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Atsushi’s stomach rumbled loudly. He was surprised his body had enough energy to produce such a sound—he hadn’t eaten in…days? Weeks? Time flew by when all he spent his days doing was trekking through the seemingly endless countryside, dragging his sore feet across uneven grounds, and occasionally hauling himself to the beach in hopes of finding a fish or crab to roast.
This night was one of these, as he knelt in the pale sand, glowing in the full shape of the moon, by the dark waves. The knees of his trousers were soaked from the water, which rose up the shore just in hopes, it would seem, of making him possibly more miserable. The sound of the sea would have been calming, had it not been for the distant blotch on the horizon, slightly darker than the rest of the deep sky and growing larger alongside the bud of nervousness within him. The layer of fog atop the surface of the water made it look as if the ship was floating.
Atsushi knew the dock to be close by, as he’d sometimes circle back here in his journey to rummage through a barrel or two. Perhaps the ship was carrying more of that cargo, some that could fill the hungry pit in his stomach.
He hefted himself to his feet and narrowed his eyes at the approaching ship once more. He perhaps had half an hour until it arrived. Half an hour to search the dock for any leftovers.
He made his way back up to the treeline so that any prying eyes might not see him, obvious against the background of an empty sandscape, and stumbled determinedly between trunks and bushes. Brambles clawed at the exposure of his ankles because he’d torn off the ends of his trousers to rid himself of the dark red stains long ago. He shoved a branch away from his face and ducked before it could swing back to hit him, and he caught sight of the glow of lanterns between the foliage.
He usually didn’t come across any lanterns during his journey, as he stayed away from towns most of the time. The style was similar to the ones that hung beside the door he’d clawed at and thrown himself against, hoping they’d come back and let him in again. Their voices echoed in his head. We have no need for those of your ilk. It would be preferred if you’d find yourself a ditch somewhere to crawl into and rot.
Atsushi furrowed his brow and set his jaw. He would need to focus if he wanted to prove them wrong, if he wanted to survive. He pushed through the bushes and found himself on the dock that belonged to a small sea village nearby. His eyes widened, and he nearly yelped as he saw a lone figure sitting at the edge of the stretch of wooden planks, legs dangling over the water, and his body just out of reach of the lantern’s light. Atsushi watched him anxiously, shifting on his feet, as he wondered whether to speak or go about on his previous endeavor.
The stranger made his decision for him, turning his head to smile at Atsushi. “You know it’s rude to stare, hm?” His eyes were deep and dark, much like the thick waves below them. His hair, which looked as if the wind had ravaged him, and yet Atsushi felt not even a breeze, was the same color as the dark brown wood he sat upon. The most odd asset of his appearance, though, was the medical wrappings Atsushi could see peaking out from the neck of his blouse and the cuffs of his sleeves.
Atsushi stepped back and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Uhm, sorry, Mr. I was just, ah…” His mind left him while he tried to search for a justifiable cause of his being out in the woods alone.
“No need to explain yourself,” the stranger thankfully interrupted his mumbling. His eyes flicked back to the encroaching ship. “Why do you suppose that ship is coming to this dock?”
Atsushi blinked, caught off guard by the change of subject. “Excuse me? Uh, if I had to venture a guess, probably to drop off some cargo.”
The man shook his head. “Come sit with me.”
Normally, Atsushi wouldn’t listen to a lone stranger who looked like he’d escaped a medical bay in the middle of surgery, but he had nowhere to be, and the dock looked mostly empty of barrels. So he lowered himself onto the wood beside the man, folding his legs under him. He wasn’t as nonsensical as to let his legs fall over the edge like him.
“The ship,” the stranger continued, “is a galleon. It would be carrying cargo, but not for a small sea village like the one this dock resides in.”
Atsushi had a bad feeling about this, as this ship was getting closer and looking much larger than when he’d first seen it.
The man pointed a finger at one of the ship’s sides. “Fifteen extra cannons. A few more on deck.” Atsushi couldn’t see what was on the deck, so he had no idea why this strange man knew.
The man turned his head and grinned at Atsushi. “That is a pirate ship.”
Atsushi’s eyes widened. “R-really?”
