The Chronicles of Phoenix Bloodheart I: Turning Red

Chapter XXIII: Thirteen

The crew, shaken by their encounter with the Bloodsail Buccaneers, are in need of rest and recuperation.

Falkor, in particular, is exhausted. The boy elf drinks almost two flasks of water following his heroics, plus some fruit and bread, before falling straight back asleep. He looks like he's aged a year. Trixie tucks him in and kisses his forehead, before leaving him with several mana crystals for him to draw from.

Communication is awkward between crew members, but as usual, it is Trixie who steps forward to lighten the mood - and fix the problem. She praises the courage and performance of her crew in a dangerous situation, pride beaming from every pore on her little green face.

"Come on, we'll all feel better after filling our bellies with a drink and some food!" she smiles. "The beef and beer here are incredible."

As the crew walk up deck to follow her, Phoenix stays behind for a moment with Seven, who of course, is unable to show his face outside. The same goes for Django, whose kind has a bad history with the humans. He is lying in his hammock in the room next to Phoenix and Seven, facing up at the ceiling, having snorted a line of white powder to help him feel good after such an intense, frightening experience.

Phoenix and Seven stand awkwardly next to one another outside the sleeping quarters for a moment, Phoenix eventually leaning in slightly towards him. She raises her arms and the pair embrace. Phoenix turns her head and rests it on his chest, closing her eyes, as he closes his. She can hear the strong pulse of his heartbeat and is so glad to hear it, keeping him alive and well, after their ordeal.

Their brush with death had reminded them of their feelings for one another, and neither wanted another moment like it, though knew it was probably likely.

After a minute or so, Phoenix utters the words, quietly: "Nice shot..."

"Nice firing," he responds.

"It was all me, to be fair..." Phoenix jokes.

Seven lets out a muffled laugh, the deepness of it vibrating through his chest and the side of Phoenix's face, who is still hugging him tight, her head leaning on his chest.

"Admit it," she jokes, pulling away from him to face him, eye to eye. "You were shitting yourself."

Seven screws his face up, wounded. "I was not!" he responds. "I was ready to fight."

Phoenix laughs. "I saw your face when the ship was about to smash into ours."

"And I saw yours - you were the one shitting yourself!" Seven chuckles.

Phoenix smirks, trying to throw another jab back at him. "What about your face before the cannon fired."

She thinks back. It was a face that was determined, not scared. Phoenix was the one that was terrified. She realises her teasing has no truth to it and changes the tone of the conversation.

"You were scared of what they might do to me," Phoenix says seriously.

Seven looks away bashfully. Phoenix loves him for it. How can a 'monster' so big and strong be so sensitive and shy?

He says, quietly, facing the door next to him: "And what is wrong with that?"

"Nothing," she whispers.

The air between them grows a little awkward so Phoenix reverts to banter once again, slapping his arm like a good friend.

"I'll bring you something tasty back," she says. "What would you like?"

Seven turns to her and grins. "Now you're talking my language. Bring me anything - something meaty perhaps - just make sure there's lots of it."

"I'll bring so much you won't be able to move," she smiles.