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Snow & Ash
- Thread starter Mordecai
- Start date
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
There were days he craved the shore, laid flat like paper, resting his chin against the grains of sand. The tide would draw a breath and hum deeply, crawling along the sand on its belly, stretching itself thin until it was an inch from his nose. And then he’d blow, willing the ocean back with his breath, watching as it drew away and breathed. He had always loved the ocean, Cyrus Warren had, even as a young boy. He could remember swimming in the turquoise waters and splashing through the sea foam, floating in the void and feeling free of gravity. The ocean had been something he loved, something he respected; he understood its beauty and its dangers, he found true fascination by the way the waves softly crashed against the rocky beach, their fingers curling each stone with a gentle caress.
He used to love the way the sun shone off the rippling water, its golden light warped in the twisted, glass waves. No description he could ever think of could truly capture its mysterious majesty, yet only few words could express its beauty. Now, he hated it.
Sailing on the open waters for months on end, it was easy to lose hope. Sitting from his cabin, Cyrus stared out over the endless pit of ocean, black in night. It was as still as a millpond, the surface was barely a placid ripple, breaking the moonlight in mosaic tiles of reflect colors. Not too far from the unmoving prow came a pod of orca, breaching the surface with their black dorsal fins. It had been eerily quiet aboard the vessel all evening, on account of the crew having gone out to acquire a hostage for ransom. 'Acquire' had a way of sounding much more pleasant than 'kidnap.'
How they intended to acquire the young lass, Cyrus didn’t want to know. He didn’t ask; the crew had given up long ago on trying to convince him to tag along on their little plundering and pillaging trips, so more often than not, they just left the tall, solitary blonde man behind to his studies. That was fine, he decided because while he was a pirate in title, he was not one in heart. It was for that reason he had been ascribed the profession of sailing master. It was hard work—penning maps day in and day out and somehow managing to guide the vessel anywhere but the bottom of the ocean.
It was tempting sometimes to pilot the captain into a bed of rocks, but Cyrus had refrained from his mildly sadistic tendencies to end his life for reasons of the sheer hatred of being stuck on a ship with pirates.
Midnight fell like a rich velvet blanket of black, swallowing up the day and draining the colours into endless shades of monochrome. The crew, or the vast majority of them anyhow (a few swabs had remained behind, as well) was bound to be back in the coming hours, dragging along with them their prized Lady and they’d be off again. Sliding the cloth drapes across his port window, Cyrus pulled all the maps from his bed and rolled them up, shoving them in the drawers in his desk alongside the rest of his cartographic equipment before slipping off his boots and sliding out of his coat.
Perhaps the crew would have a hostage on board come morning, but Cyrus didn’t concern himself often with such matters. His job was simple: he kept his head down, he made maps, and he helped the captain guide the ships through any and all waters. He did not care for hostages, nor did he concern himself with the drinking and celebrating that surrounded a successful heist.
A nasty breeze circulated through his little cabin, bringing with it a damp chilliness that could only be given by the ocean. Cold and damp, such a charming combination he thought bitterly to himself as he slipped below the woolen duvet. No amount of clothing was impenetrable to that sinking, wet cold, and no matter how he tried, no matter what he wore, it sunk down deep into his bones until he was left shivering more often than not. Dragging his pillow over his face to try and ward out any remaining cold, and curling up on his side, Cyrus willed himself to sleep.
Unfortunate then that the moment his eyes had grown heavy and his heart had slowed, a ruckus occurred. Boots smacked against the deck the floor above him, rattling his belongings and causing a few of his hanging maps to nearly fall off their nails. Sitting up, Cyrus snorted and tossed his legs over the side of the bed before slipping his boots back on. It seemed the crew had returned, and despite his general sense of despising towards anything and everything ‘pillaging, pilfering, or plundering’ related, even he couldn’t resist seeing the markedly ‘beautiful lady’ they were supposed to be kidnapping.
He used to love the way the sun shone off the rippling water, its golden light warped in the twisted, glass waves. No description he could ever think of could truly capture its mysterious majesty, yet only few words could express its beauty. Now, he hated it.
Sailing on the open waters for months on end, it was easy to lose hope. Sitting from his cabin, Cyrus stared out over the endless pit of ocean, black in night. It was as still as a millpond, the surface was barely a placid ripple, breaking the moonlight in mosaic tiles of reflect colors. Not too far from the unmoving prow came a pod of orca, breaching the surface with their black dorsal fins. It had been eerily quiet aboard the vessel all evening, on account of the crew having gone out to acquire a hostage for ransom. 'Acquire' had a way of sounding much more pleasant than 'kidnap.'
How they intended to acquire the young lass, Cyrus didn’t want to know. He didn’t ask; the crew had given up long ago on trying to convince him to tag along on their little plundering and pillaging trips, so more often than not, they just left the tall, solitary blonde man behind to his studies. That was fine, he decided because while he was a pirate in title, he was not one in heart. It was for that reason he had been ascribed the profession of sailing master. It was hard work—penning maps day in and day out and somehow managing to guide the vessel anywhere but the bottom of the ocean.
It was tempting sometimes to pilot the captain into a bed of rocks, but Cyrus had refrained from his mildly sadistic tendencies to end his life for reasons of the sheer hatred of being stuck on a ship with pirates.
Midnight fell like a rich velvet blanket of black, swallowing up the day and draining the colours into endless shades of monochrome. The crew, or the vast majority of them anyhow (a few swabs had remained behind, as well) was bound to be back in the coming hours, dragging along with them their prized Lady and they’d be off again. Sliding the cloth drapes across his port window, Cyrus pulled all the maps from his bed and rolled them up, shoving them in the drawers in his desk alongside the rest of his cartographic equipment before slipping off his boots and sliding out of his coat.
Perhaps the crew would have a hostage on board come morning, but Cyrus didn’t concern himself often with such matters. His job was simple: he kept his head down, he made maps, and he helped the captain guide the ships through any and all waters. He did not care for hostages, nor did he concern himself with the drinking and celebrating that surrounded a successful heist.
A nasty breeze circulated through his little cabin, bringing with it a damp chilliness that could only be given by the ocean. Cold and damp, such a charming combination he thought bitterly to himself as he slipped below the woolen duvet. No amount of clothing was impenetrable to that sinking, wet cold, and no matter how he tried, no matter what he wore, it sunk down deep into his bones until he was left shivering more often than not. Dragging his pillow over his face to try and ward out any remaining cold, and curling up on his side, Cyrus willed himself to sleep.
Unfortunate then that the moment his eyes had grown heavy and his heart had slowed, a ruckus occurred. Boots smacked against the deck the floor above him, rattling his belongings and causing a few of his hanging maps to nearly fall off their nails. Sitting up, Cyrus snorted and tossed his legs over the side of the bed before slipping his boots back on. It seemed the crew had returned, and despite his general sense of despising towards anything and everything ‘pillaging, pilfering, or plundering’ related, even he couldn’t resist seeing the markedly ‘beautiful lady’ they were supposed to be kidnapping.
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
The night crept on.
Alice had been in the nursery all evening, her sister Charlotte curled in her arms with tears streaking down her infant cheeks. She was always this way with papa gone, off to London with Mary for some gathering Alice could not have cared less about. When her mother had passed, Charlotte had not mourned but a second before clinging to their shared father with her small little fists. Now, a year later, she was here holding on to Alice as though there was no one left in the world for her. Infants were always dramatic in that way, their cries more like the hollers of a fabled banshee, and it was always Alice who held her when father was away.
Poor, beautiful Alice.
“Shhh, little one,” Alice cooed, bouncing the little bundle of pudgy skin, Charlotte’s tuft of brown hair sticking up like alfalfa, “You must sleep, papa will be home tomorrow.” She spoke as though they were alone, but the estate was far from empty. They had servants and horsemen, stables lining the east and west, cooks and maids, a nanny (who decidedly slept more than Alice did), and plenty of tutors scampering in day in and day out. No, The Kent estate was a hub of life in the morning hours, but in the still of the night it was eerily quiet especially without Mary there to meander about the hallways and nose her way into everyone’s business. At fifteen, she was quite the society-woman-in-training, but it never quite bothered Alice. After all, Alice had never done quite anything to earn the reputation she had.
Beautiful, with eyes of the ocean and corn silk hair. Despite the desires of her heart, she was quite the conversationalist, outgoing and observant when she decided to be, but on nights like that – holding a babe in her arms – Alice was simply…Alice. She often times felt bad, as her sister Mary wanted nothing more than to be accepted in the same way, but with her lanky figure and freckled face, it was unlikely. No, Alice had won the genetics of their late mother with her petite, lean frame, soft features, and ample curves – but she would have given it up in a moment for a purpose greater than this.
God almighty, was Charlotte still crying?
Alice checked for a fever, finding warm skin but nothing indicating any sort of illness, but on she went. The poor thing just wailed into the night as though sleep were a fleeting ideal. Alice opened the balcony door a crack to stand with Charlotte in the sea breeze to cool her down. It was then she saw it. Lights in the distance until they were not so distant. No, whoever it was had headed towards their home. A group of people, of men, she could hear their boots on the cobblestone. Her eyes traced the skyline until she saw the faintest outline of a ship out in the distance and immediately Alice retreated indoors.
Pirates.
Alice wrapped Charlotte in a blanket and shushed her as she near ran down the hallway towards where the nanny, Miss Jane, was asleep. Without a knock, Alice burst in and watched as the older woman jolted from sleep, her hand reaching for the candlestick to see who had entered her room. “Lady Alice? What in the world—”
“Take Charlotte,” Alice instructed, “Go out the kitchen and take her into town, have a messenger send for my father at once. Do not stop until you get there, do you understand me?”
“But my lady,” she started but Alice just pressed a kiss to Charlotte’s head and handed her off. “Take her, Jane. Go, there isn’t much time. I said go.” Miss Jane nodded and took the baby, slipping on her shawl and shoes and starting out of the room but the moment she heard the sounds of men outside, her steps got faster until she was out of sight.
It was all a blur after that. Slamming at the doors, rocks through windows, the sound of a wall of men just breaking through the front doors until they poured out into the entrance hall. Everyone had woken, servants and cooks and maids all scrambling to defend themselves and Alice did what she could in the moment. She ran to the only room in the house she knew that had a lock – her father’s study. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her, slammed the door behind her and backed up a few steps until she could hear slamming against the door. They sounded barbaric and she could feel her heart beating in her ears. She assumed they were there for her father, but when a voice carried over the doors, it struck her to the core.
“Get them doors open ‘n get ‘er!”
They weren’t there for her father. No, they were there for her.
In a split second the door was there, then shattered and she felt the unfamiliar feeling of cold steel pointed at her throat. They surrounded her, a near dozen of them, and two came up behind her to take her arms to stop her from running. “’Tis a pleasure m’lady,” one man bowed mockingly, “’m afraid you’ll be comin’ wit’ us.”
They were rough and refused her questions. Instead, they raked their hands over her like they’d never felt flesh before and some of them spoke crude, inappropriate things to one another as thought she couldn’t hear. One man grabbed her wrists and bound them with rope behind her and tied a piece of cloth around her mouth to keep her silent before he threw her over shoulder. It was a bit of a trip back to the shore, but soon enough they had her loaded on a small row boat out to the ship that looked menacing against the near pitch black night sky. “Don’t be touchin’ her, Captain’s orders,” one of the men commanded and immediately the man who had been dragging his grimy fingers against the softness of her skin snapped back at the scold.
They hauled her up to the ship, walking her across the deck before stopping as a man emerged from the shadows. “Lady Alice Kent, it’s a pleasure to have you a’board my ship,” he smiled a Cheshire grin, “Let’s get a good look at ye. Take it off.”
At first, she thought he meant her clothing, but when the man behind her yanked the cloth from her mouth, she took a bit of a deep breath to sate her lungs. It wasn’t until there was a tug on her hair to bring her eyes up did she look at the man across from here. A man with authority, she could have spotted it anywhere. The captain.
“Can ye talk?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
“Depends,” she replied, her eyes never breaking contact with his, “Can I say anything that will get you to return me to my home?”
A few men chuckled behind her, but the Captain only smirked and stepped forward, his fingertips brushing the apple of her cheek ever so slightly as he mused. “Pretty little thing, ‘int she?”
Alice had been in the nursery all evening, her sister Charlotte curled in her arms with tears streaking down her infant cheeks. She was always this way with papa gone, off to London with Mary for some gathering Alice could not have cared less about. When her mother had passed, Charlotte had not mourned but a second before clinging to their shared father with her small little fists. Now, a year later, she was here holding on to Alice as though there was no one left in the world for her. Infants were always dramatic in that way, their cries more like the hollers of a fabled banshee, and it was always Alice who held her when father was away.
Poor, beautiful Alice.
“Shhh, little one,” Alice cooed, bouncing the little bundle of pudgy skin, Charlotte’s tuft of brown hair sticking up like alfalfa, “You must sleep, papa will be home tomorrow.” She spoke as though they were alone, but the estate was far from empty. They had servants and horsemen, stables lining the east and west, cooks and maids, a nanny (who decidedly slept more than Alice did), and plenty of tutors scampering in day in and day out. No, The Kent estate was a hub of life in the morning hours, but in the still of the night it was eerily quiet especially without Mary there to meander about the hallways and nose her way into everyone’s business. At fifteen, she was quite the society-woman-in-training, but it never quite bothered Alice. After all, Alice had never done quite anything to earn the reputation she had.
Beautiful, with eyes of the ocean and corn silk hair. Despite the desires of her heart, she was quite the conversationalist, outgoing and observant when she decided to be, but on nights like that – holding a babe in her arms – Alice was simply…Alice. She often times felt bad, as her sister Mary wanted nothing more than to be accepted in the same way, but with her lanky figure and freckled face, it was unlikely. No, Alice had won the genetics of their late mother with her petite, lean frame, soft features, and ample curves – but she would have given it up in a moment for a purpose greater than this.
God almighty, was Charlotte still crying?
Alice checked for a fever, finding warm skin but nothing indicating any sort of illness, but on she went. The poor thing just wailed into the night as though sleep were a fleeting ideal. Alice opened the balcony door a crack to stand with Charlotte in the sea breeze to cool her down. It was then she saw it. Lights in the distance until they were not so distant. No, whoever it was had headed towards their home. A group of people, of men, she could hear their boots on the cobblestone. Her eyes traced the skyline until she saw the faintest outline of a ship out in the distance and immediately Alice retreated indoors.
