What little conversation they held was strained, and focused on trivial topics of a general nature: a small comment about the rising price of gasoline... a little exchange about a woman wearing a funky hat, and an agreement that the weather was nice for that time of year.As if by mutual agreement, they avoided the topic of the kiss in front of the house the previous evening. That didn’t keep them from glancing nervously at each other when one thought the other wasn’t looking. Anyone watching them. I stared out at the Shilter Strait. I marched to the gangplank, snarling against the pain. I gripped the rope railings, hauling myself up it step-by-step. Snarling in pain, I stumbled onto the deck. An older man stood with a whip in hand, a Halanian man kneeling before him, arms bound to the mast, so ebony and brawny, his back welted, bleeding in spots.“Who in Vedr's gaping cunt are you, lass?” grunted the older man.“You the captain?” I asked, marching forward, raising my chin, matching his. He got in Monica’s Mustang and they headed off towards Sycamore Forest, a subdivision of mini-mansions on the southwest side of the city. Trees bordered the neighborhood, giving it an air of seclusion, and one had to drive a quarter of a mile before seeing the first house. Tim’s house was on the far side of the subdivision. The street dead-ended into a small grassy field, then further on, the trees started again. It was only one of two houses on the street. There were several cars parked all. I showed her which bed was hers, and she put her bag down on it. "So," she said, "this is where I'll be spending the next year." "I hope you don't mind," I said, flashing her another smile. "I don't mind," Ali said back, giving me a smile in return. I let her settle in, and then we walked to the dining hall together, to get some food. Considering it was the week before school, and most people were arriving within the next few days, it was surprisingly empty. We got our food and went and sat.
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