Chapter Text
The isle of the Lost. A poor excuse of a prison, or more likely a waste final disposal site of Auradon.
Who could guess that these ten you-know-who’s known as “Recruiters” had to abandon so devoted fan of theirs only to get stuck in the place as miserable as this?
Can’t say for the others, but at least “Eight-Foot” Joe did. With his bitter and pessimistic personality.
“Joe! Are you still scrubbing at dishes?!” It was sixth times that the voice called him from across the shoppe. As hearing upset footsteps and harsh remarks thrown at complaining customers, Joe, who has been burrowing himself in the sink full of dirty dishes, craned his neck and yelled back.
“I’m coming!”
Then Joe grimaced at his pale as a paper, coarse hands. Eight-Foot Joe was an octopus before exchanged his tremendous two-hundred years old body for a weak, pathetic human body. He was the least favorite henchman of Ursula the Sea Witch.
Once upon a time, his body was immune to the water as cold as which running down from the faucet. His fingers never got swollen as he swims, crawl, and dive through the seven seas. He was welcomed, he was free, he belonged there.
But not anymore.
Joe grabbed a dish cloth dangling from a fish hook embedded into the wall, wiped his hands before trudged out of the kitchen.
“Called me? My lady”.
At one of larger tables in the shoppe, Joe spotted a small, yet so vibrant figure all adorned by teal, turquoise, and all other shades of crushing waves. With special mention worthy of long, exquisite braids which length is past the muddle of her back, swayed as she shook her head and charms and copper streaks in each strands caught dim lights from bare light bulbs. There was an old pirate sat in, making a long and pointless complaints at young sea witch. She spun around as Joe picked a tray from the counter.
“It’s Uma. And pick up trays and make a table for one! All trays!” Uma growled at Joe, then turned back to insistent customer of hers.
“I wanted it with rotten potatoes on the side! Not dry rots!”
“So what? Aren’t you see our motto up there? You’ll take it how I make it!”
Uma was far over from make efforts of pretending that she cared.
As far as Joe was concerned, also he didn’t care about the reputation of Ursula’s fish and chips. This place has been given F grade for the isle un-health committee so how would it gets any worse? And yet to stop customers to come. All he knows is they won’t care either as long as the house would serve whatever edible, includes rotten mashed potatoes and dry rots. It’s a giveaway of being new comer to argue with Uma. Regular customers don’t even try. They know that making complaint rather gets reality checks than fixed orders here.
“Hey Joe! We have trays here!”
The voice too cheerful for the place has caught his attention. Joe peeked over the pile of trays in his arms and met with a dorky grin of Gil, the son of Gaston. Next to him, with an empty spot that would fit for one short person saved between them, there was Harry, the troublesome son of Captain Hook, had yet another kind of grin than his friend’s. Joe followed the gaze of smudged kohl eyes of the boy. Then instantly regretted his curiosity as found Uma at the other end.
Oh fuck no. Joe mentally cursed.
Older man was aware of the boy’s immense crush on his mistress’s daughter. Typical childhood crush except the moving on part. It was still going down. What’s worse was, it is kind of reciprocated now.
Joe hated it. His little lady, whose life so far has been under Joe’s self-appointed supervision in absence of the mother, fall in love with the son of Captain Hook? Just no. Joe did not change her diapers and ran all over the isle for just one more carton of slightly expired milks, made a little wooden sword for her birthday, and learnt how to make double puffs on the top of her little head to walk her down to Harry Hook. Because, Hallo? It’s his mistress’s daughter!
Joe squirmed at the thoughts of himself weeping in the seat of the bride’s family. He couldn’t do it. He shook his head when Hook––not the father of groom but his ex-coworker––poke his side with her own hook. She would poke and make fun of his sorrow. In any chances given.
Hook, a female pirate shaped creature made of a literal hook, was one of his coworkers back when all these villains had a crazy idea that called “Recruiting”. A poisoned apple from Evil Queen, a “dalmatian” puppy from Cruella De Vil, a red and macaw hen from Jafar, a raven from Maleficent, a female hyena from Scar, the jack of hearts from Queen of Hearts, blue flame of the underworld from Hades, a bell from Judge Frollo. And an octopus from Ursula the sea witch, that’s him.
They all worked together to recruit people out there.
There were the old good days where villains were highly respected, not saying it’s everyone, but fair amount of people aspired to be just selfish, terrible, insufferably oneself as his mistress. And he was magically transformed and sent for a mission, looking for rotten souls craved a taste of wickedness, collect them for masters and mistresses.
No one of them recruiters, not even their own supervisor Mr. V knew why. But villains wanted these corrupted souls for some reason.
Eventually Auradon rounded up them after they went behind its back for four years.
Heroes struggled to decide what’s fair punishments for creatures like them, because half of them were man-mades. They couldn’t un-spell them back into innocent animals and objects neither, they hesitated when Veil, ex bell of the Notre-Dame, pleaded her consciousness. Nobody could deny that she was alive. All recruiters had human appearances, voices, and brains to respond questions thrown at them. It’d be considered a murder to un-spell them by Auradon laws.
