Soulmate AU
I wrote a thing. Please be proud of me.
(Soulmate AU – first touch leaves a mark. Only after a certain age though cos getting a mark when you can’t remember it sounds impractical and also creepy.)
Claudine uncomfortably tugs at the hems of her long gloves – the night is too hot for such a thing and yet, here she is. Dressed up head to toe in heavy fabrics, no skin in sight.
And she’s not the only one, far from it: In fact, most of the people in the party are dressed like this, save for few:
The Captain, of course, and Harry right at her side, as always. They laugh and flaunt their shared soulmarks shamelessly, as if they weren’t an impossible sin.
Villains can’t love, you see. They shouldn‘t at the very least.
And yet, those two don’t seem to care.
Claudine scoffs at that and turns away from them, carefully avoiding as much human contact as she can.
Her eyes turn to Harriet Hook, her first mate’s older sister. She, at least, has the decency to pretend that her soulmark isn’t what it is.
Just a permanent bruise, you see, tainting her knuckles. Just all the fights that she gets to and that get to her, and she has the right hook to prove it.
What a coincidence it matches the weirdly shaped <i>scar</i> on the nose of Anthony Tremaine, isn’t it?
(There is a rumour that Anthony hides another soulmark among the near-permanent dye stains at his hands, too; that the colourful streak in Ginny Gothel’s hair hasn’t always been there.)
Claudine doesn’t listen to rumours, though, she will have you know.
She also thinks this pretence of theirs would work a lot better if they weren’t basically eye fucking in the plain view of the whole deck, but who is she to say?
She scoffs at them and steps aside to avoid knocking over: Uma and Harry had decided to dance, pressed close together and with no regards for anyone who might be standing in their way. Obviously.
„Make room for Jesus,“ she hisses, hopefully not loud enough for them to hear her.
Harry glares daggers at her over Uma’s shoulder for a split-second before inevitably forgetting that anything but Uma exists in this word again, and Claudine shakes her head at that.
She ducks further into the crowd to get away from the dance floor, still carefully not to touch anyone, despite all the layers.
Dancing is a sin, anyway, nevermind the spectacle the two of them are doing of themselves.
She comes to a freer place and shakes out her arms. People, you see.
Then she nods at Desiree and Bonny who are leaning at the railing and passing a bottle between them.
„Lovely to see you too, Claudine,“ says Desiree. Claudine makes a face in return. She did already greet them, so they should just shut up.
Desiree flips her middle finger at her and Bonny laughs; „Join us?“ she says, holding out the flask.
Sure, yeah, join them. That sounds reasonable. Claudine leans on the railing too and carefully takes the flask from Bonny. Their fingers don’t meet for even a second, separated by two pairs of gloves as they are.
„We were just talking ’bout the marks,“ Desiree’s slurring a little already, „Who’ll get theirs next and all that.“
Bonny giggles at her crewmate and Claudine decides that getting a drink counts as an answer. She lifts the flask to her lips.
„’m telling you, Bonny, it’s gonna be you! I mean, you get to touch people all the time!“
„I’m a medic, Desiree! Me touching people usually involves me literally sewing them up!“
„Yes!“ Desi’s giggling intensifies, „Imagine how cool of a mark would that make!“
Bonny rolls her eyes, takes the flask from Claudine, and proceeds to lightly thud Desi on the forehead with the bottom.
„Hey!“
„You deserved that,“ notes Claudine dryly. That’s just what one gets for talking about soulmarks so blatantly.
„Hey!“
„Anyway,“ interrupts Bonny, „It’s gonna be one of the Tremaines, I tell you.“
„How do you know they’re not hiding any marks under the dye already?“ asks Claudine offhandedly. At least something would the horrid dye be good for, then.
„Ooh now there’s a hot take!“
„Hey, you heard about Ginny and Anthony, right? I bet Harriet’s hiding a second soulmark too, I tell you.“
„How much are ya willing to bet?“
„How would you find out anyway?“ Claudine interrupts before the conversation sinks into an outright betting session.
„Oh I–“ Bonny clasps her gloved hand over Desiree’s mouth before she can speak and answers: „I’m a medic. I’d simply take a shift on Hope with Marya, Harriet’s bound to come sooner or later.“
That is… Reasonable answer, actually. And better that anything Desiree was going to say, Claudine is sure.
A whirl of red and gold flies around and Claudine presses further into the railing instinctively: CJ Hook. Hair unbound and gloves nowhere in sight, and honestly, it’s a miracle she didn’t lose her coat yet.
„…Is she old enough for a mark yet?“ asks Desiree, voicing everyone’s thoughts.
