Soldier, Poet, King

Chapter 3: Our Prayer

With Lucius still missing since the beaching, Stede had been forced to ask Frenchie earlier that morning to be his scribe even though the man is entirely illiterate. Despite being able to read and write, with your dominant hand in bandages it is difficult to hold a quill properly and after the first transcribing session you had with the Captain, you declined his request to do it again and made the argument that Lucius has better quillmenship than you. Secretly, it was because you find it hard to listen to the near endless ramblings of the man, his verbal course of thought too much to comprehend and jot down simultaneously. Why Frenchie, of all people, has been chosen to be the scribe is beyond you, but he is brimming with excitement to talk to you after being dismissed by Stede.

"Cap'n says we're going to the Republic of Pirates!" His chestnut eyes glimmering with eagerness.

Black Pete has mentioned it during his story-time before, though with a name like that, you have always just assumed it is a fictional place like the Fountain of Youth or the Arctic. Like hell there's a land of just ice and snow. You shake your head at the absurdity, not really listening to what Frenchie was saying, imagining what kind of otherworldly creatures would dwell in such a place.

"...Lucius is getting the Captain ready for it now-"

"Wait, he's back?" You snap back out of your head and back into the conversation.

"Have you not been listening? Lucius is back and we're going to ransom off the remaining hostage. I thought you'd be more excited, seeming as you've never been to the RoP before."

"I'm plenty excited. This is my excited face. Get a good look at it before it turns into my frustrated face."

"As I was saying," Frenchie rolls his eyes, "You'll want to get into gear before we dock. It's a bit gentrified now, but it's good to be prepared. You never know what could be lurking in the shadows."

"Probably some old syphilitic fuck waiting to mug the next unlucky bastard who makes the mistake of walking too close," You start, but stop yourself when you see the enthusiasm fade slightly from Frenchie's eyes, "I'd better go get my daggers then."

"That's the spirit!"

⋄ ⋄ ⋄

You hear the Republic of Pirates before you see it. Cannon fire followed by shrieks shatter through the air, like glass against stone, from around the cove and only get louder as you near the docks. Frenchie gives you a thumbs up, an almost feral grin on his face as you both exit the ship and enter the chaos unfolding around you. A haze of smoke hangs in the air, adding to the not particularly pleasant aroma of gunpowder, sweat, and booze. Your still bandaged hand rests on the dagger at your hip, easing some of the overstimulation that bombards your senses. In front of you, Stede, Lucius, and the hostage are dressed immaculately in pressed white suits. Lace flutters at their wrists and necks, sticking out like a sore thumb.

"Isn't it amazing?" Frenchie takes a deep breath, smiling as he exhales. Grabbing your upper arm, he drags you away from the group to avoid the strange looks Stede's pristine garb and horribly worded sales pitch is garnering.

"It's certainly... something."

"Knew you'd love it."

"Love is such a strong word..." You try to smile back, though it turns into more of a grimace, though he doesn't seem to notice. His arm wraps around your shoulders, beaming as he takes in the view around you both. He really is pretty when he's happy. Your heart softens at how easily pleased he is and you shrug off your pessimism for his sake.

Frenchie leads you down a plank paved path between buildings trying to find a bar he had sworn was around in the area but nothing was ringing a bell. You aren't even that motivated to find the place and are really more just enjoying getting some time with just the two of you. As naturally as breathing, you link your elbow around his, giving him a warm smile as you stroll between buildings in various stages of disarray, pleasantly lost together. By his side you feel a wholeness in yourself. The way his eyes soften when he looks at you, the easiness in his smile when you enter a room, and all because of you. He feels like waking up early in the morning, before the sun has had a chance to rise over the horizon yet, feeling the cold dawn air on your face and burrowing deeper into the warmth of your blanket.