Work Text:
1)
It all starts out innocently enough.
“Jonathan, dear, about the honeymoon…” Darra whispered seductively into Jonathan’s ear. The two were wrapped around each other, clothes forgotten on the floor. The air was heavy with the salty smell of the sea and sweat.
Jonathan laughed, tucking Darra’s head into the crook of his shoulder. “I don’t think the Captain would allow us to spend our honeymoon raiding ships for money to fund your - shall we say - creative pursuits, love. Our Captain’s not too fond of ships catching on fire, it seems, especially if it’s hers.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling her short blond hair. “Although you do look absolutely stunning in your lab coat, so I wouldn’t be opposed to acquiring you some funds from the ship…”
“...Well, I’m sure if I made some useful weapons for the ship, she wouldn’t mind if I started a couple of fires here and there, and maybe take a few hundred thousand gold pieces from the ship’s treasury…” Darra closed her eyes and felt her husband’s rumbling laugh ripple through his chest.
“But then, sweetheart, you’d spend all your time in the workshop, and it wouldn’t be a honeymoon, now, would it?” He carded a hand through her hair and smiled softly. “And I’d rather spend my honeymoon with you, my darling Darra. I must admit, I’ve been rather jealous of your work-tools lately...”
“Oh hush. Anytime I’m with you, it’s a honeymoon. And I’m not planning on getting out of this bed anytime soon, anyways.” She wrapped a brightly colored quilt over the two of them and bit back a yawn. “No, but listen, about the money, I have this great idea…”
2)
Gomez looked at the piece of paper in his hand, lips pursed and one eyebrow raised. “So, instead of just asking for a research grant from the ship outright, you decide to make a betting pool.”
“But what’s the fun in that, Gomez? I have seen how our recent events have caused an imbalance of the mental humors, which has caused many to struggle in enjoying life. Some entertainment is much needed, doctor’s orders.”
Darra nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. We’ve all been waiting a while for the two to get together, so people are bound to join. Not to mention, we can raise money for my research - I mean, a good cause. It’s a win-win situation!”
Gomez nodded. “A betting pool, where half of the proceeds go to a research fund for the development of high-tech cannons and weaponry. An ingenious idea, if I say so myself. However, there is only one problem - we have a tax on winnings from betting pools, particularly if said pools are long in duration and have many parties involved.” He sat down at his desk and pulled out an abacus. “Seeing that it is the Captain and Arthur, that would put our estimated time range to at least a year, if not longer, which would result in a tax rate of 10%...” he murmured, flicking the wooden beads in rapid succession. “...and if we are to include the entire ship, minus the two relevant parties, the tax rate would go up to 15%…”
“Jonathan, dear, remind me again why we have a tax on betting pool wins?” Darra whispered. Jonathan shrugged in reply. The two watched in silence as Gomez stared intently at his abacus.
“It is tight, but doable, under certain conditions,” he said after a while. “To truly make a profit, you will need to include as many people possible, with as much money as possible.” Gomez smiled. “Luckily for you, I have much experience running casinos in Romania - had to make up the lost rent somehow, after all. Although I must say, I do charge a small fee in doing so…”
3)
“Three months? Preposterous” Dinkleshire sipped his tea. It was three-o-clock, which meant that anyone sane enough steered well clear away from the formal tea room.
Two perfectly-dressed men sat at a round mahogany table, quietly sipping tea in front of an exquisitely decorated pound cake. The shattered remains of seven china plates lay at their feet, and two empty teapots rolled about to the swaying of the ship, occasionally hitting oddly-folded napkins and three half-eaten strawberry tarts.
“Preposterous or not, as commissioner I just need to know how much you are putting in, domnul Dinkleshire. Your opinions are quite unnecessary, as they are frankly completely barbarian, as we have already established.”
“Really, with how those two act,” obliviously continued Dinkleshire, “I’d bet 10 gold pieces that it will take them months! Months, I’m telling you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Although I imagine it would take you years to learn the art of proper thinking, with such blatantly provocative statements.”
Gomez put Dinkleshire down for 3.01 months.
4)
“How much are you putting in?” Zoe asked. She reached out to pluck a piece of cheese from a charcuterie board, shivering slightly. Even the well-built crow’s nest, with just barely enough space for two people to snuggle close together, couldn’t stop the cold night air from seeping through its planks. Above, the full moon shone brightly, casting the silent sea in an eerie glow.
