Work Text:
The townhouse stood in one of Bayam's older districts, where the streets narrowed just enough for a bit of a stifling feeling to accompany anyone wandering through them. It was neither particularly elegant nor especially decrepit, tucked between a tailor's shop that had closed down long ago and a bakery whose chimney periodically breathed warm smoke into the afternoon air. The building itself was ordinary—enough so for the eyes of experienced Beyonders to slip by without even a single tingle of interest rising to the surface of their thoughts. That was precisely why Klein had chosen it.
It was just a temporary residence—and the number one rule to be followed when choosing temporary residences is that they should never attract attention. They shouldn't be particularly memorable to anyone, comfortable enough to remain in for several nights, and easy enough to abandon the moment Fate, coincidence, or one of Klein's several adversaries that he had gained during his quest decided to pay a visit—or maybe all three at once, you never know.
Danitz had never understood how Gehrman Sparrow managed to make literally anything feel threatening, cleanliness no less.
He stood in the entrance hall with both hands occupied—a bucket of water in one, and in the other a rag Gehrman Sparrow had handed him after wasting no time welcoming him into his abode.
It all painted a very recognizable, unwelcome picture.
"…Captain."
Gehrman Sparrow, however, did not look up.
He sat near the drawing room window, where the curtains had been drawn halfway in to let in a thin sliver of the afternoon light. A stack of reports rested on the coffee table beside him, each covered in neat annotations that Danitz had no hope of deciphering from where he stood. Every few moments Gehrman would turn a page, pick up his fountain pen, write a concise remark in the margin, then continue reading with no change to his expression. The movement possessed the same terrifying efficiency with which he reloaded revolvers or slit a pirate's throat.
"Hm." Gehrman accentuated without once moving his gaze up from his documents.
"…Why am I holding a bucket?" With a certain degree of hope coursing through his voice, Danitz asked the question that probably a majority of people would be too scared to ask—but he had to know.
"You'll need it."
Determined to keep the denial up, Danitz continued with his questioning. "…Need it for what?"
A page turned, the sound overpowering the gentle hum of the city's life going on in the background.
"Cleaning."
Danitz had already been aware of the answer even before he had gotten it. That, however, did not change the fact that he thought they were over this stage in their—Danitz was reluctant to call it that—partnership!
"Captain," he started, voice tentative and tinged with disbelief. "Don't you think that it's time you stop making me do this stuff for you for free…?" By the time he finished the question, his voice had become a shadow of itself—almost meek, if not for the fact that he was The Blazing Danitz, and his voice could not be, in any way, called 'meek'.
Gehrman pierced him with a stare.
Then, just to dig his grave even deeper, Danitz continued with his explanation. "I've got a bounty worth—" although his voice was still abnormally quiet and docile, it gained a bit of a proud edge to it. "Quite a respectable amount."
Gehrman lifted a brow.
"Do you want me to collect it?"
"…No."
"Exactly."
Silence settled over the room.
Outside, somewhere beyond the windows, a carriage rolled across uneven cobblestones. The noise was the only thing that Danitz registered as he blanched at the threat. He absentmindedly remarked that it was peaceful enough that one might have mistaken the house for an ordinary residence.
If not for the fact that Gehrman Sparrow was sitting inside it.
Despite how stupid it was, Danitz wanted to object on principle.
He wanted to declare that the future Pirate Admiral's right-hand man had not survived countless naval battles, sea monsters, storms, bounty hunters, churches, and Gehrman Sparrow himself merely to become—
Danitz opened his mouth, before thinking better of it and closing it again.
He looked down at the items in his hands.
Then at the terrifying hunter calmly reading government intelligence reports.
Yeah, no. Danitz sighed through his noise, accepting his fate.
There was no winning against Gehrman Sparrow.
"Fine," He turned around with all the dignity he could salvage. "I'll clean."
Gehrman only said one thing: "Good." As if he hadn't just beaten down Danitz's pride six ways to hell.
…
"…Captain,"
"Hm?"
"…You're impossible."
"So I've heard."
An hour later, Danitz had relearned several things about Gehrman Sparrow.
The first was that the man had almost no possessions.
It wasn't a bad thing—especially considering the fact that it was just a temporary residence that he was cleaning and not a permanent one, but come on. There were absolutely no decorations, nothing that could even qualify as one if someone squinted an eye. Even the stuff in the drawers looked like it was put there because it was the only thing making the house look barely more than abandoned!