Villain left such a riddle, and it took two years for Auradon to finally decide that recruiters shall go to the isle of the Lost, joining their masters.
Thus here they were, have been for twenty years. Joe doesn’t even remember how his tentacles looked like anymore. The life on the isle was cruel, and much heavier than past two hundred years under the sea. And baby-sitting Uma has been a solace to his miserable days. Although she has become such a boss. Why. He doesn’t know where did he make wrong turns.
Joe heaved a tired sigh before he walked closer to the counter table where all Uma’s crew occupied as balancing a tower of trays on his numb arms.
“Gil, can you put them on the top?”
Gil blinked as Joe jerked his chin at trays, then he smiled.
“Sure thing!”
With a clattering sound, the weight of more three trays were carefully put on Joe’s arms. The tower had nearly past the top of his head.
“Quite busy afternoon, isn’t it? Uma is in a mood again”
“She is always in not good mood, but she’s harsher than usual today”. Saying which, Gil had a grin that was the opposite of glumness of Uma he so cheerfully talked about.
“Well, it’s level three, out of ten. I suppose,”
Joe murmured as turning around to the sight of Uma scribbling the order on her notepad. She seemed so annoyed by complicated choices of the customer.
“I don’t know why though”
“Harry said she’s probably angry with Ursula”, Gil said.
Joe glanced at the other boy, leaning against the counter as lazily as the one could without losing certain air of dangerousness. Harry bared his teeth as he noticed Joe’s eyes, which could only be called a poor mimic of friendly grin.
Joe gave him a sneer.
“Nope. You don’t know Uma that much”. He laughed at Harry’s narrowed eyes. Gil slid out of face-off between them as soon as he smelt the hostility.
As they whisper nasty remarks back and forth, crew passed down one more tray from the farther end of the table, added the weight on Joe’s arms. Courtesy of their Captain Uma, these once starved orphans can eat as much as they need here. And in Joe’s personal opinion, they do eat a lot. It’s as though they eat all day whenever they are here.
He sometimes wonders if he can convince them to eat all deep-fried doughs that always annoy him with the need of scrubbing off of a fryer after the closing. He would never try it on though, Uma is ten times scarier when it’s about what is hers.
“Joe! Didn’t I tell you to clear the fucking table?!”
Across the room, Uma yelled as making a quick stride into the kitchen. Her braids hit unexpecting patron’s head and slap the hat off as she passed by. Which pleased Harry and Joe heard his amused cackles.
“On it!” He said, and was about to carry all trays back to the kitchen when someone new made such loud entrance at the saloon doors of Urusla’s.
“Hey Joe! FOOOOD!”
It was a woman. It was someone Joe knew very much, includes how annoying she could be. Her wild curly hair is all swept up into volumed pompadour, which is supposed to give her some elegance or grace yet she was too high spirited to be look like certain way. She was a hyena after all.
Lady “Pretty” Scar was her name. And nobody ever bothered to call her Pretty Scar, because how a nuisance she becomes whenever someone call her pretty, as she so often encourages. Joe calls her just Scar. And that’s the most known alias she goes by.
“Is that your friend”
Uma came out of the kitchen and glared up at Joe. It was of course not a question.
“She was my ex co-worker, nothing more or less”
Joe tried to explain himself as to why he, supposed cool and sarcastic henchman of Ursula has established companionship with a very bubbly personality like Scar. However, all words coming from his mouth died on the tip of his tongue when he saw Scar, who was jumping up and down so high and her bouncing hair was brushing the ceiling. With five inches heels? Is that skips? Joe had many questions swarmed into his mind.
“Make her stop whatever she is doing. Or she is gonna stomp her foot though the floor”
Harry poked Joe in his side with polished hook. Contrary to the expectation for so called crazy first mate of Uma, he was more likely a person as chill as a cat with abandonment issues. And he doesn’t like someone so energetic radiates their high, healthy sprits out to infect others. It’s like an afterschool show of Auradon. Too good for his taste.
Joe reluctantly set a pile of trays on the table, straighten up a little as a way to prepare himself.
“Hey Scar, what’s up? Let me get you a seat first” Joe took slow circle around her as if he was cautious of a wild animal burst into the building, which wasn’t exaggeration at all. Scar was uncontrollably giggling at his weird approach.
“Well, a table for one? Yeah? You’re hungry, right?”
He pulled a chair for her. He wasn’t that big of chivalry, but it’s better to have her sit tight. And both his chivalrous act and intention behind it were ignored by Scar, as a hyena she was.
“Yes! I’m hungry, I could devour a herd of gnus!”
