Re: The Deck, toward the Bridge
"Christ, you're far from home." The voice came from a woman, leaning along the sides of the deck. Her back to the waves, a soft wind whipped trough dark hair, victory curls at the top of her head standing strong against the breeze, but the loose rest blew back over her shoulders. She wore a red strapless shirt, form fitting and tucked neatly into her tight blue jeans, but she didn't show any signs of being chilled. The tattoos were a different matter.
They crossed both shoulders and presumably down her back, across the delicate lines of her collarbone, down both arms and to her wrists. They shifted and changed, more when the breeze came. The coquettish mermaid on her arm futilely tried to hide under a tattooed rock when the wind blew. The petals and leaves of flowers and trees rustled by her wrists. The tattoos moved even as the woman did, swaying softly along with the bobbing ship. It might have made her dizzy, glancing down at her curious illustrations, if she hadn't been used to their constant movements.
Instead her eyes were locked on the curious man on the deck with her. Her lips curled around a slender cigarette and she breathed in deep, let the smoke wrap warmly against her thoughts. Then she pulled it away to give the cigarette a flick, watching the ash flare brightly before burning to nothing, and blowing it out. Despite her effort to exhale to the side, it blew to the man nonetheless.
"You're not going to find your favorite tree out here anymore," she teased. Her smile glinted as she brought her cigarette back to her mouth, the faint light feebly illuminating a small bit of her face. She found the same lipstick stained edging of her cigarette and inhaled another drag.