Compared to a rented room belonging to, for example, Anderson Hood (Danitz will not explain why it was the first room to come to his mind), the place couldn't even be called a 'living place'! Anderson's room at least had some character to it—empty wine bottles beneath the bed, muddy boots on the table, crumpled shirts laying on every surface—hell! Danitz had even glimpsed a revolver hidden inside the breadbox.
What he wanted to say was—Gehrman really was an intimidating persona when not even an ounce of his real personality slipped into his residence's general look.
The second, very regrettable truth to relearn was that Gehrman apparently held no belief in the concept of "good enough."
"Captain," he remarked after Gehrman Sparrow had motioned at him to clean the shelf that he had already looked over three times. "I've already dusted this shelf."
Gehrman was not impressed.
"You missed the corner."
Was this man serious?!
He did not see any sort of blemish on the godforsaken shelf. "Did I?"
"The back left."
"…You can see that from there?" The guy literally hadn't even looked up from his documents!
"I can."
…
Danitz returned to dusting, fuming internally.
The third thing was considerably more alarming—and yet not surprising at all.
Gehrman Sparrow was hiding things, physical things. Danitz understood that every self respecting pirate—or pirate hunter, in the case of Gehrman—had things to hide, but see, what made it alarming was the fact that it was Gehrman Sparrow—the man always was crazy!
There were several false compartments in various furnishing pieces placed in the residence, and Danitz generally pretended that he didn't see them—better to be safe than sorry, especially when it came to Gehrman.
Although…
Curiosity was infamously an occupational hazard among pirates.
As he climbed onto a sturdy wooden chair to dust the topmost shelf of the study, his gaze caught the edge of something tucked far toward the back—it was a box.
It was almost entirely hidden behind several thick volumes concerning maritime law—a subject Danitz was half-convinced a person like Gehrman Sparrow might actually read for fun.
The box was plain walnut, darkened with age, its brass fittings polished by repeated handling. It wasn't particularly ornate, but at the same time did not in any way resemble a shabby storage space for mundane supplies.
Danitz frowned.
"What's this?" He asked to himself, not expecting any answer.
It wasn't heavy either, he noted as he carefully lifted it free.
Danitz was well aware that several mundane-looking things might actually turn out to be mystical artifacts—the houses Gehrman Sparrow used were always littered with dangerous things disguised as ordinary ones. Danitz had once reached for what he thought was a paperweight only for Gehrman to stop him with an unusually urgent, "Don't."
The tone of voice said enough, and since then, Danitz had developed a healthy suspicion towards all innocuous-looking objects.
He examined the box from every angle—there were no symbols, markings or seals that immediately called to his attention.
"Huh…"
Danitz looked towards the doorway, listening for any sort of indication that Gehrman might be planning to move his way—there was none.
Well, there is no harm done in just taking a look…
He rested the box upon the desk with exaggerated caution, almost expecting it to sprout teeth or explode into cursed mist the moment it touched the wood.
Nothing happened.
"...See?" he muttered to himself. "Perfectly ordinary."
If he somehow died because of opening this box, Captain would probably say that it was his own fault… But obviously, there was no danger that came with tugging open the brass clasp, right?
Right.
Resolving himself, Danitz took a quiet breath and lifted the clasp.
Neatly folded bundles of paper, tied with dark blue ribbons that had faded slightly over time. The envelopes had all been opened already, their edges worn smooth by repeated handling. They weren't arranged haphazardly but stacked with almost obsessive precision, each bundle separated according to date.
Danitz blinked.
"...Letters?"
His surprise only deepened when he noticed the oldest ones rested at the bottom while the newest had been placed carefully on top, as though someone frequently added to the collection.
He reached for the first bundle—astonishingly thick and so suspicious.
For what reason would Gehrman Sparrow keep correspondence? For a moment, the idea that maybe they were sentimental keepsakes came up in his mind—but it was so profoundly incompatible with Gehrman as a person that he laughed it off almost immediately.
Danitz untied the ribbon. The handwriting that greeted him was elegant, flowing across the paper with confident strokes that spoke of an owner well acquainted with the art of writing.
As he read the work line by line, his eyebrows rose with each following second—and Danitz found himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
The first poem wasn't exactly terrible.
Not to say it was good—not really. Calling it good would have required him to lie, and while Danitz was perfectly willing to exaggerate his own accomplishments, he had standards when it came to poetry. However, it was not the kind of writing that deserved immediate execution. It just… reminded him of something that a hopeless romantic would write—but without paying attention to any word that flowed from the nib of their writing instrument.
