Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“CAPTAIN!”

He called out. Screeched till his throat scratched and bled. In the heavy rocking of waves among a thunderous rainstorm, he wouldn’t know for sure if his voice was heard among the chaos. They blend in far too easily, the cacophony of noises akin to the sound awaiting sinful men, it would be the closest he would ever set foot in hell for as long as he remains alive and breathing.

Alas, it wasn’t enough.

He watched as the Captain’s eyes went wide, so wide the eyeballs looked as if it were about to pop out of its sockets. Watched as blood escaped his mouth with a strained cough. Watched as that same red liquid trickled down his chest where the blade of cutlass had pierced through. And finally, watched as it sprayed out of his body as he collapsed, eventually to dry out.

What else is there to do, for a hapless young sailor with just a letter in his pocket? The moment they had set off from port, spirits of the ocean had long decided the dreadful fate of this merchant vessel, in a state beyond repair. Downed and drowned.

Many believed a frigate like her could withstood any attack alongside the addition of the false identity they had gone by. Just a day longer, they would’ve reached Kingston and could’ve spent the night at a tavern, blessing the sea for their fortunes with a lovely song. But not even an experienced captain would foresee an enemy’s intentions. Nor did the crew, a tight-knitted family from all sorts of backgrounds eager for honest work. Some had wives and children awaiting their return. Or perhaps lovers whom they promised with a proposal and a vow to stay. Or ageing parents who wished for nothing but the best for their sons. 

Grian had neither of those, unfortunately. Not that it meant this was a fate he would sit by and accept. If only he had the time, then maybe there would’ve been a small window of opportunity he could’ve grabbed onto. . He would’ve braved himself into the fight. In a barbaric display would’ve pulled out a cutlass from a dead man and avenged whatever left of his crew and mates.

Instead, one by one their attackers fled, jumping off from the deck and platforms and into their ship as they cut off the rope binding both ships. The ones alive were either too stunned to do anything or were too mournful to realise. Grian tried to give chase, but entering not just an enemy’s ship, but that of a Man O’ War would easily mark his grave. He tried to make sense of their actions, before the rocking of their ship made the greater threat’s presence aware in everyone’s minds.

‘ This is really it.’ Nowhere to jump. Nowhere to flee. ‘ This is how it’ll end, in a pitiful voyage…’

Grian had no time to insert another thought or a prayer to God, before the dreaded rogue waves flooded the deck and all men that stood on it.

—

His first cry came during the deep nights of a heated summer. 

His life began as the son of humble workers, and as soon as he was of age was expected to take up carpentry just like his old man. Thankfully, Scar found himself enamoured in watching his father work, the original work of passion eventually passed down to him. But it didn’t end with making furniture or simple fences. No, Scar dreamed big. And bigger structures to make were indeed in his list.

His father rarely took up fixing up ships in his career and instead his son did. Then from simple patch-ups, he learned the intricate processes of building one from the ground-up, from the structure of the hull to assembling the mast with the deck. With enough experience over time, Scar began his very own project. Aiming for the suitable size of a brig and with the help of determined young men like him, they managed to build their very own ship. Seeing the ship standing tall by the port never failed to have him shed a tear from his eye. What followed next was simply a logical step up in his plan…

…Which is to start his own pirate crew, of course!

That inevitably fails. He may have built enough gunports to match ones owned by naval companies, except the gun part was noticeably missing. Cannons were hard to get by, okay?

But Scar was no quitter, in spite of his dearest creation blown up to bits by some other pirate crew. A long tale of capture and mistaken identity later, he successfully hijacked a former ship of a Spanish brig carrying prisoners, and convinced all to stay as his loyal crew. All that’s left was a change of sails and flag, and that marked the birth of the Flying Jellie . A proper vessel for an aspiring captain. 

It has been years since he sailed the seas, and time proved his improvement as a pirate. They were often successful in their efforts of pillaging Empire ships and otherwise could escape mostly unscathed, with lesser casualties on his hands after each attempt. The rocking beneath his feet felt as natural as the usual land ground. And he stopped experiencing sea sickness anymore! That definitely bugged him during the first few weeks.

The same can’t be said for the fresh meat of his crew, he thought to himself whilst watching one of them puke out their last meal into the ocean. Few days had passed since their departure from Havana. The journey had been mostly peaceful, some ships did engage though they managed to escape unscathed with the least amount of damage taken on the vessel. For now, the ship’s still holding out well. Not yet the time for a fixer upper.

Scar had been contentedly gazing from the quarterdeck as another one of his trusted officers sailed the ship. They regularly took turns to avoid overworking and it also made for some training for those willing to learn the ropes, though for now it has always been between those two. His idle state was interrupted with the sound of soft purring, which immediately elicited a smile on his face, bending down towards the furry creature and source of the sounds.

“Well well, look who’s awake from her nap!” He said to himself, before scooping Jellie up into his arms for some well-deserved kisses. His lovely cat was the one thing he refused to part once his new path had been decided. And as it turns out, having a cat on board was a great boost of morale for most of the crew. Aside from Captain Scar himself, Jellie would be the next highest within the ship’s hierarchy with how much she’d been spoiled by everyone on deck. 

She let out a little demanding meow, which Scar took as a sign to scratch under her chin. He chuckled, “I know, dearest… We’ll find an island soon enough to board so we could all take a break before our next big step. Or are you just hungry and want food? Either way! We better look for land-”

“Captain!” Scar looked up, realising the voice came from one of his seamen at the middle deck. He exclaimed whilst pointing outwards to the right of the Flying Jellie . “We’ve spotted stray planks and floating barrels out on the ocean floor, plenty of them!”

As if a switch had been turned on in him, Scar gently lowered Jellie down back to the ground before brisking towards the main deck where his crewmen were. His curiosity steadily grew once he arrived.  “Possible loot, you say? Pass me a spyglass!”

His request was granted swiftly, looking onto the endless surface of the sea for the described scene. Needless to say, his expectations were strongly defied. Scar expected ‘plenty’ to mean as much as scraps that may have been accidentally thrown off board by passing ships. Then slowly his view covered more barrels, more planks scattered around the wide area, to the point there wouldn’t have been a point for the usage of the spyglass. The total amount of floating wood could cover a full ship. Which left only one possibility… 

He lowered his spyglass, staring down at the damage as the distance between the mess and ship drifted closer. “Looks like it was an unlucky day for her… I’m assuming with this amount of planks… a frigate?”

Scar raised his spyglass once more, searching around for other floating objects that could potentially point towards her identity. Aside from barrels, there were multiple crates floating about, and eventually spotted tricorn hats among the mess. Adding all these together, the sunken vessel may have been a merchant ship, perhaps heading for Kingston or just departing from there. Whether it’d be by stubborn weather or pirates and the like, ignoring the site would simply be a waste of opportunity. 

However, bright colours that took shape far different from typical cloth on a plank caught his eye. The oddity had been the furthest from the ship thus making it hard to decipher what it may be, surrounded with very little planks. His eyes wished to brush it off, and focus more on the fact of so many possible loot. Whereas his heart and gut had a different, underlying feeling, stronger and more grave as if bad luck awaited him should he turn a blind eye. 

Scar listened to the latter, keeping his gaze trained on the weird shape as the Flying Jellie sailed closer by the sight, just enough for it to be clear what object stood out so much against the ocean floor.

His eyes shot wide open. 

With the urgency of an oracle that had just predicted the future, he directed towards his crew. “Lower the sails! Prepare to drop the anchor when I say so!”

A chorus of synchronised ‘Aye, captain!’ followed and the men set out in chaotic yet refined movement across the Flying Jellie . The loot was placed far behind on their priorities as everyone worked fast to slow the ship down. With the amount of damage down and the rumours of a distant storm, it was easier to assume every party involved long gone into the depths of Davy Jones’ locker. And despite the tough distance to discern the shape… it had to be the head of a sailor. 

Once close enough, he called for the anchor to be dropped, ensuring their vessel to not float away in the case of a rescue mission or a corpse-looting session. The floating sailor still showed no response which made Scar think it might be a latter type of situation. Though not one to give up, he stood by the railings of the deck and called out loudly. “Rise and shine, my good sir! Now’s not the right time to sleep in the middle of the ocean!”

Perhaps the jovial introduction may seem a bit out of pocket, yet the relief in Scar’s heart upon seeing the slightest jolt of movement from the sailor was a tremendous feeling. The man tilted his head slightly before slowly raising it to their direction, finally providing a clear view of his face. He looked no older than Scar, maybe near his own age or younger, clearly younger than someone in their 30s unless appearances do deceive. His facial expression showed anything but pleasantness despite having met his technical saviours. Still, better alive and cold than drowned and sunken.

Scar watched his lips moving, though with the distance between them he could barely hear anything. He exclaimed once more to get the sailor’s attention. “You’d have to speak up, lad! Are you strong enough to climb her up yourself!?”

The man paused before his sight was set on the hull of the ship. Scar hurriedly ordered his men to prepare their makeshift rope ladder, releasing it by the small opening between the railings and as he stood there, beckoning to the man with a smile. He watched the man’s eyes lit up, and with a hefty grunt pulled himself up so that more of his body laid on the plank, kicking both legs to swim closer towards the ladder. Even in the wake of surviving some form of disaster, the sailor still had stubborn strength within him. 

The pirates roaming the seas were often feared for their ruthlessness or cruel mercies. A soft, naive pirate never existed for those with such traits often wind up dead before their names were ever spread under a notorious light. As for Captains, they had to hold themselves up differently than their crew, for their reputation ensured a high-risk, high-return life until caught or pardoned. Of course, Scar never intended to stop anytime soon. But he’s no cruel servant to the likes of Davy Jones. And having such codes meant he’s willing to help out anyone, even a mere sailor for a merchant ship. 

The sailor finally reached close enough to the hull, and for a while simply held onto the first steps of the ladder, probably to catch some lost breaths. He eventually started bringing himself up with whatever strength’s left in his arms, soon accompanied with all limbs moving upwards once the lower half of his body were free from the sea. Scar waited by the ladder for the sailor and when he was close enough, grabbed him by an arm and hoisted him up, both men landing not-so gracefully onto the floor of the deck. The rest of the crew surrounded them, curious to see what brought upon the unlucky sailor and his journey. Scar quickly got back on his feet, or rather his knees as he checked on the man.

Still breathing, though the laboured sounds of breath and shivering body were definitely not a good sign. Scar’s head snapped up, looking amongst his men. “You two, bring me some blankets from the cabins. And you, fetch him a canteen of water.”

The ones given the orders nodded, running off to get the requested items. Scar’s attention turned back to the sailor, who had now turned onto his back, eyes shut close from exhaustion. His bangs and hair were in a state of disarray, leading Scar to carefully sweep up some strays onto the side of his face. Their skin came into contact from said gesture, realising how much colder that man felt in comparison to Scar’s own temperature. ‘ How long was he drifting in the sea…?’  

Some of his men returned with the blankets, followed with a canteen of plain water, as Scar mouthed a thanks to them both. He was mindful when slipping an arm under the sailor’s neck to lift him up, allowing him to partially lean on a part of Scar’s body as he attempted to bring the blanket around his body. From the lack of movement nor changes in his tired face, the sailor was clearly out of it though still lucid enough to understand what was happening. His hand was quick to reach and grab for the edge of the blanket, securing it around him, and despite his quivering hands, held to the canteen steadily enough to at least get some desperate sips of water. 

In spite of the blanket’s presence, the man’s clothes were still completely drenched and even started spreading it onto Scar’s own clothes. As he took away the canteen from his hand, he asked quietly. “Can you stand? I’ll help you out of your shoes and into my cabin. You’ll be less cold out of your wet clothes.”

He waited for a response, which came in the form of a firm nod. Scar made sure the sailor could support himself while sitting before pulling off both soaked footwear with an audible ‘pop!’. He stood up first, giving a hand to the other man to pull him up to his feet after, and they, with careful steps, made their way into the Captain’s cabin.

—

In his imaginations of heaven and the afterlife, he’d always imagined it to be bright. To represent happiness past the hardships of mortality where one’s soul would forever rest. For sailors, they imagined luscious lands covered in a serene green, spanning across however far they wished, and certainly away from the seas. It would’ve been an ideal resting place for those whose deaths never were on land.

Judging by his shivering body as well as an even colder lower half, he was definitely anywhere but heaven. But there had been a voice in the background, hard to hear among the sloshing of waves, nonetheless still present. 

Grian slowly looked up, almost blinded by the high noon. A ship, brig to be precise, came into view right in front of him, her presence loud and proud. He couldn’t crane his neck any further to see her colours though he did spot another man by the railings and most likely the source of his voice. The sails by the masts provided shade over the deck, shadowing over the figure and making it hard to tell who was exactly calling out for him. 

Yet in the semi-darkness, Grian could make out a large, bright red feather, stuck into the side of his bicorne hat. Both hat and his coat were the same shade of brown. Within the coat were similar shades of brown for both his breeches and waistcoat, and by his waist he had red cloth tied around like a belt. Though Grian could care less on how said person actually looks, his bright smile gave away so much in a person’s personality.

Next thing he knew, he managed to bring out whatever’s left of his strength to reach the hull, determinedly climbing up the ladder with the man’s hand pulling him up as final support. All he had been doing was drifting about, yet the true extent of his exhaustion finally struck once Grian felt the solid ground under him. He managed to catch glimpses of the rest of the crew, barefooted and in shabbier clothing compared to his own. That in itself should’ve made it clear with what sort of vessel he had boarded. 

One that must be avoided at all costs.

But within the short time he had been on, they had done nothing nefarious, the exact opposite. Especially with the actions of the bicorne-wearing man, now clearer to Grian that he was none other than the captain. His touch, nothing but gentle from gently sweeping away his bangs from his forehead, to lifting him up so that they may wrap Grian’s shivering body in the warmth of the blankets. He was even handed water which he accepted far too enthusiastically. He doubted it had been more than a day since the wreck happened. Then again, he doesn’t know either how far into daytime it has reached.

After a moment of brief rest and some confirmation from the captain, he escorted Grian into a cabin, the one below the quarterdeck. A cautious arm had still been wrapped around him as they headed towards there even though Grian could walk just fine, even better without the weight of his soaked boots weighing him down. The captain opened the door before them, ensuring that Grian walks in first before following close behind.

His eyes felt more at ease with the darker surroundings, lightly illuminated with sticks of candles scattered around the cabin. Across him on the furthest wall were windows located by the rear of the ship that had curtains installed and closed over, and in front of it was located the carved desk and a pair of chairs placed on opposite sides. Lots of items occupied the space, like maps and charts as well as random piles of bottles. The captain guided Grian to the closest chair and set him down gently. 

“Give me a moment, I’ll light up this candle right here…” He muttered, scuttering off to the side somewhere to some cabinets and more tables. So many items and merchandise located within the cabin caught Grian’s curiosity, though watching the captain himself was in a way entertaining. “Oh, and better take those off so you’d finally start warming up!”

‘Those’, as in his own clothes. The bluntness of the captain may or may not have been expected by Grian, but of course he was right. He temporarily placed the blanket over the chair he sat on before slipping off his wet shirt. Grian was by no means embarrassed with a matter as trivial as showing skin, yet somehow in these circumstances he found himself to hesitate, with the presence of the stranger of a captain playing some factor in it. He kept his trousers on however, surrounding his bare torso with the blanket once more and ensuring it covered as much as possible. 

When the captain returned, he made no audible note of the breeches, perhaps content and understanding at the same time. He lit the match, bringing the small flame over to light the wick of the candle. The wick caught on fire, brightening the dark space between them just enough for Grian to clearly notice the captain’s features. He had a mop of brown locks reaching just by his jaw with bangs that were not too long nor short, and emerald green eyes that lightly shone in the semi-darkness of the cabin. The most surprising of all, as Grian didn’t even notice it at first, was the scar on his face. Starting with the left cheek, trailing over the nose and ending somewhere below the opposite side of the jaw. A unique mark befitting for a pirate captain. 

Once most candles had been lit, the captain finally took a seat, dragging the closest chair available closer to where Grian sat. It was that moment he was finally able to find his voice in the midst of recovery. 

“Thank you…” He muttered. “God, how long has it been…?” 

Scar smiled. “I wouldn't know for sure, but it’s currently past noon. Just a few hours away from sunset.”

The man nodded, frowning to himself. “...Must be why I feel so hungry.”

And your name, good sir?”

“Grian... No follow up, I’ve forsaken the other half of my name.” He introduced himself. Many often asked for his last name so the explanation came automatically nowadays. Whether or not he’d explain the reason would be entirely up to his mood. Which turned out to be never. “You’re the captain?”

“Indeed I am. Captain Scar Goodtimes, at your service.” Grian watched as the man took off his hat with such flair, bowing his head dramatically like an actor after a successful performance. And his name…more on the nose than Grian assumed. “You might be the luckiest man to board an unlucky vessel, what happened?”

Grian thought back to the prior night. Each event came and went as quick as the strikes of lightning during that storm, his memories cut short once the waves got to him. Without anyone steering the ship to safety against the rogue wave, more men might have survived. Hell, Grian himself failed to recall the possible ways for his survival. Bless the flimsy plank that managed to keep him afloat long enough even when unconscious.

Captain Scar still awaited his answer while he was pondering, giving an honest response. “We got caught in a storm that night. I was there, with the rest of the crew, working our hardest so we’d get to Kingston as soon as possible. And that’s when the cannons were fired…”

“Cannons? You were attacked by pirates?”

There was a mild tone of surprise in his question, though not as obvious in the face. 

“Hard to tell, I couldn’t get a glimpse of their flag. And their intentions are less than pirate-like.” Grian frowned to himself. “They boarded in no time. We all thought they’d just wanted to plunder our merchandise. Yet the first thing I saw was the cook getting stabbed in the stomach and thrown overboard. I got lucky and somehow survived the massacre... Even the captain got the short end of the stick.”

“ CAPTAIN!”

The hoarseness of his throat is damning evidence of how hard he tried to manage the situation, ignoring the fact moments before they considered throwing him into the ocean. It still ended up happening, one way or another, just not in the expected outcome. 

Scar, as he listened intently to the claims, had a focused gaze on and seemed to believe everything he said. He had no reason to lie, obviously, though the thought of Scar trusting him, a mere stranger, immediately is somewhat comforting. For a pirate captain. 

“So…they killed everyone on board and then blew your ship up to bits? And left?”

“Not everyone. Once they killed the captain, every one of the attackers headed back. I…I’m honestly not sure if they were really just targeting our captain this whole time, or they escaped knowing that a rogue wave was headed for us. Either way, with no one steering the helm, the wave struck us. I don’t remember anything else after that.”

“That means you were out since night… I’m surprised no shark came around for a snack!” Scar chuckled at his own joke. Grian didn’t really find it funny. 

“Well then…isn’t it about time you start cutting to the chase?” He questioned the captain. “I’m fully aware what sort of vessel I’ve boarded…”

“...Ah, you mean the fact that we’re pirates. I wasn’t exactly trying to hide that.” He watched the tilt of his head paired with an artful smirk, resting it on his hand with the elbow firmly planted on the desk. “Those are quite the sharp eyes you have there. What gave it away?”

Grian scoffed, “The jolly roger flag behind us? The clothes? That’s not the point; you definitely saved my life, which means unfortunately, I’m indebted to you. So what does that entail? Selling me off as a prisoner? Use me as a scapegoat?”

Truthfully, his time at sea wasn’t as long as proper, seasoned sailors. But those experiences were plenty enough for him to learn the nature of these pirates. Pillage any ship till the bottoms of the barrels they scrape, kill as much as necessary for them to give in, rinse and repeat. Those left alive would only meet a similar, dreadful fate, either sold off as labour or taken in with no say, forced into a life of eventual hanging.

To his surprise, Scar gasped in offence for Grian suggesting such a thing. “We may be pirates, but we do not do those sort of deals, no sir!”

“...What? What would you do then, just let them go?”

“...Yes! No need to shed blood on the smallest things, jeez… But as for you, however…” He hummed in thought, “A mysterious rogue ship with even more mysterious choices? I smell something nice brewing up for us…”

“...Oh no. Oh no… ” Grian visibly paled. “Do you really think this brig of yours could possibly go up against a Man-o’-war? That’s just- reckless! And stupid!”

“Wait, it’s a Man-o’-war?”

Grian stared at Scar’s eyes, they were brighter. Oh God, he has made a terrible mistake. ‘ What have I said…?’

“Listen-”

“I’ve made up my mind!” Scar interrupted him with a loud smack on the wooden surface, literal stars in his eyes shining in the dark. “We shall search for that mysterious ship! And you are coming with me!”

“We’d all DIE if you do that. Me, you, everyone on this damn ship! How- how could you be so confident you could take her on?!”

“And that’s where you’re mistaken!” He proudly exclaimed. “The Flying Jellie is far stronger than it looks, and faster might I add. No other pirate crew has ever successfully plundered a Man-o’-War, and if what you’re implying where she’s not manned by the royal navy… we’d be known across the seas!”

“We? Who said anything about me joining your team!?” Grian objected strongly, quickly springing up to his two feet. 

“Ah ah! But you admitted so yourself that you’re now indebted to me.’” Scar cleverly pointed out, smugly grinning back up at the sailor with a pretentious finger pointed towards him. “I did save your life after all. Therefore, I would love for you to officially become one with the crew of the Flying Jellie . Unless… you preferred the other option?”

Throughout this whole conversation where Grian could not take this buffoon of a man seriously, that threat was anything but empty, sending a cold shiver down his spine. Despite Scar leaving out the exact details of what he’d do should he refuse, he had a guttural sense it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience. No other options were laid out to escape this situation, no matter what Grian could think of from the bottom of his head.

…Although, after everything that happened on the other ship, perhaps this was simply a new path of destiny awaiting to line up with the stars? He was never one to enjoy the controlling system anyways. Was there even a life awaiting him on land, untainted or otherwise? In his heart were always contradictions and hypocrisy among mouth and mind. How much of a difference will it make for his choice at this very moment?

The young child in him, once filled with hope and dreams, has chosen to reject the land. Adult Grian seems to agree.

“...Fine.” He muttered. “I’ll do it. But don’t think you’ve earned my loyalty just yet.”

“That might change soon.” Scar smirked, getting up from his chair to meet him eye-to-eye. “So? Do we have ourselves a deal?”

He removed the hand from his pocket, ungloved with visible rough surfaces of skin. With not a single jitter of hesitance, Grian took it firmly. It wasn’t one he took easily as acceptance of his fate. But the lack of choices and a refusal to give face in a petty show. “I accept.”

“Welcome aboard, Grian.”

They stayed like that for a while, unmoving. The full weight of the contract washed over Grian in that silent moment, as a reminder of his own choices and where it may fully lead in the near future. Scar’s own grip was as strong as Grian’s, or even more. The idea of hunting down a Man-o’-War still sounded ridiculous and foolish in his head. But as fate has led him to this man… he may as well indulge in what the future may offer.

Scar released his hand first, “Great! With that out of the way, let’s talk about your role on this ship.”

Oh, this he can do...

“I’m… quite experienced in navigation. Though to be honest, I’ve officially done so for a crew, but I know my ways.” Grian quickly brought up as he began promoting himself to his new captain, getting oddly giddy with anticipation of his new role. “I’ve been a carpenter for some smaller vessels and on the last ship, I was a powder monkey. And, uh… I also stay up late? I make for a pretty good night shift officer…I can play the guitar and the fiddle…”

“Those are some appealing qualifications you have got… But! There’s something else I need you to do…”

—

“I am not becoming a musician.”

“But you said you could play the fiddle!” Scar whined in protest. Listen- Before you came in we got a ton of new recruits from Tortuga and Havana, and most of them are new to the sailing experience as a whole. Therefore, I need someone that can be the lead singer for our shanties on board! A happy crew means a better return! You could still help me with other things like fixing up the ship…?”

Grian sighed, “Of all the things you could’ve asked…”

“Come on! Please, Grian?” The captain gasped, staring at him with an amused glint in his eyes. “No wait, don’t tell me you’re…”

He snapped back in an instant, lowering his voice to a mutter at the last sentence. “I’m not tone-deaf! Just- singing…”

‘ After… that happened…’

Telling Scar about the specifics was a hard pass. Not when he himself didn’t understand how it led to him almost thrown off board. On any other days, he could sing without any worries, do it whenever he wanted or anywhere. That night shook him so badly he feared what would happen this time around…

It’s a mystery that’s yet to be fully discovered, and Grian’s down to discover the truth behind it. Though for now, he’ll just have to play along to the best he could.

Finally giving in, he huffed out. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

Chapter Text

He could practically smell it. The taste of glory and adventure, followed by the sweet sounds of praises and cautionary tales of the scarred captain.

Along the way, he’d have to gain Grian’s trust first.

After their proper establishments, Scar moved away from the desk and headed for the left corner of the room by the doors. The cabin overall functioned as both his office and bedroom, though originally when they acquired the ship this cabin was merely a meeting room. He had some help here and there to bring in furniture and especially a proper bed to capture that homely feeling. Luckily, Scar believed he did a wonderful job redecorating it to his tastes.  

His bed was positioned directly with its side planted to the wall, and at the foot was where he placed his drawers. Scar kneeled over, looking through each compartment. “Wait just a moment.”

“What are you looking for?” Grian asked, sauntering his way to him. 

“Now that you’re with us, we better make sure you dress the part.” He explained. “Let’s see…I think some of these shirts could fit you…”

Scar brought out a simple white shirt, glancing back and forth between the shirt and Grian’s stature, before handing it over to him. Grian removed the blanket from his body and threw it over onto the chair before trying on the shirt. 

The sleeves were a bit too long, though not to the point of distracting. He could easily button it up and rolled up the sleeves to a desirable length. 

Right after he puts on his shirt, Scar tossed him a pair of trousers and barely caught it from the sudden toss. As expected, the trousers brought along a similar issue, once again easily solved by a few folds. He tucked in his shirt to at least seem more presentable.

“My waistcoat might be too big for you…” Scar muttered as he looked down on the specified item. “Do you still want to wear it?”

“To be honest, everything you’ve given me is a tad bigger. I’m fine without one, perhaps a coat will do?” 

Scar nodded, grabbing a random long coat without looking. “Here, hope you like the colour red.”

Though he’d rather not show it, red is in fact Grian’s favourite colour. The shade itself looked wonderful, not too vibrant yet not too dark. As always, their differences in stature affected how Grian looked in his clothes, as the cape was almost a bit too long and the sleeves reaching slightly past his wrists. With this sort of fashion, he could pass by as a labourer and someone of the working class. 

He heard a whistle from behind, coming from no one else but him. “Lookin’ good, sailor!”

“Sure, if large hand-me-downs can make a man dashing.” Grian rolled his eyes. “Anyways, what’s our plan?”

Scar grinned, turning on his heels and straight for the door. The glow of sunlight passing through the glass panes shone on his face, highlighting the old scars of his face. 

“Come on out and we’ll see.”

—

“Gather ‘round, men!”

The doors of the cabin swung open with a kick (dramatic much), and out marched the captain with a declaration. With just a few words, he captured the attention of his mates in ease, their eyes darted over as they’re ready to partake in their next adventures. The newcomer, now almost unrecognisable save for his hair and stature, followed after the captain. Everyone else took note of the sudden wardrobe change, peering curiously yet with an underlying feeling of what to expect of the captain’s recent news.

Once everyone had come over to the general proximity, Scar cleared his throat. “First and foremost, let us all welcome our newest pirate and musician into our crew, Sir Grian No-Last-Name!”

Mentioning the latter had been a bit too much, but Grian could care less nitpicking when all the seamen began wildly cheering and exclaiming over his arrival. Such enthusiastic reactions… it almost reminded him of Scar’s own carefree nature. Or maybe that’s how pirates are as a whole? When their life would eventually end in death at any moment, they may as well rejoice for any happiness whether big or small.

He expected questioning stares of doubt or hushed whispers, maybe even pure silence. For some reason, they looked genuinely happy to have Grian on board. It was…odd, though the sentiment may or may not have at least softened his heart as well as his biased views of piracy. 

Scar continued once the cheers died down. “This lad right here survived the attack of a rogue Man-O’-War, out for blood of any sailors alike! Our aim now is to search for that ship with the help of our new friend here,” He landed a pat on Grian’s back. “And reap our riches and resources dry of their vessel. But first, we sail for Kingston! Carter, take a break from the helm and navigate, I’ll take over from here. The rest of you, do as you’d always do and excellently so! Am I clear?”

“Aye-aye, Captain!”

The crew scrambled to their respective jobs, and the man he presumed to be Carter removed himself from the helm. Scar strided over to the quarterdeck to take over the wheel. They were hard at work to raise the sails in record time, until soon enough the ship started sailing and Grian could feel the constant change of balance beneath his feet.

He knew Scar had only hired him as the only surviving witness of the destroyer ship, but still he had some sort of obligation to prove he was no deadweight. He had long mastered using his sea feet, climbing up towards where Scar was. 

By instinct and the etiquette he was taught growing up, he approached Scar with his hands stuck to his back and a straightened posture. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I’d have you sing some shanties while they work, let the songs be ingrained to their heads like barnacles to the hull of my ship, but not now. Just prepare yourself.” He explained with an enthusiastic smile.

“Prepare? For what?”

“Why, you’ll be following me down to Kingston!” He exclaimed. “Our food supplies could use a restock, and we still need to get you better equipment to fare as a pirate. And we would need to make a quick stop at a tavern…”

Grian tilted his head in confusion. “We’re going down? I thought pirates would generally avoid docking in towns.”

A fact he came to believe from personal observations as well as other accounts from his senior sailors. Once you turn towards the life of an outlaw, anyone caught within sight would immediately be detained and hanged. Losing that sort of freedom had been the few reasons Grian wished to avoid falling into the hands of these criminals. But alas, here he was, his old, dead captain replaced by this younger and dashing captain. Though his competency has yet to be seen.

“You’re not exactly wrong there. But it doesn’t mean we don’t step onto land at all, provided you’re in the right outfits.” Scar smirked.

“Our outfits…ah.” 

Grian looked down onto himself. He may lack the everywear waistcoat, but Grian barely looked like he’d be a part of a pirate crew. As for Scar, despite being the captain himself, dressed in a proper fashion with clothing of high-class material, and without the hat he could definitely pass as a merchant. His style of clothing contributed to Grian making his deduction a bit later after Scar led him to his cabin.

They did say captains of any pirate crew would stand out the most to assert their power and control. More often they’d have long, unkempt beards, tattooed chests and some wore lavish golden accessories only accessed from continuous plunders. Scar himself achieved the image merely from subverting the expected dress codes of a pirate, leaving the literal scars of his face as the sole visual warning. 

In Grian’s eyes, it made for a perfect combo.

“And besides, I bet you’re starving. When was the last time you ate?” Scar asked. 

On longer journeys where food sources would be scarce in the seas, Grian had gotten used to ignoring the dull ache from the pits of his belly. Just as Scar reminded him, his stomach grumbled, almost like scolding the owner for neglecting his needs involuntarily. 

“I guess that’s your answer…”

Embarrassingly, Scar chuckled. He definitely heard it. “Then off to Kingston we roll!”

—

It felt too risky to dock so close to the port, no matter how often he had to be reassured by the captain as they’ve done it plenty of times. When the bustling town was just a kilometre away, they swapped their colours for a different one to hide in plain sight. The others were instructed to only stay on board, leaving Grian and Scar to do their intended tasks. A boat had been prepared and lowered to the water surface, with both men entering it as they rowed towards their destination.

“Is this your first time in Kingston?” Scar asked first the moment his two feet were on the pier. He helped Grian by pulling his hand up and onto the stable platforms. Transitioning and readjusting his legs to unmoving land spun his head in an unpleasant manner, though thankfully just for a short time. A part of him is merely grateful for the presence of civilised land. Especially after the long hours of hanging onto his life, except in a literal sense.

They began walking away from the harbour, passing by the sandy floor and into a harmonious blend with grassy patches. “It’s not my first. I’ve been a crew member for other merchants where they sold their goods here, including that last one. This would be a common route for trading, it seems.”

“Interesting… and what did they sell?”

“Sugar, spices from somewhere in the east, but especially tea. We also had some clothes on board, tailored and sold for the nobles.” Grian recounted, closely following behind Scar while they traversed the town. “Where are we heading for?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Scar cleared his throat, revealing their destination in a rather dramatic tone. “First step into becoming a crew member of the Flying Jellie : Swords. Other ships would rather loot weapons and anything else from plundered ships, but I prefer to have my new men ready as soon as possible. Which is why we’re heading for the store right now! Ah, that reminds me: How familiar are you with them?”

‘ Pretty much used them since I was a kid.’

But he’d rather not admit it, for personal reasons. Grian let out a faux thoughtful hum, “When it comes with blades, my hand’s more used to daggers…”

“You could always keep a spare on you if you want, though rapiers and cutlasses are more often used by us pirates. Do you have any problem with that?”

“I guess not...” 

Around them, life in Kingston doesn’t change much. People of all walks of life coming together in various ways to earn their living, the constant sight of British soldiers patrolling the area… Grian came to see ‘same-old’ Kingston as a second home. He wasn’t born nor raised in the Caribbean, but as soon as he signed his life off in dedication to the seas, the land he most often saw and boarded earned that title. 

‘ But you’re a pirate now… ’ He reminded himself, conflicted, his heart still was. For as long as he lives, he couldn’t possibly walk around the market or into a tavern just as he always did. This may well be his final relaxing walk. Once they return to the ship and perhaps after successfully bringing down that wretched Man-O’-War, his peaceful days shall conclude. Notoriety doesn’t just disappear overnight.

At least Scar was kind enough to help him prepare for that adjustment. It’s jarring how much Scar had averted Grian’s many assumptions on a pirate captain and make it seem like they’re nicer than what they were known for. Deep down, he believed this was all feeble hand-holding, and by their next voyage he’d be treated equally as any man on his vessel.

Though he wouldn’t want to admit it aloud, this sort of attention wasn’t necessarily terrible. Sure, unexpected of a captain, but oddly comforting.

As it turns out, the store had not been too far from the shore, a simple wooden structure painted blue as a worn wooden sign hung by the door. Like the gentleman he is, Scar went ahead and held the door open for him. “After you.”

Grian nodded in acknowledgement before entering. Save for a few unique mementos that were put up on display on the walls, the store itself seemed pretty barren. The owner sat behind the counter, looking bored out of his mind before the two of them made their presence known. He heard Scar greet the man by name, must’ve been a frequent contact or customer for the latter.

The shopkeeper went towards the back of his shop, separated with just a weary white cloth hanging from the top. Once he returned, he laid down multiple swords across the counter for them both to look. Back in the previous ships, only officers and the captain were given swords and guns while anyone below that rank was fully under their protection and safety, though it doesn’t necessarily mean other sailors weren’t allowed to have their own form of protection. Mostly in the form of smaller, easily-concealed weapons.

“So? Anything that catches your eye?” Scar asked, looking back to watch Grian’s expression. “And don’t worry about the cost, it’s on me!”

“Is there even a difference…?” Sure, some of the blades had different lengths or thickness, and the hilt’s design all varied. Aside from that, Grian wasn’t even sure if he could name each different type of sword. Are these all even different types of swords?

“You could try holding each one first, see which one feels most natural in your grip and if it’s light enough for your arm.” He advised, grabbing a random one from the pile by the blade before handing it over to the man. “Here, try this one.”

Grian carefully took the sword, and was met with surprise by how light it felt despite its long blade. The hilt had a simple design, undecorated, and the width wasn’t as big as the ones Grian often saw carried by the other pirates. He did an experimental swing to adjust his arm to the same movement. As light as a stick. 

Scar seemed pleased, amused with Grian’s intense expression while testing out his sword. “Feels good? And it suits you, too.”

“It’s…lighter than I thought. A bit longer than I realised, but I guess it fits. Say, how do I keep it on me?”

“Oh- right!” Scar turned to the shopkeeper, “Got any of those spares, lad?”

He watched the shopkeeper nod, leaving into the back rooms once more. He came back with a small chest, putting it down with force from its heavy weight. The man also gathered up the other swords to return it back into the unknown, under the presumption that Grian had settled on his choice. Which wasn’t technically incorrect. 

Both Scar and Grian stepped closer as the former opened it up, the contents surprising Grian quite a bit. First he saw multiple blends of colours, which turned out to be different articles of clothing. There were also a couple of leather-made gear, though it was hard to tell at first glance.

“Oh! Try this one.” Scar pulled out what looked like a leather belt, handing it to Grian. “Do you know how to put it on?”

“Relax, I’ve got it.” He assured, letting his new sword lean by the nearest wooden wall, slipping the belt within his coat before fastening it around his wait. ‘ Huh, a perfect fit.’

Grian grabbed his new sword and slotted it within the holder by his sides. He had always been on the shorter side when it came to height unfortunately. Thankfully, whereas he imagined the blade to be dragging, it suspended above the ground just right. Just like what Scar said, almost as if it was made for him. The difference in weight slightly threw him off balance, though he supposed he’ll just have to get used to it, whether or not he’d enjoy it.

“There you go, looking more and more pirate-ey!” Scar exclaimed, gesturing proudly at Grian’s new getup.

“I suppose so…For the clothes, I can pay back-”

“Didn’t I tell you already it’s on me?” The captain laughed, patting a bit too rough on his back. “Want to pay me back? Just serve me and my crew well, that’s all there is to it. Besides, old Bart here doesn’t charge for clothes. He found those on strayed corpses anyways!”

“I’m sorry, what -”

“Anyways!” Scar interrupted him while dropping a small pouch onto the counter. “No time to lose! Onwards, to our next destination!”

“Wha-hey!” Grian manages to let out before he’s dragged away by the arm, leaving behind dust in the wind. It was true, they would be short on time if they were dawdling here instead of going off and chasing after that Man-o’-War, yet still he was easily caught off guard by Scar’s ever changing pace. 

—

Grian came to realise, with such a revelation occurring after a brief shopping trip, Scar is far too generous for a pirate. Nor had he ever met a person this generous in his entire life. 

Well, being suddenly thrusted upon this life doesn’t help the whiplash. Though hushed, he once eavesdropped on a few of his crewmates considered turning to piracy, and some even dreamed of pirates coming across their ship to plunder and give them the lovely opportunity to turn over a different leaf. Grian couldn’t relate however.

In spite of the terrible pay and working conditions, Grian valued his safety above all else, including betraying his own health during certain times. And after the war where piracy became rampant, staying in line in the eyes of royalty became important. Better to live in an oppressed environment than run free and risk death. 

And pirates. Just like the consensus of normal townspeople, they view them as the rampant group that disrupts order and peace. It may be in their nature as most were former privateers, once pledging to serve their glorious countries. Now, a common enemy amongst those very same countries that once stood against each other in the war. Whenever some failed to escape capture, their execution and punishment were played as entertainment, as well as a reminder towards those who dared step out of line. 

Seeing gibbets with freshly-placed bodies did not ease Grian up at all, though his attention was quickly pulled away by Scar announcing their arrival at their next stop. He finally teared his eyes away from the gruesome sight before noticing the open space, filled with pairs of tables and chairs and a roofed structure near it. He recognised the run-down sign plastered on the top part of the structure, the very same name of the tavern he used to frequent with other seamen. Not close, but amicable enough for Grian to drink with. He did mention a tavern as one of their stops…

“We’re pretty short on time so I’ll just leave you here while I go meet my suppliers.” Scar told him in a hushed tone. “Consider this your first real job, I think you know what I want you to do?”

Grian paused to let his current knowledge properly sink into his head, and soon understood what his captain meant. “You… want me to find out more about the Man-o’-War, right?”

Surely it couldn’t be anything else?

“Correct, knew I could count on you!” He began pushing Grian towards the direction of the bar seats, calling out for the worker. “Barkeeper! Some grog for this lad right here.”

With not much say of where he’s meant to go, Grian found himself sat by the counter, practically forced into sitting by Scar himself. Though between rum and grog, Grian pretty much often preferred the other, so there’s a bit of appreciation there. Scar then placed another convenient small sack of coins in Grian’s hand before parting with a playful nudge, shoulder to shoulder. “We’ll meet back here, see you soon. And don’t be shy, help yourself to some food should we have the time.”

“Alright then…”

Grian looked back as Scar left the open tavern, realising that he didn’t actually wander off far. Within the simple stalls with barely much to offer, he wondered how and where Scar would find supplies with possibly hundreds of men in a ship. The area itself seemed pretty busy at this hour of the day. With this many people strolling about for work or to shop, one must wonder how easily could it be for himself to slip into the crowd and possibly run away from-

‘ Hold on, what do you think you’re doing?’ Rationality, and maybe the honest side of Grian, interrupted. ‘ You weren’t actually thinking of escaping, are you?’

‘ Are you insane? Only death awaits us!’ The other rational side of Grian exclaimed. ‘ We can still leave while we can! Hide here or run to the soldiers for help!’

“...Still…he has been quite kind so far...” Grian muttered bitterly to himself. “God knows how much longer I would be in the sea, served to hungry sharks as a hearty dinner. Urgh…why couldn’t I have been saved by the royal navy… or another merchant ship…”

‘ Not like those soldiers are any better.’ Experience chimed in. 

He sighed, banging his head onto the wood. “Stupid Grian. Couldn’t have stayed away from the call of the seas…”

“Looking a bit too gloomy there, eh mister?” Someone’s voice chimed in. The sailor’s head rose up and noticed the barkeeper approaching with an amused smile, setting down beside him a mug of what he ordered. “Grog, as ordered.”

“Thanks…” Grian said, taking a nice swig out of his mug. “Huh, just the way I like it. And it doesn’t smell…you know.”

“Lime helps with masking it. But odd of you to get this instead of the usual rum.”

“Oh- I do like the taste better, just not in the mood of getting pissed up.” Grian explained with a hint of truth behind those words. Without fail, he would always find himself knocked out first in a drinking party, which also made him a target of teasing and mockery. Despite not knowing his own capability, Scar seemed to play it safe.

The barkeeper hummed, “You’re a sailor, aren’t ya?”

“Indeed. For a merchant, selling sugar from their own plantations.” He lied smoothly. “Isn’t it expected around here? Especially since we’re so close to the harbour.”

“You lots come in different faces. The royal navies, privateers… pirates. But yeah, I’ve met plenty of ‘em.”

“...Know of anyone named Captain Dawson?” 

It relieved Grian that the barkeeper doesn’t seem to recognise him. He and his crewmates drank here often, including that captain himself. Grian however rarely had pleasant experiences when drinking with others. Of course, not everyone came off as a bad egg and some of them he genuinely got along well with, except the good majority of them were the loudest bunch. Made him drink till he passes out and retch up everything he had for lunch.