Pirates.
Alice wrapped Charlotte in a blanket and shushed her as she near ran down the hallway towards where the nanny, Miss Jane, was asleep. Without a knock, Alice burst in and watched as the older woman jolted from sleep, her hand reaching for the candlestick to see who had entered her room. “Lady Alice? What in the world—”
“Take Charlotte,” Alice instructed, “Go out the kitchen and take her into town, have a messenger send for my father at once. Do not stop until you get there, do you understand me?”
“But my lady,” she started but Alice just pressed a kiss to Charlotte’s head and handed her off. “Take her, Jane. Go, there isn’t much time. I said go.” Miss Jane nodded and took the baby, slipping on her shawl and shoes and starting out of the room but the moment she heard the sounds of men outside, her steps got faster until she was out of sight.
It was all a blur after that. Slamming at the doors, rocks through windows, the sound of a wall of men just breaking through the front doors until they poured out into the entrance hall. Everyone had woken, servants and cooks and maids all scrambling to defend themselves and Alice did what she could in the moment. She ran to the only room in the house she knew that had a lock – her father’s study. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her, slammed the door behind her and backed up a few steps until she could hear slamming against the door. They sounded barbaric and she could feel her heart beating in her ears. She assumed they were there for her father, but when a voice carried over the doors, it struck her to the core.
“Get them doors open ‘n get ‘er!”
They weren’t there for her father. No, they were there for her.
In a split second the door was there, then shattered and she felt the unfamiliar feeling of cold steel pointed at her throat. They surrounded her, a near dozen of them, and two came up behind her to take her arms to stop her from running. “’Tis a pleasure m’lady,” one man bowed mockingly, “’m afraid you’ll be comin’ wit’ us.”
They were rough and refused her questions. Instead, they raked their hands over her like they’d never felt flesh before and some of them spoke crude, inappropriate things to one another as thought she couldn’t hear. One man grabbed her wrists and bound them with rope behind her and tied a piece of cloth around her mouth to keep her silent before he threw her over shoulder. It was a bit of a trip back to the shore, but soon enough they had her loaded on a small row boat out to the ship that looked menacing against the near pitch black night sky. “Don’t be touchin’ her, Captain’s orders,” one of the men commanded and immediately the man who had been dragging his grimy fingers against the softness of her skin snapped back at the scold.
They hauled her up to the ship, walking her across the deck before stopping as a man emerged from the shadows. “Lady Alice Kent, it’s a pleasure to have you a’board my ship,” he smiled a Cheshire grin, “Let’s get a good look at ye. Take it off.”
At first, she thought he meant her clothing, but when the man behind her yanked the cloth from her mouth, she took a bit of a deep breath to sate her lungs. It wasn’t until there was a tug on her hair to bring her eyes up did she look at the man across from here. A man with authority, she could have spotted it anywhere. The captain.
“Can ye talk?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
“Depends,” she replied, her eyes never breaking contact with his, “Can I say anything that will get you to return me to my home?”
A few men chuckled behind her, but the Captain only smirked and stepped forward, his fingertips brushing the apple of her cheek ever so slightly as he mused. “Pretty little thing, ‘int she?”
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Mordecai
the traitorous queen
About ten thousand tonnes of ancient rusting metal, paint peeling and blistering like a bad sun burn and a noisy vibrating of the ocean that rattled everything that wasn’t strapped down, the Saint Marie was nothing remarkable worth looking at. Everything was out of order—cutlery jittering across licked-clean dinner plates, life boats hanging on rusted chains, weather worn decks, cabins with port holes, bunk beds, berths, windows reverberating, waves relentless slapping and teasing the old maid of the sea. There wasn’t an inch of the ship he loved.
It was July—hot during the days but cold at night when surrounded by nothing but ocean, and stepping onto the deck that was illuminated only by the moonlight above, Cyrus folded his arms across his chest and watched from a distance. The woman was not exactly what he was expecting, a pop of blonde amid a painting that was mostly coffee tones—brunettes, tanned skin—so that she almost appeared to be glowing when compared to the darkness of her surroundings. Behind her, puffs of grey smoke drifted lazily from a single tall funnel, dissipating as it was pulled along from the spout by a hasty gust of wind.
There was a soft breeze, just enough to bring a spray of dampness to his clothes, but not nearly enough to kick up the water. The vessel’s sails were hanging like Christmas stockings waiting to be filled, but no heavy breeze came.
“Bet a girl like that make even the likes of you sing, eh, Warren?” A familiar voice curled up next to him. Rodney’s voice was coarse like fragmented rocks in a hessian sack, moving and grinding against one another but somehow complimenting his ruddy complexion and raised veins. He was a pirate, through and through, but so skinny that his gear sort of hung off of him. Wiping the white hair from his eyes as he glanced up to Cyrus, having to tilt his head back to meet him. Cyrus only snorted with amusement, a lame smile pulling the corner of his lips.
Rodney was as close as a friend, Cyrus supposed, as one could come on the sea. Though he had yet to say anything worth responding to, Cyrus often enjoyed playing cards with him. Departing his gaze from Rodney and back to the Captain and the unfortunate girl, Cyrus let his arms drop down to his sides and rested his hand instead across his belt, watching with a glossy-eyed half-interest and consciously contemplating whether or not he should just return to his chambers. It would be an early start to the next morning, he rationalized, with the heist and all. There would be no time left to dawdle, but no matter how much he tried to convince himself to pick up his feet and head back below deck, no part of his insubordinate limbs seemed willing to respond.
Instead, he remained perfectly stationary, watching with his lips pulled back into his cheeks.
“Whatdya think?” Rodney leaned over, “Think they’ll get what they want outta her?”
Cyrus responded with a shrug. He didn’t care about loot. After all, his payment on this vessel wasn’t in coin, necessarily, so much as it was on minutes on the clock. A shameful way to live, really, but Cyrus had never claimed to be a man of brave honour. No siree, there was no shame in running from warrants.
“Mm, yea, me neither.” Rodney always did, in absence of Cyrus speaking, like to put words in his mouth.
It was July—hot during the days but cold at night when surrounded by nothing but ocean, and stepping onto the deck that was illuminated only by the moonlight above, Cyrus folded his arms across his chest and watched from a distance. The woman was not exactly what he was expecting, a pop of blonde amid a painting that was mostly coffee tones—brunettes, tanned skin—so that she almost appeared to be glowing when compared to the darkness of her surroundings. Behind her, puffs of grey smoke drifted lazily from a single tall funnel, dissipating as it was pulled along from the spout by a hasty gust of wind.
There was a soft breeze, just enough to bring a spray of dampness to his clothes, but not nearly enough to kick up the water. The vessel’s sails were hanging like Christmas stockings waiting to be filled, but no heavy breeze came.
“Bet a girl like that make even the likes of you sing, eh, Warren?” A familiar voice curled up next to him. Rodney’s voice was coarse like fragmented rocks in a hessian sack, moving and grinding against one another but somehow complimenting his ruddy complexion and raised veins. He was a pirate, through and through, but so skinny that his gear sort of hung off of him. Wiping the white hair from his eyes as he glanced up to Cyrus, having to tilt his head back to meet him. Cyrus only snorted with amusement, a lame smile pulling the corner of his lips.
Rodney was as close as a friend, Cyrus supposed, as one could come on the sea. Though he had yet to say anything worth responding to, Cyrus often enjoyed playing cards with him. Departing his gaze from Rodney and back to the Captain and the unfortunate girl, Cyrus let his arms drop down to his sides and rested his hand instead across his belt, watching with a glossy-eyed half-interest and consciously contemplating whether or not he should just return to his chambers. It would be an early start to the next morning, he rationalized, with the heist and all. There would be no time left to dawdle, but no matter how much he tried to convince himself to pick up his feet and head back below deck, no part of his insubordinate limbs seemed willing to respond.
Instead, he remained perfectly stationary, watching with his lips pulled back into his cheeks.
“Whatdya think?” Rodney leaned over, “Think they’ll get what they want outta her?”
Cyrus responded with a shrug. He didn’t care about loot. After all, his payment on this vessel wasn’t in coin, necessarily, so much as it was on minutes on the clock. A shameful way to live, really, but Cyrus had never claimed to be a man of brave honour. No siree, there was no shame in running from warrants.
“Mm, yea, me neither.” Rodney always did, in absence of Cyrus speaking, like to put words in his mouth.
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
“Welcome to the Saint Marie,” the Captain smiled, “Cap’n Edward Morgan, at yer service, m’lady.”
“For a man who has just kidnapped me from my home in the dead of night, you have a strange way of showing manners,” Alice replied, her voice soften than his boom, but it had always been that way. Her words had always been her strength, not the sound of her voice. It was Mary who did the yelling and quite a bit of it too. A wave of homesickness washed over Alice as she realized that the man before her intended to keep her. For what? She had a pretty good idea. She was not naïve. She knew the wealth, power and influence her father held. It, by extension, made her an incredibly valuable asset if these men ever wanted to get their hands on that fortune.
“Well, ya see,” he mused, stepping closer until she could feel his hot breath pushing back her long, blonde locks, “We need somethin’ from yer dear father.”
“So you intend to collect a ransom from my father then?”
He chuckled, “Beautiful and sharp.”
“I read,” she deadpanned.
“Very well then,” the Captain spoke, “We can continue our little chat later. Take our lovely lass ‘ere below deck.” He didn’t have to speak twice, immediately Alice felt two pairs of strong hands grab either arm at a bruising pressure as they yanked her towards the steps leading down into the underbelly of the ship. She could hear murmur and conversation among the men behind her, the captain speaking of her various “uses” to another, but what caught her attention most were the two men they passed as Alice was dragged away. She put up no fight, knowing that she was not a talented enough swimmer to make it to shore and selfishly valued her own life, but her eyes found those of a man standing far taller than the one next to him. He hadn’t spoken a word, not like the other men.
Perhaps he was mute.
Alice was unceremoniously dumped in a cell in the underbelly of the ship. The door locked and she realized quickly by the way the men carrying her glanced at her like meat through the bars – perhaps this was the safest place for her to be. It was freezing and dark, the air thick with something she could not identify. The dampness of the air cut through her and her nightdress, chilling her bones almost immediately. They didn’t even have the dignity to leave her untied, only removing her ropes so they could bind her wrists in the front. One of them said something about not wanting to take a risk, but she wondered what risk there was to take? How many hostages had they taken that tried to leap off the edge of the ship?
Though, she decided, if the men ever were to act on some of their less than polite thoughts, drowning would be better than living as someone else’s plaything.
Alice pressed her back up against the wall and let herself slide down to the floorboards, everything creaking as she went. She didn’t need medical knowledge to know she wouldn’t survive a damn week down here, so she mused silently about how to get back above deck. Maybe she could not control her father or the outcome of all of this, but she could try to stay alive as long as she could.
“For a man who has just kidnapped me from my home in the dead of night, you have a strange way of showing manners,” Alice replied, her voice soften than his boom, but it had always been that way. Her words had always been her strength, not the sound of her voice. It was Mary who did the yelling and quite a bit of it too. A wave of homesickness washed over Alice as she realized that the man before her intended to keep her. For what? She had a pretty good idea. She was not naïve. She knew the wealth, power and influence her father held. It, by extension, made her an incredibly valuable asset if these men ever wanted to get their hands on that fortune.
“Well, ya see,” he mused, stepping closer until she could feel his hot breath pushing back her long, blonde locks, “We need somethin’ from yer dear father.”
“So you intend to collect a ransom from my father then?”
He chuckled, “Beautiful and sharp.”
“I read,” she deadpanned.
“Very well then,” the Captain spoke, “We can continue our little chat later. Take our lovely lass ‘ere below deck.” He didn’t have to speak twice, immediately Alice felt two pairs of strong hands grab either arm at a bruising pressure as they yanked her towards the steps leading down into the underbelly of the ship. She could hear murmur and conversation among the men behind her, the captain speaking of her various “uses” to another, but what caught her attention most were the two men they passed as Alice was dragged away. She put up no fight, knowing that she was not a talented enough swimmer to make it to shore and selfishly valued her own life, but her eyes found those of a man standing far taller than the one next to him. He hadn’t spoken a word, not like the other men.
Perhaps he was mute.
Alice was unceremoniously dumped in a cell in the underbelly of the ship. The door locked and she realized quickly by the way the men carrying her glanced at her like meat through the bars – perhaps this was the safest place for her to be. It was freezing and dark, the air thick with something she could not identify. The dampness of the air cut through her and her nightdress, chilling her bones almost immediately. They didn’t even have the dignity to leave her untied, only removing her ropes so they could bind her wrists in the front. One of them said something about not wanting to take a risk, but she wondered what risk there was to take? How many hostages had they taken that tried to leap off the edge of the ship?
Though, she decided, if the men ever were to act on some of their less than polite thoughts, drowning would be better than living as someone else’s plaything.
Alice pressed her back up against the wall and let herself slide down to the floorboards, everything creaking as she went. She didn’t need medical knowledge to know she wouldn’t survive a damn week down here, so she mused silently about how to get back above deck. Maybe she could not control her father or the outcome of all of this, but she could try to stay alive as long as she could.
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
Cyrus' eyebrows raised as he watched the woman be... well, he would have liked to have come up with a word better than 'dragged.' Lugged, perhaps? Schlepped? Neither of those options sounded particularly appealing in his head either, so he continued with the verbiage of dragged. So, he stood there watching her be dragged across the deck by two men, Earl and John, while he stepped aside to allow them to pass. His lips were pulled back still in to an expression that was definitely not a smile, but not quite a grimace either, that caused the deep scar across his cheek to crinkle and become more defined. Even in the darkness, his skin was sun-kissed from long days out on the deck, while his cotton shirt and baggy brown trousers hid a strong and muscular frame.
There was a flash of white from below his lips as they pulled more taut as she passed by, catching his gaze and shooting one back to him. It was fleeting, only a second, before she, Earl, and John, disappeared entirely below the deck. Poor lass, he thought to himself sullenly, for she had found a fate worse than death. Funny that how a pirate ship could represent two different things to two different people-- different sides of the same damn coin-- for Cyrus it was safety, for her it was...
