Unspoken Tale of Hermit Island

[Morris]

Cuthlan Jalliq, alias Cutty, was scrubbing the cranky timber planks with a mixture of forced indifference and fearfully fueled efficiency.


He had been in service to the crew of this seafaring den of seedy villainy and alcoholic brewage disposal vessel for nearly a decade at this point. It was his fault to begin with though, unknowingly having signed up for a pirate ship rather than a legitimate trading barge. What followed up were natural consequences of his folly: kicked and stomped around the bottom of this isolated, self-contained miniature society aboard, much like a slave.


For years he was forced to put up with bullying, verbal and physical alike, and the incalculable temperament of that blazingly red-haired stout woman this sorry hulking ship possessed for a captain: Síofra Cathasaigh. Held in a near mythical esteem by the younger shipmates, some went so far as to claim she sold her soul to the devil so she may live long and plunder and butcher even more. While Cuthlan dismissed these far-fetched ramblings as the fabrications of addled minds, there was no denial that he personally feared the lady, if she could be called that. He saw her drink rum like water, while being splattered in red after a raid, only to roar out afterwards in a combination of coughing and mad laughter. It was an image that sure as hell killed off any tender fantasies he harboured about her.


Still. He was making good progress. Eventually, the other shipmates grew tired of picking on him as newer victims got added to replace losses, and he would pick up the ropes of manning the sails, learning a trick or two about cutlasses, and managing the kitchen. Then recently, it all went to hell.


The pirates had been without bounty for the last two months. Supplies were running low, and there was just not enough treasure to pay for more at the precious few dockyards that were without supervision, who were brazen enough to trade with those under black sails.


Their anticipated saving grace arrived in the image of a fatly-laden treasurer vessel which was farrying chests upon chests of collected tax money from outlying colonies. Spirits jumped high, and Cutty was thrown to assist the cannoneers. And man, did he assist! He assisted well... actually, too well.


How the hell was he supposed to know he'd be hitting the gunpowder storage of that ship right at first shot?!


Consequently, the spirits of his fellows kind of died down as the riches sank to the bottom of the ocean right before their eyes. He'd be held responsible and accountable for this horrific mistake. But nothing, ye heavens, nothing the shipmates did to him or threatened him with could compare what Síofra would have in stores, just for him. Starting with a spiked collar - which was spiky on the inside, not the outside, and a leather strap to drag Cutty around like a dog. Thankfully, she has taken it off after a few days before he could suffocate, but it was only so Cutty could suffer more.


Speak of the devil, she was walking up from her cabin. For the first time in a long, long while, Cuthlan was muttering silent prayers.


This was looking up to be yet another bloody fine day.


@Elaraal

 

[Elaraal]

Síofra Cathasaigh finally opened her eyes after a night of restful slumber. Aside from the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the ship's body and some seagulls crying in the distance, only silence could be heard. And since any seasoned pirate's ears blocked out noise of this kind automatically, it indeed felt like a complete stillness to her. The sky still retained this faint grey-ish, steely tint that suggested the sun had conquered night not so long ago. In other words, it was goddamn early. Nobody would have blamed her for turning on the other side and continuing to sleep, partly because she'd smash the complainer's face in, partly because the crew considered every second spent outside of her supervision to be a divine blessing, but Síofra could never ignore her duties like that. Someone had to be the responsible one here whether they liked it or not. Especially if they didn't like it.


Síofra had always had an inkling that vast majority of her men couldn't even tie their own shoelaces properly without her guidance and the gunpowder storage incident had only confirmed her suspicions. No matter how she looked at the fiasco, it was an act of pure dilettantism. One would have thought that receiving instructions as simple as 'don't sink the bloody ship' couldn't possibly be misinterpreted in any way, but Cutty restored her beliefs in the power of human imagination. The scope of failure was so massive that it genuinely impressed her, or would have impressed her had they not lost their bounty in the process. Maybe I should have fed him to the sharks, Síofra thought as she put on her boots, but my tragic flaw is that I'm simply too nice for my own good. Oh well, no sense crying over spilled milk. It seems I'll have to pay him some extra attention today, too.