On the contrary, Captain Dawson was quiet, much preferred to keep it to himself and his quartermaster. He drank like anyone else, but seemed so much in peace it was hard to tell if he was properly drunk or still sober and being himself. It was also because of that same captain Grian ended up having a preference for grog and the only reason he could still be present for these drinking sessions.

He watched the barkeeper pursed his lips, eyes wandered off to recall the name. “You’d need to be more specific than that, lad.”

“Blond, towered over most men you’d know. and no beard. He mentioned it’s not in his blood to grow much… Oh, and an Englishman, in case the name hadn’t given it away.” Grian took another sip before continuing. “He’s mostly a captain for merchant vessels, and I heard he used to be a privateer before the war ended… Does that ring a bell?

“Aye, I may know who. But it sounds like you know a lot already, innit?” 

He chuckled, “Maybe so, but not enough. So? How familiar are you with him?”

“He’s the silent type. If you’re not in this job for long, you’d think he hated drinking. I’ve seen ‘im with his crew on some days, before they were off from Kingston. Most of his mates drink by the tables in large groups, he preferred sitting right where you are.”

“I see. Did he seem the type to pick fights? Share any bad blood among his men, or even the royal navy?”

“Whoa there! Prying too far into someone’s business, you sly bird?” The barkeeper chastised with a chuckle. “Know too much and you may as well be cursed by Davy Jones himself.”

“So what if I am? I don’t pretend to be a saint for the sake of it. And I know you don’t either. Tell me what you know, name your price if you desire some out of this friendly exchange.”

“Aren’t you a sailor yourself, boy? Now that I think about it… you strike me as familiar…And what business do you have with the captain himself?”

“There’s no point in hiding it, is there? So what if I was a part of Captain Dawson’s crew? I assure you, no harm shall be done to him nor his mates. All I need is the information, nothing else.”

The barkeeper chuckled once more while wiping clean the space around his drink. “Oh really? Men around here pledge this and that yet turn their backs on it when they can. Am I wrong to believe you’re not the same?”

“...No. Still, not much could be done to a dead man.”

His arm froze and stopped wiping. “Pardon?”

Grian paused... before dropping the news. “...Captain Dawson is now just a name, with no person left to inherit it.” 

Any noise from the marketplace could easily be drowned out with this deafening silence. That sort of reaction had not been the one Grian expected, nor did he expect himself to completely spill the truth uncensored. Made him realise with how quickly it all had gone and how long he spent unconscious, Grian never properly processed the fact his captain, perhaps the last man Grian had proper respect for, is dead. His crewmates? Grian cursed their names, their every being and their lofty reasons to be at sea. The same couldn’t be said otherwise for his late captain.

The barkeeper himself stayed silent and Grian didn’t dare to look up, lest he’d meet his eyes and out of social obligation would be forced to speak up. He barely knew this man so what sort of comfort would it even give? Was it really grief that numbed his tongue and thoughts, or had it been shock that rendered the man speechless?

It started getting more uncomfortable. Grian shakily grabbed his mug, downing more grog and beginning to regret not asking for rum. As soon as he got close to the halfway mark, the barkeeper finally spoke up. “...A pity. We had so much more to talk about.”

“Right, it’s uh- a shame.”

“To answer your question: No. The man seems tough at first glance, but really, he’s quite docile like a housecat. He’s not the type to start a bar fight, and he wouldn’t be foolish enough to make enemies out of pirates. I think the navy took a liking to ‘im, being the minority among privateers not to turn to a life of piracy.”

“Then what of the other way around? Any officials he managed to cross?”

“Possible, but I doubt so. He had other mates, captains like ‘im. When lots of them were boarding here, they all went drinking together in the tavern east of the town. They may be the actual perfect company for Dawson.” The barkeeper supplied. 

Grian sighed, “So not the royal navy, not any other captains either. Darn…”

“That’s all I’ve got for you. I wouldn’t possibly know if this’ll help your journey to revenge, but you’re more than happy to try.”

“You’d be wrong there. It had to happen eventually.” Grian let out a bitter laugh. “But whatever it is I’m doing, I like to believe it’d bring the man some peace. Hopefully.”

His line of thoughts and hypothesis fell apart easily, but that information is useful nonetheless. Now, in order to track down that Man-o’-War, he’d have to rely on his own memory of last night. Remembering what went down prior to the first blasts of cannons was something Grian wished to avoid, but alas…

“Here’s another question for you then: Have you perhaps seen a Man-O’-War stop by around here?”

The barkeeper raised his eyebrows, “Forgetting something?”

Grian blinked, before chugging down the last remains of his drink and handed the empty mug. “Rum this time.”

His mug was taken away with much enthusiasm, not even serving the drink first before quickly providing the information requested. “Aye, you just missed it. Left right before you and your captain arrived here. Obviously, a vessel that big can’t just park itself here so her men came down on rowboats. She sailed with a Union Jack.”

Grian’s eyes widened. ‘ Bingo!’

He waited for the barkeeper to return with his drink before continuing, “What of the men, what did they look like?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say. I had my eyes on ‘em for a short while before more customers came in. But I’ve heard them talking about it. Said they were sailing for Havana.”

That’s…still useful, and far more important information for them to catch the ship. At least that confirmed the vessel must be travelling at a slower speed than them, which meant it would still be possible for the Flying Jellie to catch up from behind. Though he couldn’t properly catch sight of her colours, it wasn’t as if many Man-o’-War’s had time to stop by a small town in comparison to its home country.

“I must say, a bit out-of-place for a Man-O’-War to anchor itself here.” The barkeeper added. “There’s plenty of soldiers roaming about here, no need to turn this town into Little England.”

“But…what if they weren’t with the royal navy?”

“Hah! Are you implying that it’s a pirated ship?” The barkeeper barked out a hearty laugh, almost annoying Grian. “The largest pirates ever got around here is a frigate, and I’ve only heard of one man able to achieve so. If so, who else would it be? A ghost crew?”

“I know it makes no sense.” Grian sighed out in frustration. “And since the treaties were signed, there is no more conflict between the Spaniards or French.”

‘ But who else could it be?’ The royal navy had no reason to attack a seemingly harmless merchant’s vessel. That aligned more with pirates, but no sane captain would attack under the harsh conditions of a weather storm. Not to mention the lack of communication of surrender, because they weren’t aiming to plunder their vessel. So why? Revenge against Captain Dawson could almost be counted as debunked since the man barely made enemies.

What else could it have been?

…Even so, at least Grian could confirm the existence of that Man-o’-War. Should they manage to sail continuously with no stop, then surely it’d be possible for a smaller brig with lesser restraints on weight to reach her in no time. All that’s left is to wait for Scar and report him of his findings like the dutiful sailor Grian is.

“Oh, ain’t that your captain? And he’s… stopped by a couple soldiers?”

…Nevermind. 

Grian’s head turned quickly to where the barkeeper was looking, and even among the many people around the harbour, Scar’s tricorne acted as a landmark that allowed him to be spotted easily. Oh…he definitely wasn’t kidding… 

A few soldiers, three to be specific, gathered in front of Scar by the deck, seemingly blocking his way to their ship. He now carried a wimpy sack that slung on his shoulder. Whatever could be in there, Grian doubted he could figure it out, but more concerning fact was the expressions on everyone. The knitted eyebrows of the soldiers, and Scar’s steady, wide smile. 

They were talking…or perhaps arguing? While one hand held the mouth of the sack, Scar’s other gestured wildly as he talked, in a way implying he’s trying to explain himself to the others. Yet none of the soldiers looked pleased. Grian could have sworn one of them had a hand to his hips, which looked dangerously close near his sword, ready to be drawn out with the intention of either attacking or threatening that man.

Grian quickly fished out the coins given to him in the small pouch, slamming them onto the counter before dashing off. “Thanks for the drinks!”

He barely heard the final words of parting from the barkeeper, bracing himself into the crowd to reach where Scar was. Some had stopped to look, their curiosity and anticipation luring them into a potentially dangerous scene. It reminded him of tales from the land of the west, where an individual known as a snake charmer would play their blow instrument and the snake in its hypnotised state would slither along the tune. They’d see Scar as the snake, inferior to the armed and trained soldiers…

And somehow, in the shortest time they have met, Grian thought otherwise. He imagined the curve of his lips hid the true terror behind the surface. But his eyes? They stared idly, calm and collected and unlike an amateur. Prepared for whatever would happen, like the trained snake charmer.

Either way, Grian can’t possibly let this be.

He marched towards the group from behind Scar, listening to his own racing heartbeat as some sort of preparation. The moment he had enough, he appeared from behind, feigning obliviousness towards the situation. 

“Captain?”

Scar turned around, his eyes changing a bit out of surprise upon seeing Grian. Others would not even notice it as he quickly shifted back into that voice. “Grian! I was looking everywhere for you, silly bird!”

‘ Does everyone here see me as a bird…?’ He shoved that thought elsewhere and began to focus on bringing out the sweet and naive facade of a rookie sailor. “I apologise, I might have gotten a bit lost… But I’ve sold all the sugar you asked me to!”

“Hold it,” the middle soldier commanded, his voice booming louder than both of them combined. “Aren’t you the merchant? Why is this Grian selling it for you?”

“I believe there seems to be a misunderstanding.” He spoke up, more confidently this time. “Indeed, we have a merchant onboard, but I’m afraid he had gotten ill during our voyage. I am merely doing his sales on behalf of him.”

“And where’s proof of your sales?”

Grian removed the pouch from his belt, presenting it to the soldiers clearly. “Right here, see? I hear he sells ‘em cheap, unfortunately…”

The soldier however didn’t seem to buy much into it. “Sounds suspicious. How would we know you didn’t nab the money for yourself?”

It was Scar’s turn to intervene, offering a lovely performance with an offended gasp. “I will not stand for this slander of my outstanding crewmate! Grian here is my most loyal and hardworking man! Even the merchant himself agrees!”

“This does not need to escalate.” Another guard intervened, physically bringing his hand out to lightly push his mate away. “All we ask is for a quick inspection of your ship. As well as the documents that show approval of the merchant’s dealings in Kingston.”

“Bah, it would take too long! Our time is already running short and you want to do a ‘quick’ inspection of my ship? Outrageous, I tell you!”

At this point, Grian himself isn’t sure how to interject as Scar and the soldiers exchanged heated words and accusations from both fronts. Being dead centre of the attention of the people in the harbour did not help the slightest. Grian’s eyes ended up wandering around, looking for some other way to hopefully steer away this situation into a better outcome. His gaze accidentally met one of Scar’s seaman, peering from the railings to where the argument was happening. His eyes seemed firm upon meeting Grian, leading the latter to wonder if he could possibly signal him something.

Taking a quick glance to the soldiers to make sure they weren’t staring at himself, he mouthed exaggeratedly to the man with wide, frantic eyes. 

‘SAILS. SAILS. SAILS !’

Third time worked like a charm, as he noticed the man’s eyes widened before scurrying back into the deck. Grian began to notice the other crew moving along from climbing the masts to gathering by the gunports and loading them full. The sight of many men scrambling on deck managed to heave out a relieved sigh out of him, hopefully unnoticed by the soldiers.

‘ All that’s left is to somehow convince the soldiers to let us be…’ Grian concluded, slowly inserting himself back into the conversation of rising tension-

“Enough!” The hot-headed soldier exclaimed. The sharp ring of metal against metal pained his ears as the guard drew his sword, its tip pointing straight to Scar’s face.

‘ Fuck.’

He glared at them both, his crooked teeth gritting in anger. “I’ve had about enough of your stalling! Let us in or we’ll arrest you under suspicion of piracy!” 

“Wha- you can’t do that!” Scar snapped back, his smile shifting into a nervous look. “Why don’t we all just… settle down calmly… No need to get defensive, right boys…?”

The slight raise of pitch in his voice proved to be less than reassuring. Once the sword came out, many of the townspeople watching began to show their fear in the form of a chorus of surprised noises and backing away from the deck, while the braver ones watched on, maybe out of excitement. The fear was almost contagious when Grian finds his own heart picking up in its speed, dawning upon him what his instincts insisted on him to do.

“Sca- Captain…” Grian tugged at his coat sleeve, tip-toeing to reach into his ear and whisper. “I believe there’s no other way out of this…”

“Maybe so… You’re thinking what I’m thinking?” He whispered back, staring straight into Grian’s eyes and flashed a toothy grin.

“I swear to God if you suggest we- GAH!”

It happened fast, barely caught and processed in Grian’s mind on what happened in a few seconds. A loud bang, the release of smoke that reeked of gunpowder entered the air, followed with a harrowing scream and the fallen clung of metal. Or perhaps, there were multiple screams, with Grian himself guilty for one of it.

The worst offender had been the guard with the sword, now clutching his bloody arm after the hot bullet pierced through his skin and flesh. The one responsible for the attack had little time to pull out and aim his pistol yet proved everyone otherwise. His grin as devious as the devil himself, he secured his empty pistol back into his holsters and without warning, took Grian’s hand tightly.

They must’ve forgotten snakes could bite.

“RUN!”

As everyone, including Grian, the three soldiers and everyone else on the harbour had their minds stuck in the past, Scar raced forward against time and grabbed for Grian, the two of them bolted away from the fresh scene of crime.

He’s really in for it now, isn’t he?

Chapter Text

For a man in a state of barely-recovered exhaustion, it’s impressive Grian still has the energy to go on a full sprint in the middle of a busy town. In a situation leaving both men in a pinch, some risks had to be taken to ensure their survival. Shooting point blank into someone’s arm would be painful, but god damn was it satisfying to simply gain an upper hand in the tides. 

Scar continued to lead him by the hand, and he’s quite sure he heard the other two soldiers chasing after them from behind. But he does not dare to look back, nor does Grian he assumed. Their suspicious actions garnered plenty of attention from the locals, and badly enough some other soldiers fled past who quickly caught onto the situation. Scar continued leading them deeper into Kingston, slipping within random houses and alleyways, taking any confusing and physically-taxing route to hopefully dissuade the soldiers enough.

In spite of Scar’s familiarity with Kingston’s surroundings, almost inevitably luck would not be on his side these days. They ran into an alley between a tavern and a general store before stopping dead in their tracks, a pile of broken furniture and other leftover woods gathered tall in the same alley, so large it blocked the way to the other side. That sort of sight would sadden his father tremendously, he thought to himself, frankly in an inappropriate time to think so.

“Shit…!” Grian cursed under his breath, looking back and forth from the blockade and where they came from. “They’ll be here any moment…”

“That’s alright…we can go another way-”

“Halt!”

‘ ...Or not.’ Scar bit his tongue, turning on his heel to see five soldiers cornering them from the entrance, each and every one armed with a sword and a spare pistol under their coats. Scar might have gotten a bit sick of seeing British soldiers so often, both during his tenure as a pirate and back home, enough that he doubted he’d feel bad incapacitating. Violently. 

He snuck a quick glance to Grian, who while didn't seem terrified out of his boots, his expression still held a feeling of worry over their future survival. Not only must Scar ensure they’ll make it out of here alive, he must also prove to this man as his new captain his own capability and handsome skills! And what better way to guide his fellow rookie pirate than a fight to the death?

“We have you cornered, scums!” One of them threatened. “Surrender or we’ll have your heads up on a pike!”

Scar forced out a chuckle under his breath, dropping his sack down onto the floor and unsheathing both swords from his belt. “Now, Grian… It’s unfortunate this will be your first fight, but I guess we’ll be doing a hands-on approach-” 

“Argh…!”

To his disappointment, Grian didn’t listen. 

To the opposite of his disappointment, one of the guards began to spill blood from chest before his gasps of pain were interrupted with a cutlass to his neck. 

Foolish of him to not notice. The sailor who seemed oh so helpless drifting in the ocean with eyes peering everywhere like a paranoiac… had his arm swing out of reflex, bringing out his sword and doubling it into a smooth attack on one of the soldiers. The speed of it went by too quickly until Scar would only notice the aftermath: a man killed out of self-defence. He was flabbergasted to find someone as unassuming as Grian could eliminate someone so swiftly. 

And did the sailor, the man of upstanding morals and timid work behaviour, look down on the corpse in fear and shock, trembling at the daunting fact that blood now stained his very hands?

The image in Scar's head seemed pretty clear. Grian proved him wrong.

As another soldier moved in to swing at the surprised Scar, Grian stepped forward to counter, redirecting the soldier’s blade towards the side where his body unwittingly followed. He quickly put the man out of commission with a clean stab to his back, and his body flopped helplessly onto the ground. The rest of the soldiers were no match.

There was a hint of grace to his movements, yet each swing or stab held enough power to overthrow the enemy in the literal and mental sense. Never once did he misstep or his feet ever falter as his eyes constantly peered over anywhere that could possibly be a blind spot in just a few seconds. To chalk all this up as beginner’s luck… Scar must be blind to think so. Not even to believe that the wind was possibly guiding Grian to his next move. No, it was as if Grian himself is the wind, his movements shall be felt by any yet unable to be stopped. 

What really sealed it were his eyes. Though it had been wide out of franticness, they were alert and moved faster without the nagging anxiety from his mind. In a way, he hated having to fight and kill anyone out of necessity, but when push came to shove, Grian declared this in the way he fought: ‘ Go on, I dare you to even try.’

The final soldier he took down fell over and died after a deep cut to his neck, joining the rest of his buddies to meet their creator. Scar watched as Grian calmly returned his sword back to his side, his chest visibly rising and falling to catch his breath after the vigorous exercise. 

He sighed, turning around to properly face Scar. Almost as nonchalant as if the fight was all in his head, and he would've believed if only his clothes escaped the carnage unscathed. 

“You know…it’s best to shut up when a fight’s about to happen.”

That was…mildly attractive.

Scar’s eyes were still wide from shock after what took under a few minutes. He quickly regained his composure, smoothly sheathing back his swords. “Hah… Should’ve saved some for me! How else could I show off my skills as captain?”

It was miniscule and hard to see, but no doubt Grian did smirk at his response. “Not my fault you were too slow.”

“Still- I didn’t know you could fight that well! I assumed you were terrible at swords or never used ‘em, not this! How?”

“Well, now you know.” A hand came up to wipe off some blood off his cheek, though it lightly smeared his fair skin. There were other light spots that managed to stain his white shirt and coat. “Let’s just say I have my fair share of experiences and leave it at that, alright?” 

Scar chuckled at the response.“Mysterious, I see…but that's fine. Anyways, we should head back, the sun will set soon if we don’t hurry.”

“Understood. Question is, how do we get back to the ship without running into more soldiers? After that ruckus by the harbour, I doubt we could slip by easily…”

Just as Grian asked, Scar’s eyes fell onto the corpses of the recently slain soldiers. An idea popped up in his head as he kneeled down towards the bodies, before removing his own coat and tricorne. “Here, give me your coat. I think we can use these as a disguise.”

“So we just walk back there? What if your crew doesn’t recognise us?”

“They definitely will.” Scar craned his neck towards Grian, pointing to the aforementioned scar across his face. “I’d be disappointed if they didn't!”

Left with no questions or objections, Grian obliged. Scar took his and Grian’s coats, folding them nicely and keeping them in the sack he was carrying alongside his bicorne. Thankfully enough, they found some uniforms that still seemed clean enough to wear. For a tall man like Scar, the coat suited him and complimented his own height. Grian, however, was like a young child inheriting his father’s coat.

Okay, that may be an exaggeration. But the sleeves reached his thumbs, and his smaller stature made the coat look bigger. Scar noticed Grian holding back a sigh, slipping on the tricorne’s of the soldiers firmly on his head. Though their trousers obviously did not adhere to the dress code, it should be convincing enough for the layman. So long they don’t get too close with other soldiers. 

They dragged the bodies deeper into the alley to avoid them getting discovered, before heading off in a brisk walk. Casual enough not to arouse attention, urgent enough for them to reach the ship. As they had hoped, both men were left undisturbed from the alley up until they reached the shores of Kingston, crossing the harbour where their confrontation was held. The soldier Scar had shot had noticeably been missing, and though Scar often entertained his own curiosities, this one may wait.

He noticed Grian becoming more antsy as they approached the ship on the pier, his left hand tugging nervously on his other sleeve and making all sorts of crinkled marks on the coat. Scar doesn’t blame him for it. At the very least, this could be the opportunity to prove Scar’s worth as captain towards his newest recruit.

The walk across the pier continued and Scar spotted a few of his men on the starboard side immediately taking note of the ‘soldiers’ approaching. Scar gently raised his tricorne up while looking towards his vessel, opening up just enough for them to see the man behind the hat and his scar. He could tell they noticed the moment they backed away from the side once he and Grian arrived, silently welcoming their captain and Grian.

Immediately upon boarding, the crew hoisted up the anchor from the seabed, and the Flying Jellie began to sail forward and away from Kingston. The town itself easily hid behind larger land and mountains, and so Scar waited until they left through the small opening between the same island before he could properly commemorate their escape. He threw his hat down excitedly, releasing an extremely relieved breath. “We’re back in one piece!”

The sailor seemed less enthused in comparison, but otherwise extremely grateful as he sunk down onto the floor, his back towards the railings. “We are not returning there for a whole month. Ever.”

“Come on, live a little!” Scar laughed, walking towards the sailor to help him up. “Seriously, that was amazing. How come you were not an officer on your last ship?”

“I was hired not too long ago, about a few months or so? It wasn’t as if they were looking for officers, so I carried on as a sailor manning the lower deck.” He explained whilst taking Scar’s hand and pulling himself up. 

One of his crewmates, the spunky Tom, approached them both alongside a few others with curious looks on their faces. “It was a close call, captain! If it weren’t for the lad’s signal, we wouldn’t have been able to sail away on time.”

“I'm just glad you took notice of it.” Grian added with a sigh. “Oh well, it worked out in the end.”

Scar couldn’t suppress the proud smile. He rarely ever doubted his own choices, but having Grian on board may be one of his luckiest gambles. Scar grabbed for his sack and changed out of the British coat, slipping onto his usual coat and his beloved bicorne. “Have Little John whip up something special for tonight’s dinner, we shall celebrate in honour of our rookie pirate!”

Grian pursed his lips sheepishly. “There’s really no need for that-” 

“The rest of you get back to work!” Scar finished his orders and also conveniently ignored Grian, much to his chagrin. Once the other crewmates left to re-attend their posts, he beckoned to Grian, smiling enigmatically. “Come with me. I believe you have some important things to tell me?”

The shade in the skies were warmer, basking the ship in a calm afterglow. Grian quickly understood what Scar meant, relaying what he had learned at the tavern in a serious tone. “Right, I can confirm the same Man-o’-War was in Kingston, and she did set sail right before we arrived. The barkeeper mentioned they were sailing for Havana, though I’m not so sure why.”

“That’s fine. As long as we have ourselves a general direction, we can intercept her before she reaches or greet her by the entrance.” Scar noted as they reached the quarterdeck where Carter sailed her out from Kingston. “Anything else you want to add?”

“Well…This had been more for my own personal curiosity, but I asked if my previous captain made any enemies throughout his career. And surprisingly, he didn’t. The royal navy was fond of him, so I doubt it was a personal attack considering he was only sailing for a merchant.”

“Then that only leaves us with pirates, right?”

“I suppose so. But… you’d think if they wanted to plunder our ship, they would negotiate first and not do it in the middle of a storm. Instead, they went straight to attacking and boarded only to start killing the crew and captain. No matter how I look at it, I can’t make sense of it…”

Scar hummed, “It’s definitely weird. I’m afraid we won’t know for sure until we find their ship soon enough. The only other people I could think of that would want to attack your ship are privateers...”

“Privateers are a group of a bygone era. And most of them have turned to piracy ever since the treaties were signed.” Grian said. “Well, I suppose it won’t help dwelling on it…”

That was a sentiment shared by Scar, turning to see who was on the helm. “Then that makes our destination Havana. You got that, Roger?”

After discussing the routes and shortcuts to avoid incurring the wrath of forts, the captain can finally relax just a bit after the disaster on land. He realised Grian was still by his side and most likely listening to their discussion, and understood it given his own claimed expertise. Truthfully, Scar never paid proper attention to new recruits under the assumption they can insert themselves just fine once he’s assigned their role. Those who had been with the Flying Jellie longer often automatically act as semi-mentors and guides.

Things were different with Grian. Due to the shift in their current goals, Grian was the only man able to provide information and details on their latest target, the Man-o’-War of mysterious affiliations. It’s only natural Scar would end up having to converse with him more, and in return he may or may not have concerns if Grian could really live up to a pirate’s life.

Those concerns were short-lived, upon watching the same man with his own two eyes slaughter a group of trained soldiers in less than a minute. There was also the constant avoidance of mentioning his past, the lack of surname that he had apparently forsaken , this man is a walking treasure chest waiting to be opened. Though Scar himself isn’t sure if unlocking said chest would lead to treasures in the metaphorical sense. 

He figured Grian must be waiting to see if any other personal tasks are needed to be done. His fidgety hands and wandering looks suggested that he’d rather be doing anything right now, any work whatsoever alongside his other and technically main work. But first…

“Sorry about that.” He told Grian, and with his head gestured towards the stairs leading to the main deck. “Follow me to my cabin, there’s still some things I think we should discuss.”

Grian of course followed, but not without his usual snipes and comments. “Are pirate captains this talkative to their crew or is this just a you thing?”

“Could be my own problem.” Scar laughed.

He led them to his cabin and didn’t expect a familiar meow to call out from under his bed, immediately setting off the excitement in Scar’s chest. He gasped, beelining to the bed and dropped his sack to bring his arms out towards the bottom gap. “Come here, girl!”

Grian stared at him confusedly. “Who are you talking to-”

His expression faltered upon noticing the furry friend in Scar’s arms, immediately softening as he let out an indescribable sound from his throat. “You have a cat ? On your ship!?”

“Meet Jellie! Our one and only queen on this vessel… and also my cat I brought from home.” He chuckled, “You can pet her if you’d like!”

Not even a second had passed before Grian began gently rubbing at her head, cooing at Jellie’s positive receptiveness towards the pets. Head pats are her favourites, after all. “She’s so cute, I can’t… ”

Seeing him melt at the sight of his fluffy and adorable cat was a nice change, and a side Scar hadn’t expected from the sailor. If Scar was already satisfied with getting a teeny tiny smirk after their encounter with the soldiers, then he wouldn’t have expected to see a full-blown smile, eyes and all. Watching Grian act so differently from before was quite entertaining to the point of him almost forgetting the actual reason they’re here. And unfortunately he had to cut that time short.

“Off you go, sweetie.”He set her down, both men watching her jump into his bed and making herself comfortable. “Where was I…”

“I was starting to regret my choices, but I think she has convinced me to stay.” Grian joked, his attention equally divided between the conversation and watching Jellie. 

“Trust me, the amount of sailors I managed to recruit by bringing Jellie along to taverns is uncountable. Cats do wonders to boost the morale of our crew. I don’t have to worry about mutiny and all that thanks to her.” Scar recounted with a fond smile, glancing back. “Don’t just stand there, take a seat.”

By the large table they sat, on the same chairs from when they had just met each other. Scar brought back the sack with him, continuing the talk as he unloaded the contents in it. “I almost forgot what I wanted to say when Jellie came in… but anyways, I should thank you properly for the help in Kingston. Especially with the soldiers.”

“I was just fulfilling my part of the bargain… And we were forced to fight anyway. If I hadn’t acted, I would’ve died alongside you. ” 

“Still regretting your choice?”

“As if I had any aside from getting thrown overboard or marooned…” He commented, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Scar stared back apologetically. Despite the connotations in his choice of words during his negotiation, the truth couldn’t be further from what Grian had in mind. 

“I…wasn’t actually going to do any of that if you had declined.” He added albeit awkwardly. “It was just to convince you to join, so that we can search for that ship.”

Grian stared blankly. “...Seriously? Aren’t pirates meant to be these violent, feared criminals that haunt the seas?”

“Why of course, we need that reputation as a form of protection. But come on… I’m not gonna terrorise some poor sailor or merchants for their merch! Personally, I preferred going up against the royal navies, it feels less bad stealing from greater evil, don’t you think so?

“And… Do you want to quit once we take down that ship?” 

A genuine look of surprise came from Grian. Asking such a question would imply it’s a possible choice to bestow upon him, Scar himself is aware of the implications, but he’s curious to really know what Grian thought. Many of his current crew sought him out, or Scar approached those that were left jobless or had no more of a place for them on land. With this man… 

“...How do I- Look.” Grian sighed, turning his eyes downwards onto the table. “Even if I didn’t want to be here, I still owe you a huge favour for saving me. I could’ve died last night with my crewmates, or end up starving or eaten by sharks. It would make me feel guilty if I hadn’t tried to pay you back in some sort of way…And I was curious.

“Curious, as in how?”

“They say becoming a pirate grants you freedom, to sail the seas and live off of it. It comes with a cost, obviously, but I knew for the longest time I could never live without the ocean. And if they say being a sailor for the navy is like selling your soul off as a prisoner… then I’m willing to give this whole piracy thing a try. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go, honestly. My captain and crew are dead, and I doubt anyone is waiting for me at home.” 

That…sounded depressing, but then again, his own crew said the same thing. Nowhere to call home nor return to, they pledge their loyalty to Scar and follow him to the ends of the earth. With Grian, he still has yet to prove and convince the man of his capabilities, but Scar is more than welcoming to have him stay on his vessel. 

“So in a way, you still have no other choice but to join me and my crew?”

“Unfortunate, but yes.” Grian admitted. “The only reason why I was worried is the outlaw status. Get caught, and that’s it for me.”

“The kings do love hanging us.” Scar laughed softly. “But I assure you, for as long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe.”

“Can’t exactly say I trust you just yet…but I’m open to see you try.”

Loyalty and trust. His father preached of it and its importance in a stable marriage and relationship with his wife. Scar supposed the same can be applied in this setting, among the captain and his seaman. 

“It’s not much, but here. As a token of my gratitude.” He chuckled, taking out something from his pouch before tossing it to Grian. The latter managed to catch it despite being thrown off guard, realising Scar had given him an apple, the shiny outer layer implying it had been freshly picked. “You haven’t eaten, right?”

He eyed Scar suspiciously as if he had it poisoned, but still took a bite of it, his face lighting up at the sweet taste at the tip of his tongue. “Oh wow , I haven’t eaten an apple in ages.”

“Fruits are pretty hard to come by when you’re sailing so often. Another thing…”

He slid the sack across the table to reach the other. With his other hand, Grian slipped it into the mouth, feeling around it until he found something soft with no coherent shape. Once he finally pulled out the mysterious item, Grian’s eyes widened.

“You got me…wait, a waistcoat? What for?”

“I simply thought red suits you.” Scar justified himself. “And look, it seems to be around your size! And I think it might blend in with your belt…?”

Whatever thought went on in Grian’s head, Scar wasn’t sure if the prolonged silence helped as he continued to scan through the clothing, tracing his fingers over the buttons and subtle embroidery around it. But it wasn’t a negative reaction, he thinks so. More so that he hadn’t expected Scar to get him anything else beyond the sword and belt. Scar noticed his lips were slightly parted, halfway into getting a word out and not.

Finally, he looked up to Scar, and he knew the next words were genuine. “I…thank you…But why?”

“I guess you can kind of see it as a welcoming gift.” He answered as honestly as he could. The thought behind it is still visible based on his own face. “Well? Try it on!”

“At least let me finish my apple first…” Grian muttered though it didn’t take too long based on the rate he was devouring the thing. As the core was left uneaten, Grian stood up from his seat and pushed off the bigger coat from his body. He eyed the golden buttons before noticing Scar staring wide-eyed from the other side of the table.

“Do you have to watch like that…?”

“What- Can’t a man watch another man change clothes!?”

“That sounded so- nevermind.” Grian shut himself up, quickly slipping on the waistcoat and past his embarrassment from being watched. And to both his and Scar’s surprise, the waistcoat fit snugly against Grian’s torso, enunciating his lean form. 

It suited a gentleman from the lands, dressed up and ready to court a pretty lady by the sea, but not for Grian. He let out a dissatisfied hum before unclasping the buttons at once, letting it hang open so his white shirt is visible. Personally, Grian was quite proud of this. A style he’s comfortable in yet matched his newest occupation. And his favourite colour too!

“It doesn’t scream pirate…but I quite like this.”

“There’s no such thing as dressing like one, but I’d say it’s more on the vibes you have.” Scar added, “You’ll get there eventually, I can feel it!”

“We’ll see.” Grian said as he wanted to retrieve the coat he left on the chair before pausing. “...You know what, I think I’ll be ditching the coat. It feels too heavy anyways.” 

The captain nodded, “Yes yes, that’s fine. And you’re free to go. Dinner might be in a few hours, so why not go and get to know the others? I heard the sleeping quarters could use some good cleaning…”

Funnily enough, Grian seemed to perk up at the mention of work after practically doing odd jobs throughout the whole day. He nodded to Scar, and took the apple core with him to not leave much of a mess. “I suppose I can busy myself with that.”

“See you at dinner, Grian. We’ll meet again.”

He smiled like he meant it. Grian’s well aware of their arrangement tonight, so the most he may do was to prepare himself mentally for it.

After a final and silent acknowledgement, he turned away from his captain and left the cabins.

—

Grian got his first job from appealing himself to a recruiter at a bar in Bristol. 

For a young lad back then, he had a surprising amount of knowledge regarding ships and maintenance of the vessel, and it worked as in just a week he had taken off with his newest crew. He started out as a lookout, climbing the masts to release the sails and yet never was he given the opportunity to try his hand with the musket. When certain areas lacked the manpower, Grian would find himself volunteering to help and thus expand his knowledge further. Experiencing the work hands-on was completely different from simply knowing, and he knew it’d be vital to deal with the latter half of the problem as a rookie.

Granted, he wasn’t the only man branded as fresh meat on the vessel, but most of the sailors he worked with ended up being former privateers, and their behaviours showed it. They easily mock or tease the ones unused to the ship’s constant motion and anyone with a weak stomach, something Grian managed to get over within a few days amazingly enough. And that was only during his first crew. By the following ones after that, he didn’t revel in getting promotions, but had enough experience to gain the respect of others.

His second captain, an impatient and brash man, had him do carpentry work at some point when they stopped at a small island, a work that Grian surprisingly excelled in. And then came the third, an older but wise man with a greying beard, who taught him how to read the maps and navigate with the stars. That same captain also spent the most time mentoring Grian; the latter even acted as an unofficial quartermaster. He eventually passed, leading Grian to work for Captain Dawson after that.

His tenure under his command could easily be the worst. Most powder monkeys were young boys slightly older than 10 years, and their treatment wasn't exactly the greatest, including to an adult man like him. Little chance of promotion and the high-risk of working near cannons made this particular job unpopular so those who opted to work as one were often desperate. In his case, it was the only position left on the ship. 

In every ship, diligence is key to survival. That was what Grian was set to prove once he began, and he’d rather not stand by for most of his time as a musician, though his own recent issue with singing would have to be tackled later on. He went down into the storage and immediately asked around for work. While the most common reaction would be confusion, they had no issues with him helping and some even praised him for it. On the other hand, he hadn’t realised how diverse the merry crew would be. Aside from the natives and England-born people like himself, there were also those from the colonies, even Spaniards and Frenchmen. 

 Just as he finished cleaning the tight sleeping quarters, someone called from the hatch to ask everyone to gather for dinner. Scar did mention seeing him later for dinner, though he didn’t realise tonight specifically had more of a special purpose.

Scar truly is doing high and above the bare minimum.

“Drink in moderation, boys!” The captain exclaimed amongst the happy chatters of the pirates, in everyone’s hand a bowl and a mug filled with rum. Grian as well, though he’s more fixated on his food compared to his drink. No one batted an eye when he asked for refills, which was apparently something Scar expected from the silent chuckle he made to himself. 

The lively atmosphere did wonders to ease his bones after the events that transpired on land. He definitely wasn’t joking that they would not return there for a whole month, to the point Grian began feeling safer on the Flying Jellie . Anyways, the dinner doubled as a welcome celebration for him where it’s dinner, but more festive. They toasted in his name, a gesture touching yet so strange. It also gave the other crew members an excuse to drink pure rum and not the watered down version known as grog. 

As usual, Grian would rather not get pissed drunk on the first night, which meant no more drinking past the first mug. There’s no knowing if the others would do the same as Scar had advised. 

He sat by the stairs leading towards the quarterdeck, watching over the merry men in their own worlds, and Grian himself watching from the outside. The thought constantly running through his head was his gratefulness to even be alive at this moment. Even as many have warned him and other sailors of the dangers of the sea, it never fully registered in him that he could possibly draw his final breath in the middle of nowhere, away from society’s knowledge.

Deep in his thoughts, Grian hadn’t noticed Scar approaching him from the main deck, a half-full mug of rum in his hands. “Don’t look so blue by yourself! Everything okay?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I was just thinking to myself.” Grian said, slightly raising his own mug. “Drinking in moderation, just like what you said.”

“I can see that, but why not join us?”

Even when he wanted to refuse, Scar was quick to physically drag him out of his shell and off his butt, now joining in the circle of pirates with Scar beside him. He felt the underlying pressure to speak up and socialise despite no one forcing him to, and for most of it Scar did the talking on his behalf. Whether or not the current topic was desired by Grian, that man would continue talking either way.

“He had his sword out faster than any man, and in an instant…all the soldiers dropped dead!” Scar recalled the fight that happened in Kingston in a dramatic voice as he told this story to the other crew. They played a lively audience, reacting to every sentence Scar spoke and enthusiastically at that. The pirate beside him even gave an impressed laugh, lightly shaking his shoulder as if they’re long brothers. “I hate to admit it… but he’s definitely a better fighter than I am!”

“If yer’ skills are recognized by the Captain himself, then I look forward to a match when we have the time.”  One of the men, Bill, if he recalled correctly, suggested. “Where’d you learn? Military school?”

Grian shook his head, “Someone taught me, but hard no for the military.”

“Is it just with swords, or have you got more up your sleeves?”

“I suppose I work well with anything bladed and sharp. As for fists…” 

Definitely not. Part of the reason why he tends to avoid drinking a lot in taverns, fist-fighting drunkards when he too may or may not be drunk would almost always result in a knockout. Grian learned to defend himself smarter, not harder. And frankly speaking, he’s quite lacking in terms of raw prowess in his physical strength, thus needing to rely on more unconventional methods in a fist fight. 

“Aye, you’re not the only one, our captain too. Even so, his sword skills are also worth a question or two.”

“ Hey .” Scar gasped, faux offended. “Still…with old Grian right here, we got past the soldiers pretty quickly. Hm, maybe I should just hire you as my bodyguard…”

“Will you please make up your mind on what you want me to do-”

Another man laughs. Hudson, he thinks? “So, Captain Scar got you as a musician? You seem quite young to me, how many shanties do you really know?”

“Oh I know plenty , not just shanties. Tavern classics, folk songs, ballads, you name it all.” Grian proudly showed off. 

At that moment, Scar’s eyes lit up. Which is never a good sign. “Hey, why don’t you put on a show? Makes for great entertainment!”

“What- I mean- does it have to be now?”

His own hesitance aside, the others within the circle began cheering, chanting his name over and over in the peer pressure to perform. Just when he thought it could not get any worse, the other crew members caught on and joined in on the chanting or watched him expectantly. Even whoever’s on the helm, and the lookout group standing top from the masts…

“Argh-FINE!”

Louder cheers of excitement erupted upon the confirmation. With an annoyed sigh, Grian pushed himself up to his feet and looked down on Scar. “Not so fast. I need something before I can…perform.”

“Of course! So, what do you need?” Scar asked, grinning widely.

—

When Scar says he’s not one to judge, he really meant it. 

And if Grian asked him to fetch a guitar (Understandable, of course) and cloth long enough to tie around the eyes (Okay…?), he would do as he’s asked. 

Some looked on in confusion and others let out soft laughter under their breath from the surprise, while Grian will ignore any external reactions either way. He stared off with a rather conflicted look on his face before tying up the cloth around his head, effectively blinding his sight. Once the knot at the back was secured, Scar helped to pass the guitar to him, which he simply happened to have on board after one of his crew mates stole it from a Spanish fleet.

“So… do you do this because you get shy or-”

“I’m not answering that.” Grian cut him off softly. After a hesitant pause, he called out louder, presumably for the other crewmen to hear. “Well then, any requests?”

Scar could pick up a few songs among the sea of murmurs, yet in the entirety none seemed eager to give out their suggestions. Maybe in some of them, they were growing sceptical over Grian’s capabilities, as shown with the sudden requirement of a blindfold. Grian tapped his foot impatiently as he waited, and eventually decided to just carry on. 

He strummed over the strings, letting the sounds vibrate and flow near his heart. The other hand and its fingers touched against all over the fretboard, strumming a few times until he seemed to have found the right tune and chords. He has visited enough taverns and watched enough friends play the guitar and sing along, though none would be as impressive as this. 

Scar watched as Grian heaved a deep breath, striking the first chord and watched as his mouth moved ajar. 

“ Near Banbridge town, in the County Down, one morning last July… ”

That…wasn’t what Scar had expected.

‘Down a bóithrín green came a sweet colleen, and she smiled as she passed me by…’ 

Silence from every corner, and Grian’s own voice became the sole exception. Even in the situation where his eyesight played no role, confidently he strummed the guitar and effectively brought its use back to life. No one dared to even squeak, lest the peace shall be ruined.

Now that Scar thought about it, he wasn’t sure of himself anymore when he expected Grian to sing, instead expecting him to sound like any of these sailors whose throats have been ruined by the constant fiesta and tobacco and rum. Instead, his voice sounded almost captivating, sweet to the ears yet rich to touch one’s souls, and alluring enough to stop anyone in their tracks. Certainly, his voice rendered everyone speechless. And Scar gave up trying to understand the emotions they felt, for even he couldn’t understand his own.

The Star of County Down, is a song Scar often heard sung by Irishmen, yet Grian’s own accent doesn’t take anyone out of it. If anything, the men seemed to relish it more. Then, the crew formed the simple beat in support of the melodies, even the new ones who had barely spent a week in the sea. What started as a solo piece with just his voice and an old guitar, they began to clap in tune. And once the chorus arrived, the men most familiar with it joined in on the chorus, harmonising together with Grian’s voice as its centre.

In the midst of the sailor’s spirit, Scar stood there, stunned. It’s baffling why he’d be so shocked, and he would stay reeling in this feeling until his gaze fell upon Grian. The young sailor who lost everything in a single night, the man with a veiled past that’s yet to be known, he’s here on the Flying Jellie , revelling in the night.

He often sported some form of frown or an awkward grimace, but there was definitely something new. Scar should’ve realised by how naturally he could play the guitar even when robbed of his sight, and how his voice confidently sang the song in his own special way that both elevated the song and brought on a new twist to it. 

