<img alt="" src="http://i60.tinypic.com/2eb7ep3.png" style="float:left; padding:6px;"/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">“So, how was the experience, Captain Wojcik?”<br/><br/>As soon as he stepped within reach of her again, her back stiffened and she reminded herself who it was hosting her.  He reached for the wheel and she watched his ghost of a hand, floating without a body in her periphery, fall near her own, his grip strong and assured, but somehow also gentle, both particularly aware how close their appendages were.  And much more as he leaned in to whisper in her ear on the same side.<br/><br/>“You can tell me about it over dinner, where do you wish to have it?”<br/><br/>His breath warmed the back of her neck as the cold ocean breeze swirled through the open doors and across her legs, the hose there, though darker than her skin, no guard against its chill.  As the temperatures mixed message in her neural network, her skin reacted to the cold with a sprouting of gooseflesh across her shoulders and her a relief of sweat proceeded only to make her colder and more aware of the heat from his own body.  The shiver that swept through her was a pleasurable one, and that was exactly why she reacted the way she did.<br/><br/>“On a plate,” she told him, bumping him without ceremony as she spun out of the circle of his arms.  It was short, it was abrupt, but it was honest and, hopefully, got the message across: Commander Yvonne Wojcik of the Polish Women’s Battalion was no conquest.<br/><br/>Whether he understood or not, she decided to cover her statement.  “I mean, where else would you have it?”  She laughed with more energy than she had at that moment, swallowing hard on her dry throat shortly thereafter, uncertain whether her nervousness was that obvious or why it even existed.  <br/><br/>Leaning her weight on her left foot, she turned away from the man what was making her act so, and swayed over to the table, her manner more like a girl-child than either the soldier or enigma she had played for him before, practically skipping on her journey.  Dehydration could make one behave strangely, she told herself, downing one glass only to refill it and begin again.  Her nerves simply needed moistening for their own sake, not due to any ridiculous… temptation of the flesh!  Oh, what an infuriating man, this sinner, but even he might be able to one day redeem himself; he had good qualities in his sense of duty and family, and his sense to lead the crew of this ship, plus his courage to accept her request in saving the people below deck, which likely pointed toward a not-wholly- corrupt moral compass.  <br/><br/>That thought made her relax, more than the woman was prepared to admit, and her smile eased with sincerity.  “How long until supper, may I ask?” <br/><br/>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br/><br/><br/>Yvonne turned to set her glass gently back on the table, but worried about the condensation that had formed on its exterior, that it might mar the beautiful tablecloth.  She picked-up the napkin, carefully spilling the dinnerware wrapped in its particular fold she could never duplicate, and arranged the utensils perfectly amongst the rest, fixing the rest of the damage she had done.  The commander was not one to leave things out of place, rarely to put them that way except, like now, as a way of measuring those around her or at least throwing theirs off of her.  Unfortunately, she would be required to sit at this table for the span of an hour if not more; it wouldn’t do her any good then.  So she straightened it.<br/><br/>Again, in the attempt to cover her actions, she started speaking to the man, using the cloth to wipe down the glass as distraction.<br/><br/>“A better question yet,” she said, her eyes never leaving the glass, “would you pray with me over the meal?” <br/><br/> A particular drop hung over the lip of the crystal and she watched it intently as she waited for his answer.  It slid from the cliff edge, slowly at first, gaining speed as it did weight along the paths of previous dew, darting one direction then another, but always running eventually down.  She held it up to the sherbert light, watching as the rays colored the many cuts in the interior design and bent through the little orb.  It did nothing to slow the precipitous object, but as she turned the cup this way and that, it was forced to adjust.  Spin left, it continued on its downward path, same right, but if she tilted the end up even slightly, her chin with, it slowed and moved for the easiest escape around the curve, ever headed for an impending doom at the glass’s end, whether it fell for eternity to whatever lay below - the table, a floorboard, her dress or foot, simply anything that got in the way - or was crushed between the supportive glass and tabletop, absorbed into the fabric covering until the sun or wind took pity on the broken thing and evaporated it into their ranks.<br/><br/>A stray strand of light reflected out from a rogue cut and blinded her a moment.  The light never burned her and her lids barely flinched, pupils all but dilating.  It fascinated the half-angel.  However, it was a reminder, and she lowered her hand, the glass with it, leaving the drop to feed on its kind and finally fall.  She looked over at the captain expression curiously blank, awaiting his response.