“You're thinkin' you wanna bang her, ain't that right?” Rodney interjected, trying to play his little game of 'Cyrus interpreter' again. Cyrus shot a sideways look with his coffee brown eyes, his eyebrows relaxing as he just sort of shook his head in amusement. Well, the little man had never quite guessed what thoughts were going on his mind, not once, but Rodney seemed convinced he was a mind-reader all the same.
“Aye, I see that look. You may not speak, Cy boy, but I know what ya thinkin'. It's why we're such good friends-- same pattern a thought all the time, you n' me. Practically the same person!”
Ah, most certainly not, but it still wasn't worth the breath to correct him. Instead, he just sort of turned off and began to make his way below deck so he could retire for the evening.
“Go get 'er! GrrrRrrrRRrRrr!” Rodney called after him, leaving Cyrus not other option but to flip him the bird as he descended the steps and vanished to rest. Now that was a piece of language no one would be able to misinterpret.
Morning was swift and even before the sun had come up, after only a few hours of sleep, Cyrus was up and returning to his post. The darkness had not yet entirely surrendered to the light of morning, yet already there was a thick smear of grey clouds that were cast over the sky. The ocean was tainted; no longer an abyss of black, nor did it appear blue. Instead it looked a metallic grey, glistening as the occasional spear of light pierced through the clouds and danced over the surface. The crew was on deck working away and Cyrus slipped right past them, not at all noticed as he disappeared into the Captain's cabin and settled down at the desk space. Another day of maps and map making, a dull day, but that was perfectly okay by him.
Excitement was just never quite his speed, anyways, though that didn't stop him from letting his mind wander, wondering how that poor lass was doing. Ah, bugger, none of his business, anyhow.
There was a flash of white from below his lips as they pulled more taut as she passed by, catching his gaze and shooting one back to him. It was fleeting, only a second, before she, Earl, and John, disappeared entirely below the deck. Poor lass, he thought to himself sullenly, for she had found a fate worse than death. Funny that how a pirate ship could represent two different things to two different people-- different sides of the same damn coin-- for Cyrus it was safety, for her it was...
“You're thinkin' you wanna bang her, ain't that right?” Rodney interjected, trying to play his little game of 'Cyrus interpreter' again. Cyrus shot a sideways look with his coffee brown eyes, his eyebrows relaxing as he just sort of shook his head in amusement. Well, the little man had never quite guessed what thoughts were going on his mind, not once, but Rodney seemed convinced he was a mind-reader all the same.
“Aye, I see that look. You may not speak, Cy boy, but I know what ya thinkin'. It's why we're such good friends-- same pattern a thought all the time, you n' me. Practically the same person!”
Ah, most certainly not, but it still wasn't worth the breath to correct him. Instead, he just sort of turned off and began to make his way below deck so he could retire for the evening.
“Go get 'er! GrrrRrrrRRrRrr!” Rodney called after him, leaving Cyrus not other option but to flip him the bird as he descended the steps and vanished to rest. Now that was a piece of language no one would be able to misinterpret.
Morning was swift and even before the sun had come up, after only a few hours of sleep, Cyrus was up and returning to his post. The darkness had not yet entirely surrendered to the light of morning, yet already there was a thick smear of grey clouds that were cast over the sky. The ocean was tainted; no longer an abyss of black, nor did it appear blue. Instead it looked a metallic grey, glistening as the occasional spear of light pierced through the clouds and danced over the surface. The crew was on deck working away and Cyrus slipped right past them, not at all noticed as he disappeared into the Captain's cabin and settled down at the desk space. Another day of maps and map making, a dull day, but that was perfectly okay by him.
Excitement was just never quite his speed, anyways, though that didn't stop him from letting his mind wander, wondering how that poor lass was doing. Ah, bugger, none of his business, anyhow.
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
“Yer bloody infuriating, ye know that?”
Alice hadn’t slept all night. It was impossible in the cold damp underbelly of the ship. Men had been coming in and out all morning, offering her deals and taunting her with food. The Captain had yet to show his face that morning, but the man who had been asked to bring her breakfast just dangled the food there outside the cell. The smell causing her stomach to lurch uncomfortably and he just continued on and on about how ladies did men favors for such a lovely thing as breakfast. He couldn’t very well open her cell against Captain’s orders, but if she invited him in it was another thing entirely, apparently. Alice did not care much for their crude comments and she certainly did not succumb to them. She would rather, quite frankly, starve.
It was only a few hours later, when Alice had finally managed to doze off ever so slightly, did she feel the crash of ice cold salt water drench her from head to toe. She jolted awake with a gasp, her bound hands uselessly trying to wipe the hair from her eyes. “Beautiful morn’, innit m’lady?” the man smiled a crooked grin. He wasn’t the captain, but he was large, strong, and she felt just the slightest twinge of intimidation down in her bones as she shivered.
“Looks just about as dark as the evening, if you ask me,” Alice replied, her voice steady despite the shivering.
“It’s nice n’ warm up on deck,” he cooed sickeningly, “What say you n’ me take a little trip up there, eh? I’m sure the men’ll like a nice view a that.” He gestured at her and Alice glanced down, her white nightdress near transparent and her arms moved quickly to wrap around herself. For the first time throughout the day, she heard the jingle of keys and the man moved to open the cell door.
And there wasn’t a single place for Alice to run.
“I know ya treatin’ this lady with respect, Jack,” the Captain’s voice echoed through the ship as his form came into view and immediately Jack backed up and dropped the bucket her had been carrying. “Yes, Cap’n,” he nodded but the Captain waved him off, sending him scrambling back above deck and leaving the keys behind. The Captain came up to the bars, his face illuminated by the lantern he carried and he raised it out to take a good look at Alice. His eyes raking up and down almost invasively.
“Startin’ a mess with my crew,” he commented, “can’t seem to keep ‘em doin’ their jobs with you down’ere.”
Alice was about to open her mouth to defend herself, but she quickly saw no use in it. He was the Captain of this ship. No matter what she felt, his command was law here, and she did not want to be thrown into the ocean unless absolutely necessary. “C’mere,” he instructed her to come towards the door of the cell and she obeyed, her legs unsteady beneath her as she made her way over, “Place yer hands here.”
She put her hands where he instructed against the cold bars and he pulled a knife from his pocket to slice swiftly through the ropes that bound her hands. The skin around her wrists was a bit raw, but nothing to bad. Immediately, Alice retracted her hands and rubbed at the skin, trying to warm them up and soothe the pain. He then tossed through the bar some fabric that resembled a dress and Alice looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. “Get changed. Now.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Alice knew that he wasn’t about to leave her there and she picked up the facets of the dress and turned so her back was facing him. It was humiliating, but not having to look at him helped as she slowly and shakily stripped off her nightdress and instead pulled on the dry fabrics he had brought. It was more revealing of a dress than she was used to – the chemise dress was blue but the dark blue corset laced up in the front and show more of her curves than any dress she had at home. She felt like a bar wench. Once she was taken care of, she turned to face the Captain, but held his eye line as to show she was not ashamed.
It seemed as though that was the end of his kindness, if one could even call it that. If he knew anything about Alice’s father, it was that he was ruthless, and perhaps keeping her as undamaged as possible would give him a bigger payout. Without a word, he began to walk back up to the rest of the ship, leaving Alice along in the dark once again. She was going to catch her death down here, sooner rather than later, and all she could hope was that she had caused enough of a ruckus down here with the crew that he would find her other arrangements. Even locking her in a cabin would be better than this.
She could already feel the fever flushing in her skin.
Alice hadn’t slept all night. It was impossible in the cold damp underbelly of the ship. Men had been coming in and out all morning, offering her deals and taunting her with food. The Captain had yet to show his face that morning, but the man who had been asked to bring her breakfast just dangled the food there outside the cell. The smell causing her stomach to lurch uncomfortably and he just continued on and on about how ladies did men favors for such a lovely thing as breakfast. He couldn’t very well open her cell against Captain’s orders, but if she invited him in it was another thing entirely, apparently. Alice did not care much for their crude comments and she certainly did not succumb to them. She would rather, quite frankly, starve.
It was only a few hours later, when Alice had finally managed to doze off ever so slightly, did she feel the crash of ice cold salt water drench her from head to toe. She jolted awake with a gasp, her bound hands uselessly trying to wipe the hair from her eyes. “Beautiful morn’, innit m’lady?” the man smiled a crooked grin. He wasn’t the captain, but he was large, strong, and she felt just the slightest twinge of intimidation down in her bones as she shivered.
“Looks just about as dark as the evening, if you ask me,” Alice replied, her voice steady despite the shivering.
“It’s nice n’ warm up on deck,” he cooed sickeningly, “What say you n’ me take a little trip up there, eh? I’m sure the men’ll like a nice view a that.” He gestured at her and Alice glanced down, her white nightdress near transparent and her arms moved quickly to wrap around herself. For the first time throughout the day, she heard the jingle of keys and the man moved to open the cell door.
And there wasn’t a single place for Alice to run.
“I know ya treatin’ this lady with respect, Jack,” the Captain’s voice echoed through the ship as his form came into view and immediately Jack backed up and dropped the bucket her had been carrying. “Yes, Cap’n,” he nodded but the Captain waved him off, sending him scrambling back above deck and leaving the keys behind. The Captain came up to the bars, his face illuminated by the lantern he carried and he raised it out to take a good look at Alice. His eyes raking up and down almost invasively.
“Startin’ a mess with my crew,” he commented, “can’t seem to keep ‘em doin’ their jobs with you down’ere.”
Alice was about to open her mouth to defend herself, but she quickly saw no use in it. He was the Captain of this ship. No matter what she felt, his command was law here, and she did not want to be thrown into the ocean unless absolutely necessary. “C’mere,” he instructed her to come towards the door of the cell and she obeyed, her legs unsteady beneath her as she made her way over, “Place yer hands here.”
She put her hands where he instructed against the cold bars and he pulled a knife from his pocket to slice swiftly through the ropes that bound her hands. The skin around her wrists was a bit raw, but nothing to bad. Immediately, Alice retracted her hands and rubbed at the skin, trying to warm them up and soothe the pain. He then tossed through the bar some fabric that resembled a dress and Alice looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. “Get changed. Now.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Alice knew that he wasn’t about to leave her there and she picked up the facets of the dress and turned so her back was facing him. It was humiliating, but not having to look at him helped as she slowly and shakily stripped off her nightdress and instead pulled on the dry fabrics he had brought. It was more revealing of a dress than she was used to – the chemise dress was blue but the dark blue corset laced up in the front and show more of her curves than any dress she had at home. She felt like a bar wench. Once she was taken care of, she turned to face the Captain, but held his eye line as to show she was not ashamed.
It seemed as though that was the end of his kindness, if one could even call it that. If he knew anything about Alice’s father, it was that he was ruthless, and perhaps keeping her as undamaged as possible would give him a bigger payout. Without a word, he began to walk back up to the rest of the ship, leaving Alice along in the dark once again. She was going to catch her death down here, sooner rather than later, and all she could hope was that she had caused enough of a ruckus down here with the crew that he would find her other arrangements. Even locking her in a cabin would be better than this.
She could already feel the fever flushing in her skin.
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
Maybe he hated the ocean these days, but there was something incredibly rewarding about maps. The entire world was his playground and he could sail and maneuver better than any ship ever would be able to while bent over a map, using a thin tipped quill to carefully trace in the lines. They were pieces of art, truly, and not crude outlines of land and water, but detail-oriented projects put on high-quality parchment. The black ink bled into the brown ever-so slightly, softening the lines, but the intentions were clear. With every project, his fingertips became stained with the black and smudges of ink would always make its way on to his arms and cheeks, whenever he'd go to wipe sweat away.
“Do you have a route?” The quartermaster stepped in to the room, causing Cyrus to nearly leap from his skin in surprise. He was a big guy, tall, six feet with broad shoulders, but he never really had gotten used to the ghost-like qualities of pirates. The crew would float in and out when he was bent over one of his maps and they'd always manage to take him by surprise... every single time.
The parchment was thick and rough as he smoothed the page out. It was an old page, rinsed, bleached, and reused that was old and littered with deep creases that ran across it. Sweeping back letters and outlines were printed neatly into tight, uniform lines with a myriad of golden and scarlet clouds decorating the edges of the yellowing surface. The quartermaster stepped forward, acting as chief of sailing in the captain's occupied absence. He was a deceptive looking man who appeared more like a ramshackle beggar or a useless drunk, but everyone on board feared him. His reputation preceded him and the crew often described him as “sadistic and ruthless,” but in the pirate world those were compliments.
He gripped his sword with only three fingers and his thumb. He had an empty eye socket and a lopsided grin, though that one eye looked down across his beaky nose and stared at the map that Cyrus had produced with careful consideration, his eyes colder than the water in the ocean. For a beat, Cyrus felt discomfort rise in his chest, beginning to fear the quartermaster, who went by Thomas, was disapproving of the route he had picked. The captain had explained the objective was to take the young woman to Lisbon for a quick stop over and then hurry on to Azores where they could safely hold her until negotiations were reached with her father.
Unfortunately, a myriad of storms that often plagued the open stretch of water between Lisbon and Azores drove Cyrus to make the decision to skip Lisbon all together, visit Seville in its place, and use the coast of Africa as a sort of make-shift shield from the Eastern storms before catapulting themselves to Azores. It wasn't ideal, but for as much as he joked in his own head, Cyrus didn't really want to have his last minutes on this Earth be spent drowning in icy, saline water.
“Why Seville?”
Cyrus slid a finger across the page until he pointed out the clouds he had painted right across the stretch of water from Lisbon to Azores, a pirate calling card for annual storms.
“Ah, storms. You are certain then?” Thomas stretched his hands open, both sides missing fingers, across the table as he perched over the map.
Cyrus just gave a nod.
“Very good, then. I shall present this to Captain when he is available. In the meantime, continue making lunar sailing charts in the meantime. You will receive further work instruction in Azores.” Thomas was a strange man-- incredibly literate and well-spoken in a way no one else besides himself on the ship was-- so Cyrus always appreciated hearing him speak above anyone else. There was something pleasant hearing someone pronounce words with grammatical correctness. Thomas rolled up the map and stuck it below his arm, pausing a moment and glancing back over his shoulder as he hesitated between the doorway, “And Warren? The Captain is considering a secondary duty for you on the trip to Azores, be advised.”
