Chapter Text
Nothing was more beautiful than The Arusian. Even in the heat of battle, littered with holes and marred with battle scars, she was the most beautiful thing on the sea.
Cannonfire from the pirate ship flew over her mast as her crew scrambled to reload their own cannons. Every inch of the ship was covered in battle. Every man and woman on her were armed and ready to go down fighting.
The first mate screamed for the cannons and it responded in twofold. Sparks flew from ship to ship as the crew fought back. A quick cheer resounded from the deck as one of their cannonballs struck the opposing ship, sending splinters of wood flying onto the water. But there was no time for celebration, they had to get out of here now or else they were all doomed.
A Garrison navy ship was within sight, a ray of hope in the fog which surrounded them. The captain spun the wheel to the port side, leading the pirates away from the navy ship and praying for the wind to carry them to safety. Hopefully the navy ship got the message and will take the pirates by surprise.
Somehow, by sheer luck or by favour of the Spirits, The Arusian remained afloat with her crew and captain in one piece. But they knew it was only a matter of time before the rogue pirate ship found them. It was only a matter of time before-
An unearthly boom shook the deck so violently almost half the crew went tumbling down. The captain held onto the wheel for dear life, refusing to go down.
The sound of pattering feet came from the lower deck, accompanied by a frenzied young voice. “She’s taking on water! We’ve been hit! She’s going down!”
With horror filling every crew member’s hearts, most of them rushed to the lower deck, abandoning their weapons to save their dying ship. Their home for as long as they could remember. Barrels of rum and sacks of vegetables were propped up against the gaping hole in her side as buckets were taken up to get the water out of the lower deck.
The captain looked out onto the water as the pirate ship emerged from the fog. A badly damaged barque carrying over twenty people. Her colours, a Jolly Roger atop an evil shade of purple, flew high and proud as they readied another cannon.
“Brace yourselves!” was all the captain could yell before the ship creaked and groaned with the blast in her side. The sound of screams were enough to make one's blood curdle as the few of the crew that were trying to patch up the first hole were lost to the sea.
They weren’t a large crew, no more than fifteen people. And over the years, they had grown close. They weren’t shipmates. They were family.
“Everyone! To your posts!” yelled the captain, fighting back tears. “We’re not going to give up. Not now. Not ever. If we’re going down, then we’re going down with a fight. Let’s show these bastards who we are.”
The remaining crew, albeit wounded and shellshocked, ran to their posts, picking up the weapons of their fallen comrades, awaiting their captain’s orders.
The captain came down from the quarterdeck, abandoning the helm and brandishing a silver gun. From the deck, they could see the pirate ship as clear as day. Locking eyes with the hooded figure at the helm, the captain raised the gun and fired.
“Give ‘em hell!”
The crew cheered as they sprang into action. The pirates screamed and hooted as they fired their own weapons. Shots flew from both sides, battle ripe in the air as the pirate ship drew nearer. Soon it would be upon them. And the crew of The Arusian may be few, but they were mighty.
“Captain! The cannon!”
The pirate ship fired one final cannonball and the deck heaved with the impact as it cut clean through the hull. The smell of burning wood erupted from the lower deck.
The captain quickly surveyed the deck with a heavy heart, feeling the tremor of the ship under her feet. Only seven of them remained.
A crew of fifteen, a family of fifteen, reduced to seven in a matter of minutes.
Willing herself to keep the tears at bay, the captain gritted her teeth and spoke. “Abandon ship.”
Her crew stared at her, dumbfounded. “Captain…”
“You heard me, sailors.” She looked back at them with a fire in her eyes that seemed to be there thanks to sheer force of will. “Abandon ship!”
Her crew froze, unsure of what to do. This was their ship, their home. This was their life. And now she was halfway to sinking.
With hearts as heavy as the cannonballs, they grabbed what they could and prepared to jump. Their longboats had been damaged in the battle, so in that moment, they thanked the Spirits for the training at the Garrison that allowed them to keep themselves afloat.
The captain looked out onto the pirate ship, but there was nothing there. The fog enveloped them as they disappeared from view. But out to the side, she caught the sight of something on fire. She watched with terror as the Garrison navy boat lay in pieces upon the water, her mast ablaze and her figurehead in ruins.
She shut her eyes tightly, willing herself to stay calm.
Calm? Calm?! This was your father’s ship and now she’s sinking! A fine captain you’ve turned out to be. A fine captain, indeed.
She snapped her eyes open and grabbed the container of quintessence that floated to the top from the lower deck. She didn’t know whether the pirates would return later to collect the spoils, so she couldn’t risk them getting their hands on it. Holding the container tightly to her chest, she turned back to her crew, who were awaiting their captain and smiled a sad, pained smile as they realised what she was about to say.
