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The night air on the empty upper deck is cold and crisp.
Vigil stands with his back to the door, elbows resting on the railing, looking up at the night sky. He looks less like a simple citizen or soon-to-be-mayor and more like the mafia prince he’d tried to bury - hair a mess from the wind, shoulders hunched, tie loosened, holding a single cigarette between two fingers. He exhales a thin trail of smoke into the night. He doesn't particularly like to smoke, and he won't call it a tranquilizer, either. However, there are times when he even feels the urge to smoke. When the silence of the office becomes too loud, or when the politics and his own churning heart become a knot he can't untie, the smoke filling his lungs offers a bit of a solace.
For him, it's the familiar smell of home, even if home is a place he wants to burn down.
If Lavinia sees him like this, she'd be miffed. Whenever she caught him smoking, she'd say things like, "It's not good for your health," which he can't really refute. She is strict with herself, and even more so with others, after all. He understands the importance of a healthy lifestyle - as much as he tries to avoid her lectures about his unbalanced diet - but he can't help himself sometimes.
She has her alcohol, can't I have a smoke sometimes? He grumbles to himself.
Here in Rhodes Island, however, there is no one to nag him over such trivial matters. Lest the more nagging medics find out. He just has to keep it a secret, and he's good at it.
Suddenly, the door to the upper deck creaks open.
"Oh my."
That voice. That annoying voice. Vigil jumps, nearly dropping the cigarette over the edge. He doesn't even have to turn around to know who it is. The air suddenly shifts, the acrid scent of tobacco being smothered by a wave of sweet, intoxicating nectar and crushed lily. Other than Lavinia and the medics, there is one other person he doesn't want to catch him like this. Not because of the nagging, but because of something else.
"Well, well." A very annoying smile curls Dr. Hana's lips. Her long blond hair and long white nightgown sway in the wind. In the darkness of the night, she seems to shine. Just a bit. "This is a surprise. For someone who nags me about my 'unhealthy' sleeping habits, I did not expect you to fancy carbon monoxide, Vigil."
Out of all people, it just had to be her to find him like this. He can only curse his bad luck. Or her good luck. "Doctor," Vigil coughs, hurriedly trying to crush the ember against the railing and failing. "I...it’s not what it looks like. I was just-"
"And yet, here I see smoke. From your lips. Very poetic. Very incriminating." She drifts toward him, not stopping until she's just inches away, trapping him between her body and the railings. She huffs the strong lingering smell of the cigarette.
"Very 'brooding anti-hero' of you," she teases, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Is this the 'underhanded business' you inherited? A penchant for expensive lung damage?"
Vigil looks away, his ears lying flat on his head. "It’s a habit. A bad one. It...it helps me think when the manifests don't make sense. And when certain people," he shoots her a pointed look, "Refuse to stop napping on my desk."
"Aww, am I the reason you’re poisoning yourself?" Dr. Hana steps closer, her hand sliding up his chest to rest over his racing heart. Her pheromones flares - warm, floral, and deeply soothing. "And here I thought I was the only thing you were addicted to."
His breath hitches. He wants to deny it and say, "Who is addicted to you?! I'm not!", but the words die on his throat. After coughing, he can only let out a sheepish, "What are you doing out here?"
"In this beautiful night, I thought I’d get some nice, cold air. Or perhaps..." She shrugs, then looks straight into his eyes, "...Catch someone in a moment of vulnerability."
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply. They stand in silence for a moment, the cigarette burning quietly between his fingers, the smoke floating into the night air. Dr. Hana stares at him - or maybe at the flickering smoke and fire.
"You said underhanded business is no trouble for you," she eventually says.
He looks at her incredulously. "And what about it?"
"Surely you can bribe me to keep this between us?" She asks with a lopsided grin. "Unless...you want her to find out?"
Ah. Of course. She would turn this into a negotiation.
This is not the first time she’s caught him in mildly incriminating behavior - none of it serious, just enough to make him squirm, and enough to entertain her. Last time, it was hiding him from Penance who was searching high and low to lecture him about his unbalanced diet. Of course it came at a cost. Of course.
In that way, they're like partners in crime.
Sighing, he checks the rest of the deck one last time to ensure no one is witnessing his downfall. "Fine. What is it? A new set of knives? A rare venom?"
"One cigarette. And light it up for me."
He raises his eyebrows. "I didn't know you smoke."
She smiles. "I don't."
"Then you shouldn't-"
"I should be keeping your secrets," she reminds him with a sharp, charming wink. "Now. Be a gentleman. Light it for me?"
Vigil grumbles something under his breath about 'bad influences,' but he doesn't pull away. He takes out a cigarette and hands it over to her. Tucking strands of hair behind her ear, she leans forward, taking it with her mouth, her lips almost brushing his fingers.
Too close. Way too close.
Something skips inside his chest - a hitch in his breath, gone as quickly as it came, but undeniable. His fingers curl inward the moment she pulls back, as if the ghost of that contact lingers.
Trying to shake it off, he turns away too quickly - fumbling slightly with the lighter in his pocket. He curses under his breath, almost dropping it, then flicks it to life with a sharp clink. The small flame wavers in the breeze, but he shields it with one hand, reaching out to light the cigarette now resting between her lips. As the cigarette tip catches fire, Vigil finds himself staring. He's so close he can smell something floral clinging to her, mixing with the first sharp tang of the smoke in a dizzying combination. His hand hovers near her face, trembling just a fraction of a millimeter.
She takes a slow deliberate drag, then exhales a thin plume of smoke directly into the space between them. She doesn't cough; she just smiles, looking entirely too comfortable with a vice in her hand.