“Do you have a route?” The quartermaster stepped in to the room, causing Cyrus to nearly leap from his skin in surprise. He was a big guy, tall, six feet with broad shoulders, but he never really had gotten used to the ghost-like qualities of pirates. The crew would float in and out when he was bent over one of his maps and they'd always manage to take him by surprise... every single time.
The parchment was thick and rough as he smoothed the page out. It was an old page, rinsed, bleached, and reused that was old and littered with deep creases that ran across it. Sweeping back letters and outlines were printed neatly into tight, uniform lines with a myriad of golden and scarlet clouds decorating the edges of the yellowing surface. The quartermaster stepped forward, acting as chief of sailing in the captain's occupied absence. He was a deceptive looking man who appeared more like a ramshackle beggar or a useless drunk, but everyone on board feared him. His reputation preceded him and the crew often described him as “sadistic and ruthless,” but in the pirate world those were compliments.
He gripped his sword with only three fingers and his thumb. He had an empty eye socket and a lopsided grin, though that one eye looked down across his beaky nose and stared at the map that Cyrus had produced with careful consideration, his eyes colder than the water in the ocean. For a beat, Cyrus felt discomfort rise in his chest, beginning to fear the quartermaster, who went by Thomas, was disapproving of the route he had picked. The captain had explained the objective was to take the young woman to Lisbon for a quick stop over and then hurry on to Azores where they could safely hold her until negotiations were reached with her father.
Unfortunately, a myriad of storms that often plagued the open stretch of water between Lisbon and Azores drove Cyrus to make the decision to skip Lisbon all together, visit Seville in its place, and use the coast of Africa as a sort of make-shift shield from the Eastern storms before catapulting themselves to Azores. It wasn't ideal, but for as much as he joked in his own head, Cyrus didn't really want to have his last minutes on this Earth be spent drowning in icy, saline water.
“Why Seville?”
Cyrus slid a finger across the page until he pointed out the clouds he had painted right across the stretch of water from Lisbon to Azores, a pirate calling card for annual storms.
“Ah, storms. You are certain then?” Thomas stretched his hands open, both sides missing fingers, across the table as he perched over the map.
Cyrus just gave a nod.
“Very good, then. I shall present this to Captain when he is available. In the meantime, continue making lunar sailing charts in the meantime. You will receive further work instruction in Azores.” Thomas was a strange man-- incredibly literate and well-spoken in a way no one else besides himself on the ship was-- so Cyrus always appreciated hearing him speak above anyone else. There was something pleasant hearing someone pronounce words with grammatical correctness. Thomas rolled up the map and stuck it below his arm, pausing a moment and glancing back over his shoulder as he hesitated between the doorway, “And Warren? The Captain is considering a secondary duty for you on the trip to Azores, be advised.”
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
Alice did not see anyone for the remainder of the day.
Or, at least, she assumed it was the rest of the day. She could not tell much time in the darkness, but it had felt like a lifetime though she was sure it was only about a few hours. The cold had permanently settled into her skin and she could feel it flush with fever. It was not sickness so much as it was a reaction to the elements and she was sure that even just a bit of warmth and sunlight would do her wonders. She sat huddled in the corner of her cell, back up against the wood of the ship as she wrapped herself in her own embrace. She had given up a long time ago on warming herself, but she did try everything she could to retain as much heat as possible.
All of the medical texts she had read were cycling in her mind, but she had nothing to work with but bars and the dress the Captain had given her. It covered much more than her nightdress had, barely, but the water thrown on her the previous day was enough to keep the chill in her bones no matter what the fabric.
The next morning, she heard familiar footfalls and sure enough the Captain’s boots became visible along with another pair. This time he brought along with him a scrawnier looking man, teeth missing and a tuft of near white hair on his head. He had to be nearly her father’s age. “C’mere,” the Captain commanded and Alice stumbled up to her feet so she could make her way over to the door slowly, but was surprised when the Capain unlocked the door and pulled her out towards him. He raked over her with the lantern, the older smaller man eyeing her carefully before shaking his head no.
“I thought it was an inappropriate dress as well,” Alice said, her joke unappreciated. The Captain looked down to her, “This is William, our doctor or as close as we ‘ave to one on board. He has been ‘board the Saint Marie longer than any of us.”
Why on earth they were having their makeshift doctor look at her, she wasn’t sure, but she assumed it probably had to do with how long he thought she would last down here. Health-wise, of course. If they were calculating her odds based on surviving the crew? She wouldn’t last a moment. The Captain yanked her until she was standing facing him and he handed the lantern off to the doctor and gave Alice a once over. She felt as though she was a cabbage that one might buy in the market, turning it to look for marks and bruises, but she did not lash out. When he seemed satisfied, he grabbed her arm in a powerful grip and pulled her towards the stairs. They were difficult at first, as she hadn’t quite gotten a chance to find her sea legs, but she managed.
The crew that they passed stared her down, some made ugly awful calls out to her which went ignored by the captain, until they reached the Captain’s cabin where there was a large table full of intricate maps, and a man she had seen once before. He was the one standing, watching without a word. “Warren,” he said firmly, “Our lovely Alice here will be under yer watch as we make ‘aste for Azores. Do what ya will with ‘er, just make sure she survives.”
“And you,” he turned to Alice, “this is yer last chance. Bloody well eat something and if I ‘ear yer givin’ Warren trouble, I’ll hand ya over to Jack.”
Or, at least, she assumed it was the rest of the day. She could not tell much time in the darkness, but it had felt like a lifetime though she was sure it was only about a few hours. The cold had permanently settled into her skin and she could feel it flush with fever. It was not sickness so much as it was a reaction to the elements and she was sure that even just a bit of warmth and sunlight would do her wonders. She sat huddled in the corner of her cell, back up against the wood of the ship as she wrapped herself in her own embrace. She had given up a long time ago on warming herself, but she did try everything she could to retain as much heat as possible.
All of the medical texts she had read were cycling in her mind, but she had nothing to work with but bars and the dress the Captain had given her. It covered much more than her nightdress had, barely, but the water thrown on her the previous day was enough to keep the chill in her bones no matter what the fabric.
The next morning, she heard familiar footfalls and sure enough the Captain’s boots became visible along with another pair. This time he brought along with him a scrawnier looking man, teeth missing and a tuft of near white hair on his head. He had to be nearly her father’s age. “C’mere,” the Captain commanded and Alice stumbled up to her feet so she could make her way over to the door slowly, but was surprised when the Capain unlocked the door and pulled her out towards him. He raked over her with the lantern, the older smaller man eyeing her carefully before shaking his head no.
“I thought it was an inappropriate dress as well,” Alice said, her joke unappreciated. The Captain looked down to her, “This is William, our doctor or as close as we ‘ave to one on board. He has been ‘board the Saint Marie longer than any of us.”
Why on earth they were having their makeshift doctor look at her, she wasn’t sure, but she assumed it probably had to do with how long he thought she would last down here. Health-wise, of course. If they were calculating her odds based on surviving the crew? She wouldn’t last a moment. The Captain yanked her until she was standing facing him and he handed the lantern off to the doctor and gave Alice a once over. She felt as though she was a cabbage that one might buy in the market, turning it to look for marks and bruises, but she did not lash out. When he seemed satisfied, he grabbed her arm in a powerful grip and pulled her towards the stairs. They were difficult at first, as she hadn’t quite gotten a chance to find her sea legs, but she managed.
The crew that they passed stared her down, some made ugly awful calls out to her which went ignored by the captain, until they reached the Captain’s cabin where there was a large table full of intricate maps, and a man she had seen once before. He was the one standing, watching without a word. “Warren,” he said firmly, “Our lovely Alice here will be under yer watch as we make ‘aste for Azores. Do what ya will with ‘er, just make sure she survives.”
“And you,” he turned to Alice, “this is yer last chance. Bloody well eat something and if I ‘ear yer givin’ Warren trouble, I’ll hand ya over to Jack.”
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Mordecai
the traitorous queen
Be advised.
Oh, Cyrus was advised, all right. Advised that whatever this 'secondary duty' was was bound to be hell in a handbasket, but he didn't talk back. He never did. It was probably the reason he hadn't been killed yet, but he supposed that's where this whole vow to silence had begun. He hadn't always been quiet, near mute. In fact, as a boy he had been quite loud and enjoyable, with a bright voice and an even brighter laugh, but once he had come aboard the Saint Marie, it had just been safer to pretend to be a mute. No one ever blamed him for spreading gossip, or accused him of slipping information to the wrong person.
He just slid delightfully under most people's radar and that was the easiest. Now, after being aboard that cursed ship for several years, no one ever gave him any sort of trouble. He was just Warren-- the mute. They left him behind on their rape and pillaging team building exercises, they ignored him during meals, and most pretended like he didn't exist at all, like he was just some kind of magical, floating, map-drawing ship ghost. It was the safest way to be on a pirate ship, really. The one exception had always been Rodney who, looked down as being something of a gangly little brother to most, took friends where he could find them.
Even if his idea of friendship was putting make-believe words in Cyrus' mouth. It was no wonder the pair were 'best of friends' then, because Cyrus always said exactly what Rodney wanted to hear... because Rodney was always writing the script.
He spent the rest of his day, the following night, working. Lunar sailing charts were something of tricky buggers, mostly because stars were about as fickle as ocean waves. They moved as the days crawled on, but did so systematically, making them wonderful guides, but also pains in the butt to track. He had been so engrossed in his work that after only a two hour nap, he had gotten right back at it, tracing his pages with his quill with such care, he felt like he was painting a portrait. Then again, he was... a portrait of the cosmos. Ah, his mind was such a delightful and safe place.
There wasn't a knock on his workspace door, but he could hear the hinges screeching, showing their age, and he quickly looked up. At once, he rose from his stool as the Captain stepped inside and addressed him... the little blonde lass in tow. So, the secondary duty was playing babysitter, was it? It wasn't overly surprising, really. The Captain inherently trusted Cyrus, probably because he didn't ever cause any trouble or gave lip. He just sort of was. Glancing between the Captain and the woman, he could only sigh internally to himself, beginning to wonder how he was going to get his charts done now with this pesky little thing bouncing around.
Crewmates were bound to be in and out of his work space now, all trying to catch an eye-full. Unsure what it meant to 'do what ya will with 'er,' Cyrus just sort of awkwardly waved a hand towards the second stool at his work table where she could sit... sit and hopefully be quiet and perfectly still until they reached Azores.
Oh, Cyrus was advised, all right. Advised that whatever this 'secondary duty' was was bound to be hell in a handbasket, but he didn't talk back. He never did. It was probably the reason he hadn't been killed yet, but he supposed that's where this whole vow to silence had begun. He hadn't always been quiet, near mute. In fact, as a boy he had been quite loud and enjoyable, with a bright voice and an even brighter laugh, but once he had come aboard the Saint Marie, it had just been safer to pretend to be a mute. No one ever blamed him for spreading gossip, or accused him of slipping information to the wrong person.
He just slid delightfully under most people's radar and that was the easiest. Now, after being aboard that cursed ship for several years, no one ever gave him any sort of trouble. He was just Warren-- the mute. They left him behind on their rape and pillaging team building exercises, they ignored him during meals, and most pretended like he didn't exist at all, like he was just some kind of magical, floating, map-drawing ship ghost. It was the safest way to be on a pirate ship, really. The one exception had always been Rodney who, looked down as being something of a gangly little brother to most, took friends where he could find them.
Even if his idea of friendship was putting make-believe words in Cyrus' mouth. It was no wonder the pair were 'best of friends' then, because Cyrus always said exactly what Rodney wanted to hear... because Rodney was always writing the script.
He spent the rest of his day, the following night, working. Lunar sailing charts were something of tricky buggers, mostly because stars were about as fickle as ocean waves. They moved as the days crawled on, but did so systematically, making them wonderful guides, but also pains in the butt to track. He had been so engrossed in his work that after only a two hour nap, he had gotten right back at it, tracing his pages with his quill with such care, he felt like he was painting a portrait. Then again, he was... a portrait of the cosmos. Ah, his mind was such a delightful and safe place.
There wasn't a knock on his workspace door, but he could hear the hinges screeching, showing their age, and he quickly looked up. At once, he rose from his stool as the Captain stepped inside and addressed him... the little blonde lass in tow. So, the secondary duty was playing babysitter, was it? It wasn't overly surprising, really. The Captain inherently trusted Cyrus, probably because he didn't ever cause any trouble or gave lip. He just sort of was. Glancing between the Captain and the woman, he could only sigh internally to himself, beginning to wonder how he was going to get his charts done now with this pesky little thing bouncing around.
Crewmates were bound to be in and out of his work space now, all trying to catch an eye-full. Unsure what it meant to 'do what ya will with 'er,' Cyrus just sort of awkwardly waved a hand towards the second stool at his work table where she could sit... sit and hopefully be quiet and perfectly still until they reached Azores.
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
He was a handsome fellow…that much she gathered from a first real look. He skin was tanned like the others but his eyes were a warm brown, his hair a blonde far more saturated than hers. The Captain seemed to trust him, perhaps because he never spoke or because he kept to himself, Alice did not know but she was sure she would find out. Azores was a bit of a sail from their shores, but it was nice to be back up where the air was breathable and the cold was less invasive. Actually, it was rather balmy out, and it slowly worked its way into Alice’s muscles and permeated her skin. She was feeling more human by the moment.
What had the Captain called him? Warren? He did not do much following the Captain’s leave save for gestured her to sit in the extra stool at his workplace. She anticipated cruel works and a jerking touch, but neither came, and Alice said of her own volition. It was nice to sit in a chair again, her back tired of the ship wall. She glanced curiously at what he was doing and it all came together rather quickly. He was creating maps. They were intricate, beautiful pieces and Alice found her eyes tracing over routes and weather patterns. She had seen a few in her day, but nothing like these.
It was not proper for a lady to study mapmaking, after all, and Alice had certainly pushed the limits of what she was allowed to do when it came to her passion for nursing. Her father would have heard nothing of it.
She wanted to speak, to try and get herself out of this, but something told her that she would be safest here, alongside Warren, so long as she was on this ship, so she kept her mouth closed. Instead, after about an hour had passed just staring at the maps he was making, Alice stood only to stretch and walk towards the bookshelf that was secured to the wall. There weren’t many books, but there were a few. Ones she was certain did not belong to the Captain, but perhaps the other more educated members of the crew.