There was no big amount of malice in that thought, just tired resignation. She didn't actually hate him, at least not more than other members of the crew. No, Síofra was simply a firm believer in learning through experience. When you trained a dog, you had to yank the chain hard every time the creature disobeyed to get the message under its skin. It worked the same way in this case. The method could be perceived as a little crude, but in all honesty, people weren't that much more complicated than dogs. The main difference was that humans lacked their loyalty. They also weren't nearly as cuddly, couldn't assist during a hunt as effectively and felt the need to add their unnecessary commentary where it clearly wasn't wanted. I should have gotten a dog instead of a pirate ship. With this thought, Síofra grabbed her pointy hat and headed outside.


What greeted her was the usual sight of her subordinates whining instead of focusing on their work.


"... and let me tell you, mate, if she doesn't pay me soon, then I swear-"


"Yes, Wyatt? What will you do? It's not nice to talk about people behind their backs, especially in a case like this," Síofra butted in, smiling sweetly. The man in question, on the other hand, turned pale as if he had just seen a ghost. She may not have looked dangerous in that moment, but her men had learned to recognize this particular expression as a sign of impending apocalypse. "You know that I'm a gentle soul, episodes like this hurt my feelings." Wyatt, a hulking giant of a man, seemed to be shrinking with each passing second. Onlookers stared at the unfolding scene with badly camouflaged horror, clearly sympathizing with their friend who had been caught red-handed.


"I-I uh, captain, I didn't... I was just..."


"Talking shit, weren't you? Well, but if you didn't mean it, wouldn't have it been wiser to keep your mouth shut? I mean, there's a reason they say that silence is golden." Not a hint of anger seeped through her voice as she spoke, but the pleasantness was somehow even worse than vitriol. "You would do well to remember this rule. I guess that relying on your memory would be a bit naive, though. What do you think, Cutty," Síofra suddenly turned her attention to the poor man, "shall I cut his tongue off? Actually, given your nickname, perhaps you should do it. Now wouldn't that be entertaining?"

 

[Morris]

Cuthlan gulped quite audibly at the unfolding scene. For all that is holy, why did Síofra had to have a voice that could curdle milk, and yet carry nothing but calculated cruelty behind it. He sincerely hoped the captain wouldn't take notice of him, washing and cleaning the deck so thouroughly that it would shine in the sun's stare. But alas, he was part of her attention now.


"R- respectfully, captain..." - he started, trying to enforce a friendly smirk, even as he pondered why nodoby tried to keelhaul the esteemed captain thus far - "I don't believe that'd be fair, I mean, the delay in payment happens to be my fault, and I really don't think it'd be appropriate for me to compile further err... property damage!" - he blurted out the last part after some mild hesitation. He tried to strike some balance in his arguement, to save the poor sod from punishment, himself from earning the ire of the crew even more so than he already had, and to play on Síofra's mentality. He hoped, at the very least, she'd acknowledge he's learning his lesson, even without mutilation, and that the principle is applicable to others. Ergo, the value of a sailor would need not be lessened by removal of the tongue.


He picked up the scrubbing mop again, trying to avert his gaze from Síofra's. Damn those hauntingly glittering eyes, if stares could kill, this would be a ghost ship since long. - "W- with permission, captain, I'll resume my d- duties... a clean, orderly work environment will surely help us all focus on preparing for the next raid. Certainly, captain, you're cunning and smart, you always figure a way for what's best for us all, eh? Ehehe..." - he spoke meekly, while he felt his stomach mildly turning. Ye gods, he wanted to throw up straing in her face for forcing him into all this. Even a slave should have a degree of dignity.


Cutty hoped what he said would not escalate the crisis. The seagulls and the sharks were seldom neglectful of corpses tossed overboard. Seagulls... if there are birds about, that means they can't be very far away from some land. Cuthlan could not fancy where Síofra would be taking them; he knew the maps well enough to know there were no docks in this region of the sea. Perhaps she knows some hideout, and will hire our her crew to someone? Becoming a temporary privateer wasn't uncommon these days - do some favours for a government, and you could stay on their good side while still having plenty of liberties. If that was the case, they'd get paid up front in exchange for a contract. That would lighten everyone's mood.


@Elaraal