The pirate boy (Frerard, Petekey)

Chapter sixteen - This is the fourth pirate that has called me pretty

Chapter sixteen - This is the fourth pirate that has called me pretty

im stuck on my own at my dad's and im not supposed to go outside rn so all i do all day is sit in bed with all the windows open being sad and watching the shittiest most garbage horror flicks i can find on netflix

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The Hangmen had only been on board a few minutes, and the scene was already bedlam. Swords clashed and daggers rang, men shouted and screamed, and there was a puddle of blood at my feet with what looked like an eyeball floating in it. I could hear my own pulse in my ears, rushing and ringing; every part of my body was burning; my skin felt corroded. The scene was horrific: blood slicing through the air, sweat and screams mixing, so much intense energy in one space. It was horrific, and it was beautiful, in a kind of weird and twisted way.

Sometimes I was disturbed by how being out at sea had changed me so much (–I had hoped that it was for the better, although it most likely wasn't–) but it did let me take interest in more unusual things, and people. There was an unexpected sense of amicable community on this ship.

"Frank, you fucking asshole!" Dewees screamed, not even looking at the opposing pirate but managing to stab him quite precisely in the chest nonetheless.

"What?" I yelled. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just fucking hit someone, for Christ's sake!" he shrieked. Now that I considered it, he did look rather angry at the fact that I'd just been standing at the top of the stairs, taking in the view.

"Yes," I managed. I charged into the thick of the battle, brandishing my candlestick bravely, and lobbed the first person I saw over the head; a man with long, untidy hair and a bent sword.

"Iero!" Beckett wailed. He turned around very swiftly and clipped me over the ear, muttering a curse under his breath before moving along to smash a Hangman's face in with the handle of his sword. Men on the Freighter did not fight clean.

But apparently, neither did the Hangmen, as I discovered when one crawled up behind me and bit the back of my leg with most impressive violence. I pondered for a very short moment why he hadn't just stabbed me, but then I caught sight of Saporta, attempting to drag the offending pirate back by his ankles, two swords in one hand and a fierce look of dominance on his face.

I took that to mean that we were significantly ahead, along with the sounds of unfamiliar men's yowls. Our crewmates weren't yelping out, so I assumed that things were going smoothly.

I assumed incorrectly. A number of our men had been gagged and bound, including Gerard. (I ignored the stirring I felt that was incited by that fact.)

The remaining crew and I fought viciously and persistently, but unfortunately, we were severely outnumbered, and each of us ended up trapped in a circle of Hangmen, imprisoned in some sort of web of swords. I was tempted to pull a daring move and slash the hand of the man reaching towards me, but Gerard's eyes caught mine and he shook his head like he'd read my mind. The grave look on his face was enough to still me. A dirty rag was shoved in my mouth, and rope was wound around my wrists in loops until I was completely incapacitated. The bearded man with the grubby face smirked at Ryan as he pinned him to the mast and tied him there, and Ryan hung his head and scowled furiously.

I didn't think it was possible for us to be at more of a disadvantage than we were right now. But yet again, my assumptions were seriously wrong.

"Give us the scorpion child," the Hangmen's captain demanded, taking a few steps across the echoing wooden floor, the rotting planks dully reverberating the sound of his heavy boots.