pointofhonoria | come sail away inbox

The first time Erin had fallen asleep here, sheer relief had kept the nightmares at bay. Not now, and not today; they're after her with a vengeance, with the might to sweep her along in her own mind and make her forget that she's dreaming.

The first bad sign is the sudden clutch of her fingers against Crabb's clothes, tight and desperate. She curls in on herself and mumbles out a frustrated sound, pleading, desperate.

Her voice in her sleep sounds wrong. Not the jaded but musical voice of the old soldier, but as if Erin has become a girl again, bright and full of potential. "...you don't...no, listen, listen -"

"- he's real, he's real and he's going to make me hurt you, please, the Patriarch -"

Erin's fitful sleep never quite seems to threaten to wake her. Sleeping through the nightmares is an old trick. For hours she says nothing more than an infrequent sob, a sound more like a hiccup than anything else.

If Crabb remembers, and heeds, Erin's advice to never attempt to wake her, then hours later she says something else: "I don't wanna hurt you again...don't make me...please don't -"

And then she wakes with a startled breath and pushes herself up, panting, frightened. Ashamed.

"...I'm still home. Oh thank God. I'm...I'm still home."

She's half-way to dosing off when the clutching startles her back awake, and the sound of Erin's voice keeps her there. She doesn't try to wake her. Doesn't even risk stirring her accidentally. Just stays there for Erin to grasp at when she feels the need, to just be a presence, and eventually doses off again when she lapses into relative silence.

Until the sound of her voice rouses her once again back to the waking world and the sudden motion finishes the job. Crabb rubs at her eyes, propping herself up on her elbows again and looking at Erin with a worried little crease back in her brow. Finally, she pushes herself up so she's supported on one hand and offers the other Erin's way.

"Yeah, yeah you are. You're right here and so am I, alright, you're safe. You're home." Usually calling anything about the boat home would still feel weird, even though for Erin's sake she'd do so with similar lack of hesitation right now, but here in the moment with Erin here in the cabin... it doesn't really feel so strange.

Heavy breaths. Erin swallows hard. "Sorry. It's. Getting bad. Like I said, it's."

Erin crushes Crabb into a sudden hug, tight and grateful.

A small whisper. "The worst ones are when it all goes right and then I wake up and it's still just me."

Oh, Erin... Crabb wraps her arms around Erin in turn, squeezing her tightly and letting herself be held as close as Erin wants and needs. "You don't gotta apologise for anything, Erin. You can talk to me about 'em, if you want. You know I'll listen, yeah?"

"Not...not a lot to say. Memory dreams of the battle. Old fights dredged up. Coming back from the nightmare lands over again. Themes, right?" Erin smiles a cracked smile against Crabb's shoulder. "Thank you. For being here. T-taking a chance on me."

Erin takes in a shuddering breath and pulls away just enough to rest her forehead on Crabb's. "They're not...all bad dreams. Had a spicy one with you and Cass that probably doesn't pass muster in polite company."

Themes, yeah. Crabb hums a vague noise of acknowledgement and understanding, turning her head to press a kiss to the side of Erin's before she moves and leaning easily into her as she rests their foreheads together. She's on the way to saying something reassuring but then Erin goes and temporarily wipes out her ability to think coherent thoughts again.

Her head shakes a little with a laugh as heat rises up to her face once more and she bumps their noses together as she breathes a, "God above, Erin... usually I'd joke about not exactly counting as polite company but I ain't sure if I could survive any more blood rushin' to my head..." She gives her a squeeze, exhales. "But, hey. I ain't going anywhere."

"I should probably shower. I'm all sleep sweaty." It's painfully self-aware. "Can't believe I actually came over in my pajamas...shoulda thought about that. I. Really needed this didn't I?"

"Hey, I don't mind. Not like I ain't in my nightclothes too." Granted Crabb's are still men's loungewear from Tommy Bahama, but. "And yeah, you needed this. And I'm glad I could help some and that you didn't pull a me and wait until you were passing out on your feet about it."

Not her wisest call, but in her defence, she'd been pretty out of it still. At least she learned her lesson.

She lifts her head enough to kiss Erin's forehead. "Anyway. I do have a shower, y'know, so."

Erin freezes. Crabb is treated to the slow motion version of what she herself looks like every time Erin takes her out; the gunpowder pops off in a frenzy while Erin's face does its best effort to become a usable stove top.

A little squeak escapes.

For a solid few seconds Crabb has absolutely no idea what part of what she just said was anywhere near enough to earn that reaction from Erin. This lack of immediate understanding is not helped by the fact that it is, actually, rather delightful to finally catch Erin as off-guard as she usually catches her, even if she has no idea how she did it. Nothing she said was even all that sappy, let alone anything scandalous, what in God's name did she...

(Three, two, one...)

...oh. OH. The penny drops and now it's both of them flushed in the face. Crabb stammers, mouth opening and closing like some dumb fish for the first time in a while before she eventually just gets out an, "—Oh."

