Chapter Text
A fist slams on the table, loud and colourful curses shouted as the dice are revealed- a four and a three. “Dammit!” Cleo spits. “Only one off!” The ginger-haired pirate raises her arms to the sky in exasperation. “Why’d it have to be a four? Why not a five?!” Joel and Etho, noting the pirate’s outrage, pat her on the back sympathetically.
“Right. I think it’s going to be a …” Tango taps a finger to his chin, pondering. “nine.” His eyes focus on the dice. “If you will, Etho.” The first mate nods, practiced hands throwing the dice across the table to rest in front of the captain.
“Nine.” Scar confirms, nodding and chucking the dice at Etho’s forehead. The first mate, expecting the captain’s signature trick, catches them in one hand. “Good shot.” His eyes crinkle, indicating a smile beneath the mask. “You want to make a bet?” He raises a brow, making eye contact with Scar.
“Nah, I was gonna head outside for a bit. Don’t stop on my account, by any means!” The man grins, pushing his chair back as he exits. Scar climbs the stairs two at a time as the curses of the dice game below fade into muffled shouts. The captain rests his hands on the wooden railing surrounding the deck, staring up at the star-speckled sky above and removing the tie in his shoulder-length hair.
Scar inhales the salty sea air, taking a deep breath. The Grand Jellie was being hunted. He may have stolen something. It may have been from the most feared pirate captain- but it was fine! He had led his crew this far!
Then again, Pearl's ship was still chasing them- and the captain of the Wolf's Revenge wouldn't give up once she started a chase.
Handing the wheel to Etho, his first mate, he retires to his quarters for the night.
Late into the night, Scar traces paths on the crinkled paper of the map, navy ink staining his fingers as they trace a potential route over the yellowed parchment. With an annoyed grunt, Scar rests his head in his scarred hands. This wasn't good. While the crew of the Grand Jellie had lost Pearl's ships for a while, they needed to make an escape, one she couldn't predict. That left only one option- and it wasn’t one Scar was a fan of. A narrow strait which few ships entered, even less left. Tall, looming cliffs lining either side, towering over even the largest of ships like an imposing monarch. Suddenly, the doorknob twists, the dark wood opening with a near-imperceptible creak. Scar looks up from his work, blinking blearily as his train of thought ceases.
"Etho? What are you doing here?" he questions. Etho sighs, pressing two fingers to his forehead in exasperation. It was uncommon, but not out of character for his first mate to come in if he saw light flickering from under the captain’s quarters’ door late at night.
"Scar", he begins, "it's late. Go to bed." The captain, still hunched over his work, opens his mouth to argue. Etho raises a brow, staring him down, and Scar pouts, shutting up.
"We need to get away from the Wolf's Revenge. I've been trying to plot a path for us." Scar points out. Etho sighs defeatedly, casting a tired look towards the man.
“Fine.” Scar’s expression changes- a smug smile appearing on the captain’s face. It swiftly dissipates in favour of a worried frown. Etho looks to Scar, one eyebrow raised in silent question. The captain releases a long breath. “I’ve thought about it. There are few places we could go that Pearl won’t be able to predict. Few routes we can take that get us away from the Wolf’s Revenge without a fight.” Etho’s eyebrows crease together, sensing Scar’s unease. If they fought the Wolf’s Revenge… their odds of winning the battle would be low, to say the least. The first mate frowns. “So how do we go about this? Escaping her?” He queries, nerves peeking through his usually stoic tone. The absence of the captain’s usual upbeat tone sent shivers down his spine.
“We need to sail through the Wailing Passage.”
.・。.・゜✧・.・✧・゜・。.
Waves lap at the rocks, frothy tips grabbing at the stone then retreating back into the dark mass of the ocean beneath. Grian watches the water’s movement, tail flicking in the water. It had always gotten compliments- and the siren wasn’t arguing. The way to a siren’s heart was through compliments. Lots of compliments. Grian flicks his contentedly, the tricolour scales scintillating in the waning light of the sunset. Crimson, sunflower and cobalt, all shimmering in the dying light of the sun. A rumbling complaint from the siren’s stomach breaks his reverie. Sitting on a rock all day would do nobody good. Stretching his arms, Grian slips into the water.
The siren glides through the briny water, tail flicking to propel him closer to a school of fish. Grian stops, still for a second as he appraises the situation. It was a large shoal of fish, mixed species drifting peacefully near the seafloor. Grian grins. Not for long. He continues forward, close to the surface so the glimmering of his scales can be mistaken as sunlight filtering through the waves far above. He glides until he is above the fish, diving suddenly and plunging towards the unsuspecting prey. The fish scatter, multicolour scales flashing as they dart to all sides. The siren grabs a few with his hands, biting on one that ventures too close to his fangs. Satisfied with the hunt, Grian swims to the surface to look for a place to eat. A good rock was nice- the opportunity to sun himself, eat without eating seawater and look pretty? Hard to turn down. Grian’s eyes light as he spots a smooth boulder jutting from the sea, waves grasping at the pewter sides. Perfect. He glides closer, still grasping the fish. Gracefully exiting the water, he sits on the sun-warmed stone, flicking his tailtip in the water and admiring the droplets as they caught the sun’s rays. The siren bites the head off one of the fish, munching until little remains of all the wildlife he just slaughtered but bones. He chucks the remnants of the fish into the water, leaving the scraps of meat for the bottom feeders. Grian’s mouth opens in a wide yawn, fangs on display. He wipes the blood from his chin elegantly, sliding into the water for a quick nap in the kelp forests.
