Chapter Text
The sun is setting the color of rotten oranges as the galleon finally makes dock in safe harbor. The swarming sounds of the little island echo down through the ramshackle town and up the gangplank as the crew begins to disembark, and for the first time in more than a week Captain Vegetta feels the tension ease from his shoulders and slowly begin to dissipate from his ship. For a while, he is silent. Overlooking the movement of his crew from his perch at the back of the boat, he allows himself to lean down against the aftcastle’s railing, the rich violet coat he’s so known for billowing gently. From the coast, the warm summer air runs out to the blue waters. Normally, Vegetta would feel a kinship with it, constantly pulled towards the open ocean. But for now, he is very grateful to be docked. Especially somewhere safe for once.
The Flying Q is an infamous ship. Its name, and its crew, are well known across the Atlantic, and wanted for all the wrong reasons. Vegetta imagines that the number of warrants for his decapitated head is higher than the number of countries he’s visited- and he’s been to most places you can reach by boat. This makes it hard to find a dock that will take them and let them go. Luckily, they have a man on the inside. Missa was able to arrange for their docking, and assured them this island will be safe, even those of them who will be staying on shore for… longer than usual. Vegetta trusts him, he’s been right before. Besides, even if Vegetta didn’t, his Pilot would be willing to vouch for Missa’s reliability, as his matelot.
On the deck, commotion has slowly petered out. Warm light spills hazy shadows down from the rigging, and the waters gleam golden. Most of the crew has scattered, taking their shares of coin and treasure to sell or buy in town. If he listens closely, he can faintly hear the uproar coming from a nearby tavern. That would account for most of them. A few figures linger, intending to stay on board for the night or, in the case of his Quartermaster climbing the stairs, to meet with him.
“It’s a pretty place, yea?”
Vegetta equivocates with a hum as Roier settles beside him. The younger man moves casually, but there is a tension Vegetta can see around his First Mate’s eyes. The trip had been hard on all of them.
“It will be nice for those who stay behind, I am sure” Vegetta offers. When Roier stays quiet, he goes on, “And it will be good for the crew to separate for a while.”
“Yea, things are… I agree with your choice, Captain. We’ll split the crew for a while until things settle.”
“It will be fine, my friend. In a month everyone will have moved on from this, I am sure.”
Roier nods, and relaxes further. Vegetta feels himself exhale a little more too, and they sit there a second longer before Roier stirs, a cheery smile returning to his face. “Let’s go enjoy the town for the night, ay?”
— — —
Up close, the seaside tavern is positively discordant with noise. It hits Vegetta all at once as the door opens, the conversation of his crew swelling over him like a wave. Crowded around tables and swarming the bar is the majority of his inner circle. These are the people he trusts most- not just aboard the Flying Q, but in all the world. They’ve been by his side even as others have come and gone, and many of them occupy the ship’s official positions. His Boatswain, for instance, who greets Roier as they enter. Roier leaves to go sit with his matelot, and Vegetta smiles at the sight, before spotting his Pilot in the back corner speaking in hushed tones to his own partner. As he makes his way towards them, Missa notices him and waves, and his partner twists backwards to see what the taller man is looking towards.
“Well met, o’ King of Pirates!” Missa stands and gives an over exaggerated bow, grinning ear to ear. Philza laughs behind him, nodding in his own greeting.
“Many would object to you saying this, my friend” Vegetta refutes, though he’s smiling despite himself. “I believe they call me the ‘Pirate-King’, not the King of Pirates.”
Missa laughs, and Phil stands to leave. “I’ll let you two talk. I’ve got a bit of business to get to” then, to his matelot, “I’ll see you later tonight, yeah?”
Missa nods and Vegetta moves aside to let the blonde man pass. As Pilot, Philza has plenty to attend to, and Vegetta can see the stress on his face. Hopefully that will ease by tomorrow.
“So, what brings you to port?” Missa inquires after his partner has made his way out of the tavern.
“Ah, it is long story” counters Vegetta, but he can see the look in Missa’s eyes.
