Southern Star

Chapter Three: Slipped From Orbit

With one inhale, sharp, painful, and all at once, she came awake. As she opened her eyes, she had the oddest sensation that she'd been holding her breath. And then, just like that, a headache split through her skull. A groan escaped her lips as she sat up, holding her pounding head in sweaty hands.

"Where am I?" yelled Song Lee to no one. She was in a room she didn't recognize, though she could sort of tell that she was on some kind of boat. She had, after all, been raised on boats, whether it was because of a sailing vacation or a Fire Navy voyage with her father.

It was painful, thinking of him, but the intensity of her headache was too great for that emotional pain to overwhelm her this time. Song Lee still had on that too-large shirt stolen from the village over her foul prison clothes, and she was laying on a bed about as comfortable as the overhang she had hidden under after escaping the prison. She smelled awful. And she felt awful. Everything was awful. What was going on?

"Oh," said someone without warning. Their voice was too loud. "You're up."

Song Lee looked at the door, which was open... had it been open before? There was an unfamiliar man standing there. His hair was long, dark, braided, and pulled away from his face, and his eyes were heavy-lidded and seemed to be the color of a midnight sky heavy with clouds. She didn't recognize him at all.

"Where am I?" she asked again.

"My fishing boat. Hiro wanted me to bring you to your aunt. Yan Song Abe, right?"

"Yes," said Song Lee. His voice was still too loud. It made her head hurt more. "Who's Hiro?"

"He's the man that gave you too much sake, that's who. Idiot. Have you ever had any kind of alcohol before?"

"No. How much did I drink?"

"Too much. What's your name?"

"Song Lee. What's yours?"

"Aito. Come on, up y'get. You need a remedy."

"Am I sick?"

"Sure. You're hungover. Same thing."

Aito disappeared from the doorway, leaving it open. There were stairs outside it, leading up to... what? The boat's deck? Song Lee stared after him for a moment, unsure about what to do. She vaguely remembered the bartender who had gone out of his way to make her rice and had given her sake, even though it made her feel close to death. He had probably been directly responsible for keeping her alive long enough to get her to her aunt... and he had booked her safe passage home?

Well, home was subjective and not really the right word to refer to her aunt's house, but it was close enough. It wasn't like she had anywhere else to go.

The bartender's name was Hiro. She could try to remember that, at least. And Aito, too. Neither of them, as far as she could tell, had tried to do anything to take advantage of her. Though, as she inspected herself, she saw that she had ink on her hands. Why did she have ink on her hands? The tips of her fingers were stained black.

Song Lee stood up, and the room tilted far more than what was natural, even for a boat. It was because of her headache. Her... hangover. She steadied herself on the wall before she stumbled up the stairs, holding up her ink-stained hand to block out the weak daylight. The rocking boat forced her to throw her hand against the wall again so that she didn't lose her balance, and she groaned again and squeezed her eyes shut. She felt nauseous.

"Hey," she mumbled. Then, louder, she said, "Hey. Why do I have ink on my hands?"

"Hiro did mention that," said Aito, appearing again to help her up the stairs. His hands were wet, probably from the spray of the sea, and her skin crawled at the contact. She accepted his help nevertheless. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know in just a moment. It's a small boat. I made you some tea. Good for hangovers."