In spite of his hidden eyes, Grian’s steady smile is a window to his soul. On that night, Scar’s aware his own luck had once again struck gold for the betterment of his crew. Even when Grian denied and staggered over the offer, Scar now understood how much it must have meant for him.

The stars shone gorgeously in the night sky. And the star of the Flying Jellie, Grian, finds his own way of celebrating his first steps into his new life, in his voice and a song of truth. 

Such thoughts would be embarrassing to say aloud, but not to Scar, for he knew…

‘This night shall be in our minds, till the end of time. ’

Chapter Text

“The next fort we’ll have to sail past is Chinchorro’s. That shouldn’t pose any problems, so long as she keeps a good distance.”

A small model ship was placed onto a worn-out map, in between the aforementioned fort and the unexplored island surrounding Cayman Sound.

“Even so, how likely would we run into hunter ships?” Scar questioned, and with his fingers traced around the model ship. “I don’t like the open space one bit, especially since other ships could spot us easily from a distance.”

“Then we better rely on her speed and your orders, captain. As long as the weather’s on our side…”

Back and forth, Scar and Carter exchanged their opinions and plans throughout their voyage, their images visualised with small ship models and the map of the seas. Despite Grian just entering the cabin with a silent and unacknowledged knock, anyone who stopped to think could immediately fill in the context. And maybe he too would know why Scar had called him to his cabin once more.

Don’t get him wrong, getting summoned by him had not happened in five days now ever since their departure from Kingston. And within said days, Grian managed to slip into his routine fairly easily. In the morning, help out whichever man needed him most. Noon and later, lead the singing of various sea shanties as the rest pull their own weight of work albeit blindfolded just like that night, and sometimes join in on the help or assist newer seamen in memorising the shanties. And finally at night, clean the sleeping quarters before resting, sometimes resulting in an earlier rise for lookout shifts. 

Throughout it, Scar had mostly been behind the helm except during midnight sailings. There were also frequent meetings with Carter to confirm their directions and pathways such as this.  While Scar had been in mostly a serious mood, the crew’s morale still held itself up high, thanks to a certain rookie. Grian found himself slowly opening up to this unfamiliar role, and nonetheless glad his contribution would end up helping in the long run.

He doubted the two men noticed his appearance from the front. Except for Jellie, who happily greeted Grian by rubbing her head against his leg. He quickly knelt to sneak in some pats before standing up with a straightened back, watching as Carter began to walk away from the office table.

“That’d be all, thank you Carter.” Scar concluded, casually saluting off the other man as he left, not without exchanging brief pleasantries with Grian. The captain sighed to himself from the exhaustion, though the expression quickly overturned once Grian came into his view, suddenly back to all smiles. 

“Grian, just who I expected!”

He nodded, walking further into the cabin to meet up with Scar. “Captain. I heard Will mentioned that we have important matters to discuss?”

“Something like that.” Scar confirmed, crossing his arms comfortably. “It’s been five days since we left for Havana and while there’s still no signs of that Man-o’-War, I have a feeling we’re close. So as bad as it sounds, you’ll need to be on high alert at any moment. You’re the only one who can identify her.”

“I see…then fine by me. Is that all you wanted to say?”

“Which brings me to my next point.” He clasped his arms together into a single clap. “I want you to be a part of the boarding team.”

Grian blinked, “...Excuse me?”

“Look- it’s been in my mind for a while now and I thought, ‘Man, it’s such a wasted potential to not have Grian join the attack on the other ship.’! And you can see it as a way to avenge your fallen comrades. Sweet, sweet revenge!”

It took Grian a few seconds to register all of that, sighing to himself. “I know I said I have a lot of experience under my belt, but this surely wasn’t one of them.”

“It’ll be the same as before, except you’re now fighting on someone else’s ship and you won’t surely be alone. I could even let you get the captain…?”

“You don’t have to try and persuade me any more… I’ll do it.” He confirmed, finding no issues in expanding his horizons further. Even in combat on larger ships and not the usual land. 

“ Thank you . Just so you know, Bill is also a part of the boarding team and the most experienced in combat, so I’d highly encourage you to train with him. with him when you got the time. Oh! And before I forget…”

Upon seeing Scar sifting through his coat, Grian said automatically. “Please don’t tell me you’ve got another thing for me…”

“Just a sec- you need this for the battle…aha!” 

Grian jumped back from shock when Scar practically aimed the pistol at him, recovering fast and trying his best to appear calm.  “Watch where you’re aiming!”

“Relax, why don’t you? And it’s unloaded anyways.” Scar reassured him. “I doubt you have any pistols on you, so here. I’ve got plenty already.”

“I appreciate it… but I’ll have to pass on this one.”

Scar tilted his head with his eyebrows raised in confusion. “Why not?”

If he could think of a perfect excuse, Grian would not have to hesitate informing Scar of it. But truthfully, there’s naught a way to weasel his way out of this, either admit the truth or just take the pistol and play pretend. The code of honour got to him first, leading Grian to start with a sigh and his hand nervously rubbing at his other arm.

“Well…I’ve never actually…you know?”

“...Do I know?”

He huffed out at the oblivious mimic. “I never learned how to use ‘em.”

“You what? ” Scar’s eyes widened, grabbing at Grian’s shoulders without warning as he stared straight into those dark reflections. “You’ve never used a flintlock before?”

“I don’t have to say it twice, now do I?”

Grian spent a good chunk of his life surviving just fine without those pistols anyways. Taking in the cost of buying the actual pistol, the gunpowder and the small bullets that were technically a downsized cannonball, he’d rather rely on his sword than waste time on those pistols. He was taught that drawing a sword would be faster, and thus never took the initiative.

Judging from Scar’s expression, some changes to his own thinking seemed like a must-have.

He should begin keeping track of how often Scar would manhandle him, once again physically dragging the smaller Grian by the arm and out of the cabin. At this point, he had gotten tired of questioning it. And on the bright side, Scar’s ‘manhandling’ is really far more gentle and kinder by taking his hand and not any higher.

Now, to see where this is going…

—

“Why do you have this. Where did you get this.” 

Scar laughed at Grian’s perplexed expression. “We stole it from a plantation! Soldiers used it to practise, so we had some to train our newbies. And that includes you!”

What his captain was referring to are the dummies made from a sack stuffed with straw and tied to a wooden pole. Scar propped up two of those on the larboard side of the ship as the other two stood in the opposite, all done on the quarterdeck where Carter blissfully ignored what’s behind him. Scar even prepared a table (actually an empty barrel) where he had prepared the essentials to loading and firing a flintlock pistol. Simply from seeing the many different and mostly miniscule items did Grian wish he hadn’t joined the boarding team. 

The only good thing out of this is the obliviousness of the crew. The lack of attention, most likely since everyone’s got something to do on this ship, doesn’t really discourage Grian from curiosity and wanting to try something new. 

“First, I’ll demonstrate it on my empty pistol first, then you’ll try next.” Scar told him. “Watch carefully!”

Grian nodded, leaning in closer by the barrel to watch Scar handling the pistol. “I’ll try my best.”

The first thing he grabbed was a bundle of paper though it looked like it contained something within, tied together with a piece of string. Scar nudged open the opening of the package, swiftly grabbing a small bullet and simply holding it between his fingers. The pistol had a noticeable compartment on the side where a smooth piece of flint resided in its hammer. Grian is aware that there’s where the gunpowder should go, in the compartment between the hammer and the L-shaped metal called the frizzen. 

Scar cautiously brought the package closer to the pan, sprinkling some gunpowder into the pan and closing it by bringing the frizzen down. “Right now, the gun is uncocked. Take out the bullet and pour some gunpowder in, but not too much! And then you can close it after that. You can pull back the hammer slightly and it’ll be in the half-cocked position. That means it still can’t be fired.”

The excess gunpowder was then poured into the barrel, alongside the bullet wrapped in the scrap of paper once all the gunpowder had been emptied. He then pulled out the rod jammer located under the barrel and used it as the name suggests, shoving all the items deep into the barrel.  “Add some in here, then wrap your bullet with the paper and shove it all in with your rod. But you need to make sure it’s deep in there, really really in there.”

“What happens if it’s not inside deep enough?”

“Then say goodbye to your hand…” He solemnly answered. 

Carrying on, he returned the rod jammer back to where it belonged and fully pulled back the hammer. “Now…it’s fully cocked.

“And lastly, aim at your target and fire! If this is your first time, keep in mind there will be a spark near your hand, but it’s nothing too bad!”

He aimed towards one of the dummies, his back towards Grian as he quickly pulled the trigger. True to his words, the flint struck the frizzen, causing the motion to burst the gunpowder in the chamber up into flames as well as shoot out the bullet. It struck directly on the dummy’s chest and left behind a small yet prominent burn. 

Cooly blowing off the smoke from the barrel, Scar turned to face Grian. “Ready to try on your own?”

“It’s not like I can back-out right now.” Grian gulped. “I’ll do my best…” 

Humming, Scar backed away from the makeshift shooting gallery, standing back by the railings to watch Grian’s attempt. Luckily for him, Grian caught on quickly simply from observation and understanding, though he slightly wavered when pouring down the gunpowder but eventually found the right middle ground to split the gunpowder. When it came to shoving the items into the barrel, he did so roughly. It seemed the fear of losing his hand was far greater than anything else in the seas. Scar himself had to stop him with a confirmation that the bullet and paper were deep enough in the barrel.

This should have been the easiest part. Drag back the hammer until it is locked in, and allow his fingers to rest on the trigger before aiming for any part of the body. Except he lacks the experience to know, to predict the minor err in calculation of his own vision and where the bullet may strike. Nor has he ever felt the recoil of the pistol and the temporary heat surrounding his hand after the pull. The longer he thought of these expectations, the further his mind was led astray by the fear of the future, both close and far to where he stood. And it plagued every corner of his mind till the pistol in his hand wobbled in his hold.

He hates the sound. He hated being hunted, or the one on the other side either. He hated how naturally it came for him , and how Grian could do nothing but run. Like the useless child he was.

Grian’s body tensed up on instinct from the sudden, unannounced skin-on-skin contact on his left shoulder. The voice that followed proved to him that the gesture was meant to assist him. Not to harm nor surprise him out of left field. 

“Easy…” Scar muttered, rubbing softly in a reassuring manner. “Relax, you’re too tense.”

The moment caught him off guard fairly easily, Grian struggled to come up with much of a witty response, letting out a strained noise from his throat. Scar’s hand removed itself from his shoulder, only to gently nudge under his arm as a non-verbal indicator to slightly raise it. That same hand then moved to hold his wrist from under, and Grian’s over here trying his best not to overthink it.

“Straight, just like that.” He said in a breathy voice as his hand slowly stroked downwards from his wrist to his forearm, stepping backwards and scooting himself to stand directly behind Grian. Throughout the time where Grian believed he did well in not betraying his reactions with his own change of face or voice, the sudden hand holding out to his waist certainly did. He squeaked out of surprise and found it much harder to concentrate than before.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be left unnoticed by Scar. “Sorry, just trying to help…Ah, your stance is perfect, see? All that’s left is to aim…”

Scar puppeteered his hand higher, his voice becoming softer only for Grian to hear. “Now…shall we go for the head?”

He whispered back, though Grian himself thought there was no way Scar would’ve heard him based on how low he went. “Yeah.”

He heaved a deep breath, the holding hand locked and ready to-

“Fire.”

The recoil and loud bang certainly had Grian jump from his position, though with Scar’s tightened hold he ensured the hand hadn’t moved from its original position, lest the bullet would be somewhere less admirable. To his own surprise, the remains of his bullet stood square nicely. Dead centre of the straw dummy’s faux head. Just what Scar intended.

Scar released and removed both hands from Grian, grinning widely at the result. “Atta boy, I’d say you are a natural at this!”

“Am I, though? You helped me once more, I’d rather not count it if that’s the case.”

“There’s no harm in helping, is there?” Scar asked, sincerity clear in his heart. “You seemed nervous, so I thought I could at least help you relax?”

“Help me relax…” Grian echoed those words rather dully, as if comprehending Scar’s words were harder than navigating in a thunderstorm at night.

“...Tell you what, why don’t you try again? I’ll just stand back and watch.”

“Didn’t have to tell me twice.” Grian muttered before restarting the steps back in his head. It surprised Scar how smoothly the second turn had gone, not a single hint of hesitation nor second guessing when pouring down the gunpowder into the pan and barrel. Once the hammer had been pulled back and the rod jammer returned to its position, Grian breathed out, raising his pistol back to the dummy.

In spite of his previous chiding, imagining Scar’s hands physically guiding his arm and stance helped him through his addled mind. He focused on what lacked on his first try, and re-insert himself into the vision of the pistol, his eyes sharpening onto the target.

BANG! The gunpowder was set ablaze by the flintlock and the bullet whizzed through the barrel. Though his aim had been off from when Scar assisted him, a new mark slightly lower at the chest appeared on the dummy. It was better than completely missing, he thought to himself.

“That was good, I mean it.” Scar told him, pointing to the pistol still in his hand. “You can take that, I’ve got plenty on me to survive. Just don’t forget to load and to only cock it back half when you’re done. Or don’t forget to fully pull it back when you want to shoot someone!”

“...I think I’ll get the hang of it.” Grian shrugged, keeping his pistol tucked into the holster on his belt. He faced the ruined dummies before speaking out his thoughts without having a moment to think of saying it. “How many have you got on you, by chance?”

“About four, I think?”

Surprising, yet not an uncommon answer at the same time. Grian once heard of a pirate that had the same amount as Scar’s but added two more. He wondered if carrying that many pistols made even walking a chore for these pirates or soldiers, he supposed it’s up to him to deduce it himself now.

“Other than shooting long distances, you can shoot someone in close-range for a quick sneak attack. But keep in mind you only got one shot, so better make it count.” Scar advised, walking towards the dummies to most likely store them back on his own.

“Just like what you did back in Kingston?” Grian questioned and followed him shortly to help. The sudden shot shocked Grian out of his skin, not to mention Scar’s accurate aim and fast reflexes caught anyone around off guard in an instant. “You shot him so quickly I thought his insides had just started exploding…”

He chuckled while nodding, collecting the dummies while the other carried the weights keeping its poles in place as a replacement of a ground of soil. “Many people have told me I’m far better with a pistol than my sword. It’s a shame I’d have to be talented as both to fit with my captain image, but alas.”

“Is it that bad of a thing? I personally think being so good with your pistol is far more praiseworthy than a sword.” Grian admitted honestly. Though this also comes from someone who lacked any experience in shooting in the first place.

He noticed Scar’s ears turning red, hidden with a smooth chuckle and wink to Grian. “I’m honoured you think so. Still, if anyone were to find out my sword skills are average at worst, we’d be painting clearer targets on our backs.”

“Ah, I see…”

“Either way, I think you might be better than me with the sword! You’re sure you didn’t train with the military.”

Grian chuckled to himself, “ Heavens, no. I hated how stuffy soldiers were, even those of my kin. They were too strict and I liked a little freedom more. But, I did learn before I started sailing. I think my first voyage was when I had just turned… 16?”

“That’s young .” Scar’s eyes widened. “I only learned how to pick it up at two decades old, and you’re right here being an advanced lad!”

‘ Because I was persistent.’ Grian left it unsaid, just a memory only he had access to. The stark difference in the younger man he was when he started to learn and who he had become now is a painful reminder, on how he’d sometimes wish he had chosen ignorance over the truth. Unfortunately, even his own heart couldn’t take it. He doesn’t dare blind his heart of justice with deception.

Scar doesn’t need to know all that. At least, it wasn’t the time.

He accompanied him to store away the dummies and weights into the storage, walking into the main deck and swinging past a couple of his crewmates on break. During this walk, Scar asked him, “Are you really okay with pistols, though? You don’t seem like you really enjoy using them, and you seem pretty jumpy whenever…”

“I’ll be fine.” Grian responded, fast and curtly. Yet leaving it at that had in turn made the atmosphere more awkward than he had assumed, adding on with a softer tone. “I mean it.”

“Well, if you say so…”

—

He can’t breathe.

He’s clawing at his throat, begging for the air to stay in his lungs. Trying to cry out yet no voice could be heard in the void. He’s somewhere, floating, nothing to grab on yet something is constantly pushing him forward. No matter how vigorously he struggled in the empty space, the longer it dragged on, the heavier it got.

And suddenly, air.

His feet landed softly on the ground. The refreshing smell of grass invaded his senses, the lulling waves of the sea followed thereafter. Not a single sunlight shone down for it was dark, darker than the level of the ocean that awaited beyond human reach. He had to go somewhere. Anywhere but here. But with no map nor a guide to heaven, he knew nowhere to run.

There was a man, trailing him. He knew because of the anger in his face, his fingers turning red as he gripped tightly on the musket, staring down at him crossed. That’s when he realised there was no destination, but a goal. He had to escape from that man. And though his bare feet ached and left tinier pebbles lodged into his skin, and how loudly his own heartbeat pumped in his chest, he had to get away.

He ran. Past the tall grass that’s a double-edged sword. He was panting yet did nothing to stop nor slow down his desperate attempt. A violent gun shot rang out, barely missing his feet as well as chest when he tripped. He does not dare to look back.

Curiosity got the better of him.

The man chased after him.

Closer, closer. 

He heard the pull of the trigger.

There’s nowhere to go.

HE’S GETTING CLOSER-

Grian gasped loudly for air as his body lunged forward, the sudden jump swinging his hammock until it swung over and knocked him off. He landed ungracefully, partly on the side of his bum and his stinging elbow. Grian winced in pain, expressing it vocally with a strained voice. “Ow ow ow…! Shit…”

“Keep it down, will yer…” His head turned up, realising it came from his unconscious crewmate, his own words slurred and almost illegible. “Kids these days…”

He promptly chose to ignore that. Hissing uncomfortably, he tried to get up on his feet while still rubbing away on the elbow. It wouldn’t be another day in the life of Sailor Grian if not for those recurring dreams whenever he happened to board on a new ship. This time however, they seem to spawn at the worst time, alongside a clear trigger of it prior to him retiring for the night.

Groaning, he tucked away the hammock, located his personal items and silently crept out from the sleeping quarters.

—

He needs to clear his head. 

There were a few selected men doing their worth of their night shifts, which makes privacy a luxury on the emptier sides or areas. There’s another spot, however, that grants such a thing for better. It was also a spot many liked to avoid the hassle of going and provides a comforting view in his humble opinion.

Grian skillfully climbed up on the main mast where the top for viewing is held up with protective railings. Upon reaching the platform, he recognized the man keeping watch over the ship and the seas, his eyes focused though his eyelids were getting heavier by the second.

He cleared his throat to make his presence known, “Waylon, is that you? When does your shift finish?”

“Evening to you too.” Waylon greeted, chuckling to himself. “Aye, it should’ve been over in a few minutes but my bud Jason here seems to be late. I reckon he may have nabbed himself a drink or two under the captain ‘imself. We both know he’s the blackout kind.”

“Unfortunate, but I can replace you if you’d like. Not like I can sleep anyways.”

Having heard those words, Waylon immediately stood up from his comfortable position, patting Grian on his back. “Remind me to treat you once we’re back on land, aye? Have fun with your lookout!”

“The sentiment is mutual. Have a good night, Waylon.”

Grian counted down the seconds it took for Waylon to reach the ground, before quickly sinking into where the man sat, pulling his legs in to sit cross-legged. He released a pent-up sigh, rubbing at his face in a mixture of frustration and mental exhaustion. And unfortunately for him, never has there been a night of peace whenever he joins a new crew and captain.

The same events would play out, of the man out for his blood and the gunshot of his deadly musket. This time, the only key difference in his recent nightmare was of the first sequence of him, floating…somewhere. Grian believed it might have something to do with how he had been found.

Seeing those dreams each night reminds Grian of his own vulnerability. In an occupation where men are expected to be at their best for anything, any show of weakness would surely brand him different. He’d very much prefer anything else than to meet those sorts of people, to be ridiculed once more and for the cycle to repeat.

“...It’s always like this…”

“Mrrow.”

Grian’s head turned back to the impossible sound he heard within a close proximity, only to realise said sound is possible as Jellie the cat came from behind him, her large eyes staring back at Grian.

“...How? How did you get up here??” Grian asked, exasperated. “Did Waylon bring you? I don’t know what Scar would say if he finds you up here…”

Jellie didn’t respond, instead sauntering towards Grian before rubbing her head against his arm. Sighing in submission, he picked her up and placed her on his lap. Jellie didn’t seem to mind, already claiming property over his lap and looking snugly while at it. At least one of them seems to be enjoying themselves.

Even Grian himself is susceptible to the irresistible charm of a lovely cat. “Did you know I’d be here?”

“ Meow.”  

“...I guess that’s not for me to know.”

He hasn’t been up to this crow’s nest before. It has been a while since he climbed the masts since then, the proper memories he had of doing so being on his first sailing crew and voyage. Grian certainly liked it for the view, and though the captain's love to remind their men to not dilly dally in their work or in their heads, the top was where Grian could find peace in his mind after a long, hectic day. That extended to becoming his go-to area to recollect his thoughts after a nightmare.

He gently patted Jellie, the softness and natural body heat emanating from her fur would be more than enough to keep him warm on a cold night out at sea. Having a cat on board brought out even more old memories as it resurfaced in his mind, like his love for animals. Such as the time his family had once made a small dovecote by their backyard, and the young lad would sneak out of the house at night and peer into the pigeonholes. He would watch in awe of the family of doves that found its temporary rest in their small house. That specific memory was of the few that lacked its bittersweet taste.

Never had he ever dreamed of some odd fantasy or anything nonsensical, unless him clinging onto the past is nonsense itself. There were times Grian wished he wouldn’t even dream in his sleep. Recurring visions of old memories would not do any good for his sanity, though he believed he’s still doing better than the other poor chaps that go mad from either the physical isolation or near-death experiences.

Those dreams may be the reason why he turned out like this, an anxious wreck more trusting of his gut feeling than what’s actually seen and constantly needing to watch his back. His survival up to this point may be credited to that paranoia, but how much longer could he live like this? Always under the pressure where he needs to run, and live his life forever away from land until he’ll eventually draw his final breath. 

It’s tiring.

Grian audibly yawned. Physically, he’s quite exhausted yet his mind refuses to rest, not after that sudden wake-up. He peered down onto Jellie, still as peaceful and awake on laps. The most he could do as of now is to tire himself.

“Hey, do you mind if I sing?”

—

All his life, Scar had been a heavy sleeper, undeterred by anything that would happen outside whether it’d be by noise or the motion of the ship.

And yet he found himself waking up in the middle of the night. Though not due to any outward force that could forcibly pull him out of dreamland. It simply came out of the blue, confusing the sleepy man as he squinted in the almost-darkness. Then came the realisation that his bed felt emptier than usual.

“Jellie..?” He called out, pushing himself off from lying on his back to sitting on his bed and with both feet on the wooden floor. Usually, she would come over when Scar calls her name, or even so she would make her presence in the room known with her own response. But the familiar blend of colours did not make any appearance. Same goes for her loud meowing. Scar doesn’t think she’s even in the room, noticing the door to his cabin open slightly ajar.

He put on his boots, his weight creaking the floorboards as he exited his cabin. His crew paid him no mind as they continued their own work. Scar scanned around the main deck for her possible location, scouring around in case she was in the mood for hide and seek. And then he heard it.

The most sound you’ll ever get during a night shift is the creaking of wood from any part of the ship, including the howling winds during rougher weathers and seasons. But ever so faintly, in the silence had been a gentle and melodic voice, so near yet so far. The person was singing but no coherent words actually left his mouth, vocalising and humming to be accurate. Scar could tell none of his crew even had their mouths opened. And that left only one possibility.

Scar backed himself off from the middle of the deck where he previously stood whilst looking up to the masts, eventually spotting what he had expected to see. Though the nest would be hard to look from below due to the protective railings, Scar could vaguely see a figure sitting up there, and everyone else on the decks made not a single squeak. With no hesitation, Scar began climbing up the main mast.

Be it a voice he had only heard for less than a week, no one else within his crewmates had the natural ability to sing, but Grian does.

He reached the top of the main mast, his gaze only meeting the large pole located in the centre on the circular platform. But he knew it was the right place as the singing had gotten louder while climbing up, and clearer as he approached the figure from the right side from the opening of railings.

It’s a shame his own loud footsteps interrupted Grian, the man pausing and his shoulders tensing up almost immediately. Even Jellie turned her head due to the interruption. Scar quickly apologised and made his presence known to both Grian and his cat. “Sorry, it’s me…”

Grian was quick to sigh, craning his head to peer back at the source. “I thought so- oh my God.”

His eyes widened, followed by a look that could only be described as a combination of flustered and annoyance, as well as his face turning redder than the basic uniform of a British soldier. Scar returned the response with a stare of confusion, before looking down on himself to see what could possibly have drawn that out as a response. 

Oh yeah, he’s shirtless.

“For God’s sake would you please put on a shirt!?”

“But I just got here!” Scar complained back. “Do you know how hot it gets during the day? My shirt would get all gross and sweaty and I definitely don’t want to sleep-”

“Alright, alright! Too much information!”

With impeccable timing, Jellie let out a sound, as if to inform Scar she had been here the whole time and using Grian as her own personal cushion. He sighed to himself, “ There you are, and I thought you slipped out because you were hungry… She seems to really like you!”

“Oh, right. I… honestly have no idea how she got up here.”

“That’s normal.” Scar grinned. “She’s an adventurous one, and not much of a coward when it comes to heights. And no need to worry, she can climb down herself.”

“...I’m not gonna question how.” He said, continuing to spoil Jellie with more head pats.

“So…mind if I join you?”

“I don’t see why not…”

Scar lowered himself to sit beside Grian, making sure there’s a small gap between their shoulders at varied heights. The cool breeze made Scar slightly shiver as it made contact with his bare skin and he crossed his arms to somewhat combat the cold. The action did not go unnoticed by Grian, scoffing at Scar with an unspoken ‘I told you so.’. 

“What did I say, hm?”

“I’ll be fine, not as cold as swimming…” He muttered, trying his best to show how not-cold it is.

Unfortunately, Grian doesn’t seem to buy it, smirking knowingly yet also offering a pitying look. “If you want, I can pass Jellie back to you? She’s pretty warm, cuddly, really soft…”

“If you think you could tempt me with my own cat…”

“ Mrrow.”

“...Then it’s working.” Scar sighed, admitting defeat with his arms outstretched. Damn his softness for cats, and Jellie’s literal softness.

Grian’s giggling was not a sound he expected to hear, but also brought out a familiar comfort, maybe strong enough to even warm his own heart with it. 

He carefully scooped her into his arms before handing her over to Scar. “Alright girl, back to papa now…”

Though it slightly tickled to hug Jellie directly to his chest, it provided enough warmth to have Scar sigh in relief. With Jellie off his lap, Grian uncrossed his legs and let it semi-dangle over the edge as he stared off into the ocean below. From his face to his relaxed stance, he seemed to be in peace and resting well on the top, provided with a beautiful night view of the ocean under the moonlight.

On the other hand, after returning Jellie to Scar, he noticed his hands had the opposite in mind. Fidgeting and not staying still anywhere on his lap, a sign Scar had long noticed his seaman had something in mind. But he feared that being too direct would instead cause him to close up even more. 

Scar approached it with a simple question. “How come you’re up here this late? And I’m pretty sure you have no night shifts right now…”

“...Just couldn’t sleep.” He answered simply, but his gaze was not on the sea anymore. Those dark eyes peered into something , but not of anything physical, and he doubted Grian was aware of the subtle change. It’s funny how Scar managed to pick up his subconscious acts in such a short time, maybe if he hadn’t cared so much for the wellbeing of his newest recruit. 

That was why he’s this worried…right?

“I can tell, you seemed tired.” Scar started, lowering his voice than his usual volume. “Is…anything bothering you?”

Grian stayed silent, though his eyes darted from nothingness to his hands, as if to contemplate the question imposed on him. “Would it be helpful if you knew?”

“...Well, can’t exactly say I can help you, and I’m not going to force you to tell me what’s wrong…” Scar trailed off before jumping into another question. “Scratch that- where are you from?”

He almost thought another question would be left in an awkward silence. Thankfully, that hadn’t happened. “...Bristol, and you?”

“Born and raised in the Colonies. You could probably tell with my thing against British soldiers…no offence.” 

“None taken, but I didn’t know you from there…Why did you start sailing then? You might be the only American pirate captain I’ve ever come across.”

“To be honest, it didn’t start that way.” Scar recounted everything with a satisfied smile. “I was just a carpenter following my old man’s footsteps. But I knew I wanted more. Of course, I do genuinely enjoy helping my father with work, but I always wanted to travel more. So I got into building ships, and started my own pirate crew! Partly to spite the British, but also adventure!”

“The Flying Jellie was built by you…?”

Scar sheepishly chuckled, “Actually… the original one sank. I claimed this one illegally alongside some other sailors. And with my smooth-talking skills and charisma, I managed to convince them to make me captain!”

“When you put it like that, I’m not sure if that’s meant to be reassuring…” Grian muttered to himself.

“I’ll have you know that was years ago and I’m more competent than you’re led to believe! I was eager to learn everything I could about sailing, which brings us here today. And honestly, there were times where I would imagine my life if I hadn't gone down this path, and if living on land would still make me happy…But looking back now, I have no regrets. I love sailing with my crew and singing shanties with them while we get our own personal revenge on naval fleets. I like being free…”

Scar continued, holding Jellie closer. “As a young boy, I loved hearing the stories about mythical creatures and legends, so much I think I might have actually believed them! And a part of me sailing is also in a way helping me debunk these myths or discover the truth behind it…Does it sound childish to you?”

Grian’s eyes widened, shaking his head profusely. “Not at all! I-I was like you, believing that they’re real.”

“You too, huh?”

“...You’d think parents would tell their children not to believe in those high tales… But my mom used to encourage it.” His eyes softened upon thinking of her, a small smile peeking out. “Sometimes, she seemed so happy to see me believing in those stories…And every night, she’ll read me some tales before bed. Of fairies both benevolent and cruel, of sea creatures that lurked the deepest parts of the sea, and also of magical lands hidden in plain sight in the Caribbean.”

“Hah, then it’s good to know I wasn’t the only one.” Scar softly chuckled to himself.

“...Do you still believe in them, by chance?”

“Can’t exactly keep my hopes up… but I’m willing to take my chances.”

“...I’m glad you think so.”

The topic at hand somehow derailed that far, but it almost turned out for the best. It was hard to believe this same man once believed in fantastical creatures, just like Scar when he was just a small boy with big dreams. He took a quick glance at Grian, before realising his lips were curved upwards into a tender smile as his eyes stared over the sea brighter than before. 

He’s dressed like any sailor would, maybe a bit too clean for some, but nonetheless nothing stood out about plain, old Grian. But in the night sky, it felt like the stars all shone brighter than before for him, like the seas had been tamed by his watchful gaze and presence. When he was at peace, the waves followed. And when he chose to smile genuinely, it’s almost as if the moon itself agreed, illuminating the ocean and their surroundings. 

Up to this point, Grian was just a sailor who quite literally suddenly surfaced into Scar’s life. And now… he’s not just that. 

He was caught off guard when Grian suddenly turned to face him, and actually maintained proper eye contact with him. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.”

Grian inhaled deeply before proceeding, looking down to his hands once more. “...Anytime I boarded onto a new ship, I’d have these…nightmares. Every single time. Of course, it’s not like I’d have them every day, but when it’s the same things I’d see in every dream… It gets kinda concerning. Messes with your head too.”

“I didn’t know you were going through that…”

“And I don’t acknowledge it either, but yes, that’s the actual reason why I can’t sleep.” Grian pulled his legs up together with his knees tucked in, resting his head on it whilst hugging the rest of his legs. “I also maybe lied about the pistol, I do get a bit bothered by it.”

Scar stared at Grian in disbelief, “If you had told me, I wouldn’t have forced you to learn.”

“It’s fine, if I don’t get over it soon…then I don’t deserve to be called a pirate, isn’t that right? I can’t exactly say why I’m so stressed with it, but I had a past experience with it. And it wasn’t a pleasant one either. But overall, I’m just nervous.

“Is this about the Man-o’-War?”

He nodded. “I guess…everything’s happening so fast? I’ve never thought of fighting properly during a boarding, never imagined myself learning how to shoot and then suddenly that stupid nightmare came back… I think there’s still a part of me that still can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Hearing Grian confessed everything pained Scar more than intended, so much that this was all he could only think of doing in the moment. 

“Sorry, can I…?” He cleared his throat, opening his arms up towards Grian’s direction. He stared at him blankly, realising much later what he meant with a silent ‘Oh’. 

Nodding, Grian scooted closer, shifting his body and legs in order to easily slot himself into Scar’s arms. He simply plopped on his chest and let Scar fully envelop him in a not-too-tight but firm hug. It’s… a bit awkward stance-wise. They were both cross-legged as Jellie still sat comfortably between Scar’s legs which forced them both to stretch their backs to reach.

Nevertheless, the thought mattered most.

Scar quickly released him to save their backs from breaking early, and heard Grian softly laugh. “For a pirate captain, you’re softer than I thought…”

“Hah, doesn’t fit my image right? But I can’t help it, I was just born like that.”

Grian scoffed as they both slipped back to their original positions, in his heart feeling much more content than before. The comfortable silence they had slipped into briefly was interrupted with a timely yawn. “Well, all that talking got me sleepy.”

Scar chuckled, “Then I’d say we better head back to our-”

Plop. Scar stopped himself upon sensing a mop of hair on his shoulder. Grian was leaning on his shoulder. His bare shoulder.

“I like the view here, though…” His words slurred, sounding more incoherent the longer time went on. “And comfy…But thanks for listening…”

“Uh- Grian? I think we should…”

‘Too late.’ Scar discerned. The man on his shoulder barely made a sound, save for his heavy breathing that sounded quite close to snoring. Man, he must’ve been really tired.

It’s yet for the sun to rise up, leaving Scar with no choice but to continue his own rest here. Not that he minded the peaceful Grian on his shoulder and lovely Jellie on his lap, most likely also ready to doze off with his sailor. With a sigh, he admitted defeat. “Guess I’ll just have to stay here…”

—

Grian woke up to a chorus of screams.

It startled him awake from his deep sleep as he looked around warily before realising he hadn’t moved from the top of the main mast. But they weren’t screaming out of terror or the usual reason being that they were attacked. Rubbing at his eyes (and realising Scar and Jellie were both missing), he peered down from the bottom to see the commotion.

Many men braced all over the deck, many holding different things at once while a selected few shouted orders towards said men. The scene reminded him of the commotion at a town port or the last time he worked on a merchant vessel where they had to constantly keep check and make sure the stocks were dry. But simply watching did not provide any context on what went on.

To his relief, he spotted Scar among the men, thankfully fully clothed from head to toe though he too spotted a similar sense of urgency like his men. As if feeling his gaze from a mile away, the captain looked up and immediately noticed Grian staring down at him. 

His face shifted into worry, “Grian, you’re awake!”

“Captain? What’s going on!?”

“Look ahead, starboard side!”

‘ Starboard… ’ Grian got onto his feet, staring over the direction where Scar had directed him to. His eyes widened in an instant, and his heart began to pump faster than ever before. Out of adrenaline, or perhaps fear, Grian could say it’s a mix of both.

But he damn sure recognises the flags waving across the distance, belonging to that of the mysterious Man-o’-War of that stormy night.

Chapter Text

Five minutes, the time it took for Grian to race downwards towards the main deck and equip himself with the two weapons he could only rely on from then on. The deck had been busier and dense as other soldiers rushed everywhere in the midst of urgent yet controlled panic. He managed to spot Scar just by the door of the Captain’s cabin in a discussion with Bill, the latter carrying a pair of cutlasses on each side and had a chest holster on holding multiple pistols. Scar dressed similarly with the amount of pistols and swords he had on him.

Grian rushed towards them and his presence was noticed by Scar. “Grian! Is that ship really…?”

He nodded whilst catching his breath, staring ahead in the distance of the ship. “It is. The hull and the figurehead, it’s the same one that night.”

“Then our intel turned out right.” Bill commented, facing towards Scar. “Do we start with negotiations?”

Methodically, any pirate ship would go for negotiations first when plundering any other ships so as not to waste their resources nor shed unnecessary blood. By right, that should be the step taken by the Flying Jellie. Scar crossed his arms as he thought through Grian’s own accounts. “We usually do that… but why not give them a taste of their own medicine?”

“You mean-”

“I say we just strike!” Grian cut him off with a pissed off look. “It’s not like they tried to negotiate with us either that night! Came out of nowhere and started boarding the ship just to kill off almost everyone! When I get my hands on them…!”

“...You heard the little man!” Scar exclaimed, patting Bill on his back. “I trust you’ll know what to do?”

“Of course.” Bill turned towards Grian, staring down at him with a stoic look. “Captain mentioned it’s your first time on the boarding team, innit?”

He nodded. “Never fought an opposing crew as a job before. What’s there to expect?”

“Gather the men after negotiations are done. In this case, we’d kill as many until they surrendered. Captains are always captured, we need this one for information anyways. And remember you’re on the high ground, so try not to be cruel and kill a poor man after they’ve surrendered.”

“Understood. Captain, you promised, right?”

Scar grinned with his arms raised. “Captain’s all yours. So long as you don’t kill him or anything.”

“ Oh, I’ll be sure he regretted what he did.”

He saw Carter approach from the stairs, calling for Scar from the edge by the quarterdeck. “Captain, all cannons are loaded and ready to be fired. Do you want me to take the helm?”

“Do your greatest job, Carter! But first, all of you come with me.” He looked at both Grian and Bill as well. “To the quarterdeck!”

Grian followed behind the both of them as they joined Carter by the helm, the latter himself sporting a serious yet anticipating look. Scar stood close to starboard, reaching into his coat to pull out a spyglass (He had those in there?), viewing through it and pointing to the Man-o’-War.

After a brief silence, Scar whistled. “Definitely a Man-o’-War…And no uniforms, so they’re definitely not part of the navy…”

“But there’s never been a pirate crew that has managed to sail with a ship like her. The largest we have gotten was with a frigate.” Bill pointed out. 

“And not exactly a great choice if you ask me.” Carter commented. “Plenty of cannons, sure. But good luck trying to sail off with all that cargo weighing her down.”

The hull itself had three rows worth of gunports and not a single cannon missing in the holes, the wooden structures painted in a dark blue with barely any hints of scrapes or damage, as if the vessel had just been repaired or newly-built. Oddly enough, the ship had their sails rolled up and it seemed as if they’re anchored though they weren’t sure of the reason. The flag waving on the main mast doesn’t appear to belong to any of the royal navies either.

Grian muttered to himself, “She’s twice the size of the Flying Jellie… ”

“But look, she’s anchored.” Carter pointed out. “And despite whatever it is they’re doing…”

“We’ll have the element of surprise.”

Scar finished his sentence for him, lowering his spyglass though his eyes stayed trained on the ship. “The weakest parts of the ship are the stern and bow. As long as we’re able to deal enough damage to those parts, especially the rudder, we should be able to board without getting too damaged.”

“Counted six platforms on each masts just now, looks like they got their own fair share of snipers.” Bill added. “It’ll be tough, but as she fires the cannons and circles around the other, my team can take them out.”

The captain’s eyes lit up, smirking to himself as he passed the spyglass to Carter. Something in him must’ve sparked in excitement upon the mention of snipers. And it would be something Grian will eventually find out very, very soon. 

He watched Scar march by the helm, his boot firm on the ground and his fist up in the air, exclaiming a delivering words of passion that embodied the true charisma and unmatched strength of the names of the deadly pirates. Grian stood by the sidelines, perfectly sandwiched between his direct superior Bill and the other expert navigator Carter. They watched on. 

“Business as usual for us men of the sea! Never forget that this may be your final draw of breath, so fight on and you may live to see another day with your new riches! We finally have that Man-o’-War on sight so don’t you dare let this opportunity go! Ready boys!?”

As always, everyone reacted positively with loud cheers coming straight from the bottom of their lungs, even from the two men beside Grian. He found it awkward to be the one man not joining in on the vocalisation, so he instead just clapped in his place. Scar turned back to the three of them and quickly dished out the orders. “Carter, I’ll leave the helm to you. Bill, Grian, to the masts!”

The other merry men got back to their designated spots except for Carter. By the foremast and main they prepared to deal with the sails per captain’s order, while a lot of the other men stood ready by the gunports alongside their many supplies of cannons and gunpowder. Grian’s experience with the latter job had never been the best though in situations like these turn out the most important, enough so to perhaps change the entire course of a naval battle.

Moving along, he tagged behind Bill and Scar atop the mast. It felt odd to be back here after the previous night, a large contrast in what was self-admittedly a tender moment between them. If not for whatever they talked about, Grian wouldn’t have looked forward much to this day, or perhaps resulted in him regretting his choices once more.

But as Scar had wanted, Grian decided to finally put that trust in, even if it’s minimal.

Before Grian could climb up, Bill stopped him forcibly by grabbing at his shoulder. “Not so fast, carry this up.” 

A musket, like the proper ones carried by soldiers, was handed to him. “Wait-we had this the whole time?”

“Of course, it’s just you who hasn’t noticed, rookie.” Bill chuckled, already on the way up as he wore the musket on his back. “Pull your own weight!

He haphazardly slipped the musket onto his back and quickly caught up to Bill, managing to arrive around the same time with all the load he had. Upon reaching the top, he took the opportunity to look ahead over the deck and where Carter had begun steering the helm towards the ship. Their ship sailed steadily towards the Man-o’-War and headed towards the stern of the ship. 

His own heart began to race faster the closer they were to their enemy vessel. There had been the added hope that the Man-o’-War would be so big they barely noticed the smaller-in-comparison brig to carefully manoeuvre behind for a steady attack. But Grian knew worrying over anything not of his capacity was needless distractions, and right now he needed to prepare for his toughest job yet, if that’s the appropriate to call it.

He honestly expected it would just be him and Bill taking down their counterparts on the Man-o’-War, so imagine his surprise when Scar not only came up with them, but literally zipped himself up with the help of the lifts by the masts. He had one hand on the rope carrying him up, and in the other a box of extra bullets and gunpowder.

Grian let out a surprise yelp, stumbling back until he fell on his own bum, though managed to ignore the pain for him to exclaim, “ Why!?”

Bill laughed at his response while also not batting an eye towards the magical appearance of Scar. The latter also took it upon himself to answer his rhetorical question with a chipper beat. “Haven’t I told you I’m better with pistols? My very own forte!”

“He’s quite proud of it.” Bill agreed. “Didn’t yer’ mention it’s ‘cause yer’ used to go huntin’ with yer’ old man?”

“I did, didn’t I? Though shooting at animals is way more different than shooting humans, I think I see it though.”

“Aye. I’d say God has blessed you with such talent way before you were born.”

