Woman Overboard

Chapter 10 : Wrong (3)

Jaiye

August 27th, 1820

(10:02 AM)

Whenever Jaiye got to feeling bad about his own face, he just sat up and looked across the room at Chris.

Ah, poor man. He had taken the brunt of the attack. Never again would his grin make a heart flutter, nor would artists watch him pass and think of what a wonderfully sculpted face he had. Now, he would be nothing short of unsightly.

Seeing this made Jaiye feel a bit less hopeless. At least his face was rectifiable. Abigail had promised that this cornea was only scratched -- he could take off the eye patch in two weeks or so. But there would be a scar.

He didn't consider himself particularly vain, but the idea of being permanently disfigured on such a prominent facial feature as his eye made him uncomfortable. It proved that this fight, this journey, this crew had changed him, for better or for worse. He could no longer pretend to be who he had been, coming into this.

Well. At least he wasn't Chris.

Lying back down for more Abigail-prescribed rest, he caught sight of someone entering the infirmary. Captain Broderick looked so different, Jaiye only recognized her because she was the only white woman onboard. Her usual challenging stride was replaced by a limp as she leaned on her cane to propel herself. Instead of her usual wound-up bun, she wore her hair in a long braid that snaked down her back all the way down to her waist. And she didn't scowl -- her face, coated with sweat, was crumpled into a pained frown that Jaiye had never seen on her before.

He wondered what she was doing there. Then, she met his eye and waved with her free hand. Delightfully surprised, Jaiye waved back.

In the cot beside Christopher slept Edward, Aless's first in command and, according to some cheap gossip, her lover. Jaiye expected her to look away from his and veer toward him, but she did not. Instead, Aless hobbled over to his bed and turned over the bucket he was supposed to vomit in over to use as a seat.

She laid the cane at her feet, taking a moment to recover from the walk. Her face white as a sheet, she reminded him of a candle, waxy and melting. After a second, she said, "Nice glasses."

Jaiye allowed himself to chuckle. Abigail had configured for him a black band that wrapped around both of his eyes, concealing his vision completely. He was supposed to wear it on both so it didn't "screw around with things", but he had taken to only covering the offended eye. However, spotting Abigail bustling by, he yanked his "glasses" back down.

"Thanks," he said. "Real fashion'ble, but they ain't workin' too well. Where you be?"

He meant it as a joke but felt Aless's hand on his arm anyway. "Right here," she said.

In a way, her warmth reassured him. Although he might not see it, the world still went on. "What're ye doin' here, anyhow? You wasn't lookin' too well."

"I should be in bed," Aless agreed. "But I thought I'd rather talk to you, if that's alright."

Jaiye felt a quick surge of flattered glee shoot through his veins. "Well, good," he said. "I been getting' pretty bored in here."

He felt Aless's fingers graze the bandages on his forearm. "It seems like everyone is hurt," she observed.

"Yeah," Jaiye said. "Even Abigail, and y'know she don' get hurt." He glanced around for his friend, who he found in the corner of the room, cleaning a wound on a white man's chest.

Abigail was the toughest of the tough, Jaiye had learned, when she limped into the infirmary, collapsed into the cot next to him with a paper knife in one hand and a wad of bandages in the other, cried for a good minute, and then proceeded to dig two musket balls out of her own skin. Jaiye had never seen anything so gruesomely awesome in his life. The amount of blood and the noises of agony she made appalled him, but he couldn't look away.