“It has been my greatest honour to sail with all of you,” she forced out as a sob choked its way out of her.
Water started coming up from the lower deck as The Arusian, the most dangerous weapon on the high seas, the Garrison’s pride and joy, started to sink.
Her first mate rushed to her side and grabbed her arm, a fire ablaze in his eyes as well. But his fire was different. Determined. Assured. “No. You’re not going down with her.”
She let out a sob. “I have to. What else is there to live for? This was my father’s ship. This was my life!”
“You’ve said it before yourself, Captain. We’re all going to die, but not today. Not until we catch the bastards who did this. You know your father would want you to do this! He’d want you to stand up and fight! And sometimes, fighting means knowing when to try again another day.”
The captain looked at her crew, who smiled back at her. With them by her side, she knew she would be able to do it. To bring peace to her father, and herself.
She nodded at her first mate as the water started pooling around her ankles.
“We have to go! Now!”
She let herself be pulled to the railing of the ship and watched as one by one, her crew jumped until she was alone atop the deck of a dying ship.
She squeezed the railing as if reassuring The Arusian that she was going to be okay. That she would be avenged. That she would know peace.
Setting down her gun on the half submerged deck, she jumped over the railing and plunged into the ocean.
Above her, atop the water, The Arusian, the finest ship to ever set sail, went up in a shower of reds and oranges and yellows.
The crew lay afloat, clutching onto pieces of the wreckage as they watched their ship be reduced to fire and smoke.
And thus, The Arusian, the notorious pirate hunter and the most dangerous weapon on the water, met its untimely end.
And to this date, no one knows what became of the crew.
Battle was thick in the air. The sounds of metal against metal, the smell of the salt water in the air and of course, the thrill of dancing with death. It was enough to make Lance’s heart cheer.
He aimed his pistol and watched the bullet tear right through the Garrison official’s chest. He went down with a thud, but the fight continued.
“Peg! Hard to starboard! Hold onto your asses, people!” he yelled, securing a tight grip on the rigging.
The ship groaned as it leaned to the right. The Garrison sailors promptly lost their balance and started sliding down the deck, some falling off the railings and others getting pressed up between heavy machinery and empty barrels.
Once the ship righted itself again, the clamour and chaos of the fight died down as the sailors realised that there were more of Lance’s crew than there were of them. Taking it as his cue, Lance made his way to the captain of the navy ship. An older man who was slumped against the railing and had so much makeup on that he reminded Lance of a powdered cookie.
He should probably get something to eat later.
He crouched down to meet the captain at eye level and, pressing his pistol to the side of his head, he smirked. “Alright, peacock-face, truce?”
Lance’s crew gathered behind him, each brandishing their weapons menacingly. Ooh, scary.
Powdered Cookie looked like he was about to piss himself but he managed to mutter a defiant, “Never, pirate filth!”
And that? Well, that hurt. Lance would’ve expected himself to be immune to it by now after almost two years of pirating, but it still didn’t take away the sting in their words, the venom in each syllable of each insult.
“Oh come on, Captain. Just finish the guy off!” complained Brass. Lance scoffed and looked Powdered Cookie dead in the eyes.
“Last chance, sunshine.” Lance pushed the gun against the captain’s head. “Truce?”
“Fine, fine! You win! Truce! We surrender,” screeched the captain, sweat dripping down his neck in waves.
Lance sighed and chuckled, pulling the pistol away. “See? Was that so hard?”
He stood up, slipping the pistol into the holster. “Alright team, let’s wrap it up!”
He considered attempting to dissuade Chip and Mad Eyes from taking the gold but he knows better than to come between Mad Eyes and his love for gold. Instead, he settled for a disappointed look which was about as counterproductive as adding gasoline to try and put out a fire.
The crew of the Garrison ship gathered their dead, jumped into their boats and rowed back to their ship, Powdered Cookie never taking his eyes off Lance, who simply winked in response.
“Where to, Cap?” Peg called from the quarterdeck.
Lance turned to his crew and clapped to get their attention. “Anyone up for a drink?”
Every hand went up in an instant.
“The people have spoken, Peg!” His first mate’s eyes glistened, already knowing what he was about to say. “Set a course for Nax’ia!”
Lance revelled in the resounding cheer from his crew before snapping into action. “Alright shitbuckets, I need this deck scrubbed and ready by the time we dock!”
“Aye Captain!” they replied in unison as they got to work.
He took his place at the quarterdeck next to Peg as he steered the ship.
Lance will admit, at first it was all a little unnerving but overtime he got used to it. He had to learn to adapt quickly if he wanted to escape the Garrison. Paddling a rowboat across the world would only work for so long. So here he was. Nearly three full bags of gold and a year later, he was the Captain of The Sapphire Rose.