How they could still hold a meaningless conversation before the real deal, Grian doesn’t know how. Though their nonchalant calmness about it made the ordeal less threatening than it should have been. 

“Oh right! Since you kinda just learned how to shoot like yesterday, you’ll just help us load our pistols back after shooting. You’re fine with that, right?” Scar asked Grian as he placed down the crate by the pole.

“Ah, sure. The steps are still the same, right?”

He nodded, “We have three muskets with us. All you’d have to do is reload, the amount of gunpowder needed will still be the same. Only this time you’ll have to jam the bullet a bit deeper inside the barrel!”

Grian responded with a hum, turning his sight to the ocean to watch the closing distance between the two ships. Everyone on the Flying Jellie had their eyes on the opposite ship with bated breaths upon reaching the closest proximity both ships could get into without alerting the larger vessel. Carter turned the ship to curve by the stern, so that her broadsides may align with the Man-o’-War’s stern, slowly yet carefully as they could in spite of the stubborn winds. 

No one dared to mutter a word nor emit a single sound, but the creaking wooden structures and distant cries of gulls from the skies. The silence dulled his senses yet his eyes were almost hypnotised to only look at the stern. Not even to blink did he ever stop staring.

“FIRE!”

Captain Scar commanded, and the synchronised booms from the cannons released the array of giant bullets, landing a direct hit towards different sections of the stern perfectly. Grian found himself cheering alongside the crew at their successful attempt though their victory had only been a short celebration. As their vessel had initiated the attack, no doubt wavered in the air for Man-o’-War to accept the threat as the larger party. And in the battle against size and power, their counters would be in the form of speed and defence.

“Get to loading! Commands of fire are now under Carter until I say otherwise!” His captain gave the final order before getting to work. Him and Bill each brought out their muskets, pulling back the hammer to its full capacity. He turned to Grian with a firm yet crazed grin. “Ready, Grian?”

A part of him had still been dazed from the adrenaline of the starting war, but his response remained as enthusiastic as the other men longer in service than him. “Ready, captain!”

“Good.” Upon confirmation, his arms were lifted higher as he and Bill watched on from the top of the main mast. It felt a bit lame to simply stand by for the first few waves of attacks behind both his captain and superior officer, though Grian reminded himself that his turn shall come out much later should they succeed. And in the meantime, he shall double this opportunity to truly understand what Bill meant in Scar’s showcase of skill.

Watching closely, Grian could spot the opposing men on the larger vessel scrambling in panic, saw the men divided by mast attempting to unfurl their sails as quickly as possible before their next attack hit. The snipers by the tops as well took quick notice of their counterparts. Even without the captain’s signal, they all cocked back the hammers of their muskets, just as they.

However, the advantage they were given proved to be far too remarkable.

One man, standing on their top directly opposite towards Grian’s, had just been in the middle of cocking before a fast direct hit to his head rendered him dead. The man delivering the kill had been none other than the captain himself.

He quickly passed the emptied musket back to Grian while the latter handed him the extra weapon. “Be quick, yeah!?”

Grian nodded while hastily trying to reload the gun as quickly as he possibly could without getting the anxiety to him. Bill too had given his shot as Grian had managed to glance briefly, and while it did land it wasn’t as accurate as Scar’s, though lethal enough to keep him incapacitated. Immediately after, Scar shot at another sniper from the foremast, and another perfect hit straight on the forehead. Not to mention the large sharp turn the Flying Jellie to their opponent’s starboard side that destabilised any crew’s movements. 

And somehow, Scar was able to keep afoot and aim perfectly at the same time while in motion. Such skill Grian could even consider as inhuman, only for this perfectly human captain to do so with ease. Wherever that trust metre had been placed among the lower ranks, Scar’s sharp shooting had managed to boost it up in an instant.

‘ Well… I think we might be able to win this!’

Grian barely managed to finish on time the first reload and passed it to Bill, accepting while muttering a fairly reasonable complaint. “What’s the point, you aim faster than the rate that kid’s going…”

“I can’t help it!” Scar laughed whilst grabbing his own pinch of gunpowder to assist Grian in reloading the muskets. “You’re doing pretty great so far too!”

“Quit yer’ buddying and just keep shooting!”

Carter yelled out another “FIRE!”, this time striking the double-sized hull of the Man-o’-War. While on the surface it seemed as if the cannons barely did any damage, its first layer had been splintered by the attack, and no doubt the men within the deck would have gotten a good scare from those. Grian slightly wavered upon seeing them finally have their sails raised and ready to sail but quickly brought his focus back towards the snipers.

From then on it had almost been a rinse and repeat for them. While he is by no means dismissing Bill’s own hard work, a good chunk of the kills had been Scar’s and his terrifying accuracy, and Scar himself finished it off with their so-called last-minute ‘stand’, which consisted of just one man climbing up to replace the corpses of the snipers. 

“And…that’s all!” Scar chuckled, his shoulders relaxing from all the shooting. “Good to still have it in me! Man , I still have to polish up my-”

“BRACE YOURSELVES!”

The unknown voice screeched loud enough for anyone to hear, though unfortunate for Grian who hadn’t paid attention to the latter half of the main battle. Just as the Flying Jellie began to sail for the aft of the opponent ship, the latter dished out a row of cannons and barely hit the ship as it was sailing from its crosshairs. The difference in size meant the balls could reach high enough to land onto the main deck itself. Everyone that had paid attention all ducked down to avoid receiving an early death sentence. 

Except for Grian. 

The landed hits forcefully rocked the ship to its other side. Both Bill and Scar reacted upon instinct to brace themselves, but upon noticing Grian’s widened eyes for a split second, the captain managed to react faster within the timeframe. He grabbed Grian by the waist post haste and narrowly avoided the rookie’s death by falling over the railings, holding him tightly enough to his own body. When the ship regained its stability, Scar asked him concernedly while still refusing to let go. “Are you hurt?”

His ears flushed red from the sudden physical contact. Still, he doesn’t forget to respond to his captain. “I’m- I’m fine, thanks for that. Can you let go now?”

“Oh, sorry!” 

Scar quickly apologised and allowed Grian to be back on his two feet without any support. Grian glanced over to the main deck to assess the situation. And thankfully enough, everyone seemed to survive mostly unscathed, enough so that a surrender is still far from their many options. But the astounding attack from the opposite vessel managed to shake up theirs so badly it made him wonder if they’d survive the next one. Grian turned to the both men, eyebrows knitted in worry. “That was a devastating one, can she really take on more?”

“Easy with the worrying!” Bill exclaimed, “We’ve gotten strong hull reinforcements for her long before you came. She’ll take it like a champ!”

Grian heard Carter order for the Flying Jellie to sail full speed ahead, presumably so that they may reach the bow and larboard side of the hull on time. 

“Even when no one’s by the crow’s nest, there’s still far too many men down there.” Scar pointed out while joining Grian’s side, his sights set on the opponent’s main deck. “Bill and I could just take them out one by one, but…”

“It’d be tough, especially with the bigger battle.” Grian finished Scar’s sentence for him, though his voice softened and trailed off as his eyes followed Scar’s line of sight, coming across something that led to an interesting thought. “But wait…”

“Why? What do you see?”

His eyes widened, and in the split second in his mind Grian had decided saying so to prove his point would take time, he grabbed for the spare and fully loaded musket and immediately took aim.

Bill made a noise of protest, marching close to Grian. “What do you think you’re doing rookie-”

BANG!

The first sound came from his own musket, the rapid reaction between the flint and gunpowder pushing the bullet far into the air where it shot its target. And no one, not even Grian himself, expected a second follow-up almost immediately. The bang much louder and deadlier, and the explosion that followed easily blew away the surrounding soldiers, some immediately dead upon hitting the ground. All that’s left of the aftermath were stray corpses and fires.

“...Holy shit…” Bill scrambled towards the railings as his mouth stayed wide open. “Just what on earth did you shoot!?”

“There were crates of- of gunpowder so I thought- yeah?” Grian fumbled over his words, deciding to scratch over whatever he wanted to say with hopes they understood his point. “God, it’d be embarrassing if I had missed…”

His captain beamed at him and felt a hand on his shoulder, Scar’s,  squeezed tightly in a way to show his proudness over the dramatic act. “That was amazing ! Bill, business as usual. Use that extra musket as your own, Grian. You’re getting better at this!”

‘ A compliment!’ “Ah, thanks…” Grian sputtered out as his eyes pried away from watching Scar’s delighted expression before intently reloading his musket before attempting another shot. He had always been sweaty since climbing up the masts, but perhaps the weather had started getting to him with how heaty his own face had turned.

That had been the fundamentals of getting a ship to surrender after all, kill or maim just enough for the captain and men to give up out of fear lest they pay the consequences. And the surest strategy most vessels would use is to attack the hull enough to incapacitate the seamen located within the deck. The only downside out of it was the time constraints.

Grian entertained the very same rules, except they would simply take out enough men on the deck, perhaps enough so to drive out more men from within the ship out of their little hiding spots like infested rats. And once they do…

Time to play rat hunters.

The unconventional method proved to work like a charm in spite of the flaming surface of the ship depending on where the gunpowders were located. As Scar shot his final bullet, he shouted from the top of his lungs over the exhausted yet determined men of his command. “Orders are back on me, excellent work Carter! and the rest of you boys, prepare to board the ship!”

“AYE-AYE, CAPTAIN!”

On the crow’s nest, Grian could feel himself inserting himself into the role of a pirate, more so when Scar was there by his side. When Scar had announced it was time, an innate thirst to get back on the ones that killed his previous crew awoke in him. Most would assume  Grian’s excitement of blowing up the crates and waiting to board on the Man-O’-War to get revenge. Even Scar himself, the man that gave him this opportunity in the first place.

They’re right, yet wrong at the same time.

Indeed, revenge would be the right word. But Grian wasn’t seeking vengeance for his fallen captain and crew. He gave not a single care over those blasted men that became pathetic drunkards by night, or the captain that would turn his back on the same men that once sailed by his side. 

No, he seeks revenge, but for himself.

He used to count the days until they found the ship of that night as if they’re akin to a prisoner counting the days of his death sentence, for he believed this crew that somehow managed to stumble upon him were carefree fools that had yet to understand true danger. He honestly believed it would take him months, should the voyage and search be that long, for him to blindly put his faith and trust into Captain Scar. Unbeknownst to himself, Scar’s very own informed attribute of his smooth tongue managed to get to his heart. 

But he proved himself worthy. Taught Grian a thing or two that shall be lifelong lessons. Acted as anything but a bumbling idiot, rather a talented pirate that hid among a veil of simplicity, and beneath it hid the cunningness of a fox. Yet somehow, Scar even managed to show Grian another side, one that may be the closest of what’s left to the Scar before he willingly turned himself in as a rider among the seas. 

So in a way, Grian has Scar to thank for everything. But that would have to wait.

It was almost jarring to have a parallel scene of that night replay from a bird’s view and the perspective of the victors. He watched in awe as the men launched the hooked ropes over to the larger Man-o’-War, even more so as the size difference didn't affect their heavy heaving of the ropes to pull in the destroyer ship closer. You would notice the struggles in anyone’s face but as fast as the wind, their boundless energy and rallying cries kept anyone together and close, alas enough for them to truly pull it off.

He had been watching in a daze, to the point Grian almost hadn’t snapped out of it if not for Scar beside him, his hand finding himself on his shoulder. A part of him used to find such gestures overbearing, too friendly, or anything along those lines. But the urge to slide away or physically push away the hand had been long gone. Upon those talks and glimpses of their many different sides, the gesture had taught Grian what true camaraderie really is. 

Scar had been showing off his own enthusiasm and excitement during his own little shooting game, but he kept it controlled in Grian’s presence. He stared at Grian not out of concern or pity, but as a gentle reminder of his one and only chance. As he had said before, he should thank Scar for bringing them to this moment, for making an impossible dream into a reality.

“Well?” Scar prompted him on, his devilish smirk returning in a glimpse. “ Give ‘em hell .”

Grian returned the look with a smirk of his own, a harmonious blend of his dormant mischief and dangerous potential. 

“With pleasure.”

—

Upon giving out his personal command, Grian soared through the skies.

Seriously, like literally.

Fine, maybe not actually flying , but imagine Scar and Bill’s surprise when the lad jumped off from the railings, landing not-so-gracefully but stable on the beams of the mast. Grian took no time to run along the long stretch and once he reached the edge, jumped up with the momentum as he unsheathed his sword mid-air. Few noticed the flying man when they were far too busy attempting to scram off the other pirates boarding from their hull. Surprisingly, Grian’s first target did notice him coming from above, but no one seemed to have taught the poor man how to deal with a flying opponent.

That marked his first victim, bones broken upon being used as an impromptu meat bag to soften his killer’s landing, and a lethal stab to his neck with a sharp cutlass from the British. 

This would mark Grian’s debut fight among his crew, though this would be Scar’s second time to watch him in battle armed with just a cutlass and a single-shot of his pistol. What many would fail to realise were the changes present in Grian’s own fighting overall. His demeanour had always been calm, but his eyes shifted less with vigilance, and more with eagerness. As if in a mode where all he needed to do is attack, attack, attack.

He had been the first to successfully board the flaming ship, which in turn set the crew’s sights on him. Scar predicted they might have believed him as an easy target to get rid of especially in a 4v1. A terrible mistake really, when Grian is your opponent.

It still baffled Scar how Grian fought similarly to a trained soldier, down to his footwork and advanced movements with his cutlass. Some may say his opponents were like his food, and that Grian played the role of a spider ensnaring them further into his web until they’re eaten. And specially for today, Grian was by all means crueller in his attacks. He slashed more than stab, countered heavily to the point of stumbling his opponent into the ground only to be finished off with a sharp stab to their chest.

His technical method of fighting made Scar just a tad bit jealous to be left out, which worked well for he is the boss of himself. He made for a downward climb on the net of ropes connecting the masts to the hull before jumping into the enemy ship, breaking his fall with a roll. By then each sailor had their own men to face off that thankfully briefly put Scar off the radar. 

He noticed Grian in the midst of finishing off a man. As his back was towards Scar, the captain thought to show off a bit more, shooting the man square on the forehead before any more of their swords clashed. He saw Grian seem taken aback before turning over to see Scar approaching him with a cocky grin.

The sweet, innocent face was now stained with the blood of his enemies. Once he noticed Scar,  he let out a ‘tsk’. “Taking other people’s kills, really?”

“Relax! You’ll get more.” Scar winked before redirecting their attention to the quarterdeck. “Look up there, it’s the captain and his quartermaster. Get the big one to bow down, and this ship is ours.”

“Wait, I’ve seen the quartermaster.” Grian said, his eyes glaring towards him. “Keep him busy, he and I have some…unfinished business.”

“As you wish.”

Together, they ran for the quarterdeck as Grian immediately charged for the quartermaster, though the other man countered on time. While the two engaged, Scar approached the captain with an amused grin. “Captain Scar, feared pirate of the seas. And you are…?”

“Stay back!” The captain threatened and out came his sword. “Or else…!”

“Rude much.”

Their cutlasses met halfway, where Scar countered the captain’s with a push forward. He chuckled under his breath, “You don’t look like you’re with the royal navy, so what are you exactly?”

“Shut your gob!” The captain responded rudely, going for another slash by Scar’s waist. Though he attacked with such fierceness and precision, his movements were too frantic akin to a bull charging blindly through a village. Scar himself then played the role of a tamer, countering every attempt smoothly and far more calmer than his counterpart. While he’s not as good in comparison to Grian, he held himself well in the face of a direct, 1v1 battle.

Speaking of, Grian’s style with the quartermaster matched the opponent captain, except the similarities where Grian’s way had been to intimidate his opponent while the captain experienced actual, unbridled rage. Taking quick glimpses of their fight showed the quartermaster clearly having the disadvantage. But no more of that, Scar thought to himself. 

“What, can't we have a conversation while we fight?” Scar taunted the man, slipping into rhythm between defending and attacking. “Nothing wrong with getting to know, captain to captain, right?”

The captain grunted, countering one of Scar’s deliberately-weak charges. “You and I are not the same! When I get your head, you and your crew shall be hung for the streets to see under His Majesty’s name!”

“An anti-pirate, I see…” Scar gave a cocky grin. “Then why don’t this pirate teach you a thing or two about- uh oh!”

In the middle of his sentence, the captain countered his cutlass before deflecting it towards the side. The cutlass flew off from Scar’s grip, effectively leaving him weaponless and an innate feeling on how much he had messed up.

Huh, maybe Grian had a point about talking when fighting.

Seeing his first opportunity arise, the captain began to approach Scar with a newfound confidence, his eyes crazed after the taunts and jeers from the latter. In which case, Scar understood full well he’s screwed. It doesn’t stop him from trying to talk his way out of it, hopefully.

“W-wait..Come on, we’re all buddies here, right…?” He chuckled nervously. “Wow, look at those eyes! All crazy and- have you been marooned before? Is that why it’s uh, like that?”

“I’LL SHOW YOU WHAT REAL CRAZY IS!”

If Scar were to recount this story to anyone, he’d purposefully leave out the teeny little detail where he yelped like a little girl, dodging frantically each slashes that were starting to aim dangerously close to his face. Unfortunately for him, Scar himself has always been clumsy by nature. Before he could run off, his opponent landed a clean slash on his forearm while Scar helplessly tried to block the attack, blood gushing out and staining his coat. He gasped in pain, which in turn distracted him wildly where he somehow tripped up on his own feet and face-planted onto the floor. Ouch.

‘ Oh how the tables have turned,’ He joked to himself. He had no shame in his weakness. Every single one of his crew knew, even Grian, but having it be his downfall would be outright embarrassing. His eyes flew up towards the opponent with just the glimpse of the intense expression of glee, before it shut itself on instinct once he saw the cutlass reigning down towards him-

Clang! Two blades met in-between, yet he knew full well it didn’t belong to him. He re-opened his eyes, and though all he could see were the back of his saviour, the same man wore his waistcoat proudly and the bloodied white shirt may easily indicate who.

Grian redirected the captain with his sword to stumble to the side, knocking his head off with the steel hilt of his cutlass, now joined on the floor alongside Scar. He stared at both fallen captains judgmentally (Another ouch), before sighing to himself, bringing out a hand for Scar to reach. The man took it gratefully and fully accepted the earful of a nag. He does deserve it. 

“You were babbling so loudly I could hear you while fighting the quartermaster, what did I say about-”

“Talking when you’re supposed to fight, I know!.” Scar sheepishly chuckled. “But see? I distracted him just fine! And you dealt the final blow!” 

“That you did.” Grian mumbled, staring down at the unconscious captain. “Carry him up, let’s end this battle once and for all.”

“You just read my mind.”

Ignoring the tingles and pain from his cut arm, Scar carried the captain by linking his arms to his with the captain’s back towards his front, before lifting him off his feet and walking towards the tall railings of the quarterdeck for everyone to see. In all honesty, talking in this position seemed far too awkward and a bit challenging. Grian had it covered.

“Listen up!” He shouted across the vessel as the blade of his sword placed itself by the neck of the captain. “Your precious captain is now our captive! You are only given two choices: Surrender yourselves to us or join your fallen mates in death!”

The ones of their side roared ceremoniously over their near-victory, their swords up in the air as they relished on the fiery ship. Some that fought on the other side had been prompted to drop their weapons and raise their hands as a sign of surrender where the more stubborn ones were incapacitated non-lethally. The sight itself seemed more and more like a painting that came to life, glorifying the history where the possibility of the event itself concealed the proper truth.

And yet, he breathed in the smoke of the aftermath, the stains left by his own blood and the iron scent flared his own senses, all of that would be enough to prove it’s all real. 

Scar lowered down the captain’s limp body, turning over to look at Grian’s own wide grin, and his eyes shone brighter than the stars of yesternight. He looked back at Scar, whispering the truest words he had ever spoken throughout his lifetime on the sea.

“We did it.”

Chapter Text

“Ow-ow…hey!”

“Hold still, please…” Grian scolded in frustration, not even holding back towards someone like his captain. Likewise, Scar himself had been the one to request Grian for help. As by his own words, ‘Poor Thomas has all those other wounds to take care of!’, and as the only one miraculously unscathed throughout the battle, Grian obliged. 

The setting sun dyed the interior of the cabin in a warm hue, befitting their adrenaline slowly returning to its normal state. Before Scar had asked Grian and the both of them went into the captain’s cabin, they assisted their crew in bringing on their surrendered opponents (and unconscious captain) onto the Flying Jellie. In the meantime, they counted their dead and had their wounds treated to the best of the surgeon’s ability.

Scar had generously taken off his overcoat and waistcoat, leaving his torso with just his worn-out shirt, made even worse for wear with the wound on his forearm. He sat by the extra chair across the main at his office desk whereas Grian sat across him. The blood staining his sleeve had been mostly dried out though Grian swore there’s still traces of the runny bodily fluid. His captain had been voicing out his pain when Grian helped to curl up the sleeve and reveal the extent of his injuries.

Grian physically winced.

The coat may have somewhat helped in lessening the severity of the attack, yet the cut was definitely deep. The lips of the wound, stained in dark red slightly parted open just enough for Grian to see the flesh within. Obviously, it wasn’t his first time seeing or experiencing a sword wound. Its effects never changed, and thankfully, same goes for the treatment method.

Scar definitely must’ve felt how deep the wound would be and hastily made sure Grian borrowed a medical kit from their surgeon before bringing it back to the captain’s cabin. So either way, the wound needed sutures whether they like it or not.

“Jesus- okay…We need to clean all this blood first…”

“Just use the canteen.” Scar requested, his wounded hand gently held up for Grian to inspect closely. With his other hand, he pointed towards his cabinets by his bed. “Right there, near my bed.”

Grian nodded and made a quick trip to grab the canteen, thankfully still containing quite a lot of water. He had already nabbed a clean cloth from Thomas and poured some water onto it.

“Here it goes, I’ll try to be gentle…”

“Relax, I can take it.”

After Scar’s own verbal confirmation, Grian carefully dabbed at the wound, wiping off the blood without putting too much pressure on the area. Watching the red stains clearing off from his skin made the wound a little easier on the eyes and it’d help when the suturing comes. Though Grian hadn’t paid much attention to Scar’s own management of his wounds shortly after incapacitating the captain, he did a great job at stopping the blood at least. 

“Alright… Now comes the tough part.” Grian said, before taking out the necessary items out from the box such as the needle, scissors as well as the waxed thread. “Would you like me to fetch some rum, to ease the pain?”

“No need, you’ve been running around a lot so…” Scar sheepishly chuckled.

Grian scoffed at the reasoning, “I wouldn’t mind, you know that right? But suit yourself.”

He began to prepare, meticulously inserting the thread into the needle’s eye with just a few attempts, tying it up before cutting off the extra thread with the scissors. His gaze turned towards the wound and simply floated his fingers above the wound to measure the gaps needed between each suture. He’d much rather not touch the flayed flesh just yet.

Scar stared at him curiously before asking what came up in his mind. “Say, have you done this before?”

“It’s my second time, my previous surgeon had me do it when he was busy attending to other crew members. You won’t mind if I do an incarnative stitch, right?”

“Not at all.” Scar grinned, a bit too cheery for someone who is about to experience horrid pain soon. “I had a feeling, given your many experiences.”

“Of course you just assumed it, imagine if I didn’t know anything about suturing when you asked for help.” Grian chastised him. “Is this your first time getting sutures, by the way?”

Scar shook his head, “I’ve had multiple, I got used to the pain eventually. But if you don’t mind, grab that pillow for me?”

He pointed to his bed, specifically the pillow he used for sleeping. Wordlessly, Grian sauntered over to his ‘bedroom’ once more, snatching up the pillow before passing it to Scar once he got back to the table. The man hugged it to his body, the edges close enough to his face for him to bite onto.

“On the count of three, ready?”

Scar nodded, biting hard onto his pillow with an accepting look.

Sighing out a heavy breath, Grian took his time to adjust his heartbeat, calming himself just about enough to ease the shaking on his hands. Once he deemed it was calm and just right, he counted down and inserted the first thread, starting from the top. Even with his voice muffled and his teeth sunken into the fabric, Scar still let out an obvious groan, followed with jittery breaths and more unintelligible noises as Grian pierced through from the inside to the outside of his skin. Swiftly, he separated the needle from the thread and tied the ends together to secure the first part of the wound. 

Piercing through the flesh obviously seemed to be the most painful for Scar and though it pained Grian to hear him do his absolute best to withhold the pain, he’s impressed by his resilience. After the dreadful parts, Scar was left in a tangle of heavy, shaky breaths when Grian busied himself in tying it up. And it was rinsed and repeated after. The period of time where Grian had to prepare the next suture could be taken as a break for Scar before they resumed for the next section.

Halfway through the suture, Grian finally ought to do a check-in. “Are you still holding up well? We’re about halfway through the wound, just a bit more and we’re done.”

Scar made an affirming-sounding noise, his eyes a bit hazy. “I’m fine…get on with it, the faster the better.”

His head turned away automatically when Grian brought the needle closely to the wound. Aside from the rocking waves against their ship, the cabin was completely silent until the next needle poked through the skin, and Scar continued to desperately bite into the pillow while still not doing much to curb the pain. He tried to keep as silent as possible throughout the procedure as if his pained noises were a disturbance to the peace and quiet of his cabin. Grian would vouch otherwise. 

Past a tribulating time, the final thread had been separated from its needle as Grian tied up the last ends, finishing up the stitch. His eyes took a step back to look at it in general and found himself proud of his own, neat handiwork. As well as being somewhat glad Scar’s suffering is over. 

The man in question had his head on his arm, which in turn laid over the table, his chest rising and falling in a fast rhythm. His eyes were definitely a bit watery during the mid-stitch break, which seemed to Grian that he was trying to hide and wipe off the tears at the same time. 

“Captain?” Grian asked, gently shaking his shoulder. “You better have not passed out…”

“...M’ fine…” He heard Scar groan, slowly bringing his head up to face Grian. “Wow…I must’ve really forgotten how much it hurt.”

“You’d think with time, it gets easier. It really depends on the person.”

“I suppose I haven't really developed a good enough pain tolerance for it yet.” Scar sighed.

Right on cue, Grian watched Jellie hop on the table from seemingly out of nowhere, rubbing her head against Scar’s other arm as if to ease her father’s pain and suffering. While physically there wouldn’t be an effect, it does warm the heart and soothed the soul. 

Grian watched fondly over the two, reaching his own hand rub against Jellie’s fur. “Cheer up. What really matters is that you and I are still alive. And that we didn’t end up on the losing side of this battle…”

Grian used to be so certain that death was the only thing awaiting at the end of their task of finding that Man-o'-War. When the exact opposite happened, with barely a scratch nor an injury on his own being, his own expectations ended up…disappointed. Not from the fact he still stood here alive and breathing, but of his pessimism and ended up being proven wrong through a trail of events and a glorious battle. On one hand, if he did end up dead, then at least he gets to rest from his short-lived mortality. But seeing as the opposite happened, the pirate brand has started sticking to him undoubtedly. 

Dying is easier than living. Not for the youngins like him.

“...You look…different.” Scar suddenly brought up. When Grian glanced at him, his eyes never left the sight of his face, staring deep past his physical appearance it seems.

“I believe you need to be more specific than that.”

Scar sputtered out some incoherent jumble of words, before he could find the right ones. “Before this you just seemed so tired, so…focused like you always had something in your mind. Not that I’m saying you look empty-headed right now!”

“Good, because I would get offended if you had thought so.” Grian shot back without a single bite in his voice.

His captain continued, smiling broadly “I just think it’s a good look on you. I mean it.”

As a self-admitted smooth talker, believing Scar had Grian always second-guessing his words and picking apart at it like some form of specimen. But look anywhere else, and anyone could tell those were genuine affirmation.

“Naval battles do work wonders, huh?” He joked whilst placing back the needle and bundle of thread into the kit, and out came a roll of bandage. “Your arm once more, please.”

Scar gave in without a single complaint as Grian began to gently wrap the thin, long strip of cloth around the arm where the wound was. No other pain could ever compare to sewing shut the lips of the wound, making this simple finale the greatest breather he could ever get. 

“Final reminder, try not to talk too much in a fight…” Grian chided him, his finger still working ever so diligently. “He definitely would’ve come close to striking your face. We certainly don’t need another scar to damage an already handsome face.”

“Can’t argue against- Wait.” Scar looked up, blinking. “Did you just…call me handsome?”

‘ ...Did I…?’ Grian paused, staring back at Scar’s own, taken aback expression. Those words flew out so naturally he hadn’t even considered a second thought on what he had just said.

Oh he definitely did, didn’ he?

“ Anyways…” Grian let out a strained cough as an automated response towards the rising heat by his face, quickly finishing up the seal with a tight knot. “There! It’s not too tight, right?”

Scar lightly grazed his other hand against the neat pack, nodding with a grin. “It’s perfect, I knew I picked the right person for the job!”

“A lucky guess, but whatever… Be careful with that arm of yours. Once it has been fully healed, only then can we take out the sutures.”

“Worried for me, my dearest sailor?” He laughed, winking at Grian. “This captain’s gone through more than you’d think.”

He tried not to look for more than a second with his sly countenance, to not stop and dwell on the emerald colour twinkling as they stared straight into his own, dark coal eyes. Ignore his blatant flirting- no, he’s just messing with you. Nothing more, nothing less. Just ignore it.

Rolling his eyes, Grian packed up the final of the items, closing the secured kit. Taking that sign as the end of their successful surgery, Scar began to wear back his waistcoat yet chose not to take his long coat and left the bandaged arm exposed. “Is that all? I was thinking of helping out the rest of ‘em in gathering whatever’s left of our enemies.”

“Not quite.” Scar smirked, “I need you for one last job. And I don’t think you’d want to miss out on this one.” 

His eyebrows raised, “Do you mean…?”

“We’ll use my cabin. More privacy and less distractions for our… guest .”

His heart trembled, almost terrified in himself for finding glee in the situation. The longer he stood on this ship, the further away Grian could feel himself slipping further away from his ancient identity. The more he felt in tune with the rhythm of rebellious folks, falling naturally into this role.

He wondered if that's what Scar noticed, his dormant potential revealing itself in the cracks of his persona. 

“Are you coming?” Scar called him from the ajar door, staring back expectantly at the new man. And without missing a beat, he smoothly marched towards the door in a different set of intensity his eyes burned.

“Coming, let’s go.”

—

“Here’s what we’ll have to do.”

Scar, the more physically capable one of the two, carried the unconscious captain into the cabin, while also allowing Jellie out from the cabin for the time being. He placed the man on a wooden armchair, leaving Grian to secure the captain with rope. He tied around the torso first. He carefully positioned the captain’s arms onto the armrest so that the tips of the fingertips were on the board itself before tying up tightly both sides. And lastly, the legs together in a single rotation. 

Grian thought the captain may be dead due to his prolonged unconsciousness if not for the body heat exuding from beneath his clothes. As he learnt, the blunt force of a hilt turned out to be enough to knock a man out for hours. It lessened the workload they had to do nor did they fear the risk of the man getting arisen mid-tying.

Scar stepped back to gaze upon their victim, letting out a low whistle. “He’s really out cold… How tight are the knots, by the way?”

“Tight enough to make sure he can’t wiggle out of his bonds.” Grian confirmed, joining Scar at the front and to look back at his masterpiece. “What now? Do we wake him up?”

“Not just yet, mister, to make sure we’re on the same page…” Scar continued, “We’ll ask him which side he belongs to, and why he attacked your ship that night. One thing we can rule out is that he’s definitely not a pirate…”

“At the same time, he’s not exactly dressed like the royal navy either.” Grian pointed out. “And privateers…we know most of them’s gone now. But what about those hunter ships, the ones that are technically privateers but are hunting down pirates instead?”

Scar frowned, “Doesn’t make sense that they’d attack some merchant ship...”

“Oh well, that’s why we’re here.” 

“And one more thing…” Scar started, his eyes shifting nervously. “We’ll try not to jump to violence, yeah? Settle this as diplomatically as possible. If not, then…”

“I’ll find a way out of him. Whether he likes it or not.”

Silence followed, a brief contemplation over what would occur next. Finally, Scar instructed, “Wake him up, Grian.”

Nodding, Grian carried the heavy bucket filled to the brim with sea water before splashing it directly onto the captain’s face.

Like a spell had been broken, the captain’s eyes shot open. The first thing he did was to spit  and cough out the salty water that may have ended up in his mouth, and then shake off his head in a futile attempt to dry his face and hair. Both men took another step back, their eyes never left the newly-awakened man, somehow still unaware of their presence right in front of him.

It took a while, but he did. “Wha-...? You again! Where am I, where is this!? Why-why can’t I move?”

Right on cue, Scar’s lips shifted into his charming, business-like smile, greeting the captured man with an ironic politeness to it. “Why, good morning to you too! You were out for hours, we almost thought we knocked you all the way to heaven!”

‘ I definitely thought so…’ Grian added on the contrary, yet kept his mouth sealed.

“You…filthy pirates!” The captain suddenly exclaimed, his expression like a bull that came across that red shade in his field of vision. In this case, Scar would be the walking red flag. “All of you have no sense for order and the law, so you choose to rob from the innocent and harm anyone in your way!”

“Oh?” Grian’s eyes widened exaggeratedly, crossing his arms in contempt. “Funny, I think the same could be applied to you.”

The captain gritted his teeth, “You’re that lad. Jesus, you hit hard…”

“Is that all you remember me for? Anything else that seemed familiar?” He sauntered towards the captain, squatting to his level in a casual yet mocking manner. “My memory had been so blurry, I was afraid we attacked the wrong ship. Up until I met your little quartermaster, and then I remembered. I doubt I met you that night, right? But now, I’m quite certain it had been you commandeering the ship. And since you have kindly helped me retrace my memories…why don’t I help jog down yours?”

“Who…who are you…?”

“A stormy night. A harmless merchant ship the size of a frigate.” Grian’s eyes bore into him intensely. “No? Shall I continue? Do you remember ordering your men to slaughter? Do you remember attacking without any sort of negotiation, and sailing away for your own safety? Or did you attack senselessly, just another Thursday night for you and your fellow crew? And as for the rest of us… it had been our own, personal doomsday.”

“Christ…” The captain gasped, his eyes bulged out of his sockets in unbelievable shock. “Don’t tell me, you’re… that blasted rogue wave! No one could have survived that!”

“I suppose I’ve been blessed by the seas, or perhaps I’m a spectre to haunt you. You choose what to believe in.”

“I found this lad barely floating on a plank the day after, starving and cold. To immediately believe in his story would be foolish of me, but look what we have here? You showed his crew not a choice to surrender, so all we did was follow your example...” As Grian stood back up, Scar instinctively placed hand over his shoulder, his diplomatic smile twisted into a cocky smirk. ‘After all…what goes around comes around, am I right?”

In spite of the many candles that lit the cabin, the air in the room took an opposite turn, chilling down to their bones. The captain stared helplessly, his gaze moving anywhere in a frantic state of planning. Not as if he would be capable of escaping. He had been patted down thoroughly by the other crewmates, and his hands were obviously shown to Grian and Scar. 

“So that’s it…? You wish to kill me!?”

“Tempting, but no.” Grian sighed before letting Scar carry on.

“I was quite offended when you called us lawless…And here, we’ll prove you wrong! All we want is for you to provide us with some well-needed context. Once we’re done, we’ll let you go once we reach land. Not as a slave or labourer, but a free man.” 

The grounds he was given would be a blessing to any unfortunate captives, captain or otherwise. Scar never was the type to be confrontational and opted to slither his way out of a situation with wisely-chosen words and timely distractions. Despite what your senses obviously point out, your mind would be inclined to agree regardless. Grian himself wondered what the antithesis could be. A force bullheaded enough to completely block out Scar’s tempting offers and crafted sentences.

This captain had been the first example, the blinded sort. So much until they refuse to have it any other way, like his antagonism towards pirates. 

“Bah! Like I would answer to you pirate scum!”

“...Nevermind that. Just answer our questions.” Scar muttered to himself and began the interrogation. “Your name, my fellow captain?”

“Piss off! I will never-”

“Captain David Roche.” Grian interrupted both the captain mentioned whilst answering Scar’s question at the same time. “Don’t bother to weasel your way out of this one, this came from your own crewmates.

Roche had a brief look of disbelief, the thought of such easy betrayal upon him seemed to have wounded his pride. To prevent more of it crumbling, he put on a brave face. “Fine. So what if that’s my name?”

“Of course, nothing wrong with it.” Scar quickly clarified. “Next, what are you and your crew supposed to be working for?”

“Aye, we lack the fancy schmucks soldiers wear, but we swore our loyalty to the king, all in order to hunt down scum like you two!”

In layman terms: A pirate hunter. 

Grian quickly pointed out the discrepancy. “Hold on just a minute, that still doesn’t explain why you attacked a mere merchant ship. We were obviously anything but pirates, so why?”

“That-that’s enough questions, I’ve said more than I should!” Roche exclaimed. “I don’t have to answer that!”

“But it’s only been two…?” Scar muttered confusedly.

As calm as he had been, hiding his irritation proved to be a challenge. “Answer us! Why attack our ship!? All we intended was to serve as cargo and a form of transportation for the merchant!”

“Lalala, can’t hear you!”

“This is ridiculous- how hard can it be to answer this? Unless someone had you sworn-”

“I have but a single clue on what you’re babbling about! Free me at once, I have nothing more to say, you dirty pirates!”

Undoubtedly, Roche seemed younger than the expected range of a captain, perhaps around Scar’s age himself. It’s a miracle how someone as young as him would be nominated as a captain, much less commandeering a Man-o’-War. Anyone can be a Grian, build up as much experience as you could from the get-go, or be talented enough and have luck on your side, like Scar. But certain matters come with age, no matter how much the contrary is ever more desired.

The will and strength to resist, to withstand even the most painful of pain to not slip up your tongue. As far as Grian is concerned, not even the experienced can prepare for the not experienced.

He still thanked God that he wasn’t on the other side of this conversation.

“Captain.” He tugged at Scar’s sleeve, subtly gesturing by the bed. “A word?”

He received a simple nod and the both of them made their way there, their backs turned away from Roche. Scar’s voice barely reached a whisper though hearing would not pose a problem due to their close proximity. “He’s much more stubborn than I thought, this isn’t going anywhere…”

“Not with our current tactics. He definitely has something to hide, I’m sure of it.” Grian confirmed. “Luckily, I may know how to get into him. But…”

“But what?”

Grian pursed his lips before he could muster up the courage to fully look into his eyes. “I…I need you to trust me on this. And that means I’ll have to talk to him. Alone.”

“Wait- but why?” Scar stared at him, bemused at his request. “Grian- it’s not that I don’t trust you, but is it really fine for you to do this-”

“Please, Scar… ” 

His eyes widened even further at his own mention of a name. Or how it had been called, softly and not out of frustration or chiding like how Grian would usually sound. And inside of his sockets, those dark coal colours shifted anxiously, in fear. But peeling off another layer also showed his resolve, his determination and confidence in himself that he can do it. 

It’ll take trust, nothing else like understanding or knowing. Scar’s well aware he’ll be in the dark for this matter. Accepting Grian’s wishes would be an unknown leap of faith into the ocean, and whether or not Grian trusted him enough to give another hand up…that’s something he isn't aware of himself, is it?

‘ Yet here he is, begging us for that trust…This was the same man of that night, the one full of sincerity. The one who had been honest and hid no more…Wouldn’t it be atrocious to believe those pitiful eyes were a lie?’

“Alright.” 

His eyes softened out of relief, and a silent nod to him as a token of gratitude. So far throughout their past encounters, Grian always had a trick up his sleeve, or a hidden depth that turned out to be nothing but beneficial for their whole crew, even to the point of saving their lives. Allowing him to take the reins wouldn’t be anything new. 

Scar held him by the shoulder, “I’ll be outside. If anything happens, or I can come back in, give me three knocks.”

Grian nodded, “I won’t kill him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Scar softly chuckled. He took one last glance back at him and Roche, before his quiet steps brought him towards the door, shutting it firmly. 

‘ Alright. Just you and me now.’

Tranquillity in his movements, Grian resumed his place in front of their captive, his arms up in a cross as he glared down at Roche. Unfortunate that he hadn’t reacted much. He still had the same, adamant look, insistent on his silence and ignorance. If anything, his arrogance had gotten higher once Scar had left. Either that meant he believed just one man wouldn’t budge his wall, or that he saw Grian as the weaker link. 

“Why? Had your captain ran off ‘cause he gave up?” Roche sneered, oblivious to his own compromising position. “You lots are all bark and no bite!”

Grian paid no mind. In fact, he completely ignored him, bringing his attention away to the far end of the desk behind Roche. He ambled towards the edge, Roche’s attention on him out of curiosity, without a single clue to this man’s plan. Grian went further within until Roche couldn’t possibly turn his head any further like an owl’s inhuman ability. 

Before the silence was replaced with the loud screech of broken glass. 

Damn loud, anyone outside would also hear it should they be within the proximity and not occupied by the noises of their environment. Perhaps Scar himself heard it and chose not to intervene. Half of a bottle with sharp edges on one hand, the other picked up a few shards that landed on the table. He kept walking until he ended up back on the other side where Roche would see him, a complete circle around the pitiful captain.

He stared at Grian warily as if the man had just committed an unspeakable crime or act. His silent stroll around him did not help matters at all, nor did his consistent expression anytime he caught a glimpse from under the hair. Watching a drunkard smash a bottle for whatever reason should’ve been a common sight for many. But not so much for the sober Grian. Roche himself must’ve realised how off the scene itself looks, hence how his facade began to slip.

“What…? What do you think you’re doing, scaring me? Because all you’re doing is boring me to death.”

Nothing, but the slow pace as he stepped closer and closer towards the chair. He squatted in front of him once more, the pair of darkened eyes followed the man’s own gaze. Roche chuckled with a hint of a crack in his voice, “Is that all? Be threatening enough until I crack? Is a bottle your little prop to help me break? Then let me tell you-”

He slammed down the broken bottle straight down onto his right hand, the razor-sharp mouth of the broken rim stabbing into his skin. Grian didn’t flinch at the screams that rang louder than the broken glass. He did not bat an eye at his thrashing and sore throat expressing deep within the pain he’s in. If anything, he twisted the bottle even further into the hand, a sickening squelch of flesh and cuts serving to only amplify his suffering. 

How funny he had been reminded of Scar as he stood in this room, his strength to withstand the pain of the stitches and pull through. This captain seemed to be the exact opposite. Grian almost wished to continue on with this, as Roche’s punisher and as comeuppance for delivering the nasty wound to his arm in the first place. 

“Oh- oh God…my hand…! You…you…!”

“A shame that I can’t just kill you now.” Grian finally spoke, a tone so devoid and cold towards his cries and agony. “I promised my captain to keep you alive…But I suppose I’ll make do with what I have, don’t you think so?”

