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Jay,
It’s been a while. Hope you’re not dead. You know, I’d be pretty angry with you if you broke that promise.
I’ve been well, I guess. Don’t really know why I’m even writing this part, considering you are never ever going to read this if I have any say in the matter. This whole thing was Caspian’s idea anyways. He said that this would help me be less miserable. And then I said I wasn’t miserable. And then he insisted that I was, in fact, miserable, and pointed to the way I was draped across the floor of the deck, moping. And when I didn’t have a defense to the fact that I was absolutely moping, he did that irritating little head tilt he does when I’ve proven his point. It’s annoying when he’s right.
So now I’m writing about things I miss about you because I’m dumb and stupid and want to stop thinking about you so I can focus on actually important matters.
I think I miss your laugh. It was distinct, more so when you were drunk. It always started slow, especially when you were talking, bubbling forth and pausing right over the precipice. The next wave came in stronger, like you were being swept away in whatever bullshit you were spouting at the moment. You’d always double forward, sometimes you’d bury your face in your hands. I just remember how bright the sound was. It was striking. It cut through the crowd of the pub.
You know, I’ve always hated the way your voice stuck in my head.
It’s just so similar to
It reminds me of someone I used to know.
I think that’s the thing that always catches me up the most about you.
Right. Well. I feel dumb still writing this letter when I told John I was going to meet with him about infiltration plans about 10 minutes ago.
Bye. - LL
(p.s. If this letter ever ends up in your hands, I’m kidnapping Chip and we’re never speaking again)
Jay,
I can’t smell gunpowder or oranges anymore without thinking of you, and it’s really starting to piss me off. I distinctly remember the smell of orange in the soap you used the night we met. I was annoyed by it at first, passed it off as something you got from being a Navy brat. And then I thought it was soap from the inn you were staying at. And then you kept smelling like oranges, long. It was faint, delicate, the scent lingered on your breath and clung to your skin. It was intoxicating, maybe more so than the drinks I had trying to get the taste of citrus out of my mouth.
When we met at Allport, the smell of gunpowder was stronger. It stuck to your clothes this time, and I can still remember catching myself on the twin smears of soot on the right shoulder of your jacket and your left cheek. It wasn’t unpleasant. It really fucking wasn’t. The smell lingered as you clung to me in the bar, arm wrapped around my shoulder. You leaned in, buried your face in the side of my head, and commented something dumb about how soft my curls were and I caught a hint of that orange from the first time we met. I was overwhelmed. You’re overwhelming, I think.
Caspian says it was good for me, having you, but I miss morning markets and target practices that weren’t steeped in the memory of every time you’ve leaned in too close. I miss when I only had one thing to focus on.
I think I might miss you.
- LL
Jay,
How is Chip doing? I can only imagine the trouble he’s dragged you and Gillion into since I last saw you. Hope he’s doing well. Hope you’re doing well.
It always made me happy to see the way the two of you were together. I’d watch your arguments, see the way you clung to each other. You’re fun to watch, that’s for sure. Sometimes when the two of you are arguing, I’d see you get into shoving matches. Never hard (I don’t think either of you are strong enough to do any real damage anyways), but it always made me feel kinda weird. Kinda nostalgic, I guess. I’ve been thinking about it, and watching you and Chip reminds me a lot of when Chip and I were kids.
I don’t know how much he’s told you about growing up on the Midnight Rose, but Chip was a hell of a menace as a kid. He was raised on pranking and causing trouble as much as I was raised on getting shit done and ignoring the trouble he was causing. And we bickered just as much as you guys bicker now.
Maybe I should be writing this in a letter to him. Maybe that would make more sense, but I’m not writing any more of these fucking letters than I want to. X
Hope you’re keeping Chip in check. Hope he’s driving you insane. I think you both need something like that. The war plans are coming along and I don’t think I’m going to have much time for friendly arguments anymore, so you guys have to fill that quota for me, okay?
Best of luck,
- LL
Jay,
This letter is not going to be coherent but it doesn’t MATTER cause you’re not gonna be reading it. So fffffffuck off.
I’m back in Allprt to work on preparations and I managed to stop by the Porthole for some drinks. The taste of the beer there reminds me of you. I don’t know a lot about brewing beers, but it has to be something with the hops or whatever that makes Allport beer taste different. And it reminds me of you. The beers we split the night I wanted to talk to you.
And now I can’t handle the taste of that specific brew anymore without thinking of you, so fuck you for that too, I guess.
I’ve been drinking a little too much lately, so maybe one less spot to get shitfaced at isn’t a bad thing. I just need something to give me my nights back from preparation and dodging the fucking Navy and tense discussions and trying to convince other crews to join in the fight. Some nights I’m really really scared.
I think Caspian can tell I’m trying to distract myself. I miss the taste of the
I don’t remember what the drink is called. Some shit from the Undersea, I think. Dunno.
It tastes good. You might like it.
Sometimes I think about what would have happened if I kissed you during our talk. What it would have tasted like.
I need to go to sleep, I think. Can’t think.
- LL
Jay,
Every night we’ve spent time together, it’s always been really chilly outside.
Maybe it’s the fact that you’re unnaturally warm, I don’t know. Cause you are. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but you literally radiate fucking heat. I asked Chip about it and he said that you’re full human, at least to his knowledge, but regular ass humans aren’t as naturally warm as you are.
I remember the first night we met (if you want to call that meeting), I could literally feel the heat even though we weren’t making contact.
When you leaned against me in that bar, it felt like you were setting me on fire. Maybe that isn’t the right way to describe it. Fuck. It’s more like those first few seconds when you cup your hands over a fire and it’s not painful or burning, but it’s hotter than what you’re used to. I tried to blame it on the alcohol, but every other time we’ve made contact, it’s that same feeling of being pleasantly close to a flame.
I think I could use a little bit of that fire right now, honestly. Plans are going rough. A few crews have said they’re dropping out, that they’re tired of waiting for instructions, and who gave me the authority, and a billion other complaints. I don’t know. I really don’t know what I’m doing, Jay. Things were never simple, but, god, they at least kind of used to make fucking sense. I’m just so lost.
Caspian carried me home last night. I love Caspian a lot, I really do. He deserves a better captain than me. Funnily enough, his skin is super cold. Like, ice cold. It’s nice on hot days, when I can lean against him and feel like I’m not burning alive, but it’s a total opposite from you.
I wonder what it would be like if you carried me home. I hope you get to try someday. Hell, at this point, I’m just hoping I get to see you and your crew again.
You and your warm ass skin and the way you get all giggly when you’re drunk and the way you smell like fucking oranges and the way you just exist and it makes me literally dizzy and I hate you for it but I also like you so much and fuck, I hope you’re still alive.
I’d be really pissed if you weren't.
Yours, in perpetual hope that you never read this dumb emotional bullshit,
Lizzie Lafayette