<div class="floatleft">(https://0themastercylinder0.files.wordpress.com/2020/01/740full-sybil-danning-2.jpg?w=384)</div><hr/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 16pt;"><strong>MARTA LINDGREN | 25 | NURSE </strong></span><hr/><br/>A smile came over the stoic Swede's pink lips and she chuckled at her dining companion's request for time and her comment about using their gender as an excuse for tardiness.  That wouldn't normally satisfy Professor Smith but coming from this beauty, it just might.  "Because it pleases you, Miss Ezab," she answered her.  "It can be a fine sight, even if you've seen it before."<br/><br/>If only it wasn't<em>that</em>ship...<br/><br/>Marta's eyes did not watch the ship, but rather lingered on Syssiah.  She was so striking and quite charming as well.  Her presence had made the trip so far much more agreeable than the nurse had expected it to be.  They'd talked far into the night on the crossing and more than once in the days leading up to it.  Of books, of other travels, of many things.  Marta had been thinking of their parting ways with a bit of melancholy and the revelation that she too was journeying to see Professor Smith had delighted her far more than it should have.  Her eyes scanned the Arab woman's face, noting each feature as if she were committing her face to memory.<br/><br/>She pursed her lips then and took a sip of tea.  She must be careful about her feelings towards the dark haired Venus.  It was...not proper, not healthy for those to verge on territory that only a man should feel for her.  Attraction.  Desire.  Or questions that were quite...wrong.  Like how those pretty, painted lips would feel on hers...<br/><br/>Marta flushed and jerked her head away from her study of the raven haired dilettante.  She must not think those things.  That was part of...of her illness.  Wasn't it?  Her eyes swept away only to widen as they fell on a familiar sight that made her stomach feel as though it had dropped out of her and into a pit.<br/><br/>The Vauxhall.  There was no mistaking it for another vehicle.  There was that slight dent on the right front wheel guard where the Professor had nearly run down a vicar trying to get a hand between her thighs.  She felt a surge of fear just at the sight of the car.  How many times had she almost died in that thing?  How many times had she fought off the pawing hands of the man she so admired at other times?<br/><br/>And then she caught sight of the man behind the wheel.  Richard.  Lieutenant Walker.  God, the sight of him so unexpected, when she was already in her thoughts, sent her mind to dark places.  She inhaled sharply and smelled the tin odor of blood in the back of her throat.  Marta closed her eyes and pushed her remaining food away, with a clatter of tableware, fighting back the urge to vomit as the stink of dried blood, shit, piss, the reek of the insides of men clawed at her senses from within her own mind.  Despite her milkmaid complexion, she had gone noticeably pale.  Her chest heaved as her breathing grew more rapid.<br/><br/>Marta gripped the table's edge tightly with both hands, eyes still closed.  Breathe.  Steady.  Use your breath to clear your mind.  Breathe out all the turmoil.  She walked herself through the breathing exercises that Dr. Brockman had taught her.  Her breathing grew more normal, color returning to her face.<br/><br/>She opened her eyes.  The whole episode had taken less than thirty seconds.  Marta released her death grip on the table and reached out with a slightly shaky hand for her glass of water and took a long drink.  Then she sighed.  She could only pray that no one had noticed her...momentary imposition.<br/><br/>She cleared her throat, "It, excuse me, it seems that the Professor may not be willing to wait, Miss Ezab.  That," she pointed to the Vauxhall, "is his car.  The gentleman there is his nephew.  He's been sent to fetch us, I wager.  Professor Smith is not always a patient man."<br/><br/>Marta rose and took a few steps but Richard was already striding with purpose towards the dock and the disembarking passengers of<em>Majestic</em>.  Did he think they had come aboard her?  Surely not, the Professor's letter had found her on the continent and<em>Majestic</em>was a trans-Atlantic ship only.  "Lieutenant Walker!"  She wasn't sure if he could hear her or not over the noise and bustle of the ship's arrival and unloading.  "Lieutenant," she called out again as she waved a hand, "Here, good sir!"  She came to a stop next to the Vauxhall, letting her hand fall to her waist.  Well.  Either way he would be coming back to the car.