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rosebudwhite-writes · 4 years ago

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Writing with Color: Description Guide - Words for Skin Tone

We discussed the issues describing People of Color by means of food in Part I of this guide, which brought rise to even more questions, mostly along the lines of “So, if food’s not an option, what can I use?” Well, I was just getting to that!

This final portion focuses on describing skin tone, with photo and passage examples provided throughout. I hope to cover everything from the use of straight-forward description to the more creatively-inclined, keeping in mind the questions we’ve received on this topic.

So let’s get to it.

S T A N D A R D D E S C R I P T I O N

B a s i c C o l o r s

Pictured above: Black, Brown, Beige, White, Pink.

“She had brown skin.”

This is a perfectly fine description that, while not providing the most detail, works well and will never become cliché.

Describing characters’ skin as simply brown or beige works on its own, though it’s not particularly telling just from the range in brown alone.

C o m p l e x C o l o r s

These are more rarely used words that actually “mean” their color. Some of these have multiple meanings, so you’ll want to look into those to determine what other associations a word might have.

Pictured above: Umber, Sepia, Ochre, Russet, Terra-cotta, Gold, Tawny, Taupe, Khaki, Fawn.

Complex colors work well alone, though often pair well with a basic color in regards to narrowing down shade/tone.

For example: Golden brown, russet brown, tawny beige…

As some of these are on the “rare” side, sliding in a definition of the word within the sentence itself may help readers who are unfamiliar with the term visualize the color without seeking a dictionary.

“He was tall and slim, his skin a russet, reddish-brown.”

Comparisons to familiar colors or visuals are also helpful:

“His skin was an ochre color, much like the mellow-brown light that bathed the forest.”

M o d i f i e r s

Modifiers, often adjectives, make partial changes to a word.The following words are descriptors in reference to skin tone.

D a r k - D e e p - R i c h - C o o l

W a r m - M e d i u m - T a n

F a i r - L i g h t - P a l e

Rich Black, Dark brown, Warm beige, Pale pink…

If you’re looking to get more specific than “brown,” modifiers narrow down shade further.

Keep in mind that these modifiers are not exactly colors.

As an already brown-skinned person, I get tan from a lot of sun and resultingly become a darker, deeper brown. I turn a pale, more yellow-brown in the winter.

While best used in combination with a color, I suppose words like “tan” “fair” and “light” do work alone; just note that tan is less likely to be taken for “naturally tan” and much more likely a tanned White person.

Calling someone “dark” as description on its own is offensive to some and also ambiguous. (See: Describing Skin as Dark)

U n d e r t o n e s

Undertones are the colors beneath the skin, seeing as skin isn’t just one even color but has more subdued tones within the dominating palette.

Mentioning the undertones within a character’s skin is an even more precise way to denote skin tone.

As shown, there’s a difference between say, brown skin with warm orange-red undertones (Kelly Rowland) and brown skin with cool, jewel undertones (Rutina Wesley).

“A dazzling smile revealed the bronze glow at her cheeks.”

“He always looked as if he’d ran a mile, a constant tinge of pink under his tawny skin.”

Standard Description Passage

“Farah’s skin, always fawn, had burned and freckled under the summer’s sun. Even at the cusp of autumn, an uneven tan clung to her skin like burrs. So unlike the smooth, red-brown ochre of her mother, which the sun had richened to a blessing.”

-From my story “Where Summer Ends” featured in Strange Little Girls

Here the state of skin also gives insight on character.

Note my use of “fawn” in regards to multiple meaning and association. While fawn is a color, it’s also a small, timid deer, which describes this very traumatized character of mine perfectly.

Though I use standard descriptions of skin tone more in my writing, at the same time I’m no stranger to creative descriptions, and do enjoy the occasional artsy detail of a character.

C R E A T I V E D E S C R I P T I O N

Whether compared to night-cast rivers or day’s first light…I actually enjoy seeing Characters of Colors dressed in artful detail.