“ARGH!” Roche cried out as Grian pushed the bottle in further.

“I was hoping you’d be stronger than this, only then it would have been more worth it to have you understand what I had to go through. But somehow, I’ll have to thank you.” His chuckle being the only hint of any emotion behind his words, even if it was a sadistic feeling. “Who knew I had the guts to be a pirate? And I wouldn’t have met Scar or Bill or anyone else on this ship. They’re far more pleasant company than my previous crew, and without them, I wouldn’t have been able to meet you again. Who knew fate could work in such strange ways…

“I’ll ask one last time: Why did you attack us that night?”

“YOU’RE A MONSTER!”

“Not my first time being told so. I suppose it’s only today I will be able to fully embrace it. And lucky you…

“You’ll be the first to truly witness it. ”

He tossed the bottle away onto the floorboards before gently untying the rope where the damaged mess of a hand was. Roche should be laughing and wondering what in the world he was thinking, but somehow held his tongue as his eyes shifted nervously towards the unbound arm. Eventually, beyond the fear, he mustered, “What…what are you doing…?”

“Do you like shanties, Mr. Roche?” Grian asked nonchalantly as if he was having tea time with his ‘guest’. “Any sailor alike, we thrive on it, as our means of keeping sane and efficient when carrying our workload. I quite enjoy singing myself. I thought to make this experience far more pleasant, why not sing a favourite of yours? My treat.”

“Please…just let me go…I-I know nothing else, I swear!”

 “Oh, Roche…” Grian faux lamented, bringing himself up to his feet before leaning closer to the chair, in a short distance between his lips and Roche’s ear. His lips faintly chuckled, his eyes curved in delight. 

“ You should know better than to lie to me.”

—

When Scar came out from his cabin, he found himself occupying his mind by managing his men, checking in on the heavily wounded and counting their deceased. They were also offering their captives a chance to join him as well as delegating tasks among their prisoners to work until they’ve reached land. Why waste human resources when you have them for free? Not to mention the need to pay them so long as they don’t wish to participate in piracy, thus saving their share of gold. 

There should’ve been more work to be done though Scar insisted on lying close by the doors. Though he does believe in Grian and his miracles, he supposed a part of him was eager to see the aftermath and maybe get a proper disclosure on what Grian did to supply them information. 

Then came the screams.

As the nearest man, Scar definitely heard it, and definitely jumped as his head quickly turned back to realise the horrors coming from beyond the door. The men close to him, Bill and Carter, too heard the commotion. Being surprised within his own world had Scar briefly failing to realise the sound echoed far louder among his vessel. 

Everyone fell silent. No matter if you were on the nest or closest by the bow or even below deck, the screams of terror reached anyone’s ears. Unease set in his gut in spite of him knowing Grian would be safe and sound, they weren’t his screams after all.

He heard Bill let out a low whistle. “The kid’s doing wonders. Again.”

“Roche must’ve not budged, so now Grian is…” Scar dared not to finish the word with whatever ideas he had in mind, shuddering ever so slightly.

“And we’re sure this man was not a part of the royal navy?” Carter supplied. “Every day is a new surprise with the lad.” 

It stopped shortly, thank God. Upon hearing the prolonged silence, everyone else either had gotten bored of waiting or assumed that questions were finally being answered, either way prompting all to get back to work. Even Bill and Carter barely bat an eye, respectively checking up on the crewmates and helm of the ship. The silence should be reassuring. Because that would mean Roche was finally spilling out the truth and Grian would have his answers and perhaps a peace of mind now that the very same ship had been served retribution.

He tried to believe so. He does believe Grian and trusts him enough to handle himself fine… But the silence was far too deafening. He dared not to even look away from the door, its dark-tinted windows and shiny knob beckoning him further and more to open the door. His doubts didn’t stem from mistrust, they were worries and looming fear. 

Everyone thought that eventually, Grian would come out of the door, perhaps smiling rear-to-rear as he successfully wrangled out the words from the captain’s mouth. Scar certainly did hope for that as the outcome.

His guts turned out to be right.

The very same man began screaming his head off once more but a different form of terror ran down their spines. As the previous had been a ripple effect for the ones outside, this time it was instant. Everyone immediately paused to watch in fear of the unknown. 

“STOP, STOP IT! HOW ARE YOU- SOMEONE HELP! HE’S A MONSTER! HE’S-HE’S GONNA KILL ME! LET ME GO, I SWEAR I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! PLEASE , ANYONE HELP-”

The man continued to yell inside the cabin yet no longer spoke coherent words, as if something ( someone) blocked him from doing so. Scar’s own heart dropped, sweat trickling nervously down his skin, attempting to process the situation and reassess his own ability to trust. And yet…his faith continued to be on Grian, so why does it feel uneasy?

He saved his words and rushed into the cabin doors, slamming them open upon his loud entrance. “Grian! What’s going-”

‘ Oh my God…’

The scene itself was a tangled mess, too many to take note of while also ensuring that both men weren’t in danger. Grian’s back was turned against the door, and never did he turn to react at the loud bang, as if he’s in a trance himself. Next he had noticed Roche's terrified, bug-like eyes staring straight onto a glass shard he was holding himself . Aside from the initial confusion, that same hand holding the shard had terrible scratches as thick blood ran by the knuckles and every single part, fresh blood. 

Something else caught his eye. A faint, blue glow, bright enough that Scar knew it couldn’t have possibly been a phenomena involving any items from his table.

Roche’s eyes flew straight towards him, begging loudly from a sound deep within his throat. Scar realised his inability to convey had been caused by Grian himself, his thumb holding down the man’s chin to keep it open, but why…

“... Do you believe in them, by chance?”

Grian was singing.

Separating the voices among Roche’s desperate cries and Grian’s voice seemed laborious in his mind. But upon a closer listen, behind the panic is the calm, a melodic hum among the chaos. From the door to where both men were, Scar could barely notice nor hear his song from that distance, but Roche would. 

That hand belonged to Roche. Attached to his joint by his shoulder. But the shaky struggle as the shard reached closer and closer to his face, dangerously so into the wide orifice…

As if he hadn’t been the one in control.

“Grian? Grian, that’s enough!” Seeing if this were to be written down in a log for future historians to see, he wouldn’t blame them if they saw him mad. Scar knew full well what he saw as he ran towards his mate, pulling him by his shoulder and off from the suffering. He knew what his fast gaze caught for a split second when their eyes met… The coal shade reflects off a pale blue. 

His eyes continued to stare off, the lyrics a blur in his head. But meeting Scar’s own worried look instantly brought him out of his daze. His eyes shifted, blinked for the first time in a while and the unnatural colour faded once the singing stopped. They peered around in confusion, before the expression made way for trepidation. 

From the corner of his eye, Roche dropped the shard in an instant, the free hand running straight to shield his mouth while he hyperventilated on his own. Scar swore his voice cracked, a sign of tears welling up from his gut. “Oh God…”

“Scar…?” Grian whispered, staring down where Scar refused to let go of his forearm after pulling him back. He turned to his captain once more, frowning until terror slowly crept up his facials. “Scar…what was I…?”

What would he do? Scold him for doing God-knows-what? Attempt to explain as calmly as he possibly could? Comfort Grian and bring him into his arms, for those broken eyes hurt him more than his own stitches?

Maybe deep down, Scar wished to do all of the above. Yet somewhere within the commotion, he lost his own voice.

The silence seemed to hurt Grian’s soul more than the atmosphere, terrified eyes turning away as he slunk away from Scar’s grip. He didn’t realise his arm was still on him.

“Monster…” Roche breathed out. “He’s a monster…I knew it…! Your eyes, they-they were-”

“Not so fast.” Scar interrupted tersely, approaching the man with a firm gaze. “What’s that on your neck, and why did it glow?”

Going closely to Roche allowed Scar to look at the aforementioned item properly, some sort of necklace with an odd-looking gem as the centrepiece. It was merely an uneven piece though its blue colour hinted at Scar’s own theories. 

“It’s just a necklace! My ma gave it to me before I even became a privateer!”

With not much of a warning, he slapped Roche, not even stopping to care if he had gone too hard. “The truth. Now. ”

“F-fine! Someone offered a large sum of gold to stop a merchant ship from sailing, said that I’ll be able to find it once this s-stone glows! Please don’t kill me!”

He probably would’ve, if not for the more pressing matter at hand. Instead, he grabbed for the necklace and ripped it off in one swift motion from Roche’s neck. His steps creaked heavily as Scar turned his heel towards the door, stopping for a brief moment to look back at Grian. 

“Lad…keep an eye on him, I’ll call for someone to escort the captain out.”

He didn’t dare to look back. All he missed were the downcasted gaze and sunken head, responding diligently no matter what. 

“Yes, captain.”

—

The door quietly shut itself close once Carter left with Captain Roche in tow, a sound that could almost be too loud in the standards of the new quiet. 

Grian never moved from his position, his lowered gaze and trembling figure made it obvious what haunted him. Scar returned to find him purposely choosing to look elsewhere out of shame. Not even when Scar made his presence known between the both of them.

Breathing in, Scar approached the slouched figure, eyeing him intently as if he’d be able to uncover something just from watching. He’s no genius who could read a person’s body like it’s their mind, but anyone with common sense could immediately tell how much distress Grian was in, tight-lipped or otherwise. It’s only a matter of speaking the truth and accepting it.

“Grian.” He started, struggling to find the right words to start it off. “Look, I-”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“...Wait, huh?” Scar blinked. Trying to meet Grian’s eyes proved to be almost impossible with his head down low. “I don’t get it, why would I be?”

His voice lowered to a whisper, and regret was evident on his face. “You saw it, didn’t you? I didn’t mean to- I wouldn’t have even thought I’d lose control… I’m sorry.”

“Hey hey, I’m not mad...” Scar insisted, softly holding both of Grian’s shoulders. “I really believe you. I know you didn’t mean it, Grian.”

“I’ve been trying to hide it for years. And I thought I’d be safe here, able to keep this secret of mine for as long as I’m able to sail with this crew…I suppose I’ll be thrown overboard for this, won’t I?” 

Scar’s eyes widened, “What-why should I? You’re with us now, I don’t-”

“But you know. You know what I am…” Grian’s voice sounded strained before he finally looked up, his throat trembling as he struggled to recite his own lines. “That's what that captain said, I’m just…!”

“You’re NOT a monster!”

The shock went into his whole body, manifesting as Grian took a step back out of surprise. Scar himself was taken aback at his own exclamation, but it’s the general truth, as well as the one he chose to believe in. He won’t play sceptic and work with reason, Grian himself is a witness of that. And to be truthful, he definitely wasn’t afraid to find out either.

Seeing as how Grian had been rendered speechless from his outburst, Scar continued. “You’re…you’re Grian! What does that pisspot even know about you? Because I don’t see a monster, I see someone that is an amazing sailor who could conquer the seven seas. I see a man of infinite talents. I…I see you. And I know you’re anything but a monster.”

He spilled it all out, everything from the surface to within the depths of his heart, yet each word rang true. Realising his grip tightened, he quickly released his hands from Grian. Scar hadn’t failed to notice his quivering lips, nor did he miss his own eyes feeling a bit wetter than usual.

“I don’t understand…”

“Grian…you trust me, right?” Scar asked in a voice of high hopes. “Answer me.”

“What? Of-of course I do-”

“So trust me, when I say I’m not afraid of you.” 

In the midst of trivial feelings and discoveries, Scar genuinely failed to recall who initiated the contact. However it is, Grian held onto him tightly and closed, effectively surprising the captain himself who couldn’t do much but to return the same degree of affection. Not much of a verbal signal was heard before their hug. But as his own voice had been muffled, Scar could pick up the repeated soft ‘ Thank you ’ from the other. If Scar could answer each and every one of his thanks, he would’ve done so if he had the ability for it. All he could suffice was a simple and sweet “It’s alright.”

Certain oddities were cleared from his suspicion, at the cost of new, unanswered questions raising itself. The most Scar could figure out is that Grian isn’t entirely an ordinary human, or perhaps unhuman at all. But these assumptions were all for his own need to fill in the blanks, not to replace the truth that only Grian shall know. 

The most he could do for him is to wait. 

—

“Hey…could you promise me something?” Grian pulled away first, wiping at his eyes for any tears though there were barely any. 

He nodded, “What is it?”

“Don’t tell the rest. Bill, Carter…anyone else on this ship. I’m honestly afraid to let them find out, so please...”

“I won’t tell a single soul.” To prove his vow, Scar drew a cross against his chest with a finger, beaming proudly. “There.”

Watching Scar do something he had never done since he was a child managed to bring out a light chuckle under Grian’s breath. Catching sight of that familiar, warm smile eased his heart up a bit. “God, you just had to swear by it…Oh well, thank you. Again. Then… I suppose we found out what we came for, hadn’t we?”

Scar had almost forgotten about everything with Roche and the recent battle. “That’s right! To think he’d do it just purely out of greed…”

“Disgusting.” Grian agreed and finished his sentence before frowning. “But, that necklace…”

At the mention of jewellery, Scar fished out something from his inner pockets of his coat, retrieving the aforementioned necklace for them both to see. “It’s this little thing he used as some sort of navigator, huh?”

They shared the same concern with just an exchanged look. If Roche had been mostly reliant on the necklace and was requested to interrupt their voyage…then whoever had hired him to do so would be aware of Grian’s ability, or anyone similar. Scar wished to ask Grian more of what his identity truly is, though with the recent stress, he’d rather let the man rest and distract himself with other things. 

There’s plenty of time for that later. And still, it doesn’t mean Scar had an underlying theory he dreamed of testing out.

And it involved chucking the gem down onto the wooden floorboards at a high velocity, shattering it into a million, miniscule pieces. Some small shards ended up bounding back towards them as they both quickly shielded their face from the impact. Scar found himself laughing excitedly at the results, in great contrast towards Grian’s stunned face, before turning to Scar, gobsmacked.

“... Why? WHY would you do that!?”

“That broke more easily than I thought…” Scar muttered. “Oh, right! That’s not the point, I need you to try singing- if you don’t mind?”

“Why should I- ah.” Grian stopped himself, understanding where Scar was coming. Clearing his throat, he thought of the first song that came to mind. “Let’s see… Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish Ladies… ”

Scar paid close attention to Grian’s eyes and back to the non-existent gem, which had mostly been multiple dust-like pieces (He’d have to sweep the floor later…). Grian continued to sing along albeit hesitantly and relied on Scar’s gestures as a sign to keep going, finishing up the first verse alongside its chorus and onwards for the second. 

At some point, Scar stopped giving out his non-verbal cues yet Grian ended up finishing the whole song from start to end. A tense silence followed. Scar’s own stare bore straight into his own eyes no matter where else he looked out of sheepishness. Finally, he spoke up.

“It worked…” Scar muttered, before laughing ecstatically. “Holy shit- it worked!”

“What do you mean?”

“Grian, your eyes! They’re not glowing anymore!”

His mouth fell open, “You’re kidding…”

Grian seemed to have thought otherwise, and would’ve stuck to that if not for Scar’s overjoyed expression. He cheered, pacing around the cabin out of uncontained adrenaline, out of disbelief that it worked. That all it took to stop a mystical version of a compass…is to simply shatter the gemstone to the point of total destruction?

“I DON’T HAVE TO WEAR THAT STUPID BLINDFOLD ANYMORE!?”

“You don’t!” Scar exclaimed very seriously despite his laughter not showing any signs of stop. “This is great! Now no one can-!”

Scar gasped upon the return of the warmth by his chest and neck, the other swooping in too quickly for him to notice. Only this time, Grian held onto him tighter than before, and within the faint rocking of the ship, sobs were heard muffled by his own clothing. The waterworks came as fast as the storm did. The sight of Grian breaking down so easily into his arms rendered him speechless, his own heart twisting over the fragile state so freely shown, let alone turned to for comfort.

Trust is truly complicated. The journey itself involved many twists and turns, as well as decision upon decision that slowly built the connection needed. Scar wondered if this was that moment. A silent, but mutual agreement of the change.

Gently, his hand reached to cradle Grian’s head as he continued to cry out. A gentle reminder… he’s not alone.

Chapter Text

The first thing a sailor would have to learn is the walk. Unlike firm, unmoving land, none could ever predict the inconsistent movement of the sea. Adapting your walk along the rocking waves would be vital to do anything at all on a ship. For both Grian and Scar, that would make it lesson number one. Many have given up if they couldn’t master the walk, but the real challenge tested a little something called endurance.

Both of the body and mind.

Spending two weeks straight sailing may not be for everyone and will damage their psyche unless they have something to stave their boredom and for a change of view. Grian however, found himself in a very much opposite situation.

Unlike any other parts of Europe where most of them were from, the Carribean weather rarely caused the shivers, the most being during a storm or at night where the winds get chillier. Though the blaring sun sometimes seemed too strong to the point of melting him away, he appreciated the tropical air. His own sensitivity to extreme weather changes had to change whether he’d like it or not.

The only constant he’ll ever find both in life, and the sea, is change. The sea can be cold, ruthless within storms. However, it may also bring peace, opportunities of large scales that were practically the closest you may say as blessings from a god. It had to be a truth he had to accept with a hard swallow. Foolishly, he imagined his own little secret to be a constant, but something had to change. 

‘ It’s not necessarily bad, at least.’ And as embarrassing it had been to sob into your captain’s arms, the new revelation provided a doorway to advance their relationship. Ehem, a strictly business one, that is!

First thing he did upon leaving the cabin was to offer his sincerest apologies to Roche. Not for intentionally messing up his hand (Hey, he’s seen far worse torture methods than this), but for possibly scarring his emotions forever. If there’s one thing that would make Roche happy, it would be to leave the Flying Jellie as soon as they have reached land. The two weeks had not been kind to him particularly.

As for his former men, many were integrated into the crew, happily meaning that Grian would no longer be known as the ‘rookie’. As most had years worth of experience under their belts, it was a matter of integrating them properly into the pirate’s way of living. Grian himself wasn’t exactly an off-putting character, lightly playing up the friendliness to have the other accepted further. Committing mutiny by the former hunters were in fact at a deep low. Jellie may or may not have played a part in it.

It struck him odd watching Scar take a backseat when it came with the newest recruits, whereas both Bill and Carter truly integrated into their roles as senior officers. Grian, whose official job as a musician still remained, felt that it’d be a bit odd to step up in spite of his own marks of hard work. He let his mind be fixated on their next destination: Nassau.

On another sleepless night once again accompanied by the curious Scar, he brought it up from curiosity. “Nassau, what’s it like?”

They took up the crow’s nest from the main mast again, for the tallest of the pillars provided the best views. And once in a lucky night where the clouds had been kind, that is when it shall show the clearest skies. Grian’s eyes strayed up, entranced by the glowing stars. It made for a nice change of pace from seeing the stars as mere tools of navigation, to simply admiring the beauty of the vast world.

“Ah, yes. New Providence,” Scar recited the name like a magician with his words of sorcery and a light but proud smile. “A haven for us pirates, and the closest place we’ll ever have for a proper pirate government. You’ve never been there before?”

“Never. The many merchants we’ve sailed with rather not do their business there because of you-know-what. Afraid to cross paths with pirates as well as potentially land on their list.”

Scar huffed, “Everyone assumed that at first, but us aside, Nassau is a beautiful island. Lesser soldiers to worry about, plenty of resources around and work by the market… but my favourite spot will always be the tavern. There’s this outdoors one by a small highland near the shore, the view from there is just beautiful, and the breeze as you chug up a drink that’s not grog for once…”

He happily recounted Nassau, going further into details until Grian brought about an image purely from imagination. “You make it sound lovely. I’m almost excited to see it for myself…”

“You should be, just because we’re pirates doesn’t mean we’re unpleasant company… Oh! And you also should definitely meet my associates!” 

“Your what now?” Grian turned to Scar, eyes squinted. 

“You know, other pirates? I mean when I say we’re not bad company!” Scar chuckled, “I wonder if anyone’s around…” 

“Hold on, is it really alright for me to meet them?” He questioned whilst sounding more hesitant than before. “As far as I’m aware, I’m still merely a musician…”

His captain gasped, “Don’t sell yourself so short! Everything you did from shooting down the gunpowders or fighting your way through victory, it’s all a worthy mention of your skills! I’m sure they’ll like you better if we tell them of our latest victory.”

“You mean stories you will tell…” Grian corrected. “I’m genuinely surprised at how much you can talk.”

Adding onto the list of surprises were their relationship post-attack on the Man-o’-War. Grian immediately pinpointed the oddity known as kindness as a pirate captain, and he wore that mask for a while, assisting Grian in almost anything. His overt friendliness was taken into account due to the fact that Grian played an important role towards their goal, hence the special treatment. 

He could perhaps blame it on the fact that Scar now knew the truth behind his… voice. Their personal talk aside, Scar had no other reason, not a single obligation to treat Grian as it is. And truthfully? He began to get curious himself. 

“Hey.” Grian called out, watching Scar tilt his head towards with such innocence, and not in an exaggerated sense like the ones he’d have when talking his way out of a situation. He didn’t phrase it any lightly either, straight to the point.

“I…honestly thought after we found that Man-o’-War, we wouldn’t be this chummy with each other anymore? Like I said, I’m just here as a musician, so… I’m genuinely just curious, really.”

At first, Scar took a moment to even understand what Grian had meant. Yet once he did, his eyes reacted first with widened surprise, his hands waving wildly and as quickly as his own mouth ran. Despite the lantern purposefully left unlit by the nest, the dusted pink painting his cheek was quite obvious. “Oh! Uh…are you bothered by it?”

“I’m not saying I dislike it.” He phrased his words carefully, at the same gauging Scar’s subtle changes of expression. “Just surprised, is all. People might start thinking you’re playing favourites.” 

Scar gasped all in good jokes. “Me, biased? I’ll have you know my name often comes with the title of ‘Fairest Pirate of the Seven Seas’!”

“Fair, as in the balanced kind or the skin kind?” 

“However you would like to interpret it.” Scar shrugged with a chuckle. “Jokes aside, after everything we’ve been through, it feels like we’re past all the formalities. And also… after you-know-what, I thought I might check up on you once in a while? That’s fine, right?”

You-know-what, he’s referring to that day after their victory. Since after the interrogation, none of them had ever brought it up properly in a conversation until today. Not like there was much to say as long as Grian kept other connecting secrets shut and locked in his throat, the most Scar could do was uphold his side of the promise. And truthfully, Grian was grateful that it had been his captain to figure it out. His considerateness and obvious lookouts for Grian eased up his own anxieties, even if just for a moment.

The true truth is more complicated than it seems. But for Scar, Grian was willing to let him in on his proper thoughts. Openly, the most he could anyways.

“Of course.” He mumbled under his breath, a gentle smile by his lips as the breeze swept his bangs. “You don’t have to get so concerned with me. I appreciate everything you have done… Thank you, captain.”

Hearing those words, Scar’s chest bloomed happily, turning away as his own mouth crept up a smile automatically. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” He craned his head towards Grian, “So, what are your thoughts now on the pirate’s way of life?”

“Honestly? I might have a knack for it. And I’m more than happy to explore what else it has to offer.”

“Keep dreaming, you’ll see soon enough at Nassau.” Scar laughed. “Oh, and Grian?”

“Yes?”

“Just call me Scar when we’re alone, yeah?”

—

Food resources were slowly drying since their last plunder, Grian had witnessed more than a few crewmates get sick from the sea and as a result hurled out in the sea and exhaustion is imminent on the deck. His own throat suffered as well, drier than the dessert after overworking it to keep the shanties going as they worked. More than anything, the men endured the workload for the sweet reward of land and booze.

As he prayed for not another night in the sea, the gods heard and granted their awaited wish.

“Look alive, men!” The current helmsman and none other the captain himself exclaimed, pointing over the bow where the Flying Jellie’s own figurehead pointed towards the large mass of an island. Men didn’t flock by the front as their work still tied up their hands, but a simple glance and everyone began to celebrate. Still feeling somewhat left out in the confusion, Grian accidentally met Scar’s vision, the latter helpfully mouthing the straightforward answer.

Nassau.

They approached from the west where the closest port would be Havana. Whereas Havana were occupied by Spanish men, Nassau would officially be under British rule except said enforcement had no power. In Nassau, the powerful men with the ability of diplomacy and enforcement of a makeshift government came from unexpected men. Indeed…the governors of Nassau were none other than pirates.

When Scar described it as a ‘Haven for all pirates alike’, it can also be described as their second home. The small percentage of the normal occupants of Nassau was lucky to meet and know of them, and willing to trade or begin any sort of business with the pirates. It may as well be the only land pirates may ever step foot without the risk of meeting the Grim Reaper early. 

The ship had to circle past the natural barriers of sandy areas that could barely be called an island for they were far too small for anything. It made sailing into the island more of a chore though Grian figured that may be part the reason why they rarely were bothered by royal navies. It wouldn’t take even a whole day to reach the opening between similar formations, beckoning the ship closer into paradise. 

Grian joined Scar by the quarterdeck, his eyes never leaving the forming visions of civilization in a deep trance. From his peripheral vision, Scar seemed pleased, excited even at Grian’s reaction. “It’s tough for large ships to sail into Nassau, helps to keep out warships and destroyers. But see, this little brig right here is the perfect size for it!”

“So this is Nassau…Do no soldiers really come here?”

The captain shook his head, “They sometimes do, but most often we’ll deal with their business peacefully. But it doesn’t mean the island’s free of soldiers. Still, in a ratio where pirates are the majority, they tend to leave us alone.” 

They approached the pier where Grian noticed a few more ships parked by the shore with reasonable distances between them. Scar gratefully directed the rudders close towards the pier and ordered the men for their final order of the day. “Prepare to drop the anchor and lower the sails!”

Grian held onto the railing and waited for the vessel to be properly parked, held steadily by the anchor as their sails were tied back together neatly to the masts. Once it had been done, Scar gave his approval for his men to exit onto the shore for a much needed rest, and one by one each of them happily took upon that offer. Before Scar himself left, he turned his back to see Grian still standing by the deck, peering curiously over the busy port. 

Scar cleared his throat, beckoning for Grian with a smile. “Shall we?”

No words were needed to assure him, and like a stalking bird Grian followed along behind. 

The last time Grian had stepped foot on sand was during their last adventure in Kingston, and though that day ended tensely for him, he did miss the fine texture and bright colour that popped out under the bright sun. He lagged behind Scar and properly took interest in his surroundings. Just like any port, merchants and traders work to make ends meet. What stood out far too much were tricorn-wearing men of many origins, in clothes of all sizes and colours. Scar’s own merry crew is already pretty diverse in itself, but this land had it multiplied.

In the way they’re dressed, in their mannerisms and talk, they were definitely pirates. 

Don’t blame him for staring agape as if he’s witnessing a circus show. He had seen other pirates in passing during some voyages, but never when they’ve gathered together in their pirate haven. An instinct of fear from a forgotten time emerged, as silly as it was. It may be his first and his status as an outsider had never been this obvious, but as Grian had personally told Scar himself, this life he had long embraced. So might as well act like it.

“Where are we headed, anyways?” He finally asked for as long as they walked alongside the shore, slipping past stalls upon stalls that reeked mostly of dead fish. 

“When we arrived, I swear I saw a familiar flag…” Scar explained, pointing towards a structure built upon a small hill. “You see there? That’s the tavern I mentioned!”

The main bar stood at the very top and roofed, where stairs by the side lead towards a large platform much like the pier, repeating its pattern to the bottom of the land. For a lot of planks, the structure seemed very stable and held large tables for similarly-sized gatherings. Grian himself had a sinking feeling such an occasion would happen tonight. 

They approached the tavern, making their way up the slope and the stairs to the bar. Along the way, they passed by more pirates of different crews, dressed so similarly it was hard to tell if they were from the same ship or not. Scar led him by the front and they were met with another pair. Their dressing were definitely strayed further from others, but the aura emanating from them quickly tipped his senses. They were no ordinary men, and Scar was approaching them.

Grian set his eyes on the shorter of the two, dark hair in a similar shade with Scar except an oddly-coloured streak by his bangs. His own expression seemed bored as he and his partner shared a bottle whilst looking over the rest of the tavern. He had a captain’s jacket on, holsters by his chest and within the layers he had on a farmer’s shirt. Just like any other pirate, a cutlass hung from his waist.

The taller one, however, had far more distinct features, sharp eyes with a noticeable scar over his left eye, as well as a dark mask covering his mouth until the neck. He wore a thin coat and tied a band around his waist just as any other pirates do, except he stood out from the different material and unique patterns on the back. His foreign looks and interesting choices of accessories add on to the mysterious, while at the same time give out a sort of dangerous vibe. 

As much as Grian would rather run away, Scar happily greeted them both familiarly. “Joel, Etho!”

Upon noticing Scar, the brown-haired one’s eyes widened, before breaking into a wide grin as he returned Scar’s presence with a welcoming hug. “Scar! Great to see you’re still alive and kicking.” 

‘ An Englishman.’ Grian noted as a sudden sense of relief washed over him. Yet there’s more to him, if Grian could only pinpoint that gut feeling of his… 

The masked man turned towards them and joined his partner, the curved eyes seem to share the sentiment. “Someone seems busy. What brought you back here?”

“A well-deserved break after our latest adventure!” Scar answered enthusiastically. “It’s a long story, but I’m more than willing to share during our celebration tonight. Are you two staying for long?”

“We are, thankfully. We’re leaving for Tortuga in a few days.” The same man nodded, before tilting his head as he realised Grian’s presence behind Scar. The other one’s gaze followed his partner, revealing the newcomer to them both.

“Oi, who’s the new lad?”

“This, right here!” Scar introduced, swinging an arm behind Grian as to bring him closer into the conversation circle. “Is Grian, our latest addition to the Flying Jellie . He ended up being important to our last adventure!”

“Collected yourself another stray, eh?” The shorter one joked before bringing out his hand to Grian. “Name’s Joel.”

“Grian.” At first, he gave a friendly smile and firmly returned the shake, before a sudden return of memories struck his head. His smile immediately dropped. “Wait a second, Joel…?”

“...Yeah, that’s my name?”

Grian gasped, “Wait, you’re that farmer’s son that went missing years ago!”

Back in his hometown, it had caused such a commotion due to the boy’s young age. Grian recalled search parties assisting the poor parents. The distress didn’t last, and such as the seasons, memories of the boy were just an afterthought. Recent times, no one would even remember his name.

The mention of a farmer’s son brought up an intrigued reaction from Etho and Scar. Joel, however, seemed to immediately understand what he meant. “Gah, no wonder your name’s familiar! You’re that boy from the south, aren’t you!?”

“Uh…what’s going on?” Etho questioned.

Grian huffed out in disbelief, explaining to the other party. “So as it turns out, Joel and I were from the same town. He disappeared at some point at the age of 14, and no one knew where he went, not even his parents.”

“No, they did know, I wrote them a letter before leaving.” Joel clarified. “You were quiet back then but I definitely remembered you. That boy with like 10 different pet parrots. And you’re now a pirate? Colour me impressed.”

“Well, technically I forced him… ” Scar muttered to himself sheepishly. 

“Not exactly the association I was hoping for, but I’m flattered.” Grian grinned, “So, are you two from the same ship or…?”

This time, Etho kindly answered on their behalf. “That’s right. We have a brig, just like Scar’s Flying Jellie . You might’ve seen our ship on the way here.” 

“We did and I figured I’ll find you two here! I take it you two can make it for tonight? So we may toast our recent victory, and I’ve got lots to tell after our adventure!” Scar’s hand rested on both of Grian’s shoulders. “Ask this lad!”

Joel snickered, “We’ll see you later alright, Etho and I have got some more errands to run. ”

His pronunciation made it sound more like he’s saying Eefo, but nonetheless the two of them seemed to have a close relationship. Etho nodded to Grian and said his own farewells. “It’s nice to meet you, Grian. See you two tonight!”

The two men exited from where Scar and Grian came from, hopping down the stairs as they walked by the shore. Scar continued waving them off until they were far out of sight. He turned his attention back to Grian right after. “So! Thoughts?”

“Ah- what do I think of them both?”

Scar nodded eagerly. “I didn’t expect you to know Joel, however!”

“We weren’t close per se,”Grian recalled. “But we did play a lot as kids. When we got older, we had to help out our families more than be children. Joel had it harder, I remembered being scared of his old man and how miserable he looked. I guess it’s nice to see him do well. But it’s a bit weird to see him all grown up now…”

“Those two were the few early friends I made when I became a captain. Etho especially helped me a lot when it came to improving the ship, and he’s a crafty one I tell you. Joel’s handy when it came to carpentry, apparently he fixes up their ship himself.”

“I see, and which one’s the captain…?”

“Both.” Scar shrugged. “They’re both regarded as captains. When they’re sailing, they take turns being captain and quartermaster. I’ve no idea how they decided on that, but it's good for them!”

An interesting dynamic within the crew hierarchy, though Grian supposed the system worked exclusively for them. From an outsider’s perspective, their personalities are almost laughably different, between boastful Joel and reserved Etho. Before the both of them approached the captains, Grian watched them silently share that bottle, silently enjoying each other’s company.

(The thought didn’t stray much further, but he wondered if him and Scar may reach that level one day)

“You can go explore on your own if you’d like?” Scar said, nodding his head towards further into the island. The buildings’ placement were considerably less packed compared to Kingston or Havana, giving free space for the large trees to act as natural shades, and blended both nature and man-made structure in a peaceful harmony. Everyone on the ship did receive their equal share of rewards after their last plunder. His very first check as a pirate, who would’ve thought. “Check out the stores, the blacksmiths here know how to appeal to us pirates.”

“Hm…I think I’ll do that.” Grian nodded, before asking Scar. “What about you?”

“Honestly? A nap under a tree with Jellie.'' Scar joked, though Grian knew for sure Scar had been the most exhausted of them all. “Don’t let me stop you, I’ll see you later tonight. Back here at this tavern, yeah?”

It’s odd how they were almost attached to the hip while out at sea. It hadn’t occurred to Grian there had been no need to stick by his captain for the most part, nor did he ever realise his captain doing the same thing with him. Stuck in their own little world for so long, they found companionship in each other. Grian believed Scar shared the same mutual feelings.

He’d rather not come across as clingy, so he concluded his choice. “...Alright. Promise?”

Scar seemed delighted at the choice of words, “Promise, birdy.”

—

“To the captain!”

“TO CAPTAIN SCAR!” Carter started off the toast, everyone else tagging along in drunken excitement. Scar himself stopped feeling sheepish once these drinking parties became commonplace after every major victory they managed to bag. And unlike the party welcoming Grian, no restrictions were placed on their counts, as all men went loose.

Except for Grian, the careful man he had ever been. It didn’t mean he wasn’t enjoying himself in his own way. 

Scar watched him fondly from across his table, Jellie in his arms. The man himself had not a drink in his hand, but a guitar and the brightest smile that could burn as bright as the stars. He played along to a tune, singing jovially with the other bandmates he happened to join, providing the jolly environment of cheer and freedom. His voice projected louder and clearer, taking the lead as many others followed after him in the song.

It’s almost a repeat of that night, except those dark eyes were now full of life. Unshielded for the fear had been no more and it reflected in his songs. Scar never would be able to tell him directly, but a smile looked nothing but good in his-

“Earth-to-Scar!”

A loud slam of a mug onto his table snapped Scar out of his trance, realising it came from Joel. His companion joined him at his left side while Etho on the other, sandwiching Scar between them both. 

“You barely touched a drop!” Joel exclaimed at his untouched mug. “Drink up, you yourself said tonight’s a night of celebration!”

“You should.” Etho added on in relation to his partner-in-crime,still donning the mask yet somehow his own mug was already at the halfway mark.

“Alright, alright!” Scar laughed. “Just enjoying the show…”

Unlike the drunken pirates that treated the song as a natural accompaniment to their environment, Scar intently watched Grian’s singing while simultaneously impressed with his own familiarity with the guitar. If his passion hadn’t been sailing first and foremost, he’d do well bouncing from tavern to tavern to provide the merry tunes. 

The other two also seemed enamoured by Grian in his natural state. Joel brought it up first. “I knew his mom sang, but who knew he inherited her beautiful voice?” 

“Really? What was Grian like back then?”

“...A little shit.” Joel sipped. “Always had been a trickster, he liked pulling pranks on young and old alike. It’s a miracle to not get caught at all.”

Scar internally laughed at the image. It disappointed him a bit that he had never yet shown that sort of side around him or the crew, but perhaps it may surface one day…

Etho nudged at Scar, “How did you two meet?”

Recalling the events of the sea in a single succession, nor summarising said event in a single sitting proved to be a challenge to Scar. Joel and Etho made for lovely audiences, their responses towards his tales added onto the engagement. But of course, certain details only he knows, he glossed over it for Grian’s sake.

“Odd…why attack a merchant ship…” Joel muttered to himself the same mystery they’re trying to solve. In this case, he looked within the first layer, Scar stood by the second. Still, despite them knowing the hows, the whys remained a mystery. “And you said they’re pirate hunters?”

Scar nodded, letting them in on the only truth he could supply them with. “Apparently, the captain was ordered to. I doubt it’s orders from the King himself, but it’s definitely fishy…”

“Hypocrites.” Etho said just that, yet the contempt in his voice sounded obvious without even needing to properly see his expression. “So, what happened to the rest of the crew? You brought them here?”

“A lot of them ended up joining our crew. As for the ones who didn’t… we just leave them here.” Scar shrugged. “Even if they report us to other hunters, we still have the upper hand.”

He paused, eyes drifted over back to Grian past the dancing men. The man caught Scar’s gaze on him. He flashed a coquettish grin upon noticing Scar, adding on with a quick but obvious wink before acting nonchalant in the second . Scar’s eyes flew over a different direction in a panic and cleared his throat. A tad bit louder than usual. 

Unfortunately for him, Etho caught the awkward gesture, eyeing him suspiciously. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! I just accidentally choked on my own spit, is all!” He let out a nervous laugh, waving his one free hand wildly. “I’m doing good!”

“He’s not fine!” Joel objected with an obnoxious laugh, nodding towards the direction of the dance floor. “He saw Grian from the band, that’s why. Who would’ve thought there would be favouritism aboard the Flying Jellie , huh captain?”

“No it’s not! I’m just looking out for the new kid, you know…?”

“Aye, if a month could still be considered new!”

Their eyes directed towards the new voice into the conversation, which turned out to be Bill and Carter, each with a drink in hand. They took up extra chairs and brought them over to sit across Scar (There goes his ‘view’, but Joel doesn’t need to know that).

“You’re with the Flying Jellie , aren’t ya?” Joel asked. “What have you got to say about your captain and the little bird over there?” 

“Joel I swear, nothing’s going on-!”

“ Nothing ?” Bill’s eyes went large, staring at disbelief over his captain’s denial, an accusing finger directed straight towards him. “Captain calls over Grian boy to his cabin more often than with me, and we got actual, ‘ important’ matters to discuss.”

“Whatever you’re thinking about what we were doing, you are very much wrong-”

“They also have frequent rendezvous’s up on the crow’s nest.” Carter added with a drag of his tobacco. “We’re very much aware of it, capn’.”

“You two- at the crow’s nest?” Etho questioned, in the way his eyes were staring intently, it seemed like less-than-innocent imaginations were running in his head. Joel on the other hand looked far more amused than his partner at the exposition provided by his own men.

“I know this sounds very incriminating, but seriously, all we do is just talk!” The response was met with groans and boos, disappointment evident in everyone’s faces. “What do you want me to do!?”

“Stop being a coward!” Joel exclaimed. “Man up, you’re a captain! What’s stopping you?”

Everyone, even his own crew, himself included, are very much aware of his…attraction towards Grian. And what stopped him for ever mustering up the courage, he did ask himself many times before. To maintain the peace within his men in the Flying Jellie as captain? The more prevalent issue and mystery behind the Man-o’-War and the secret superior? The latter could easily be resolved if he could just get Roche to talk to him once more, but tonight is meant to be a night to forget. 

Forget the pain and fear.

“...I don’t want to scare him off.” Scar chuckled yet didn’t sound too happy with himself, rubbing at his neck sheepishly. “I practically forced him to join us so that we could find ourselves sailing for a new adventure. It’s honestly a miracle he doesn’t seem to hate me for it, so I thought… Man, I’ve bothered him enough.”

Hearing his honest-to-heart words, Joel sighed. Not because he had been frustrated, rather more so in a fond way. “Oh Scar, you’re too much of a softhearted man…”

“Yes, you did all that, and I’m sure Grian wasn’t that happy about it.” Etho started. “But I ran into him just now at the market.” 

“Wait, where was I when-”

“You were too busy trying to beat an old man in chess.” Etho reminded his partner, before continuing his point. “Anyways…I’m pretty sure Grian’s just as fond of you as you are of him. If you two spent so much time together already…I don’t think it’d hurt to try?”

There was some truth to his words. Grian himself had admitted many times how he hadn’t wished for it to go any other way, grateful it had been Scar to be the one to find him in the open sea. Choosing to help had been a subconscious instinct from his heart and see where that led. His own heart knew first before Scar himself did, of the eventual infatuation and zero regrets. 

But more than anything…his own fear manifested differently than he predicted. It’s a hopeless fear, one he could never do anything should it even manifest. Grian has concluded he wished to stay as a pirate, then fine, it was the best case scenario. And now more than ever, he wanted to keep him close, praying every day that Grian wouldn’t get a sudden change of heart. 

It’s selfish. Scar acknowledged the thought to be so, but he’d wish it wouldn’t be any other way. For now, Grian is at his happiest, and it made him happy too just by watching close from his table while his friends and crewmates engaged. And he'd do nothing to change it.

Just for one night.

—

“Up you go…!” Etho huffed, lifting the passed out Joel onto his shoulders. Grian watched on in awe seeing how such a lanky man could lift another adult man effortlessly, whistling to show how impressed he was. The tavern had gotten quieter, mostly since a lot of people had gone home for the night or were pissed up and knocked out from all the drinking. Grian didn’t envy their positions at all, a killer hangover definitely awaited them later in the early dawn. 

“Where are you two staying? I doubt you could carry him back to your ship…”

Etho shook his head, “There’s an inn nearby, we can afford to spend a night there. Are you heading back to your ship?”

“That’s right. I can get up just fine onto the deck.” He chuckled softly. “There’s a reason why I don’t drink.”

Etho nodded in agreement. “It was nice meeting you, Grian. Don’t be a stranger if we meet, alright?”

“Of course. See you later, Etho.”

He waved the tall man goodbye as he and his companion left the tavern. Grian’s gaze followed by the breeze blowing by the shore, landing at the peaceful ocean illuminated by the stars. Nassau was loud and full of life in the day, whereas when the night sky enveloped the island, things began to settle the further you reached midnight.

