The good Captain was about as skilled as Ishaan had expected. It was slightly amusing of course, watching her struggle to cut up a couple vegetables into smaller cubes, especially when she had such impressive skills with a sword. However, he supposed cutting people instead of vegetables required a slightly different skill-set. Despite the amusement, he remained patient, though the teasing was just barely kept on the tip of his tongue. He had to remind himself that they weren't friends, not yet anyway, and that joking with his boss on his very first day might not be the best approach to take.
While she was gone, Ishaan completed the finishing touches on the meal. Content with the flavouring after his taste-test, he began to pour the soup back into their bowls. "Just in time," he said quietly, watching as she entered the room, now holding a bottle of pale pink alcohol. It caught him off-guard, but only for a second. Teasing and jokes were not appropriate yet, but dinner and wine was? Maybe he was being too restrictive.
"Absolutely. Special occasion?" Ishaan grinned, walking past her into the mess hall, placing their bowls in the exact same positions they'd been in a little while earlier.
While unscrewing the cork of the wine bottle, Klaire questioned herself about it being a special occasion. It was their first night on the job, that counted as a special occasion, right? In the end she shrugged it off, taking the filled cups with her to the table Ishaan had placed their soups.
"It's just wine. It doesn't need a special occasion." She answered, trying to sound casual and cool about it. They didn't have to make a big deal out of a simple dinner. It didn't matter if it was just the two of them, late at night in a dimly lit room… She realized she was getting nervous all of a sudden. "What did you think of the equipment? Is it suitable?"
That's it, talk about work. What better way to dissolve any tension between them?
If she said it was just wine than that's how Ishaan would see it. Just wine, a hearty meal, and a pleasant conversation. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Suitable?" The man said, excitement taking over his features. "I've never seen such an accurate sextant..." Off he went, describing some of the instruments he'd tested out already in order to map their course to Brimstone. "... and the radial arm? I-" He stopped, suddenly realizing she likely had no idea what he was talking about. "I apologize, yes, everything has surpassed my expectations so far."
He dipped his spoon into his bowl and took a sip. "You haven't tried it yet. Tell me, what do you think of our cooking?"
Klaire had no idea what he was talking about, but his excitement was captivating. She sipped on her wine, only managing to link some of the words to the instruments because of the superficial research she had to do to find it, but having no idea what they were for. She chuckled when he was done talking, dipping her spoon on the hot soup. "Our soup is a little too generous." She said with an eyebrow raised, before softly blowing the spoon and having a taste of it.
Never would she have thought that mixing that many things together in a pan could taste this good. It bared no resemblance to the original despite it serving as a base, and Klaire couldn't help but close her eyes and let out a soft moan as she took another spoonful. "You're an amazing cook and this is the best soup I've ever had." She wasn't kidding. Every spoonful tasted a little different depending on what vegetables got sorted and she ate, a little bit in a hurry, but not too much to the point of being impolite.
Watching intently as she brought a spoonful to her lips, Ishaan couldn't help but to chuckle at her reaction. "You flatter me," the man said, responding to her praise with a mere shrug. With her military background, surely she'd grown up with an upper class income, meaning plenty of talented cooks and the freshest food, right at her fingertips. Their little soup, haphazardly thrown together, simply couldn't compete. Still, he appreciated her words. "So, Byrn. Did you grow up in Costa Duba?" He asked, taking a sip of his wine.
"I did, yes." Klaire answered, halfway through her soup. "Trained in Duranador for a while, got a post in Brimstone but transferred back three years ago. It's hard being away from family." She smiled, taking another sip of wine. "My mom died when I was nine. Father had to travel for work a lot so it was just me, my two brothers and baby sister, I'm the oldest. They're all grown up now, so they don't need me as much anymore." She put down her spoon, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and rested her chin on her palm, fidgeting with the glass with her left hand.
"That's my story, what's yours?" She knew he'd been born in Syathnaes and went to school, but that was about it. Klaire didn't find as hard to look into his eyes now, with the wine melting away her nerves.