I’ve read loads of descriptions in my day of white characters and their “smooth rose-tinged ivory skin”, while the PoC, if there, are reduced to something from a candy bowl or a Starbucks drink, so to actually read of PoC described in lavish detail can be somewhat of a treat.

Still, be mindful when you get creative with your character descriptions. Too many frills can become purple-prose-like, so do what feels right for your writing when and where. Not every character or scene warrants a creative description, either. Especially if they’re not even a secondary character.

Using a combination of color descriptions from standard to creative is probably a better method than straight creative. But again, do what’s good for your tale.

N A T U R AL S E T T I N G S - S K Y

Pictured above: Harvest Moon -Twilight, Fall/Autumn Leaves, Clay, Desert/Sahara, Sunlight - Sunrise - Sunset - Afterglow - Dawn- Day- Daybreak, Field - Prairie - Wheat, Mountain/Cliff, Beach/Sand/Straw/Hay.

Now before you run off to compare your heroine’s skin to the harvest moon or a cliff side, think about the associations to your words.

When I think cliff, I think of jagged, perilous, rough. I hear sand and picture grainy, yet smooth. Calm. mellow.

So consider your character and what you see fit to compare them to.

Also consider whose perspective you’re describing them from. Someone describing a person they revere or admire may have a more pleasant, loftier description than someone who can’t stand the person.

“Her face was like the fire-gold glow of dawn, lifting my gaze, drawing me in.”

“She had a sandy complexion, smooth and tawny.”

Even creative descriptions tend to draw help from your standard words.

F L O W E R S

Pictured above: Calla lilies, Western Coneflower, Hazel Fay, Hibiscus, Freesia, Rose

It was a bit difficult to find flowers to my liking that didn’t have a 20 character name or wasn’t called something like “chocolate silk” so these are the finalists.

You’ll definitely want to avoid purple-prose here.

Also be aware of flowers that most might’ve never heard of. Roses are easy, as most know the look and coloring(s) of this plant. But Western coneflowers? Calla lilies? Maybe not so much.

“He entered the cottage in a huff, cheeks a blushing brown like the flowers Nana planted right under my window. Hazel Fay she called them, was it?”

A S S O R T E D P L A N T S & N A T U R E

Pictured above: Cattails, Seashell, Driftwood, Pinecone, Acorn, Amber

These ones are kinda odd. Perhaps because I’ve never seen these in comparison to skin tone, With the exception of amber.

At least they’re common enough that most may have an idea what you’re talking about at the mention of “pinecone.“

I suggest reading out your sentences aloud to get a better feel of how it’ll sounds.

“Auburn hair swept past pointed ears, set around a face like an acorn both in shape and shade.”

I pictured some tree-dwelling being or person from a fantasy world in this example, which makes the comparison more appropriate.

I don’t suggest using a comparison just “cuz you can” but actually being thoughtful about what you’re comparing your character to and how it applies to your character and/or setting.

W O O D

Pictured above: Mahogany, Walnut, Chestnut, Golden Oak, Ash

Wood can be an iffy description for skin tone. Not only due to several of them having “foody” terminology within their names, but again, associations.

Some people would prefer not to compare/be compared to wood at all, so get opinions, try it aloud, and make sure it’s appropriate to the character if you do use it.

“The old warlock’s skin was a deep shade of mahogany, his stare serious and firm as it held mine.”

M E T A L S

Pictured above: Platinum, Copper, Brass, Gold, Bronze

Copper skin, brass-colored skin, golden skin…

I’ve even heard variations of these used before by comparison to an object of the same properties/coloring, such as penny for copper.

These also work well with modifiers.

“The dress of fine white silks popped against the deep bronze of her skin.”