She was his pride and joy, his beautiful girl and the love of his life.
Well, one of them, at least.
She had the most beautiful coat of paint, varnished to perfection and her figurehead, a mermaid he had taken to name Angie, steered them straight and true. Which, in other words, meant away from the Garrison and out of the hands of law.
Besides, he knew he didn’t deserve prison. He didn’t do anything wrong.
He couldn’t really say the same about his crew, however. Only the Spirits know where he picked them up from. A half-drunk, ragtag group of sailors without a captain, wasting their lives in the ports of Nax’ia. Most of them were on official Garrison ‘Wanted’ lists while the others were just pursued for piracy.
In any case, they were Lance’s kind of people.
And they were damn good sailors. Although, Lance may have picked up a few explosive habits from them. But hey, when living life on the water, Lance was gonna need all the explosive habits he could get.
Most people didn’t expect Lance to pursue a life of piracy. They thought he’d try a different path since his last seafaring adventure led to… untimely consequences.
But Lance’s life was the sea. He loved the feeling of the salt air in his hair, he loved the adventure and the action. Plus, if he was going to be chased by the Garrison, he may as well give them one hell of a chase. Nearly a year of being hunted but the Garrison had yet to capture the captain of The Sapphire Rose.
“Land ho!” yelled Ropes from the lookout, her eyes wild with excitement. “Nax’ia approaches!”
Lance shook himself out of his thoughts and smiled. Man, it felt good to be back.
Peg gave him a knowing look. “How long are we gonna be here, Cap?”
Lance smirked in return. “For as long as the ladies let me, I suppose.”
Peg chuckled. “You know that they’re not gonna let you get back on this ship if you leave it to them. Plus you know we can’t stay in one place for too long. Even if it is Nax’ia.”
He slung an arm over his first mate’s shoulder. “But if not here, where else, my dear Peg? Where else?”
“Can’t argue with ya there, Cap.”
“How about two days? We’ll resupply, have some fun, rest and then set sail. Sound good?”
Peg hummed in agreement. “Sounds perfect.”
“Mind telling the team?”
“I will never understand why you call them ‘team’.”
Lance hesitated, his smile faltering before chuckling in response. “Old habit, I guess.”
Peg eyed him suspiciously but chose to ignore it (Lance silently thanked the Spirits for small miracles). He unravelled himself from Peg’s shoulder and went over to the railing, watching Nax’ia slowly grow larger before his eyes. Behind him, Peg parroted his instructions. He may look like a scrawny little boy but Spirits, does he have a pair of lungs on him.
“Prepare to dock!”
Nunvil was not for the faint of heart.
It burned all the way down Lance’s throat and he hissed in pain as he set his glass down and asked the barkeep for another round.
His crew was scattered around the pub, The Drunken Shipwreck, while Lance sat at the counter, too tired to actually mingle, despite his earlier conversation with Peg. The night was young and Lance still hadn’t found a good enough place for the night. If he wasn’t able to find one, he’d have the most unfortunate task of informing his crew that they were sleeping in Rose tonight. And no one wanted that.
Sure, Nax’ia was a pirate safe haven. Shrouded with old Altean magic and tucked away into a little corner of the archipelago that the Garrison never dared to enter unless they needed to. But they’ve been afloat for almost three weeks now and the musty floorboards and rocking were starting to get to everyone.
“Hey, are there any good places to spend the night? The old places we knew are gone now,” he asked the barkeep as he returned with his drinks.
He pulled down a washcloth and started wiping down shot glasses for the patrons next to Lance, who looked like they were two shots away from liver failure. “Well, it’s like you said. Most of the old places are gone now. Have you tried The Lucky Barrel?”
“Bedbug infestation.”
“Okay, what about The Driftwood?”
“Owner died.”
“Happy Mary?”
“Ew.”
“Yeah, I regret suggesting that,” the barkeep sighed as he passed the shot glasses to the patrons. “I don’t know, buddy. There really aren’t that many great places anymore.”
Lance sighed into his Nunvil glass, steeling himself through the pain as it seared on the way down. “At least a good place to eat?”
The barkeep snapped his fingers with a grin. “Now that I can hook you up with. There’s a new place.”
Lance looked up with interest. Nax’ia wasn’t an easy place to set up shop. Even if your service was terrible (ahem The Lucky Barrel), you had to be pretty convincing or downright terrifying in order to get a spot on this island. And normally it was the latter.
“I’m listening.”
“It’s this place called The Jolly Eel. She’s a ship and a restaurant!” The barkeep leaned in close like he was about to tell Lance the secrets of the universe. “ If you wanna go, you need to go now. This place travels, it never really stays in one place for too long. The food is divine. Spirits below help anyone who doesn’t like the food there!”