She spoke as if that were it. Born into a military family, the eldest of four, motherless, someone who'd been both a caregiver and a solider. Still, Ishaan couldn't complain; yesterday, he'd barely been able to extract her first name. Today, he got a tiny part of her story, whether she realized it or not. He wanted more though.
Once she asked her question, directing the conversation to him, he met her gaze and held it for a couple seconds. Well his story was certainly different than hers, wasn't it?
"I don't remember much about Syathnaes. We left when I was... three? Settled in Goswick for ten years," he said, swallowing another spoonful of soup. "They passed away there, and I somehow managed to find myself in Costa Duba. Met Cilma... and well, the rest is history. I haven't left since."
Another pause, another sip. "It sounds like you and your siblings are close."
It was a vague story, but so was hers. Klaire wanted to know more, but she was happy to accept anything he was willing to give, which wasn't much as he turned the conversation back to her.
"We're not as close anymore, but we used to be. Kris is stationed in Allegria, Kyle is still in training and Kate is engaged to be married. The only Byrn who escaped the military." She finished off her soup, as well as her glass of wine. "Thank you for dinner."
They continued to share details about their lives; innocent, harmless, and occasionally vague details, but details nonetheless. Ishaan spoke briefly about being an only child, about some of the friends he left behind in Costa Duba, people he considered brothers in their own right. He spoke about some of his time in school, and Klaire, very vaguely, shared a thing or two about her training. Eventually, when their glasses and bowls were empty, Klaire thanked him for dinner.
He smiled lazily and piled their bowls together in one hand, taking hold of the glasses in the other. "We should do it again sometime," he replied, dark eyes twinkling with... something. Soon enough, the dinnerware was cleaned, the kitchen left spotless, as if no one had stepped foot inside after the cook had left for the night. They left the mess hall together, walking side by side, towards their respective rooms.
Once he reached the threshold between her room and his, he paused, turning towards her. "Goodnight Klaire," he said gently, tentatively, as if he were afraid of being heard.
The conversation was effortless and fun, and Klaire wouldn’t have noticed she’d been smiling through most of it if her cheeks didn’t hurt from it. She helped him with the dishes despite his insistence in doing so by himself, with the last words he’d said playing on repeat in her mind.
“We should do it again sometime.”
Do what, exactly? Talk? Have dinner, just the two of them? What bothered her about it was that Klaire wasn’t as oblivious as she’d like to think she was, and with the denial stage over, she could finally admit to herself that she was undeniably attracted to Ishaan, and not the kind of attraction she felt when she was younger, when watching from afar felt like enough.
With her heart pounding and a hand that, maybe if she’d had another glass of wine would have reached for his, she walked back to the officers' quarters by Ishaan’s side. She had no idea of how long they’d been talking, but her eyelids were starting to feel heavy and the ship was quiet, informing her everyone else had already gone to bed at that point. If the ship hadn’t been so quiet, perhaps she wouldn’t have heard him whisper her name.
“Goodnight.” She answered, standing like a fool with her wings brushing against the entrance to her room and a hand on the doorknob.
It was dead silent. The ship had gone to sleep, yet somehow, the atmosphere seemed almost electric. With her back towards the door, hand on the door knob, Klaire looked up at him, almost expectantly. The amber glow from the nearby lantern illuminated her face, allowing him to notice how her eyelids hung heavily, how her violet eyes had darkened, and how her lips parted ever so slightly.
Her lips.
He couldn't look away for a second or two, his heart picking up the pace, but only slightly. It didn't race, but rather, seemed to beat harder, as if it were trying to escape from his chest cavity. Ishaan felt as though he was hovering closer, closing the gap, when in reality, he might've taken half a step forward.
Halted by the smallest voice in the back of his head, reminding him that she was his superior. Someone he was supposed to respect and remain professional with. The small voice grew, until reason returned, banishing the feeling that had temporarily clouded his judgement.
Ishaan looked back up to her eyes and felt the corners of his lips raise ever so slightly. "Sleep well." And then he found his hand grasping cool metal, twisting to open the door to his own cabin. He didn't stop until it closed behind him, separating the two, increasing the amount of space between them. A shaky exhale left his lips and he closed his eyes, suddenly wondering what the hell he was doing on this damn ship.