“Ah, I'm a Bard, Captain! I live on long stories!”
“A very long story, my friend.” He asserts, “We ran into some trouble, and we need to rest from it, that is all.”
“All right, all right! Keep your secrets! I’ll just have to hear it from your crew.”
Vegetta sighs, “I’m sure you will, Missa.”
Missa backpedals slightly, “I don’t mind Captain, really. I was just curious, with how vague the messages I got from Jaiden’s little friends were.”
“I would tell you more,” Vegetta loosens, “but it is truly complicated. I don’t envy whoever you manage to beg into explaining it all.” He doesn’t want to close this conversation, but the more he lingers on the topic the worse he feels. “I recommend you assume the same exhaustion from the rest, for at least tonight”
Missa holds his hands up in surrender, softly smiling as he sits back down on his stool, “Alright, alright, I’ll let it rest!” He reaches to the side, pulling his guitar from where it’s leaned against the wall, “Go get something to drink, Captain. You look like you could use it.”
— — —
It's dark outside, and Vegetta has drunk just enough for the din of the bar to become something pleasant. The barkeep has done well to keep the crowd enjoyably inebriated, and the air has sloshed into a bright bubbly thing that makes laughter so contagious he finds himself smiling at jokes he didn’t even hear. His crew is similarly affected, grinning and shouting over each other in exactly the way Vegetta hoped they would. The worry has finally left him, and he feels light on his feet. Standing with only a slight wobble, he makes his way to the tavern's little dance floor. He sways gently to the song Missa is playing from his corner, humming along as the Bard sings.
“Below the waves, and of the deep
A siren calls to me,
His scales of gold and wicked teeth,
Have many sailors meet.
For in his emerald, glowing, eyes
The siren surely sees
A rapacious ship does come to him
And from them he does feed.
And though I know it folly
To listen to him speak
A galleon worth of precious gold
Be mine if he I’d keep”
“Is that a real story my friend?” He asks as soon as Missa finishes the verse. He hasn’t heard this one before, and something about it has caught his interest. Many of Missa’s songs are more than just pretty poems, after all.
“Who’s to say? I’ve heard it more than once though.” Missa replies. He’s turned slightly towards the conversation, but hasn’t looked away to stop playing his guitar, idling on to something without lyrics.
“Oh?” Vegetta knows what about it caught his interest now. Missa is useful for more than just arranging their docking after all. His nature as a traveler, and his position on land, means that he hears plenty of valuable information- information Vegetta can employ to great effect.
“A few ships north of here, on the mainland,” Missa goes on, “talk about a siren made of solid gold, yeah.” He glances up with a nervous seriousness to his face, “They also talked about a siren that could sink their ships if it wanted. It's a cautionary song.”
Vegetta laughs, waving away the look on the Bard’s face. “No more dangerous than hunting privateers my friend! Besides, I am not so egotistical to believe we could pull off a proper raid with a skeleton crew. We’ll need something to do while we’re split.”
“You’re not all staying?” Missa questions.
“No, no, only some of us. You’ll have most of the crew, a few of the inner circle. The rest of us will keep our ship company, yes?”
“Yeah. If you’re really set on chasing krakens I can’t stop you I suppose.”
“You doubt too much my friend! It will all work out in the end, you will see.”
Missa only smiled in lieu of response, and then turned to see his matelot beckoning at the tavern door. He nodded to Vegetta as he stood, leaving to speak with Phil. “That’s it for the night I guess! If you're taking my Philza away from me I’ll need to make the most of the precious little time we have!” He swooned backwards in overdramatic downheartedness, before waving playfully over his shoulder, “Good luck with your monster hunt!”
Vegetta smiled, but not to the retreating figure. He was lost to his own scheming now. A solid gold siren, hmm? Missa was useful indeed. It felt like something very big was starting to slide into place, and Vegetta liked that feeling. He’d made a career off that feeling, of taking every opportunity life gave him by the neck and squeezing until the brilliant ichor of success rolled through his fingers. He’d made a good career out of it.
Yes, Vegetta liked this. This would be good.