She had not expected the interruption, not so early in the festivities, but that did not mean it was not strangely welcome to her. She’d offered her room in a moment of spontaneous generosity and then realized the corner she’d backed herself into. She’d meant only to be certain the boy had a place that was somewhat sheltered from the rowdiness to come. She had not meant to interact with him, with anyone. 

But she could not be rude and so she felt a rising panic fill her at the approaching niceties. So the sound of someone slugging someone was like the sweetest music to her. She bolted, happily. That did not mean it went easy on the two engaged so early in fisticuffs. Oh no, to fight and potentially incapacitate on of the Captain’s men en-route to such a critical prey as they were hunting was a grievous error and she would teach them with pain the folly of their ways. It was discipline, business and certainly not because a young boy with large, dark eyes terrified her in ways she could not name. 

Flesh was such a miracle, she reflected as she grasped a limb and twisted, kicking out at his attacker. So frail and yet to resilient. Just the right amount of pressure and you had excruciating pain but damage that would heal in short order. Just a little more pressure and the limb was ruined, beyond fixing. The key was knowing that line. Nicolette had studied that line, not because she liked to give pain but because she hated it and if she had to deliver it, she would do so with ruthless efficiency so that she did not have to do so as often. The man she kicked went down and stayed down clutching himself though she had not actually kicked him there, carefully aiming for a spot on his thigh that would make the muscle cramp and spasm. But the blow was delivered with the message that she was very capable of aiming. His wide eyes as he peered up at her as she dealt with his combatant said he was a believer. The man whose arm she held whimpered and pleaded and in a moment, with no more pressure than she’d applied previously spilled the tale. A simple squabble over a bet and nothing more between two crew-mates who were famous for not getting along. She was certain that these two enjoyed their conflict for all that they couldn’t stay apart. 

Sent to two different sides of the ship like recalcitrant children with jobs that would keep them occupied their fun was ended for the night. She felt satisfied at the swift ease of the discipline until she realized what that meant for her. She swallowed, glanced up to the Crow’s nest and wondered what was keeping the Captain and Jax. But they were not down to halt her return to her cabin, to stop her plunge into niceties. She bit her lip, furrowed her brows and strolled back to the door of her cabin. When she stopped just outside, letting the shadows hide her she told herself it was courtesy that stopped her, she did not want to intrude on their time, not terror and that strange, unsettling terror she felt. She did not want to halt the story that drifted out into the night, audible even over sounds of merriment.