The woman who opened the door to the cabin upon the Captain’s knock was a vastly different creature than the one who had stormed past. She had slammed the door and stood shaking on the other side for exactly one minute. One minute counted in heartbeats as she allowed herself to feel all that had weighed down upon her since she’d begun that cursed card game. Then the minute up, the indulgence over she took every shred of emotion and jammed it down deep inside her, pushing it to the darkest depths of her soul where things she did not want went and they did not come back. Or did not come back often. She had slip ups, clearly, but so far her methods had worked.

Control, it was everything and once she felt that she might have it again she began to divest herself of her sodden wet clothing. She did not want them, they were a reminder of all that she had just pushed away. Bare, she padded to the small window over her bunk, a true luxury and forced the clothing through it with a grunt of effort. She heard the wet splash of it landing in the water and nodded as if that was that. Physical evidence of her mistakes gone she set about wresting control back before she left to go see the captain. 

So when the knock came at her door her hair, though not dry in the short time that had passed, was smoothed out and pulled tight into a knot on the back of her head which made her soft, sculpted features even more prominent, more perfect but for the scar that marred them. An insult to perfection there was no hiding it, no attempts to hide it. Her dress what different too. Whereas before she wore stained, wet and torn clothing she now wore sturdy, correct clothing in a military style. Black coat, black vest over a white shirt with a high collar. The pants that she wore would have displayed her backside well were it not for the length of the coat which hid the swell of her hips as well. Those too were black, all of which made the gold of her skin more prominent and the blue of her eyes more startling. 

Cold blue eyes which regarded the captain frankly, her mouth in a firm, expressionless line. She was all stiffness and control again. A change of clothing was her armor and she felt ready for battle, ready to prove to herself that she was in control of her life and of her fate. One night filled with a string of mistakes was unfortunate, but it would not set her off course, helmsman or not. 

“Captain.” She said and bowed her head correctly. “I was just getting ready to come see you. I had not forgotten your request.”

She gestured to the table where she had tended to Jax’s hand and waited for him to take his pick of seats as was his right. She left the door open. She needed the light, the air, and with Jax’s parting words still sore despite their repression, needed the proof that she was no longer a whore that an open door provided. She followed him to the table and took the chair he did not, fluffing her coat out around her like a lady would her formal skirts, the gesture so automatic she didn’t even register that she’d done it. 

“What is it you wished to speak to me of?” she asked, her honeyed voice painfully correct and tight. It pleased her to hear the control in it. To her it sounded like music, carefully crafted and precise. To others it might sound tight, strained, worried. Her perfect brow furrowed and her nostrils flared like a well bred mare scenting the breeze. 

“I smell Gobo.” She muttered absently and then looked to him eyes narrowed, back stiff at the implied insult of him seeking help elsewhere though she struggled to keep it off of her face. “Are you hurt, Captain?