Gomez wrapped Zoe up in his cloak and pulled her close, placing a small kiss on her forehead. “Was my conversation about napkins so boring that you had to bring up our Captain’s nonexistent love life?” he teased. “I thought you cared about our wedding, iubi . How else are we supposed to correct that English weasel’s atrocious manners, if we don’t provide a shining example?”
Zoe snuggled closer and let out a snort. “You know he’ll disapprove, no matter what we do.” Gomez made a face that on anyone else would be classified as a pout. “I was just wondering about - about the money for it all, that’s all. Weddings aren’t necessarily cheap, and I know we have the money, and even if we didn’t I know Moira would gladly cover it for us, but still… Well anyways, I put in three months. But I don’t really think Moira can get her act together by then, so I’m not expecting any wins.”
Gomez silently agreed, remembering his own five-month wager. “That sounds reasonable,” he hummed. Zoe leaned back and sighed. “I hope so,” she whispered, “imagine if we win all that money! And it’s getting higher each day. I can’t believe people are putting that much effort into it.” She placed a small kiss over Gomez’s heart. “And you’re putting so much time and effort into this too, fluturaș . All so Jonathan and Darra can have a nice wedding gift. That’s very kind of you.”
Gomez felt his throat constrict and (dead) heart flutter. He hugged Zoe tightly. “Nothing to thank me for. The crew was much more enthusiastic about this whole affair than I imagined, that’s all.” he croaked in agreement (and slight pride). He made a mental reminder to waive his commissioner’s cut.
“Do you think we’ll get it?”
“Perhaps,” he said with a smile, “but even if we did, we shouldn’t spend it on the wedding. We have more than enough money for that, and even if we didn’t -” he paused, then continued in a softer voice, “please believe me when I say that I would do anything, spend everything I have, to make you happy. So please, scumpi, do not worry.” He placed his cheek on top of Zoe’s head. “If you win the money, then it’s yours. You should spend it on whatever you want to do, take you wherever you’d like to go, draga mea .”
Zoe looked at Gomez through her lashes, eyes twinkling. “And what if I want to go where you are?”
Gomez squeezed Zoe’s hand. “I think I can arrange that.”
5)
The Kid was unanimously disqualified for having insider knowledge. The Kid protested vehemently, (saying something along the lines of I never asked for it, they just infodumped their nonexistent, slow-moving, alcohol-infused, poker-addicted love life onto me ), but seeing as even that confession revealed magnitudes more information than anyone else had, the banned remained in place.
“This is so totally unfair, I never asked for it ,” they were heard muttering for days, but, well, what could anyone do? Insider knowledge was insider knowledge.
(Gomez secretly promised a 10% cut from the total pot, just so he could avoid Hunkle’s sad eyes.)
6)
“Never,” said Ophelia. “No way. I just saw Moira walk into the seediest bar in town, a couple of hours ago. Right after the council meeting. She was staring at Arthur the entire time, and then - poof, she ran. She had this...” Ophelia paused, looking for the right words. “ Strange look about her.” She shook her head. “Like she was trapped in a different dimension and trying to run away. Which only happened, mind you, after looking at Arthur.”
“Maybe it wasn't because of Arthur” gently chided Rachel. “Bad days happen to everyone, especially with all the violence we’ve seen. And speaking of Arthur, I just saw him leaving the ship now, heading towards said bar. I’m sure whatever it is, will pass. And if not, I’m sure he can wake her up from whatever it is the Captain’s feeling.” She rested her shoulder on Ophelia’s shoulder. “You woke me up, too, remember that. Don’t discredit the power of true love.”
She turned to Gomez, who was trying his hardest to disappear into the woodwork. “Put us down for 4 weeks.”
7)
“If we sing more love songs to encourage the two, would that count as manipulation?”, Mike staged-whispered to Gomez. Keel chirped out a melody in demonstration.
Gomez furrowed his brows in thought. “...If it is not too conspicuous, no.”
“Deal.”
Needless to say, the entire crew very quickly got sick of love songs after that.
(Avi Colon’s request to “seduce any willing participant(s) ” was denied.)
8)
“This has gone on for far too long,” muttered Hunkle angrily. “No one is going to win the bet at this rate. And I want my cut of the pot.” Unconsciously, their hand drifted towards the hidden rum bottle in their coat-pocket. Feeling the soft spongy cork, their hand shot back in the air, dangling uselessly as the child quickly scanned their surroundings. Their relieved sigh echoed through the empty galley.
Well, thought Hunkle as they descended down to the hull, they never said I couldn’t interfere.
