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Out of all ways to spend a sunset, checking flintlocks upon the Death Valley Queen was never one Martyn expected. Of every way to spend an evening, staying aboard a different ship was never one Martyn wanted. And out of every way to spend a day, planning an attack with the “Seven Deadly Sins” was never one Martyn even considered.
Scar is next to him repairing any pistols with damage to them, helping keep them in check. And soon it’ll be dinner, and after that he can go right back to the Biting Tide . No one would be able to blame him for wanting to get back on it. Especially not when he’s stuck on a sloop that’s been adapted for a seven-man crew. As opposed to that, the Biting Tide was a galleon. Well and spacious enough for its sixty-man crew. The nigh perfect repair on its hull being his pride and joy.
And yet here he was, checking that the flint wasn’t dulled. For a likely damned attack on an Ocean Empire trading ship they’d seen. A sloop and galleon split between a total crew sixty-seven likely wouldn’t do any good against a full rigged ship with fourteen guns and naval officers on board.
The flint in the pistol he had in his hand wasn’t worn yet, but the barrel was fouled. He passed it off his left. Scar took it from his hand.
“Barrel’s the issue.” He huffed, reaching over to grab the next pistol to check. There was a couple seconds’ silence as he made sure there was nothing in the gun. Then Scar spoke.
“Are you alright? You’ve seemed down this whole time.” He asks. A quick glance over reveals he’s using the gun as a prop of sorts, as he rifles through a crate of various tools.
“I guess, I just can’t shake the feeling we’re sailing to our deaths.” He says. He can hear Scar set the pistol down, and then a warm hand rests on his shoulder.
“Well never fear Martyn, you’re with us- the Seven Deadly Sins! The greatest terrors of the ocean since the kraken. Should everything go well we won’t even have needed to check the guns, they’ll just surrender when we raise the flag!” Scar half yells, shaking his shoulder a bit. The absolute madman is grinning ear to ear.
“You know, I’m almost jealous of your confidence.” Martyn gets out, before his breathing is overtaken by laughs.
“Oh, I think you’re looking for the wrong person then. Envy’s Gem, I’m Gluttony remember.” Scar says, mock offense twisting in his voice. It would sound more like a threat than anything if not for the fact his shoulders shook.
“Oh, yeah yeah. You know what I meant.” Martyn says, returning to his task of checking the pistol.
“Of course, of course.” Scar said, taking his hand back and beginning on filling the divots in the barrel.
He could hear people milling about between the ships. Cleaning cannons, checking stocks, repairing sails, double checking rigging and so on.
“If we die, do you think the void will let us sink into a peaceful nothingness?” He asks, turning over his shoulder slightly, placing down the gun in the ‘good working condition’ pile and grabbing another.
“Wow, you’re actually pretty concerned with this. But, hmm. We aren’t good men, Martyn. The most mercy we can ask for is a clean shot through the head.” Scar says, knocking his knuckles to his temple for added effect.
“I guess. Just wondering. We’ll probably make it out though, hopefully.” He half mumbles. Scar sets down the pistol he had into the slowly growing pile. He passes Scar his pistol, pointing to the flint.
“Hopefully!” Scar says, voice as cheerful as someone seeing their first festival. With how cheerful he remained, it was surprising he wasn’t drunk. But hey, to brand yourself as an embodiment of evil it must take some level being messed up. Speaking of, he may as well get the story behind that.
“Hey, why do you lot go by the seven deadly sins? Neither Grian nor Pearl mentioned when they left the Evolutionist .” Martyn asks. There’s a beat of near silence. The waves eating any noise from beyond them.
“Well we were already being called demons, just decided to go all in.” Scar says, his tone flat before picking up again as he continued, “Was worth it though, absolutely! Turns out folks either call us mad or think the name is true, either way we’re feared enough it hardly ever comes down to a fight.”
“Makes sense I guess.” Martyn says, picking up another pistol. They had four more to go, then their job for the night was done. They were gotten through in silence.
Martyn let the folks dealing with the black powder below deck know the pistols were all set, and found a place by the railing to sit and watch the ocean rush against the ship. Waves being cut through by boats anchored side by side. The moon was just starting to show on the water, the last dregs of sunlight fading from the sky.