She found one, a medical journal, and brought it back to the stool where she sat quietly and kept her eyes on the book in hand. It was dated, handwritten probably by William or another member of a different crew, but it was interesting to read at least. The practices were a bit barbaric, but maybe it would help to see what kind of medical attention was needed on a ship like this. After all, pirates weren’t known for being quiet and demure. She was sure they would see some action even in the short time they anticipated her being on this ship.
It was only when she was about twenty pages in, did she glanced up at him at work. “Your maps are lovely,” she mentioned, not trying to start anything but a genuine compliment, “You must have been educated before you found yourself here.”
“Is this how you manage to spend all your time by yourself?”
What had the Captain called him? Warren? He did not do much following the Captain’s leave save for gestured her to sit in the extra stool at his workplace. She anticipated cruel works and a jerking touch, but neither came, and Alice said of her own volition. It was nice to sit in a chair again, her back tired of the ship wall. She glanced curiously at what he was doing and it all came together rather quickly. He was creating maps. They were intricate, beautiful pieces and Alice found her eyes tracing over routes and weather patterns. She had seen a few in her day, but nothing like these.
It was not proper for a lady to study mapmaking, after all, and Alice had certainly pushed the limits of what she was allowed to do when it came to her passion for nursing. Her father would have heard nothing of it.
She wanted to speak, to try and get herself out of this, but something told her that she would be safest here, alongside Warren, so long as she was on this ship, so she kept her mouth closed. Instead, after about an hour had passed just staring at the maps he was making, Alice stood only to stretch and walk towards the bookshelf that was secured to the wall. There weren’t many books, but there were a few. Ones she was certain did not belong to the Captain, but perhaps the other more educated members of the crew.
She found one, a medical journal, and brought it back to the stool where she sat quietly and kept her eyes on the book in hand. It was dated, handwritten probably by William or another member of a different crew, but it was interesting to read at least. The practices were a bit barbaric, but maybe it would help to see what kind of medical attention was needed on a ship like this. After all, pirates weren’t known for being quiet and demure. She was sure they would see some action even in the short time they anticipated her being on this ship.
It was only when she was about twenty pages in, did she glanced up at him at work. “Your maps are lovely,” she mentioned, not trying to start anything but a genuine compliment, “You must have been educated before you found yourself here.”
“Is this how you manage to spend all your time by yourself?”
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
No one had ever really asked about his maps before.
Well, people had asked, but more questions like “Where is this map, Warren?” or “Why isn't this map done yet, Warren?” in some more uncouth language, but to watch her sit and actually compliment his maps had taken him aback for a split second, though it didn't show in his face. He supposed that was another perk of not talking much... there were no words to fumble over, no nervous stumbling as he tried to piece together a sentence and he had become masterful at keeping a calm, even expression. He never looked flustered, despite the fact that her compliment caused a pleasant bubble of pride to ripple up from his gut.
In fact, he even offered her a pleasant smile. The corner of his mouth twitched, looking like he was fighting a smile for a moment before he gave in and the top row of bright white teeth showed for just a second. Finally, someone who was able to put words in his mouth, but didn't, and seemed to understand the nuances of his existence. Perhaps she wouldn't be so terrible to talk to, but just as he began considering the possibility, the door squeaked open and in came Rodney. His hair was bleached a light color, mostly from the sun, but from the roots around his temples it could be seen that his hair was a pitch black. Wrinkled pinched the corner of his eyelids that seemed a bit too heavy for the rest of his face.
His face was as shaggy as an unshorn sheep, yet it wasn't really a beard. His lobster-like skin was dashed in dirty grey hairs that were either too short or not well enough shaped to be an intentional beard, but it wasn't hard to tell he was a man who thought highly of himself. “So, them rumors are true! You are the lucky sap who got the lady, eh? Well, good thing we are so close... maybe I'lla get some benefits?” He spoke, his eyes lingering across Alice, “So, whatdya say pretty thing? Enjoyin' the ship? The... view?” he positioned himself so he had opened his chest to her, as if presenting her with some chiseled body of perfection.
Meanwhile, Warren's expression changed for the first time since Alice had been dragged into his little workspace, and his expression wasn't one of being impressed. In fact, he looked rather annoyed as he brushed a hand across the back of his neck and turned his nose back down to the mostly blank parchment stretched out in front of him. It seemed 'getting work done' was going to be a thing of the past for Cyrus who, between Rodney, the captain, and the young woman, was not expecting to have a lot of quiet time to work. Never had he been so close to impulse barking for Rodney to kindly 'get the hell out.'
Rodney, however, seemed completely oblivious to the shift in Cryus' expression and instead was still lingering across Alice. It wasn't surprising, seeing as these men didn't get the pleasure of seeing a beautiful woman all that often, especially one that wasn't (likely) carrying a raging infection.
“Don't worry 'bout my friend, Cyrus. He won't say a damn thing to ya, but if you ever wanna know what he's thinkin', just ask. I always know. I am here.. I am here for you, sweet thing.”
Well, people had asked, but more questions like “Where is this map, Warren?” or “Why isn't this map done yet, Warren?” in some more uncouth language, but to watch her sit and actually compliment his maps had taken him aback for a split second, though it didn't show in his face. He supposed that was another perk of not talking much... there were no words to fumble over, no nervous stumbling as he tried to piece together a sentence and he had become masterful at keeping a calm, even expression. He never looked flustered, despite the fact that her compliment caused a pleasant bubble of pride to ripple up from his gut.
In fact, he even offered her a pleasant smile. The corner of his mouth twitched, looking like he was fighting a smile for a moment before he gave in and the top row of bright white teeth showed for just a second. Finally, someone who was able to put words in his mouth, but didn't, and seemed to understand the nuances of his existence. Perhaps she wouldn't be so terrible to talk to, but just as he began considering the possibility, the door squeaked open and in came Rodney. His hair was bleached a light color, mostly from the sun, but from the roots around his temples it could be seen that his hair was a pitch black. Wrinkled pinched the corner of his eyelids that seemed a bit too heavy for the rest of his face.
His face was as shaggy as an unshorn sheep, yet it wasn't really a beard. His lobster-like skin was dashed in dirty grey hairs that were either too short or not well enough shaped to be an intentional beard, but it wasn't hard to tell he was a man who thought highly of himself. “So, them rumors are true! You are the lucky sap who got the lady, eh? Well, good thing we are so close... maybe I'lla get some benefits?” He spoke, his eyes lingering across Alice, “So, whatdya say pretty thing? Enjoyin' the ship? The... view?” he positioned himself so he had opened his chest to her, as if presenting her with some chiseled body of perfection.
Meanwhile, Warren's expression changed for the first time since Alice had been dragged into his little workspace, and his expression wasn't one of being impressed. In fact, he looked rather annoyed as he brushed a hand across the back of his neck and turned his nose back down to the mostly blank parchment stretched out in front of him. It seemed 'getting work done' was going to be a thing of the past for Cyrus who, between Rodney, the captain, and the young woman, was not expecting to have a lot of quiet time to work. Never had he been so close to impulse barking for Rodney to kindly 'get the hell out.'
Rodney, however, seemed completely oblivious to the shift in Cryus' expression and instead was still lingering across Alice. It wasn't surprising, seeing as these men didn't get the pleasure of seeing a beautiful woman all that often, especially one that wasn't (likely) carrying a raging infection.
“Don't worry 'bout my friend, Cyrus. He won't say a damn thing to ya, but if you ever wanna know what he's thinkin', just ask. I always know. I am here.. I am here for you, sweet thing.”
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
Alice had not anticipated the smile, but it eased her troubled soul.
From the moment she was taken, Alice assumed that there was nothing more to her existence than survival. She thought the worst because it stopped her from fearing the worst, but it seemed that her luck had changed. There was no denying she was still a prisoner, of course, but Warren had offered her a seat and he did not take advantage of the lock on the door or grab for her like the others had. No, he simply let her exist and she was not sure how to stomach the realization, but she was glad for him. He might not have spoken much, but he had made her feel welcomed with just that genuine flash of a smile.
And then it was ruined.
The man burst in like a bat out of hell and Alice nearly leapt out of her skin. Just because she had assumed the worst and anticipated the worse didn’t mean she felt at ease around the men. It just eased the desire to curl up and die, instead focusing her efforts on surviving. He seemed harmless though, the man, as he propped himself up before her as though he, himself, were an offering. A small laugh rippled through her as she looked up at him, his features sun-scorched and hair bleached, evidence of scurvy in his a few of his decaying teeth as he smiled at her. She did, however, feel bad that he had interrupted Warren’s work time. She watched as he retreated back to his paper.
Cyrus. So that was his real name. Cyrus Warren.
“So you know exactly what he is thinking at any time?” Alice looked up at him with a bit of a knowing smirk. The man might have been a pirate, but she could certainly see some nobleman in him with the way his thoughts processed. The narcissism was incredibly apparent. “Well,” she smiled, “That is quite the skill and I am sure he is grateful to have such a wise and knowing friend.”
Or perhaps just an oaf who put words in his mouth. Her father had done it to her a near thousand times and certainly the men she met at dinner parties and events did it on premise. Ladies should be seen and not heard, after all, and they were rather good at painting her to be the ideal and to make sure that her opinions were only formulated off of their own. “I appreciate the gesture,” Alice responded as kindly to his words as she could without letting a burst of laughter bubble out from her chest, “but I’m doing quite alright. But if that changes, I will be sure to let you know, Mr…?”
“Rodney,” he beamed.
“Rodney,” she nodded, “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
It was a pleasure to have anyone who wouldn’t rip open her corset and slam her against the wall at first sight. Of that much she was entirely certain. “But I think perhaps it would be best to let us be for a short while. The captain needs Cyrus to finish these maps and I was told not to cause any trouble – I would hate to die so shortly after being released from that cell.”
More than anything, Cyrus looked like he needed a reprieve from the man in front of her. Hopefully she could manage to divert his attention for a short while, at least leaving them in peace for now. After all, she wasn’t lying. As morbid as her thoughts were since coming aboard, Alice would rather not die today and certainly not on a pirate ship because she knew exactly what would happen and by the time they all had their fill of her, death would be a welcome friend.
From the moment she was taken, Alice assumed that there was nothing more to her existence than survival. She thought the worst because it stopped her from fearing the worst, but it seemed that her luck had changed. There was no denying she was still a prisoner, of course, but Warren had offered her a seat and he did not take advantage of the lock on the door or grab for her like the others had. No, he simply let her exist and she was not sure how to stomach the realization, but she was glad for him. He might not have spoken much, but he had made her feel welcomed with just that genuine flash of a smile.
And then it was ruined.
The man burst in like a bat out of hell and Alice nearly leapt out of her skin. Just because she had assumed the worst and anticipated the worse didn’t mean she felt at ease around the men. It just eased the desire to curl up and die, instead focusing her efforts on surviving. He seemed harmless though, the man, as he propped himself up before her as though he, himself, were an offering. A small laugh rippled through her as she looked up at him, his features sun-scorched and hair bleached, evidence of scurvy in his a few of his decaying teeth as he smiled at her. She did, however, feel bad that he had interrupted Warren’s work time. She watched as he retreated back to his paper.
Cyrus. So that was his real name. Cyrus Warren.
“So you know exactly what he is thinking at any time?” Alice looked up at him with a bit of a knowing smirk. The man might have been a pirate, but she could certainly see some nobleman in him with the way his thoughts processed. The narcissism was incredibly apparent. “Well,” she smiled, “That is quite the skill and I am sure he is grateful to have such a wise and knowing friend.”
Or perhaps just an oaf who put words in his mouth. Her father had done it to her a near thousand times and certainly the men she met at dinner parties and events did it on premise. Ladies should be seen and not heard, after all, and they were rather good at painting her to be the ideal and to make sure that her opinions were only formulated off of their own. “I appreciate the gesture,” Alice responded as kindly to his words as she could without letting a burst of laughter bubble out from her chest, “but I’m doing quite alright. But if that changes, I will be sure to let you know, Mr…?”
“Rodney,” he beamed.
“Rodney,” she nodded, “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
It was a pleasure to have anyone who wouldn’t rip open her corset and slam her against the wall at first sight. Of that much she was entirely certain. “But I think perhaps it would be best to let us be for a short while. The captain needs Cyrus to finish these maps and I was told not to cause any trouble – I would hate to die so shortly after being released from that cell.”
More than anything, Cyrus looked like he needed a reprieve from the man in front of her. Hopefully she could manage to divert his attention for a short while, at least leaving them in peace for now. After all, she wasn’t lying. As morbid as her thoughts were since coming aboard, Alice would rather not die today and certainly not on a pirate ship because she knew exactly what would happen and by the time they all had their fill of her, death would be a welcome friend.
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
“It is quite a talent! Some even think me a mind reader, don't ya know?” Rodney gave her a scandalous wink, pushing off the table and dusting off the arm of his shirt as if Cyrus' table had somehow dirtied it. “But aye lass, 'tis a shame you can't read my mind. I have the mind of a poet and if you could only hear how I think about you in the words in my head. The wee problem is that I sometime has the problem of convertin' words from my head to me mouth. But I promise ye, I'm real poetic.”
Poetic in bullshit, certainly, Cyrus mused quietly to himself as he scuffled through the brass objects on his table, sending the sextant and reflecting circle scattering out of reach. The ring dial gave a soft clatter as he tossed it aside, rummaging through his things before finally managing to produce his back-staff, using the straight edge of it to draw in the lines of a compass rose, seeming content to rest only one ear on the on-going conversation between Rodney and the woman, whose name he now couldn't remember. Had he ever even known it to begin with? Ah well, names were transitory things.
“Right, right, he was just thinkin' that. You're most right,” Rodney interjected, sounding almost defensive in his words. “I say, ye should come find me later. I'm a wee bit more interestin' than this one here. More talkative too. M'laaaady,” he distended his voice, pulling his hat from his hat and bowing low to her in the most ridiculous attempt at a bow Cyrus had ever seen in his life. Not that he had seen many people bow before, but he could never imagine it would look anything like that. The skinny little man gave Alice one last wink before stepping outside of the cabin and on to the sunny desk, letting the heavy wooden door slam shut in his wake.
For a moment, Cyrus just went on with his silent routine, filling in the last line of the rose before sitting back on his stool and gently setting the back-staff aside, carefully inspecting the work with slightly narrowed eyes.