G E M S T O N E S - M I N E R A LS

Pictured above: Onyx, Obsidian, Sard, Topaz, Carnelian, Smoky Quartz, Rutile, Pyrite, Citrine, Gypsum

These are trickier to use. As with some complex colors, the writer will have to get us to understand what most of these look like.

If you use these, or any more rare description, consider if it actually “fits” the book or scene.

Even if you’re able to get us to picture what “rutile” looks like, why are you using this description as opposed to something else? Have that answer for yourself.

“His skin reminded her of the topaz ring her father wore at his finger, a gleaming stone of brown, mellow facades.”

P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I ON

Physical character description can be more than skin tone.

Show us hair, eyes, noses, mouth, hands…body posture, body shape, skin texture… though not necessarily all of those nor at once.

Describing features also helps indicate race, especially if your character has some traits common within the race they are, such as afro hair to a Black character.

How comprehensive you decide to get is up to you. I wouldn’t overdo it and get specific to every mole and birthmark. Noting defining characteristics is good, though, like slightly spaced front teeth, curls that stay flopping in their face, hands freckled with sunspots…

G E N E R A L T I P S

Indicate Race Early: I suggest indicators of race be made at the earliest convenience within the writing, with more hints threaded throughout here and there.

Get Creative On Your Own: Obviously, I couldn’t cover every proper color or comparison in which has been “approved” to use for your characters’ skin color, so it’s up to you to use discretion when seeking other ways and shades to describe skin tone.

Skin Color May Not Be Enough: Describing skin tone isn’t always enough to indicate someone’s ethnicity. As timeless cases with readers equating brown to “dark white” or something, more indicators of race may be needed.

Describe White characters and PoC Alike: You should describe the race and/or skin tone of your white characters just as you do your Characters of Color. If you don’t, you risk implying that White is the default human being and PoC are the “Other”).

PSA: Don’t use “Colored.” Based on some asks we’ve received using this word, I’d like to say that unless you or your character is a racist grandmama from the 1960s, do not call People of Color “colored” please.

Not Sure Where to Start? You really can’t go wrong using basic colors for your skin descriptions. It’s actually what many people prefer and works best for most writing. Personally, I tend to describe my characters using a combo of basic colors + modifiers, with mentions of undertones at times. I do like to veer into more creative descriptions on occasion.

Want some alternatives to “skin” or “skin color”? Try: Appearance, blend, blush, cast, coloring, complexion, flush, glow, hue, overtone, palette, pigmentation, rinse, shade, sheen, spectrum, tinge, tint, tone, undertone, value, wash.

Skin Tone Resources

List of Color Names

The Color Thesaurus

Things that are Brown (blog)

Skin Undertone & Color Matching

Tips and Words on Describing Skin

Photos: Undertones Described (Modifiers included)

Online Thesaurus (try colors, such as “red” & “brown”)

Don’t Call me Pastries: Creative Skin Tones w/ pics 3 2 1

Writing & Description Guides

WWC Featured Description Posts

WWC Guide: Words to Describe Hair

Writing with Color: Description & Skin Color Tags

7 Offensive Mistakes Well-intentioned Writers Make

I tried to be as comprehensive as possible with this guide, but if you have a question regarding describing skin color that hasn’t been answered within part I or II of this guide, or have more questions after reading this post, feel free to ask!

~ Mod Colette

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rosebudwhite-writes · 9 years ago

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Salt & Fire: Pieces of Time

After a little bit of honest feedback - I’m 15k into this (though this chapter one is only 3k) and as and when I publish I will change the names (they just help me visualise the characters as they are at the moment!!) - Replies or messages preferred as I’m not sure it’s ready for the full public domain and people expecting more chapters when I’m not ready to deliver!!

@hotmenandotherdistractions @elfpunk @lokilockedcougar @kittycricket @thissideofdangerous @chrisevansisbeautiful @angryschnauzer @a-wild-loki-appears

With the crack of lightning the pair turned and hurried back down the steps. The storm lashed about and threw the ship from side to side. The young boy ran ahead calling to all who could hear to brace themselves. The tall blond haired man, who followed, grabbed hold of the beam above him to stop himself from falling.