<br/><br/>Her toes got <span style="font-style: italic">wet</span>.<br/><br/></span><br/><br/><img alt="" src="http://i57.tinypic.com/s6ummo.png" style="float:right; padding:6px;"/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">“On a plate” She had responded.<br/><br/>Luciano's gaze ascended to her deliciously curvy, toned frame and a smile found way to his face as he gave her enough space to slither away, although the space he had given her was certainly not enough for she bumped her way out, almost had to squeezing her path out to freedom. That alone would have had much to say about the space this man was affording to give her. Her escape out of the cell was honest and if it had to get any message across, it certainly did. One other look into his eyes would have spoken enough of his intent as well. The man on the other hand meant her no ill nor was he attempting to keep her locked within the comfort many women have craved in the past, and would have again were they given the chance to...<br/><br/>Would he allow them to.<br/><br/>As she placed a remarkable distance between them, returning to what would become their dinner table if only the cooks were a little bit quicker serving them their meal, Luciano took one last glimpse at the fading sun but something drew his attention quickly to the front deck of the boat. His head tipped forward and his eyes narrowed as the presence down near the bow of the ship seemed to have its head turned towards the windows of the wheel room, as if this one presence was staring back at him, or them, the whole time. Shielding his eyes from the dying lights, Luciano captured the masculine form more clearly as he was now able to distinguish the white paint circling the eyes of this man from the darkened complexion of the skin. His face was also tattooed with broad stripes of yellow and red paint drawn down the cheeks. Although standing at a great distance, he could see him almost clearly. The bold outfit would have had a frightening effect on any passenger. Now if one was to look closer, they would see this man dressed in skins of leopard and coyote; an outfit decorated with feathers of birds, dried fibres and leaves, adorned of crocodile teeth, small tinkling bells and rattling seedpods.<br/><br/>The wild appearance of this strange passenger left Luciano perplex for a moment and his jaw clenched as the stranger looked away and existed the bow of the ship. He almost reminded him of those witch doctors, spiritual consultants perhaps in the darkest corners of the veldt, walking amongst corpses of deceased warriors, scattered through a paradise of bearing grass.<br/><br/>“How long until supper, may I ask?”<br/><br/>A shiver coursed through his body as he turned his attention back to the dame. Her olives plunged into his stormy ones as he joined her at the table. “Forgive my cooks, I am not so sure what took them so long.” After he had taken a seat, Luciano pushed his utensils and plates to the side still a little bit disturbed by the strange man's presence. His back to the windows, this one Yvonne was the one to spread the light into his being as she mirrored the reflection with the sincerity in her smile, a smile encrusted with purity untold.<br/><br/>Oh the man could feel it, he simply knew.<br/><br/>“But ... my cooks will not displease you, Señorita. We have some of the finest on this ship,” he smiled at her and momentarily lowered his eyes to the table. He unbuttoned his white jacket before removing it and placing it around on his chair. “-and for dinner we shall have some authentic Italian cuisine and our meals shall exemplify the essence of Tuscany, my Dear.” Luciano smirked and cocked his head to the side. He had a lot to speak to her about; the Jews, Darcy and his brother’s assassination, but he found himself instead watching the female as she absently seemed to study her glass and one particular drop which hung from the tip of the crystal. As the drop slid from the cliff's edge, something in combination with the way this prude dame seemed so abundantly focused on studying the drop stirred something domineering within the man, a sensation calling upon the dormant aggressiveness of his being, as that same drop of water continued its downward journey along the surface of the glass. <br/><br/>In that moment lost in time, he surveyed her mouth as she tilted her chin, the glass with it. He drew in a deep breath, almost hungry and painful, and his chest skipped a few beats. When she looked back at him, taking him by surprise from the tidal waves of an awakening, animalistic aroused state, Luciano stared back at the curiously blank expression she was sporting for a second or two. His slightly parted lips quivered before speaking again in his raspy, slow yet direct tone of voice resuming what he wanted to say, just as two waiters walked in with their meals. “So, a prayer is definitely in order, to thank Him for his bounty through Christ our Lord.”<br/><br/>With his left arm now on the table, Luciano reached out to Yvonne's hand with his digits and his fingers lightly curved around her forefinger and thumb, requesting a union of their hands for the prayer. He cleared his throat and lowered his head, straightening his back. “Father of us all...” He began, eyes locked on Her face from under light-brown brows; his admirable self-control chasing away the distracting, tingling warmth deep in his core that she befell him with.</span>