Human

Captain Amelia Ketil was not a very light sleeper. In fact, if one were to ask her crew, they would say that she could sleep through a hurricane with the ship gone topsy-turvy. But this night, Amelia was not sleeping well. She had not been sleeping much, at all, really. Her current passenger, a tall and quite handsome man, was dangerous, and she knew it. He had made the point quite clear three nights forhence. If his story were true, and he was one to best the mighty Leviathan and live to tell the tale, then, well, what chance could she hope to have against him? But tonight was like the rest since then, and she had just lulled into another anxious sleep when she heard the piano in her study playing a timbre melody. Groggy, she did not think about the song and its sully low tones and sweet harmony. She did not recognize it, even though it was her own piece. She had performed it for only one person, but being as delirious as she was, this fact did not register in her sleep weary brain. She thought it was her sister, Camelia, simply getting some mid-night calm from a nightmare. Heaving herself out of bed and putting on her light coat, she headed out into the hallway.

Coming upon the cracked doorway to her study, she expected to see her sister sitting at the piano, keying away. However, it was not her sister. It was her passenger, and his torso was bare. Remembering what had happened the last time she had checked up on him, she decided to hide just beyond the doorframe. Now, more alert, she recognized the song. It was her song, and she had played it for him on her violin to help him sleep little more than a week before hand. Watching him, she noticed that, in accompaniment to her melody, he had added a harmony. She had never learned to play the piano; that was her sister's talent. But his man was better than her sister. Far better. He had heard the song only once, and he was half asleep to boot, and yet there he was, besting her again at her own game. But she didn't feel furious this time.

She watched him. She'd never seen this side of him, and it was soothing to know he could sit down and do something like this; that he had character. Scowling at the thought of thinking that this despicable man had any redeeming qualities, she felt the blush creep up her face and ears. Why did this psychopath affect her like this? Was it because he was gorgeous? Hardly. She had not taken an interest in men since her younger years; she thought them all pigs, simply because of a few bad examples. While this man, decidedly, was certainly like that...there was something about him. He was damaged. Was it the nurturing nature inside her to want to heal the broken that drew her to this man? These thoughts had been racing through her brain ever since she found him, screaming, from a night terror.

The music stopped.

"Now, I'm not one to complain about being ogled, my dear, I assure you. But you see, I find it quite rude that you have been watching me from the doorway this entire time without saying a word of greeting," he said as he turned around to look at her with his piercing blue eyes.

Coming out from the doorway, she approached him cautiously and said "Well, it is my study," in a bold tone, "and really you are trespassing in it, and I find that to be rude."

Smirking, he got up from the bench, and came towards her.

"Then why not make your presence known? We could have had some fun! In fact," he came closer, "we still could."

"I have told you once, and I will tell you again, Mister Reaver, I am not interested," she said, backing up away from him.

Laughing, he came closer ever more, "Oh, come now, my sweet. Surely you don't mean that."

Continuing to back away from him, Amelia noticed the empty bottles of the cheap wine they picked up when they left port amassed around the piano, all empty. "Have you been drinking?" She felt the wall behind her as she backed up into it.

Without saying anything, he came very close to her. He put his arm against the wall between her and the doorway, blocking her escape route.

"What do you think you are doing?" she asked, unfazed by his close proximity.

"This," and he began to caress her neck with his mouth and tongue rapaciously.

She hit him. Hard. In the face. It hurt her hand to do so, but she was surprised she managed to do it at all. Holding her sore hand, she glared at him. He looked back at her, holding his jaw with his palm, with an astonished look on his face. He then straightened his posture and fixed himself, regaining his composure.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

"Come to your senses, have you?" she spat.

"No, I mean that you did not need to hit me. I was only trying to have a spot of fun," he said with a smug look on his face.

"Well, I don't fancy your type of fun. Now, if you will excuse me I think I will be leaving."

"Why, of course," he said, bowing deeply, mocking her.

"You know what? I hate you. I really do," and she left him in the study, without looking back at him.

What she didn't see was the icy and melancholy look he gave her as she left. Although, after living so long, being hated shouldn't come as a surprise to him. But after all this time, it still hurt when someone said it, no matter how much his façade tried to hide it.

He was, after-all, human once.