“Yep.” The man’s eyes were filled with something akin to amusement. “Say, what’s your name?”
“Atsushi Nakajima, Mr.” He answered without thinking much of it.
“I am Osamu Dazai. What’s a boy like you doing out here? You don’t look like you come from the village.” The man, Dazai, tilted his head in intrigue.
Atsushi’s gaze fell to the sloshing waves below the dock. “I’m an orphan. I was banished from my orphanage because, well…” He knew the story would sound silly to anyone else but himself.
“Go on.”
“I have these visions of a white tiger, Byakko. It’s like I become it. I’ve had them ever since my parents were killed. The orphanage director said that they were disturbing the others and that if I was really a tiger, I should be outside with the rest of the filth.” Atsushi had been slowly curling in on himself while he spoke, and his voice trembled on the last words.
Dazai didn’t seem surprised; if anything, he looked mildly interested. “So you believe yourself to be this tiger, Byakko?” Atsushi nodded. “And you were cast out of your orphanage because of that?” Another nod.
Dazai sighed. “That’s no way to treat a child. Especially one of your nature.”Atsushi didn’t know what he meant by that, but before he could ask, distant voices cut through the serene night.
They were coming from the galleon, which was very close to the dock now. He could see small figures running around on the deck, climbing the rigging, and tossing weapons to each other. Atsushi backed up from the edge of the dock nervously.
“Uhm, Mr. Dazai, why do you think those pirates look like they’re docking here?” He asked, his voice shaking still but not from the memories now.
Dazai didn’t look scared of the pirates, or even phased. A small twitch upwards of the edge of his lips gave Atsushi the idea that maybe this man had been waiting for the ship the whole time.
Atsushi scrambled to his feet. “Are you a pirate?” He asked in disbelief. “Are they coming to retrieve you?”
Dazai huffed a laugh and turned to smile at Atsushi fully. “A pirate, yes. But not one of them. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Demon Oracle, right?”
The name made Atsushi shiver. Whispers of a large, ruthless ship with an equally ruthless crew swept through towns and villages, telling of their swords sharper than needles and raiding methods that made children huddle behind their mothers in fear. Suddenly, the huge ship with enough cannons to exterminate a whole village in one round made a lot more sense.
“I am not affiliated with those,” Dazai continued. “The rest of the Constables are nearby. I trust you to find them after I’m taken, of course.”
Atsushi’s mind was flooding with questions. “Wait, what? The Constables? You mean the pirates who take jobs from the government? And w-what do you mean by taken?”
Dazai stood up and patted Atsushi on the head. “Do not stress, my boy. I’m sure my crewmates will explain everything.”
A loud clanking sound echoed through the night, and Atsushi swivelled his head around to see the Demon Oracle almost on top of the dock, dropping anchors off the sides and into the water. The yelling from atop the ship was very close now. Atsushi could see ropes being thrown, and a moment later, he flinched back from the thud of multiple people landing on the dock in front of them.
The first to land came also with the thud of his boots, as well as the sound of his jewelry clinking together like wind chimes. His rust colored hair was adorned by more trinkets than necessary and topped off by an even more decorated tricorn hat. He wore a triumphant smirk as he leaned on the hilt of his sword.
The next was a woman with hair the color of a yellow daisy, which was tied back under her bandana. Around her waist were two pistols and a belt of magazines. Her expression was tightened in determination.
The last to land was a man as pale as the moonlit sand around them. His hair was black as ink, and the ends looked like they’d been dipped in milk. He wore a dark vest over his blouse, and he carried a black rapier whose tip was stained red. He held himself as if he belonged anywhere and everywhere he set foot in, like he owned the space they stood upon. His dark eyes were narrowed and focused solely on Dazai, and Atsushi could sense an underlying hatred amidst the tension in his slim body.
“Such a sight does rival a king’s treasury, eh?” The redheaded pirate announced, his voice loud and confident. Dazai smiled without mirth.
“You think too highly of me, Chuuya,” he replied smoothly.
Chuuya’s smirk dropped into a scowl. He turned to his companions and barked the order, “Tie his limbs. His hands are smart.”
The blonde woman nodded and pulled off a loop of rope from her waist. Atsushi was confused that the other man wasn’t following the command as well before he realized that he was now gazing straight at Atsushi.