And honestly? Lance was so hungry, he probably didn’t even care much for the quality.
“Perfect! Where’s she docked?”
“A few miles due west, you really can’t miss ‘er.”
Downing the last of the Nunvil and soldiering through the pain, he tipped the barkeep a few gold and left just as the patrons with the shot glasses passed out on the counter. He didn’t think much about his crew, they were normally half dead by now anyways. Plus it was them who ate most of the rations on the ship anyways.
The cold breeze nipped at his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as he quickened his pace.
Just as the barkeep said, he really couldn’t miss The Jolly Eel.
A fine ship covered with lights and music drifting from the inside. The chatter of customers beckoned Lance inside. It was just so… welcoming.
He quickly patted his pockets to make sure he had enough to pay, praying that the food here didn’t cost him an emerald, a kidney and his firstborn child.
He took a step up the gangway, the sounds from inside getting louder and louder. But what really got to Lance was the smells. Oh, the smells. Spirits have mercy, the afterlife better smell like this or else I’m coming back.
The deck of the ship was almost completely packed. Pirates and civilians alike were seated on well-cushioned chairs and ate with actual cutlery. Lance can’t remember the last time he even saw a spoon.
A woman dressed in an apron and a yellow blouse came bounding up to him with a smile so wide Lance was afraid it would split her face into two. “Welcome to The Jolly Eel! I’m Shay, I’ll be your waitress for the night!”
Lance blinked before giving her a smile. “I’m Lance.”
Her smile flickered for the shortest amount of seconds before she resumed her cheery disposition. Lance felt a prickle of unease creep up the back of his neck. She doesn’t know, right? There’s no way…
She chirped out pleasantries and guided Lance to an empty table and handed him a menu before bounding off to another table.
Lance was still a little starstruck by all this. Lights of different colours hung from the three masts, the quarterdeck was a space for a live band and the atmosphere seemed so calm.
He opened up the menu and almost yelped. So many varieties and options. And for such low prices as well! Was Lance dead?
Within a matter of minutes, Shay was back and Lance ordered. She wrote it down on a little notepad with a familiar sunflower pattern imprinted on it.
“Hey,” Shay looked up at him with a customer service smile. “That’s a nice notepad. Where’d you get it?”
Shay blinked, her smile dropping in shock. She clearly wasn’t expecting that. “Oh this? Uh, we were all given to us when we started working here.”
Lance didn’t miss the way her eyes darted to the left and right.
“May I ask why you asked? It’s not everyday a customer notices a notepad, after all,” she questioned, the pleasant tone consistent. Lance had to applaud her for it.
He waved a hand. “Oh nothing, it’s just that old friend of mine used to love sunflowers.”
Shay chuckled nervously. “Ah, I see. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get your order prepared.”
With that, she vanished below deck, presumably to the galley. And Lance was left alone with his thoughts.
That was a dangerous thing because as always, Lance’s thoughts went back to two years ago. To that fateful night.
He still heard their screams. He still felt the rumble of the deck beneath his feet every time the cannons fired. It had taken him months to stop freezing mid-battle whenever Rose was hit.
If he was going to be honest, he agreed with what people had to say. He didn’t expect to follow a life of piracy either. But it was the only option. The world was still reeling from the burning of The Arusian. And it didn’t help that its survivors were now fugitives. Wanted for the destruction of the Garrison navy ship that was in the area and the deaths of everyone on it. And that the Garrison was doing everything in its power to capture these criminals. These pirates.
What the Garrison had failed to mention was that the Garrison navy ship came to aid them against the rogue pirate ships. That The Arusian was under attack.
So many pieces of the story that had been tossed away. The Garrison had moulded the story into something that made The Arusian look like a criminal vessel. She was anything but.
She was sleek, beautiful, sturdy and good. Everyone on that ship lived to serve the Garrison. They died for the Garrison. They died. So many lives were lost that day. Everyday Lance prays that their souls have found the Spirits.
The Garrison called it a mutiny, that the captain of the ship and the surviving members of the crew had planned the attack from the start. That they had killed their fellow shipmates and the navy ship and had fled with the quintessence.
Lance felt his grip around the spoon tighten, the memories flooding back. The laughter, the feeling of victory at the end of a hard-won battle, the utter fear in their eyes as the ship went down.
Only the Spirits knew where the rest of them were. After the ship went down, a storm hit immediately after, separating them. And Lance washed up on the shores of Oriande half dead. Were the others even alive?
Lance didn’t try to fight the tears that threatened to spill. His friends may be dead. They may have been captured or tortured or worse.
