ᴡᴇ ᴘɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ, ᴡᴇ (plunder) wrote in crownplazaic, @ 2020-10-24 16:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, killian jones, stanley uris |
Who: Killian & Stan
What: Stan wants to talk
When: The 24th, probably later on in the evening
Where: Out by the boat dock
Warnings: LOL. Uh, no
Status: In progress
Captain Hook had been through a lot, and he would continue to plow through it all here. He'd seen men pulled from ships that were capsizing, men thrown overboard and then caught in the salted, dangerous pull of undertow - all nice and brine-preserved but lacking the distinct flush of life. But somehow, figuring out just what the fuck he was doing here seemed more difficult. Perhaps because he felt old, weary, and an ache in those sea-deprived bones of his. The memory of Emma's betrayal was still a fresh, raw wound on him - those stupid feelings were like lashes of lightning bolts still crackling over his skin. How the fuck could he even begin to face, and deal with, everything? The fact that he was worsening by the day, falling more and more into the Dark One's curse? Regardless, Stanley (and his presence) helped quite a bit. Killian wasn't certain why - perhaps because he was so genuinely good, it made Killian want to try to emulate that. He wasn't perfect, of course, but no one was - but he had sort of a quiet strength about him and could be counted on to simply exist in the same space with Killian without yammering on at a thousand words per minute; he asked questions when he needed to and accepted other things because maybe he sensed the sensitivity of certain subjects. Plus, that curly hair and those eyes were just so aesthetically pleasing, he had to admit. The Captain was outside on the shore again. He'd spent the day working on the boat and fishing, and had stashed supplies near the small-but-hardy vessel, a handmade anchor and such, traps and fishing nets and a rod. Long limbs sprawled in the rowboat itself, and he just laid there looking up at the sky, figuring Stan would show up eventually. |