(ABORT SHE DIDN'T MEAN IT!)

|No, no, listen -|

Erin takes her hands back and gestures wildly in what is either hushing the head voices or begging for a second to talk. Her first attempt at language ends in another strangled squeak that turns her face completely scarlet. The Distress is so very real.

Erin buries her face in her hands and, thus protected, manages: "Doyouwanttoevenifitisn'tsex?"

(NOOOOOO!)

|Shut up SHUT IT we can do -|

Both of you stahhhppp!

Crabb lets her have that second to figure out words, despite every bit of her screaming that she should— apologise? Maybe? She's not even sure for what, saying it at all or just not realising what she was saying or— or even that she doesn't try to actually take it back? God she doesn't know, so she just sits there with her head spinning and ever warmer face waiting to see what Erin says and.

It's so fast she barely even deciphers it and God give her strength it's still nearly enough to hit the embarrassed flight reflex Johnny hit not long ago but she resists. Stays right there.

"I— um— uhm—" God, she's gonna die. Right here. Right now. Does she? Is she actually brave enough for that? She can say no, she knows she can say no, but does she want to say no? "Um— aw, Hell, I— yes? I— uhm. To try, at least, I um—"

God she sounds like a bumbling fool again, but that's what she gets out. Try, because she does not trust herself to not get extra shy and chicken out.

Erin grabs the pillow, because she has forgotten that it is now early afternoon, and presses it to her face so she can squeal at the top of her lungs.

It is.

A very long squeal. Minutes it goes. It trails off only because she's actually hit the limits of her lungs. Pillow down. Deep breath. No, deeper. Alright, let it out. Normal breath? Normal breath.

Erin flicks her fingers through her own hair; it ripples, momentarily, and then becomes visibly more human; still thick and black and lustrous, but no longer moving of its own accord.

"It uh. It shakes the water off if I don't do that and that might make your shower experience slightly aggravating," Erin explains, somehow both shy and teasing. "...Hey. Should I. Put some eyes in my sockets before I take this blindfold off?"

That one is just shy. Shy and self-aware.

It's a miracle Crabb has any blood left anywhere but her face by the time Erin's lowering the pillow again (or, for that matter, that said rush of blood to her head hasn't made her pass out or something...), though she can't help the almost goofy looking grin that the squeal earns at the same time. That's still adorable, no matter how many times it happens, and that was... so long...

"...nah, think I'd rather just see you mostly as you are, y'know?" The hair may be practical but if the eyes is purely a visual consideration...

"Yeah, purely visual. I can't put working ones in there." Erin pauses, and then: "Yet. Okay. Okay. Um. Alright."

Deeeeeeeeeep breath.

"I gotta. Take the blindfold off for this, it shouldn't get wet, so um. You. Go in first and set it up and I'll...stash this on the desk I think and then close the bathroom door behind me when I make it inside?"

(She's gonna SEE US -)

Yes thank you that is the fucking idea but also consider: she might wash our hair.

(...You drive a hard bargain Peters).

Part of her cannot believe she's really braving this, old sensibilities are still ingrained in her but they are failing constantly to win out over Erin goddamn Peters and the strange mix of embarrassment and boldness she instils in her at the same time. Despite the way her heart pounds, the way her face feels like a furnace, the way she is for the first time very aware of how little material is actually between either of them and being bare... she keeps it together and nods, riding what bravery she has to steal a quick kiss before sliding off the bed.

"A-Alright, yeah. I can do that."

With that, she heads through to the bathroom, trying to shake off the worst of the fluster so she can think clearly. (God this is actually happening, how on Earth is this happening...)

She debates for a solid few seconds the pros and cons of getting wet while dressed to get the shower going before getting undressed before deciding she's being goddamned stupid and just... bites the bullet. Breathes deep, strips off her top, pants and underwear and goes about getting set up. And, see, it's not as if she hasn't stripped down in her own cabin bathroom before but she feels barer than ever just by nature of knowing she's not alone.

...scrambled as she is, the most obvious thing the lack of blindfold means has yet to catch up with her.

That kiss! Erin can't even return it properly; she makes a tiny Noise and her hand flutters to her lips for a moment.

(God we really are still fucking fifteen aren't we.)

Deep breaths. Erin decides to start small; these are the good socks, they can't get wet either. She heads over to the desk, gets them off, lays them down all nice and neat. Her hands go to where her blindfold is tied, and hesitate. Then it, too, gets untied, and Erin's world is cast into darkness.

She lets out a low whistle and puts the room's layout in her mind. Set down the blindfold, right there - yeah, we can feel the socks, alright. Whistle again. Erin follows the sound of Crabb's breathing, hoping the sound of the shower going on will help on the way, steps careful. She knows how to navigate blind, but...

Oh how her heart is racing. How aware she is that the flimsy protection of her pajamas is about to not be there, that she's going to be seen...

But Crabb doesn't want a display piece. It's okay. It's fine. It's gonna be okay.

(We're allowed to be hot, you know.)

|Spring sayeth: to bloom anew, make peace with what you are.|

I'm trying! This is me trying! This is me trying very hard!