Try as he might, he couldn’t get himself to wrap his head around the thought.
The thought that Lance McClain may be the only survivor of The Arusian.
He barely noticed Shay setting down his food and was just able to shoot her a thanks before she was gone once again.
There was something about the way she looked at him, like he knew him. Like she knew him.
But that was impossible. As messed up as the Garrison was, they couldn’t have it be known that their own sailors committed mutiny and murder. So they erased their names from the lists. From any training logs and tests and mission logs, their names were wiped from the system. They never released the names of the seven survivors, so no one except for the Garrison itself knew who Lance really was. He was also careful not to let his identity get out.
Lance made sure to do well with the chance that was presented to him. Sure, he’d be chased for the rest of his living days but he was also given the chance to reshape his life. A fresh start.
So he runs. He puts on a smile, a carefree attitude and prays that he can keep the facade up for long enough.
Because Lance’s real mission? To find the bastards who destroyed their lives. The pirate ship with the purple flag. It had been nearly two years and it was almost like they had fallen off the edge of the world. But Lance was never known to be a quitter.
He didn’t quit, he was just… taking a break. Chasing someone for two years while being pursued by the naval authorities was not an easy feat by any means.
He put the thoughts into a box and saved it for later, realising his food was getting cold.
He cut up a piece of the meat and the minute his tongue felt the flavour, he wanted to burst out into tears. Two years of subpar vegetables and beef jerky were all well and good but Spirits below, this was the best thing Lance had ever eaten. The flavours were rich and tangy and achingly familiar.
He wolfed down the plate, licking it clean and sucked at the bone, savouring every last bite.
He didn’t know how long he was sitting there almost in tears over food, but it was long enough for him to notice the two mean looking men sitting at the table in the far corner that were staring right at him. He didn’t look back. He didn’t want to start trouble at such a Spirit-Gifted establishment.
But that’s clearly not what they thought.
Lance decided to look at them when one of them with a mean looking scar on his face slammed a flyer next to his plate. As the man -mercenaries, Lance suspected- removed his hand, Lance leaned over to look at it. It was his face with a shit-ton of zeros on the bounty right below a ‘The Tailor - Wanted: Alive’ printed in bold letters.
After a few close calls and some tight spots (and expert sailing on Lance’s part if he may say so himself), Oriande had taken to nickname their most famous (and notorious) pirate ‘The Tailor’. Personally, Lance wasn’t a huge fan but he could live with it.
“Spirits, I’m expensive!”
“We know who you are,” the other man who had a buzzcut growled.
“I’d expect nothing less!” Lance looked up with a smirk and leaned back on his chair. “I’m one of the most famous pirate captains this side of Oriande. It’d be kinda concerning if you didn’t-”
“We know. Who you are. Lance McClain.” The words were emphasised this time.
Lance felt the smirk get wiped off his face as his blood ran cold. Based on the way these guys were smiling, Lance could only suspect the worst.
Alright, if that’s how they wanted to play it.
Before they could grab him, he ducked down and rolled out of the chair, sliding to the middle of the deck as the mercenaries grabbed the chair. In the pause that followed, Lance felt all eyes on him and the mercenaries. He grabbed the knife off a nearby table, muttering a quick apology to the man sitting there.
Buzzcut charged at him, brandishing a large steak-knife. Lance quickly ducked and lunged at him, missing him by a hair. He silently cursed himself for leaving his pistol with Peg. This fight would be over in two seconds if he had his pistol. Spirits knew Lance McClain never misses.
From behind him, Scarface charged with a similar looking steak-knife and Lance dodged it expertly, nicking him in the leg with his own blade.
“Really? From behind? Gotta say, not my thing but I’m flexible,” Lance taunted with a quick wink as he grabbed the cloth off a table and prepared himself, stuffing the little knife into his belt.
It may be two against one but they underestimated a few things.
Lance was one of the most legendary pirate captains in the Oriande Peninsula.
Lance was on the motherfucking Arusian. And he survived.
The two charged at once, and he was ready for them.
Before Buzzcut’s blade could touch Lance, he quickly wrapped the cloth around his wrists which made him lose his grip on the blade. Lance seized the opportunity and clamped his teeth between the handle of the knife. He quickly unfurled the cloth from Buzzcut’s hands and kicked him backwards just as Scarface came up from behind, the steak-knife gleaming in the light.
Lance spun around, holding the cloth out and blocking the blow. Twisting the cloth around Scarface’s blade, rendering it useless, he used the momentum to swing upwards, introducing his foot to Scarface’s jaw. It wasn’t enough to knock him out but in the moment he was disoriented, Lance jumped onto his back, the cloth still wrapped firmly around the blade and pulled. Lance had never really ridden a bull before but he imagined that this is what it feels like. Scarface bucked and shook, trying to get the gnat that was Lance McClain off his back. But Lance held firm, legs wrapped tightly around Scarface’s midsection.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the patrons of the restaurant stare in fear. He shot them a quick grin to reassure them that he’s got this.
