Sean noticed the kisses before he noticed the fight.

That probably said something about him.

The feast had changed again.

The hunger was gone. Shoulders had loosened. People sat closer now. Hands remained on shoulders a little longer. Private jokes had formed between people who had been strangers hours before.

And things that had spent months behind teeth were beginning to escape.

A sailor put both hands on his oldest friend’s shoulders.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“No. You don’t.”

“I do.”

“No, listen. I love you.”

“Yes.”

The first sailor began crying.

His friend sighed, pulled him into an embrace and muttered:

“I love you too, you idiot.”

Sean smiled.

SEAN: “That’s rather lovely.”

ELJARA: “It is.”

Another sailor approached the same man.

“I’ve never liked you.”

Eljara nodded.

ELJARA: “And there we are.”

Across the deck someone suddenly shouted:

“I HAVE ALWAYS HATED YOUR HAT!”

Silence.

Every head turned.

The victim touched the enormous faded red hat on his head.

“You said you liked it.”

“I LIED!”

The nearby sailors gasped.

“You lied about my hat?”

“I DIDN’T WANT TO HURT YOU.”

“That makes it worse!”

“How?”

“I TRUSTED YOU!”

Someone laughed.

Soon everyone was laughing.

Eventually even the wounded owner of the hat began to smile.

He removed it.

“You really hate it?”

His friend stared at the hat.

“I hate it so much.”

The owner nodded thoughtfully.

Then placed it on Sean’s head.

The deck erupted.

Sean froze.

Eljara looked at him.

SEAN: “Don’t.”

ELJARA: “I haven’t said anything.”

SEAN: “Your face has.”

Sean kept the hat on.

For morale.

Truth had become fashionable.

That was dangerous.

Not because truth itself was dangerous.

Because people had begun confusing immediacy with honesty.

Whatever entered the mind seemed increasingly likely to leave through the mouth.

Sometimes it produced tenderness.

Sometimes revelation.

Sometimes nonsense.

Often all three.

Then somebody began playing a melody Sean knew.

His smile disappeared.

Eljara noticed.

Of course she did.

The tune was old.

Simple.

Nothing remarkable.

But Sean knew every note.

And exactly where he had last heard it.

ELJARA: “Sean.”

SEAN: “Hmm?”

ELJARA: “You’re crying.”

He touched his cheek.

SEAN: “Humidity.”

Eljara looked towards the perfectly clear Caribbean sky.

ELJARA: “Severe.”

SEAN: “Terrible climate.”

The music continued.

SEAN: “My brother used to sing this.”

Eljara waited.

SEAN: “When he was drunk.”

ELJARA: “Well?”

SEAN: “Horribly.”

ELJARA: “That seems consistent with your family.”

Sean smiled.

Barely.

SEAN: “He always forgot the second verse.”

ELJARA: “Perhaps he was improving it.”

SEAN: “He thought so.”

The smile disappeared.

SEAN: “He died before I could tell him he was terrible.”

A pause.

SEAN: “That’s not true. I told him often.”

Another pause.

“I didn’t tell him enough other things.”

Eljara did not try to make it better.

Sean wiped his face.

SEAN: “There.”

ELJARA: “There what?”

SEAN: “That’s what people mean when they say drink makes you honest.”

ELJARA: “Does it?”

SEAN: “I miss him.”

ELJARA: “You missed him this morning too.”

SEAN: “Yes.”

ELJARA: “You simply weren’t crying.”

Sean looked at her.

ELJARA: “The tears are honest.”

She looked towards the musicians.

“But they are not more honest than all the years you carried him without them.”

A shout came from nearby.

“I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO PUNCH YOU!”

The man opposite raised his cup.

“I know.”

“HOW?”

“You stare at my nose.”

The first sailor examined the nose.

It was impressive.

“Fair.”

He sat down.

Sean laughed.

SEAN: “So what is happening?”

ELJARA: “People are tired. They’ve eaten. They’re warm. They’ve survived. They feel safe enough to become careless.”

She looked around.

“And some of them have been drinking for hours.”

SEAN: “There it is.”

ELJARA: “What?”

SEAN: “The lecture.”

ELJARA: “You asked.”

She smiled.

ELJARA: “Their inhibitions are lowering.”

SEAN: “Meaning?”

ELJARA: “The distance between feeling something and doing something about it becomes shorter.”