Grian stretched out his back to the point he could hear a crack. He spent almost the whole duration of the night playing the guitar and singing, pulling out as many tavern songs he remembered throughout his life. With music, even a band you had just met wouldn’t be strangers anymore by the time the song ended. Truthfully, that night made him realise how long it had been since he ever let loose, the sweet taste of liberation from a stupid gem that exposed who he was since the beginning. 

At some point, Joel tried to goad him into drinking which was thankfully averted thanks to Etho. Moments after, Scar came from behind, whispering into his ears for an invitation to the floor. It didn’t take more than a second of consideration until Grian found himself dancing along to the music, laughing alongside his captain throughout the night. He only went for one round before he found himself back on the guitar, but simply spending that moment with Scar alone had been worth it.

He sighed happily to himself, already reminiscing of those memories like it’s been years. Grian made his way down towards the shore, watched as the waves reached over his feet before dissipating into foam. His attention was split between the ocean and the shore, walking by until he noticed a figure sat down. Below him seemed to be some sort of log lodged firmly into the sand, and in his hand a bottle of rum. 

Grian assumed it was some stranger until he realised the large, boisterous hat beside him with a familiar red feather at its tip. He called out for his name without thinking. “Scar!”

The man looked up from the ocean, breaking into a wide smile upon noticing Grian approach him. “Oh! I thought you went back already?”

“I stayed back to help out the barkeepers in cleaning. Say, where’s Jellie?”

“Carter brought her back.” Scar explained, taking another small sip at his rum. “I didn’t want to sleep just yet.”

“...Can I…?”

Scar nodded, scooting over to make more room for Grian. He lifted Scar’s hat and placed it on his own lap, his finger playing with the long feather attached at the top. The owner himself noticed with a silent chuckle and raised his bottle towards him. “Want some?”

As the eponymous lightweight of every crew he has been a part of, Grian avoided rum to death throughout the whole celebration. The after hours should be fine, and if it came from Scar, what right does he have to turn him down. 

“Thanks.” He grinned before downing some. “Weren’t you drinking with the rest of them? You don’t look that drunk to me either…”

“I have a pretty good tolerance.” He said proudly, leaning his back with his arms supporting from behind in a comfortable position. ‘What about you? You didn’t touch a single drop.”

“The opposite of you, my tolerance is horrid. I think a bottle would be more than enough to knock me out.” Grian grimaced. 

His heart fluttered excitedly hearing Scar’s bellowing laugh as he slowly took the bottle away from him. “That bad!? And I thought Roger had it way worse! Did you know…”

Scar’s voice faded away in the background as he recounted the story, taken over by the sloshing waves and distant cries of gulls. Without the sun to illuminate the clear waters, it could be somewhat terrifying to stare across the sea with the lack of fear of the unknown. That’s what made the stars so beautiful, and the moon that may guide sailors to a safe journey. Grian wasn’t familiar with astronomy personally, he just liked looking at the stars.

Silence overtook them.

“...Funny, isn’t it?” Scar began with a low tone. “When night comes, it’ll always be just the two of us. Staring out in the open sea and the stars above.”

“I’ve always liked the view from above, but here…it isn’t so bad either.” ‘ Because you’re here as well.’

“You don’t have a problem with that? And here I thought you’ll get bored of me soon enough…” He laughed to himself, yet his tone came out mirthless as if it had been a serious consideration for him. 

Grian couldn’t help but frown at the interpretation. “You say that as if I’ve got anyone else to talk to. You’re sufficient enough for me.”

“That so…” Scar shifted to a slouch, eyes unmoving as it continued to watch the ocean. “Sorry, I think the rum’s getting to me.”

“Scar- I…I’ve made up my mind.”

“Huh?” Scar craned to him, confused, repeating Grian’s statement dully “Made up your mind… about what?” 

It had been a recurring thought ever since Scar posed that question to him all the way back after Kingston. Scar, for how skilled and talented he’d be as a captain, lacked the hard attitude and ruthlessness, more of the opposite to be truthful. Grian himself used to believe Scar would be an incompetent, cowardly, poor excuse of a leader.

He hated himself for thinking so back then. 

Yet the longer he stood on the ship, the more he was able to embrace his hidden skills and showcase it to the world. Unlike when he used to bury everything of his past away, Scar allowed him to acknowledge it. He’s the first and only one to discover his secret, but instead of fear he showed compassion, insisted on Grian’s own humanity when he himself doubted his own. 

He entered the world of sailing with himself as the top priority over anything, alone with the few people he used to rely on either gone or betrayed. He was terrified for his own life and seeked safety and comfort… Until Scar came along, and at once throughout his short life, the desire of caring and getting to know more of this man blew up. If it meant throwing away a life on land he never thought of in the first place, if it meant constantly putting his life on the line where the severest of punishment awaited him, he’ll do it. For Scar.

His death could be tomorrow, maybe in weeks, hours within would also be possible. Might as well say it before regret seeps in.

As soon as the bottle had been stuck into the sand, Grian’s hand reached for his. No, not an accident. He’s fully sober, the midnight mood only intensified these stupid feelings further, his own recklessness be damned. 

“You asked me before if I would leave once we’re done with locating that ship. At first, I thought I would; that I should if it meant my life wouldn’t be hunted for…” Grian’s eyes stared straight into his, burning brighter in the holy union of his passion and truth. “But I want to stay. With this crew, with Jellie…I want to stay with you .”

He expected Scar to come in with some form of words, interjection or otherwise. There was genuine surprise from how he looked, and despite his mouth agape for a quick add on, nothing was said. Nothing could be said, so all he was able to convey is in his eyes, the window to his souls reflecting a touched heart. 

Grian had no choice but to continue. “Scar, I…thank you. Even after I almost killed Roche, you still believed in me when I didn’t. You didn’t see me as a monster when you found out the truth, I…I’m happy to have met you. I’m grateful it was you that found me alone in that sea and I wished for nothing more but-!”

Grian couldn’t have predicted this sort of response. He’s at least aware his sudden rant would render Scar speechless, but not to answer back in a…physical way. 

He stumbled back a bit from the impact. Grian was easily startled by Scar’s tepid hand to suddenly reach over his cheek, even more when he leaned forward to his face, their lips connecting. He lunged towards him in such a speed Grian almost thought it’d hurt and braced himself. Instead, they were firm but soft. A kiss as a declaration of veiled feelings untangling right before his eyes. 

His own breath felt like it was swept away in the night, his whole body weakened with just a single touch. He shut his eyes closed to truly savour the moment, gently but noticeably pushing back into him. In fact, he wanted more. But under the moonlight, deep down he believed there possibly may be more to come. 

Scar pulled away first, and somehow had the audacity to look even more shocked than Grian. The same man that initiated it in the first place, shocked ? It was after his body reacted did he manage to locate his voice, albeit in a jumbled mess. “Oh my god… I- did I actually- holy shit… ”

“Please don’t tell me you’re drunk.” Grian himself responded, eyes dazed and unfocused. “This isn’t a dream either, right? You’re-you’re actually here?”

Scar’s hands reached towards his shoulders, “I swear I’m still sober! You were talking too much and when you said all those nice words I almost felt like crying! So I panicked and because I can’t get any stupid words out-”

“You decided to KISS ME!?”

“BECAUSE I LIKE YOU!” He exclaimed, his hands thrown up into the air. “I-I always had admired you? F-fond of you? God, I didn’t even ask you if you’d be okay…!”

Before Scar could now take over the rant, Grian quickly enveloped his face with his lean hands, pulling him back in for a quick steal of a taste. He released him with a triumphant yet erratic laughter. “Hah-see!? Now it’s mutual!”

As it turned out, who knew such a kiss could drain so much energy between two men?

They sat in silence and faced the ocean instead of each other, still reeling from the shock, happiness and everything else they experienced from one single kiss. Among the commonality they share would be their flushed faces and shell-shocked eyes most commonly seen among veterans. For Grian, multiple thoughts ran around his head until a mini tornado managed to occupy his brain. He wasn’t sure if Scar had the same issue, or rather the kiss shocked him so hard his brain is completely devoid of thought. 

“...Just to be sure.” Scar suddenly spoke up. “This means you…it’s mutual?”

“Are you genuinely blind or were you hoping for another one?” 

He choked on his spit, coughing violently while simultaneously denying with a redder face. “That’s not- cough- what I mean!”

Grian couldn’t suppress his chuckle, finally decided to push himself up to his feet. His hand was placed out for Scar to take. “Come on, ya big goof. People can definitely hear us all the way here.”

Scar gently accepted it. They were often larger than his own hands, but he’d always loved the warm touch on his skin. 

He dragged Scar physically all the way to the pier. With no ones’ gaze overlooking them both, they were free to be themselves without a care in the world. While Grian had been the one pulling Scar by the hand, by the time they reached their ship, their fingers found themselves slotted perfectly between each other. Grian particularly enjoyed it, hiding his excited grin under his breath.

“Wait.” Scar held Grian’s wrist before he could ascend up to the deck, the latter turning back with a questioning look. “I wanted to ask…”

“Yes?”

Sheepish eyes wandered to face downwards. “Would you like to sleep in my cabin? For tonight?”

It was lucky Scar didn’t get to see Grian’s flabbergasted expression, quickly replaced with a calm and teasing tone in his voice. “How bold…What happened to being all shy a second ago?”

Scar tittered as a small coquettish smile formed on his lips, inching closer towards Grian without a hint of fear. “I could ask the same about you. And besides…you don’t plan to turn down my offer now, do you?”

“You already know me well.”

If Grian had to recount this in a personal journal, he’d have to leave this part of his story blank. It was inevitable they ran into a few crew on duty and lucky for himself, he had no shift for that night. Those men who witnessed them both would return to their quarters and spread it around. ‘ The captain and his bird slipped into his cabin at night! ’, but most would pay no mind while still in their sleep-deprived state. It’ll take a while for them to figure it out…

As for Grian, it had been one hell of a night.

Chapter Text

Back at home, the chirping of morning birds helped to wake him up and signify the start of the day. Out in the ocean, the ever-rotating shifts ensured you’d wake up on time to attend to the needs of their beloved vessel, though more often it’s a hectic way of waking up where everyone would have to contribute their hands on the deck.

When neither of those come to draw him out of his slumber, Grian would happily sleep into the day and eventually wake up once his brain decided to. 

It started with realisation, the mind shifting from its idle state to an active one. Then, signals were sent for his eyelids to flutter open, or attempt to after such a well-rested night which he lacked for the past week. The other parts of his body acted in accordance. He stretched his back against the soft mattress, followed by a soft groan escaping his lips. At the early stages of waking up, lucidity was still in the process, and without a reason for a sense of urgency, it may take longer for him to realise the oddity in this routine.

Such as the firm yet limp arm wrapped over him, or the warm build huddled against his back. 

Now that he mentioned it, the hair on his skin seemed to be more sensitive than usual…Wait, where’s his shirt?

It was just a question, not an immediate urgency, his tired mind insisted. Yawning, Grian attempted to switch over to the other side, gingerly manoeuvring himself under the buff arm and scooting just a bit away from the block of warmth. His eyes were barely open to properly make out the shapes. The sun’s light escaping through the windows did reveal the splash of colour in his jumbled vision, the warm shade of human skin.

…Hold up-

His brain finally agreed that the oddities are odder than usual and in a quick jolt of energy, Grian’s eyes flew wide open. The brightness burned through his eyeballs from the jarring intensity in comparison to the previous darkness. Still, he persisted to properly see the identity of the mystery person.

In the usual cases, he would first take note of his emerald green eyes and the spark it shall show. That wasn’t it this time, owed by their close proximity, body-to-body. Grian himself hadn’t stood so close to his face without the urge to shut his own eyes close. But as the other still slept peacefully, he could make out the trademark scars across his face, serving not as a disfigurement but an enchantment to this man’s rougeish allure.

‘ Scars…Scars…Scar?’

Every memory of that night returned in quick succession. The shared rum, the gentle breeze by the shore of Nassau, holding hands with jittery palms- the kiss.  

The walk back to the pier. Slipping into the cabin away from prying eyes, locking the doors for the desperate yearn of touch, the lightness that came from those sensual touches as his fingers slide to remove the buttons-

Grian jumped back, the distance further than he intended, upon recalling yesternight’s rendezvous. Unfortunately, a queen-sized bed barely fits when two men sleep on it together. His palm planted down to nothing but the air as gravity did its work to pull him down, body and everything else included. 

He crashed onto the wooden floorboards with a loud, dull thud, the upper half of his back suffering the most excruciating pain ever since he woke up, in the record of 5 seconds. “Argh! Fuck… ”

Rustling could be heard from the bedsheets, and a head appeared from the corner with barely-opened eyes and a loud yawn coming from the man himself. “Ahh...Morning- Oh my God how did you get down there!?”

“Uh-good morning…?” Grian attempted to greet back before wincing in pain from the impact. “Ow..!”

“Did you hurt yourself?” Scar pushed himself up to his knees, scooting by the side of his bed and kneeling down beside the fallen man. And my God… he is also shirtless. “Silly bird…”

Grian assumed he would only help him up to his feet like any other normal person would. Instead, Grian yelped when Scar scooped him up in one swift motion, an arm gently on his back and the other below his knees, and carried him like so back to the bed. The bed. 

Scar placed him further inside of the bed where he slept, joining him by the side where Grian slept instead. With an elbow propped on his pillow and his head tilted by his palm, he grinned brightly, acting as if nothing happened. “Let’s try that again… Good morning!- Wait, are you hurt?”

He couldn’t help but giggle back at the silliness of the scene. “I fell on my back, but I’ll be fine. But good morning to you too.” 

“Did you know how shocked I was to find you on the floor?” Scar laughed, though concern is evident in his expression. “How did you end up there?”

“God, this is a bit embarrassing…” He groaned into his hands, partially to conceal his flustered face, yet the answer didn’t delay for a single second. “I uh- forgot for a second what happened last night. So I got surprised and jumped back, didn’t realise I was sitting near the edge.” 

Scar gasped faux offendedly, “You forgot ? You barely drank a bottle last night, and we shared!”

“I didn’t black out from the rum.” Grian clarified as he slowly lowered his hands to reveal his hesitant eyes looking back at Scar. “I was just- surprised. In a way that’s like, ‘ Woah, last night happened?’ . Not that I’d forget last night! Yeah…I doubt I’ll ever forget.”

His tolerance may be shit, but less than a bottle of rum isn’t strong enough to knock him into oblivion. The brief morning forgetfulness stemmed more from disbelief, almost impossible in his head that chalking it up to a very realistic dream rationalises it better in his head. Sure, Grian could rationalise that yesternight had been purely of the mind, if not for the situational evidence.

‘What evidence?’, one might ask. To start off, purely from him being in the captain’s cabin and not in his quarters with his other crewmates. Their shirtless state (Seriously, where did his shirt go? And his beloved waistcoat?). Scar’s tousled hair, his own as well when Grian reached out a hand to comb through it. He’s also quite sure Scar had left a mark or two by his neck or below, though he’d need a mirror check to confirm his suspicions. And this all had been purely from physical deductions. 

Scar smiled so fondly at him, reaching out to sweep his concealing bang to the side. “I’d be pretty disappointed if you had total amnesia, but this isn’t bad either.”

Grian chuckled back, his cheeks lightly dusted in a warm shade. Stupid physical reactions. “Really now? Wouldn’t it be better if I just simply remembered?”

“That’s also true. I just think you look nice when you’re relaxed. Yeah… I like this Grian more.”

“Oh come on, my usual self isn’t that bad.” He complained, his elbows elevating himself just a bit to stare down at Scar. “I can relax when I want to!”

“Correction, I mean relax with me. Now get back here, we’re not leaving until another five minutes!”

Scar pulled him down back onto the bouncy mattress, their bodies back to grazing by each other’s. Grian’s head found itself resting on the man’s chest as his ear positioned right by the calming beating of his heart. A stark contrast with the constantly fast beating of his own, he wished it’d be possible to just sit for hours to continue listening to it as Scar wrapped his arms around him once more. 

“Five more minutes…? Shouldn’t we get going before-”

“Nuh uh, captain’s orders.” His voice drawled, pulling Grian tighter with his back to his chest, a restoration of their positions upon waking up. “Why the rush? We can rest here longer, no need to worry like we did out at sea…”

“Might I remind you we have some work to do? We need to stock up, decide on our next route, or whatever adventure you want to pursue next-”

Scar whimpered, burying his face into Grian’s nape as he whined. “Why does it sound like you're the captain…”

“Hah…Say, do you think anyone has caught on yet?” Grian questioned. Their return to the cabin wasn’t exactly…subtle, and men will always be available on deck no matter if they were out on sea or docked by the pier. Gratefully, no one questioned, or perhaps terrified to question anything about their captain’s private matters. 

“I don’t think so, or maybe just two people or so…” Scar trailed off by the end, his tone sounding as if there’s a whole different story regarding it. “Do you prefer it if we keep this between us?”

“Personally, I wouldn't mind if people knew. I’m just worried how it’d look on you. You know, ‘Fairest captain of the seas’?”

“You know I was joking with that title, no one calls me that.” He sniggled, his hands finding its way to Grian’s, locking in together. “But I like the sound of that, you being my own little secret… sounds like those stories about star-crossed lovers, you know?”

“We’re pirates, nothing is forbidden to us...”

“Of course, but it’s the thought that’s more exciting. Ah, the thrill-”

BANG!

Grian had still been in a drowsy state when the noise of close proximity interrupted their sweet talk, yet somehow he managed to react around the same time as Scar, the one man that’s familiar enough with that sound. The latter untangled himself from Grian in quick succession, turning over to the opposite side with a propped elbow slightly raising his torso to hide the man behind him. Grian tucked himself in small enough to hide behind the width of Scar’s body with some coverage from the thin blanket. 

“Where are your manners!?” Scar scolded the perpetrator, though not as sternly as expected if it had been a grave misconduct. “What would your mother think, Bill!?”

Right after, he heard Bill scoff. “The real question is why aren’t you out of bed yet? You seem quite awake more than anything, so get up and get out there. I of all people don’t need to remind you about our work-”

“I know… Can’t a man stretch his body first? In his bed…?”

“...Aye…” Bill sighed. Grian had been silently begging for the man to leave, or hopefully not spot anything out of the ordinary within view, say…like their suspiciously-discarded clothes. 

Scar seemed to share that sentiment. “Is that all then?”

“Ah right, the captain of that other ship, Etho…? Odd name, but yeah, he’s lookin’ for you.” 

“I’ll be sure to-”

“Not you, the one behind.” Grian’s eyes widened as Bill raised his volume just a tad bit more. “Piss off, yer’ not that small! I know yer’ hidin’ behind the captain. Get up scallions, been 4 hours since the sun's up, jesus…”

And with that, the door slammed shut once more, loud enough for the hinges to creak at its power. A beat or two, Grian finally peered over from Scar’s shoulder. “When you said ‘two or so…’ do you mean Bill’s one of them?”

“Maybe…” Scar sighed, shifting to put his two feet down onto the planks. “There goes our five minutes…”

—

Dressing up took no longer than five minutes, especially since they dress minimally for proper adaptation of the weather. And as Grian had expected, Scar’s late night eagerness resulted in darkened marks near his collarbones and some dangerously close to the visible parts of the neck. He refused any offers of scarves from Scar and simply prayed for the ignorance of men. 

“Go and meet Etho first, you can come and help us later.” Scar instructed, leaving a quick peck by his temple. “I’ll meet you again soon.”

Grian parted with him, a simple nod as acknowledgement the moment they stepped out onto the deck. His perception played tricks on him as he made his way out onto the pier, whispering in his ears that they’re all watching, all aware of his lovely night and that the marks were as visible as day. He knew better than to entertain those thoughts. Upon a quick glance at Bill’s (knowing) direction, he climbed down the hull and onto the land.

Bill hadn’t properly mentioned where to find Etho, though Grian figured that he and Joel may be at the tavern again as their only shared common area. He walked within the land rather than by the sandy shore, reaching up for the highland at the start until he reached the tavern’s bar. The view from above made it easier to locate his man. 

Thankfully for him, he was sat by the bar, with not even a single glass or bottle near him. There were trinkets of metal and small pieces of other shiny items Grian can’t exactly place where he had seen them. Below the solid items were multiple charts and maps, some seemed a copied piece of an outdated chart of the sea while self-made ones existed as well. Joel doesn’t seem to be with him this time either.

Grian cleared his throat while approaching the man. “Sorry I’m late. Yesterday was exhausting...”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t expecting you to be on time either.” Etho responded in a light tone, pointing with his foot towards the stool beside him. “Sit down.”

“Joel’s not with you again?” He asked whilst sitting down, taking a deeper glance of the items. They were surely mechanical in nature, like the insides of a compass, but anything more smaller and he doubted he would know what it was.

Etho shaked his head. “He’s fixing up our ship, poor girl has taken quite the beating from hunters. Joel’s way better at carpentry than I am, so he’s leading the group patching her up.”

‘You two as well? Is it just me or has there been an increase in hunters?”

It was meant to be rhetorical. But the question seemed to have lit up the candle in Etho’s brain. “Actually…you’re not that off. Joel’s been asking around, and a good lot of us encountered more warships on the way here. In fact…most of them came here to hide and lay low.”

“Seriously…? But-why?”

“Different people have different opinions.” Etho paused to adjust his mask. “Some say the King has decided that they have enough personnel to eradicate piracy by force. There were also tamer theories: like the pardoning offers. Don’t be surprised if we start hearing an official read out the pardon agreements out here in New Providence.

“Ah, we got sidetracked. Sorry, I asked you here to give you this.”

Etho reached into a bag by his other side, procuring an object longer than the length of his grip. It took a while for Grian to realise he was holding some sort of blade, the hilt side protruding out while Etho held the blade for safety purposes, hovering it over to Grian’s direction. “You were looking to buy a dagger yesterday, so I thought of checking into our armoury if we had anything better on ourselves.”

“Oh wow…! You really didn’t have to-”

“I insist.” Based on the curves of his eyes, Etho returned a friendly smile. “I’m more of a rope user, Joel loves his bombs, so it’d be a waste to have it rot in our inventory. We looted it from a fort in case you were wondering.”

Finally, Grian reached out to hold it by the hilt, adjusting towards the weight and size in comparison of his own palm’s width. To his relief, the hilt was a perfect size and examining the blade further, the steel is in good condition. He would’ve gone for a swing but held back so as not to cause accidental casualties. He nodded towards Etho gratefully. “Thanks, I really mean it.”

“It’s nothing, just put it to good use.” Etho chuckled. “Where’s Scar anyways? Is he still asleep or?”

Grian shook his head, “He just woke up. We needed to do some stocking before we head off back into the seas.”

“Where are you headed for now?”

“That…we still haven’t decided.” He sighed. “This next voyage will be my first proper one, excluding that Man-o’-War hunt. I don’t even know how he decides these things. We’ll just have to see…Oh, you mentioned that you’re heading for Tortuga?”

“Tomorrow, not for plundering ships or anything. I run a side business around the Caribbean, you see.”

“Does it have something to do with those maps and weird metal things in front of you?” Grian asked. It’s in his nature to get curious over anything he himself is unfamiliar with, and he’d be itching to bring up those items into the conversation. His hunch had proven to be somewhat correct. 

“These maps do. Not the pocket watch, I just like taking it out for fun.” Etho chuckled before continuing. “We’re the type to go island hopping, and if you venture in far enough, you’re bound to find some interesting artefacts along the way.” 

Now his curiosity was getting well-fed. “So…things like maps? Aren’t treasure maps usually false?”

“They are, no pirate would have the right mind to bury their gold. Well, except for Captain Kidd. But these maps don’t exactly point to treasure, but new islands.” He gently picked up the stray pieces of metal to show the two most visible maps on the table. “I’ve been making comparisons between the one I found and other charts made by previous captains.”

“That’s…pretty interesting to say the least.” 

“I met someone that said they may be interested in buying off this map from me, I’m supposed to meet him here.” Etho explained. “That’s all I’ve got for you by the way. We’ll run into each other soon enough.”

Grian nodded, “Then I’ll go look for my captain. Thanks again for the gift!”

Knowing Etho, he had been nothing but helpful towards him and Scar. Him and Joel altogether were commendable companions throughout Grian’s time in New Providence. It should be evident that Etho would never intentionally cause them harm, and Grian left the scene without ever feeling the need to press on about the maps.

So close to the truth, yet he himself was unsure how he would’ve reacted beforehand. And as his protective senses failed to pick up the underlying fact, Grian had to face the consequences. 

—

“...So our fixes are nearly done…all that’s left is to patch up our ripped sails.” Grian listed off, walking closely by Scar’s side. Their latest supplies had a steady flow of men transporting the items on board, the burden lessened thanks to their new recruits made of their former enemies. After his brief meeting with Etho, he managed to catch their crew at a timely moment, assisting in fixing up the hulls and doing routine checks on their cannons. 

“Waylon’s the officer in charge of the masts. They should be done before the sun sets.” Scar explained. Their talk had been nothing but work, which is baffling how the captain seemed to always look delighted when their eyes would meet. “We can have lunch before we continue, the tavern?”

As if they weren’t heading there already by the shore, but the illusion of choices made the conversation a tad bit more meaningful. Grian nodded, “I met Etho at the tavern just now, he said they wouldn’t mind if we joined them.”

Around this time of day, workers alike flock the taverns and eateries for their sum of lunch, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that the tavern is nigh full in terms of patrons. By their luck, both Etho and Joel had already been seated, the latter raising his hands to pull their attention towards them. “Oi, you two! Over here!”

On their table had just been a pair of mugs, possibly rum. As if expecting them both, they were sat side by side, and both Grian and Scar assumed similar placings. It was a pleasant sight to watch Grian warm up to the infamous duo of the seas despite it only being a day since they have met. Perhaps the familiarity of Joel as children and his unknown kinship with Etho assisted in the adjustment.

“You’ve met your customer, I believe?” Grian asked Etho, a topic that might’ve been related to their morning meeting. Scar reminded himself to ask more of this later from Grian, out of curiosity.

Etho nodded, briefly lowering his mask to drink from his mug. “I sold that map. The man dressed like a merchant, though I’m not really sure why they would want something like that.”

“Probably looking for a shortcut for the gold.” Joel suggested half-seriously. “It would be no help anyways. There weren’t even any marks that indicated treasure.”

“Why else would they want it then?” Scar questioned, not to a specific person but rather of a general scope.

Grian hummed in thought, “Uh…adventure? No- that sounds more like a you thing.”

“It makes sense for me, but not for anyone else? I’m offended. ”

“That wasn’t even meant to be a-nevermind.” He sighed, a fond grin struggling to be suppressed. Scar ignored the knowing looks that came from the other two, Joel spotting a ‘ I know what you are’ and Etho with a ‘ Wow, so subtle’ .

“Did uh- did something happen between you two?” Etho started, gesturing vaguely among Scar and Grian. “Also Grian, you got something by your-”

“I FELL AND HIT MY NECK!” Grian suddenly blurted out, at the same time Scar had a hand out to cover the marks of his own doing, laughing nervously at the ‘silly’ suggestion. “I drank too much last night…? Scar saw it!”

“It was terrible, he was just thrown around at every single possible surface!” He lamented, throwing up his hands for extra points at theatrics. “My poor, drunk companion suffered a lot that night-”

“Yeah yeah, cut it out.” Joel interrupted with a groan before smirking suggestively. “We know what really went down last night.”

“But-but-!”

“We won’t judge.” Etho gently smiled. “If anything, I think you two make for a great couple.”

At the specific term of ‘couple’, Grian averted his gaze quickly, his own ears turning redder and not from the tropical weather. “We still haven’t uh-talked about that-”

Joel scoffed, though it had been more directed towards Scar. “And you finally decided to man up. Thanks to me, obviously! If I hadn’t told you so, you’d be suffering for another ten years or so.”

“You say that as if I-”

“Wait-Scar.” 

He paused at his own words when Grian’s hand grazed at his forearm, tugging at the sleeves of his coat. Scar turned his attention towards the man and was met with wandering eyes and an agape mouth. He didn’t understand what that expression meant but when he turned towards the others, both Joel and Etho spotted wide eyes, and all three of them stared on from a distance.

Everyone else in the tavern too.

“Wait-what’s going on?” He squeaked out, his head frantically turning towards the direction. The only notable thing from that distance would be the pier and the market by the harbour. Distinguishing the new difference in an already busy harbour would be like finding a needle in a haystack, though the comparison ended simply from the change in the air. No one laughed or joked or ranted on like the boisterous pirates they were, the breeze of the shore far more curdling than before. Something had changed within the island.

“That’s…a Man-o’-War in the distance.” Joel bit back a curse as he looked through his spyglass. Sailing into port as a Man-o’-War was practically impossible, so whoever she belonged with, they docked further away by the mouth and had to reach land by a small boat. “That flag…”

“Hunters.” 

Without any prior warning, Etho shot up from his seat before scrambling towards the pier. Some, not all, joined after him, even those of their own group. Scar managed to catch up without the embarrassment of falling, especially in such a serious time, and tagged behind the slow formation of a crowd. They surrounded someone , a few people at most. Deep down, he knew who had enough power to gather up pirates in such a short amount of time.

Approaching the centre with not a single idea coming to mind was like approaching a storm blind. As Scar had expected, he only saw two men in the centre of the gathering, draped in black as if they carried the dark omen that has yet to be announced. Among the two, the leader was easily distinguishable by his elaborate uniform, complemented with the similarly-coloured tricorne. The side men didn’t dress as shabbily either, though it’d be a common mistake to assume him as a merchant first.

‘ Merchant….’

That word brought to mind Etho who was thankfully close within the proximity and noticeable. His eyes were shot wide open, the absence of the mouth completing the expression turned it far more jarring. 

He’d been too busy staring at Etho, someone else of more importance to him stared upon in horror.

In his hand, the leader held a scroll, unfurling it with a forceful tug. He read it aloud, commanded for the public to hear his words and omen. 

“I come on the behalf of His Majesty, our one and true leader of the Imperial. This message is exclusive for the pirates that dwell the islands and sea: Until September, all of you are given the opportunity to atone for your crimes, to take upon the pardon bestowed by our most kind king.”

His voice had been surprisingly light, yet the constant, unchanging tone set off quite a few bells of warning in his head.

Murmurs and whispers followed right after. To Scar’s own surprise, there had been a split of opinions. He heard fearful tremors and considerations of the pardon, on the other hand there were also the hard-headed and bold, the ones that thrive as a sea-dwelling outlaw. Focusing on each one dizzied his head, forcing Scar to bring his attention back towards the dreaded hunters.

“Should you accept, whether it’d be now or later, you may step forward to us. Cut off the flags that once hung by your mast as a symbol of obedience. However, as for those who insist on this life…it is our utmost duty to hunt you all down, and have pirates be known as the extinct species of man that lived gloriously… only to die of a meaningless death .”

That threat came personal to many, sparking an outcry among the most vocal of the pirates. Yet the two men held their ground, the leader only watching on with not a drop of fear in his heart. In the briefest glint of his eye, there’s almost a glee to it. Like he enjoyed feasting off the heavily-mixed reactions of New Providence.

By this point, Scar should’ve made the connection. To find himself staring back into dark, coal-like eyes had not been a first.

There was no need for a quick glance to tell who had been gripping at his sleeves firmly, or the instability of his voice calling out for Scar’s name. 

“ Scar… ” It was a voice he hadn’t heard of ever since the interrogation.

“Gri? Are you alright?” His head shifted towards the man out of concern. Anyone else had the face of surprise and even intrigued, but that wasn’t the case for Grian. His eyes were open wide just as the next person was, but amidst the shock and curiosity, the pair shaked in fear. Like a wounded prey has caught sight of its predator.

Yet Scar knew by now that likening Grian to a prey is laughable. The only warning he got was the speedy hand on his shoulder, quick as it went and go. There was hard force into the direction, anger as Grian charged past the crowd, the small shine of metal coming in at such a small window of view. Scar’s reaction had been too focused on the shoulder and not of what came next.

He swung first. Everyone definitely saw it, the vocal cry as he attempted to plunge the dagger into the leader’s neck, over and over again should he succeed. But a murder in the presence of royal soldiers had been far too risky, even in the eyes of the levelheaded Grian. And for him to commit the act in such a rushed daze…

…Well, Scar did not have to see him arrested, thankfully, for the leader greeted the blade with one of his own, a light rapier with obvious origins from France. His counter moved faster than Grian’s first attack yet unlike shrugging it off, Grian kept their blades together, his fist whitening at the deadly grip by the hilt. 

“ You…!” Grian growled at the man, pushing his blade further to him. “Why are you here!?”

Scar crept closer to the front, close enough to watch the leader’s eyes go wide in surprise for just a second, before it had been replaced with an eerie calm. 

“You’re still alive, I see…” He had the audacity to sound bored, chuckling in response to Grian’s erraticness. “And far more resilient than I had anticipated, even after I have sent a whole ship after you. Look at how much you have grown…”

“Wha-? Shut it! You have no right to say anything like that to me! I thought you-”

The leader, with a surprise build of strength, directed away Grian’s dagger, letting out a disappointed ‘tsk’ under his breath as Grian stumbled off to the side. “Don’t get distracted. I’ve taught you this time and time again, and you never listen. Use your cutlass, why don’t you?”

Scar hurried towards his companion to help him up, doing his utmost best not to glare at the leader, though his abhorrent feelings toward the leader retained. Upon making sure Grian was alright, he turned his back towards him and to the leader with a tight-lipped smile. “Now now, we’re all gentlemen here! Will you please forgive my crewmate…?”

“Crewmate, huh?” He scoffed, eyes on Grian. “You never learn when to give up, do you? How many captains have you been under? I bet you’ve lost count.”

“Funny, I wonder where I learned that from!” For the first time, Grian snapped back with a mirthless laugh. “Last I’d seen you, I’m almost certain you would marry your beloved bottle next!” 

That seemed to strike a nerve to the man, scowling at the remark and deemed it childish to come out from Grian’s mouth. “You useless child…!”

“Look out, Scar!”

By pure instinct, he drew his sword out and in time to stop the coming slash towards him. Scar wasted no time with the counter, pushing the leader back until their blades separated. That man hadn’t stumbled backwards like Scar had hoped for and recovered far too quickly.

“Your raw strength is much better than his.” The leader commented before barraging in with stab after stab. “Unfortunately, your skill and technique could use some work.”

His speed had been of no match no matter how alert Scar had been in the early times, each dodge and block barely passing and saving his life. Sweat trickled by his temple the longer and faster that man went on. His own palms perspired, loosening his grip on his own sword as he tightly held on, unwilling to know if losing meant a temporary or permanent loss. Yet time was a constraint, and the wasting may be his downfall…

Clang!  

A third set joined in the fray, Grian, his cutlass finally out and glimmering under the heaty weather. A protective hand went over his shoulder, gently guiding him to his back as his sword continued to point dangerously at the leader. 

“Your fight’s with me , not him…” He stressed his words, clarifying sternly towards the man. “Why now…? Why here…? Answer me! ”

He bellowed out, the guttural scream of a prey playing face.

It didn’t pass his sight that Grian’s own hand was quivering, showing itself from how the blade shaked in its spot quite obviously. From Scar’s view, Grian’s back straightened proudly, yet at any given moment it looked to be easily collapsible under the watchful eye of this familiar enemy. Their conversation itself fuddled his own mind. From how they shot at each other back and forth, the different yet similarities in their skill…it’s clear as day Scar’s in the dark here. But neither Grian nor the man cared to drop a quick explanation. 

“...To fix everything you ruined.” 

Silently, the man’s cutlass returned to his side and he sauntered over the armed Grian, freely in spite of the shining blade. And Grian didn’t move-no, he couldn’t move. Not even when his face was merely inches away from the blade, tilted slightly away as a taunt towards him. He allowed the stranger to nudge and lower it down, his own eyes frozen, unblinking. 

“Pitiful child…The words I spread in honour of the King apply to you all the same.” The man grasped at his collar, pulling him roughly towards his face. “However, whether or not you join the right side, you will not stand in my way or my ship. I’m frankly disappointed that you chose this life, as an outlaw… doomed to roam until the waves shall swallow you whole…

“...I trust you will make the right choice… my son .”

Scar scrambled towards Grian when his sword slipped out of his grasp, dropping onto a floor with a hopeless sound. The man turned his back away from them both, and for the first time, his second-in-command spoke, softly yet audible in the stunned silence. 

“Captain, we have acquired the map.” He stated dully, his front already facing the pier. “It’s best that we take our leave now.”

From the corner of his eyes, Scar spotted the wary Etho, and his hand hovered over his pistol. He would’ve gone for it if not for Joel, shutting him down with a simple but concerned shake of the head.

That man nodded, turning towards the duo one final time, a ghostly smile concluding their conflict. 

“Until we meet again ,Grian...”

—

It hadn’t mattered to others on the personal matters of the messengers, nor for the near deaths of a laughable captain and his odd crewmate. No one cared, nor did they spare a look after the confrontation. Only Joel and Etho came towards them, and the former delivered a simple, but well-summarised question. 

“What the hell was that!?”

Scar swallowed thickly, trying his best to read Grian’s dazed look as well as retrieve the fallen sword. “That man… is he your-?”

“He shouldn’t be here…” He whispered, a hand straight to his mouth as if to stifle the urge of vomiting. “He wants to fix…what I ruined…? The hell does that mean…!?”

“YOU’RE HIS SON!?”

…Which is what Scar would’ve said, but not verbally at the moment. In fact, that voice came further from their group. When his eyes settled on the man, Scar wasn’t sure if he should be grateful, unsurprised, disappointed, or all of those at once. And he’s not exactly sure if he could say he’s fond of Roche…

Leaving Grian to the care of the other two, he marched towards the man with an accusing finger. “If you don’t spill it right now, I swear to God-!”

“Eek! I’ll tell you, jeez! That-that man, he was the one that hired me!” Roche rambled on with clear fear in his eyes. “He gave me that necklace to locate the ship, that’s where I got it!”

‘ Then that meant…’ Scar dared not to finish his thought, the implications set deep within his heart. Even if the possibility that Roche lied appeared as a part of his list of doubts, that coward of a captain would not have dared to lie about this. The truth had been far too upsetting in his own ears, but for Grian…

“Captain Dawson’s death…and my other crewmates…they- it’s my fault…?” 

Terror filled every corner of his eyes as his lips shaked. Scar watched the man collapse onto his knees, barely holding onto the fabric of Joel’s trousers.The other two men tried to help him up but to no avail. It had been evident in his eyes, the window of his soul shattered into a million pieces. They were wide and unblinking, leaving just the muffled sounds from within the makeshift cave of his palm, repeating and repeating. “No, no, no, no, no…”

“You couldn’t have known!” Scar quickly interjected, reaching down towards the man’s level, practically begging him to look at his face instead. “Grian- it can’t be your fault, that man-whoever he is, he’s the real one to blame!”

“Does someone care enough to explain what is going on?” Joel spoke up, as confused as Etho had been.

“It’s a long story-wait, I’ve told you two about this, haven’t I? Someone sent out a whole Man-o’-War after Grian specifically, the same one we took down weeks ago!”

“But what’s that got to do with that man!?”

Roche, meanwhile, had an epiphany of his own. “Good God, no wonder you were terrifying… to think Captain Ward had a son of his own!”

“What else do you know? Where is he going?” Scar pressed on with Roche. “Come on, there's got to be something!”

“I think I know where.”

He looked up from his position, realising it came from Etho, the man sporting an apologetic look towards Grian. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t know…”

“Wait, you sold a map, didn’t you?” Joel recounted before his eyes widened, though hard to see, his fair skin got paler. “Shit…”

“I thought he was just some merchant, I guess I was wrong.” 

So Scar’s own instinct had been right, the map Etho once held given away was now in their hands. He held out a hand for Grian and helped him up. His gaze was much more lucid, yet the wary looks he spotted meant rest and reassurance has yet to come. 

“Captain Ward, that’s my father…” His throat sounded parched as if he had been marooned, or when they had just first met. “I don’t know why he’s back sailing, but it can’t be for a good reason. Etho, do you remember how that map looked?”

—

They returned to the tavern in a sense of urgency, and Etho thankfully carried his items around everywhere. He laid out a separate map, the original in this case and simply drew on it with ink, simply adding onto the surface the islands and labels that named the ocean and land. 

“I’m not that good when it comes to drawing, but I remember the places well.” Etho explained as he set aside the pen away from the map. He pointed where they stood in Nassau, tracing away into the seas and out of the mouth natural barriers. “His ship would be somewhere right here, no frigate or Man-o’-War would be allowed to dock by the pier due to their sizes.”

“If there’s any place he needs to go, it has to be a location that otherwise wouldn’t be available on the usual map.” Grian inferred. 

Scar looked past the Caribbean seas, catching sight of the many islands that surrounded the usual passages of pirates and sailors alike. “There’s so many of them…how can we pinpoint it? Grian, did he mention anything about where he headed for?”

“Well, he was being pretentiously vague about it…” Grian muttered in annoyance. “Fix what I ruined…This grudge he has on me is because…”

Scar heard a soft gasp leave his mouth before he snapped his head up towards both Etho and Joel. “Do you know if any of these islands have tales or stories surrounding it?”

“You’d have to be more specific there, lad.” Joel said. “We have plenty about a Sun God, Davy Jones, legendary pirates of an old time…”

Though his eyes trained unwaveringly on Joel, Scar could tell he was hesitant, struggling or somewhat refusing to use a specific term for their search. They both knew it wasn’t the perfect time to be so, and thank the Gods Grian himself finally revealed the avoidant word.

“Sirens. I…I’m looking for any siren-related things.”

Scar’s eyes widened though before a word could be put into question, Etho interrupted him. “There’s a lot of stories of sailors encountering sirens…ah, but this island in particular.”

His fingers pointed northeast of Nassau, settling on a small island set between the island and another chunk of the mainlands of Europe. Beside it had been a small label of ‘IS’ as Joel took over the commentary. “Rumour has it every sailor who passes close enough to the island shall never be found alive next. It’s been described to have a mountain tall of human bones, and should you see anywhere on it, turn around and never look back.”

“Can’t exactly say I believe in it, but they call it ‘Island of the Sirens’. There’s-”

“That’s where he’s headed.” Grian cut him off, a look of resignation showing how confident he was in his answer. “I’m sure of it…”

“But…why’s that?”

“He’s looking for my mother.”

Chapter Text

They weren’t able to exchange proper farewells, nor did they leave with full, satisfied hearts. Was it selfish of him to wish for that despite having his own happy arrival? ‘ At least I’m still alive’ , the same excuses come out over and over again when he’s allowed to be human, feel human. 