What he didn’t see, however, was Buzzcut regaining his senses. He barely had time to retaliate before two hands grabbed his shoulders and peeled him off Scarface’s back and threw him. He slid backwards on the deck until he hit the mast, the stolen knife that was in his mouth slid down the opposite side of the deck, too far for Lance to reach. His head throbbed viciously as a pained groan escaped him.
His vision blurred and doubled as he reached up to touch the back of his head, hoping there wasn’t too much damage. He brought his hand back down. No blood. Good.
He watched Buzzcut retrieve his steak knife and the two started inching closer and closer. Lance tried to move but winced when something poked his side. He tenderly felt for the small knife he’d slipped into his belt earlier and bit back a smile.
The mercenaries were right in front of him, steak knives in hand. They were grinning a wicked, rotting grin that smelled like old fish and scurvy. Lance felt the food he’d had earlier come back up his throat.
“Give up, McClain. We were going to find you sooner or later,” growled Buzzcut menacingly.
Lance let out a humourless chuckle. “The Garrison hasn’t caught me for two years, so it’s adorable how you think a couple of mercenaries can take me down.”
He pulled out the knife and drove it into Scarface’s foot, trying his best to tune out the sound that followed that Lance was sure would visit him in his nightmares one of these days, and swept his feet, knocking Buzzcut off balance. He pulled the knife out of Scarface’s foot and quickly moved.
Scrambling to his feet, Lance grabbed the nearest empty chair and swung. The metal made an awful crunch against Scarface’s head and he fell to the ground.
Lance let out heavy pants, his vision still kind of blurry. But it was clear enough to see Shay standing at the stairway, wides wide in fear.
“Get some help,” was all Lance could say before Buzzcut (man these guys don’t know how to stay down, do they?) grabbed his neck in a death grip and squeezed.
Lance watched Shay scurry downstairs, hopefully to get some help, as he thrashed against the grip, gasping for air.
This is not how he was going to go. He refused to go out like this. To a couple of mercenaries who relied on nothing more than brute force.
Lance knew better. He knew Garrison training.
Struggling to make himself as rigid as possible, he grabbed Buzzcut’s arm, held on tightly and, summoning all his strength and fighting back the exhaustion, heaved forward, flipping Buzzcut over his head. He unceremoniously flew to the ground and slipped out of consciousness.
Lance let out a long exhale as he surveyed the damage. A deck of traumatised patrons, two damaged men, a ruined table cloth, a bloody knife and a now weirdly shaped chair.
“Get them out of here!” a voice boomed from the other end of the ship.
A few more waitstaff dragged the unconscious men down the gangplank and out of the restaurant. But right as they left, Buzzcut stirred. Lance felt his arms go up, ready for round two. But all the mercenary did was smile and whisper, “Vrepit sa.”
He slipped back into unconsciousness and was dragged away.
Lance felt his eyes get heavy. The Nunvil was starting to take its toll.
“Shay, what in Spirit's name happened here? Who did this! Is that blood?”
Lance spun around, a sheepish smile on my face. “Yeah, sorry that was my-”
The words died in his mouth as he faced the owner. A large man with tan skin in an apron, His hair was shaggy and long but it was kept out of his face by a yellow bandana. His eyes were as wide as Lance’s and his mouth was sprung open.
“Holy fuck,” was all Lance could muster.
“L-Lance?”
Lance felt tears well into his eyes as his breath came in shallow pants.
Shay, who was next to him and watching the whole interaction, cleared her throat, signalling to the patrons who were still watching. “Why don’t we take this down to the galley, gentlemen?”
Lance nodded mechanically, not really understanding her. He felt his feet take him down to the lower deck, a brightly lit space rich with the smell of spices and meats. They were so strong that Lance’s tears threatened to spill out by the mere smell of it.
Once the three of them were below deck, Lance barely gave it a second thought before launching himself into the arms of his best friend.
“Lance! You’re alive, oh thank the Spirits! I thought you were dead!” Hunk’s tears stained the fabric on Lance’s shoulders but he really couldn’t bring himself to care.
Lance let out a sob and tightened his grip around Hunk, afraid that if he let go, he’d vanish. Just like in his dreams. “Fuck, buddy. You’re alive. You’re actually alive. I thought I’d never see you again.”
They pulled away and Lance took Hunk’s face into his hands, examining him. “You haven’t aged a bit!”
