Inane Verbiage

IX

It's a watery world I wake to.

 Literally  - I've never noticed just how wide and alone the ocean could be before. It stretches down into what seems to be an endless dark, while the surface consists of mere reflections of lights and water ripples far above Eros and I. And I know that we're moving, can feel the water pressure changing, yet everything looks the same. I can't tell how fast or slow we're going -

"Good. You're up." A relieved voice comments above me, causing a vibration of water to my left. I recognize it to belong to Eros, mentally noting how different he sounds underwater. More gurgly, deeper, and apparently more impactful as well. It's quite odd.  "You're bloody heavy, you know?"

"What?" That's when I realize that the reason why I'm moving in the first place is because Eros is carrying me bridal style. 

I'm off him in an instance, shrieking. "You pervert!"

 "Hey!" He exclaims, hands raised. "I didn't do anything! You were unconscious and we have a long way to go - I was just trying to save time!" 

I grudgingly admit that he has a point there. I'm about to concede defeat, then I remember just how I realized such a thing in the first place. "I'm not heavy, you ass!"

 Eros even has the audacity to grin at that. "No you're not - or more specifically, I can't tell anyway, since we're underwater and everyone weights nuts here - but it's still bloody hard to swim when you're trying to drag someone along with them."

Another good point. Still. "You could have woken me up nicely."

 He shrugs. "That would've taken out all the fun."

 Great. How brilliant. "You're a horrible, horrible person."

He bows mockingly, his feet treading water. "Thank you."

 A sudden thought stops me in my tracks (mid-swim, anyway). “Oh my god what about Goldbeard’s ship?!” I start to feel sick at that - it had been cannon-bombed to shreds by The Cats (as I’d now started to call them - original, I know) because of me (or my necklace that is), after all. Remembering the screaming crew, I feel like hurling, and have to force myself not to spew the contents of my stomach and into the ocean (because it would only swirl around me, which is gross and disgusting and makes me want to puke even more).

 Eros grins, patting my back (which does not help my nausea) reassuringly. “Don't worry - I’ve already rebuilt their ship, healed their wounds - thankfully no one was dead yet - and sent them home.” 

“…really?” As much as I would (really really really) like to believe him, I can’t shake of the lingering suspicion that he’s just saying that to make me feel better so I won’t slow him down.

 “Of course." He gestures to himself. "God, remember?” As if to prove his point, he snaps his fingers and a compass poofs into view. Apparently gods don't have an inbuilt sense of direction. Huh. 

It's a relief, though, to know that they aren't as omnipotent as they seem to be. (I'm not sure why, however)

That's when I have the oddest sensation of flaps in my neck opening and closing. "What-" 

"Gills, remember?" Eros grins, gesturing at his own slit-covered neck.

 Oh yeah. I'd forgotten about that.

 "I presume you also probably had something to with how I remain exactly where I am when I'm not moving?" 

He shrugs. "Pretty much."