One moment, they were out and about the paradise known as New Providence, and now back into the dark cabin where secrets fail to escape the room’s tight hold. Even after everything Joel and Etho did to assist, even sympathising with their plight, Grian knew well that may have been a hidden farewell. He sat by the familiar chair by his usual spot at the table ever since he first stepped foot on the deck. Scar leaned by the panel of windows that acted as the only natural light source of the cabin, his figure shadowing over Grian from where he sat. 

The sails would be done soon and Scar had already ordered for them to re-attached it upon finishing. That period of time acted as an hourglass, counting down to the time until their decision has been decided. And yet both parties were reluctant. Grian, though mostly kept a neutral expression, exposed his true feelings with his impatient foot, shaking under the desk and occasionally leaving soft steps. He’d be an idiot not to seek out help from Scar and their crew, but unjust it may be to lead them on to their potential doom and have them pass without any knowledge behind their deaths.

Beyond that layer, the traumatic revelation behind his previous captain and crew’s death dragged himself back further. He may be a pirate now, the man painted as the bad guy in the eyes of the law, but he doesn’t take any pleasure in the deaths, not even those of his former enemies.

Scar seemed ready to impose the question, but Grian shot faster. “Are you sure about this? You’ve all done so much for me, but this favour is simply…”

A personal matter, especially coming from the ship’s musician of all people, it’s an absurd task for anyone to willingly agree to. Yet Scar had the audacity to stare at him baffled. “But your mother might be in danger, won’t she? Just- forget for a second about this whole hierarchy thing. I want to help you because I care, and my crewmates will have their choice on whether to follow or not. I’m still a captain at the end of the day.”

“We’re going up against another Man-o’-War, and the captain this time…He’s not a force to be reckoned with. Believe me when I say this may be the most dangerous thing we could have gone for. Please…I don’t want to force them.”

“What makes you think they don’t care for you just as I do?” Scar asked, the question getting a bit more personal as his own expression mirrored his gentle frustration. “Grian, you’re with us now. They’ve long accepted you into our family…And I mean it when I say all of them care about you in some form or way.”

“ We don’t know how long that’ll last .” Grian croaked out, his shaky hands grabbing at his trousers. “I don’t want to lie to them. I got lucky you were the one to find out. But if I told them the truth…God, what would they think…?”

***

“Please, I’m begging you!” He cried out, his own tears disguised in the storm as they stared up to the captain, pleading for his life and mercy. “Captain…I’m not here to hurt anyone I-I promise…!”

“SHUT YOUR GOB!” A firm kick to his tied arms sent him stumbling onto the floor. It definitely hurt even when met with bare feet, yet the ache in his heart yearned far louder for any cure. Any form of help from a kind stranger, or a bystander that saw past the injustice committed. 

The loudest voices were of his tormentors, the softest let alone audible from his captain, and everyone else on that ship only stood by to watch. No one bloody dared to step over, break the expectations and do good for once. Even the ones he considered friends, averting their gazes when Grian looked up to meet theirs left his heart permanently damaged.

Disappointing…To even imagine if anyone would ever accept him for himself.

***

‘ But Scar did.’ The voice sounded hopeful, desperate for Grian to have faith in that man. The past proved him otherwise time and time when he was all alone with not a single soul to rely on. And now, it returned in a time that would’ve been his perfect paradise, the world cursing his naivety with the help of fate. With no one to care for but himself, living on as he sailed the seas made it easier. No wives or children to worry over him, no life awaiting on land until the day he died…

No parents left for their son. 

He never asked for a connection with someone, he never asked to find a crew of merry men that considered him as one of them. Yet the world he cursed under his breath granted him both. In the bigger picture, they had been temporarily released from the prison of his mind and relentless running. But god damn was he happy. To joke, to sing aloud the tunes to the sea, and spend the time with a special someone he will always remember for.

To find true happiness, to dismantle the ones built off secrets and lies, he needed to trust himself. 

“I don’t understand how you could be so kind…” He carefully pushed himself away from his chair, ambling towards Scar while hiding his own face. “Every day, I lived in fear, detached from the fact that we don’t share the same blood. We bled the same colour, looked the same, and everything inside of me is identical to you and anyone else… I’m human too, but at the same time I’m not…Why aren’t you just like them?”

He didn’t hesitate at all, pulling Grian into a comforting embrace, and acted as the shield from the beating of the sun. 

“Your blood and lineage doesn’t make you who you are, they’re just a part of you.” A hand gently held Grian’s head. “Human or otherwise, you’re still you. And how can I help myself but to be captivated by your own effort and charm?”

“I don’t understand…” He repeated, shutting his eyes the closer he’s feeling to shedding these tears.

“All you’d need to know is that I’m here, whether you like it or not. And I want to help you with this. You don’t have to go through this alone, Grian, not when it concerns the livelihoods for us pirates as well.” 

“...Then you need to know the truth.” Grian paused, slipping his arms away from the man. “Frankly, I don’t know if I’m ready for how you’ll react. Even after you found out about my singing, this fact still terrified me in some way.”

“You don’t have to force yourself if you’re not comfortable…”

“I know. But you trusted me before, so this is me trusting you back.” Grian’s hand found its way to his, holding it with a firm squeeze. “I mean it.”

Scar guided him away from the window, their steps echoing in the silent cabin until they reached the bed. The same one he had woken up on today, together with him. He sat down first by the edge before patting the space by his side, a silent invitation towards Grian to join him. The moment he sat down, that’s where the story shall begin.

He left just the tiniest bit of space between them, the close proximity providing comfort more than anything alongside their joined hands. Throughout his life as a sailor, he affirmed in himself not to let his past weigh him down, for not even utter hatred could prevent his love of the seas. And on certain nights, a part of himself scolded for not turning back entirely. Those memories were tucked away in a chest, left to collect dust and believed to have no significance with who he tried to be.

It doesn’t work that way, he realised, for those memories were what really shaped him. 

“Take your time.” Scar whispered. “I’ll be here no matter what.”

With a shaky breath, he opened up that chest, and the words came pouring out naturally. Like a script etched forever in his mind.

“I grew up close to the sea, nothing special about it but otherwise business was thriving. It was just the three of us: me, father, and my mum. And at the time, it was more than enough.”

He picked up the scent of the ocean, the bustling harbour where sailors come and go, where partings were far more often than welcomings. Grian himself experienced that far more often, but he had been taught to not think sadly of it. 

Grian continued, “I’m sure you’re most curious about what I actually am. Father’s just a human, but my mum…well, I only found out when I was in my pre-teens, and I didn’t think they could be real…

“And as it turned out, I’m an offspring of a siren.”

Scar’s eyes widened. The fact contradicted his perception of sight, the image normally associated with those creatures lacking in Grian. His curiosity would only grow from there, but Scar knew to be patient.

“Siren…that somewhat makes sense with the singing and all…But don’t sirens have tails for their lower halves? So how did your father and mum…?”

“I see it’s a common misconception. Many assumed they’re so since sailors encountered them the most. But mum wasn’t like that. She definitely looked like us, two feet and peachy skin like us land-dwellers.” Of course, she had an unnatural feature any ordinary human would have…except it wasn’t present on her when Grian grew up, but they’ll eventually get there.

“I see. Ah- you can continue.”

“Right. My father was a soldier back in the bigger cities before he quit at some point. After that, he became a privateer. Though he left for the seas often, he would always return home safe and happily to see us both. He’d tell me stories of the sea and taught me more on ships, and from then on I looked up to him.” Though faint, there was a small smile formed at the memory. “If not for him…I wouldn’t have considered being a sailor. As for mum, we did have a farm where we kept animals, so that was her main occupation.”

His father’s influence aside, it’s no wonder he had been closest with his mum. Many pitied her for having a father off away on seas though she cared not for their comments. They thrived together in the patriarch’s absence, and any moment with her was nothing but the happiest. Unconditionally kind and polite, his moral compass that brought him up through his youth.

He continued, “Father used to tell me how they met during his voyage. They found her alone on an island, left with no memories so they brought her back out of pity. For him, it was love at first sight, and he fended off lecherous men for her until they reached home. They got married, and not long after that I was born.” 

Scar patiently listened on to his tale, and Grian hadn’t minded the natural curiosity when given the opportunity. “Things sounded happy back then.”

“I was, they said ignorance is bliss.” He laughed soullessly. “How was I meant to know the true nature behind our small, happy family? That man taught me everything I needed to know, even his damn sword lessons stick to me after all these years…”

“Wait, you learned to use your sword from your father?”

Grian nodded, “He was quite happy to know I wanted to be a privateer like him, so whenever he’s at home, he’ll teach me how to use a sword. Said learning to defend yourself is quite important if I wanted to sail. I had an upper hand since he learned from the best back when he was a soldier. He was…strict, but well-intentioned.”

‘ Before you fucked everything over.’ A tiny voice reminded him, before it was quickly iterated by another that sounded an awful lot like him. ‘ Before he decided to be an ass, that is. ’

“Obviously those happy days didn’t last, considering I’m where I am currently.” He added in a brief touch of humour before resuming. “It got really bad when… the peace treaties were signed. Father lost his job, his strongest passion in life, and that sent him into a downward spiral.”

Mum did her best to support them, and by that age Grian helped her out often with the farm. Younger him used to be frustrated at his father’s slump, the state of the man he had become from the excessive drinking and wallowing in self-pity. He hated how patient his mum had been towards him no matter what. That had only been the start before everything truly took a sharp turn. 

Scar noticed the longer delay in his story, looking up to see Grian’s face contorted in a doubtful expression. Gently, he squeezed the hand he’s still connected to. “Do you need a moment?”

“No-no, I’m fine.” Grian insisted, trying to inwardly control the rate of his heart. “This is the part where things turned for the worse.”

“I’m all ears.”

“One day…it happened to be a sleepless night. I went out of my room to maybe check up on our doves, and I saw my father was by the table. Definitely drunk considering the empty bottles on his desk. And like the dutiful son I was, I came over to clean up after him, maybe give him some encouragement or two and convince him to go back to his room. But then he started mumbling these…weird things. About what mum thought of him, how pissed he’d be if other men were going after his wife… I thought the stress was just getting to him but…”

They were the rants of a drunken sailor, incoherent and most often nonsense. But the state of drunkenness may also reveal a semblance of truth, sometimes strong enough to spill the darkest of skeletons in the closet. And as it turned out, his father had multiple.

“He…confessed about how he met my mum. That she wasn’t a human at all. She had the most beautiful wings, far more majestic than that of a swan on her back. He knew she was a siren, for her song led him to finding her in the first place. But of course, a human and siren can’t possibly be together, right? Yet that love drove him mad.”

Grian swallowed thickly, the image itself sickening to think of. “He said…he stole her wings… Chopped it off with a knife when she fell asleep from drinking rum bottles she had found on the island. Then he would approach her the next day and act as her white knight, all while keeping those wings hidden from her sight.”

“God, that’s terrible…” Scar muttered, a horrified look on his face. “And she didn’t know…?”

“...Not until I found those wings. After that day when my father wasn’t home, I searched the entire house for those wings. It was hard to look for it and a part of me thought he was just wrong about it…I hoped so hard that would be the truth. But I found it, in the basement that was apparently locked because it was ‘full of junk’. I hated him so much for hiding the truth, for doing such a thing just to win over my mum…

“I…I showed her the wings.”

***

He couldn’t forget how she looked at him that day.

Imagine the barely-grown Grian, dragging a large pair of wings longer than his torso. He had no intention of even showing it to her just yet until he brought it into the house. Shattered glass surprised him out of his skin as he quickly turned to the sound, only to be met with the sight of her mother with a collection of broken glass at her feet. Her eyes were wide and ready to pop out of her sockets, her mouth agape yet nothing came out. She stared intently at Grian before setting her sights on the wings.

“I- I… I found it in the basement…” Grian dragged it further into the house, collapsing onto the ground when he tripped on his own feet. Yet determinedly he carried up the wings and presented it to his mother. “It’s- it’s yours, isn’t it? It was father that stole it from you, and he kept it a secret!”

They didn’t blink at all. She kneeled down by his side, her slender fingers cautiously reaching out for the ruffled but otherwise smooth feathers as if these past years hadn’t worn it down. Grian had no more to say, yet the growing silence had been far too deafening. He watched on for any form of reaction, anything …

Until a slow stream of tears stained her delicate cheeks, before screeching an inhumane cry of a predatory avian.

***

“I…remember this really high-pitched sound, so high and loud that my ears began to hurt…” Grian recalled, reaching to touch the mentioned parts. “When I woke up, there’s this awful ringing in my ears…I saw my father, I think he was the one that woke me up. When I looked around, mum was gone. I couldn’t hear much of what he said…but it looked like he screamed ‘ What have you done!?’ , over and over again.

“When mum disappeared…my father turned out for the worst. He used those sword lessons as an excuse to beat me up. Constantly drank only to take his frustrations out at me. It was like someone else took the position of my father…I fought back, but more than anything, I wanted to run.”

He could feel the ghost of his past reminding him of the aches when he laid his eyes on his father for the first time in a while. His heart quickened, his eyes frantically searching for a quick escape if anything were to escalate. All it took was Scar for him to be brought back to reality, where he’s no longer that child that relied heavily on his parents, but the adult who should’ve lived past that.

Hearing those, Scar’s face shifted, calm but his jaw gritting out of suppressed anger. Instinctively, Grian reached out to his cheek, smoothing out the tense muscles. “Hey-I’m alright, see?”

“No parent should ever hurt their child like that.” He instilled, his voice tight as if trying not to blow up. Meeting Grian’s eyes seemed to have relaxed that expression a bit. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Well, at some point I decided I can’t stay with him any longer. I met a recruiter looking to hire some men into sailing for merchants, in which I immediately took up on the offer. Even though I thought my views for sailing would change because of him…It didn’t. I snuck out of my home that night, I don’t know how he somehow realised it, but I swore I got chased…”

Shivers ran up his spine. The same scene that played over and over again in his dreams, the dead night with nowhere to go… “Uh… he tried to shoot at me. It was close, but I managed to run away. I have never looked back since. I left behind that old life, trying to move with what awaited in the future. Even if a lot of my experiences were less than pleasant.” 

“So your aversion towards pistols…”

“It was because of him.” He answered quickly, before adding a little quip. “Damn bastard…”

Scar nodded respectfully, staring down towards their hands. “I agree wholeheartedly with that statement…”

“...And that's it.” Grian silently concluded, before leaning over to rest his head onto Scar’s shoulder. “I honestly didn’t know what to make of the fact I’m not fully human. Nor was I sure if I had anything special on me, well, except for singing. I could hide it from anyone, at least until my last shipmates found out.”

“By last, you mean that same one that was attacked by Roche and his men?”

Grian nodded. “It was that necklace getting close to our ship that exposed my lineage. Everyone freaked out, understandably, and immediately they accused me of being a demon. They tried to throw me overboard and convince the captain to do so. Of course, the timing had been impeccable as Roche and his men fired at us right after. I was so certain I would die that night, whether it’d be by the hands of my own mates or those attackers.”

And somehow, God decided to be merciful for once to the poor man, leaving him as the sole survivor among his crewmates. Or rather they paid the price of doubting their man without a single chance for him to explain and defend himself. It doesn’t mean he saw himself as innocent, even if Scar were to reassure him it hadn’t been his fault, something in his mind would somehow convince himself otherwise. 

He spoke up once more. “It’s in our nature to fear what we don’t understand, so I did my best to hide it. Not that it was hard but…the one time I was exposed, it might have scared me that bad for anyone else to know. I’m sorry it was hard to trust you too.”

“You don’t have to apologise! Just…thank you for trusting me.” Scar quickly assured, raising his arm to gently rub at Grian’s back, a gesture to let him know more of his gratefulness towards the truth. “ And as for your father…do you really think he’s heading for that island?”

“He mentioned something about fixing what I had ruined…If there’s one extreme thing he’s blaming me for, it’s my mum leaving the house. And if those rumours about the island were right…that’s where she is. It might even have been her original home before my father found her.”

Sailing there himself would not be a big issue, but in comparison with a schooner at best alongside another Man-o’-War, the brig would be a better option. This goal of stopping his father was merely seen as a personal vendetta to be fulfilled in the eyes of many. Even when linked to the likes of taking down a large crew of hunters in an act of defiance against the government, the risk of running into sirens even Grian himself barely knew is much greater.

‘Where you’re going, I’m going.” Scar affirmed once more. “And don’t worry about the rest, I’m sure they’re willing to help as well.”

“We need to be careful…this isn’t just a voyage to plunder another big ship. Out of everyone on that ship, I’m quite sure my father’s the most formidable foe we’ll ever meet in terms of combat…”

“But we have you, don’t we?” The captain grinned. “Why don’t you put those skills to good, how about a one-on-one training session with yours truly?”

Grian chuckled, “Don’t you dare think I didn’t notice your secret agenda there, mister!”

They laughed along, the heaviness in his heart upon pouring out his whole life story feeling lighter than before. It served as a reminder, the most visible one to clear all of his doubts in an instant. A reminder that at this moment, he’s not alone unlike last time, and perhaps he should have some faith in himself that life may work out in his favour this time.

Fearful? He still was, even before the possibility of needing to come out with the truth was just a passing thought, an improbable event that’s just too far away. Being with Scar feels too dangerous, because with him…anything feels possible. 

Yes, he’s scared for himself, but the only other person he has ever cared for long before Scar would possibly be in danger, and there’s no way in hell he’ll leave it at that.

—

“Gather round, men!”

Years of experience and hardships gained Scar the right of respect, as men flock towards the deck where their captain stood tall by the stairs, beside him an objectively shorter, but otherwise noticeable presence of Grian. Everyone moved in fast in the chaos, nonetheless eager in their faces and hearts. They’ve been in this business much longer than Grian for him to fully understand the thrill of it. He feared what comes next may easily deter any able-minded men.

Upon calling up his men’s presence, Scar’s gaze fell onto Grian, watching pensively without an effort to put up a jolly act. Grian wouldn’t blame him if he was still taking in the background of his life, but they both knew they needed to act fast. And a fair captain would know. No matter how biased one may be, democracy mattered most on his ship.

He nodded at Grian with a small smile, ‘ I believe in you, good luck.’

“Gentlemen, I am but a lowly musician that owes a lot to you all for saving my life.” He started off passively, wary eyes darting over around the men with his hands clasped together. “Captain Scar approved of our next object-of-sight, and though it’s a confirmation that we will sail for this ship, the vote is to determine if any of you are willing to join or forfeit.”

Grian paused, awaiting to gaze past the general reactions, ranging from intrigue to a slight worry. He continued with a steady tone in his voice. “Our target is another Man-o’-War and a confirmed pirate hunter that seeks us, to surrender our lives as free men. Should we successfully plunder this ship, we’d be honouring the lives of our predecessors and our liberty as rulers of the seas.

“However, that’s not all. My aim isn’t exactly focused on plundering a hunter, but to knock down her captain…For that man is my father.”

Dramatic gasps filled the silent meeting. It almost got him breaking into laughter at the comical timing but Grian suppressed. “He is sailing for an island thought to be a myth, the home of the mythical sirens. And you may laugh should you think these creatures aren’t real. But he knows they are, he met one and married one in fact. And believe it or not…their union had me. I don’t ask for your belief in this matter, but know that this journey will be a dangerous one. My father was a commendable sailor, even more as a soldier. But I’m certain we have more than enough time to prepare ourselves. Just-”

He tripped over his own words, the heart beating against his chest getting louder than the rickety wood and oceanic waves. Their ship had been firmly docked yet for some reason the rocking of the ships felt akin to when she sailed across heavy storms. His feet wavered beneath the weight, gently stepping back to stabilise himself once more as his head began to feel heavier and heavier…

A gentle hand on his shoulder, like a panacea, warded off all the symptoms. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he brought his head up, but Scar’s presence brought him down to his senses quickly and snappy. There’s never been a day where he looked concerned when Grian had his moments, but beyond it he sported a gentle smile. One he had on so often, perhaps Grian would be the luckiest man alive to have this directed towards him. The reminder leeched onto him strongly.

He must do this.

“...I’m begging all of you… My mother’s life and the lives of others may be in danger because of him, not if we sail there fast enough to intercept. I’ll be in your debt for the rest of my life, so please…

“...All in the favour of storming that ship, shout aye.”

It came off as a desperate plea, the confidence in his voice and eyes practically gone when his own ‘aye’ came out. They must think of him as a jest. Who would listen to the favoured, inexperienced pirate that couldn’t bravely step up in the presence of his own-

“Aye.”

Grian’s eyes widened. Though it was less of a shout, more of a say, his head quickly snapped up to see who in their right mind would agree. His eyes met Carter’s, and his eyes were the same adamant pair he saw in Scar’s. Before he could truly revel in it, another one echoed. 

“Aye!” Bill raised his balled-up hand, his exclamation much more energetic and fierce like a true pirate. The spirit he joined alongside Bill acted as the catalyst, as the saying goes, “If Bill agrees, everyone agrees.”, or so Scar had said. One by one, they raised their voices high. Those he managed to forge a proper bond with, his amicable acquaintances that genuinely enjoyed his company, even those he had just met from sharing sea shanties and tales…All of them raised their heads high up, crying out in total agreement. Democracy rarely would ever result in unanimity, yet the tides swept over the votes.

He was rendered speechless by the sheer power and determination anyone held, when he himself only worried and ever hesitated to be the one offering help. The same pirates he once scorned as the norm of the world they live in, they’re the same ones willing to throw their lives for his back instead.

Grian noticed Scar approaching him closer from where he stood back to give Grian the space. In his hands was a coat he had never seen at all on deck, yet the captain presented it to him as if it were some sort of medallion to be won. Or rather, deserved. Dyed in a shade of red similar to the one Scar presented back when they first met, but unlike the worn-out fabric he first noticed, this one had been brand new. Gold buttons and ropes decorated its flaps with a firm collar. Scar presented the coat in a neatly folded state, proudly showing off its collar and gold buttons to the eyes of everyone watching.

The captain gazed fondly over him, in silence conveying his messages through these gestures. But as the united Flying Jellie men stood, he ended their vote unanimously.

“Aye.”

Chapter Text

“Once more, focus.”

Scar grunted, nonetheless nodding respectfully at the comment made on him. Mere training among his men with harmless wooden sticks is nothing compared to the actual whims of battle, from the adrenaline rush and risk of genuine lethal injuries and even death. It’s a rare sight to watch the captain participate in something similar to a military training, much less be the student than the mentor. He admitted it himself that his own sword skills are subpar after all. 

The real mentor stood proudly across Scar, barely a drop of sweat seen on his face. His posture and stance in comparison to Scar seemed much more elegant yet practical to quickly move into different positions. 

“You’re quite strong physically.” Grian noted, waiting for Scar to ready himself for another strike. He wore just his shirt with a button loose and his trousers, ditching the rest of his outerwear in favour of lighter movements and shoes for speedy steps. “But you tend to panic easily, whether by strength or speed. Your reaction must be faster. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. Give me all you got.” Scar smirked cockily.

Those who weren’t off practising anywhere else on the deck were mostly up the quarterdeck, intently watching the session between the captain and their newest quartermaster. It was an honour Grian hadn’t expected at all, but with their current circumstances, he was the most qualified to stand by Scar’s side. Gratefully, his treatment within the vessel had been nothing amicable and not much of a difference post-promotion.

If anything, this demonstration acted as proof of his competency to take charge, namely fulfilling the areas of expertise Scar has trouble with, and vice versa.

He tried to go a bit easier on the captain, in his own perspective moving much more sluggish than usual for Scar to slowly build up his reaction speed and eventually increase the speed. Hit by hit, their fake swords clashed. Scar’s feet tumbled over each other and in thin air often, but here he seemed to be holding on better. His own grasp of the sword was much steadier and less likely to slip.

Undoubtedly, once Grian reached his max it didn’t take more than 5 seconds for the captain’s sword to slip from his grasp, landing onto the floor with a dull thud. Their audience acted appropriately to the failure in the form of disappointed sighs and gasps. Scar scowled down to his feet, stretching his back before reaching out for his sword. Grian turned towards the next set of participants. “Take five, then we’ll continue!”

He followed Scar towards the railing, the latter slowly sinking down to the floor with a hefty sigh. “That was way more tiring than I thought…”

“You did good, don’t forget that.” He gently beamed at the man, before a look of doubt appeared in his eyes. “I haven’t been too harsh, have I?”

Undoubtedly, his teaching style perfectly mirrored his father’s. He spared his words, only using them to comment on the flaws and improvements depending on the person. It was a style that worked perfectly fine with Grian when growing up, excluding the turn in his behaviour after everything that happened. 

By that point, harsh words spat more unnecessarily, more to insult rather than educate. He even became less lenient when it came to breaks and pushed him hours on end till every muscle down to the tips ached. While training Scar and the other crewmates, he did his best to dispel his father’s voice echoing his own words, convincing himself these were his chosen ones. Not those that mirrored that old man.

“Oh no, it was perfect!” Scar affirmed enthusiastically, patting at Grian’s leg proudly. “I’d say you’re pretty fair on us. You pointed out my problems fairly quickly, ah- your old man did the same thing…”

He grimaced, “Like father, like son…”

“Still, I think you’re way nicer about it. If we keep this up, then boarding a ship will go much more smoothly and less people will die!... Hopefully.”

The ship began to swerve as Grian quickly held Scar’s hand to avoid him from slipping away. “He used to be far more strict on me, especially after…you-know-what. I just hope we’re able to train enough before we reach the island, and before my father does…”

“Hey.” Scar lifted himself up to his feet, holding Grian’s shoulder with a gentle but reassuring smile. “We’ll make it in time, I’m sure of it. We have the faster vessel after all, don’t we?”

Grian chuckled, “Don’t need to remind me twice.”

He jumped from where he stood when a noodly arm wrapped around his back, patting him vigorously on his shoulder. The booming of his voice and accent made it clear who snuck up on him and Scar. “Time’s up, pesky bird! Enough slackin’, you owe me a match since that night, don’t yer?”

“That I do.” Grian sighed, staring back at Bill unimpressed. “I was waiting for you, but someone had been too busy crying over Jellie not being with us this time.”

“Correction: everyone cried!” Scar interjected, making faux sob noises of his own. “Oh my precious kitty…she shall be missed…!”

He was kidding, of course. This voyage involved taking a greater step into danger and neither Scar or Grian or anyone on the ship for that matter wanted their namesake to be caught in the crossfire. Scar managed to convince the tavern keeper at Nassau to take her in for the time being, promising to return straight for Jellie once their business on that island has settled. Everyone knew it was necessary, yet still it dampened the mood quite a bit with her frequent calls and casual lounging from the top of the crow’s nest to the nooks and crannies of their storage.

Grian sighed once more, nudging back at Bill with his elbow. “Come on then, I still have yet to train the others. I take it you’re better than Scar?”

“Hey!”

“Definitely so.” Bill chuckled as he removed himself from Grian, swiftly snatching away the faux sword from Scar’s hand. He pointed directly at his opponent’s face, and the crowd went wild, revelling in a spar between their strongest officer and the talented newcomer.. “Bring it on, pisspot!”

“They’re sure having fun out there.” Scar’s head crane up, finding Carter approaching him from the side before sinking down to join his captain. “Bill’s always like that obviously, but I’ve never seen the lad enjoy himself this much before.”

Scar beamed as they watched the two fight, Bill essentially a better version of Scar and Grian with his precise and clean strikes. “It’s a good look on him, I’ll tell you that.”

“And you’re sure quite fond of it.” Carter chuckled. Right, aside from Bill that somehow managed to walk in on the wrongest time, Carter just knows . He’s quite the observant one.

“Say, who’s commandeering the helm now?”

“Roger took over after me. Your next will be after dinner, isn’t it? Won’t you be tired from all that training?”

“I’ll be fine.” At the mention of ‘tired’, Scar had to suppress his want to yawn out heartily, a painful but necessary sacrifice. “You’ve all worked hard to this point, so let me at least shoulder some of the burden as well in terms of the hours of work.”

“If you say so…” Carter hummed, eventually peeling his eyes off from Scar and onto the fight. It almost seemed like a close match between the two, though both seemed to have gotten far worn down the further the clock ticked. They’ve been at their training since their lunch, going on until the sun had begun to set on the horizons. 

Admittedly, Scar had been exhausted from the intense push he received to improve. But then there’s Grian, whose breaks were rarely ever breaks and he’s been the main mentor assisting in training their men down to the basics. If he had the attitude, then it would’ve been akin to a training regiment done by the royal soldiers. Only Scar knew of that confirmed background, though he doubted the resemblance flew past any veterans or experienced men’s minds.

“Argh-I yield!” Bill finally exclaimed, raising both of his arms as a sign of surrender. Some booed at his forfeit, but many cheered on where Grian came out as the clear winner. Though he’d digress as this was meant to purely be a demonstration, not a competition.

As predicted, Grian went on with truly embodying the role of an educator, raising his voice just loud enough for everyone to hear. “In a real fight, having the other to merely surrender may not be enough. Today, I am merely teaching you the basis of attacking and deflecting your opponent. The important lesson, however, comes from incapacitating your target…”

“Aye, he’s a natural fighter alright.” Bill sauntered over to them both while Grian continued on with his lecture, his knees buckling as he joined the merry men by the sidelines. “Phew, that took a toll on me…Oi Carter, when’s it your turn?”

“I don’t need it, I had enough experience of my own, or do I have to remind you of that again?”

“Hah, you’re just afraid of getting yer’ arse thrown down to your place!”

They’re at it again, he thought, and automatically his body dragged him away to leave behind the bickering of his two trusted men. Grian was back to teaching the uncertain ones, guiding him by hand yet also commenting based on his own experiences and observation. Grian had never been one to step out of the supporting role unless it was merely something as simple as singing shanties. Any moment where he had been forced to came out as awkward and hesitant, well, except for now. If anything, to teach someone in a matter he’s so long familiar with helped him slip into the role naturally. And based on the corners of his lips, he seemed to enjoy it as much. 

Scar couldn’t help himself, pushing himself against the gravity to lift him from the floor, before approaching straight towards Grian. The latter was quick to notice, an amused smirk creeping behind the professional facade. “How may I help you?”

“Nothing major.” Scar chuckled, “Just hoping if you are up for another spar?”

—

Beyond midnight, the crew of the Flying Jellie take their turns on the night shifts, ensuring she’s always sailing at full speed. After the unofficial promotion bestowed onto Grian, Scar looked forward for those moments after night-

No, not because of those nights . Shut up, brain.

Relating to the promotion, he’s much more involved in the charting and mapping out of their paths and strategies. Those sleepless nights were utilised with midnight meetings. Or specifically, the few times Grian got to watch the large meeting table be used for anything other than extra storage or dining. Their copy of the map courtesy of Etho displayed clearly on the centre and the surface had already been quite bruised and marked within a span of a few days. They’ve maximised their reliance on the map due to swimming blindly forward uncharted territories, especially one said to be on the supernatural side.

“We don’t know for sure how strong the men in Captain Ward’s crew may be.” Carter supplied, presenting a replica of their two ships by the island of sirens. “If we can take out as many men as we can on the main deck, surely their efforts will be dwindled. We better pray they have explosives out on display.”

Scar nodded. “Leave the shooting to me. But I want to add. As soon as we take out, say, a good lot of people on the deck, I’d say we should immediately board the ship. We can maybe divide up their attention and make it so it’d be hard for them to shoot cannons into her at the same time.”

“That’s a risky move…” Grian muttered. “Well, perhaps we’ll get lucky in the sense that the captain had no need to train his men like soldiers. Still, the disparity in the number of men worries me.”

“...I do have a suggestion...” The captain trailed off, staring worriedly towards Grian. “But…I don’t think you’ll like it.”

Grian’s eyes narrowed at Scar though the other two watched with intrigue at the vague proposal. The idea came in the spur of the moment, coming to fruition after checking through their resources and opportunities, no matter how odd or foreign it is to Scar himself. More than anything, a surprise of a strategy would surely catch anyone off guard, perhaps the more nonsensical the more effective it could potentially be. His desperation was easily viewed from this suggestion alone.

“So? Spit it out!” Bill exclaimed while slamming his hand down onto the table. “What’s the hold up?”

His eyes quickly shifted towards Grian. “Look, I don’t want you to-”

“Be uncomfortable, yes I know.” Grian finished it quickly before getting straight to the point. “You want me to use my spooky siren powers, don’t you?”

“Well…the legends about sirens singing to men for their death have to be somewhat true, and we saw what you could do with Roche! But the scale itself…” Scar trailed off with a grimace. Roche was one man, a whole ship would be a mystery that’s waiting to be solved and not in a fun way. There’s also the consideration of Grian’s only-half parentage and they’ve yet to know if the effects would be different. Well, excluding the winged part.

“I don’t understand what it is you two mean, but why not just do both?” Carter suggested as if it had been the most obvious solution to it all.

It was, actually.

Or at least, a failsafe in case the singing thing fell flat. “Yes, both! But- but only if Grian is fine with it.”

Despite Grian being able to vividly imagine the many ways it could possibly go wrong, he knew how desperate they were both getting. And in a battle between and of uncertainty, this may be the necessary step to take, to break past his comfort and truly shove the spectre of his father that continued to haunt him to this day.

“I’ll think about it.”

‘ And speaking of him…’

“So no negotiation this time around then. We go for the blows, the captain and Grian shall use their respective planning to decrease the count of men, and once all is done and clear, we board. Then the next goes to you, Bill.” Carter elaborated and passed on.

“Aye. Business as usual for the ne'er do wells, and for the captain-”

“Keep him alive.” Grian didn’t realise how quickly those words came out of his mouth. He cleared his throat, lowering his tone just a tad bit with humility. “We keep him alive…I need answers.”

“Jaysus, I forgot that’s your old man…” Bill sighed. “Got some personal score with him, aye?”

“Not exactly…Maybe I just want to try to see eye-to-eye, understand where he’s coming from by doing all of- this.” Grian paused, using his fingers to rub at his temple with a frustrated crease on his face. “Or not, maybe I just want the last laugh after all...”

When they were alone, Scar tried not to bring that man up unless Grian himself did, a sore topic after everything had been revealed. Bill could still be excused for the lack of knowledge. But as he watched Grian’s attempts to answer, most have been in the avoidant and mostly vague answers. Scar doesn’t wish to pry too deeply, even after he’s technically the only person to learn the full extent of their relationship. But based on his own observations of the man, both as the newly-christened pirate or the true, vulnerable side of him, it’s as if he himself were unsure.

“It’s getting late, why don’t we discuss more tomorrow?”

—

Wake up, sing, spar, discuss, sleep. Repeat.

With a routine as packed and vigorous, he wondered himself how he could stay sane throughout all of it. Their emotional support pet had been left in case they were never to return, their mission had far greater risks and that includes opening up some repressed wounds. Grian could only anxiously count down for the days, the adrenaline and anxiety funnelled into the energy for sparring.

Inside the cabin that would be considered his own room now, he enters a state of calm, deep into relaxation where his mind doesn’t constantly swirl around like a whirlpool, jumping back and forth towards their agendas. For once he wanted a moment for himself. To face and reflect on the man that stood before him.

Figuratively and literally.

Never throughout his career as a sailor would he imagine rising up to the ranks of an officer and gaining a coat of honour of his own. He did wear the hand-me-down of Scar’s, but the sheer difference in size made it as if he’s a child in play-pretend. He’s not one to make overt predictions of his future, though becoming a pirate within that timeline definitely hadn’t shown up in the books. The heavier weight by his shoulders mimicked the sense of duty he once wished to fulfil and carry, so much so even if it may kill him one day. 

‘ Ironic. I wanted to prioritise myself more than anything, instead I tried to drown myself in the life of a sailor.’ . 

Grian traced over the golden buttons. He’s not one to care for the authenticity of the materials, so long as it served its purpose. He stretched out his arms as the sleeves fully enveloped itself around it. It surprised me how Scar somehow found the perfect size for it, unlike the original. And the length. Precise and not too long, just right for the effect and practicality of it. His favourite detail had been the collar, its structure as tough as it had just been made. 

The coat made him seem more important than he should be. But for the sake of it, he took the time to fully take in the sight of his face. 

His dark eyes stared back into him, a trait he unfortunately took after from his father. With their vastly different shade of hair, the pair of eyes were the telltale signs of relation, and hopefully the only thing Grian ever inherited from him. He’s not one to properly pay attention to the features of his face nor do they ever have access to mirrors far away in the sea. And the last time he ever did, they were glowing an unnatural blue, like the glow of the underwater caverns illuminated by light. 

The passing thought of ‘What-ifs’ floated in his head as he wondered what life would be like if he hadn’t gone the route of a sailor. It frustrated him to no end, the one man that introduced him to the seas and his descent towards despair and mania miraculously did not leave a scathing mark on his own view of the seas. He despised privateers, yes, for their intentions were rarely less than noble and of his own experience with his father.

Or for the young, hapless Grian whom all he wanted was to run up and away, the seas would be his only escape.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re not comfortable.” Scar spoke up from his bed, idly watching Grian from putting on his new coat to examining himself in the mirror. “I probably should’ve thought it through properly…”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Grian sighed softly, shrugging off the coat before draping it over on a chair. He headed towards Scar’s direction and immediately assumed the spot beside him. “Every day, we get a step closer towards reaching our destination. And we’re predicting that we’ll arrive in a few days, or…”

“Even tomorrow.”

“Right. I don’t actually mind wanting to test out what you’re thinking of, I’m just worried if I might lose control over it.” His hand crept over to Scar’s, seeking for its hold and comfort as he continued voicing his worries. “There’s…too much in my head right now. Too many thoughts, worries, what-if’s…”

“I know with the current time, everyone has to be working hard, but it doesn’t hurt to take a short break, you know?” The captain reassured, kindly holding Grian’s cheek in a delicate manner, a touch of comfort and his own way of expressing his fondness. “You’re amazing, you know that? How you’re not tired from training so many men…it’s impressive.”

“It’s the most I can do for everyone. And their hard work will come to fruition, I just know it.”

Grian leaned forward, leaving a quick peck on Scar’s cheek. “Even you.”

“Aw…you’re just buttering me up now, I’m not as good as you yet!”

“ Yet , you’ll get there eventually…” He chuckled, pushing himself off the bed. His hand extended out in an offer towards the captain. “It’s about time for dinner, we better hurry or they’ll find it suspicious.”

“But aren’t you forgetting something?” Scar suggested, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically as that earned a lighthearted chuckle from Grian.

Grian grabbed his hands anyways, pulling away the larger man from his bed with a display of surprising strength. “Don’t be so dramatic, I think it’s been a whole week since I’ve ever slept on my hammock below. Hurray for the free space, I bet that’s what the rest are thinking…”

“Then if you would so kindly continue spending your time with me-slow down!”

“I said keep going already!”

He practically shoved Scar out towards the door and no one batted an eye at it. No one ever spent dinner alone, enjoying it in the presence of many others as everyone surfaced up onto the main deck, even accompanying the ones on duty. It was an occasion he once paid no mind for in the Flying Jellie when he first came to be, but after everything they had gone through and his own acceptance of his destiny, looked-over moments ended up forming timeless memories.

It served a reminder that past the vicious image and reputation any pirate held, they were still people at the end of the day. A family searching for the same purpose, or a melting pot of acceptance regardless of any backgrounds. He watched as they laughed and chatter all throughout the night, not a hint of animosity towards each other. With the seas they’re united, brothers, sworn to fight till their dying end.

It was why Grian had been hesitant on dragging them along in his personal mission. He dares not to think of the guilt he may carry should any of it fail, more so if he were to remain as the sole survivor…

A habit, Grian realised it used to be, delving too far into the pessimism of life. Though these days, he doesn't need to worry about straying too far from reality. He doesn’t dread living for another day if that meant Scar would be the one to greet him every morning, with love and a newfound purpose in life. He doesn’t attempt to leave the eyes of the crew, and instead steps into the circle, putting himself out there to truly connect with effort. 

Long after he finished his meal, Grian made a quick trip back into the cabin, returning by Scar’s side with a guitar in hand. The others that noticed the instrument cheered way before Grian had said anything. Their support never failed to put a smile on his face, especially in a time where he had no need to fear being himself, to do the thing he loved without persecution.

This song may be all he has left of his mum. In their short lives with a rocky road ahead anyone and everyone, they’ll at least need something to remember it by, to immortalise the spirit of their kin and bond. He strummed gently on the guitar, allowing the sound to not only reverberate in his heart but others as well. 

“ Kind friends and companions, come join me in rhyme… ”

No introductions, no heads up needed to start off the song. The tune usually sounded exuberant in pubs and taverns, yet the sentiment behind it doesn’t get lost in the seas. Some may blame him for relaying the song in a much more sombre mood, but sadness isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Reality was more often disappointing. So let this song be the hope and response, he conveyed.

“ Come lift up your voices in chorus with mine…Come lift up your voices, all grief to refrain…”

Tears that once welled up nearly every day in the night have long since dried into adulthood, yet still he grieved. Lamenting over his losses and clinging desperately over the past, those tears weren’t wasted fully. But for a short moment, this moment mayhaps, all that sadness within a bottle could be put aside for what the future has to offer.

“ For we may or might never all meet here again… ”

They sang in unison. No one at all seemed to be dazed or lost unlike before with many songs Grian had to teach and recall at the same time, as if everyone knew this occasion would call for only one perfect end. It was a silent acknowledgement of the possible fates that awaited them, the past Grian must face and the decision Scar will have to act on, whether for his own benefit or others. A shame their final drinks may not be the sweet rum in favour of the less drunk-inducing grog, but everyone sang happily nonetheless so long there’s a drink in their hands. 

Grian tried not to dwell too far into his feelings, a habit out of worry that overtly showing one’s emotions made you weak and vulnerable. Scar taught him otherwise. That giving into it will only give you the strength to move on, just as he sailed for his dreams and left his old life behind. And for as long as they had sung into the night, she continued sailing full speed ahead. Were they singing into their dooms? Was this an early farewell should they never meet again? The many interpretations varied among the individuals.

For Grian, it merely was a wish of good faith, and a silent prayer for the God out there. For should He listen, allow this sinner’s prayers of good health for the men of the Flying Jellie to live on.

And of course, special blessings towards the man did he ever love and adore.

—

“I never realised how bright the moon could be.”

Grian voiced out the thought attached to his brain, noticing the pale light to seep into the room through the windows. He sat by the bed, his fingers softly grazing the old mattress that has seen better days. Many of the items scattered throughout were quite old, perhaps even older than him and Scar combined.

A gentle touch found itself resting on Grian’s hand, rubbing circles with the thumb. “Join me, what’s on your mind?”

Grian eventually slipped under the cover, meeting Scar’s bright yet subdued gaze. They always looked at him as if stars were attached on his back, truly in awe of anything he could do. Those were his own observations, but Grian never thought of how he must’ve looked at Scar. He secretly hoped it was far more obvious than Scar on Grian. 