Waking from his slumber, Grian swims to the surface with a few strong movements of his tail. The water breaks over his head as the siren surfaces, bobbing with only his head visible. He squints, pupils dilating to see in the dark. A soft glow lights the waves near the horizon, showing the edges of a boat. Not the looming galleons from his pod’s tales, but not a sloop either. Somewhere in the middle. Grian submerges, moving closer stealthily. You could never tell with human ships- some were fishing vessels, and could provide a good snack. Some however … well, sirens were rare, and some humans were vile creatures. His podmates had told him tales of sirens who had ventured too close to a ship, and were never seen again. Then again, Jimmy was prone to a tall tale if it stood a chance of spooking others.
Grian squints at the vessel, bobbing in the waves. His gaze roams over the deck, looking for hints to the ship’s current occupation. Spotting a net, the siren smirks. A fishing ship, then? The net was large, likely to be trailed in the water behind the vessel. Odd to have it on a ship of that size, usually the fishing boats were smaller, but… bigger boat means more fish, no? Grian sinks beneath the white-tipped waves, stealthily approaching the ship.
.・。.・゜✧・.・✧・゜・。.
Etho steps off the dinghy, leather boots landing on the dock with a thud as his knees bend to absorb the impact. He straightens, adjusting his weathered hat and turning to Scar who sports his signature grin.
“What’s on our shopping list today?” Etho stretches his arms, pulling out a small, crumpled piece of parchment that looked like it had seen better days- heck, it looked like it seen better years. The pirate squints at the water-blurred ink.
“uhm… Cleo said rope and bandages, Tango said to get food, specifically…”
Etho begins to list Tango’s very specific and very angry list of ingredients needed, trying to make it quick as he senses his captain’s waning focus.
“…and, I quote, ‘the strongest shit you can get.’.” Etho concludes. “That last one was Joel, by the way.”
Scar snickers. “Somehow, I could tell.”
Etho rolls his eyes, an amused huff escaping the pirate. “Subtlety has never been Joel’s forte, but at least he tries.”
“Points for effort!” Scar is bent over laughing, wiping his eyes as he cackles. The feared captain takes a second to arrange himself, stamping out any little giggles left over.
“Right. I can handle Cleo and Joel’s requests, you can take Tango’s lot and the list? You’ll need it more than I will…” Scar coughs into his hand, trying to keep a straight face as Joel’s demand comes into the topic of conversation.
Etho nods. “Meet you at our usual tavern, then?”
“Before the sun goes down.” Scar confirms, re-aligning his hat and disappearing into the marketplace crowds.
Etho watches the captain as he leaves, looking to the extensive list in his hands with a sigh.
This was going to be a long one, huh.
.・。.・゜✧・.・✧・゜・。.
Captain Scar Goodtimes slinks away from the shop- not that he’d stolen anything (this time), he didn’t fancy an altercation with someone who thought they could be the one to catch the scourge of the seven seas. Those ones were particularly annoying, always so … pompous. And usually some noble’s second son. He tucks the hemp rope into the bag slung on his shoulders, striding confidently to another, smaller shop with a red cross swinging on a sign just outside. He’d been evading capture for years, and had found that people didn’t question you if you looked just rich enough, and like you had places to be. He sidesteps into the shop with a flourish.
“Comin’, two seconds!” A muffled voice yelps from the back, crashing heard as the employee rushes forward to the counter.
A blonde sheep hybrid stumbles into view, nearly faceplanting as they slam the rear door open.
“Sorry for the wait- welcome to Doc’s! What can I get for you?”
Scar smiles at the hybrid. “No worries- I was wondering if you had any bandages?”
It wasn’t common to see a hybrid out so openly- this port was notably accepting of most hybrids, though. Well, most passive hybrids. In most cities, there was a sprawling black market where hunters sold hybrid products- ghast tears, demon horns, avian wings. It was disgusting. Even here, many types of hybrid were discriminated against, such as undead, insectoids or netherborn species. However, some species really got the brunt of it- unwelcome even in some hybrid communities- most notably sculk, vex and demons. So seeing a hybrid, even a sheep hybrid, not hiding their hybrid features was near-unheard of.
The captain breaks his reverie as the blond approaches him once more, this time carrying a large amount of bandages. He follows the hybrid over to the till, passing the required amount for the supplies – and maybe a little extra, though just as the man opens his mouth to object, a voice yells from the back.
“Zed! Get back here and get your sheep back in their pen!”
Scar grins, waving farewell to the blond as the hybrid spins to face the direction of the voice. He slips out into the crowded street, hearing a quick “Coming Doc!” from the shop before he leaves hearing range.
The captain saunters down the street, peering into shop displays as he makes his way over to the previously agreed meeting spot- hopefully Etho would be done by now.
Etho waves to the captain, stumbling towards Scar under the weight of Tango’s shopping list. Scar winces sympathetically at the sorry sight of his first mate, relieving the man of some of the bags. Etho sighs gratefully, shaking his head as his headband dips too low. The two pirates drag themselves to the ship, grunting as they haul the bags onto the deck. Joel scampers over, pawing through the first bag he sees for his long-awaited alcohol. Cleo smacks his hand away, glaring at him, and Joel’s resolve withers under her intense stare. Scar, having recovered somewhat, clears his throat. He sets two bags aside.
“This is Cleo’s stuff, and Joel’s is in here too.” The captain motions to the round bags- Cleo was the only one who could stop their crewmate when he decided he wanted something. The man could pull mean puppy eyes when he wanted to, and wrestle if he didn’t feel so gracious.
Scar gestures to the remaining bags, save for one which is currently on his back.
“This is Tango’s.”
The chef perks up. “Did you get everything?”
“Yup!”
Tango hums approvingly, slinging the bags over his shoulder with surprising strength and retreating into his lair – the kitchen – to sort the ingredients based on what could last.
Scar watches the cook leave, heading off to find Skizz with the last bag.