The uniform he wore may have once been blue, yet the months at sea had turned it a mutated shade; dark where stains had seeped yet bleached again by the sun that, until yesterday, beat down on them unrelentingly. His sharp eyes were blue too, taking in the scene around him, around at his fellows, each grasping onto the wooden ship like babes to their mother. The ship was, in all but flesh, their mother; she fed them, carried them and protected them. He prayed silently to any god that was listening to speed their journey and allow their mother to bring them safely home to shore.

“Thomas!”

The captain’s familiar bellow brought him out of his reverie. Lieutenant Thomas Hiddleston sighed as he ran his hand through his wet and matted hair. The long blond curls that he usually kept back by a ribbon were now flying wildly from the storm’s turbulence, the black ribbon long lost to the maelstrom outside. His wild locks and dirty face hid the handsome man he was but he liked that, no one to impress aboard ship. He hurried back on his mission towards the cabin at the far end, his long legs jumping easily over the boards and around the canon. The door stood ajar and the flickering of the tens of candles that burned inside made the lower deck around him glow, lighting the faces of the frightened sailors that clung to each other. Another rock of the ship and Thomas made a futile grab at the wooden door and stumbled into the room.

“Get up man, where have your legs gone?”

Behind his desk that took up most of the cabin, Captain Temples swayed easily as the ship bucked against the storm. Thomas was always envious at how much the man looked at home at sea. When they had first met, the day the then Commander Patrick Temples, brought Thomas’ papers to the family home, he had been every part the fine English gentleman. He rode, he fenced, he shot, he had an opinion on every current and political topic and could converse with every member of the household from his father to his impressionable sister. Thomas had aspired to emulate this fine figure before him but felt he always came far from the mark. And the stark contrast in their appearances in that very moment could not have highlighted it better. The captain stood straight and tall, his own blue uniform freshly laundered and pressed by the steward, his longer ash hair, whilst left loose on purpose was combed and lay flat against his head. His silver eyes missed nothing as Thomas looked up at him from the floor.

The captain nodded upwards as Thomas took to his feet once again. “We’re no more than 15 leagues from shore, unless this storm has bucked us further than I think it has.” His finger ran over the large map laid out before him. “How’s the crew?”

“Mostly scared, but resolved to hold out.” Thomas replied with an air of one trying to convince himself more than his superior officer.

“Mister Cumberbatch holding firm on the helm?”

“As best he can, sir.” Thomas hated to admit that his fellow lieutenant was actually good at something but that didn’t stop him putting a sneer of resentment in his voice.

“He may not have too much longer to wait,” the captain slipped his pocket watch from his jacket and flipping the case open, glanced at the time. The golden timepiece reflected bright spikes of light in the candlelight and Thomas shifted his head turn to avoid the glare in his eye. Unknowing the discomfort he caused his subordinate the captain continued, “This storm cannot last much longer, it is nearly dawn and it was not meant to last the night.”

As if his words were prophetic the ship’s uneasy traverse of the sea began to calm. Unnoticeable at first to all but to the most seasoned sailors, the captain and his lieutenant shared a glance as they felt it.

“Return to the deck Mr Hiddleston, let us see where we are. I will follow shortly.” With that the captain dismissed him as he went about righting the few meagre possessions that had been knocked from their places.

Thomas turned on his heel and headed back the way he had come, with a little more bounce in his step. The smile he gave as he passed through the lower deck was returned as others around him also noticed the ship’s change. Men prayed to the God of the sea for not drowning them, others to the God of the sky for not striking them and the mumbles from one of the Moorish deckhands prayed to a god that Thomas could not even pronounce.

