mwestbelle

Mikey squeezes his hand, and sighs, flicking a bit of wood off of the rail. "Soon we'll be off this godforsaken boat." The crew on this vessel was quietly (and sometimes not very quietly) unimpressed with the Way brothers--after all these years, they still held themselves with the bearings and standards of aristocrats, and sailors seemed to either be amused and consider it their duty to teach them the ways of the world, or take exception to their "airs." The latter feeling was in action on this voyage, and Mikey was sick of silently acceptin bitter looks and drunken rumblings from men he could be rid of easily.

He pretends to be peering over the edge, and bumps his hip affectionately against Gerard's. "What's Milan like?"