„I think so…?“ answers Bonny.
„Pretty sure this is her birthday party,“ adds Claudine, „So, yes. I think.“
Whatever. Time doesn’t really matter on the damned Isle, does it now? A year give or take, they’re all doomed already, so where’s the point.
„Right,“ shrugs Bonny, „Sounds right, yeah.“
Desiree just dissolves into laughter again: „Excuse to party as good as any! Now, gimme that!“ She reaches for the bottle Bonny’s holding.
„Girl, I tell you, if you turn up morning in the infirmary with a killer hangover, I’m not treating you.“
„C’mon, Bonny, you’re more fun than that!“
Claudine ignores her bickering crewmates, looking out into the crowd; looking for black-and-red-and-white, now matter how much she wishes she wouldn’t.
There. On the improvised dance floor, right beneath her cousin’s makeshift podium: Ivy de Vil.
Dancing like there’s no tomorrow and showing off so much skin it should be considered a sin. Claudine looks anyway.
„Ivy de Vil,“ she says, interrupting whatever argument Bonny and Desiree had going on by now.
„What?“
„Ivy’s gonna be the next one with a mark,“ she clarifies. Just – look at her. She’s asking for it, tempting destiny in that daredevil way of hers.
Claudine bites back a sigh and tugs on her gloves; she gets back to bickering with her crewmates and only looks at the dance floor sometimes.
She’s unsure of how much time has passed when Gil appears in front of her.
„Claudine,“ he says, „Dance with me?“
She looks at him blankly, at the hand he held out in front of himself; he’s even wearing gloves now. Borrowed, probably, but still.
„Please?“
„Fine,“ Claudine sighs as she puts her gloved hand in his, „If you insist.“
He beams at her: „I do!“
She lets him lead her towards the dance floor and as they walk away, she hears a badly-whispered: „Hey! What about Gil’s soulmark?“
She thinks Gil only pretends he didn’t hear.
They dance for a bit, her back to the podium and <i>not</i> the crowd, which is nice of Gil, actually, but it also gives her an excellent view on Uma and Harry who apparently decided that the middle of the dance floor is the perfect make-out spot.
Whatever.
It’s their ship anyway.
(It gives her view on the red-and-black-and-white, too, not that she cares.)
Claudine moves so that Gil’s body would block the sigh, and, well, if she sways a little? She’s just dancing, moving to the music.
(She shouldn’t do that either, but oh well.)
She can no longer see Ivy.
It comes as a surprise, then, when the de Vil heiress suddenly drops at them:
„Claudine!“ she greets, kissing her on the cheek. Claudine’s mind freezes.
„Gil! Gil, can I steal your dance partner away a bit?“
To his credit, Gil looks at her for any signs of disapproval or discomfort before he says that, yeah, sure, go ahead. Claudine doesn’t think she’s capable of thinking straight, though, not right now, not after–
She tentatively lifts her hand to her cheek, brushing the fingertip of the glove over the skin.
Ivy’s voice shakes her out of her mind a bit, her accent and „Oh, you’re both such dears,“ and still, she can do nothing but give her her hand and dance with her.
(Pressed close, entirely too close, but does it matter?)
Claudine can’t remember how long she dances when Ivy leaves her, how many songs it was. She just stays standing under the podium, trying to find her in the crowd. No such luck.
No comment from Diego either, that God.
„Dance with me again?“ Gil offers, and Claudine does. More people join them then, forming a circle and taking turns in the middle, and Claudine almost doesn’t mind it at all.
The party ends when CJ sets a house nearby on fire, proclaiming it her birthday surprise and gleefully cackling at the fireworks that go on and on through the cacophony; Claudine decides to leave for the crew’s quarters.
She doesn’t need to hear the older two Hooks and Uma yelling at CJ for lighting up shit at the port up close, thank you for asking.
Besides, the fire’s pretty: She stands just in front of the doors inside, looking at it, transfixed.
„Beautiful, isn’t it? So alluring.“ She hears Ivy say, but when she tears her eyes of the flames, the de Vil is gone again.
(If anything else catches fire tonight, it’ll be written off as CJ’s fault, won’t it?)
But she shakes her head and walks in anyway.
Walking around one of the mirrors scattered around the Revenge, shattered and cloudy as they are, she looks at herself briefly as she passes by. Just- Just because she wants to, you see.
She notices a smear of colour on her cheek: Ivy must have printed her lipstick on her with the kiss.
She wipes it down with her sleeve absentmindedly.
It doesn’t go away.
It doesn’t go away.
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