pats Major on the way to pick a small square-edged shovel from the toolbox, the flash of a smirk curving her lips as she walks past angelo vestri . "We'll add a second story later for the kids, sure."

Skirting the edge of the hole in the roof, Skyler hooks a hand around an exposed beam and ignores the ominous groan of rotted wood as she peers inside. "We gotta replace all the shingles and a couple of beams..."

"It should be blue skies for the next three to four days, at least." She pauses, meeting ocean blues with the sheer, overblown confidence of someone who had never, not once in their life attempted to fix a roof. "I reckon we'll be done in a day."

angelo vestri

☉

The sun creeps upwards into the sky without warning, casting away the cool morning breeze. Work on the roof trudges on, far slower than Skyler had first anticipated.

It's past midday when her brows plunge into a frown, clearly unhappy with their progress thus far despite the sweat that slides down the curve of her back and her laboured breath.

Huffing with annoyance, she downs half a bottle of water, dumps the rest of it on her head and lifts her shirt to wipe her face. Fuck, March had no business being this freakin' hot.

Angelo's comment from before pops abruptly into her mind - 'You reckon?' - and the captain can't help the narrowing of eyes, the slight tilt of her chin as she regards her troublesome rascal of a husband with slight suspicion. 

He had some experience fixing roofs, didn't he? He'd worked on his - hangar. She was pretty sure.

The eyes narrow further, sliding away from him to consider the work before them. And the (perhaps definitely not realistic) confidence she'd held coalesces into illogical, single-minded stubborness. 

He thought he was so smart, did he?

The captain allows herself a couple of minutes to catch her breath, then, wielding the broad-edged shovel like a viking warrior did their sword, resumes removing shingles with renewed gusto. Too much, in fact. Dorado has to dodge a couple.

She'd show him. They'd be done by nightfall.

angelo vestri

☉

Is that a hot-blooded flash of a glare from the other side of the roof? Or was it just the sun's glare on some reflective surface?

"Swimmingly." The word somehow manages to pry past clenched teeth, but only just so. It's accompanied by a grunt of effort and the clatter of wood shingles as they're forcefully ripped away and sent over the edge.

Skyler isn't working as much as she's waging war on the rotting roof. And, by Arceus, it's turning into a veritable bloodbath. Although one has to wonder as to who's really winning - probably not the inanimate objects. Or the captain.

Regardless of her commendable work ethic, this kind of passionate, haphazard approach usually lends itself to sloppiness. And that leads to-

"Son of a snivellin' buttrag!"

Whatever frenzy had been happening on the other side of the roof ceases at once, and if Angelo were to peek over the lip of the roof he'd see Skyler craddling her arm - and the rusty nail stuck halfway into her thumb.

She glares down at it either like she's about to make it, and all its family, regret their collective existence; or like she can't believe the sheer audacity of this thing to interrupt her work.

Probably a little bit of both.

angelo vestri

☉

Skyler huffs. "As if."

Angelo's treated to his very own string of curses as the nail is yanked out of her finger. Blood barely has any time to well up before Skyler's mending the rip in her skin, briefly aglow in a soft blue light utterly at odds with the storm on her face.

In the end, just like Angelo predicted and despite all of Skyler's efforts to the contrary, they don't finish the job by nightfall. They do remove nearly all of the old, rotted shingles and prep the roof for the new ones. But by the time the sun makes its final descent towards the horizon, even Skyler's legendary bullheadedness has been worn down to a flicker.

No matter what entity lends her strength, Skyler is only just human. An exhausted one, at that.

They don't have a shower yet, or running water for that matter, so the captain divests herself of her sweaty clothes (purposefully slow so Angelo has ample time to invite himself over) and goes for a much deserved dip in the ocean. Sore muscles are somewhat soothed by the coming and going of the waves, but Skyler knows there'll be hell to pay tomorrow - a twinge in her shoulder as much as promises it.

A massage wouldn't perhaps go amiss.

The crackling of fire soon joins the hissing of the waves, and Skyler leans back to rest her head on Angelo's thighs, all relaxed limbs, as food sits comfortably on her belly. Unsurprisingly, they'd been ravenous. Thank goodness for Mr. Dross' packed lunches.

"It looks like more of a house now." Not by much, it was still very much shabby and weathered. More akin to a creature that had come to life after a long hibernation. But it still brings a proud smile to Skyler's lips and a warmth that rests comfortably on her chest. "We'll finish it tomorrow, for sure."

angelo vestri

☉

In the end it takes them well into the next day - and a little bit of the morning after it - to finally finish the roof. It's grueling work despite the steadfast pace, all roughened hands and dripping sweat and the occasional curse when a finger is where it oughtn't be.

(Thank Arceus for Skyler's healing powers.)

The nights are fever dreams, cooling layers of sweat and exhaustion washed away by the ocean and stumbling steps rising from the ocean to seek warmth around the glowing light of a flickering campfire - and Angelo's embrace. 

Sometimes they're set aflame by the hunger of each other's desire; other times they allow the quiet to settle in, and sail the spaces between the stars above. Booze over their tongues and the promise of summer whispering past in a soft breeze.

A measure of peace before war comes around to knock on their door.

Satisfaction always follows her long into the night as they rest under the looming shape of a dream waking to life, carved by their own hands.

Life calls them away soon enough, but the beach house remains, ugly in the way only a mother, or two besotted fools, could love. 

They're back before a week is through.

angelo vestri

☉