The fire licking up and down Une's back was entirely unlike her own. The fire that she was - but this, too, was her. Burning with pride, burning with purpose.
Her mark. Big enough that nobody could miss it, telling the world who she was. His daughter.
It wasn't the pain of etched skin that brought tears to her eyes, and she ducked her head behind her hat, wiping quickly at them.
Her crew - her family - was all around her, drinking and dancing and celebrating like only pirates could. She was the excuse to party, so they had been crowding up to her, patting her on the shoulder (carefully), bringing her stuff to eat and drink. She hadn't had to move since she arrived on deck, which suited her just fine. But it meant that they were watching her, and she didn't want them to think she was a wuss. Didn't want them to think that she'd get all emotional every time -
A mug of rum appeared under the brim of her hat, and she jerked her head back up.
Marco held out the mug with a slow, knowing smile. "Stings a little, dun it?"
Caught between gratitude and mortification, Une nodded once, then grabbed at the mug.
Marco slid down next to her while she drank greedily.
"Looks good on you," Marco said after a little while.
"I look good in anything," she retorted automatically, but his words prompted her to crane her neck, straining to see over her shoulder. Again. Her hair, somehow escaped from its ponytail, got in the way. Again. She frowned. Well. That wouldn't do.
Marco watched her with mild curiosity as she reached down and pulled her knife. She was too busy trying not to stab herself in the face (she, unlike certain idiot brothers she could mention, had no need for scars) to keep track of his progression of expressions as she resolutely hacked her hair off. When she'd finished, making an as even job of it as she possibly could, he had settled on an amused grin.
"You never do anything by half, do you?"
Une shook her head - it felt weird, the tips of her newly shorn hair brushing her shoulders. "Nope," she agreed happily.
Free of the obscuring hair at last, she twisted for another look over her shoulder. Her spine curved away, giving her a a weird wavy look at the mark, but it was there. It gave her a little jolt to the stomach, that confirmation. It was there. It was hers - her pride and joy, and everyone who looked at her now would know who her real father was. Well. Anyone who could make out the mark under the lines of her top...
She frowned. "Stupid straps," she mumbled, tugging at one of them. The last thing she saw before the warm buzz of food and drink and fire under her skin sent her to sleep was the most unusual expression of horrified alarm on Marco's face.