Still in her uniform, Klaire jumped on her bed and covered her face with a pillow, ashamed of her own thoughts and feelings. It was completely inappropriate and unprofessional of her to consider, if only for half a second, to close the distance between them, get on the tip of her toes and kiss Ishaan’s lips. For someone who’d never kissed anyone before she was surprised about how creative her imagination could be. Creative and inappropriate, completely inappropriate.
None of this would be happening if Cilma hadn’t died on her.
She stood up, the tiredness slipping away from her as she paced around the room. With all the chatter she’d forgotten to tell Ishaan that he’d have his first sword fight lesson early in the morning, and now she wondered if it was too late to knock on his door and let him know, or if she’d even be able to deliver the message without doing or saying something she’d later regret. By the time she fell asleep, Klaire had come up with a small set of rules to follow within the next few weeks:
1. Do not be alone with Ishaan until feelings are under control. 2. Do not hold eye contact for longer than five seconds. 3. Do not drink wine.
She woke up the following morning determined to be a better captain. His training had already started at that point, and checking out on how he was doing was a part of her job. After getting ready for the day, Klaire sighed and walked out the door. She just had to stick to the rules and things would work out fine.
A series of loud booms awoke the man, who had finally managed to fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning. The wooden door nearly caved against the force, the hinges whining angrily, keeping the master gunner from entering the cabin.
"Riasos, you have five minutes to report to the deck for training," the voice said steadily. Heavy footsteps followed, gradually growing quieter until the door to the deck slammed shut.
Ishaan stared up at the wooden ceiling, eyes struggling to stay open, unwilling to leave the comfort of his bed just yet. He'd only had a couple hours of sleep within the last two days; that, paired with the excitement of his first day, meant that he was quite fatigued. He'd call it exhaustion if he didn't have to attend training at four in the morning - that would surely come later.
After washing his face and changing his clothes, the man dragged himself to the deck, surprised to find only Rowan. For the first hour and a half, they warmed up and trained together - just the two of them. They used the wooden swords; Rowan beginning with the defensive basics. Offence would come later.
The rest of the crew joined afterward, launching the man into another hour of strength and endurance training. At that point, Ishaan could barely keep up, feet dragging, arms and back throbbing from exhaustion.
---
"Good morning, Captain," Rowan said, gaze temporarily leaving his men to meet Klaire's watchful gaze. "Sleep well?" The master gunner glanced back as the crew completed their push-ups in unison, hands clasped together behind his back.
Klaire was familiar with how demanding Rowan’s training tended to be. She recognized Ishaan amongst the row of sweaty men, but quickly glanced up at the gun master with a light smile on her face and a similar posture to his.
“Well enough. How’s it going so far?”
***
The moment the captain stepped on deck Rob finished his final push up and pulled himself up, arms outstretched on the side of his body like the rest of the crew. The boy by his side had been struggling all morning, and he couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
“Riasos, right? I’m Rob Willow. My brother was assigned to watch your shop.” He was about the same height as Ishaan, but his shoulders were wider and his arms bigger. His strong jaw contrasted with the remaining of his features, delicate and rounded, like the ends of his yellow wings.
"Well enough," Rowan responded, a slight smile appearing across his hard features. Slate grey eyes travelled to land on the man in the last row, light brown back glistening with sweat, arms trembling beneath his weight. He had no doubt in his mind that the Captain was strictly interested in his performance this morning. "He's green, lacking strength and endurance. But he is motivated, disciplined. With time he could make a fine soldier." Time they didn't have. What he could accomplish in two months, between the navigation and anticipated road blocks, would remain a mystery.
---
As the crew finished their final exercises, practically in unison, Ishaan was left to his own accord, extending and lowering his arms for another moment longer - a prolonged torture. As he finished his last push-up, a shadow loomed over him, signalling another presence. The man stood, the muscles in his back and arms practically spasming, gasping for water and relief.
"That's right, Ishaan Riasos," he responded, forcing a polite smile onto his tired face. "Willow, huh? What kind of beer does he like? I told the Captain I'd buy him a case if he didn't touch anything in the shop."