For a moment, Scar shown the predator in her as she mentioned about gnus. And a pair of Huns sat nearby uncomfortably shifted in their seats as their hands pat on their middle. They had some knives under there, Joe guessed. Sword check was strict, yet everybody had a spare on their body. Uma, Cook, and Joe included of course. If there was anybody who doesn’t have any weapons on them, it’s Scar and just because she doesn’t need any. She has the strength, agility and ferocity of a hyena.
“Oh, and can I take it out? It’s two for me and my master!”
For someone like her, the way she counted on her fingers looked strangely childish. Even as a child, Uma never did such an innocent gesture like this, then it still reminded him of when she was younger and counted on him for some ways. Maybe that’s the reason why he can’t ignore Scar.
“Depends on what foods you want”.
Joe took a glance at the menu board on the wall. The shop had takeout option for everything they offered. But for practicality, they don’t pack it up in neat plastic bags with the logo on it. You wouldn’t call it a takeout when your seaweed soda is spilling out of holes in unused garbage bag all the way to the home.
“I think fishcakes will do for you”.
Her master is a Felidae after all. As internally making a comment, Joe checked the price. A dish of fishcake: 5 silvers. It’s rather expensive.
“Well, how much would you like to pay?”
Being a lion and a hyena shapeshifted into a human woman without losing its incredible strengths, obviously they’d eat a lot, Joe supposed.
“Pay?”
Scar gave him a puzzled look. Then dropped the bomb.
“I don’t pay. I say food and everyone just hands me something”
It was Joe’s turn to be perplexed about the statement.
“So, is this a robbery?”
Joe hated it, that the fact he is a shrewd man, therefore could tell it when everybody in the shop paused.
Scar had a big voice. And her daring statement at such a place skewered into these chit chats of customers. Simple math.
Joe took a deep breathe before brace himself for what he would face to when he turns around.
Is it you, ma’am? That’s what came to his mind first.
He saw notorious Ursula the sea witch in Uma. She had her arms folded in majestic manner, with arched eyebrow and lips curled into a sneer. Her abyss eyes shone bright, almost amused. Besides her, Harry flourished his hook and it gleamed maliciously under the light. The rest of pirates also looked eager to take any orders from their captain. Who hadn’t taken the que was only Gil, who was too busy shoveling hard boiled eggs into his mouth.
Scar had no idea, but she technically challenged the order of the shop under Uma’s supervision.
Uma loved challenges. So, she could show it to the world that nobody, ever, stand a chance.
In absence of Maleficent, it’s had been months since Uma took the title of Queen of the Isle. She took it by herself and hadn’t been planning to throw it into the trash bin for anyone.
And the look on Uma’s face made Joe both so proud of and be terrified of at once. That’s his mistress’s daughter. Yes. But he didn’t want to be at the end of that smile.
Still, Joe felt a wash of relief when he didn’t spot any deadly weapons in their hands. Except for Harry, but he always took the permission of carrying his hook in the shop for granted. Uma had her hand on Harry’s arm, so she hadn’t yet to start a blood bath here.
Uma jerked her chin at Joe, as in saying “Handle it”.
Joe was startled at her vague demand, pointed at himself as “ME?!”
Harry thrown a crooked grin, then moved his hands. Improvising a sequence of gestures that he fished the other hand with his hook-holding one, means “Supply fishes by yourself”
Joe wanted to bite back. Harry wasn’t in the place to tell him how to do, Uma was! But Harry was most contributed supplier, self-appointed, of the shop. Of course, he was obviously doing it because Uma highly appreciated it, but he was helpful. So, Joe couldn’t take the high hand with the boy.
Otherwise, Uma would take the matter in her hands. And Joe couldn’t chew her out for being emotionally attached to Harry Hook either. There was too much risk on his part. Because if he did, Ursula would finally know what’s the update between kids, and Joe wouldn’t bear with seeing Uma gets beaten for the weakness.
Sometimes he wishes that Uma would understand it. He strongly disagrees of her choice of mate (A pirate, with the obsession of hook, really?), but he doesn’t tell his mistress about it, leaving her in the dark because he cares. He cares too much.
So, Joe gave into the idea. If it’s all good at the sacrifice of him running around, making sure everyone is pleased, so be it.
“Fine. Scar, stay here. It’ll take some but you wouldn’t mind as long as it’s free meal, right?”
It was five minutes away to reach the shore and would take ten to fifteen minutes to deep dive for fishes. He knew bits of knowledges about what kind of rocks and dead corals fishes would hide under while asleep, all from his past life.
“Yay!” Scar cheered. Meanwhile Joe made a quick way between the kitchen to the hall to put trays and his apron back. As putting on the jacket, Joe reminded Scar.
“Do not cause any troubles here. No hunting”.
Whatever troubles you make, will be mine to handle it. And I hate it. So please, please do not anything would lead me into staying up all night cleaning the mess. Joe’s desperate eyes met with Scar’s, and she flinched away.
“Ew, get away!”
Joe was mortified of her idea that he was being creepy. This proximity was appropriate! Uma and Harry did this all the time!
Then he came to his senses.
Oh. That wasn’t normal.