Hunk laughed. Oh, how Lance missed that laugh. “Can’t say the same about you! What happened, the skincare routine wasn’t working out for ya?”
Lance giggled and pulled Hunk back into a hug. Over Hunk’s shoulder, he watched Shay smile and go back up to the deck.
“Lance, what are you even doing here?”
Lance pulled away as Hunk grabbed two chairs. “We needed a place to resupply and rest. It’s been a tough few weeks.”
Hunk nodded in understanding. “I suppose the Garrison is after you too?”
Lance nodded sombrely before regaining a smile. “But look at you! Running a restaurant like you said you would! Hunk, this is amazing!”
Hunk’s eyes lit up and Lance silently celebrated the win. “It took a while but I finally got her running! Plus, the crew is amazing. They’re all reformed pirates that want a second chance at something more calmer!”
Lance smirked knowingly. “Reformed?”
His best friend blushed sheepishly. “Okay fine, maybe I’ve had to make a few compromises but deep down, they love it here.”
“And they know you’re running from the Garrison?”
Hunk’s smile faltered as he nodded. “So are they.”
Lance chuckled, desperate to bring the mood back up. “Same with my crew.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s your cover?”
“Oh nothing. They just don’t wanna go to prison. And I let them loot the Garrison ships that attack us as payment.”
Hunk laughed again, a hearty, enveloping laugh that made Lance’s insides feel warm. “And your actual goal?”
Lance’s breath hitched and he quickly looked away, fiddling with his thumbs as he sensed the atmosphere in the lower deck shift.
Hunk spoke in a hushed, almost disbelieving tone. “You’re looking for them, aren’t you? The Purple Flag Pirates.”
Lance didn’t reply, knowing that Hunk already knew the answer to that.
Hunk sighed and leaned back on the chair, maintaining a low voice. “Lance, you can’t be serious.”
“They ruined our lives, Hunk. They destroyed everything we worked for! You can’t expect me to just forget them!”
“I’m not saying you should forget them! I’m saying they’ve basically vanished! It’s like they were never there.”
Lance snapped his head up with wide eyes as Hunk realised his mistake. “You’ve been looking for them too, haven’t you?”
Hunk sighed, relenting. “Okay, yes! I’ve been looking too!”
“Then what makes you think you can tell me to-”
“Because I gave up, Lance!”
The galley went deathly quiet with the distant chatter of patrons being the only sound.
Hunk hung his head and returned to hushed tones. “I gave up, okay? I searched for almost a year but it was getting too much. The paranoid, the pursuit, the nightmares? I couldn’t bear it anymore. I gave up. I left that life behind.”
Lance looked right into his best friend’s eyes when he looked back up. “Hunk, as long as you’re chased by the Garrison, you’re a pirate. Like me. We’re pirates now.”
“The one thing we swore to get rid of.”
Lance chuckled with no humour. “The Spirits sure have a hard-on for poetic irony, I’ll give ‘em that.”
Hunk snorted, his cheery personality peeking from behind the cracks of his pain.
“So, does Shay know?”
Hunk’s eyes widened and red flushed his cheeks as he buried his face in his hands. Lance couldn’t resist a teasing smile.
“She’s my first mate. And… I trust her,” Hunk mumbled through his hands.
Lance laughed and reassured Hunk, who grinned back innocently.
The two sat in a comfortable silence, the air buzzing with questions they didn’t want answers to. The clamour of the galley returned as the other cooks set fire to pans, dipped meats in various oils and dusted dishes off with spices. Lance couldn’t help it as his mouth watered.
“Gotta say, buddy. Your cooking skills are as sharp as ever. I almost cried while eating the food here.”
Hunk beamed, a genuine smile that reminded Lance of sunshine.
“Captain! The beans!”
Hunk swore under his breath and asked Lance for a second before dashing off to tend to, Lance assumed, the beans.
He slumped into the chair with a disbelieving sigh and a soft smile. Hunk was alive. He was actually alive. Lance just felt his arms wrapped around him in a painfully familiar way. His food was just in Lance’s mouth. His cheery smile and yellow bandana. Everything about Hunk, down to every little detail, was perfect. Exactly as Lance remembered. Well, maybe not exactly like he remembered but he wasn’t exactly the same as he used to be two years ago either.
Just as Hunk returned, apologising sheepishly, the sound of frenzied footsteps came from above.
“Captain! Cap! Captain, are you in here?” Lance jumped as Peg burst down the stairs, freezing at the sight of him and sighing. “Oh thank the Spirits, I thought we’d lost you! The crew and I were looking everywhere!”
Lance winced. Okay, maybe they weren’t totally drunk after all.
Peg looked at the bustling galley, eyes widening as the smells hit him as well. “Woah.”