"Mm. Earthy," she muses. "And definitely toxic. I think I like it. Consider your secret safe for at least another 24 hours."
"You're a demon," Vigil whispers.
"I'm your favorite accomplice," she chuckles, then glances at the cigarette between her fingers. "Tobacco is poison, in a way. A lot of poisonous plants contain toxic alkaloids. Nicotine’s one of them. So this is still up my alley, even if I rarely partake. I just prefer to consume poison directly.”
He stares at her, baffled and exasperated. He’s not sure whether to cringe at the impromptu chemistry lesson or the casual way she talks about ingesting poison.
“You’re a demon and a lunatic, you know that?”
She grins, sharp and unapologetic. "I admit I'm a lunatic. That's one of my charms."
Vigil can only roll his eyes at that - neither denying or agreeing. He watches her taking another drag - smooth, unfazed. Like her lungs were made to handle toxins. Like she drinks venom for breakfast and names the taste. And she probably has. He isn't sure he wants to know.
He swears under his breath, muttering, "One of these days, it’s going to catch up to you."
She exhales again. "You're talking like Penance now. I don't want to hear that from you, Mr. Smoker."
He scoffs, bringing the almost-forgotten cigarette to his lips again, drawing in slowly. Blowing it upward, he watches it twirl above them before quickly dissipating into the night. "I don't consume poison as often as you do. No, I'm sure even mafioso using poisons don't consume it like you do."
A giggle escapes her lips. "Then you better stay close. Just in case I need an antidote."
"I won't save you."
"Mm. I'm not so sure about that. I bet my entire knife collection that you will help me."
She is annoyingly right and he can't deny it.
Silence descends as they fill their lungs with smoke, the combined smoke coiling around them like a mist. With the glow of the cigarette between her fingers illuminating her features in amber light, Vigil finds himself staring at her. He watches the way she inhales, the way her lips part and how smoke spills from them, her half-lidded eyes - he watches like one might watch fire, completely entranced before realizing it. There's something uncomfortably elegant about it. His brain is caught in a loop of 'she shouldn't look that good doing something so bad'. He doesn't like it. Or maybe he likes it too much.
Her red eyes flick sideways - and catch him. Their gazes locked. The cigarette pauses just shy of her lips, a smile slowly curving across her face.
"Enjoying the view?" She asks, leaning closer to him. "Or are you just checking for early signs of lung failure?"
He coughs, turning his gaze away as he inhales and exhales smoke. His tail swishes from side-to-side and his cheeks are burning hot, but it must be the nicotine. It must be. "I was just making sure you didn't set your hair on fire! Don't be conceited. It's an unappealing look on you."
"Sure, sure," she says, but she's clearly not convinced. He tries his best to ignore her gaze. "You know...if you ever want a better vice, try something sweeter."
"Such as?" He raises an eyebrow. "One of your beloved poison?"
"No, not that. I won't stop you if you want it, though." She chuckles as her hand reaches into her coat and pulls out a flower - colored in white and yellow, bright and fragrant, clearly picked for mischief.
Why does she have that in her pocket? He questions silently.
She steps closer, lifts it to his mouth, and gently pushes the blossom between his lips. "This. It's not poisonous, don't worry."
Vigil stares at her, baffled as the sweet nectar from the flower tickles his tongue. "…What am I supposed to do with this?" He asks, voice muffled.
Her fingers brush his jaw as she tilts his head slightly. "Suck on it. Sweet nectar helps after something bitter."
He’s about to say something sarcastic, but before he knows it, she already leans in close, pressing her lips to his, her fingers on his cheeks playful and coaxing. The flower remains trapped between them, soft and fragrant, petals crushed gently. Her lips meet his, slow and deliberate, the taste of nectar and smoke blurring into something dizzying.
The cold air, the rushing wind, the quiet hum of the ship, the worries on his mind, the beating of his heart - everything fades. At that moment, all he can register is the sweet taste and scent of flowers.
After what feels like eternity, eventually, she pulls away - soft, sweet, with the faint taste of flower nectar mixed with smoke still lingering between them.
Vigil stares, wide-eyed, lips parted just slightly as if still expecting contact. The flower's stem dangles briefly from his lips before falling to the floor. His brain short-circuits. His hands are frozen in mid-air, somewhere between reaching out and clutching nothing.
Dr. Hana, ever composed, steps back with a smug little curve to her lips. Her eyes glitter with amusement. "Mm. Tastes like honey now. Much better."
"...What?" He can only manage that stupid mumble.
She chuckles as she turns around smoothly, not sparing him another glance, her coat and long hair fluttering with the breeze as she walks away - graceful and victorious. With one last wave of a hand - still holding the cigarette - she says, "Good night, sweet dreams. Next time, I expect chocolates."
Just like a storm, she leaves as suddenly as she appears.
Vigil doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Still processing. He remains rooted to the deck long after her footsteps have faded into the quiet night.
The crushed flower still lingers on his lips - sweet, sticky nectar clinging faintly to the corner of his mouth. One petal has stubbornly attached itself to his lower lip, fluttering with each sharp exhale. He doesn’t even brush it off. He just stares out into the vast darkness of the night, the cigarette in his hand now cold and forgotten. The fire has long died out, but there is a spark inside of him.
What just happened?
His brain replays the moment like a glitching security feed: Her smirk. The flower. Her fingers tilting his chin. The kiss. The taste of nectar and smoke. The kiss. The damn kiss.
Eventually, he finally blinks, rubs at his mouth - petal still clinging - and mutters:
"…She weaponized botany. Unbelievable."
And as much as he detests to admit it...
That might be more effective than any cigarette or alcohol.