Into the bathroom. Door closed carefully behind herself, because otherwise all the heat is going to run out. Erin's now-tame hair has fallen in front of her face, thick and messy and slick with sweat.

"...This might be...a bit...touch and go." Her hands go to the bottom of her tank top. Hesitate.

With a frustrated growl Erin rips the top off so fast that she actually rips it, the well-worn top tearing in a long jag from the bottom up through several of the small pre-existing holes in it in and finally leaving this vale of tears as it has longed to for so many long years.

"...Ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"

Crabb has to take a deep breath of her own when she hears the door click shut, announcing Erin's actually here. It was already just the two of them, of course, but something about the extra door between them and the rest of the ship, the smaller space, makes this feel... different, even disregarding clothes and lack thereof.

She has to resist the urge to cover herself. No one has ever seen her like this and... well.

A few things hit Crabb at once, as she watches Erin standing there, literally ripping her shirt off. One: the realisation that without the blindfold on, Erin can't see a single goddamned thing, let alone her. Two: the urge to laugh at the unfortunate fate of the tank top and Erin's reaction to it. Three: the fact that she can very much still see Erin and Erin is now standing there topless and oh God she is—

She does a goddamned 360 turn, dragging her hands down her burning face before forcing herself to stand still and stop hiding. From peeking between fingers to forcing her lingering hand down entirely.

"...Erin," is all that makes it out of her mouth, tinted with laughter and strained lightly by sheepishness and so, so fond. "What'd that poor shirt ever do to you, eh?"

"Well just now it abandoned me in my hour of need! I'm not going back to my room with the girls running loose!"

There's a shape to Erin; lean but firm, thin layers of fat over muscle. The tattoos that begin on her arms run rampant across her skin, musical notes parading across stanzas that can't seem to pick one place to just be. When Erin sheds her sweatpants far more carefully it becomes clear that they go from wrist to ankle and might be Anywhere between.

Deep breath. Erin laces her own fingers together and tries a big stretch to center herself.

"If it's uh, any help this would be pretty intimate at home too. Not like, just by my standards but in general."

She's nervous too.

"Y-Yeah uh, yeah that— that helps." Crabb exhales long and slow through her nose. There is relief in not being able to feel like she's the only one of them nervous about this. She rubs at her neck, other arm crossing over her chest, hand hooked into the other elbow.

She both feels intensely shy, like she shouldn't be looking, and yet there's no stopping the way her eyes follow the winding paths of the tattoos. Somehow that feels a little less... impolite, a little less like leering, but it comes with the entirely new problem that she finds herself imagining tracing her fingers along the lines of music. God.

"K-Kinda uh. Kinda funny, really; was stood here feeling all conscious of the fact no one's ever really... I ain't..." Inhale, exhale. She laughs, a little. "Just— it took me until you stepped in here to realise you can't even see me right now, see, so."

In some ways maybe that's a relief for now, one part of this she doesn't have to worry about, but... anyway, Crabb takes another breath.

"Anyway. After, you can borrow something of mine, yeah? Might be shorter but I'm broader, something'll fit."

"Borrow, you say, like the stolen girlfriend shirt isn't a sacred tradition. C'mon, get the water going before I lose my nerve and start trying to cover up. I wanna wash you -"

The redness comes back full force. "Ifthatsoundsgood."

A mostly-formed joking argument that she wouldn't know about any such sacred tradition, would she, dies in the back of her throat and her voice goes up a solid octave or two when she gets out, "Y-Yeah, yeah that sounds uh— good. Lemme— lemme uh. Yeah."

God, at least they're both fumbling right now... with that, she turns around and actually gets the water running.

Erin is. Much quieter without those boots on. She gently lays a hand on Crabb's back, just between her shoulders, and speaks softly.

"It's not too late to change your mind," Erin murmurs. "About this or...anything, actually. And before you start in on me what I'm meaning is like...if anything's ever too much there's no sunk cost, yeah? I can and will stop at your slightest word. Whether it's shower or cuddles or drinking or even, y'know, biting time. You won't hear a word of judgement out of me."

Crabb shivers a little at the touch—there's been so much touch lately, but it's all been hands and faces or through clothes, not like this. She adjusts the water a little to buy herself a second, then turns around. Reaches up to stroke Erin's cheek because that's familiar and it keeps her from getting caught up on how close they're stood now.

"...I know." Low, soft, steady. "Don't worry, Erin, I know. M'nervous but I'm alright, right now. Gets too much and I'll say. Promise."

"Glorious," Erin murmurs warmly. "For now we must face the mortifying ordeal of figuring out if we have even remotely similar water temperature preferences."

She sticks her tongue out, playfully. Takes Crabb's wrist and strokes the back of her girlfriend's hand for a moment. "...I know why I don't like being seen, but I have to admit I'm a bit lost on why you wouldn't want to be, aside from...you know, the general deal with where you're from. Men's loungewear was a hell of a look on you."

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