Help Unwanted

Pick Up

He didn’t get much sleep that night. He reflected on what his life had been like these past several months. Deacon thought he was doing fine with his career. He started off strong, leading his spies and gathering valuable intel around the spiral. After a few years of exigent work, he’d gotten the chance to expand his duties and lead the aggressive sweep of undesirables - only to be repeatedly impeded by Boochbeard and Mr. Gandry. Ever since then, it felt like a constant battle to maintain the respect he’d earned in the Armada. 

Dea had only worked with him for a month, and already deemed him unfit as an Elite. Some chagrined part of him agreed with her, while the rest of his dignity demanded to prove her wrong . 

He woke up early that next morning still feeling irritable. His gaze came to his co-captain’s bed. He was usually the one to wake her and start their day together, but he thought twice about it. He got dressed quietly before leaving their cabin and calling for the rest of the crew. As they prepared, he received a notification on his communicator.

He read the message and his face instantly lit up behind his mask. He redirected the crew to their new location and eagerly took his respected place behind the captain’s wheel. 

—----

Dea was feeling sluggish. 

Her throat felt dry and her eyes stung when she rose from her sleep. She had no sense of what time it was, but she felt suspiciously well-rested. She threw the blanket off and slipped on her mask. She peeked out from the privacy sheet, only to find Deacon’s bed empty and already-made. She peered around before stepping out and dressing into her uniform. Judging by the sunlight coming in from the window, it was nearing noon. 

She reached under her mask to rub her eyes while she left the cabin. She felt disgusting after several weeks of being out on the water. The brief sea showers did little to upkeep her hygiene. While the zendale spared her from the salty air, she hated being in these layers all the time. It felt suffocating in the hot weather. She quietly envied Deacon’s tolerance of wearing so many clothes. 

When she walked out on deck, she expected the clear, orange skies of Cool Ranch. What she was met with instead were the vivid blue horizons of Mooshu. Confused, she searched around for a member of the crew, who informed her that they took a detour this morning. This worsened her dubiety and she immediately began looking for her co-captain. He wasn’t at the wheel like she assumed - but was searching through a box with one of the soldiers at his side. 

She approached Deacon. “What are we doing here? Don’t we have to search for someone in Santo Pollo?” 

He passed something to the man beside him, who saluted before walking away. Only then he returned to his full height, turning to her and tipping his head. “ ¿Dormiste bien?”

‘Did she sleep well..?’ He must be teasing. She had a terrible habit of oversleeping at home. The freedom of co-captaining a ship brought it back. She felt a little embarrassed, but ignored the feeling as she crossed her arms. 

“Why didn’t you wake me? I could’ve been helping you.” 

“I thought you could use the rest,” He responded dryly, leading them into their proper spots beside the wheel. He corrected their course and she noted the lack of eye contact from him. It didn’t take long to piece two-and-two together, remembering their conversation yesterday. A feeling of guilt panged her. 

“Look,” She dropped her arms. “I’m sorry for what I said…If it upset you-”

“-It’s not important.” He interrupted. He grabbed his compass from his pocket and checked their direction. She went to refute, but he spoke before she could. “We’re in Mooshu to collect some supplies. They’ve been delivered to a nearby merchant ship. We’ll be boarding them and loading it onto the Executioner.”