Chapter Text
She runs to the safest part of the ship - her bedroom. For Amber, having a place of your own was something strange. The Shithouse was her childhood home, as much as anything could be, but privacy was not something that it was built for. She grew up in the corners of rooms, the shadows of trees, away away away from everyone and everything. Perhaps this is why she paid so much for such a small space, a small space of her own.
She stumbles into the room, spotting Urchin with her magazine. They make brief eye contact before she lurches toward the bathroom, a wave of nausea strong and insistent at the back of her throat. She watches as he scurries up the wall just as she makes it to the toilet.
She sits until there’s nothing left until she is dry heaving nothing but bile and her own spit. Exhaustion sits on her shoulders in a way it hasn’t in years. This isn’t the first time she’s almost drowned, and she doubts it will be the last, but she had forgotten just how - just how awful it was. She gags again at the thought but forces herself up.
She is an adult, she reminds herself, and she can take care of herself. Even if she doesn’t want to. Cupping her hand under the water faucet, she drinks. She spits some back out, trying to clear the taste of bile, but it still sits heavy on her tongue.
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Her hair is long, thick, and salt wavy. Amber is nineteen, and already her arms are strong and her hands calloused. She is short and lithe, thin and strong in a way that speaks to her upbringing: constantly working and continuously underfed. Most of them are.
She is standing on the deck of a cheap boat, and she watches as Ol’ Joshy directs crewmen. It’s late fall, winter if she was being truthful, and the air is cool and damp. This isn’t her first time this far out in the sea, but it is still frightening. She cannot envision a time when she’ll live down there, and yet they must try anyway. Her hand tightens on the wooden spire at the end of the ship, and she looks over the edge.
There are Blinksharks down there, she thinks. There are, surely, many other things she can’t even fathom down there. Goosebumps rise on her arm and she flinches as a particularly strong wave hits the side of the boat. It spits water at her from the edge, and she watches it cling to her suntanned skin before wiping it off.
She turns without looking behind her, words at the tip of her tongue, something witty and biting to say to Joshy, but there is a strong wave to her right. The ship tilts, and as she turns, she loses her balance.
She reaches blindly to catch herself, but can’t.
It’s cold, is her first thought. Too cold is her second thought, and for a moment, she is shellshocked and sinking. Sinking fast into the ocean, which is someday supposed to be home. She gasps, water filling her lungs, and suddenly she’s in the dark. The sea is all around her and there is no up and no down. Her lungs burn.
A moment passes, maybe two, then a hand on her shoulder. A bright light shines through the darkness and someone is screaming. Devo is screaming, she realizes, a sickening sound and visual this far underwater. Devo, who shouldn’t be here, who shouldn’t even be alive yet.
Devo who can’t swim, and yet still came after her.
She feels the sting of magic, as air fills her lungs and as her bruises and cuts mend.
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Amber wakes up, though she doesn’t remember falling asleep. Her face feels dirty in that way that only happens when you go to bed upset and tired. She scrubs at it with her hands and sees that she is still in Amber’s Place.
She remembers now walking back into the room, sitting cross-legged on her bed, and staring at the wall. She must’ve fallen asleep, she thinks. There is a yell from down the hall, and then she’s back at it. Back to what she knows.