The JereMike Collection

Something Fishy

Ok, so I started writing this chapter around 2-3 MONTHS AGO, so there may be a noticeable difference in style/tone when reading. It's been sitting dormant in my google docs for who knows how long so it's way passed it's expiration date aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh

Jeremaid image illustrated by Axt-chan on Deviantart. Seriously check out her art, she's amazing.

Warning: Violence and slight gore within the first half of the chapter. Also, old timey sailor talk.

----

Unfortunately, Mike's memory isn't kind to their meeting.

He can, however, remember other details of the day. Unimportant, meaningless, faint events repeating themselves in the back of his mind, like how Fritz and another crew member were having a fit over who's turn it was to be the unlucky sod tasked with taking out the piss bucket, or the whispers of who had the nerve to sneak another bottle of rum behind the captain's back, thinking that no one would notice the sudden shortage count of one in their ever-so-dwindling supply.

He smirks at the memory. Getting away with the crime was simple child's play, blaming one of the lower ranked members wasn't much of a fling, either. No one suspected the First-Mate, hardly.

The crew is, for lack of a better phrase: Sturdy. There were one or two drunkards, a shot-slinger or two, the occasional stow-away turned sail slave turned hearty criminal, then there's just Fritz: The strange witch-doctor they picked up a few plunders back, hoping to use him for potions and other mythical magical means. Mike called bullshit, obviously. But the crew seemed more than entertained.

What was baffling even more is as to why the fool ended up wanting to stay, using no other excuse other than claiming he loved adventure, said he'd make himself worthwhile providing the ship and it's harbors with all sorts of totems with magical properties and to play music at night, when everyone wanted to wind down and wouldn't mind listening to a melody. It was surprising how well he could make use of some crude drums swiped from a village or a wooden flute one of crew happen to have stashed on board.

Unlike what their reputation would tell you, the Captain was more than welcoming to a newcomer. The more the merrier, he would say.

Mike, on the other hand, believes the Witch doctor's stay has more to do with his fixation with the blond, soft spoken prisoner they've locked up in the kitchen to make-do as a chef. No one bothers the lad much, goes by the name Scottie or something of the sort. No pirate cares to harm em, at most just poking at the poor sod for another plate of god-knows what ever's in that meat. Just that Fritz seems to want to strike up a chat with the sop, and for once it's not someone complaining about not getting seconds.

Mike keeps this thought to himself; a tale for another time. It wasn't his place to make assumptions, anyway. No matter how highly he was ranked.

The position of First-Mate did not come without a price, after all, and sometimes what was owed could leave a poor soul in grave debt that could never be repaid.

There were other methods, of course. In a time like this, it's a shark-eat-fish world, and the trouts have to stick to the killers to make it out alive. Gaining the trust and respect of other's took hard work, dedication and sometimes even years of your time.

Sliding a dagger against the skin of their throats took only seconds. Captain Foxy has made it very clear that it is better to be feared as something monstrous and unstoppable then it is to be seen as a beloved whelp who could easily be overthrown.

Being the fool that he is, Mike doesn't comprehend the full severity of this motto until the day of trade, when the entire front deck is flooded with familiar pirates and new faces alike, showing off trinkets and treasures galore.