The rains still fell about him as he emerged onto the deck. Yet he could see the sky lighting towards the east, the new day emerging with a promise of no more than gentle wind and putting into port. He made his way to helm where Cumberbatch stood holding the wheel firm. With nothing more than a cursory nod, Thomas took up his post behind the other man and looked over the rapidly calming seas. He loved this moment, when the sea and the sky began to separate once again after being as one. He gave a smile as he thought of how lovers separated, having been so much like the sea and sky but then going their own ways into the world. And his mind turned to the empty bed awaiting him at their destination. The crew amused themselves with whores and the captain had his sweetheart, but his bed was cold and vacant, and had been for some time. He liked it. Women complicated things, women made his life… untidy.

The captain emerged from below, his hat covered head peering this way and that to gain a measure of both the ship’s condition and the sea’s. The rain was pulling back, becoming nothing more than a normal downpour, though it still came in sideways.

“Report!” His attention now turned towards the two men by the helm.

“It…” Thomas began but was cut off by his shipmate.

“The wind has dropped to four knots, I believe we are just forty miles from Port Royal, once the rain drops we can make good time and reach it before nightfall.” Lieutenant Benedict Cumberbatch pulled himself up against the wheel.

Thomas often wondered how the thin wiry man managed to hold the wheel so firm. But his large calloused hands told of his days as a junior officer on other, smaller, ships where the crew was minimal and even the officers had to work the ropes. Similarly, out of proportion with his tall frame were his ears and nose, though one could never mention either for the man had a typical red headed temper. Yet for all his individual faults and, in Thomas’ opinion, obnoxious personality Benedict had a kindly eye and in the right light had even been known to turn a lady’s eye.

“No casualties beyond the boy yesterday. Doctor Bartlett believes he will be able to use his arm again before the month is out. The ship has suffered nothing more than surface damage. She did us proud.” He trailed off, seeking the captain’s approval before saluting and adding, “Sir.”

Thomas sighed behind the other lieutenant, his manner and mood dropping as fast as the rain. The captain raised his eyebrow, the gesture not lost to his sharp wits.

“You have an issue with Mr Cumberbatch’s report, Mr Hiddleston?”

“No Sir.” Thomas pulled himself to attention and saluted. He could hardly tell his mentor, and one of the few men in this world that he actually respected, that he thought the man standing next to him was an idiot. Yet the number of times that he was apparently showing his distrust in both his crewmate’s and the Captain’s decisions was beginning to become obvious. He begrudgingly admitted, “It is entirely accurate and everything I would have said.”

“Good. Now let’s get ourselves into port.” Captain Temples wiped the rain from his eyes as he adjusted his hat upon his head. “We have supplies for Port Royal and we have already been delayed too long with our chasing of this phantom, Captain Scorch.” He turned looked towards the horizon and was silent for a few moments. Thomas and Benedict glanced at one another both wondering if they should interrupt the Captain’s introversion moment. Just as Thomas was about to open his mouth, Captain Temples turned to face them again. “Extra rum rations for the whole crew. I don’t know about you but I want to sleep in a proper bed tonight.”

“Aye Captain.” Both men saluted enthusiastically and Thomas ran to convey the news to the crew whilst Benedict handed over the wheel to the helmsman of the morning watch as men returned to their normal duties now that the storm had passed.

Skidding across the deck, Thomas gave the news to each man he passed, and was rewarded with claps to his shoulder. Before he lowered himself down the hatch, he glanced back at the Captain, who had not moved. He kept a static face, his steel eyes staring across the water. Thomas thought maybe he was thinking of the woman that awaited him, or the futile chase that had occupied most of their time, much to the Thomas’ chagrin. He felt that they should stick to the simple runs, as was their duty, fighting off the everyday pirates was enough of a battle, they should not be seeking out this renegade for the Captain’s personal glory or vendetta. As he stood there, the Captain must have sensed him looking for he turned slowly and looked Thomas right in the eye. Thomas nodded with a smile, hoping to receive the same in return but the other man just continued to stare. Maybe he could read his thoughts like the mystic in Port Royal with all her beads and bangles, though he suspected not. It was simply a look of disappointment. Had his recent attitude wound the Captain up that much? He would think of that when they got ashore, right now he could only think of that warming rum that was waiting in the mess.