“Though I generally have trouble verbalizing my thoughts into words that will not utterly confuse or nauseate that little man, I find now my mental processes are now surprisingly focused. That said, I assure you he cannot read my mind and I do not suggest you attempt to read his,” he spoke quite smoothly for a man who was thought to be mute for years, the baritone of his voice reverberating through the bones of the room. In fact, his tone was like vanilla pudding, sweet in their ordinary kind of way, but it was the richness in his emphases-- luxurious and warm.
Whether or not the fact that he had spoken took her by any sort of surprise, he didn't know. He had still not properly looked up from whatever it was he had been working on.
Poetic in bullshit, certainly, Cyrus mused quietly to himself as he scuffled through the brass objects on his table, sending the sextant and reflecting circle scattering out of reach. The ring dial gave a soft clatter as he tossed it aside, rummaging through his things before finally managing to produce his back-staff, using the straight edge of it to draw in the lines of a compass rose, seeming content to rest only one ear on the on-going conversation between Rodney and the woman, whose name he now couldn't remember. Had he ever even known it to begin with? Ah well, names were transitory things.
“Right, right, he was just thinkin' that. You're most right,” Rodney interjected, sounding almost defensive in his words. “I say, ye should come find me later. I'm a wee bit more interestin' than this one here. More talkative too. M'laaaady,” he distended his voice, pulling his hat from his hat and bowing low to her in the most ridiculous attempt at a bow Cyrus had ever seen in his life. Not that he had seen many people bow before, but he could never imagine it would look anything like that. The skinny little man gave Alice one last wink before stepping outside of the cabin and on to the sunny desk, letting the heavy wooden door slam shut in his wake.
For a moment, Cyrus just went on with his silent routine, filling in the last line of the rose before sitting back on his stool and gently setting the back-staff aside, carefully inspecting the work with slightly narrowed eyes.
“Though I generally have trouble verbalizing my thoughts into words that will not utterly confuse or nauseate that little man, I find now my mental processes are now surprisingly focused. That said, I assure you he cannot read my mind and I do not suggest you attempt to read his,” he spoke quite smoothly for a man who was thought to be mute for years, the baritone of his voice reverberating through the bones of the room. In fact, his tone was like vanilla pudding, sweet in their ordinary kind of way, but it was the richness in his emphases-- luxurious and warm.
Whether or not the fact that he had spoken took her by any sort of surprise, he didn't know. He had still not properly looked up from whatever it was he had been working on.
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
“Believe me,” Alice replied with her eyes still on the door, “I have to desire to read any mind on this ship.”
She had fallen into conversation so easily that she had almost missed the fact that Cyrus had opened his mouth and spoken to her. Not only that, but the rich timbre of his voice was soothing and reminiscent of home. He was English, she could tell, but more than that he was educated well beyond anyone she had met on this ship. How a man like that became caught up with a crew of pirates, she would probably never know, but it was still an interesting development and brought a smile to her lips. “So you can speak,” Alice noted with a soft laugh, shifting to look at the map he was inspecting, “It does not seem like you have much trouble verbalizing thoughts, though I have only been on this ship a day or so. I suppose it would be easier to stay silent with an audience like that.”
“I’m Alice, by the way,” she introduced herself properly, “and I cannot explain to you how sorry I am that you are being forced to babysit me. Though I cannot be entirely sorry to not be in that cell anymore.”
It was true, he seemed like a slice of decency on a ship that seemed to want to harm her at every turn. She had been lucky so far – lucky that the Captain took some form of pity on her, lucky she had not been thrown overboard, and certainly lucky that she had been put in the care of a man who seemed more enthralled by his maps than any prospective woman who came about. She didn’t feel safe, per say, but she certainly felt a bit more at ease. She placed her hands on the book she had been reading and rose to go put it back, deciding that she would have more time later.
It was not a short sail they were embarking on and so long as she played her cards right, she most likely would not die before they reached their destination. Unless, of course, she was left alone or someone managed to – no, she wouldn’t think about it. There was no reason to, it would only scare her. Alice turned to take a look at the man who hadn’t even looked up at her since speaking and she got a good look at him this time. He was tall, strong and certainly towered over her by more than a head. Physically, he looked a bit menacing, but his voice didn’t match. It was a deep, warm tone and despite his carefully chosen words, it was sweet.
“You have a nice voice,” she complimented, “I mean, for someone who does not use it very often, it’s soothing compared to everything else I have heard on this ship. Though I don’t mean to speak ill of the crew.”
She realized quickly that her words could come off as harsh and the last thing she wanted to do was make anyone mad. There were very few reasons for them to keep her alive and she did not push it. “Did you study mapmaking?”
She had fallen into conversation so easily that she had almost missed the fact that Cyrus had opened his mouth and spoken to her. Not only that, but the rich timbre of his voice was soothing and reminiscent of home. He was English, she could tell, but more than that he was educated well beyond anyone she had met on this ship. How a man like that became caught up with a crew of pirates, she would probably never know, but it was still an interesting development and brought a smile to her lips. “So you can speak,” Alice noted with a soft laugh, shifting to look at the map he was inspecting, “It does not seem like you have much trouble verbalizing thoughts, though I have only been on this ship a day or so. I suppose it would be easier to stay silent with an audience like that.”
“I’m Alice, by the way,” she introduced herself properly, “and I cannot explain to you how sorry I am that you are being forced to babysit me. Though I cannot be entirely sorry to not be in that cell anymore.”
It was true, he seemed like a slice of decency on a ship that seemed to want to harm her at every turn. She had been lucky so far – lucky that the Captain took some form of pity on her, lucky she had not been thrown overboard, and certainly lucky that she had been put in the care of a man who seemed more enthralled by his maps than any prospective woman who came about. She didn’t feel safe, per say, but she certainly felt a bit more at ease. She placed her hands on the book she had been reading and rose to go put it back, deciding that she would have more time later.
It was not a short sail they were embarking on and so long as she played her cards right, she most likely would not die before they reached their destination. Unless, of course, she was left alone or someone managed to – no, she wouldn’t think about it. There was no reason to, it would only scare her. Alice turned to take a look at the man who hadn’t even looked up at her since speaking and she got a good look at him this time. He was tall, strong and certainly towered over her by more than a head. Physically, he looked a bit menacing, but his voice didn’t match. It was a deep, warm tone and despite his carefully chosen words, it was sweet.
“You have a nice voice,” she complimented, “I mean, for someone who does not use it very often, it’s soothing compared to everything else I have heard on this ship. Though I don’t mean to speak ill of the crew.”
She realized quickly that her words could come off as harsh and the last thing she wanted to do was make anyone mad. There were very few reasons for them to keep her alive and she did not push it. “Did you study mapmaking?”
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
“I can, when I wish to, which is not often,” he replied easily, sliding back into conversation like he hadn't missed a day. He had picked up the map and was dancing it around a bit in the hot, damp air of the cabin, just to get the ink to set as best as it possibly could in such muggy, unpleasant conditions. “Very well, Alice. I'm Cyrus, or Warren, whichever you prefer.” It didn't quite matter what she called him as names never meant much. He could call a mouse a horse all day long, but that didn't mean it could ever pull a plow.
“It's not babysitting if you don't act like a baby,” he reminded her gently, surprising himself by the amount he felt willing to discuss with her. Considering he hadn't spoken much of two words to anyone in how many years, yet felt so at ease that talking with her was quite unremarkable in the grand scheme of things. He supposed that was because he remembered what it had been like to feel like how she was probably feeling-- alone, scared, tired, and confused. He had once been a little Alice himself, scrambling to get his bearings on an unfamiliar ship surrounded by an unsavory bunch of unfamiliar faces.
Straightening the map again and smoothing it out, he finally glanced up and met her gaze. He didn't look shy, not in the least, and met her with a gentle expression that was just relaxed enough. Taking her compliment with a pleasant nod of his head, he sat back on his seat and decided not to comment, at least not on the words she used to describe him... 'nice.' “Cartography? No, I didn't. I just sort of learned along the way. Made plenty of mistakes but it's easy to get the hang of after a while.”
Well, that was just a lie. It hadn't been easy, not at all, but he taught himself because it was either learn how to draw maps or die... and making maps seemed marginally more appealing at the time. Now, he wasn't so sure. He doubted she truly cared enough to want to hear that big, long story.
“Well, you shouldn't look so worried. Your life and well-being are perfectly safe, for now. So long as your father agrees to pay the ransom, I'm sure the captain will see to it you're returned home. If he doesn't, you'll be auctioned off to the highest bidder, but I wouldn't fret. Royal children always seem to have a way of finding their way back to their wealthy fathers. It's a mystery of cartography I have yet to discover.”
“It's not babysitting if you don't act like a baby,” he reminded her gently, surprising himself by the amount he felt willing to discuss with her. Considering he hadn't spoken much of two words to anyone in how many years, yet felt so at ease that talking with her was quite unremarkable in the grand scheme of things. He supposed that was because he remembered what it had been like to feel like how she was probably feeling-- alone, scared, tired, and confused. He had once been a little Alice himself, scrambling to get his bearings on an unfamiliar ship surrounded by an unsavory bunch of unfamiliar faces.
Straightening the map again and smoothing it out, he finally glanced up and met her gaze. He didn't look shy, not in the least, and met her with a gentle expression that was just relaxed enough. Taking her compliment with a pleasant nod of his head, he sat back on his seat and decided not to comment, at least not on the words she used to describe him... 'nice.' “Cartography? No, I didn't. I just sort of learned along the way. Made plenty of mistakes but it's easy to get the hang of after a while.”
Well, that was just a lie. It hadn't been easy, not at all, but he taught himself because it was either learn how to draw maps or die... and making maps seemed marginally more appealing at the time. Now, he wasn't so sure. He doubted she truly cared enough to want to hear that big, long story.
“Well, you shouldn't look so worried. Your life and well-being are perfectly safe, for now. So long as your father agrees to pay the ransom, I'm sure the captain will see to it you're returned home. If he doesn't, you'll be auctioned off to the highest bidder, but I wouldn't fret. Royal children always seem to have a way of finding their way back to their wealthy fathers. It's a mystery of cartography I have yet to discover.”
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
“Of course,” Alice nodded with a bit of a smile as he spoke of not being a baby. She settled herself back down on the stool at his workplace and folded her hands in her lap. Propriety was a hard habit to break when it was so deeply set into one’s mind and Alice had certainly spent a bit too much of her childhood learning from a governess how to be such a poised and sought-after lady. It all came rather naturally to Alice, which is what made Mary loathe her quite a bit on a few different occasions. His mention of babysitting had brought back immediately memories of Charlotte and Alice wondered for a moment if they had gotten to safety. Did her father know of her disappearance? What did Mary think of it all?
She hoped someone took a look at Charlotte’s temperature. It was probably a fever. And suddenly she felt an awful wave of homesickness take her heart like a tempest.
“Hmm?” she glanced up out of her thoughts to hear his reassurance that she would be fine and Alice couldn’t help but smile, “I’m sure you’re right. I am not sure about cartography, but my father is certainly a man who gets what he wants when he wants it. Except for a son, of course.” It was a bit of a joke, but it did hold truth. Alice was the eldest, but only because her late mother had lost her first child only a few months into her pregnancy, a boy, they said. Then came Alice and Mary. It was only after their mother had passed in a wave of sickness, did her father find a new wife and another daughter, Charlotte, before the woman passed in childbirth.
Her father was not a lucky man, save for in greed.
“But cartography is quite the skill,” she turned the conversation away from her, knowing that her stories and past did not matter much. As he said, she was just for ransom and when she was gone, so would all thoughts and memory of her. “Certainly a good one to have on a pirate ship.”
She glanced down at some of the maps he had made and traced over all the different elements, noting the painted clouds across the way. “These clouds…they signify storms right?” Alice did not know much about cartography, but it was an art in its own way and she could certainly appreciate that. She noticed that there were quite a few storms on the horizon, but it seemed that with all luck they would avoid them headed to their destination.
She hoped someone took a look at Charlotte’s temperature. It was probably a fever. And suddenly she felt an awful wave of homesickness take her heart like a tempest.
“Hmm?” she glanced up out of her thoughts to hear his reassurance that she would be fine and Alice couldn’t help but smile, “I’m sure you’re right. I am not sure about cartography, but my father is certainly a man who gets what he wants when he wants it. Except for a son, of course.” It was a bit of a joke, but it did hold truth. Alice was the eldest, but only because her late mother had lost her first child only a few months into her pregnancy, a boy, they said. Then came Alice and Mary. It was only after their mother had passed in a wave of sickness, did her father find a new wife and another daughter, Charlotte, before the woman passed in childbirth.
Her father was not a lucky man, save for in greed.
“But cartography is quite the skill,” she turned the conversation away from her, knowing that her stories and past did not matter much. As he said, she was just for ransom and when she was gone, so would all thoughts and memory of her. “Certainly a good one to have on a pirate ship.”
She glanced down at some of the maps he had made and traced over all the different elements, noting the painted clouds across the way. “These clouds…they signify storms right?” Alice did not know much about cartography, but it was an art in its own way and she could certainly appreciate that. She noticed that there were quite a few storms on the horizon, but it seemed that with all luck they would avoid them headed to their destination.
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
“Ah yes, the man who strongly wishes for a son above all else doesn’t get one. I’m inclined to believe there is a proverb in there somewhere,” he said with something of a smile. Picking up a rag from his worktable, he blotted off his hands, trying to clean them of ink but only really managing to smudge stains all across his fingers. He didn’t seem to mind though, testing his fingers to ensure the stains were dry and wouldn’t smudge across his map. Once he was confident that nothing would stain, he picked up his quill again and changed out the tip to a more finer ink release to begin to pencil in details.
Truthfully, the captain didn’t care whether or not the maps were decorated so long as they were functional, but Cyrus enjoyed the artistic half of his job just as much as he did the practical. He enjoyed pencilling in various pieces of art into his maps, like the water serpents that would break from the paper’s waves in the middle of the oceans. The pen work on them was astounding, with each scale seeming to come to life with the detail. He would have liked to think that he could have been a painter in another life, had this life not taken such a dramatic turn for the unusual.