“Moira! I’ve got the cards and rum bottle you asked for.” The changeling’s smile glinted in the dark. “Take your time, it’s a slow day anyways.”
On the way out the door, the changeling made sure to lock the hull’s door extra well. Just in case.
9)
Simon looked down at the piece of sail he was mending. “I don’t think I should be making any wagers,” he said softly. “Don’t want to get into any more trouble with the Captain as is.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” reassured Gomez, “everyone is doing it. If she complains, we’ll just threaten to cut off her alcohol supply.”
Simon said nothing, his hands ghosting along the straight lines of herringbone stitches running across the formerly torn-up sail.
“I think that there’s no need,” he said at last. “I think they’re already together.” He looked up to Gomez and smiled ruefully. “Even someone without a heart can see that.”
10)
“...And I don’t understand how we’re suddenly short on gold pieces all the time,” Moira, drumming her fingers against the wooden table. “Everyone’s been asking for a pay raise, which would be fine, except that our weekly expenses have been higher for some reason. I know Simon’s return would change the sheets a bit, but -”
“Didn’t realize Neil’s gotten to pilfering the ship’s treasury to pad the pot,” Arthur deadpanned. “Or maybe it’s Dinkleshire’s idea, I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“ - that doesn’t make sense, it’s just one person. Which leaves us with plain old corruption.” Moira started to count on her fingers obliviously. “I don’t think Neil did it, I wouldn’t think of him so stupid to graft the ship like that, especially with how much I pay him. Dinkleshire probably wouldn’t, he’s started to adapt to our ways - wait, what did you say?”
“I said, the money probably went to the pot. You know, the one everyone’s been putting half their pay in.”
Moira shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. If there was a pot, I’d be in it already.” She muttered something that suspiciously sounded like I wanted to join the pot too . (Although Moira would refuse to admit to saying something so childish, if pressed.)
“Even this one?”
“Of course, there’s no pot that I don’t join. That anyone wouldn't join, really. Why do you think we made that tax? So the ship wouldn't lose too much money, obviously.”
“Moira, I don’t think you’d want to join this one.”
“And how so?” Moira asked, voice slightly on edge.
Arthur looked over the edge of his cards. “Love, darling, my treasure of the sea - you do know the bet’s about us, right?”
Moira, scrunched her bright red face in embarrassment. “Don’t say that, that’s disgusting. We’re not young anymore.” She paused, before opening her eyes in shock. “Wait, what? Since when?”
“Since Jonathan and Daria’s wedding, I reckon.”
“ You knew?”
“I mean, it was pretty obvious when everyone kept staring at us together, no?” He chuckled. “But I only really put the pieces together once the Birds played one too many love songs, and Avi complained about no money. It was all getting on my nerves, really.”
Moira sputtered. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“Well, no.” Seeing Moira’s glare, he put his hands up placatingly. “I just thought you already knew. And, well...”
“Well?”
“I thought that since you didn’t say anything, it means you approved. Approved of… of well, the bet - but not just the bet, of…” Arthur trailed off, scratching his head and looking down. “Well, of us. But I was afraid of asking, because - because what if you didn’t approve, but just didn’t want to say anything? Especially after our - what we talked about in the hull. Earlier. I couldn’t - I didn’t want to think about - about that.”
Moira looked down, but couldn’t completely cover the blush (or smile) spreading across her face. “You fool. When have I not told you something?” She paused. “Wait, no, ignore that. But still. I mean - well, I guess ,” she coughed awkwardly. “Anyways, the bet is - I guess it’s true, so it doesn’t really matter arguing about it. Besides, I’m not… opposed to the ideas in the bet. Or what we… talked about earlier. And if I was, I would have told you so. And I haven’t told you yet. So.”
“Oh. I see. Yes.”
The hull was silent after that, except for the rustling sound of playing cards and the groaning of the sea.
“I’m still mad, though,” Moira whispered after a particularly close win. “How did you figure it out before me?”
“Why? Mad that your observational skills have gone down?” Arthur snickered, putting down his cards and leaning forward. He placed his hand on the table, palms up in apology.
“Shut up. Don’t speak of this to anyone.” Moira grumbled in annoyance, but twined their hands across the table anyways.
+1
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“I don’t particularly like to encourage betting on your superiors.”
Arthur snorted. “Moira, the only thing you’re superior to is… hey, ow! That was my shin!”
“Oh shut it, you’ve faced worse. Anyways, no need to tell them anything before our wedding. I want payback, those bastards. They’re not going to know anything, if I can help it.”
“.... our wedding?”
“....”