Threshing Floor

What Doesn't Kill You

The euphoria of being free of Thresh's control faded quickly as Will took stock of the condition of his newly acquired freedom. The lack of sight was an obvious handicap but more than that, he was perilously hungry, cold and broke. The first two afflictions would quickly turn deadly if not addressed and the third left him with few options to relieve his suffering. He was also desperate to warn Sarah of the danger posed by his erstwhile captor and his new partner. He was more than ready to sacrifice his own well being to accomplish that mission but clear-headed practicality demanded that he care for his basic needs or he would be of no help to his friend and former captain.

Luckily, Will had spent the better part of his life in the environs of Bilgewater Bay. It was true that he came from a family with more resources than most of the salty, wretched denizens of the dockside quarters but he had never been one to consider himself better than those around him. The experience that he had gained, rubbing shoulders with the lowest and most despised now served him well. He could hear the cries of seagulls squabbling over scraps of fish discarded from the workshops that ringed the docks. There he knew he could find something to ease his hunger even if it turned his stomach to think of the offal that those businesses threw out. He would have to hope that his deep need for calories would not lead to debilitating sickness from the uncooked discards.

He stumbled and felt his way through the narrow alleys, comforted, at least in small part, that no thief would give him a second look since it was obvious that he had nothing for which expending even the most minimal effort would make sense. There were those who took pleasure in violence and suffering even when there was no hope of monetary gain, but a target so helpless also offered little in the way of sport and so, he finally found a spot behind a fishmonger's warehouse where he could fill the yawning void in his belly. The revolting sustenance gave his body the material assets to begin to heal and produce internal heat. Will crawled into a darkened corner beneath some foul smelling, cast off tarps and fell asleep, for the first time in recent memory, peacefully.

He slept that way for at least a day, completely insensible, as if the death he had prayed for so many times had finally overtaken him. No dreams, no visions plagued him, only a seamless dark drifting and the occasional awareness that his journey yet had objectives unfulfilled. He was vaguely aware of the sounds of sea birds, rodents, and tides but they were only passing prods to his comatose senses, reminders that life still went on around him. His consciousness surfaced, now and then, to register those stimuli but refused to motivate him to find his place in their rhythms. His shredded soul drifted without direction or meaning until one thought rose to the top and would not be ignored. He could not be sure how many days or months had passed while he languished beneath Thresh's stranglehold. He could not know what had transpired in the lives of his beloved crewmates.There may be almost nothing he could do to impact whatever they and Sarah were facing at the moment, but he could not go about his life pretending that it no longer mattered to him. Bonds forged through shared experiences, even shallow and ephemeral ones, could not be broken so easily. Awareness rushed back into his borrowed body and he flexed stiff limbs and fingers until life returned to his numb extremities. The anchorage of the Syren must be close and he longed to rejoin his former mates and captain, but first he had to recover some unique items that would convince them of his identity. Where he would fit in their new reality would work itself out in time. The violent and treacherous environment that they inhabited had undoubtedly claimed some of those he had considered friends. He would honor those, perhaps even mourn their passing, but he had learned that even the most lost could perhaps find their way back again. Giving up was not an option. Winning had many faces, challenging as it may be, he would find one and exalt in it.

He struggled to his feet, raised his face to the meager winter sun, and took his first steps toward a new future.

______

Sarah paced restlessly between the aft windows of her quarters and the door leading to the main deck of the Siren. Her ship, her crew, her life no longer felt like her own. Everything had changed, some things subtly and others in dramatic fashion. She had found a replacement for her First Mate somewhat unintentionally and probably in the worst way possible.

Cesar Embustante had caught her eye one evening as she was trawling for rumors around the chaotic marketplace in Cutpurse Square. Something was up in the wider world outside of the Bay, something that could affect the lives and livelihood of the pirate captains and she needed to get ahead of it to keep Bilgewater somewhat stable. She had just nestled herself into a quiet corner of one of the cleaner cafes and begun to survey the other patrons, looking for someone who looked out of place, when a medium height man with dark, close cropped curls walked in. He wasn't remarkably handsome, that wasn't what drew her eye, he did walk with an unmistakable swagger, a self assurance that had no obvious source at first glance. His clothes were common and slightly rumpled, but the owner of the cafe quickly approached him with a manner that said that he both knew him and that he had gold Krakens to throw around. The discussion between the two seemed to shift rapidly from friendly to contentious for no discernable reason but ended up with the proprietor kowtowing respectfully as he tried to direct the man to an open table. That's when things got interesting.

The dark haired man turned away from the fawning shopkeeper and with an air of seeming nonchalance looked directly into Sarah's corner. Anyone who knew the de facto leader of the council of pirate captains should have had the respect to look away or at the very least offer some sign of salute. This one looked her directly in the eyes and....smirked. His stride actually seemed to speed up as he navigated the floor, avoiding tables, servers, and diners alike. Unbelievably, he pulled out the chair opposite the one woman in Bilgewater who could kill him without blinking and walk away with no fear of consequences, and sat down.

"Hello! We haven't met. I'm Cesar," he said without a trace of hesitation. "I like you. Shall we get to know each other?"

Sarah paused, more from the breathtaking audacity of this bilgerat than from anything else. Honestly, she liked his directness. She liked people, men, who weren't afraid to say what they wanted. There were enough things in the world that didn't make sense, enough people that either didn't know what they wanted or knew what they wanted but tried to keep it hidden from others. Whether or not he had substance to back up that directness, time would tell. "I'll give him a chance," she thought. "If he's useless, it's a big bay out there that won't care to swallow down one more fool."

"I'm Captain Fortune, I was here alone for a reason. But, it has been a while since someone has shown me a good time. If you have the walk to back up the talk..." she paused for effect.

"I'll take it."

Three little words, easily said, easily dismissed as a casual reply, changed everything.