Ship In A Bottle || South Park Pirate AU

Two

In which Kyle's needlework and penmanship are put to the test.

Stan's office was a jolly mess. A chaotic collage of maps was hung on the dark wood walls, connected by pins and bits of red string, and annotated in smudged black ink. The sturdy oak desk in the centre of the room was littered with trinkets: seashells and sea glass, quarters of coins and pieces of eight, gold chains with broken links. Stacks of books and letters were piled about, accompanied by a few ink bottles, perched precariously close to the edge. A hammock hung in the corner, with clothes crumpled carelessly around it.

Kyle made no attempt to conceal his disapproval as he surveyed the wreckage. So this was what became of boys who lived without mothers. He had half a mind to march right back onto the other ship and demand they take him back home to South Port, just so that he may be sure he didn't end up the same way.

Stan tossed his coat on the back of his chair and tucked himself into the desk. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the seat opposite his own, and taking off his hat.

Kyle did. The position of the chair made him feel like he was about to undergo intense interrogation, what with Stan staring so intently at him from behind such an authoritative desk. There was not a square inch free on the top of it for Kyle to set his food down, and so the plate settled in his lap instead. He was not at all convinced that the food was much better than Cartman's, but he wasn't going to turn his nose up at it now. He only wished he had finished his last meal before making a start on this one, to make a proper dent in his ravenous hunger. Having not been given cutlery with which to eat, he was forced to use his hands, a unhygienic practice which he despised, but which was nevertheless unavoidable at present.

"You eat very curiously."

Kyle glanced up at Stan only briefly before returning his attention to his food. "I've not eaten in a while."

"Precisely." Stan leant forward. "Any other man in your shoes would be gorging himself silly, but—Look, there! See how you tear little bite-sized pieces from your loaf." He scrunched up his nose. "Dainty."

Kyle shot him a cold look. "I don't appreciate your commentary."

"I wouldn't need to comment if you ate ordinarily."

"Does it irritate you?" Carefully, and deliberately, Kyle tore off the smallest piece of bread he could, scarcely the size of his thumbnail. "The way I eat?" Without breaking eye contact, he slowly raised it to his lips.

Stan snorted. "You've been aboard my ship all of two minutes and I already feel like feeding you to the fish."

"Won't work. Trust me," Kyle said. "A hoard of pirates will miraculously appear and slit your throat before you can."

"I'd like to see them try." Stan raised his right arm to flex his muscles in a show offish manner – one which Kyle was not in the least bit amused by – but when he did, he cringed, as if a needle had suddenly shot through him, and dropped his arm with a sharp breath.

"What's the matter?" Kyle asked, more out of curiosity than concern.

"Nothing," Stan said quickly.

Kyle didn't have the patience to pry further, so he gave up on conversation in favour of his food. He could feel Stan scrutinising him as he ate, as if he were a strange new species he'd captured. Tiring of being treated like an exhibition, he broke the silence. "So, have you killed many men, then?"

"Oh, heaps and heaps."

Kyle hummed ambiguously, and so Stan leant forward, and lowered his voice.