Atsushi swallowed as the man took a step towards him and raised his sword to point at his neck. The red-tinted blade stopped a few centimeters from his throat. The black-haired man looked him up and down for a long moment before he glanced at Chuuya.
“A land lover,” he determined, and Atsushi was surprised at the rasp in his voice. He didn’t look much older than Atsushi himself to have such a tone.
Chuuya raised a brow at the information and frowned at Dazai. “What are you doing with a landlubber?” He narrowed his eyes.
Dazai met his gaze evenly, his smile never leaving. “We both know you’re not as stupid as you look. You know where he hails from. Do the Demon Oracles really need any more than what they already have? What good would a boy like this do for you if he has no family left?”
Atsushi had to admit he spoke boldly for a man currently being restrained by the most dangerous pirate crew in the world. His words didn’t make sense, though. What did his background in an orphanage have to do with what he could offer these pirates? What could he give them, since he had nothing with him besides the rags on his body?
“You’d be wise to cease your insolent chattering,” the black-haired man replied to Dazai, almost spitting the words out. Even if they weren’t directed at him, Atsushi’s blood still ran cold at the obvious threat in them.
Dazai didn’t pay the man any mind, apparently having a silent battle of eye contact with the redheaded pirate. After a few lengthy minutes, Chuuya gritted his teeth and shook his head.
“Leave the boy, Akutagawa,” he said, spite seeping through his tone as he glared at Dazai.
Akutagawa turned back to Atsushi and gave him a look that promised he’d be dead meat if they ever met again. He lowered his sword, and Atsushi stumbled back, grateful for the breathing space.
Atsushi glanced at the treeline. The pirates only seemed interested in Dazai—maybe they wouldn’t follow him if he ran. He had nothing to owe to Dazai, even if the thought of leaving him alone as a prisoner made his stomach twist with guilt. Without another word, he turned and bolted up the dock and into the trees. His body was alight with nerves, telling him to go back while spurring him on at the same time.
Perhaps if he’d talked with Dazai longer or had known more about the Demon Oracles, he’d have stayed, or at least had a reason to feel this shame for running. He always ran, didn’t he? He’d run when he’d stumbled upon his parents’ still bodies, still in their bed under the sheets, which had been stained with their blood. He’d run when the orphanage told him to; he’d done what they wanted of him. He’d run every time he heard a twig snap nearby or a rustle in the foliage, the image of the white tiger plaguing his mind like a disease he couldn’t rid himself of. The nausea he’d felt that night, hearing his mother’s gentle yet reprimanding voice for the last time as she told him the story of the Byakko repeatedly, then again when he’d pushed open their bedroom door to find them each with a slit throat, their expressions deceivingly calm. Who else could have done that, besides himself, a terrifying beast who loathed himself more than anybody else could ever loathe him?
His thoughts were interrupted by a harsh grip on his shoulder, and he almost lurched off his feet had it not been for the person who yanked him aside, catching him before he fell. A man with dirty blonde hair tied back in a ponytail furrowed his brow at him.
“More pirates,” Atsushi muttered to himself, trying to squirm out of the man’s hold. He could feel the curious gazes of others surrounding them, kneeling behind a large push that overlooked the beach.
“Stop moving,” the man’s deep voice demanded. Atsushi eyed him warily, studying his appearance. He wore a black blouse with a tan vest, and perched atop his nose in front of his narrowed eyes was a pair of spectacles. He wasn’t adorned in any of the stolen jewels the Demon Oracles were, which puzzled Atsushi.
“We’re with Dazai,” a woman’s voice said gently beside his captor, flashing him a reassuring smile. She didn’t look like a village woman, instead dressed in men’s clothing and wearing a pirate’s bandana over her head, which was doing nothing to hold back her shoulder-length black hair.
Another man, who was crouching on Atsushi’s other side and smiling as if the situation amused him, wore clothes that looked as if they belonged to a school boy. He carried no weapons, unlike his companions who carried a dagger each around their waist, and his unbrushed black hair was covered by a nivernois hat.
He leaned over Atsushi and grinned at him. “I’m sure Dazai told you about us. We’re the Constables.”