Play@YSDC

"I guess I should thank you then." Martin smiles while wincing. "I'd have to check my notes for the title, but it was a rare Edgar Allen Poe book. Acacia thought that was why her father was murdered. Head strong one she is. Thinks a woman can do anything a man can. Her and the captain go way back. No wonder he's pissed she left before him."

There is nothing I like more then a good reading, I had done so in the past.
Paul Rucker shudders as he thinks about the books he have stumbled upon and he cannot think that the book Martin is speaking of can be the same.
Have you read it?

"I just remember thinking I'd never heard of it before." Martin says. "But I also thought I remember reading that the one stolen was supposed to be different than the publicly available copy. I could be wrong on that though.

There came a tapping at the infirmary door, followed almost at once by Camille's head as she poked it round the corner. Her wild curls were flat, plastered to her head by ocean spray and sweat, and still bore the shape of her cap. She'd removed it only just a little while ago when she'd gone below decks, and now clutched it behind her back, spinning the ragged trim between her fingers. She opened her mouth, about to speak, then paused, glancing between Martin and Paul Rucker. The lines she'd rehearsed in her head on the way down seeming rather petty and trite now that she was looking down the loaded barrel of a priest. "Ah. Excusez-moi, curé," she said, stalling for time as she thought. "I'd thought to borrow Monsieur LeBlanc, but it seems I must wait in line." She smiled, awkwardly. She hadn't thought anyone would be here, really, least of all-

Right. Seemed the best plan left to her was to retreat as gracefully as possible. "So," she said after a short pause. "I will be brief. Merci bien de votre assistance, Martin. Thank you."

Martin's eyes widened quickly as he smiled. "No, please don't go. I believe the father was just done soothing my soul. Thanks for coming father."

It was my pleasure Martin, we'll complete the talk some other time.
Father Rucker nods and gets up
Miss
He nods to Camille and goes out.

Camille watched Rucker leave, then said without turning her head, "Got something to confess, Martin?" She perched on the bed opposite, and looked up to see him watching her, his face silver and gray in the light that streamed through the porthole. The bandages were rucked up around his ear, enough that a slivered edge of pinkened skin showed. Camille swallowed. She didn't let herself look away, but after the first few seconds she couldn't read enough from his expression to know how he was taking it. Or where to go from here. Her plans had begun and ended with a simple "thank you," and... Well. Petty didn't seem strong enough to cover it, should that be all she had say to the man who'd saved her life, or ungrateful, though she suspected Moore would have had plenty of words, should she ask him. I'd hope you didn't need his other services was no better, and It'd be rather ungentlemanly of you to up and die before I got this out was, ah, perhaps best saved for later. God, she was bad at this.

She shook her head at him, at herself, her expression tight enough to recall the fire. "You didn't have to do that," she said finally, smile gone crooked, like discarded clothing. "...That's what I'm supposed to say right now, or I will, by the time the story goes to print, won't I?" A moment, then, "There's supposed to be a moment when you hesitate, no? In the papers. They are always saying that there is that moment, before the saving, before the damsel," and here her smile quirked up again, having heard some of the conversation between the two men while she'd dithered in the hall, "gets rescued, but... in my experience, there isn't. You just move. That is how you tell the real and truly heroes from the ones we are told to believe in. I do not think you thought at all, sir." A laugh bubbled up through her nose. She wrinkled it, taking the sting from her words. "In the best way."

Martin sat there listening to Camille talk. She seemed nervous and uncomfortable. He could see the discomfort in her face even though she was trying not to show it. He tried a smile. "You are more than welcome Camille. And my only confession to the priest was that I was not quick enough to save both you and me. It is like you say, no thinking just moving. I've found in my profession if you think about things too long, the moment has passed and you've missed it. You must seize the moment, so to speak."
He cleared his throat and brought down the volume after realizing he had gotten a bit excited there. "I am very pleased you came to visit."

When she takes too long, stares a little too deeply at the clench of her fingers, Camille shifted, swallowing, lashes fluttering. It shouldn't have to be this hard, she thought, trying not to look at the angry flush of burned skin she could just about make out if she looked-

She could feel the sigh in the obvious self-flagellation --self-indulgence, more like-- and feel the frown that followed the intake of breath, the slide of lips in the air just behind a sharp French wrist. "Yes, well. I was going to send out for a singing telegram, but as it turns out, your damsel's a bit of a, ah, "skinflint" was the term? Dignity is a rather steep price." White teeth flashed in a brief smile. "You should be grateful I decided to go easy on the infirm. There were going to be flowers. A band. And I believe I heard mention of a clown?"