The clouds moved quickly above the HMS King Richard as it made swift work towards its final destination of this tour, Port Royal. Docking each man received his pay and a charge to be back on board within four moons. Thomas took tentative steps down the gangplank, his legs taking a moment or three to adjust to the land that did not move under his feet as the ship had. Crew pushed passed him, jeering and laughing, unable to wait for their time on shore to start, Thomas on the other hand did not want it to start, he did not have anywhere pressing to go. His only family still alive wanting nothing to do with him and with no friends in this port but the other officers, and he had already spent quite enough time in their presence, he now felt quite alone.

His feet lead him to the inn at the crossroads that intersected the small port. There were several bars in town but the Star was where the locals drank, the sailors generally kept to the Drunken Duck and the soldiers to the Rose. By heading to the Star he knew he would undisturbed by the storm of their own that his crew were about to enact in the Duck.

“Anything that isn’t rum, please Bonnie, and keep it coming.” Thomas slid onto the barstool in front of the polished wood, his elbows rested onto it and his head slid down after them. The earth stood unnaturally still and his head was struggling to keep righted. Hopefully the alcohol would make it sway again.

The jangle of jewellery by his ear and the clink of a glass, followed by the clunk of a bottle, made him finally look up. The deep brown eyes of Bonnie smiled hesitantly back at him. Immediately, Thomas felt the innate safety of being back in the company of a friend, coupled with the sinking feeling that once again, he was being hunted. Bonnie had the reputation of a witch, being able to discover, predict, envision the future, in one way or another, and she did not shun that rumour. Her wild curls seemed to grow every time Thomas saw her, more expansive, more… Threatening, he supposed. She had been the daughter of a blacksmith and a housewife, back when they were young, but when the blacksmith disappeared and Bonnie stopped making frequent visits to Port Royal’s many doctors, it became obvious that there was more to her than met the eye.

“Welcome back Thomas.” Her accent was no longer the Irish lilt that he had known in his youth, now the constant time with the locals and those from across the globe gave her an ethereal style. So part of every inch of the globe that it was no longer of any.

“I don’t want the welcome; I want to be anywhere but here.” He reached blindly for the bottle and lifted his head only enough to placed it to his lips. The bitter taste of vodka hit his throat and he resisted the urge to cough, instead revelled in the burn, letting it fuel his internal anger, rather than quell it. He thumped it back onto the bar and only then saw the label. Bonnie’s own delicate scrawl stared back at him. “Am I that hopeless? Stuff from the shelf would have been enough, your moonshine is notorious.”

If she was offering him this, she obviously thought so. He had seen her moonshine destroy a man, leave him spilling the secrets she wanted to hear. Bonnie always needed secrets, for one reason or another.

“A man cannot forget the life he hates with a bottle from a store.” She grasped the bottle by the neck and slowly lifted it to her own lips. Her bangles jangled again and Thomas watched the liquid fire disappear as her throat gulped it, took a second look at the freckled skin that laid bare at her neck. Another way of stealing secrets. Seduction. “You want something different? Drink the rest of this, it’s on the house.” Bonnie slammed the bottle to the bar with a grin. How were her teeth so white?

With the rush of the alcohol already affecting his mind, her words confused him. She was telling him to have more but then have something different? He would think on that later, now, he would drink. For his second he poured the clear liquid into the glass, he was a gentleman after all, he should at least have some pretence.

The third glass was at his lips when he heard the voices that he was dreading behind him.

“And I believe Captain, that if we use that extra time to carry out repairs, the ship will work at a much more efficient-“ Benedict’s tone carried from the open door and Thomas shuddered when the conversation stopped. He knew that he had been spotted. He downed the glass and reached for the bottle again.