“It keeps me alive, it does,” he remarked, glancing up to her then. She hadn’t a single idea how valuable the cartography skill was. Good sailing masters were difficult to come across, especially since there were unsurprisingly few pirates capable of reading and learning about currents, winds, and weather well enough to deduct an education on assembling maps. There was no denying that Cyrus was a hefty value on the Saint Marie, which was probably the sole reason no one had sliced his throat from ear to ear yet. Maybe he wasn’t exactly the most popular in such an unsavoury crowd, but he was practically irreplaceable.
His eyebrows raised, revealing the soft brown of his eyes as he watched her move her fingers across the maps. “Close, but very astute of you,” he commented as she spun her fingers around the clouds. Resting his weight on his elbows and sitting up so he could lean across the table, he pointed out the current of the oceans. “It represents an area that is at high risk for storms. See this curve in the continent here? It causes cold water to come down from the North, mixing with the warm Southern waters right here. Mixing of hot and cold like that, either in air or in water, is a recipe for storms. I mark these spots on my maps so the Captain knows where best to avoid, if possible.”
Sitting up further across the table, he pointed out a few other objects he had included. “This is Seville. We will be stopping there to rest and recharge the ship with supplies. We will also use their port to weather out a storm I believe will be hitting about that time. After that, we will sail West towards Azores, here,” he continued, pointing out the small cluster of islands some halfway between the Havana and Seville. “Currently, we are here,” his finger trailed up, pointing the open waters descending from England, on par with Antwerp’s latitude. “Well, there abouts anyways.”
The powerful line of his shoulders scrunched up in a shrug before relaxing again. “It’s interesting though, isn’t it? This map is as close to scale as I could manage.”
Truthfully, the captain didn’t care whether or not the maps were decorated so long as they were functional, but Cyrus enjoyed the artistic half of his job just as much as he did the practical. He enjoyed pencilling in various pieces of art into his maps, like the water serpents that would break from the paper’s waves in the middle of the oceans. The pen work on them was astounding, with each scale seeming to come to life with the detail. He would have liked to think that he could have been a painter in another life, had this life not taken such a dramatic turn for the unusual.
“It keeps me alive, it does,” he remarked, glancing up to her then. She hadn’t a single idea how valuable the cartography skill was. Good sailing masters were difficult to come across, especially since there were unsurprisingly few pirates capable of reading and learning about currents, winds, and weather well enough to deduct an education on assembling maps. There was no denying that Cyrus was a hefty value on the Saint Marie, which was probably the sole reason no one had sliced his throat from ear to ear yet. Maybe he wasn’t exactly the most popular in such an unsavoury crowd, but he was practically irreplaceable.
His eyebrows raised, revealing the soft brown of his eyes as he watched her move her fingers across the maps. “Close, but very astute of you,” he commented as she spun her fingers around the clouds. Resting his weight on his elbows and sitting up so he could lean across the table, he pointed out the current of the oceans. “It represents an area that is at high risk for storms. See this curve in the continent here? It causes cold water to come down from the North, mixing with the warm Southern waters right here. Mixing of hot and cold like that, either in air or in water, is a recipe for storms. I mark these spots on my maps so the Captain knows where best to avoid, if possible.”
Sitting up further across the table, he pointed out a few other objects he had included. “This is Seville. We will be stopping there to rest and recharge the ship with supplies. We will also use their port to weather out a storm I believe will be hitting about that time. After that, we will sail West towards Azores, here,” he continued, pointing out the small cluster of islands some halfway between the Havana and Seville. “Currently, we are here,” his finger trailed up, pointing the open waters descending from England, on par with Antwerp’s latitude. “Well, there abouts anyways.”
The powerful line of his shoulders scrunched up in a shrug before relaxing again. “It’s interesting though, isn’t it? This map is as close to scale as I could manage.”
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
“With how my father laments about it, one would think there has to be a proverb,” Alice laughed softly before she pushed thoughts of her family aside. She even missed Mary a bit, though she was entirely certain that Mary would rejoice with her absence. All Mary ever wanted to be was father’s favorite and there was certainly a space for her now. All would be well, she told herself, but more than that she realized that in order for all to be well, she couldn’t let herself get bogged down by all the sorrow she felt and longing she experienced for her home, for the countryside, and for her family.
It keeps me alive, it does. Alice looked up at his words and mulled them over for a moment before they managed to nestle into her mind and heart. Maybe that was what she needed and her way of securing her own survival. She needed to find some reason why she was irreplaceable and have her merit determined based on her character and skill, not on how much her father could pay. While Cyrus swore that her life and well-being were safe, perhaps they were with him, but should she be separated from him for any reason, she knew her odds were not so great. She would live, certainly, but she certainly feared what depraved men were capable of. After all, she had met Jack down in the cell.
Did she have any sort of skill? Medicine, she supposed, but they had a makeshift doctor aboard. Perhaps they would need her, though, and when they did – she would be there. Perhaps Cyrus had figured out the tricks and from how he carried himself, she was sure he knew exactly what he was doing. It put him in a position of power while remaining both irreplaceable and respected.
He was the first person she saw doing actual work today besides hoisting sails.
“So they’re potential storms,” Alice remarked, appreciating the way he moved over the map and corrected her with a bit of dignity. Her finger traced as he explained their route, following closely behind his until they found the little clouds approaching Seville. It was a simple concept, how to get from point A to point B, but Alice was certainly impressed with him and his aptitude. “It is interesting,” she agreed with a soft smile, “it really is a beautiful map, but this is – this is art, really.” She referred, of course, to the pen work on all the little unique details that made the map so obviously his own.
It keeps me alive, it does. Alice looked up at his words and mulled them over for a moment before they managed to nestle into her mind and heart. Maybe that was what she needed and her way of securing her own survival. She needed to find some reason why she was irreplaceable and have her merit determined based on her character and skill, not on how much her father could pay. While Cyrus swore that her life and well-being were safe, perhaps they were with him, but should she be separated from him for any reason, she knew her odds were not so great. She would live, certainly, but she certainly feared what depraved men were capable of. After all, she had met Jack down in the cell.
Did she have any sort of skill? Medicine, she supposed, but they had a makeshift doctor aboard. Perhaps they would need her, though, and when they did – she would be there. Perhaps Cyrus had figured out the tricks and from how he carried himself, she was sure he knew exactly what he was doing. It put him in a position of power while remaining both irreplaceable and respected.
He was the first person she saw doing actual work today besides hoisting sails.
“So they’re potential storms,” Alice remarked, appreciating the way he moved over the map and corrected her with a bit of dignity. Her finger traced as he explained their route, following closely behind his until they found the little clouds approaching Seville. It was a simple concept, how to get from point A to point B, but Alice was certainly impressed with him and his aptitude. “It is interesting,” she agreed with a soft smile, “it really is a beautiful map, but this is – this is art, really.” She referred, of course, to the pen work on all the little unique details that made the map so obviously his own.
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
She looked bored, is what she did. He couldn’t blame her for that either, because she was stuck watching some guy shade in lines on a parchment that looked vaguely reminiscent of a coastline. He couldn’t imagine, despite all her compliments and questions of interest, that she was truly invigorated by watching him make a map. It wasn’t that he took it with offense, but honesty. He imagined she was feeling homesick, lonely, and bored, and for Cyrus, nothing was worse than boredom, even when it was coming from other people. With a soft exhalation of breath, he set down his quill and levelled his gaze with her.
“It’s not interesting at all,” he said with a soft chuckle, a sound that must have been a relative to that rolling, distant thunder billowing across a dark, stormy, summer night. “Cartography has its uses certainly, but it’s no harrowing sword fight or ship commandeering. There are many words you could use to describe it, but even I’m not sure that interesting is one of them. Maybe something a bit more mild, like… curious, perhaps? Well, if you’re so interested in it and you are stuck aboard this ship for the foreseeable future, would you like to learn, then? I can’t imagine you have much else you can do.” She was, after all, going to be stuck with him at the hip—like a barnacle on the side of the ship.
Now that was a job he was glad he had never gotten—peeling barnacles off the hull. Ed was the one in charge of that. Poor Ed, he lamented.
“Here, just practice working with the quill a little,” he reached over to a leather satchel that was on the edge of his workbench, shuffling through before finding a blank piece of parchment and unrolling it out before her. It had obviously been bleached and reused, as the faint marks of whatever had previously been written on the sheet were still hazy, like ghosts. He next handed her the quill, but not first without pointed the little notches on the side. “You can change out the tips here, see? There is a variety of ones you can use that give different effects or thicknesses. This one is extra thin—good for doing small lines and details. Can you write?” he asked.
He could never assume anyone was literate, even a well-to-do lady such as herself. Women weren’t often taught to read; at least his sisters never had been, even though he had been educated at length because he was a boy. “Since you’ll be stuck here most days, you’re welcome to write or whatever you’d like. I can show you how to make maps, if it interests you, or not. Truthfully, whatever keeps you most entertained.”
“It’s not interesting at all,” he said with a soft chuckle, a sound that must have been a relative to that rolling, distant thunder billowing across a dark, stormy, summer night. “Cartography has its uses certainly, but it’s no harrowing sword fight or ship commandeering. There are many words you could use to describe it, but even I’m not sure that interesting is one of them. Maybe something a bit more mild, like… curious, perhaps? Well, if you’re so interested in it and you are stuck aboard this ship for the foreseeable future, would you like to learn, then? I can’t imagine you have much else you can do.” She was, after all, going to be stuck with him at the hip—like a barnacle on the side of the ship.
Now that was a job he was glad he had never gotten—peeling barnacles off the hull. Ed was the one in charge of that. Poor Ed, he lamented.
“Here, just practice working with the quill a little,” he reached over to a leather satchel that was on the edge of his workbench, shuffling through before finding a blank piece of parchment and unrolling it out before her. It had obviously been bleached and reused, as the faint marks of whatever had previously been written on the sheet were still hazy, like ghosts. He next handed her the quill, but not first without pointed the little notches on the side. “You can change out the tips here, see? There is a variety of ones you can use that give different effects or thicknesses. This one is extra thin—good for doing small lines and details. Can you write?” he asked.
He could never assume anyone was literate, even a well-to-do lady such as herself. Women weren’t often taught to read; at least his sisters never had been, even though he had been educated at length because he was a boy. “Since you’ll be stuck here most days, you’re welcome to write or whatever you’d like. I can show you how to make maps, if it interests you, or not. Truthfully, whatever keeps you most entertained.”
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
Alice’s head perked up as Cyrus offered her the chance to learn cartography and at first she thought he had to be joking. Never in her mind had she anticipated the man who was supposed to be her “keeper,” for lack of a better term, would be attempting to teach her much of anything. Honestly, she had expected to sit in a corner until she was instructed to do otherwise – whether it was to eat or see the Captain (as she still had no idea where she was sleeping, but she was not about to bring it up when the answer could very well be “in the cell”). To have a bit of a purpose made her feel a bit better about the whole thing and Alice graciously accepted the quill that he gave her and a bleached piece of parchment.
“Thank you,” she replied with a genuine smile before watching as he explained the different tips of the quill itself. She turned it over in her hands a bit, unsure of why the kindness was being extended in the first place, but Alice was never one to argue unless absolutely necessary. “I can write,” Alice informed him, “My sisters cannot and probably will never, but my father needed one literate child, I suppose.” In a lot of ways, Alice was lucky to be born as she was – beyond the wealth. For quite some time, her father had assumed that Alice would be his only child and for that she was groomed a bit like a son. Never with anything to difficult but tasks like reading and writing were expected. After all, he needed communication with the estate while he was away, and the job fell under her responsibility.
But Alice tried to teach Mary a few times and each time she told her it was improper.
But most of Alice’s writing training had come from nursing and keeping records. They had been short any men due to the fighting, but she managed a pretty decent upkeep, if she did say so herself.
She dipped the quill in ink and started to slowly make a few lines along the paper of varying design and a smile stretched across her face. She pulled the quill across the paper to script her name, Alice, before looking back at it. It was a lovely, feminine script but she wondered for a moment what she would write about if she could. Was there anything she knew that she wanted to keep record of? “I would hate to keep you from your work, as it ‘keeps you alive’ if I do remember your words correctly,” she glanced up at him, noting how strange the disconnect between his kindness and his appearance was. He did not look ruthless or as terrifying as the other pirates, but he did have this air about him. Strong, steady, and smart.
“But perhaps once in a while, I will bother you for a lesson or two,” Alice smiled, “I do not think I would be particularly good at making maps, but talent is certainly based in practice.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a genuine smile before watching as he explained the different tips of the quill itself. She turned it over in her hands a bit, unsure of why the kindness was being extended in the first place, but Alice was never one to argue unless absolutely necessary. “I can write,” Alice informed him, “My sisters cannot and probably will never, but my father needed one literate child, I suppose.” In a lot of ways, Alice was lucky to be born as she was – beyond the wealth. For quite some time, her father had assumed that Alice would be his only child and for that she was groomed a bit like a son. Never with anything to difficult but tasks like reading and writing were expected. After all, he needed communication with the estate while he was away, and the job fell under her responsibility.
But Alice tried to teach Mary a few times and each time she told her it was improper.
But most of Alice’s writing training had come from nursing and keeping records. They had been short any men due to the fighting, but she managed a pretty decent upkeep, if she did say so herself.
She dipped the quill in ink and started to slowly make a few lines along the paper of varying design and a smile stretched across her face. She pulled the quill across the paper to script her name, Alice, before looking back at it. It was a lovely, feminine script but she wondered for a moment what she would write about if she could. Was there anything she knew that she wanted to keep record of? “I would hate to keep you from your work, as it ‘keeps you alive’ if I do remember your words correctly,” she glanced up at him, noting how strange the disconnect between his kindness and his appearance was. He did not look ruthless or as terrifying as the other pirates, but he did have this air about him. Strong, steady, and smart.
“But perhaps once in a while, I will bother you for a lesson or two,” Alice smiled, “I do not think I would be particularly good at making maps, but talent is certainly based in practice.”
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
“You’re pressing down on the quill to heavily,” he explained, almost boredly. “No need to mash it into the paper, that’s how you get the ink to bleed because you lie down too much and it seeps into the fibers of the page before it has a chance to dry. Keep your hand light and swift. It’s tempting to use more ink and to press heavier because you have to dip it less, but it gives a less than stellar result.” It was barely noticeable, but he used his fingers to point out the slightly fuzzy edges on the loop of her ‘l.’ To an untrained eye, it meant nothing, but Cyrus was not anything if not a perfectionist when it came to his craft.