SEAN: “So they become honest.”

ELJARA: “No.”

Sean frowned.

ELJARA: “They become faster.”

SEAN: “That’s different.”

ELJARA: “Very.”

Normally there was a space between feeling and action.

Anger could become words instead of fists.

Desire could wait for an answer.

Fear could become caution.

Grief could wait until somewhere safe.

But tonight that space was shrinking.

SEAN: “Then what comes out?”

ELJARA: “Whatever was already there.”

SEAN: “Which makes it true.”

ELJARA: “No.”

She looked directly at him.

ELJARA: “It makes it unedited.”

Around them, people continued spilling out of themselves.

A woman told a stranger about the child she had left behind in Port Royal.

Two people kissed as though they had been waiting months.

Someone apologised.

Someone confessed.

Someone said something that should probably have remained unsaid.

And near the rail, a young sailor approached someone he had been watching all evening.

He spoke.

The other person smiled.

Then shook their head.

The sailor’s face changed.

Disappointment.

Embarrassment.

For one brief second, something sharper.

Then he nodded.

“Fair enough.”

And walked away.

Sean watched him.

SEAN: “That.”

ELJARA: “What?”

SEAN: “That’s the difference.”

ELJARA: “Between?”

SEAN: “Feeling something and being entitled to it.”

Eljara looked almost impressed.

ELJARA: “You have been listening.”

SEAN: “Don’t spread it around.”

A few minutes later the rejected sailor was singing with three others.

He had survived embarrassment.

The person who had said no was still laughing with friends.

Nothing had broken.

That mattered.

Across the deck, the captain and his daughter were talking.

For a while they had been laughing.

Then she asked him something.

He answered.

Her face changed.

The twenty missing years returned between them.

The captain reached towards her hand.

She did not offer it.

He stopped.

Sean watched.

SEAN: “There.”

ELJARA: “Yes.”

SEAN: “Honesty?”

ELJARA: “Maybe.”

SEAN: “Helpful?”

ELJARA: “Ask them tomorrow.”

The daughter eventually spoke again.

More quietly.

Her father listened.

No joke.

No defence.

No interruption.

Then he nodded.

She nodded too.

They did not embrace.

Nothing was magically forgiven.

But neither walked away.

The song about Sean’s brother began again.

Someone had learned the second verse.

Badly.

Sean listened.

Then joined in.

Eljara glanced at him.

SEAN: “What?”

ELJARA: “Your brother would hate this version.”

Sean laughed.

Then sang louder.

The feast was not revealing saints.

It was not revealing monsters.

It was revealing pressure.

Affection waiting to be spoken.

Grief waiting to be allowed.

Anger waiting for permission.

Desire waiting for an answer.

An apology waiting for courage.

An insult waiting for poor judgement.

Everything had moved closer to the surface.

And once it reached the surface, another question mattered more than whether it was true:

What do you do with it?

Sean finally removed the ridiculous red hat.

SEAN: “I hate this hat.”

ELJARA: “Now you’re being honest.”

SEAN: “Should I burn it?”

ELJARA: “No.”

SEAN: “Why?”

ELJARA: “Because honesty does not remove consequences.”

Sean carefully placed the hat on the table.

SEAN: “Wisdom is exhausting.”

ELJARA: “That’s why people drink.”

They watched the feast.

Crying.

Singing.

Kissing.

Arguing.

Confessing.

Laughing.

For a few hours, people showed one another pieces they normally carried alone.

Some beautiful.

Some ridiculous.

Some painful.

Some dangerous.

The real measure was never simply whether a feeling was honest.

It was what you chose to do once it became visible.

A feeling may be true.

A desire may be true.

An anger may be true.

A confession may be true.

But truth does not automatically make an action kind.

Or wise.

Or fair.

Sometimes courage means saying what you feel.

Sometimes it means keeping it inside.

And sometimes the most important moment comes after you have finally said it—

when another person answers,

and you listen.

What would you say if the armour came off tonight — and what would you do if the answer was not the one you wanted?

If you remember what this felt like…

Join Black Flags, Deep Waters:
https://startplaying.games/adventure/cmdjv8r4p00adji04l6v8h4x7

For the stories, research and deeper worlds behind Mythveil Chronicles:
https://www.patreon.com/MythveilChronicles