“Ah… Miss Bonnie!” Benedict sidled up beside Thomas, though his focus was more on the barmaid than on his shipmate. “Glasses of your finest malt whiskey for the Captain and myself… Thomas, I didn’t see you there,” Thomas knew this was not true. “I am just telling the Captain all about the improvements I think we can make to ship life to make us an even better crew, I’d be interested to hear what you have to say,” Thomas knew this was also not true.

Captain Temples appeared in the periphery of Thomas’ other side. “I’m sure Mr Hiddleston and I will have plenty of time to chat soon, let us leave him to his drink, Mr Cumberbatch.” A large hand clapped Thomas on the shoulder and he flinched at the intrusion of his inebriation. He raised his head enough to see Benedict smiling broadly at Bonnie as he received the requested glasses before he turned and began to search for a spare table for them. The Captain leaned backwards against the bar next to him. “I will not judge how a man spends his own time but please remember that you represent the King whilst you wear that uniform.” The man pushed himself back to standing and made to follow Benedict across the room. “Tell Bonnie to send me your bill.”

Thomas could not believe he was being dismissed so easily, he now knew that he and the Captain would be having words, though probably not the sort of ones that were going to do his career any good. He sighed at looked over at Bonnie once the others had settled themselves on the other side of the bar. “Got any more of this back there?”

“One bottle is more than enough for any man who wants to see the new dawn.” Bonnie’s form floated from one end of the bar to the other, wiping the odd spill with a cloth, her bangles giving a melodious tune for her to work to.

Thomas turned to look towards the other men briefly before seizing the bottle. He held the slippery neck of the bottle tightly with one hand whilst the other held onto the bar to aid his standing. “I’m going to sleep on the ship. Bonnie, if anyone needs me…” He gave a scoff, “if anyone cares about me, they can find me there.”

“Thomas…!” Bonnie’s voice was lost as he stormed from the inn. He may not have wanted to be alone earlier but now he had a burning urge not to see anyone for the next four nights.

The streets were full of noise, as not only theirs but a dozen other crews filled the bars, and the unofficial drinking holes that had more nefarious trades too. Thomas found a quiet spot against one of the mooring bollards to finish his bottle.

The moon had travelled high by the time that the bottle had no more than a swig or two left. Thomas’ mind was finally at peace, though not a peace that he knew he would enjoy come sunrise. The lapping of the water against the dock became the sound of a torrential storm in his mind. All the world was bright and loud and finally swaying as if he were at sea. He hauled himself to his feet and tried to take a step towards the ship. His sea legs did him no favours and he veered sideways. Holding out his hands to steady himself he righted his balance before scooping up the bottle of moonshine. He took a couple more cautionary steps, this time more successful. He looked up at the wooden hulls that overhung the dock and tried to make out which one was the King Richard. The one he had been aiming for looked all wrong, and in his inebriation worked out that he must have stumbled further along the shore than he had meant to. The one next to it looked more likely, though through a squint he wondered why the figurehead had bigger breasts than he remembered.

Gripping the rope that led up the plank, he took sure steps up to the deck. No one was aboard which he was grateful for as he headed towards the Captain’s cabin. He could have headed to his own bunk but the chance to use the bigger bed, with the nicer sheets and more importantly the chance to wipe his arse on the Captain’s journal, was too great a pleasure to miss. The door seemed to move under his gaze, it was further right than he remembered but the moonshine, it’s remnants sloshing in the bottle still in his hand, was playing tricks with his mind. He fell sideways into the door, his shoulder skittering along the wood as he slid with it. With a jerk of his head he looked around and seeing the bed, stumbled across to it. His precious bottle he placed on the floor next to him before kicking off his boots across the cabin and curled himself into the comforter. His loud snores could be heard across the docks just moments later.

#salt and fire #rosebud writes

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