𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙢𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩-𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙨 || ʲ. ʰᵒˡˡᵃⁿᵈ

murmurs of the past, ii

          Where did you get the name Cruickshank from?
         
          Cruickshank was a name you gave yourself the age you realized it was weird that you were just. . .Y/N. There was captain Augustus Crow, and his first-man and your adoptive guardian Sarah Sharpe. There was the ship's chef Morgana de la Rosa, and hell, even your closest friend and an orphan like you, still had a last name he remembered, making him Jacob Holland.
         
          And yet. . .Y/N.
         
          It always irked you that you were just one name. Sure, you could've adopted Sarah's surname. . .but it didn't feel right. You felt that. . .a name, had to be earned.
         
          And. . .well, when you were thirteen, you sort of realized that you had all the choices in the world. You could name yourself Y/N the Great, or Y/N Nevermiss! And nobody could tell you that you were wrong, because nobody remembers your real last name, not even yourself. All you knew that faithful day you were picked up from the streets was that you were Y/N, and that you were only grateful they decided to raise you as their very own.
         
          And with this new knowledge that you treated like forbidden fruit, you gave yourself the official name that you'd come to identify with for the rest of your life; Y/N Cruickshank.
         
          This was a proud announcement you made to the crew of the Inevitable, and the hunters then cheered loudly as they toasted to your new name.
         
          But of course it was only natural that everybody grew curious of how you decided on this particular one.
         
          And. . .and well let's just say that when you learned you had choices, you also learned that these choices extended to everything else. You had a choice to pick yourself a name, but you also had a choice when it came to deciding what to put in your hair or what you wanted to wear. You had a choice whether or not you wanted to be helpful today, or to just be a lazy bum and stay in bed.
         
          . . .you also had a choice whether or not you were going to give everyone else on the ship an easy time.
         
          And, unfortunately for everybody that wasn't you, you decided that you weren't going to.
         
          "Oh, I got it from a fisherman who tried to sell me a decoy fish."
         
          "That's an easy question, I got it from this book I read about poisonous types of frogs!"

          ". . .who's asking?"
         
          "Well, I heard of this widowed rich old woman, and I thought that if I took her name, I'd be able to inherit her estate."
         
          "I'm so glad you asked! I took it from a wanted poster because I felt like my life didn't have enough danger in it already."

           "From a cemetery."

          And unfortunately for either you or for Jacob, it wasn't really sure yet, the young boy had heard of every single response.
         
          The first one you spread was about the fisherman incident, but then it suddenly changed to being from a boatman. Sure, maybe it was a slip-up, you'd fix it the next time. But then you said it was from a book, and that was enough to make Jacob suspicious but not enough to suspect anything past just. . .well, suspicion. But then days went on and it just got more ridiculous.

          You went from saying it was from an abandoned shop, to then being from a dream, then from an old legend, then from moss that spelled the name out, then from an old woman, from a cemetery, and now a wanted poster?? Every single time he hears you explain the name he's always pleasantly surprised of whatever stupid or fascinating story you came up with this time.
         
          What finally broke him however, was when you claimed that when once fighting a sea beast—oh yeah you did that now, him at fifteen and you on your thirteenth birthday—it had somehow managed to tell you about the name, and you decided to keep it. How would that even make sense?! Sea beasts can't talk!
         
          And that was exactly what he decided to confront you about, standing in front of your door with his arms crossed and looking annoyed.
         
          You simply answered his knock with a raised brow, before grinning widely. "Oh. Hey Holland!" Gods, you had the perfect strategy. You called people by their last names so they in turn felt like they had to call you by yours. It sickened him.
         
          "Hey Cr. . .Y/N." Your lips form a pout, and you swing the door fully open as he sort of has to back away to avoid getting hit. "Awe, you were so close. Can you not say it or something? I can teach you if you want!"
         
          "What?" For some reason that made him flustered, stammering for a bit as your shit-eating grin only grows. "Of course I can! Cruickshank isn't exactly the hardest name to say in the world!"
         
          Ah. First mistake: have any sort of conversation with you before you reached eighteen. The dumbassery and asshole behavior had mellowed when you reached adulthood, so it's no surprise that before then, you were an absolute gods-damned nightmare to interact with.
         
          Your grin got so wide it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that it reached ear to ear. "Aha! Made you say it! I win this round."
         
          . . .
         
          He stammers again as, in a blink you were fluttering your eyelashes at him cutely, a tactic you had developed in response to Sarah's apparent soft-spot for little kids. It was slowly starting to lose its power over her now that she had caught on, but it still worked for somebody as gullible and currently going through the worst part of a boy's life; puberty. Which was what Jacob was going through, and side effects he also sadly fell victim to. So to conclude, that little gesture was enough for his throat to tighten and choke slightly.
         
          Your previous shit-eating grin returns as you tilt your head heavily to one side, eyes closed to exaggerate the happiness before giving him a thumbs up. "Anyway, whatever, this has been fun. Thanks for the advice, Jacob!" You reach for the handle before slamming the door in his face, and the boy is left dumbfounded in his spot.
         
          . . .
         
          "O-okay." He blinks, trying to sort of reset his brain as he attempts to remember what he was even here for. The short but confusing conversation was enough to muddle his head, and it took a few more agonizing moments before he recalls and his cheeks heat up in both anger and embarrassment. In but a moment he was already back to pounding on your door. "Y/N! I didn't give you any bloody advice and you know it! Open this gods-damned door!"
          
          In the end, nobody still knows where the name actually came from. Especially not Jacob.