What was with the change in his demeanor? He was suddenly being nice to her, and while she wanted to trust him, she didn't feel she could. Was this all a ruse to gain her trust only to destroy her? That wouldn't surprise her at this point. She wondered when she had become so cynical, she had never before thought so badly of people.

She would take whatever kindness she could get at this point. When he left her on her own she hurried and stood against the door, not wanting anyone to burst in while she was less than presentable. It was a struggle for her reach behind her and undo the buttons, people normally dressed her. She managed to get a few of the pearl buttons at the top undone, it wasn't much she but could wiggle and work it down her shoulders. Her chest gave enough to even slip the fabric over that, but her hips were another store. Frustrated she stomped her slippered foot and pushed on the layers of fabric.

What could she do? She wasn't about to ask for help. As she shifted the fabric she realized it would turn, and she managed to turn the entire dress around enough to undo a few more buttons and squeeze out of it. The layers of fabrics dropped to a heap on the floor and she pushed them aside, wanting nothing more than to throw the filthy dress overboard. Petticoats followed and soon she was only in her linen shift. It had been warm on the ship so she had resorted to the thinner shifts, at which point she regretted because she felt totally exposed.

Worried that the captain could return at anytime she hurried and dove into the bed, pulling the covers up to her neck. It felt strange, being in a man's bed, but she wasn't about to sleep on the floor. It smelled strange, not bad, but just... different. The bed wasn't very soft, but it would have to do. Already she felt tired and rested her head, closing her eyes.

===

Gerard had woken up a few times, but hadn't been able to stay conscience for long. A sweat had broken out on his forehead, which he knew wasn't a good thing but Ariel was off gathering supplies and he couldn't leave his bed. Hopefully she returned soon, with some ale. Didn't a fever usually mean an infection? Oh, he hoped not, a filthy ship was not a good place to deal with an infection.

The room seemed to be spinning, and all the food he had scarfed down threatened to come up a few times, but he held back. No, he wasn't about to be sick all over his cabin, not when he was in no condition to clean it up. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, it came away damp and he groaned. Where was the girl? She better not have run off. It'd be a foolish thing to do, considering he was her best bet at survival.

In one of his more lucid moments he tried to kick his boots off, struggling to reach the laces without putting too much strain on his chest. It wasn't going well. "Fuckin' hell." He grumbled to himself, his fingers not working to undo the laces.