And if you knew Danitz, you also knew that he had no idea about the art of hopeless romance—cue his increased humor at the cliche lines written in the poem. Still, he could recognize when something was painfully sincere, and in that regard the work gained points from him.
Danitz stared.
"..."
Slowly, he turned the paper over again.
At the top of the page, written in a different handwriting, was the title:
To the Person Who Plagues My Thoughts Like the Storm
Danitz felt a strange sense of foreboding, but still continued reading.
"The sea may rage, the skies may darken,
The stars may vanish from the endless night,
Yet should I lose the path beneath my feet,
Your existence would remain my guiding light."
He then noticed, in a different handwriting, comments written underneath the work in red ink. Danitz himself actually the poem wasn't all that terrible—almost decent, really.
But the red comments thought otherwise.
4/10.
The imagery is acceptable, and you clearly learned to keep to a stable structure. However, the metaphor is too common. If you compare someone to a guiding light, you must explain why that light is unique. Otherwise, every lighthouse, candle, and street lamp qualifies.
Ough, Danitz would have hated to be this work's owner.
"This person..." He held the page closer. "They're grading them?"
A pirate's instinct for discovering entertainment overpowered his instinct for respecting another person's belongings—he picked up another.
A Rose Beneath the Moonlight
…Why does everyone in love write about roses?
"A rose blooms beneath your gentle gaze,
Its petals carrying whispers of your grace—"
…Maybe Danitz was a bit wrong to place his hope in that author person.
"—For even the heavens envy your beauty,
And the moon hides itself in shame."
"Yeah, no." Danitz made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough before turning the page.
3/10.
You cannot repeatedly insult celestial objects merely to compliment someone. Also, the moon does not possess emotions and therefore cannot feel shame. Please avoid assigning human feelings to astronomical bodies without proper justification.
Danitz could not help but burst out laughing—it started as a small snort that escaped before he could stop it, then rapidly transformed into helpless laughter that forced him to place the letter down before he accidentally damaged it.
"This is…" he murmured as he wiped at the corner of his eye. "Absolutely incredible."
He didn't know who was suffering more in this correspondence—the author or the reader.
He quickly figured out the identities of the two—someone named Leonard—or at least someone whose handwriting appeared on the signatures—had been sending poems, and the recipient was apparently a person named Klein.
4/10.
Better than the previous attempt. However, using the phrase "my heart is a ship sailing toward you" is dangerous considering your actual ability to navigate.
2/10.
The line "I would cross every sea to reach you" is unnecessarily dramatic. I know for a fact that you would not cross every sea.
3/10.
The metaphor is acceptable. However, I am concerned by the statement "without you, my world loses all color." Have you considered that you might simply need better lighting?
Seriously, who keeps writing these…?
Despite the harsh commentary, the box was filled with these poems—each of them carefully placed so that the paper wouldn't crease, each of them harshly graded.
"If my heart were a garden,
You would be the flower that blooms forever."
He turned it over.
3.5/10.
Flowers require care, sunlight, and water. If the flower is expected to bloom forever without maintenance, this is unrealistic and possibly irresponsible gardening.
Danitz looked at the review for a while, before coming to a single conclusion:
"This Klein guy is terrifying."
A voice behind him answered.
"Is that your conclusion?"
Shit. Danitz froze, every muscle in his body tightened and he suddenly felt like he was caught in the middle of committing some illegal act.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Danitz turned around.
Gehrman stood in the doorway. The afternoon light behind him made his silhouette appear even colder, his black coat blending with the shadows of the hall.
"...Captain."
"Hm."
"I can explain."
"I imagine you can."
There was a sudden pause, and Danitz, already internally accepting his fate, decided to at least die an educated man.
"Captain," He started. "Before you kill me…"
He took in a deep gulp of air.
"…Could you please tell me who this Klein guy is? See, I'm a big fan of his commenta—"
Ah.
Ahhh.
Why.
Why did I put the box there?
Why that shelf?
Why not the top of the cabinet? Why not somewhere behind a hidden compartment? Why not inside one of the many places in this house that are specifically designed to hide things?
But no, I just had to put it somewhere in a place that Danitz, of all people, could access with no trouble while cleaning.
Klein stared blankly at the ceiling.
Danitz knows.
Danitz knows.
Out of everyone who could have discovered it, Danitz discovered it.
Klein covered his face.
Why is my luck always like this?
…
If Danitz tells anyone...
Klein closed his eyes.
No.
He won't.
Probably.
…
I should have hidden the box better.
No.
I should have hidden my feelings better.
...
Too late.