He hummed softly, looking down at his own project that was unrolled out in front of him. Almost idly, he brushed the corners and tried to straighten out the bends as best as he could. “A person who doesn’t want to bother? Now there is something you don’t come across every day,” least of all on a pirate ship. Proper women were raised differently though, he supposed. It felt as though it had been so long since he had last been in the company of someone with any scrap of a pedigree, he had nearly forgotten what it was like to speak with someone who minded their Ps and Qs. Pirates were a rough and tumble bunch, who often had an affinity for demanding what they wanted without any sort of propriety and certainly never any consideration for anyone else but themselves, themselves, themselves.
Clearing his throat, he brushed the map aside for now, letting it dry to its entirety. “Very well, any time you feel inclined. I’m not sure if the Captain intends for you to stay with me for the duration of the trip, but you’re always welcome to pop in here, if you please.” Again, he cleared his throat, finding such a lengthy conversation to feel unusual. It was like his throat was growing genuinely sore, but he supposed that was to be expected after several long years of saying almost nothing at all.
He had just never had anything worth saying to pirates.
“Well, very good,” he rose, dusting his hands off one last time and going to put back some of his navigation equipment into trunks so it wouldn’t get knocked around too badly if the surf picked up any more violently. “It’s just about time for a meal, are you hungry at all? Mm, unfortunately, once it gets too dark or the wind too brisk, I can’t do much work. Violent listing leaves all my instruments too inaccurate to be worthwhile and it feels like a storm may be blowing through.”
How he knew, it was anyone’s guess, because outside it was still bright and calm, a picturesque day with warm sun and endless blue skies, though the sun was quickly approaching the horizon, giving the horizon a romantic tinge of pink and yellow.
He hummed softly, looking down at his own project that was unrolled out in front of him. Almost idly, he brushed the corners and tried to straighten out the bends as best as he could. “A person who doesn’t want to bother? Now there is something you don’t come across every day,” least of all on a pirate ship. Proper women were raised differently though, he supposed. It felt as though it had been so long since he had last been in the company of someone with any scrap of a pedigree, he had nearly forgotten what it was like to speak with someone who minded their Ps and Qs. Pirates were a rough and tumble bunch, who often had an affinity for demanding what they wanted without any sort of propriety and certainly never any consideration for anyone else but themselves, themselves, themselves.
Clearing his throat, he brushed the map aside for now, letting it dry to its entirety. “Very well, any time you feel inclined. I’m not sure if the Captain intends for you to stay with me for the duration of the trip, but you’re always welcome to pop in here, if you please.” Again, he cleared his throat, finding such a lengthy conversation to feel unusual. It was like his throat was growing genuinely sore, but he supposed that was to be expected after several long years of saying almost nothing at all.
He had just never had anything worth saying to pirates.
“Well, very good,” he rose, dusting his hands off one last time and going to put back some of his navigation equipment into trunks so it wouldn’t get knocked around too badly if the surf picked up any more violently. “It’s just about time for a meal, are you hungry at all? Mm, unfortunately, once it gets too dark or the wind too brisk, I can’t do much work. Violent listing leaves all my instruments too inaccurate to be worthwhile and it feels like a storm may be blowing through.”
How he knew, it was anyone’s guess, because outside it was still bright and calm, a picturesque day with warm sun and endless blue skies, though the sun was quickly approaching the horizon, giving the horizon a romantic tinge of pink and yellow.
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
“I said I could write, not that I was a particularly accomplished calligrapher,” Alice teased but still looked down at where he had pointed out her error. It was slight and he was most certainly right. She would have plenty of time to practice, though, and certainly even more time to figure out exactly what was worth writing. She did not have stories worth telling or ideas worth sharing, but maybe she could record her knowledge of something. Ah, something to figure out later, she supposed. His comment on her propriety did not evade her and she simply glanced up at him and gave a soft shrug to her delicate shoulders.
“I suppose there is no need for propriety on a pirate ship,” Alice mused, “It is certainly more dangerous than high society, I doubt there is much time to care about what others think or have any sort of consideration.” She had noticed the roughness of the crew, but it was when she was in the cell that she realized just how deep that ruthlessness ran. There were certain codes that good people held, but it seemed that none of them were evident on the ship. She was either alive or dead to them and what men like Jack, like any of them who had harassed her, did didn’t matter. After all, her father was just being promised his daughter returned alive, not necessarily well.
But she did find some sense of safety here alongside Cyrus.
“I would like that, very much,” Alice smiled, wishing that she could feel the happiness down to her bones, but there was too much churning underneath her skin. Despite her resolve to make the best out of this, it did not change the fact that today she was very much homesick and the world had gotten just a little darker. When he mentioned food, she did not even realize how hungry she was until her stomach flipped and lurched almost in desperate need. “I am, actually.”
She was more than hungry, she was starving but even a little food would do her good. The cold was still seeped in deep into her skin and she didn’t want to give herself any chance to catch an illness at sea. From what she was of William, their makeshift doctor, he wasn’t educated enough to make sure she came out of it alive. “You really think it will storm?” Alice’s eyes averted to the port window and caught glimpse of the brilliant day outside, “It seems so calm outside, almost serene.”
“Though I suppose it always feels like that before something terrible hits.”
“I suppose there is no need for propriety on a pirate ship,” Alice mused, “It is certainly more dangerous than high society, I doubt there is much time to care about what others think or have any sort of consideration.” She had noticed the roughness of the crew, but it was when she was in the cell that she realized just how deep that ruthlessness ran. There were certain codes that good people held, but it seemed that none of them were evident on the ship. She was either alive or dead to them and what men like Jack, like any of them who had harassed her, did didn’t matter. After all, her father was just being promised his daughter returned alive, not necessarily well.
But she did find some sense of safety here alongside Cyrus.
“I would like that, very much,” Alice smiled, wishing that she could feel the happiness down to her bones, but there was too much churning underneath her skin. Despite her resolve to make the best out of this, it did not change the fact that today she was very much homesick and the world had gotten just a little darker. When he mentioned food, she did not even realize how hungry she was until her stomach flipped and lurched almost in desperate need. “I am, actually.”
She was more than hungry, she was starving but even a little food would do her good. The cold was still seeped in deep into her skin and she didn’t want to give herself any chance to catch an illness at sea. From what she was of William, their makeshift doctor, he wasn’t educated enough to make sure she came out of it alive. “You really think it will storm?” Alice’s eyes averted to the port window and caught glimpse of the brilliant day outside, “It seems so calm outside, almost serene.”
“Though I suppose it always feels like that before something terrible hits.”
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
“That's okay, neither was I only a few years ago,” he said with a smile, “If it's something you wish to learn, you can. Or you won't, and that's fine, as well.” He really hadn't expected her to take an immediate liking or keenness to cartography, but it might give her something to do on the several long months he anticipated she'd be aboard. Of course, he didn't want to tell her that, as most hostages had a tendency to expect a few days... maybe a week at most, but the reality was much more grim. With their stop in Seville, they would already be looking at a month and a half to Azores, and that was assuming the wind held strong and firm like it was.
He anticipated that it would, it was the time for that, after all, but exceptions were always to be expected. He hummed softly, packing up the last of his equipment until his little work-space was as clean as he could possibly make it. “Very good, come along then. The better half of the crew should already be through the line, so hopefully it will be quick. I usually eat up here instead of in the hall.” It was quieter for one, and pirates had a tendency to eat aggressively-- and messily, neither of which Cyrus usually had any inkling to watch.
He stepped around her, pausing before he opened the door to listen to her question. “Oh, I'm almost certain it will, actually,” he remarked with a shrug, “After a while, you just kind of know...” He couldn't explain it, necessarily, or give definitive clues to the gut sensation-- but he had a hunch it was going to rain. Somewhere between the pressure in his eardrums, the way the dolphins had fallen away from the ship's surf and disappeared, and the stillness in the breeze tipped him off internally that, yes, a storm was likely brewing deeper off into the ocean and would strike them when temperatures dropped at night.
“They say there is always a 'calm before the storm' but that's not always true, either,” he explained, popping open the door, “That's the scary part about storms-- they just come and go as they please.” Stepping outside in to the sun, his hair haloed with light until it burned gold, Cyrus made his way down into the belly of the ship, past the primary sleeping quarters and dry storage, until he reached what was adequately called 'the mess.' As promised, the large room, stretching the entire length of the bottom of the ship, was comprised of wooden benches nailed to the floor where pirates sat in rows, bent over the plates and ales.
To the back was a kitchen, of sorts, or at least a single coal stove that violently charred any food brought near it, plummeting thick clouds of smoke out through a pipeline that eventually emptied off the back of the ship. Cyrus went immediately silent again, though no one paid him a second glance, not when their eyes could be feasting instead of the pretty girl he had brought with him. Picking up two wooden plates (mostly clean), he handed one back to her before stepping up to the front of the queue where he could scoop something akin to oatmeal onto his plate, siding it with a half of apple and a pint of ale.
He anticipated that it would, it was the time for that, after all, but exceptions were always to be expected. He hummed softly, packing up the last of his equipment until his little work-space was as clean as he could possibly make it. “Very good, come along then. The better half of the crew should already be through the line, so hopefully it will be quick. I usually eat up here instead of in the hall.” It was quieter for one, and pirates had a tendency to eat aggressively-- and messily, neither of which Cyrus usually had any inkling to watch.
He stepped around her, pausing before he opened the door to listen to her question. “Oh, I'm almost certain it will, actually,” he remarked with a shrug, “After a while, you just kind of know...” He couldn't explain it, necessarily, or give definitive clues to the gut sensation-- but he had a hunch it was going to rain. Somewhere between the pressure in his eardrums, the way the dolphins had fallen away from the ship's surf and disappeared, and the stillness in the breeze tipped him off internally that, yes, a storm was likely brewing deeper off into the ocean and would strike them when temperatures dropped at night.
“They say there is always a 'calm before the storm' but that's not always true, either,” he explained, popping open the door, “That's the scary part about storms-- they just come and go as they please.” Stepping outside in to the sun, his hair haloed with light until it burned gold, Cyrus made his way down into the belly of the ship, past the primary sleeping quarters and dry storage, until he reached what was adequately called 'the mess.' As promised, the large room, stretching the entire length of the bottom of the ship, was comprised of wooden benches nailed to the floor where pirates sat in rows, bent over the plates and ales.
To the back was a kitchen, of sorts, or at least a single coal stove that violently charred any food brought near it, plummeting thick clouds of smoke out through a pipeline that eventually emptied off the back of the ship. Cyrus went immediately silent again, though no one paid him a second glance, not when their eyes could be feasting instead of the pretty girl he had brought with him. Picking up two wooden plates (mostly clean), he handed one back to her before stepping up to the front of the queue where he could scoop something akin to oatmeal onto his plate, siding it with a half of apple and a pint of ale.
Poe
I'm a lady Poe.
Alice followed quickly behind, not dawdling in any manner because she did not particularly want to be left alone on the ship. She even opened her mouth to speak, but the moment they were out and about the ship, Cyrus was speechless – suddenly mute – and he did not communicate with anyone once they were close to ‘the mess.’ Alice longed to be back out on deck, under the sun, where she could warm herself a bit more thoroughly, but she was in no place to argue or complain. She just thought it sad that such a beautiful day be wasted with a storm. A real storm at sea – she had never experienced it before. She had always been lucky to travel in lovely weather and certainly nowhere near that stretch of storms that the different temperatures created.
The room he brought her to was filled to the brim with pirates and Cyrus seemed unaffected by their presence as he made his way up to get himself something to eat. He handed her a plate but the moment she took it, she could already hear the comments being made in the background. Cruel, disgusting things that no lady in her right mind would ever have to endure, but endure it she did. Alice did not pay them mind, instead she followed suit after Cyrus and made herself up a small plate and a pint of ale. Most ladies did not drink ale, but she was uniquely adapted to it. Those weeks taking care of those men, their only reprieve had been a tavern in the center of the town.
Some of the most enjoyable moments of her life, really.
“…you should see what’s under the dress,” Jack’s voice was clear as day over the mumbling crowd of men who had gotten substantially louder in her presence. Immediately, Alice felt the embarrassment climb her cheeks but she swallowed it back and kept her head held high. Since when did pirates get to determine her self worth? Never, that’s when, and she certainly wasn’t going to give Jack the time of day considering how cruel he had been from the other side of that cell. There were some men here, other than Jack, that she would have preferred been separated from her by a cell door – but it was not so. Whatever Alice did, she managed to get herself above deck and that meant listening to their sick and crude comments about her.
Instead of reacting, Alice just followed behind Cyrus.
“Aye, she thinks the fuckin’ mute can save ‘er.”
Ladies did not start fights, but in that moment she wished she could finish it.
“May we go?” she said softly under her breath as her back turn to them and her eyes on Cyrus. She’d had her fill of pirates for the day, that was sure.
The room he brought her to was filled to the brim with pirates and Cyrus seemed unaffected by their presence as he made his way up to get himself something to eat. He handed her a plate but the moment she took it, she could already hear the comments being made in the background. Cruel, disgusting things that no lady in her right mind would ever have to endure, but endure it she did. Alice did not pay them mind, instead she followed suit after Cyrus and made herself up a small plate and a pint of ale. Most ladies did not drink ale, but she was uniquely adapted to it. Those weeks taking care of those men, their only reprieve had been a tavern in the center of the town.
Some of the most enjoyable moments of her life, really.
“…you should see what’s under the dress,” Jack’s voice was clear as day over the mumbling crowd of men who had gotten substantially louder in her presence. Immediately, Alice felt the embarrassment climb her cheeks but she swallowed it back and kept her head held high. Since when did pirates get to determine her self worth? Never, that’s when, and she certainly wasn’t going to give Jack the time of day considering how cruel he had been from the other side of that cell. There were some men here, other than Jack, that she would have preferred been separated from her by a cell door – but it was not so. Whatever Alice did, she managed to get herself above deck and that meant listening to their sick and crude comments about her.
Instead of reacting, Alice just followed behind Cyrus.
“Aye, she thinks the fuckin’ mute can save ‘er.”
Ladies did not start fights, but in that moment she wished she could finish it.
“May we go?” she said softly under her breath as her back turn to them and her eyes on Cyrus. She’d had her fill of pirates for the day, that was sure.
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