𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐄 ━ loki laufeyson¹·¹

8│A CHANGE OF HEART

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❛ ᴇᴛᴏɪʟᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴏғ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ꒱


❝ FOR YOU I'D BE WILLING TO
DO MANY THINGS AGAINST MY
USUAL INCLINATIONS ❞

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The ship docked just off of a steep cliff. Eleanora, now fully made over, joined the captain on the deck as he explained the purpose of his father's business (besides just piracy.) Loki had been confused as to why they would trap lightning ("my brother controls it, you know. Is that what you mean?") to which Shakespeare had smiled at him in amusement. ("What I wouldn't give to capture that lightning. I bet I could sell it for more than just two hundred coins.")

But, since the captain didn't have access to Thor's lightning, he had the crew carry what he had captured into a run-down warehouse. There were all sorts of things hanging from the ceiling and walls, from nets to stuffed taxidermies of animals. The scruffy man who owned the trading post, Ferdy, watched them transport the crates with dark, greedy eyes.

He opened one cannister experimentally. "Yeah. Doesn't seem very fresh. I'll be honest."

The captain stood with his arms folded and an unimpressed look on his face. "Shall I give you a little taste, young Ferdinand?"

Despite the man's protests, Shakespeare opened a smaller container to release some of the lightning that was inside. It crackled around the cluttered room, singing the hairs on Eleanora's arms from its potency. One of the bolts hit an item that had been dangling above them and it crashed to the ground, causing Ferdy to grumble, "oh, there you go. Brilliant. Like they're cheap."

Shakespeare smirked at him. "I think it's still crackling, very much alive, still très fresh. So, name your best price."

"For ten thousand bolts?"

"Ten thousand bolts of finest quality grade A."

"Yeah," the trader drawled, "but it's difficult to shift, isn't it? Difficult to store. If I get the Revenue men in here sniffing round, what's the. . . Best price, 150."

The captain gave him a pitying look as he clapped his hands together. "Gentlemen, put the merchandise back onboard and prepare to sail."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Ferdy objected.

"Ferdinand, always a pleasure," Shakespeare said, unmoved. The crew around him began to pick up the crates.

"Hold on. Hold on. One minute. Hold on. One sixty. One sixty."

The captain waved a hand for the other pirates to stay in place. "Seeing as I'm feeling particularly generous today, I'll settle for two hundred."

Ferdinand scoffed at the price. "Two hundred? Okay. You're having a laugh. Have you had your head in that? Has he been sailing up where the air's too thin?"

Shakespeare frowned at him. "You're being very rude."

The trader sobered and adjusted his vest. "Not anymore," he promised.

"Two hundred."

"One eighty."

"Two hundred."

Ferdy huffed in frustration. "That's not negotiation. I'm changing my number."

"Did I hear two hundred?" the captain insisted.

"From you, you did. Yeah."

"You said two hundred."