Lance smiled at Hunk before turning back to Peg. “I know. Hunk, meet Peg, my first mate. Peg, meet Hunk, my-”
He only allowed himself a second’s pause before finding the right words. “My old friend.”
Peg nodded at Hunk in acknowledgement. “You the captain?”
“That I am.”
Peg looked back at Lance after eyeing Hunk for a second. “Cap, did you find a place?”
Lance slapped his forehead in annoyance. “Damn it! I couldn't find a place! All our old places have been shut down and the others are no better than Rose.”
Lance watched as Peg’s eyes grew tired and sighed. “Then I guess we’re sleeping in Rose tonight, huh?”
Lance looked at him with sympathy. “‘Fraid so, buddy.”
“You don’t necessarily need to.” Hunk’s voice was like a beam of sunlight through the clouds.
Lance spun around to face his best friend, trying his best to keep the excitement out of his voice. “What do you mean?”
Obviously Hunk saw right through him and smiled whilst giving him a look. “The Eel has spare beds you could use.”
It took all Lance had to not give Hunk a kiss right there.
“Sleeping… in a ship? Look, Captain, I mean no offence but we’re trying to find somewhere that’s not a ship and not a hammock,” Peg voiced with concern.
Hunk chuckled. “Who said anything about hammocks?”
Lance’s eyes lit up like stars. “You have beds?”
Hunk nodded with pride. “Beds, pillows and the boat’s secured tightly so she doesn’t really rock that much.”
With a goofy grin plastered on his face, Lance turned to Peg, who was also starting to look convinced. “Go get the team, tell them we’ll stay here for the night.”
Peg chirped a noise of affirmation and rushed back up the stairs.
Lance couldn’t hold himself back from giving Hunk another bone-crushing hug. “Thank you, Hunk. So much. The team needs this.”
“You still say ‘team’?” Hunk questioned goodnaturedly.
Lance pulled away with a smile. “Old habits die hard, old friend.”
Hunk smiled with a hint of melancholy at the edges of his lips. “We’ll be setting sail by noon tomorrow. Think you guys will be okay by then?”
Lance nodded. “More than okay!”
With a smile, Hunk led him to the rooms that were tucked away into a cosy little corner of the lower deck. It wasn’t anything special but compared to what Lance had to sleep on for the longest time, it was perfectly luxurious.
“I’ll get your crew to their rooms once they get here. I still have a restaurant to run and as much as I trust my crew, they can’t make it for more than a little while without me in the kitchen,” Hunk admitted while Lance took in the room.
Turning back to his best friend, he took a few steps towards him and wrapped his arm around him once more. And they stayed like that for a while, neither of them letting go of the other.
“I missed you, Hunk. I missed you like hell.”
Because if Lance woke up tomorrow and all of this was a dream, he wanted to have the feeling imprinted on his skin for as long as he can.
“Me too, buddy. Me too,” Hunk’s voice was watery.
But the exhaustion finally caught up to Lance and he reluctantly pulled away.
“Sleep well, man.”
Lance smiled at him as he shut the door.
Without wasting a second, he shrugged off his boots and coat and melted into the bed.
Oh Spirits, I have died. This really is the afterlife.
Lance turned to face the small window next to him. Outside he saw the moonlight bounce off the water, making it sparkle and shine like there was treasure buried below. The soft clammer from above faded into a buzz in the back of his head that lulled him right to sleep.
He dreamed of burning ships. Of the screams of his fallen friends. Of a purple flag with a Jolly Roger. Of Hunk and his battle axe. Of the crew and the spitfires that they were in the heat of battle. Of the destroyed Garrison ship. Of that night. The night that changed his life. He dreamed of the storm. So violent and cold, with Lance hanging onto a measly piece of driftwood from The Arusian as the waves kicked and pulled and pushed and tried its best to swallow him whole.
But he didn’t let it. And only Spirits knew how long he’d been afloat before he washed up on the shores of Oriande.
He was woken up hastily but his body didn’t seem to respond in time. Despite the nightmare, it was a damn good night of sleep. The best he’d had in years. So excuse his body for wanting a little more.
But the shaking was so persistent and the yelling was so loud that Lance really didn’t have much of a choice.
“Spirits above, what? What is it?” He opened his eyes to see his first mate leaning over him with both hands on his shoulder and eyes full of panic.
Lance felt his senses sober up at the sight of such a shaken boy.
He jumped at the sound of the door crashing onto the wall. There stood Hunk, panting and frenzied. The same eyes as Peg. “Lance!”
Lance sat up straight, all sleepiness evaporating. “What’s going on?”
Peg looked him dead in the eyes and Lance already knew what he was going to say, dread climbing up his throat as he let out a shaky breath.
“They found us.”