Four Suits (Book 1)

Day 44-1: Concentration

DAY 44-1: CONCENTRATION

       If she listens close enough, she can hear the creaks the ship emits as it rocks back and forth. Even as she lies alone in her cot, the darkness within the cabin continues to churn her insides. She'd have thought it'd be different, gaining the luxuries she's always envied just by waking up in an alternate dimension and savouring every last bit of it regardless of the surreality.

       Though, with a dilapidated roof above her and tattered bedsheets, it's unfamiliar. Unsettling. She can't bring herself to rest. Not when this kind of darkness only brings on those ghastly nightmares.

        Leda tiptoes through the halls as quietly as she can, past the cabins Ro and Orian reside in. The bridge of the ship still has its butterfly lights flickered on, notifying her that Nixon is still up at this ungodly hour. Her nerves bundle. She gently utilizes the tips of her toes like a ballerina would to slip by, silent as a mouse. It's after she makes it safely past the door that she hears snores. He must've dozed off after all.

Trusting it'll be all right (he is the captain at the moment) Leda doesn't stick around a second longer. On her way to the main deck, she makes a pit stop by the cellars. There isn't much to offer in this well-kept room but before they'd departed Nixon had given her permission to grab a drink whenever she pleased. She shouldn't have been too surprised by the notion—this is Annadia, after all. Having only grazed the surface of this realm, it shouldn't be naive thinking their wine will be off the charts as well.

The air is refreshing as she steps onto the deck, but also chilling. She suppresses a shiver, staring out into the fog that has curled through. Even with the bitten moon above and its midnight tinge blurred in the most fantastical way, it's calming. The only lacklustre thing is the lack of stars to go with it. Nonetheless, that doesn't stop Leda from settling into one of the nearby chairs. After popping the cork and filling her glass, she tilts the delicious drink down her throat.

Her fingers twitch around the bottle in her fingers, her mind roaming and bubbling as she drinks some more.

         "I'd suggest cutting back on your... drinking and gambling habits, Miss Jenson. You know very well you don't have much longer left. And frankly, you shouldn't be wasting your excess money on anything except proper cures and remedies..."

          "I can barely steal enough to feed myself," she'd scoffed in his face. "'Cure,' my ass. There isn't a proven one. Besides, you know damn well I can't pay for something as expensive as a surgery or therapy anyway."

          "Nevertheless, cancer can't just go away, Miss Jenson. Day after day your cells are deteriorating until finally you won't be able to—"

        "When I die, I'll die," she'd asserted, ignoring the sting that came with it. "Sickness and famish—capitalism and this damn social hierarchy—it's already taken away everyone I care for. What gives you the right to tell me I'm the only one who has to be spared?"

        She drowns the memories—emotions—with another reassuring gulp. Considering Rhett brought her back to life, did that magically erase the illness she was fighting too? No matter how painful it was getting by, drowning herself in unhealthy traditions left and right, it never mattered squat to her so she'd forgotten to ask.

        This 'peppered plague' going through Edaps is even more unforgiving than cancer. And though there's no evidence of something wrong with Ro, she knows the naive her from back then—the one who'd cry herself to sleep wanting no more than to live even a little bit longer—understands that's not the case.