“Hard to say.” He admitted. “Worry, some acceptance, fear…”

“Is there any way I can help you?”

Grian softly sighed, reaching out to feel Scar’s face, prominently the cheek. “You’ve done so much…You being here is more than enough.”

“I’m glad…” Scar beamed. “If we’re lucky, it might not be tomorrow after all…”

He doubted it. Carter and Grian himself were quite certain their distance had been the shortest on average, the closer they got to confronting his father. Worries still plagued at every corner of his heart and bones, yet for now, his mind is empty. Drifting aimlessly in the sea of thoughts and consumed by Scar’s presence above his own. 

“It could also be tonight for all we know…hah, if that’s the case, I’d want to fall asleep as quickly as possible.”

“You’re free to fall asleep whenever you want, I’ll just follow.”

Grian shifted slightly, his lips pursed nervously. “Scar…I need you to promise me…”

“What is it?” Scar asked, holding onto Grian’s hand tightly. 

“...I know more than anything, you refuse to outright kill anyone by your hands…” Grian started, his voice lowering to a whisper. “But…in the case where we’re desperate and out of ideas…” 

A frown began to appear on Scar’s face. “Grian, I don’t understand…”

“I want you to save yourself first.” The grip on his hand got tighter. “Your men need you more than anything. If-if father were to take you away from me-”

Wordlessly, Scar pulled Grian towards him on the bed, his face buried into Scar’s chest and the securing embrace. A hand reached from behind his head to cradle it ever so kindly, bringing them closer together in their proximity.

“Are you insane ?” Scar questioned, with the audacity to make it seem as if Grian is the one not making sense. “Don’t go saying things like you’ll die alone by the end of this…God, it sounds depressing…”

“I might as well, especially-”

“I’m serious, Gri. It’s never going to come down where only one of us makes it out alive. If I’m alive, then I’m dragging you out there with me too! I…”

His breath hitched, “I’m not letting you go. If we’ve come this far, then surely there’s a future waiting for us beyond your father and the island. I…I promise.”

“...A future, huh…”

It had been too long, far too long since he hoped. Dreamed of the future and what awaited him. And just like Scar, he returned the sentiment. It’d be too soon for fate to separate them from each other’s chains, one that had always been present ever since Grian pledged his debt to the captain. 

The future…A future where they were free to celebrate and build up New Providence as its own established government. A future where he gets to wake up in Scar’s arms, to the meows and purrs of Jellie without a single care in the world. A future where he fully gained the title of quartermaster and stepped up to be crowned as some of the most ferocious duo of the seven seas. 

He wants- no. He needs it. 

Grian dove in, their lips meeting halfway in a deep, inviting kiss. When he finally drew back of his own volition, it’s as if every air had been sucked out of his body, and there he was left speechless in the presence of the smiley captain. And before he knew it, Scar started it again, bringing his hand over to cup at Grian’s face as intense desire turned them both erratic. His heart hammered heavily in his chest. Carefully, Scar shifted his body mid-kissing, moving above Grian and shadowing over him.

Any words he planned to say died out in his mouth, as anytime it dared to open another would sweep in, stealing away his words and worries as it dissolved away in the night air. Scar’s arms were slowly creeping up his own, securing his wrists tight against the mattress as they continued. It took a significant amount of willpower to snap out of it. For Grian to catch his own breath, his figure seemed fragile under Scar’s grasp.

“You…” He chuckled breathlessly. “You looked forward to doing that, didn’t you?”

‘What can I say? I’m a man of simple needs.” Scar smirked and flirtatiously exchanged, before his look softened into a sweet gaze. “I can’t help it, you’re too much than I can handle.”

“How do you think I feel with you?” Grian joked, removing an arm from Scar’s weakened grasp, sweeping away some strands of his bangs to allow the view of his face to be clearer. “There, that’s better. You drive me insane, I swear to God…”

Just for a night, they both could forget, and cherish each other’s presence all throughout the night. Nothing more would he ever ask for.

Chapter Text

The floor was devoid of any rays of the sun reflected from the sun, but a general brightness with no proper concentration of the light. They knew it had been morning either way, from the busy shuffling of the men right outside of the doors, followed with familiar shouts of commands and orders. Even in the arms of his loved one, Grian would wake up with a jolt. His eyes peeled open and on high alert. The beating of his chest pounding louder than a drum of a soldier’s band.

Scar had a brief smile on, tired even, before leaving a quick peck on Grian’s temple. Off they went, fully dressed and armed with their essential weapons as they headed straight towards the door. No one turned their heads over to the arrival of the captain and quartermaster, instead they stared off into the sea blankly-no. They were definitely focused, but on the strange fog that seemed to have accumulated overnight. 

It would’ve been a regular occurrence, not a strange sight to behold of the first thing when they awoke. Later in the day, it would eventually disperse under the blazing hot sun, especially as they reach closer to noon. Yet the further she sailed, the fog continued to thicken, so much so they’ve lost sight of the horizon with the compass as their only guide towards the island. 

Grian trusted Carter’s skill more than himself, and Scar trusted that sentiment. But when the expert himself encountered trouble with a questioning start, it wouldn’t be odd for panic to slowly rise up in their hearts. To add on, he began to shrug at his coat out of instinct and shield from the sudden drop of temperature, colder than a stormy day. It wasn’t just Grian who reacted similarly however.

“We must be really close now…” Scar muttered, tucking his hat onto his head with a proper tug. 

“Then we must act quickly.”

With swift orders, everyone available on the Flying Jellie were called over onto the main deck, staring above towards the two men. They ran through the plan often, perfecting its details to the end. He only hoped this would be more than enough, and the casualty count may stay less, even if it felt impossible. As Scar stood by the railings, Grian pulled his weight up, balancing onto the wooden structures with proper balance. 

“Listen up!” He exclaimed from high above, with a gaze unwavering whilst he stared down below. “There’s no doubt we’re getting closer to our target. They’re gunning for the island, and don’t be mistaken to think that the island is unoccupied. If you value your life, then stuff your ears with cottons, just enough to block out most of your hearing. Remember why you’re here, of the men you call brothers, of your captain you have loyally served under him, of the endangerment of our kind and the uncertain future. Never forget your purpose, no matter what.”

There was no knowing how strong the other sirens may be in comparison with Grian’s halfly-granted ability. He doubted if he could even pull in the other men of the Man-o’-War, or even lose control. Nevertheless, he continued on. “Prepare the cannons and stay sharp on your feet. Only when you have heard the bang of a musket are you allowed to take fire. Do not take out the cottons until I instruct you so. Are we clear!?”

“AYE AYE!”

The men were quickly dispatched around the vessel, grabbing whatever they could within reach to block out the canals of their ears. Within the running and shouting to prepare for the worst, the chill in their air intensified, so much so Grian tugged at his jacket closer for heat. Nothing about it is normal. And Bill, who had still doubted the existence of sirens up until this point, even began to stare by the fog with the underlying sense of dread. 

He would’ve asserted the importance of keeping the captain as safe as they could, but Scar was already ready by the mast, musket in tow with his bullets and gunpowder stored above the night prior. He had yet to start climbing up, prompting Grian to slowly make his way towards him, cautious and tensely. The time moved on above their heads, counting slowly towards the first steps of confrontation, evident in everyone that their time is slowly running out. Grian of all people held up the importance of time far better than anyone else, yet Scar’s unmoving gaze kept him frozen in his presence, dreading yet flourishing.

“Don’t forget to block your ears.” He reminded him, a rueful smile complementing the eyes that had seen everything. The fear of his father had been evident, though he wished not to show such weakness in front of anyone, even the man who had seen his worst. 

“But what about you?” Scar frowned, his fingertips hovering towards Grian’s ear and lightly grazed the outermost layer. “I don’t know if you should-”

“I understand your concern, but it’s a risk we have to take. And I’d have to be the one to give you all the signals, so have some faith in me, you got that?” He gently held him by the wrist, slowly guiding down the hand and away from his ear.

“Is it too late to change your mind?”

“I’d say it’s too late for anything, love.” Grian brought the hand over to his lips and gently pressed on it. “I’m not worried if you’re there. I trust you can bring me back to my senses faster than anyone.”

At the gesture, Scar finally smiled a gentle one. “I guess that’s the most important job I’ll have here.”

With a final nod, Grian turned away towards the general direction of the deck. “IN FIVE MINUTES, MEN! GET TO IT! KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED AND AWARE FOR THE SHIP’S ARRIVAL!”

They took their own unique routes up to the nest, with Grian swiftly clambering over the tied-up pole and the net of ropes, and Scar taking the quick trip up with the swift cut by the lift. From up there, the entire vessel from up top could almost be counted as the view of their world. Almost poetic how he and Scar will always end up here together. It had been their getaway from prying eyes to show vulnerability, but like the stage of their life all eyes were on them, ears peeled for the cathartic cry of the musket. 

If he were to die, then let it be near his love, Grian prayed.

—

In the thicker fog, one could barely see across the distance, their heart beating in quick unison over anticipating the unknown. The silence in their ears would be uncomforting. But at least everyone else with stuffed ears shared the sentiment, but Grian doesn’t. 

The only sounds that kept him sane were the sloshing of the waves against their hull, or the shuffling and tapping of his foot onto the sturdy crow’s nest. Scar’s presence acted more as his personal ward against his evilest and intruding thoughts. Aside from those, the deck, the entire ocean surrounding them, were devoid of life. Not even the seagulls migrating across the globe with their croaking cries. Or the familiar sound of the waves against the many different natural obstacles it may collide with. 

They peered against any and every sign of life, anything that could be moving among their limited field of vision. He watched Carter raise and lower his spyglass continuously, with Grian himself doubtful of his capability to see. He even noticed the crew’s antsy nerves, some trying to communicate to others in simple gestures or by exaggerating their lip movements. Maybe as a final joke, a consolation, hopefully anything remotely happy. 

So when the first major change occurred since she had sailed blindly into the fog, it hadn’t been realised by sight. No, they felt her presence, rattling their bones with just her sails and rudder alone. 

Grian went from idly sitting cross-legged while touching knees with Scar, to springing up at the order of his heart, his mind tuning into a tunnel vision against the nothingness. Scar would follow and trust any of his instincts and join the man in the questioning peer. One side hoped it was the ship, another didn’t. Conflicting coins yet the outcome shall only be the same. It was a matter of which suffering comes first, and which to prepare for next. 

It made sense after the threat had passed, though the present he has yet to know. Irony revealed himself as a sickening, dull pain collected against his head, and Grian would’ve assumed it had been from nothing, but the singing.

Their harmony was almost perfect, too perfect where Grian initially thought they were merely the sound of the waves. They blended in, before diverging into its own tune, a hum low yet it vibrates into your heart. It’s soothing to his heart and soul, yet painful to his senses and mind. He was almost brought back to the first time he ever experienced sea sickness during his first trip, except the pain had been a tenfold increase. 

His grip on the railings were so tight that it almost looked painful. Scar immediately sensed the oddity, quickly rushing to Grian’s side and providing support to his back. He tried to assure the man he was fine (extreme vertigo aside, but fine ) only to recall he couldn’t really hear him. With weak and shaky limbs, he tried to take a quick glance over the deck and his heart relaxed when he could still see their men below. Confused, but in their eyes they were still lucid. Yet from their side, nothing popped out from the fog. 

He shrugged Scar off gently, using a simple open palm to him as a sign that he’s fine. Grian hobbled over to the opposite of their side, staring over the sea with a hope of catching something.

He didn’t, instead fate rewarded him with a worse headache than the one he already got, and quickly he backtracked away to where Scar stood. Despite the extremely unlucky attempt, his brain worked over quickly to deduce their location. Grian took off to the opposite direction, the right side from where he and Scar were where the quarterdeck was located. Thankfully, in just a few seconds Carter immediately caught sight of Grian and his vigorous signals.

‘ Larboard, island!’ He repeated twice, until he noticed Carter’s nod. 

The ship swiftly turned towards their right, with just enough of an angle so that they wouldn’t collide with the ship, but along it. The chorus continued on, though the pain had been just bearable enough for him to refocus his sights back for that ship-

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, and Grian turned to find Scar, staring into him with a knowing look, troubled but acknowledging. He pointed where they had been staring out for the longest time, hoping for the right cue or the slightest sign of life so that they may act out first.

The waves rocked, louder and bigger. The water below them flowed distinctly, but the biggest teller of all were the creeping shadows. 

They came forth onto the stage from starboard, almost dangerously close to their own ship as she swam parallel with the Flying Jellie. Grian knew they were more than capable of taking down a ship as huge as a Man-o’-War, but any sane man would doubt themselves in the moment, wondering if their first victory had simply been luck. The fog came to be their impromptu help, masking the smaller but nimble vessel from the hulking ship. Staring in awe of the sheer size and thinking too far into the future almost distracted Grian from his purpose. He turned to Scar, giving a final nod of confirmation as he steadied himself on his two feet, staring dead into the ship with reckless fearlessness.

Grian’s mouth flew open, and the song came naturally to him.

A song made from the top of his head, harmonising with those of the sirens with a note or two coming straight from his heart. It was a silent plea 

—

Scar heard the all-too familiar voice, humming and singing not of coherent words and sentences.

His heart was always on the edge, and he averted his gaze as if it’ll stop his own hearing from carrying out its function. No one else below would have heard Grian but himself, and upon the revelation did Scar realise the utmost unfeasible method he had ever come up with. And now poor Grian was forced to do this, unknown if his voice would ever pierce through the silence and possibly goaded the trained men into the ocean.

Apologetically, his eyes turned up to Grian, his raised voice almost sounding pathetic. All he could do to barely redeem himself was to mutter an apology of sadness, muttering ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. 

He gasped.

No, Scar didn’t gasp…Nor did Grian…but undoubtedly he heard it loud enough, as if it was in his own ear which was why he assumed it had been his own doing. From his peripheral, he noticed the men’s turning heads and questioning stares, as if they too were convinced the sound had been in their own head if not for their united reaction. He quickly got up from the floor, heading for Grian to perhaps somehow figure it out if he was behind it in any way possible.

He was a second short to get his attention, before the visceral scream cut them both off.

Such a reaction flew past the barriers of their cotton as everyone stood there, confused. Scar was lucky to be facing the right direction, and for a split second noticed something flying past from the top to the bottom, then cued the scream. Grian himself had stopped singing, his eyes widened from where he stood and stared. His jaw’s hinges fluttered open and close yet nothing could come out. Scar knew he had to see it for himself, and joined Grian by his side to look…

…upon the sight of a man’s crooked neck, surrounded by his breathing comrades as they stared down upon him like a freak of a show. 

The chorus began.

These… things flew past in front of both ships, surrounding the Flying Jellie whilst also making its way towards the Man-o’-War. The second occurrence came from the deck, starting with the panicked screams of a young man signalling everyone’s directions. The men below had their heads craned all over the place in confusion, whereas the men of the Flying Jellie could only rely on their hearings. Except the screams got louder and further within quick succession, higher and lower at an impossible rate before a sickening crunch forced its end. 

More and more victims quickly piled up, dying from the same unusual methods. In the midst of the chaos and shock, Grian realised his head ached no more, balance restored to his feet and mind. He tried to pay no mind towards the continuous string of screams that followed, reaching towards Scar, grabbing at his shoulder with a loud approval for his turn to strike. And just for him, Grian went through the bother of removing his protection and chucked it off from the mast. 

“Grian!” Scar exclaimed, partly from shock when the man in question removed the buds for him as well as the shock sourced from their current situation. “Wh-what- how !?”

“I don’t know, but you need to take a shot now!” As quickly as he informed Scar, he leapt off from the nest and onto the beams of the sails, landing gracefully like a cat. “And hurry!”

Not much could be said after the man took off, leaving Scar with nothing to do but obey his commands. He held his musket properly, opting to aim for one of his counterparts by the northern mast. Scar took a deep breath and aimed towards the man’s head. 

The shot rang in the air, and like the many men that were tormented, fell down onto the deck with blood splattered all over the floor. Scar almost expected none of his men to hear that shot with all the screaming and whatnot but immediately after, an array of cannonballs unleashed itself onto their opponent, scattered but otherwise dealing the damage they needed.

Meanwhile, Grian scrambled onto the deck, shouting while gesturing with his own ears as he instructed them. “Take it off! Take it off, men! We’re in the clear!”

The message spread quickly across the deck, and soon their men were back to their full potential, roaring at their enemies’ demise. Grian’s sight on the mysterious creatures that attacked those men wasn’t as steady as he wished for, the most he could catch were the sight of lightly-coloured feathers, a plethora arranged neatly as it swooshes in the air. Wings like the beautiful ones he ever set his eyes on as a child, separated forcefully from its owner. 

He could almost stop to stare and fully let the realisation sink in. But pressing matters were present, and Grian swiftly made it onto his final stop, the quarterdeck.

Carter was the last of them to remove his ear cloggers. Grian turned towards the rest of the crew, exclaiming loud and clear. “Quick, proceed with the boarding! Remember all the lessons I have taught you, and strike down our foes!”

“I thought you were jesting! ” Bill popped up from below, on his chest holding more pistols than usual and by his belt a pair of twin cutlasses. “Those birdmen are really..!?”

Grian nodded frantically. “Why in the world would I lie!? But anyways, the whole team is going down this one, are we ready for it or not!?”

“Don’t take it like some rookie, lad! We’re tearing this vessel apart!”

“Then good.” He finished, setting his sights up above whilst keeping his balance steady as their men launched out the ropes, pulling stronger and faster until their hulls reached close enough to climb up and into the deck. He has yet to meet that man , his senses on higher alert once it had been clear. All Grian could do is pray, remember the whole reason why he’s doing this. 

At all cost, his father must be stopped.

He returned up to the web once more, in his boots instead of barefoot when traversing up here to lessen the damage when fighting on the deck. When the rocking of both ships swung by the same way and predictable from his eyes, Grian jumped off from the ropes, unsheathing his sword in mid-air before stabbing down a man by his throat. Some joined him from above, some carefully made their way up the deck by the hull in the absent fear of getting blown up. Like ants crawling up their food, the Flying Jellie ’s determined crew were slowly but surely overwhelming their hunters. In a twisted sense, the hunter becomes the hunted here.

Even upon a week of holding himself back out of kindness for the more inexperienced, Grian never once lost his touch. His steps were coordinated and quick, the sword in his hand becoming a natural extension of his own body and one by one the men were taken out in a single slash. Showing mercy was not an option with this crew, simply working for his father damned them all to Grian’s wrath, and he began seeking them out when he’s out of fresh batches of men. 

It used to guilt him with the pleasure he’s experiencing from utilising this skill, to use his own father’s teachings against him. To Grian’s delight, it seemed that this crew weren’t so lucky to be blessed with a proper training session from the captain himself, making it easier for his own men to plough through the force. 

As he was about to finish up another man with a quick stab to his forehead, a sharper yet faster blade flew into the battle, before deflecting his sword strongly enough for it to escape Grian’s grasp. The latter wasted no time retrieving his dagger out, countering the blade away when it tried to go in twice. His grip on the blade tightened as his eyes stared down at his attacker. The man is full of surprises and equipped with the skills of a soldier.

Only the son may be worthy enough to match up with him. 

“ You. ”

“You truly are one stubborn boy, aren’t you?” He sighed, slowly shifting into the stance of a professional swordfighter. “Disobeying your father’s words?”

“You don’t deserve to call yourself that. You’re a deadbeat, poor excuse of a father. I’d be better off being raised by primates than you!” Grian spat out.

”That’s not the kind of tone you should be using on me…”

Without a warning, his father thrusted the blade with the intention of aiming for his torso. Grian quickly countered it with the shorter dagger yet his fingers expertly changed up the way he held the hilt. He tried going in for an attack of his own, hoping to catch him off guard by aiming for the arm.

“Predictable.” The captain grunted as he managed to hold off the dagger, pushing him off roughly. “You’ve gotten rusty over the years, Grian. Your little sea escapades have worn down your training and endurance.”

“Oh, you call that training? That hell you put me through just because mum left you!?”

“ Don’t .” His father rushed forward, their blades clashing together as Grian quickly took control and deflected off the former’s blade. His jaw was hardened and gritting, the mere mention of his mother striking quite a terrible nerve to him. “Don’t you dare mention her…!”

In a blind rage, Captain Ward headed on, all attack and no defence while forcing Grian to presume that role for his own survival. A part of him worried that he’ll be backed into a corner or into another hunter’s arms, sandwiching him between death. He peered around speedily to hopefully catch something of an advantage, from the floor to the people surrounding them, all engrossed into their own individual fights.

His eyes widened at the opportunity, waiting for his father to connect their blades together. At the sharp ringing of metals, he pushed off the stronger man and made a quick run, sliding down to the wooden floor and grabbing his cutlass back amidst the chaos. 

Grian raised it just right, with the right timing before his father could come and stab his back. He quickly stepped back and got onto his two feet, holding out both blades against the old man. “I won’t let you near her, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe… Away from you and your men.”

‘ I am not like you…’

Captain Ward scoffed, “It’s your blood that will end up spilled by the end of the day…”

When he was young, every single spar session with his father never felt on equal footing. Whenever Grian thought he may at least have the slightest chance of one-upping the man he once looked up to… As easily he believed, as easily he fell.Like the ferocious bull made to be entertainment while the true master matador controlled its surroundings to keep the bull captive in his one-track mind. 

From a child to a young adult, he grew up imagining nothing would ever surpass the beast within that man, for any battle he ever got into was mere playtime. It’d be wrong to assume he had never dreamt of such a scenario, idly wishing for the day his father shall receive comeuppance. It didn’t matter if it was a battle, or pure, unfiltered karma…

Grian should’ve given more credit to himself, said in the voice that’s eerily similar to Scar’s, yet it came from himself. 

Past the emotional strain that affected his bones, the return of his cutlass brought him back towards equal footing. Both men are driven not by their emotions, but their goals of the future, where err in a single step may result towards worse outcomes. They strike and block indefinitely. But there were also tactics, precognitions and the constant reading of each other’s body language. Their duel may even captivate the souls that haunt the island, mimicking a fast-paced dance with their turns and light steps.

For the first time, his actions weren’t for the sake of it. To survive, to incapacitate, not everything had to be for himself. It’s when he’s fighting for others, was there truly that severed connection between his need of survival and fighting for it. If anything, his steps got a tad bit lighter. His head became much clearer just as the fog started to clear itself, the glorious sun shining down upon the floating battlefield…

The first strike that finally landed, he credited that towards. The second, a coincidence but not a guarantee of his superiority. He himself struggled stamina-wise to carry out the duel as long as his legs could keep moving. Yet somehow, his father’s movements had been the one getting sluggish, and the slightest delay in his movements ended up as the tiebreaker. 

As much as he despised him, Grian kept it safe and only attacked in cuts, merely targeting non-lethal parts but deep enough to hopefully have him back off (Which would be a first to see, but still). It wouldn’t seem much if the most he could hit were about three, but even at some point Grian lost count, and the only fact he was sure of was that his father’s wounds heavily outweighed Grian’s. Combined with the other hunters he had slaughtered before reaching his father, the bloodstains may as well seep into his own skin and clothes, becoming one with him. 

Father and son, far embroiled deeply in their own personal conflict to care over their surroundings. Grian wished Scar could come to his mind as easily as before despite the thought would most likely be too distracting in a pivotal moment like this. But there was no one else he’d rather think of in his final days, to be the very last sight he will ever set his eyes upon before giving into the darkness.

And yet, he’s the one standing. And father’s down on his knees, heaving heavily whilst still clutching at his sword. The sight was somewhat pitiful. It pained Grian to think of this, to realise his animosity towards his own kin could easily falter at a moment like this.

“Father…that’s enough.” Grian started, slowly placing the dagger back into his belt. “I hate you with all my every being, but I’m not here to kill you. Just-”

“You don’t get to say it…!” The captain growled, their blades meeting yet without the rush of it all, in their bodies or out with their movements. “ You are the reason she’s gone! She was everything to me! My dear Cecelia…If you hadn’t found her wings-!”

“WHEN WILL ENOUGH BE ENOUGH!?”

His voice thundered across the deck, so loud he screamed it interrupted every single activity on it. Even the waves went still at his command, filling the air with eerie, deafening silence.

He cried out, forcing out those words in spite of his tightening throat, as his tricorne flew away from his head. “If you loved her that much…if you even cared for her…THEN LET HER GO! You and I both know this isn’t where she’s meant to be…”

Grian paused to furiously wipe away his tears before continuing. “Do you think you’re the only one that misses here!? Fine, she was your wife! But she’ll be the only mum I’ll ever have in this lifetime…But guess what…? At least I moved on. And you’re still here, stuck in the bloody past.”

“Hah…ahaha…!” All the captain could do was cackle, a hint of sanity gone from his eyes. “You truly are a horrible son…! And who did you move on with, that captain of yours? I see it in your eyes, Grian, you can’t hide anything from your father! If this was how my love ends then as my son, yours shall end in vain as well!”

The grip of his sword tightened. “No…Scar’s different. You know nothing about him-”

“Oh, but I know you. ” The man slowly dragged himself up, from knee to the balls of his feet. “Will he really accept you for what you are, the freak of nature everyone is so afraid of? I know what we look like when we’re young and so in love… how would you know he wouldn’t run away ?”

“Stop…”

“...I’m not afraid of you…”

Grian glared at the man, forcing his own breath into control. “You know nothing about me or him.”

“I know what humans are. And if you call me scum…who’s to say he’s not one?”

He’s getting closer… closer…

Relax…! He’s not back at that stupid house in the middle of the night, yet-

“I said stay away…!”

Closer. Closer. Closer. Closer.

“I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, GRIAN! MY DEAREST SON!”

“ STAY AWAY-! ”

BANG

All he saw was red.

It reeked of blood, everywhere on his own being, and the fresh puddle formed at the bottom of his father’s feet. He couldn’t see what had happened in spite of his wide eyes. They were seeing visions of the past, blended in with the haunting thoughts of that night. In a desperate bid of survival, he altered their history, and did something he could’ve done oh so long ago…

The pistol felt warm in his hands…

Father stood above him, towering over Grian in an odd mirror of the past. He was trying to escape, run away before the monster within his head could come and catch him. He could barely recall when was the last time he ever pulled out the pistol. But no doubt, his finger rests idly on the trigger shakily, who else but he shall take responsibility.

“Father…” He choked out. “Oh God…I’m-I’m so-”

“...Useless child…”

He muttered, coughing out a putrid mixture of puke and blood. 

“I’LL KILL YOU!”

His eyes shut close, shaking far too much to even fight back with the sword still available in his hand. The deathly scream of his father reverberated into his bones as his own heart reached its peak of the shocking spike. He was too drained to hold on to life, and in just a second accepted his demise…

Until the scream stopped in its tracks when a squelching sound overtook it.

The blade had been so dangerously close to Grian’s face that he jumped back from surprise, smoothly cutting past skin and flesh until it reached the other side of the body, the steel poking out from the sternum. His father’s eyes were as wide as his, a slow trickle of blood dripping at the corner of his lips.

“What…-” The blade twisted and angled itself higher, drawing out a pained gasp from the captain. “Argh! You…!”

“That’s right, it’s me.”

It was hard to see from below with the darkened shadows, but once he did… Never would Grian imagine he’d almost cry at the sight of the red feather.

Scar’s head reached dangerously close behind Captain Ward, whispering to his ear in sinister calm. “So don’t you dare touch Grian.”

A hand gripped tightly at his shoulder as the sword was pulled out harshly, spraying more of his father’s blood and staining Grian’s dazed face. Just like that, Scar tossed away the body behind him like a ragdoll. He immediately dropped his sword once Grian came to view. Scar rushed towards him, gently lifting him off from the ground. “Oh God, Grian…”

“Scar…” He whispered. “You came…”

“Of course I did!” Scar exclaimed, cradling Grian’s head as he pulled the shorter man into a tight, caring embrace. “Shh…you’re safe…”

No, he’s not. Someone was shuffling behind Scar, and no one else was there but him.

“But Scar- he’s…” Grian attempted to voice out. “If he-”

A gust of air blew over their heads, causing them both to turn over to notice a pair of wings blocking their view. Grian could barely see with Scar’s larger body blocking him, but whatever was happening, Scar knew. And that elicited a reaction of bringing Grian closer to him. 

“Scar, what-what’s happening…?”

“It’s alright, there’s nothing to see…!”

“Cecelia…? Is that you…?” He heard his father’s weakened voice. “Dear, how much I have missed you…!”

Silence responded, leaving whatever happened still very much vague with the exception of pathetic, happy noises from his father. Whenever he stirred in Scar’s grasp, the man only resolved to embrace him tighter. Far more determined to ensure Grian does not witness it at all.

Then suddenly, his father gasped. “Dear wait- where are you going…? No no no… I just got here! Who are these-why are they…! No…NO! DON’T TOUCH ME! CECELIA COME BACK! CECELIA! CECELIA! CECELIAAAAAAA!!”

Cautiously, Scar wrapped another arm around Grian’s head to block out the noises. Just the silence and Scar’s presence provided immediate relief, even if he should hear closely, the screams carried on throughout. They remained like this for a while, a while …It took some time before the sounds finally drowned out, and the ocean breathed life once more.

Scar’s arm loosened, including the ones by Grian’s ears. Yet once more, Scar quickly shielded him with a hug whenever he tried to even take a peek. “You don’t have to look…it’s-he’s gone.”

“Gone…” Grian whispered. “Is he dead…?”

A deep pause. Scar readjusted his arms so Grian may slot his own arms by Scar’s torso. Slowly, he nodded. “He’s dead, Grian. For real.”

He closed his eyes. Not a single shed of tears escaped his ducts.

“...Good…”

—

Scar continued to hold him close, the both of them not paying mind for their audience staring at the sight bewildered. The soldiers of the fallen captain could only watch in horror at the sight behind Scar, whereas the Flying Jellie silently peered over their two highest-in-command, saying nothing out of respect over the victorious moment.

The gust of wind returned, fluttering right by Grian’s back. He heard Scar softly gasp at the sight, before slowly removing himself from the hug. “Grian…turn around.”

His eyes immediately set onto the pair of wings, golden and bright against the rising sun. The woman in front of him was bare, not that it mattered to Grian nor did he feel awkward over it. What really got him reacting was her gentle smile, and the shade of her long hair that reached past her stomach and curled by the ends. 

Grian stumbled to her, his lips quivering in pure, hard-to-contain emotions. “Mum…? That’s- is that really you…?”

She opened her arms up, whispering. “Grian…”

He immediately ran up to her, pulling her straight into a tight embrace. So much has changed, where he used to stand much shorter than his mum, he stood taller than her and held her gently in his arms. In just a few words, he was already close to tears. “God, mum…I missed you…!”

Scar couldn’t help but beam to himself at the sight, and slowly he took off his hat and placed it on his chest. Grian’s shoulders were constantly rising and falling, yet his mother took everything calmly. She may even be the happiest one here, given the opportunity to reunite with her one and only son after all these years, and still she cared for him from how she held his head and her gentle demeanour. 

Grian finally pulled away whilst still sniffling from the fallen tears. “I thought I’ll never see you again…”

“Sorry…” She whispered, though upon closer listening it seemed as if she hadn't spoken in a while. Gently, she took both his hands, holding them close to leave a gentle kiss. “For leaving…”

“What- no no, you don’t have to apologise for that!” He laughed tearily. “You had to be free…! I’m just- I’m just happy you’re here again…”

“Miss you…too…” She reached over to Grian’s face, with her thumb gently wiping off both dried up and newly-arrived tears. With the hand that still continued holding Grian’s, she slowly guided him away from the centre and to the railings right in front of them. They faced an island: The Island of Sirens.

Everyone came over to watch, each in their own ways of reaction whether it’d be in awe or disbelief. The fog that once thickly protected the islands and deterred sailors from ever passing finally opened up to their special vessel. Scar joined in on the crowd, standing by Grian’s side with a soft gasp.

There were people, or accurately, the creatures that were known to men as an omen of danger. People that were similarly naked and winged, standing proudly on the natural formations of their land. They bravely faced the crew of normal humans, or at least Scar initially thought, until he realised they were all waiting for someone. For Cecelia…

…And Grian.

“We hear you…” She reached over to hold her son’s shoulder. “Your song…one of us…”

Grian’s eyes widened, “You heard me…?”

She nodded with a smile. “My son…stay…”

Stay. The word struck Scar deep into his core. He should be happy for Grian, happy that his love managed to reunite with the woman he loved the most the moment he came into this world, the ray of light he once hoped and prayed for her safety. To find the other half of his kin, ones that have already accepted him fully when the world feared his other half. 

But selfish as he is, he didn’t want to let him go.

Right on cue, Grian turned to Scar, reaching over to cup his face with a hand. “Scar…I-”

‘ If you really love him…then you need to let him go.’

Though his eyes showed ruefulness, nonetheless he smiled. “It’s alright. I understand…”

“No- wait, what?”

“You’re not indebted to us anymore. And I know you said you wanted to stay that night but-” Scar interrupted himself from ranting. “I want you to know that…whatever your choice is, I’ll respect it. So if you wish to leave the Flying Jellie …”

He stepped closer, leaving a long yet gentle kiss on his forehead. “You have my blessings. Your happiness matters the most to me.”

 Grian looked up in surprise, his hand lowered as it fiddled with his shirt. With a heavy swallow, he turned towards his mother, even after all these years she looked the same as in his memories. He ran into her with a final hug, closing his eyes to simply enjoy her presence.

“I’m sorry…” He muttered into her shoulder before taking a step back, his hands holding hers. “I really missed you, but…I can’t stay here. I don’t belong in this world, nor do I wish to intrude.”

She didn’t step in, only patiently listening to Grian’s explanation with a fond smile. A small grin peeked from his lips. “I’m happy here, sailing with this crew…I want to stay with them, with Scar.”

Not much changes could be seen with how she smiled, though her eyes glinted in silent knowing. FInally, she nodded, tip-toeing her shorter stature to bring her forehead together with Grian. “We’ll meet again…alright?”

“Yes, we will. Good bye for now, mum…”

She slipped from his grasp, slowly backing away from Grian and Scar as well as the crew. Never once did she show an expression of upset, and to the end she gazed upon her son proudly. Her wings flapped open and she took off into the sky. Grian’s eyes continued watching after his mom, not until she’s out of sight, out of reach.

He wiped off his damp eyes, looking up with a shaky smile. 

“Goodbye.”

Grian eventually turned away from the view, sighing contentedly to himself. Like a miracle, the strongest weight of his past slowly subsided, clearing his lungs from the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. 

“Phew…Well then- uh…”

He didn’t expect to meet the sight of teary-eyed, adult men, each and every one not even trying to hide their expressions. And ironically, Scar was the only one to not have been crying, but he might as well get close to it.

“...Are you all-”

“I hate this fucking place…” Carter sniffled, appearing out of nowhere from behind Scar. (Seriously, how did he get here?) “Now can we finally get off this ship and sail back for Nassau?”

“Please do!” Bill hollered. “We’re coming for you, Jellie…!”

Scar took a step closer to Grian, his face seeming more surprised than anything. “I…I thought you would-”

“I wouldn’t fit in.” The man joked.

“But your mum- you haven’t seen her in so long...”

“...I think I’m already quite satisfied to see her, even if it was the final time.” He admitted, reaching to interlock his hand with Scar’s. “But I’m happy here, as a pirate and being with you…What more can I ask for?”

“I thought it would’ve been selfish for me to think so.” Scar chuckled, his cheeks slightly flushed from the confession. “Ah man…you’re really staying then? For real?”

“I’ll be here for as long as my bones may carry me to sea.”

They leaned in at the same time for their lips to connect. And the world at his command, time slowed down as they stood over the fallen Man-o’-War, victory firmly on their side.

“Get a bloody room!”

Chapter Text

“Well well, today’s our lucky day boys! Looks like we’ve caught ourselves big bait!”

The voice cackled before the musky, cloth-like thing was removed and restored his vision, his eyes squinting on instinct from the painful light that could easily burn through his eyes. His first instinct was to use his hand to shield his sensitive eyes before realising they were bound behind his back. He was sitting down on a flat but uncomfortable surface, his bare feet touching said surface told him it’s wood. 

He groaned, a headache pounding at his head. Slowly, he craned his head up. “What the…?”

“ This is the notorious pirate, Captain Scar Goodtimes?” He asked with emphasis on the first word as if in disbelief, before letting out a mocking laugh. “And let me get this straight: you lots managed to kidnap him while he’s off pissing up his whole ass off? This is the same man!? Because this is more of a caricature if I’ve ever seen one!”

“Rude…” Scar finally said, muttering under his breath whilst still trying to get his eyes adjusted. “Urgh, I think I drank too much…”

‘Did you, now?” One of the voices sighed. When his eyes could finally open without causing too much pain, Scar noticed the man’s large tricorne, similar to his own. His outfit overall was a collection of many other accessories overlapping over the years upon collections, forming to an unclear yet distinct smell. The man could be in between his 50s to 60s, or whatever age range it’d be to result in a fully whitened yet well-maintained beard. He wondered to himself if this man should be retiring at that age.

Scar sighed to himself, “Again? Come on, I just got here! Can’t a man relax in his favourite tavern without getting kidnapped?”

Unfortunately, the captain ignored him, circling around the man as his other lackeys stood by from the side. “Word of mouth spreads fast around here. Mentioned you and your little crew went out to the infamous Siren Island and survived. What’s your deal, then? How did you survive it?”

‘ Play it cool, Scar.’ “That’s it? We were up there searching for another ship but alas, we lost sight of it. Right after we just sailed back to Nassau and here I’ve been ever since...”

“You’d really think I believe in that story?” The captain laughed, joined by his other gang of men. “We’ve got ourselves a dirty liar, boys!”

“I’m being serious!” Scar gritted his teeth frustratedly. His eyes darted over around him and ignored the laughing men, instead trying to see clearly what sort of ship he was forcibly brought onto from the sweet embrace of the seaside tavern. He gauged the amount of men boarded on the ship, then counted the cannons he could see on the deck. All this with the perceived length and width of the platform, he guessed he’s boarded on a brig.

‘ A perfect choice-wait, not now!’

“Come now, we’re offering you your freedom for just a simple favour! Tell us what was on that island, and we’ll let you go!”

“For the last time, there’s nothing-urgh!”

Scar stumbled to his side upon a hardy boot kicked at his arm, sending him down onto the floor as his own face planted against the wood. He heaved, raising himself up in spite of the pain and mocks directed straight at him. “Heh…what happened to diplomacy?”

“And here I thought you’ll be at least a little bit more cooperative, but as expected of the most stubborn pirate of the sea…”

Something sharp and cold was pressed against his neck, realising it was a knife the captain had on his belt. “If you won’t let us find what’s for our taking…then we’ll take your life.”

“Hah! Does it look like I’m scared of you?” Scar chuckled, the vibration on his neck intentionally pushing the flesh closer to the edge. “I’ve got some bad news for you…You can’t kill me.”

“Speak for yourself, boy. I’m not the one tied up and held at knifepoint.” The captain scoffed. “Entertain me, what have you got that makes you so confident in escaping-”

Loud cannons set off in the background, the men registering the close distance of the sound a tad bit too late before cannons struck the hull, destabilising every pair of legs except for Scar’s. He made sure to move his neck away to avoid getting slashed mid-fall of the captain. 

“What in the devil was that!?” One of his lackeys exclaimed, eyes widening at the sight of the approaching ship in the distance. “Starboard, a brig owned by pirates!” 

“Dammit…! It’s his men!” The captain gritted his teeth, reaching into his pockets angrily for something. 

Scar simply watched on, unbothered by their forlorn attempts to defend and retaliate on the men of the Flying Jellie . He even let out a bored yawn, moving along the shaking ship whenever his men landed successful hits on this ship.

The captain had enough, pulling Scar up to his feet by the collar. “Do you think this is some sort of joke!? If they start boarding, I’ll KILL you right here!”

“I would love to see you try.” He taunted the captain, smirking with an air of arrogance. “You must be new to this pirate business, aren’t you? You’re not even that experienced in dishing out commands. Not to mention your crew…”

“Shut up! ”

“What, won’t you take it from an old captain like me?” Scar chuckled, though his focus hadn’t been on purely taunting the man to goad him into a pure, unfiltered rage. Embarrassingly enough, this has happened far too often that they had gotten used to formulating plans with Scar as the common bait luring their opponents into a false sense of security. 

Let’s just say their plans had gotten a bit more…hands-on after whatever had happened. 

He felt his presence all too easily, rushing into the battlefield with rushed yet graceful steps, holding a crested-dagger in his arm. Before the captain could react, the hilt of the dagger connected to his head, knocking him out in a single strike. Scar stared as the man fell straight down in front of him and stumbled backwards, landing on his own bum. Not dead, but definitely concussed.

“I left you on your own devices for one day , and this is what happens?”

The voice sighed fondly, stepping towards Scar with his new polished shoes. A pair they had managed to loot off a British soldier’s corpse and damn did he make the right choice because those look good on him. And his coat, the reddest you will ever see in the seas, flowing by him step by step.

Scar dramatically sighed. “It is as I feared, I have gotten too popular among the pirates…”

“Really now?” Grian scoffed, kneeling down to Scar’s level with a smirk. He flipped the way he held the dagger, holding the blade and using the hilt to raise Scar’s chin. “You would think by now they’ve learned their lesson. And still here we are…”

He reached towards Scar’s back, cutting him free from the measly ropes that held him still. Reaching into his coat, he procured a familiar hat, feather still nicely attached even after all those years. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Scar chuckled, the sweet feeling of putting it on never changes. “Much better. Now come on, time to teach them a lesson or two in diplomacy…”

Scar sauntered over to the unconscious man, delivering sweet payback by kicking him by the arm. The man startled awake from the pain, groaning as he held his arms and stared up at the ominous figure. The fear and regret was evident. “W-wait…! How did you-”

“I should introduce myself properly to you then.” Scar cleared his throat and put out his arms, grinning wildly like the showman of the circus. Grian stood behind, glaring down with a hand right on his sword where any situation he would be ready to strike.  “The name’s Captain Scar, and this here is my quartermaster, Grian. My ship is the Flying Jellie , and you may know us for stopping a couple of Man-o-Wars… so honestly…this might be your biggest mistake yet!”

Years shall pass, and eventually the free-spirited group of pirates shall meet their end of the era. But never once will they ever regret it. And so, the ballad of the Flying Jellie shall live on…

Chapter Text

Hear ye! Hear ye! Want more adventures set in this world of pirates? Or glimpses of our duo's future and perhaps glimpses of characters new and old? 

I've just uploaded the first work into the series of extras set in this universe! More have yet to come but I'm definitely excited to expand on the world, so come by for a read if you're interested! Thank you all so much for reading this :)